THE VANISHING 
 * POINT * 
 
 CONINGSBY DAWSON
 
 J 
 
 THE LIBRARY 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES 
 
 IN MEMORY OF 
 EDWIN CORLE 
 
 PRESENTED BY 
 JEAN CORLE
 
 The 
 Vanishing Point 
 
 cA {Modern
 
 BOOKS BY MR. DAWSON 
 
 THE VANISHING POINT 
 
 THE KINGDOM ROUND THE CORNER 
 
 THE GARDEN WITHOUT WALLS 
 
 SLAVES OF FREEDOM 
 
 THE RAFT 
 
 LAST CHANCE RIVER 
 
 THE ROAD TO AVALON 
 
 SHORTER STORIES 
 
 THE LITTLE HOUSE Illustrations by Stella Langdale 
 THE SEVENTH CHRISTMAS Illustrations by Edmund 
 
 Dulac 
 THE UNKNOWN COUNTRY Illustrations by W. C. Rice 
 
 WAR BOOKS 
 
 CARRY ON: LETTERS IN WAR-TIME 
 
 THE GLORY OF THE TRENCHES 
 
 OUT TO WIN: THE STORY OF AMERICA IN FRANCE 
 
 LIVING BAYONETS: A RECORD OF THE LAST PUSH 
 
 THE TEST OF SCARLET: A ROMANCE OF REALITY 
 
 POEMS 
 
 FLORENCE ON A CERTAIN NIGHT 
 THE WORKER AND OTHER POEMS
 
 A white streak like the finger of conscience pointing at Santa.
 
 The 
 Vanishin g Point 
 
 BY 
 
 CONINGSBY DAWSON 
 
 Author of "The Kingdom Round the Corner," 
 "The Garden Without Walls," etc. 
 
 ILLUSTRATED BY 
 JAMES MONTGOMERY FLAGG 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 MCMXX1I
 
 Copyright, 1922, by Cosmopolitan Book 
 Corporation-All rights reserved, including 
 that of translation into foreign languages, 
 including the Scandinavian. 
 
 Printed in the United States of America
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 PAGE 
 
 THE DISAPPEARANCE OF A PATRIOT 1 3 
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 THE RETURN OF SANTA GORLOF 56 
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 HE PLUNGES INTO ROMANCE 96 
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 HE BECOMES PART OF THE GAME 1 35 
 
 CHAPTER V 
 THE GREEN EYES CAST A SPELL 1 75 
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 THE ESCAPE 2 1 6 
 
 266 
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 THE VANISHING POINT 314
 
 THE ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 A white steak like the finger of conscience pointing 
 
 at Santa Frontispiece 
 
 FACING 
 PAGE 
 
 Tears of horror sprang into her China-blue eyes. 
 
 "But I don t want to kill you." 129 
 
 As he stumbled towards them, Santa uttered a nerv 
 ous cry and turned 1 78 
 
 It was like a triumph at the opera 328
 
 "When you gaze up a railroad track," 
 
 sky, "there s always a point in the infinite 
 distance where, just before they vanish, the par 
 allel rails seem, to join. If a train were ever to 
 reach that point it would mean death. 
 
 "Life s lifye that a tracJf along which we 
 travel on the parallel rails of possibility and de 
 sire. The <ure of the idealist is to overtake the 
 illusion, where possibility and desire seem to 
 merge, and the safety of the journey ends."
 
 THE VANISHING POINT
 
 THE VANISHING POINT 
 
 CHAPTER THE FIRST 
 
 THE DISAPPEARANCE OF A PATRIOT 
 
 RINCE ROGOVICH ! Prince Rogovich !" 
 
 Staring up at the clammy wall of the liner, 
 blanched by searchlights, against which the little tug 
 bumped and jostled, Philip Hindwood could hear the 
 Prince s name being shouted in staterooms, along 
 decks and passageways. 
 
 It had been midnight when they had drifted like a 
 gallivanting hotel, all portholes ablaze, into the star 
 lit vagueness of Plymouth Harbor. The Ryndam 
 did not dock there; she only halted long enough to 
 put off the English passengers and to drop the Eng 
 lish mail. There had been three passengers to land, 
 of whom Hindwood had been the first ; the rest were 
 disembarking at Boulogne or Rotterdam. They had 
 been met just outside the harbor by the tug, and the 
 transshipping of the mail had immediately com 
 menced. The last bag had been tossed over the side ; 
 the immigration officials had completed their inspec-
 
 14 THE VANISHING POINT 
 
 tion. Santa Gorlof, the second passenger for Eng 
 land, radiantly smiling above her sables, had come 
 down the gangplank. It was for the third passenger 
 that the liner delayed and the tug still waited. 
 "Prince Rogovich! Prince Rogovich!" 
 The cries were becoming more insistent and im 
 patient. They broke on the stillness with the 
 monotony of despair. To judge by the sound, every 
 soul aboard the liner had taken up the search, from 
 the firemen in the stoke-hole to the Marconi men on 
 the top deck. Even the thud of the engines seemed 
 ominous, like the pounding of a heart stifled with 
 foreboding. Across the velvety expanse of water, 
 as though they had a secret they were trying to com 
 municate, shore lights winked and twinkled. They 
 seemed to be signaling the information that, no 
 matter how long the search was maintained, Prince 
 Rogovich would not be found that night. 
 
 II 
 
 Except for this last disturbing incident, it had 
 been a pleasant voyage the most pleasant Philip 
 Hindwood could remember. They had left New 
 York in the brilliant clearness of blue September 
 skies. The clear blueness had followed them. The 
 slow-going, matronly Ryndam had steamed on an 
 even keel through seas as tranquil and reflective as 
 the proverbial mill-pond. Her company had been 
 dull, consisting mainly of American drummers and
 
 DISAPPEARANCE OF A PATRIOT 15 
 
 Dutch Colonials returning from Java. But he had 
 no grounds for complaint ; he had chosen her for her 
 dullness. He had wanted to lay up a store of rest 
 before plunging into the strenuous excitements which 
 were the purpose of his journey. 
 
 He had gone aboard her in an unsociable frame of 
 mind, determined to talk to nobody; the success 
 of his errand depended on his silence. He believed 
 that he was half a year ahead of the times. When 
 his rivals had caught up to where he was at present, 
 he would have made himself a world power and dic 
 tator. 
 
 But the dullness of the ship s company had ex 
 ceeded expectations. Because of this he had broken 
 his compact and allowed his privacy to be invaded by 
 two vivid personalities. The first had been Prince 
 Rogovich the second, Santa Gorlof. 
 
 Prince Rogovich had evidently boarded the ship 
 with precisely the same intentions as himself. All his 
 meals had been served in his stateroom; it had not 
 been until the evening of the third day that he had 
 appeared on deck. He was a man of commanding 
 height, lean of hip and contemptuous of eye, with the 
 disquieting, haughty reticence of an inscrutable 
 Pharaoh. There was something alluring and orien 
 tal about the man, at once sinister and charming. 
 Behind his silky black beard he hid a face which was 
 deathly white ; its pallor was not of ill-health, but of 
 passion. It was easy to believe all the rumors about 
 him, both as regarded his diabolical cleverness and 
 his sensual cruelty. His enemies were legion. Even
 
 16 THE VANISHING POINT 
 
 among his countrymen he could count few friends, 
 although he was reckoned their greatest patriot. In 
 Poland he was suspected as much as he was admired, 
 and was accused of intriguing in order that he might 
 set up a throne for himself. The object of his 
 flying visit to America had been to consult financial 
 magnates on the advisability of floating an interna 
 tional loan in the interests of Poland. There were 
 men the world over and in Russia especially, who 
 would have paid a king s ransom for advance infor 
 mation as to what answer the financiers had 
 returned. 
 
 Though Hindwood would not have claimed as 
 much, he and the Prince were two of a kind, equally 
 magnificent in their dreams, equally relentless in 
 their means of realization, and equally insatiable in 
 their instinct for conquest. Their difference lay in 
 the fact that the Polish aristocrat had already at 
 tained the goal toward which the self-made American 
 was no more than striving. 
 
 Their first meeting had happened in the early 
 hours of the morning. Hindwood, being unable to 
 sleep, had partly dressed and gone on deck. There, 
 in the grayness of the dawn, he had espied a tall 
 figure slowly pacing, accompanied by a snow-white 
 Russian wolfhound. It was the remarkable grace of 
 the man that had first held him, his faculty for still 
 ness, his spectral paleness, his padded tread. But 
 the moment he had approached him, the sense of his 
 grace had been obscured by an atmosphere of men 
 ace. So sinister was his beauty that it had required
 
 DISAPPEARANCE OF A PATRIOT 17 
 
 an effort to pass him twice. Secretly Hindwood had 
 observed him. He was like his hound, treacherously 
 languid, insolently fastidious, and bred to the point 
 of emaciation. But his languor was the disguise of a 
 hidden fierceness, which betrayed itself in his red, 
 curved lips and the marble coldness of his stare. It 
 was at the third time of passing, when he had all but 
 gone by him, that he had heard his name spoken. 
 
 "Mr. Hindwood." Then, as he had turned, 
 "You re the famous railroad expert. Am I right? 
 It s fortunate we should have met. I missed you in 
 America. So you, too, are among the sleepless ! * 
 
 Then and there had started the first of those amaz 
 ing conversations, which had held Hindwood fasci 
 nated for the remainder of the voyage. It had made 
 no difference that in his heart he had almost hated the 
 man hated his ruthlessness, his subtlety, his pol 
 ished immorality ; the moment he commenced to talk, 
 he surrendered to his spell. Their encounters had 
 taken place for the most part between midnight and 
 sunrise. To be his companion was like eavesdrop 
 ping on the intimate counsels of all the cabinets of 
 Europe or like reading your daily paper a year 
 before it was published for the rest of mankind. On 
 matters which did not concern him the Prince could 
 be brilliantly confessional ; indiscretion was the bait 
 with which he lured his victims to reveal themselves. 
 The secrets which were his own he kept. Never once 
 did he drop a hint that would indicate the success or 
 failure of his recent mission. The single time that 
 Santa Gorlof had asked him point-blank, his dark
 
 18 THE VANISHING POINT 
 
 eyes had become focusless as opals, and his white 
 face, under its silky covering of beard, unnoticing 
 and sphinx-like. It was then that Hindwood had 
 recognized the resemblance to Pharaoh in his tyran 
 nic immobility and silence. 
 
 And Santa Gorlof ! There was a woman myste 
 rious, exotic, well-nigh mythical! Compared with 
 her the Prince was an open book. From the start 
 she had made no attempt to explain herself, had re 
 ferred neither to her past nor her future, had offered 
 no credentials. She had imposed herself on Hind- 
 wood like a goddess who expected to be worshiped. 
 She had swept him off his feet, beaten aside his 
 caution, and reached his heart before he was aware. 
 
 But was it his heart? How often, in the past 
 few days, he had asked himself that question! He 
 didn t want to believe that it was his heart. He was a 
 man who rode alone ; his aloneness was the reason for 
 his swiftness. He had been tricked once by a woman. 
 That was when he was a boy ; now he was a man near- 
 ing forty. She had cheated him so cruelly that, 
 though she had been dead many years, the bitterness 
 still rankled. Behind the beauty of all women his 
 skepticism detected the shallow loveliness of the one 
 false woman who had stolen his idealism, that she 
 might trample on it. 
 
 He did not love Santa. He had assured himself 
 a thousand times that he did not love her. She was 
 too dangerous, too incalculable. He had spent long 
 hours of wakeful nights in completing the inventory 
 of her bad points. And yet, while he had been with
 
 DISAPPEARANCE OF A PATRIOT 19 
 
 her, his veins had run fire ; while he had been apart 
 from her, all his pleasures had seemed tasteless. 
 Who was she? Whence had she come? Whither was 
 she going? What had been her business on the 
 Ryndam, and what had Prince Rogovich known 
 about her? The Prince had known something 
 something which had given him power over her. At 
 a glance from him, her caprice had vanished and she 
 had become downcast as a child. He had muttered 
 a few unintelligible words, probably in Polish, and 
 her pride had crumbled. 
 
 Hindwood was at a loss to account for these signs 
 of a secret understanding. It had been he who had 
 introduced them. It had been Santa who had con 
 fessed to curiosity about the Prince and had begged 
 for the introduction. The moment he had made 
 them acquainted, they had seemed to become de 
 lighted with each other s company so delighted 
 that there had been times when he himself had felt 
 excluded. A half-humorous rivalry for Santa s 
 favors had sprung up between the Prince and him 
 self. This atmosphere of jealousy had been accen 
 tuated by the behavior of the wolfhound; Santa s 
 mere approach had been sufficient to rouse him into 
 fury. He had become so dangerous that he had had 
 to be sent below whenever she was present. 
 
 And yet, despite her manifest efforts to hold the 
 Prince enchanted, behind his back she had expressed 
 the most vigorous aversion. She had spoken of his 
 reputation for treachery and the whispers that went 
 the rounds of his heartlessness toward women. Dur-
 
 20 THE VANISHING POINT 
 
 ing the final days of the voyage she had partly atoned 
 for this inconsistency by appealing to Hindwood to 
 protect her against the Prince s far too pressing 
 attention. She had declared herself to be in some 
 kind of danger though what kind, whether moral 
 or physical, she had left him to conjecture. She 
 had rather flattered him by her appeal ; nevertheless, 
 he had been considerably surprised to observe how 
 little interest she had still displayed in protecting 
 herself. During the whole of that last day, while 
 they had been approaching the white line of Cornish 
 coast, she had scarcely devoted to him a glance or 
 a word ; every minute she had spent with His High 
 ness, whom she professed to regard with so much 
 terror. She had created the impression of employing 
 every trick at her disposal in a frantic attempt to 
 secure him as her conquest. 
 
 If, as many of the passengers had asserted, the 
 presence of Santa Gorlof and the Prince on the same 
 boat had been no accident, then what had been the 
 object of their elaborately planned deception? Were 
 they lovers who had chosen this secret method of 
 traveling in order to avoid a scandal? Or was she 
 one of the man} 7 women whom he was reported to 
 have abandoned, who had seized the leisure of an 
 Atlantic voyage as an opportunity for reinstating 
 herself in his affection? 
 
 As Hindwood listened in the darkness to the 
 Prince s name being shouted and waited for the tug 
 to cast off, the surmise strengthened into certainty
 
 DISAPPEARANCE OF A PATRIOT 21 
 
 that he had been the dupe of a piece of play-acting, 
 the purpose of which he could not fathom. 
 
 Ill 
 
 "Philip !" 
 
 He had been so absorbed in his thoughts that he 
 had not noticed how she had stolen up behind him. 
 Without removing his arms from the rail, he turned 
 slowly and surveyed her. 
 
 An enviable woman! And her age? Perhaps 
 thirty. She was probably a Slav either Russian or 
 Polish. Her face was smooth as marble, high cheek- 
 boned and golden in complexion. Her eyes were 
 almond-shaped, heavy-lidded, and of the palest gray. 
 Her lips were passionate and always a little parted, 
 revealing a line of perfect whiteness like a streak of 
 snow between the curling edges of two rose-petals. 
 But it was her hair that was her glory abundant 
 as night, blue-black as steel, and polished as metal. 
 She wore it simply, gathered back from her forehead 
 and caught in a loose knot, low against her neck. 
 There was an air of indefinable aristocracy about 
 her; perhaps it was the slightness of her figure and 
 the alert composure of her carriage. And then there 
 was a touch of the exotic, wistfully sad, yet exceed 
 ingly mocking. Like so many Slavs, behind the Eu 
 ropean there lurked a hint of the Asiatic. If her 
 eyes had been darker, she might easily have passed for 
 a Hindoo princess.
 
 22 THE VANISHING POINT 
 
 Her fascination, quite apart from her beauty, lay 
 in the fact that she was so ravishingly feminine. To 
 be a woman was her proud profession and in this 
 again she was Asiatic. What hours she must have 
 spent over pampering her body ! She was sleek 
 and groomed as a race-horse. Physically she was 
 the last word in feminine perfection. Her string 
 of pearls was worth more than most men earn in a 
 lifetime. Her sables represented the year s income of 
 a millionaire. There was no item of her attire that 
 was not sumptuous and that had not been acquired 
 regardless of expense. To have achieved her luxu 
 riance of beauty must have dissipated a fortune. 
 Whose fortune? Surely, not hers ! 
 
 His mind was haunted by misgivings as he watched 
 her. He had so nearly allowed himself to care for 
 her. It was only her lightness and willful inconsider- 
 ateness that had prevented. But now that he had 
 been prevented, her employment of his Christian 
 name struck him as singularly inappropriate. It 
 made him suspect a trap. It put him in a mood to 
 interpret any tenderness on her part as strategy, 
 as a signal that something was wanted. 
 
 While he eyed her in silence, she drew nearer and 
 leaned across the rail. Her shoulder pressed him. 
 He was aware of the tingling sensation of her 
 warmth, like a little hand caressing. He caught her 
 fragrance, secret and somnolent as the magic of 
 hidden rose-gardens in Damascus. 
 
 She spoke. Her voice was deep and foreign; it 
 seemed too deep to be pent in so slight a body. It
 
 DISAPPEARANCE OF A PATRIOT 23 
 
 was harsh in many of its tones, as though there had 
 been times when it had been parched with thirst. It 
 conjured visions of caravans creeping across molten 
 deserts. It was hypnotic, barbaric. In listening to 
 it, he lost sight of the exquisite sophistication of her 
 appearance. His imagination reclothed her, loosen 
 ing her hair, veiling her face, shrouding her in a 
 robe of gold and saffron, slipping sandals on her 
 feet and making her ankles tinkle with many bangles. 
 
 "You don t like me any more. Is it not so?" she 
 questioned softly. "My master is offended." 
 
 He shook himself irritably, as though he were 
 flinging off the yoke of her attraction. "I m not 
 offended. I was thinking." 
 
 "About what?" 
 
 "Prince Rogovich." 
 
 "And why should my master be thinking of Prince 
 Rogovich?" 
 
 He leaned still further across the rail in an instinc 
 tive effort to avoid her. There was seduction in 
 the feigned humility with which she addressed him, 
 as though he were a Pasha and she a slave-girl. 
 
 "Because," he said, "it would be indecent for me 
 to be thinking of anything else. He may be dead. 
 There s no knowing. This time last night I could 
 walk and talk and laugh with him. He was full of 
 plans. He was something real that I could touch. 
 To-night he has vanished." 
 
 "Vanished!" She repeated the word with a sigh 
 which was almost of contentment.
 
 24 THE VANISHING POINT 
 
 "I was wondering," he continued, and then halted. 
 
 "You were wondering?" she prompted. 
 
 Drawing himself erect, he faced her. Her banter 
 ing tone had roused his indignation. Yet, even in his 
 revulsion, he thrilled to the sweetness of her luring 
 eyes, glinting at him palely through the shadows. 
 
 "He was more your friend, much more your friend, 
 than mine," he reproached her. "There s probably 
 been a tragedy. Yet you don t seem to care. One 
 might even believe you were glad." 
 
 "Not glad. Not exactly." She spoke smilingly, 
 averting her eyes. "But as for caring why should 
 I?" 
 
 He laughed quietly. "Yes, why should you? Why 
 should you care what happens to any man?" 
 
 "But I hated him," she protested. "He had given 
 me cause to hate him." 
 
 "You had a strange way of showing it. You made 
 yourself most amazingly charming. He could never 
 have guessed no one could ever have guessed who 
 watched you with him, that you " 
 
 "Ah, no. Only you and I we knew. It wasn t 
 our business to let everybody guess." 
 
 Suddenly she seemed to divine what was troubling 
 him. Darting out her hand, she seized his wrist in 
 a grip of steel. That such strength lay hidden in so 
 frail a hand was unexpected. Her attitude instantly 
 changed to one of coaxing. 
 
 "You re jealous. Don t be jealous. It had to be, 
 and it s ended. In a sense it was for your sake that 
 it had to happen."
 
 DISAPPEARANCE OF A PATRIOT 25 
 
 Leisurely he freed himself, bending back her fingers 
 and taking pleasure in demonstrating that his 
 strength was the greater. 
 
 "I ve no idea what you re talking about," he said 
 coldly. "Your feelings toward Prince Rogovich are 
 none of my concern. If, by the thing that had to 
 happen, you refer to the shameless way in which you 
 made love to him, I can not conceive any possible set 
 of circumstances that would make it necessary for 
 you to make love for my sake to another man." 
 
 He had turned and was sauntering away from her. 
 She went after him breathlessly, arresting him once 
 more with the secret strength of her slim, gloved 
 hand. 
 
 "To make love to him ! I didn t mean that." 
 
 What it was that she had meant, she had no time 
 to tell. The siren of the Ryndam burst into an ear- 
 splitting blast, impatient, repeated, and agonizing. 
 At the signal gangplanks were withdrawn from the 
 tug and run back into dark holes in the side of the 
 liner. Ropes were cast off and coiled. Engines be 
 gan to quicken and screws to churn. The narrow 
 channel which had separated the two vessels com 
 menced to widen. On the Ryndam the band struck 
 up. Above its lively clamor the sound of Prince 
 Rogovich s name being shouted could still be heard. 
 As Hindwood stared up at the floating mammoth, 
 scanning the tiers of faces gaping down, even at this 
 last moment he half expected to see the Prince come 
 rushing out. Instead a sight much stranger met his 
 eyes.
 
 26 THE VANISHING POINT 
 
 The tug was backing away to get sufficient clear 
 ance to turn in the direction of land. She had not 
 quite cleared herself, when signs of frenzied disturb 
 ance were noticeable on the promenade deck. The 
 musicians were dropping their instruments and flee 
 ing. Passengers were glancing across their shoulders 
 and scattering in all directions. In the vacant space 
 which their stampede had created, the infuriated head 
 of the Prince s wolfhound reared itself. For a 
 couple of seconds he hung there poised, glaring 
 down; then suddenly he seemed to descry the object 
 he was searching. Steadying himself, he shot 
 straight out into the gulf of blackness. In a white 
 streak, like the finger of conscience pointing, he fell, 
 just missing the deck of the tug, where Hindwood 
 and his companion were standing. He must have 
 struck the side, for as he reached the water he sank. 
 
 It was over in less time than it takes to tell, but 
 it had seemed to Hindwood that as the hound had 
 leaped, his burning gaze had been fixed on Santa 
 Gorlof. 
 
 IV 
 
 She made no sound while the danger lasted, but 
 the moment the hurtling, white body had fallen short, 
 she rushed to the side, peering down into the yeasty 
 scum of churned-up blackness. She was speaking 
 rapidly in a foreign language, laughing softly with 
 malicious triumph and shaking a small, clenched 
 fist at the night. It was thus that a woman at
 
 DISAPPEARANCE OF A PATRIOT 27 
 
 Jezreel must have looked, when she painted her face 
 and tired her hair and leaned out of her palace win 
 dow, jeering at the charioteer who had been sent to 
 slay her. The passionate eloquence of Santa s ges 
 tures thrilled as much as it shocked Hindwood; it 
 made her appearance of lavish modernity seem a 
 disguise. And yet he admired her more than ever; 
 it was her courage he admired. Putting his arm 
 about her roughly, 
 
 "Enough," he said. "You re coming inside." 
 
 She darted back her head in defiance like a serpent 
 about to strike. Then recognition of him dawned 
 in her eyes. She ceased to struggle and relaxed 
 against his breast. It was only for a second. 
 Slipping her arm submissively into his, 
 
 "Very well. If you say so," she whispered. 
 
 Guiding her steps across the slippery deck, he 
 pushed open the door of a little saloon and entered. 
 The atmosphere was blue with wreaths of smoke and 
 heavy with the smell of tobacco. At a table in the 
 center, beneath a swinging lamp, the immigration 
 officers were dealing cards and settling their debts 
 with pennies. They were too absorbed in their petty 
 gambling to notice what was going on about them. 
 In a corner, outside the circle of light, he found a 
 trunk and ordered her to sit down. The meekness 
 with which she complied flattered his sense of her 
 dependence. He might really have been a Pasha 
 and she his slave-girl. 
 
 He did not understand her. She cozened and 
 baffled him. People and things which he did not un-
 
 28 THE VANISHING POINT 
 
 derstand were apt to rouse his resentment, especially 
 when they were women. His distrust of the sex was 
 inherent. But as he watched this woman drooping 
 in the shadows, his pity came uppermost. She was 
 so alone, so unprotected. The hour was late long 
 past midnight. Her storm of emotion had exhausted 
 her. It was absurd that he should have allowed 
 himself to become so jealous. He could never have 
 made her his wife. The chances were, she would not 
 have accepted him; she belonged to a more modish 
 world. And if she had, she would have driven him 
 from his course with her whims and tempests. She 
 would have wrecked his career with her greed for 
 wealthy trappings. He and she were utterly differ 
 ent. They had nothing in common but their physical 
 attraction. 
 
 He was seeing things clearly. With each fresh 
 whiff of land, affairs were regrouping themselves in 
 their true perspective. He had been the shuttlecock 
 of a shipboard flirtation. He had magnified in 
 fatuation into a grand passion. On many a previous 
 voyage he had been the amused spectator of just 
 such profitless expenditures of sentiment. And here 
 he was, a victim of the same foolishness ! The futility 
 of the ending was the adventure s condemnation. 
 Ppebably she was indulging in similar reflections ! 
 Within an hour of stepping ashore they would have 
 lost sight of each other forever. After so much 
 intimacy and misplaced emotion, they would walk 
 out of each other s life without regret. Partly out 
 of curiosity, but more out of courtesy, he seated
 
 DISAPPEARANCE OF A PATRIOT 29 
 
 himself beside her for what he intended should be 
 their last conversation. 
 
 "What happens next?" 
 
 She clutched her furs more closely about her. 
 "I don t know." 
 
 "But you must know," he persisted. "What I 
 meant was, where is your destination?" 
 
 "London." Then she added wearily, "You could 
 have discovered by examining my labels." 
 
 Her fatigue made him the more determined to be 
 helpful. "I didn t ask out of impertinence, but be 
 cause I thought it would be London. Probably 
 there ll be no train to London to-night. If the 
 Prince had been with us, they d have put on a special, 
 but you and I are the only passengers, and neither 
 of us is sufficiently important. Besides, after this 
 delay, it ll be nearly daylight before we clear the 
 Customs." 
 
 "Then I ll have to sleep in Plymouth." 
 
 "Perhaps you ll be met by friends ?" 
 
 He had no sooner hazarded the suggestion than 
 an obvious conjecture flashed through his mind. 
 The marvel was that it had not flashed earlier. 
 She might be married. If the conjecture proved 
 correct, it would put the final punishing touch of 
 satire to this wild-goose romance. 
 
 Sweeping him with her pale, derisive eyes, 
 "Friends !" she murmured. "You may set your 
 mind at rest. I shall be met by no friends." 
 
 After that there was silence, a silence interrupted 
 at intervals by the exclamations of the players as
 
 30 THE VANISHING POINT 
 
 they thumped down their cards and raked in their 
 pennies. 
 
 For relief he reverted to the subject uppermost 
 in both their minds. "I wonder what became of 
 him." 
 
 "I wonder." Her tone betrayed no interest. 
 
 "I ve been trying to think back," he said, "trying 
 to remember when last I saw him." 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "I believe I last saw him alive just after " 
 
 She spun round, as though jerked on wires. 
 "Alive! Who suggests that he isn t alive?" 
 
 "No one. I m the first. But if he isn t found 
 by to-morrow, the suggestion will be on the lips of 
 all the world." 
 
 "I doubt it." 
 
 "You do?" Hindwood smiled. "Men of the 
 Prince s eminence are not allowed to vanish with 
 out a stir. I m only hoping that you and I are not 
 involved in it. We were the only people with whom 
 he associated on the voyage. We re likely to be 
 detained and certain to be questioned. For all we 
 know the air s full of Marconi messages about us 
 at this moment." 
 
 Her face had gone white. "About us ? What had 
 we to do with it?" 
 
 "Nothing. But when a tragedy of this sort 
 occurs, we re all liable to be suspected." 
 
 She gazed at him intently. "Then you think 
 there was a tragedy?" 
 
 "I feel sure of it. It s my belief that he either
 
 DISAPPEARANCE OF A PATRIOT 31 
 
 fell or was pushed overboard. Somewhere out there 
 in the darkness he s bobbing up and down. It s 
 almost as though I could see him. I couldn t feel 
 more sure if 
 
 She shuddered and pressed against him. "You re 
 trying to frighten me. I won t be frightened. It s 
 all nonsense what you re saying. Why should any 
 one want to push him over?" 
 
 "I m sorry," he apologized. "I didn t mean to 
 frighten you. Perhaps we re wasting our breath 
 and already he s been found." 
 
 "No, but why should any one want to push him 
 over?" she urged. 
 
 "I can t answer that. But he v/asn t liked. One 
 could be fascinated by his personality, but one 
 couldn t like him. Take yourself weren t you tell 
 ing me a few minutes ago how intensely you hated 
 him?" 
 
 She nodded. "He was the sort of man every 
 woman had the right to hate." After a pause she 
 faced him, completely mistress of herself. "When 
 did you last see him?" 
 
 "I m not certain." Hindwood hesitated. "As far 
 as I remember, it was after dinner in the lounge. 
 He was giving some instructions about his baggage. 
 When did you?" 
 
 "After dinner in the lounge." Her eyes met his 
 and flickered. "It must have been shortly after 
 eight, for I spent till ten in my stateroom finishing 
 my packing." 
 
 Before she had made an end, he knew that she had
 
 32 THE VANISHING POINT 
 
 lied. Several times after dinner he had walked past 
 her stateroom, hoping for a last encounter. Her 
 trunks and cases had been piled in the passage, 
 already locked and strapped. He had tried to dis 
 cover from the stewardess her whereabouts and had 
 been told that since dining she had not returned. 
 He had gone on deck in search of her, hunting 
 everywhere. It must have been shortly after ten 
 that he had come across two shadowy figures in the 
 bows. They were whispering together. They might 
 have been embracing. The man s figure had been 
 too dim for him to identify, but he could have sworn 
 that the woman s was hers. 
 
 He had reached this point in his piecing together 
 of evidence, when he noticed that the card-players 
 were pushing back their chairs. 
 
 Santa touched his arm gently. "I think we re 
 there." 
 
 The next moment the soft bump of the tug against 
 the piles confirmed the news of their arrival. 
 
 It began to look as if all hope of rest would have 
 to be abandoned. At the moment of landing the 
 dock had been almost festive. There had been a 
 group of railway officials, mildly beaming and fussily 
 important, who had approached Hindwood as he 
 stepped ashore, with "Prince Rogovich, if we are 
 not mistaken?" There had been another group of
 
 DISAPPEARANCE OF A PATRIOT 33 
 
 newspaper reporters who, having addressed him as 
 "Your Highness," and having discovered their 
 error, had promptly turned their backs on him. 
 
 There had been a Major in uniform, with a mono 
 cle in his eye, who had pranced up, tearing off a 
 salute and announcing, "I m detailed by the For 
 eign Office, your Excellency." 
 
 When they had learned that the Prince had un 
 accountably avoided Plymouth, their atmosphere of 
 geniality faded. The special train, which was to 
 have borne him swiftly to London, was promptly 
 canceled. Within ten minutes, muttering with dis 
 gust, all the world except two porters had dribbled 
 off into the night. 
 
 In the waiting-room where, pending the inspection 
 of the Customs officers, Hindwood and Santa were 
 ordered to remain, their reception was no more en 
 livening. At first, when they had entered, a lunch- 
 counter had been spread, gleaming with warmth and 
 light. Before mirrors, girl attendants had been 
 self-consciously reviewing their appearance with 
 smiles of brightest expectation. Their expectancy 
 had been quickly dulled by the news of the Prince s 
 non-arrival. They had scarcely spared time to sup 
 ply the wants of the two travelers before they had 
 started to close up. The ticket clerk had copied 
 the girls example. As he had pulled down the shut 
 ter of his office he had briefly stated, "No train till 
 the eight-thirty in the morning." 
 
 After that they had been left he and this strange 
 woman in the draf ty gloom of the ill-lighted dock-
 
 34 THE VANISHING POINT 
 
 station. The two porters had huddled down and 
 snored among the baggage ; Santa, closing her eyes, 
 had appeared to join them in their slumbers. 
 
 At last a solitary Customs officer had arrived. 
 He volunteered no explanation for his delay. He 
 was evidently newly risen, half awake, and in a 
 mood of suppressed irritation. His examination 
 was perfunctory. Having completed his barest 
 duty, he likewise made his exit. It was then, when 
 all their troubles seemed ended, that the porters had 
 informed them that it was necessary for passengers 
 to see their luggage weighed and personally to 
 supervise its being loaded in the van for London. 
 
 Hindwood turned to his companion. "You re 
 tired. You d better be off to bed. I ll see this 
 through for you." 
 
 Half an hour later, when he had complied with 
 all formalities and was free to seek a bed himself, 
 he remembered that he hadn t inquired where she 
 would be staying and that he .didn t know the name 
 of a hotel. Wondering where he should sleep and 
 how he could reach her with the receipts for her 
 trunks, he wandered out into the yard of the sta 
 tion. The first grayness of dawn was spreading. 
 A chill was in the air. Behind the sepulchers of 
 muted houses a cock was crowing. He gazed up 
 and down. Near the gate a horse-drawn cab was 
 standing. Its lamp burned dimly, on the point of 
 flickering out. The driver .sat hunched on the box ; 
 the horse hung dejectedly between the shafts. They 
 both slumbered immovably.
 
 DISAPPEARANCE OF A PATRIOT 35 
 
 Crossing the yard, he shook the man s arm. "Hi ! 
 Wake up. I want you to drive me to a good hotel." 
 
 The man came to with a jerk. "A good otel! 
 That s wot the lady wanted. You must be the 
 gen leman I wuz told to wait for." 
 
 Hindwood nodded. "So you ve driven the lady 
 already ! Then you d better take me to wherever 
 you took her." 
 
 He had opened the door and was in the act of 
 entering when the horse started forward, making 
 him lose his balance. As he stretched out his hands 
 to steady himself, what was his surprise to discover 
 that the cab was already tenanted ! 
 
 VI 
 
 "I beg your pardon." 
 
 There was no reply to his apology. He repeated 
 it in a tone of more elaborate courtesy, "I beg your 
 pardon." 
 
 When he was again greeted with silence, he added : 
 "I thought it was empty. I didn t do it on purpose. 
 I hope you re not hurt." 
 
 In the mildewed square of blackness, rank with 
 the smell of stables, he held his breath, trying to 
 detect whether sleep would account for the taci 
 turnity of the other occupant. He could detect 
 nothing ; all lesser sounds were drowned in the rattle 
 of their progress. Groping, he felt a woman s dress. 
 Hollowing his hand to shade the flame, he struck a
 
 36 THE VANISHING POINT 
 
 match. For a brief moment his eyes met hers, 
 opened wide and gazing at him. Instantly she 
 leaned forward, pursing her lips. The flame went 
 out. 
 
 "What s the meaning of this?" He had been 
 startled and spoke with sharpness. 
 
 "There was only one cab, so I " She yawned 
 
 luxuriously. "So I waited. I didn t want to lose 
 you." 
 
 It was his turn to be silent. After a pause, while 
 she gave him a chance to reply, she continued: 
 "You d have been stranded if I d taken the only 
 cab. And then I didn t want to lose you. Not that 
 losing me would have meant anything to you not 
 now. It wouldn t, would it?" 
 
 There was no escape. However she chose to ac 
 cuse him, he would be forced to listen. But it 
 couldn t be far to the hotel. Speaking reasonably, 
 he attempted to appease her. "I ve given you no 
 occasion for supposing " 
 
 She laughed softly. "Don t you think so? On 
 the boat you were burning up for me. You were 
 molten incandescent. Now you re dark and dank 
 through with me." 
 
 She caught her breath. Though he could not see 
 her, he knew that her small, clenched fists were 
 pressed against her mouth. Again she was speaking. 
 
 "Why is it? If you d only give me a reason! 
 While I ve been sitting here alone, I ve kept asking 
 myself: Why is it? Am I less beautiful, less kind, 
 less good? Does he think that he s discovered some-
 
 DISAPPEARANCE OF A PATRIOT 37 
 
 thing evil about me? What have I done that he 
 should have changed so suddenly? 
 
 With a cry of pain, she turned. "What have 
 I done? It s just that you should tell me. If you ll 
 take me back, I ll be anything for you. I ll try so 
 hard to be more beautiful." 
 
 "You couldn t be more beautiful." 
 
 It was said without enthusiasm. The suspicion 
 still possessed him that she was play-acting. Last 
 evening she had practiced these same wiles on the 
 man who had vanished. Did she intend that he 
 should vanish, too? It was horrible that he should 
 ask himself such a question, and yet he could not 
 rid his imagination of the snow-white hound, plung 
 ing to death and pointing at her like the finger of 
 conscience. The happenings of that night had been 
 sufficiently dramatic, so why this second rehearsal? 
 He was too humble in his self-esteem to believe 
 that his own attractions could account for such a 
 storm of passion. 
 
 "Santa, you re exaggerating." He spoke cau 
 tiously. "You never belonged to me. Until now 
 you ve given no hint that you wanted to belong to 
 me. On the contrary, you ve trifled with me and 
 shown a distinct preference for another man. It s 
 preposterous for you to talk about my taking you 
 back when I never had you. We ve been companions 
 for a handful of hours. We ve liked being together 
 at least, I have. But to create such a scene is 
 absurd. Nothing warrants it. In the ordinary 
 course of events, our liking might strengthen into
 
 love there s DO telling. But everything 5 !! end right 
 here and now if you force matters. What d you 
 know about me? About you I know even less. If 
 any one were to ask me, I couldn t tell him whether 
 you were a Pole or a Persian, or whether you were 
 single, divorced, or married. I haven t the least idea 
 of your social standing or why, while appearing so 
 prosperous, you travel without a maid and by your 
 self. For all I know " 
 
 "A man needs to know nothing about a woman," 
 she interrupted, "except that he loves her. She 
 might be a thousand things ; if he loved her, none 
 of them would count. If she were bad, he would 
 hope to make her good with his own goodness. Men 
 always expect women to do that ; why shouldn t a 
 woman expect it of a man? If you loved me and 
 you did love me no matter how wicked you thought 
 me, even though you believed I d killed some one, 
 you wouldn t care. You d find some splendid motive 
 and persuade yourself that I d done it for the best." 
 
 She broke off. Then she added, "Of course, I 
 haven t." 
 
 "Haven t!" 
 
 "Haven t killed somebody." 
 
 It was an extraordinary disclaimer as though it 
 were always within the bounds of possibility that 
 nice, conventional women might have killed some 
 body. She had said it as casually as another woman 
 m ^ht have said, "I don t powder," or "I don t 
 smoke." 
 
 He scarcely knew whether to be shocked or
 
 DISAPPEARANCE OF A PATRIOT 39 
 
 amused. He was loath to take her seriously. Be 
 hind the thinning darkness he was trying to discover 
 her expression, when his calmness was swept away 
 by a new disturbance. She had slipped to her knees 
 in the narrow space. By the dim light that streaked 
 the panes he could just make out her figure, bowed 
 against him. The next moment her tears were fall 
 ing, and she was kissing his hands. 
 
 "You mustn t, Santa. * 
 
 He tried to withdraw his hands. She clung to 
 them. Failing in that, he attempted to raise her 
 face. She kept it obstinately averted. The bump 
 ing of the cab on the uneven paving jostled her 
 against him; he feared lest inadvertently he might 
 bruise her. The situation was grotesque. It stirred 
 both his pity and his anger. If this were play-act 
 ing, then it was laughter and not sobbing that was 
 shaking her. But if her grief were real 
 
 At that thought the shy, lonely tenderness of the 
 man overwhelmed him. Here at last was a fellow- 
 creature who needed his affection. She was so 
 fragile, so capricious, so rapturous ! 
 
 "Poor Santa! I didn t mean Somehow I ve 
 
 hurt you." 
 
 She didn t speak, but ske stayed her sobbing. 
 
 <( Let me see your face." 
 
 He stooped lower. The scent of her hair was in 
 his nostrils. His reluctant arms went about her. 
 Their embrace strengthened. 
 
 With a moan she lifted up her face, white and
 
 40 THE VANISHING POINT 
 
 ghostly as the dawn that was all about them. In a 
 frenzy of silent longing their lips met. 
 
 VII 
 
 With a jerk the cab drew up against the pave 
 ment. Tossing the reins on the horse s back, the 
 driver was lumbering down. That Santa might 
 have time to compose herself, Hindwood leaded 
 quickly out, slamming the door behind him. 
 
 "Where ve you brought us?" 
 
 "It s a good otel," the man grumbled, on the de 
 fensive, staring at the gray cliff of shrouded win 
 dows. "It was a good otel you wanted. And then 
 it s h opposite the London Station where the train 
 starts in the marnin . It ll give the missis ten min 
 utes extry in bed." 
 
 "The missis !" Hindwood frowned. "If you refer 
 to the lady who s with me, she s not my missis. 
 
 The man became sly. Stretching a fat finger along 
 his nose, he edged nearer and whispered: "Between 
 you and me that s h alright. Wot wiv drivin so 
 many gentry from the Contingnong me own morals 
 are almost foreign." 
 
 Hindwood turned from him coldly. "You re on 
 the wrong tack. And now how does one get into 
 this hotel? Will they admit us at such an hour?" 
 
 "H at h all hours. H absolutely h at h all hours." 
 
 "If that s the case," he thrust his head inside the 
 cab, "you stay here, Santa. I ll go and find out."
 
 DISAPPEARANCE OF A PATRIOT 41 
 
 In a few minutes he was back. "They ll take us. 
 Go inside and wait while I settle with the driver." 
 
 When he joined her at the desk, he found it neces 
 sary to make the same explanation that he had 
 already made to the cabman. The night-porter had 
 allotted them one room, taking it for granted they 
 Were married. He had to be informed that two were 
 required. 
 
 "D you want em on the same floor and next to 
 each other?" 
 
 "On the roof if you like," Hindwood answered 
 impatiently, "only let us get to bed. We re, or 
 rather I m catching the eight-thirty train to London 
 in the morning, and it s nearly daylight now. How 
 about you?" He turned to Santa. "What train 
 are you catching?" 
 
 "The same as you." 
 
 "Then we might as well breakfast together?" 
 
 She nodded. 
 
 Turning again to the night-porter, he said, "Put 
 us both down for a call at seven." 
 
 The man was leading the way upstairs. As they 
 followed, Santa whispered, 
 
 "You see, you were mistaken." 
 
 "How?" 
 
 "You threatened that we d be detained and ques 
 tioned. You frightened me terribly. We weren t." 
 
 "No. We weren t." 
 
 She slipped her arm through his companionably. 
 "I feel so relieved and happy. I don t believe there 
 was a tragedy. The Prince changed his mind at the
 
 42 THE VANISHING FOINT 
 
 last moment; he s landing at Boulogne or Rotter 
 dam. It may even have been a strategy to mislead 
 some enemy who was waiting for him here in 
 Plymouth." 
 
 "Perhaps. I never thought of that." 
 
 Their rooms were on different floors. The porter 
 showed the way to hers first. Now that they had to 
 separate, Hindwood would have given much for a 
 private word with her. Discreetly, outside her door, 
 in the presence of the night-porter, they parted. 
 
 "Then we meet at breakfast," he reminded her. 
 
 "At breakfast," she assented. "And let s hope 
 that we don t oversleep ourselves." 
 
 VIII 
 
 It seemed to him that his head had just touched 
 the pillow when he was awakened by his door being 
 pounded. Sitting up in bed, he consulted his 
 watch. Seven exactly! 
 
 "I m awake," he shouted. With that he jumped 
 out of bed to prevent himself from drowsing. 
 
 His first thought was of her ; again he was going 
 to meet her. The prospect filled him with excite 
 ment, but not with gladness. His dreams had been 
 troubled by her; there had been no moment since 
 he had closed his eyes that he had been without her. 
 The wildness of that kiss, bestowed in the dark by a 
 woman humbling herself, had set his blood on fire. It 
 was not right that a man should be kissed like that,
 
 DISAPPEARANCE OF A PATRIOT 43 
 
 and yet he longed to reexperience the sensation. 
 
 "Any woman could have done it," he argued. 
 "This isn t love; it s nothing peculiar to Santa. 
 Any reasonably beautiful woman could have done 
 it by acting the way she acted. I had consoled my 
 self that I was immune from women. I was starving, 
 and I didn t know it." 
 
 His sane mind warned him that it would be wise 
 to avoid further encounters. She was too alluring 
 for him to withstand. There were too many things 
 about her that were unaccountable. There was her 
 frenzied display of infatuation for both himself and 
 the Prince, all within the space of twelve hours. 
 
 He was brushing his hair and viewing his reflec 
 tion in the shabby mirror, when he reached this point. 
 He stopped brushing and regarded his reflection 
 intently. What could any woman discover in those 
 features to go mad over? It was a hard face, clean 
 shaven, bony, and powerful, roughened by the wind 
 and tanned by the sun. It was the mask of an 
 ascetic, which concealed rather than revealed the 
 emotions. And yet once it had been sensitive; you 
 could trace that in the kindly blueness of the eyes 
 and the faint tenderness of the full-lipped mouth. 
 The hair was a rusty brown, growing thin about the 
 temples ; the nose was pinched at the nostrils with 
 long-endured suffering the brow furrowed. He 
 smiled in amused disapproval and went on with his 
 brushing. Not the face of an Apollo! Nothing to 
 rave about ! 
 
 And yet, despite his looks, here was at least one
 
 44 THE VANISHING POINT 
 
 woman who, for whatever reason, was desperate to 
 marry him. On the drive through the dawn from the 
 dock to the hotel she had left no doubt of her inten 
 tions. It inflamed his curiosity. Though he was 
 nearing forty, with the exception of that one disas 
 trous affair, women were still for him an untried 
 adventure. But in the case of Santa, to indulge his 
 curiosity further might lead to penalties. She was 
 liable to repeat last night s performance; the jour 
 ney to London would probably provide her with a 
 fitting opportunity. If it did, could he muster the 
 cruelty to refuse her? 
 
 On one point his mind was made up: he would 
 not marry her. He had no time to waste on mar 
 riage. With her it would be folly. Moreover, while 
 her breaking down of reticences had spurred his 
 eagerness, it had forfeited his respect. It had robbed 
 him of his prerogative of conquest. It had changed 
 him from the hunter into the hunted. He was all 
 but trapped. 
 
 "Trapped!" 
 
 He was fastening his bag. He pressed the catch 
 into the lock and stood up. 
 
 "Trapped ! Not yet. Not exactly." 
 
 Immediately his mind began to race, devising 
 plans for eluding capture. He didn t need to keep 
 his breakfast appointment with her. He could miss 
 the eight-thirty and travel to London later. He 
 could slip out unnoticed and take up his abode in 
 another hotel. Once he had lost her, he would have
 
 DISAPPEARANCE OF A PATRIOT 45 
 
 put himself beyond temptation. She would have no 
 clew to his whereabouts, nor he to hers. 
 
 As he passed slowly down the stairs, he was still 
 undecided as to how he should act. On arriving in 
 the hall, he loitered by the hotel desk, half deter 
 mined to call for his reckoning and make a bolt for 
 it. While he dallied, the yearning to see her for a 
 last time swam uppermost. After all, he owed some 
 thing to the only woman who had paid him the com 
 pliment of loving him. He would not speak to her, 
 would not let her know that he was there. He would 
 peep into the room unseen and remember her always 
 as waiting for him. 
 
 Bag in hand, he strode along the passage to the 
 coffee-room, where breakfast was being served. The 
 baize doors were a-swing with scurrying waiters. 
 Stooping, he peered through the panes. Pushing 
 the doors slightly open, he gazed more steadily. The 
 room was littered with ungroomed people, their heads 
 bowed, their elbows flapping, like a flock of city 
 sparrows snatching crumbs from beneath the hoofs 
 of passing traffic. Nowhere could he espy her, his 
 rarer bird of the dainty plumage. 
 
 He grew ashamed of his furtiveness. Why should 
 he be afraid of her? She shouldn t be disappointed. 
 She should find him gallantly expecting her. Re 
 signing his bag to a solicitous bell-boy, he drew him 
 self up to his lean western height and entered.
 
 46 THE VANISHING POINT 
 
 IX 
 
 Seated at a table, he had watched the swing-doors 
 for a full half-hour. He had finished his breakfast. 
 If he were to catch the eight-thirty, it was time for 
 him to be moving. He began to flirt with the idea of 
 postponing his journey; it was evident she had over* 
 slept herself. 
 
 At the desk, while he settled his account, he had 
 it on the tip of his tongue to inquire for her, but 
 he was daunted by the presence of the night-porter. 
 The man kept eyeing him with a knowing grin, as 
 though he were expecting just such a question. 
 
 "I won t gratify him," Hindwood thought. "The 
 fellow knows too much. It s fate, if I miss her." 
 
 He crossed the road to the station. Having se 
 cured a seat in a first-class smoker, he roamed up 
 and down the platform. Every few minutes he con 
 sulted his watch as the hands circled nearer to the 
 half-hour. He bought papers at the news-stand 
 and returned to buy more papers ; from there, while 
 not seeming to do so, he could obtain a clear view 
 of the hotel. And still there was no sign of her. 
 
 When it was almost too late, he threw caution to 
 the winds. At a gait between a run and a walk, he 
 recrossed the road and dashed up the hotel steps. 
 As he confronted the clerk behind the desk, he was a 
 little breathless; he was also aware that the night- 
 porter s grin had widened.
 
 DISAPPEARANCE OF A PATRIOT 47 
 
 "There s a lady staying here. She was to have 
 traveled with me to London. I m afraid she s not 
 been wakened." 
 
 "A lady!" The clerk looked up with the bored 
 expression of one who was impervious to romance. 
 "A lady! Oh, yes." 
 
 "She s a passenger from the Ryndam" he con 
 tinued. "Her name s Miss Gorlof. Send some one 
 to her room to find out at once " 
 
 The night-porter interrupted. Addressing the 
 clerk, he said: "The gentleman means the foreign- 
 looking lady wot I told you about the one in all 
 the furs." Then to Hindwood, "She was called for 
 at six this mornin . A gentleman in goggles, who 
 couldn t speak no English, arrived in a tourin* car 
 and drove off with er." 
 
 "Drove off with her. But " 
 
 Realizing that too much emotion would make him 
 appear ridiculous, he steadied his voice and asked 
 casually, "I suppose she left a note for me?" 
 
 The clerk glanced across his shoulder at the rack. 
 "Your name s Mr. Hindwood, isn t it?" He raised 
 his hand to a pigeonhole lettered "H". "You can 
 see for yourself, sir. There s nothing in it." 
 
 "Then perhaps it was a verbal message. She 
 would be certain to leave me her address." 
 
 The clerk turned to the night-porter. "Did she?" 
 
 The night-porter beamed with satisfaction. "She 
 did not." 
 
 He had achieved his dramatic effect.
 
 48 THE VANISHING POINT 
 
 He was the last passenger to squeeze through the 
 barrier. As he scrambled into his carriage, the 
 train was on the point of moving. Spreading one 
 of his many papers on his knees, he lit a cigarette. 
 He believed he was behaving as though nothing had 
 happened. "That I can take it like this proves that 
 she was nothing to mi," he assured himself. 
 
 Ten minutes later he discovered that he had not 
 read a line and that the cigarette had gone out. 
 
 "I suppose I m a bit upset," he admitted, "though 
 goodness knows why I should be. The matter s 
 ended exactly as I wanted." 
 
 But had it? What had he wanted? Does a man 
 ever know what he wants where a woman is con 
 cerned? He desires most the thing which he most 
 dreads. During the voyage he had wanted to win 
 her from Prince Rogovich. On the tug he had 
 wanted to forget her. In the cab he had wanted to 
 go on kissing her forever. That morning he had 
 wanted to save his freedom. On the station, like a 
 maddened schoolboy, his terror had been lest he 
 might lose her. 
 
 As a result he had lost her. Somewhere through 
 the sunny lanes of Devon she was speeding with the 
 gentleman who "couldn t speak no English" and 
 wore goggles. In which direction and for what pur 
 pose he could not guess. 
 
 He smiled bitterly. It was a situation which
 
 DISAPPEARANCE OF A PATRIOT 49 
 
 called for mirth. He had accused her of having 
 trapped him at a time when she herself had been 
 escaping from him. He had complained that her 
 affection was too ardently obvious at a moment 
 when she was proving herself most coldly elusive. 
 While he had been resenting the way in which he was 
 being hunted, she had already abandoned him to hunt 
 to his heart s content. 
 
 His reflections were broken in upon by a weak- 
 eyed old clergyman seated opposite to him in the 
 far corner. 
 
 "Excuse me, but I see by your labels that you ve 
 just landed. May I ask whether your vessel was 
 the Ryndam?" 
 
 "It was." 
 
 "Then there s an item in the local paper which 
 should interest you. It has to do with Prince 
 Rogovich, the great Polish patriot. He was your 
 fellow passenger, if I m not mistaken." 
 
 Hindwood was disinclined for conversation. He 
 made his tone brusk that he might discourage fur 
 ther questions. "You re not mistaken, and I guess 
 I know what you re going to tell me: that after all 
 the preparations made for his reception, the Prince 
 didn t land at Plymouth but, without notifying any 
 one, traveled on either to Boulogne or Rotterdam." 
 
 "But that wasn t what I was going to tell you," 
 the old gentleman continued in his benevolent pulpit 
 manner. "Oh, no, I was going to tell you something 
 quite different. After the Ryndam left Plymouth,
 
 50 THE VANISHING POINT 
 
 the Captain had her searched from stem to stern. 
 Not a trace of the Prince could be found." 
 
 "Extraordinary ! I suppose the news was received 
 by wireless. Does the paper suggest an explana 
 tion?" 
 
 "None whatsoever. I thought you d be interested. 
 Perhaps you d like to read for yourself." 
 
 The paper contained the bare fact as the 
 clergyman had stated it. "A complete search was 
 made. All his personal belongings were found in 
 tact, but of the Prince himself not a trace." 
 
 Hindwood closed his eyes and pretended to sleep 
 that he might protect himself from further intru 
 sions. He wanted to argue his way through this 
 problem and to acquit Santa of any share in what 
 had happened. And yet, if an investigation were 
 held and he himself had to tell all he knew, things 
 would look black for her. Was that why ? 
 
 He tried to crush the ugly thought, but it 
 clamored to be expressed. Was that why she had 
 made love to him that her kiss might seal his lips 
 with silence? 
 
 The train was slowing down. He opened his eyes. 
 In the cheerfulness of sunshine life took on a more 
 normal aspect. Towering above crowded roofs of 
 houses, a tall cathedral pricked the blueness of the 
 sky. 
 
 "Where are we?" 
 
 The clergyman was collecting his bundles. "Exe 
 ter where I alight." 
 
 As soon as he had the carriage to himself, before
 
 DISAPPEARANCE OF A PATRIOT 51 
 
 any one could enter, he reached up to the rack and 
 quickly removed the Ryndam labels from his bag. 
 Having done that, he stepped to the platform and 
 went in search of papers. The torn labels were still 
 in his hand. Surreptitiously he dropped them be 
 tween the train and the platform, some distance 
 lower down than his own carriage. He realized the 
 stealth he had employed only when Exeter was left 
 behind. 
 
 "Ridiculous !" he shrugged his shoulders. "It s 
 getting on my nerves." 
 
 In his most recently acquired batch of papers he 
 found no reference to the topic which absorbed him. 
 At the time when the London press had been pub 
 lished, the disappearance of the Prince had not been 
 known to the world. 
 
 Throughout the journey, at every fresh stopping- 
 place, he repeated the performance, dashing down 
 platforms in quest of newsboys and purchasing 
 copies of every journal on sale. He caught himself 
 continually eyeing his bag to make sure that he really 
 had removed all labels. He began to feel as if he 
 himself were the criminal. In his intentions he was 
 already an accessory after the fact. Whether 
 Santa was innocent or guilty, at all costs he had 
 determined to shield her. 
 
 Through the late summer afternoon, as he drew 
 nearer to London, his suspense began to die. He 
 was getting the later editions now ; none of them so 
 much as mentioned the affair. In Plymouth and
 
 52 THE VANISHING POINT 
 
 Bristol it had probably been of local importance. 
 He took courage to smile. What a coward dread 
 can make of an honest man ! 
 
 Afternoon was fading into the gold of evening 
 when they steamed into Paddington. By making 
 haste he could just reach the American Embassy 
 before closing time. It was likely that several com 
 munications had been addressed to him there. He 
 had cabled ahead to the Ritz for a reservation. It 
 wouldn t take him far out of his direction to call at 
 the Embassy on the way to his hotel. 
 
 In the stir and bustle of familiar London, the 
 nightmare of the voyage grew vague. He stepped 
 from the carriage like a man awaking. It thrilled 
 him with happy surprise to discover the old gray 
 city, plumed with smoke and smiling, waiting un 
 changed beneath his feet to welcome him. The very 
 smell of mingled gasoline and horses from the cab- 
 ranks was reassuring. Every sight that his eyes 
 encountered made him feel respectable. 
 
 44 Any luggage, sir?" It was a porter accosting 
 him. 
 
 "Yes. Two trunks. At least, I guess they re on 
 this train." 
 
 "Which van, sir?" 
 
 "The one from Plymouth." Then, with conscious 
 bravado, he added : "I m from the Ryndam. You ll 
 recognize them by the Holland-American tags." 
 
 The porter had gone to secure a barrow. While 
 Hindwood waited, gazing about him idly, his eyes
 
 DISAPPEARANCE OF A PATRIOT 53 
 
 were startled by a news-placard bearing the follow 
 ing legend: 
 
 DISAPPEARANCE OF A PRINCE 
 FOUL PLAY SUSPECTED 
 
 He swayed, as though he had been struck by a 
 bullet. He glanced round feverishly, fearing lest 
 he might espy another placard stating, "Santa 
 Gorlof Arrested." But no for the moment she was 
 safe. He thanked God for the touring-car and the 
 forethought of the foreign gentleman who could 
 speak no English. 
 
 Quickly he began to readjust his plans. If he 
 went to claim his trunks, there was no telling by 
 whom he might be met newspaper men, detectives, 
 officials from the Foreign Office. Moreover, Santa s 
 trunks were in the van. When he had explained 
 himself, he might be called upon to account for her 
 absence. There was only one thing for him to do: 
 for her sake he must get out of England. If he 
 delayed, he might be prevented. It would be unwise 
 for him to go to the Ritz ; he must spend the night 
 at some obscure hotel. The only place to which 
 he might be traced was the Embassy ; but he would 
 have to risk that it was of the utmost importance 
 that he should pick up his communications. 
 
 He was on the point of making good his escape, 
 when the porter trundled up with his barrow.
 
 54 THE VANISHING POINT 
 
 "Hi, mister ! Where are you goin ? I ll be needin* 
 you to identify em." 
 
 "I know you will." Hindwood turned on him a 
 face which was flustered. "But I ve just remembered 
 I have an engagement. I ll send for them later. 
 It ll make no difference to you ; here s what I should 
 have paid you." 
 
 The man, having inspected it carefully, pocketed 
 the half-crown. "It won t take long," he suggested ; 
 "me and the barrow s ready. And it won t cost you 
 nothink, seein as how you ve paid me." 
 
 "No time." 
 
 Without more ado, he made a dash for the nearest 
 taxi. "As fast as you like," he told the driver; 
 "the faster, the bigger your fare." 
 
 He fled out of the station at a forbidden rate, 
 but after half a mile the taxi halted against the curb. 
 Lowering the window, he looked out. 
 
 "What s the matter? Something wrong with 
 your engine?" 
 
 "We ain t been follered. You can calm down," 
 the driver assured him soothingly. "Wot s wrong is 
 that you ain t told me no address." 
 
 "Stupid of me! The American Embassy." 
 
 At the Embassy, having explained his errand, he 
 was requested to wait. Then, rather to his surprise, 
 instead of having his letters handed to him, he was 
 shown into a handsome room where, at the far end, 
 a gray-haired man was seated, sorting papers be 
 hind a large mahogany table. 
 
 Hindwood crossed the room and held out his hand.
 
 DISAPPEARANCE OF A PATRIOT 55 
 
 "I m Philip Hindwood, the railroad expert. I guess 
 you ve heard of me. I called in case there was some 
 mail for me. I had no intention of troubling you 
 personally." 
 
 "I m glad you ve come," said the gray-haired 
 man gravely. "If you hadn t troubled me, I should 
 have had to trouble you. There have been inquiries 
 for you. They have to do with a woman who goes 
 by the name of Santa Gorlof. The police thought 
 you might know something about her. It seems she s 
 wanted."
 
 CHAPTER THE SECOND 
 
 THE RETURN OF* SANTA GORLOF 
 
 OO Santa was "wanted! * Why she was wanted 
 ^ Hindwood did not dare to question. And the 
 police thought he could tell them something! He 
 could, but it would be something to put them off her 
 track. After kissing a woman, it wasn t likely he d 
 betray her. She might have committed every crime 
 on the calendar; it would make no difference. He 
 had learned his code of honor on the outskirts of 
 civilization, where law is more often defied than 
 obeyed. By his standards of chivalry, after what 
 had passed between them, he had no option but to 
 play the game by her. What did they think he 
 knew? Why should they think he knew anything? 
 He masked his anxiety with seeming unconcern. 
 Without his assistance, they could make little head 
 way. He must let fall no hint that would suggest 
 a sentimental interest in her fortunes. He would 
 be spied on probably he had been spied on already. 
 For all he knew, the clergyman in the train, the por 
 ter at Paddington, the taxi-driver who had assured 
 him that he wasn t followed, were detectives. Hence 
 forward he must live his life normally and in public, 
 
 56
 
 THE RETURN OF SANTA GORLOF 57 
 
 doing everything to disarm suspicion. Any diver 
 gence from his usual habits, such as staying in ob 
 scure quarters or canceling engagements that he 
 might escape to the Continent, would create the 
 impression that he was possessed of guilty knowl 
 edge. If he had to speak of her, he must refer to 
 her as a charming acquaintance and profess horror 
 that such a charge should have been brought against 
 her. 
 
 Following this line, he left the Embassy with the 
 promise that he would consult with the police at their 
 earliest convenience. From there he drove to the 
 Ritz, adhering to arrangements made before this 
 sinister thing had happened. To avoid being way 
 laid, he went straight to his rooms, having ordered 
 his trunks to be fetched from the station and his 
 dinner to be served in his apartment. 
 
 The suite allotted him was one which he had occu 
 pied on several previous occasions. It soothed his 
 ruffled pride to discover that his preferences had 
 been remembered. From the front windows he could 
 gaze down Piccadilly ; from the side he could watch 
 the green park, a lake of jade, imprisoned between 
 walls of granite. In the panes facing westward a 
 fairy city hung poised, tipped with flame and ensan 
 guined by the sunset. 
 
 Leisurely he set to work to bathe and shave, 
 stretching out the ritual and reveling in the re 
 covery of his self-respect. Slowly the sunset faded. 
 Before he had made an end, the golden September 
 dusk was drifting down. In the twilight he stretched
 
 58 THE VANISHING POINT 
 
 himself on the bed, waiting for his trunks with his 
 wardrobe to arrive. He felt that he could face 
 the police with much more calmness if he was clad 
 in the respectability of evening dress. 
 
 He must have dozed, for the room was completely 
 dark when he was brought to his feet by the sharp 
 ringing of the telephone. As he fumbled for the 
 receiver, he thought, "Well, I ve a good reason for 
 not seeing them. Pajamas aren t dignified." 
 
 Aloud he said: "Yes. Quite correct Mr. Hind- 
 wood. Yes, the Mr. Hindwood who s just landed 
 from the Ryndam. You traced me by my trunks ! 
 You were expecting I d claim them in person ! The 
 man from the Ritz is there! That s all right. 
 Thank you for telling me. What was my reason? 
 Certainly not. I was avoiding no one. What did 
 you say you were? A newspaper-man! I guess 
 not. I ve nothing to tell no. That s final. * 
 
 He had scarcely hung up when the bell commenced 
 ringing again. The next half-hour was spent in 
 refusing to be interviewed by invisible persons. It 
 seemed as though every journalist in London were 
 waiting in queue to get on to him. Some were suave, 
 some bullying; all were persistent. Didn t he know 
 that he owed it to the public to say something? If 
 a list of questions was submitted to him, would he 
 make a written statement? 
 
 To cut the clamor short, he instructed the hotel 
 operator to allow no one to opeak with him who 
 would not state his business. For the rest of the 
 evening he was "out" to any one who had to do with
 
 THE RETURN OF SANTA GORLOF 59 
 
 the press. After that the telephone grew quiet. 
 
 He switched on the lights. As he did so, he no 
 ticed that he was trembling with excitement. He 
 was furious. This assault had made him aware of 
 the unseen wall of hostility by which he and Santa 
 were surrounded. She hadn t a chance; the whole 
 of organized society was against her. The odds were 
 brutally unfair. Nothing that she had done could 
 warrant such unsportsmanly cruelty. So far it had 
 not been proved that she had done anything, yet 
 every one was willing to prejudge her. The pursuit 
 was cowardly. Whether he loved her did not mat 
 ter. It was a problem in knight-errantry : to protect 
 her he was willing to risk all that he was and had. 
 
 The arrival of his trunks gave him something else 
 to think about. When he was dressed, he felt ready 
 for every emergency. After all, he was not the 
 criminal. 
 
 He had his dinner spread against a window from 
 which he could watch the arc-lights of Piccadilly 
 strung across the night like a rope of pearls. He 
 tried to be persuaded that he was enjoying himself. 
 If the police didn t call on him within the hour, he 
 would saunter out to a music-hall and rub shoulders 
 with the crowd. 
 
 But would he? To what purpose? He would 
 have to go alone, as he always went. It would be 
 different if she were with him. The last nine days 
 had spoiled him for loneliness ; they had taught him 
 the romance of a woman s friendship. And yet, not 
 friendship she had asked for his affection. All his
 
 60 THE VANISHING POINT 
 
 life he had craved to give his love to some woman. 
 Until he had met Santa, his craving had been denied. 
 No woman had seemed to care. Because of that, in 
 spite of success, he had reckoned himself a failure. 
 He had attained everything power, position, wealth 
 everything except his desire. There had been 
 moments on the voyage when it had seemed to him 
 that his goal was in sight. 
 
 If she were to tap on his door, how would he greet 
 her? If she did, it would be like her; she could 
 always be counted on to do the unexpected. He told 
 himself that he would ask her no questions. He 
 would not upbraid her. He would comfort her in 
 the way that she understood best. When the police 
 came to interrogate him, he would place his arm 
 about her and answer: 
 
 "Gentlemen, if it is Santa Gorlof you are seek 
 ing, she is here. I have asked her to be my wife." 
 
 The scene as he conjured it was worthy of Dumas ; 
 he was thrilled by the gallantry of his imagination. 
 His ponderings were cut short by a sharp rap. He 
 sprang to his feet; it almost seemed that his dream 
 was to be realized. The rap was repeated. Outside 
 the door a page was standing. 
 
 "There s a gentleman downstairs. He won t give 
 his name. He says you left word, sir, at the Ameri 
 can Embassy, that you would be willing to see him." 
 
 "Show him up."
 
 THE RETURN OF SANTA GORLOF 61 
 
 II 
 
 Leaving the door ajar, he drew a chair to his desk 
 and commenced rummaging through a pile of docu 
 ments. He planned to create the impression that he 
 regarded this visit as of small importance. He was 
 anxious, even at the risk of appearing vulgar, to be 
 discovered in the role of an American money-lord, 
 every second of whose time represented dollars the 
 kind of man who was too influential to be bulldozed 
 by the police methods of a country whose citizenship 
 he did not share. He urged himself into a mood of 
 contempt by recalling the beefy caricatures which 
 pass currency in English fiction for veracious por 
 traits of Scotland Yard detectives. This fellow 
 would look like a constable off duty. When he sat 
 down, he would bulge at the neck and mop his fore 
 head with a multicolored handkerchief. He would 
 be awed by elegance into sulky stupidity but would 
 become pompously affable when offered a cigar. 
 
 "May I enter?" The door creaked. 
 
 "Surely. Come in. But you must excuse me for 
 a moment." Hindwood spoke without turning. He 
 pretended to be sorting the last of his documents. 
 The cultured tone of the voice had surprised him. 
 Perhaps, after all, his guest might not be a detec 
 tive. 
 
 "Sorry to keep you. Time s valuable. My stay 
 in England is short. There, that s finished. What
 
 62 THE VANISHING POINT 
 
 can I do for you?" He pushed back his chair and 
 rose to face his guest. 
 
 If the man s intonation had surprised him, his 
 appearance amazed him still more. He could have 
 passed for the colonel of a crack cavalry regiment. 
 His bearing was erect and dapper. His dark lounge 
 suit, with the light stripes running through it, was 
 so smartly tailored that one was apt to suspect 
 that he was corseted. His hair was white, his cheeks 
 tanned, his manner cheerful and commanding. He 
 was of less than medium height. With his bristling 
 mustache and pointed imperial he bore a distinct 
 resemblance to Lord Roberts of Kandahar. 
 
 Hindwood held out his hand with undisguised 
 relief. "Won t you sit down, sir? I m afraid I 
 must have seemed discourteous. The truth is, I was 
 expecting some one quite different. The boy didn t 
 announce your name or business." 
 
 The stranger accepted his hand with an ironic 
 smile. He did not sit down. Instead he asked a 
 question. "Wouldn t it be wise to shut the door?" 
 
 Without waiting for permission, he went to the 
 door and closed it. Before he closed it, he glanced 
 out into the passage. Having regained the middle 
 of the room, he gazed searchingly about him. 
 
 "No one here who can listen?" 
 
 Again taking matters into his own hands, he made 
 a swift and thorough investigation, peering into the 
 bathroom, stabbing draperies with his cane as with 
 a sword, feeling behind clothes in cupboards. He 
 left no corner uninspected in which an eavesdropper
 
 might be secreted. Last of all he approached the 
 window near which Hindwood had dined. For a few 
 seconds he stood there, staring down into the well 
 of blackness and the mysterious fairyland of shift 
 ing lights. Laying aside his hat and gloves, but still 
 retaining his cane, he remarked : 
 
 "Beautiful! Very beautiful! Exquisite with the 
 witchery of a woman s face, which masks a hidden 
 wickedness !" 
 
 Hindwood had been regarding him in silence. "I 
 have yet to learn your name and business," he re 
 minded him. 
 
 The stranger chuckled. "My name! I have al 
 most forgotten it. I assume so many. As for my 
 business, I m a secret service agent in the employ 
 of the British Government." 
 
 "Have you credentials?" 
 
 "A letter." 
 
 He produced from his breast pocket an envelope, 
 containing this message, typed on American Em 
 bassy notepaper, "This will serve to introduce the 
 gentleman who is anxious to consult you on the sub 
 ject of which we spoke this afternoon." 
 
 "Satisfactory?" 
 
 "Quite. Perhaps now you ll be seated. If you 
 smoke, I can recommend these cigars." 
 
 Again the stranger, with unruffled urbanity, be 
 trayed his alert independence. "If you have no 
 objection, I prefer my own." 
 
 "As you like." Hindwood was determined to con 
 duct the interview along the lines of social polite-
 
 64 THE VANISHING POINT 
 
 ness. Selecting a cigar himself, he notched the end. 
 "I m entirely at your disposal. There s little I can 
 tell. I suppose the subject on which you re anxious 
 to consult me is what happened on the Ryndam?" 
 "Yes and no." The stranger puffed leisurely for 
 a few moments. "The answer is yes, if by what hap 
 pened on the Ryndam, you mean Santa Gorlof.." 
 
 HI 
 
 "Santa Gorlof?" Hindwood feigned surprise. 
 "A very charming lady!" 
 
 The shrewd face puckered in a smile. The gray 
 eyes grew piercing beneath the beetling, white brows. 
 "So I ve been given to understand. She has a way 
 with the men, has our Santa. Even Prince Rogo- 
 vich, old hand that he was, fell for her. I believe 
 that s your expressive phrase in America. He fell 
 for her in every sense, especially when she pushed 
 him overboard." 
 
 Hindwood frowned. He realized that a cat-and- 
 mouse game had commenced, in which he had been 
 allotted the role of mouse. He resented the levity 
 with which Santa s name had been mentioned. If 
 the man was in earnest, the matter was too terrible 
 for jest. Though he had harbored the same sus 
 picion, to hear it stated as a fact appalled him. The 
 charge sounded dastardly, spoken in that pleasant 
 voice by this courtly English gentleman who was old 
 enough to be her father.
 
 THE RETURN OF SANTA GORLOF 65 
 
 With an effort he kept command of his compo 
 sure. "Of course you re joking?" 
 
 "Not in the least." 
 
 "Then, in plain American, you re accusing a 
 beautiful and fascinating woman of murder." 
 
 "Of what else?" 
 
 Hindwood shrugged his shoulders. "Pardon my 
 density. I didn t catch on. It was your appearance 
 misled me; you look so much a gentleman." 
 
 "I flatter myself that there are occasions when I 
 am." 
 
 "Then I guess we ll have to reckon this occasion 
 an exception. I might remind you that it s a woman 
 you re accusing and that the penalty for murder is 
 death. Scarcely a subject to make merry over with 
 a play upon words !" 
 
 "And you re reminding me," the stranger added 
 gently, "that, if she s a woman, you and I are men. 
 You re trying to tell me that, if my supposition is 
 correct, then all that ravishing caprice that we 
 know as Santa Gorlof will have to be ruthlessly 
 blotted out. Possibly you re picturing, as so many 
 of her victims have pictured before you, the wealth 
 of happiness that might be yours if you could win 
 her for yourself." 
 
 Hindwood s hand trembled as he flicked his ash. 
 "My dear sir," he drawled, "I m not twenty. I m 
 a hard-bitten man of the world. You credit me with 
 too much romance. In your profession you re 
 trained to spin theories. Please leave me out ; stick 
 to your assertion. You come to me, accusing a
 
 66 THE VANISHING POINT 
 
 woman of my acquaintance I can hardly call her a 
 friend of having committed murder. The charge 
 sounds preposterous. Why you should come to me 
 at all I can not guess. Before we go further, I have 
 a right to ask a question: is this mere conjecture or 
 can you prove it?" 
 
 "I can prove it." The stranger paused, studying 
 the despair his words had caused. "I can prove it." 
 Then he added, "If you ll help." 
 
 "If I ll perjure myself." Scowling, Hindwood 
 leaped to his feet. "That was what you meant. At 
 your time of life I should have thought you could 
 have found a less infamous way of gaining your 
 livelihood. There s your hat, and there s the door." 
 
 The mocking old gentleman went through the 
 dumb show of clapping his applause. He settled 
 himself more deeply in his chair. When he spoke, 
 it was with the lazy good-humor of a man at his 
 club. "You fill me with admiration. Your last atti 
 tude was superb. I have only one criticism to offer 
 of your play-acting; by letting your cigar go out, 
 you betrayed the perturbation you were trying to 
 disguise. It s been dead three minutes." He raised 
 his hand, delaying interruption. "Don t be angry. 
 I m not doubting your momentary sincerity. But 
 think back and then own that you also have sus 
 pected that she s guilty." 
 
 "Never." 
 
 "Humph! Your memory must be faulty. Allow 
 me to prompt you with a few facts." 
 
 Then and there, without hesitation or boasting,
 
 THE RETURN OF SANTA GORLOF 67 
 
 he detailed to Hindwood all his actions, from his de 
 parture from the Ryndam to the moment when he 
 had arrived at the Embassy. Hindwood listened to 
 the narration dumfounded. 
 
 "So you see," he concluded, "if I can tell you so 
 much as this, there is probably much more that I 
 could tell. You ve been infatuated by a she-wolf. 
 What she did to Prince Rogovich, she has done to at 
 least a dozen of her admirers. She would have done 
 the same to you. Because there have been moments 
 when you thought you loved her, you re unwilling 
 to hand her over to justice. You re even willing to 
 risk your own good name in her defense. It s sports- 
 manly of you, but she s undeserving of your loyalty. 
 When you know the truth, you ll thank your lucky 
 stars that I came to-night." 
 
 IV 
 
 Hindwood s face had gone ashen not through 
 fear for his own safety, but for hers. He was deter 
 mined not to believe a word of what he had heard, 
 and yet he was curious to learn. There was such an 
 air of complete conviction about the stranger; it 
 was impossible to doubt the integrity of his inten 
 tions. What he hoped was to discover some flaw 
 in his logic. Sinking back into his chair, he stared 
 in silence at the man who believed he knew every 
 thing. 
 
 Remembering that his cigar had gone out, he com-
 
 68 THE VANISHING POINT 
 
 menced searching through his pockets for a match. 
 
 "They re at your elbow," the stranger informed 
 him. "No, not there. On the table. I ve upset you 
 more than I intended." 
 
 Again they lapsed into silence. 
 
 At last Hindwood said: "I owe you an apology. 
 I ve been insulting, but the blame is partly yours. 
 You didn t explain yourself; you withheld your 
 identity. I was expecting a kind of policeman. 
 But I think you understand. Anyhow, I regret my 
 rudeness. Now tell me, who are you?" 
 
 "I m Major Cleasby, formerly of the Indian 
 Army. My main hobby is studying the Asiatic." 
 
 Hindwood looked up sharply. He remembered 
 the impression Santa had made on him, that if her 
 eyes had been darker, she could have passed for a 
 Hindoo princess. 
 
 "I don t see what studying the Asiatic has to do 
 with the disappearance of Prince Rogovich," he said. 
 "If we re going to arrive anywhere, what we need 
 is frankness. I think you ought to understand my 
 side of the affair." 
 
 The Major nodded. 
 
 "Then, to start with, I m unmarried not that I m 
 a woman-hater, but my life has been too packed 
 with important undertakings to leave me much time 
 to spare on women. I ve been a kind of express, 
 stopping only at cities and rushing by all the vil 
 lages. On the Ryndam I was forced to come to rest; 
 it so happened that Santa Gorlof was the village 
 at which I halted. The Ryndam, as you know, isn t
 
 THE RETURN OF SANTA GORLO* 1 69 
 
 one of these floating palaces ; she doesn t attract the 
 flashy type of traveler. The company on this last 
 voyage was dull dull to the point of tears. The 
 Prince and Santa Gorlof were the two exceptions. 
 I got to know her first and the Prince later. It was 
 I who introduced her to him. We were each of us 
 a bit stand-offish at first ; we drifted together against 
 our wills, in an attempt to escape from boredom. 
 Then we began to expect each other, till finally 
 We were two men and a woman, with nothing to dis 
 tract us ; it s an old story the usual thing hap 
 pened. I suppose you d call it a three-cornered flir 
 tation in which the Prince and I were rivals. 
 
 "At first Santa was strictly impartial ; toward the 
 end it was the Prince she favored. Fm afraid I got 
 huffy, which was distinctly childish, for none of us 
 was serious. We were two men and a beautiful 
 woman at loose ends, rather dangerously amusing 
 ourselves. At Plymouth, if things had terminated 
 normally, we should have come to our senses and 
 gone our separate ways. At most we should have 
 said good-by on reaching London. In none of our 
 dealings had there been the least hint of anything 
 serious nothing that would suggest a love-affair. 
 Speaking for myself, my interest in Santa had been 
 on the wane for several days before we landed. I 
 should have parted with her on the dock without 
 compunction, if this extraordinary disappearance 
 hadn t occurred. It was that that again drew us 
 together. Neither of us was willing to believe the 
 worst ; we both tried to persuade ourselves that he d
 
 70 THE VANISHING POINT 
 
 changed his plans at the last moment. At the same 
 time we were both a little anxious lest we might be 
 bothered with questions and detained. Probably it 
 was to avoid any such annoyance that she dodged 
 her breakfast engagement with me and escaped so 
 early this morning." 
 
 The Major thrust himself forward, resting his 
 chin on the handle of his cane. "That wasn t her 
 reason." 
 
 "You re presuming her guilt. Why wasn t it?" 
 
 "You forget the foreigner who wore goggles and 
 pretended he couldn t speak English. She couldn t 
 possibly have sent him word. The necessity for her 
 escape must have been foreseen and the means pre 
 arranged." 
 
 Hindwood puzzled to find some more innocent 
 explanation. "He might have been her husband." 
 
 "He wasn t." 
 
 "You speak as though you knew everything." 
 Then, with a catch in his breath, "She isn t ar 
 rested?" 
 
 "If she were, I shouldn t tell you." 
 
 "Then what makes you so positive that he wasn t 
 her husband?" 
 
 The Major drew himself erect, smiling palely. 
 "Because / am her husband." 
 
 Hindwood rose and moved over to the window. 
 He felt mentally stifled. He leaned out, gazing
 
 THE RETURN OF SANTA GORLOF 71 
 
 down into the pool of blackness, along whose floor, 
 like the phosphorescence of fishes, lights drifted and 
 darted. The sight of so much coolness quieted him. 
 When he turned, the Major had not moved a muscle; 
 he was sitting as he had left him, erect and palely 
 smiling. 
 
 "You ll not be surprised when I tell you, Major 
 Cleasby, that your last piece of information com 
 pletely overwhelms me. You come to me in the role 
 of a secret service agent, and now you claim to be 
 her husband." 
 
 "I m both." 
 
 "Do you mean me to understand that you re ac 
 cumulating the evidence that will convict your wife?" 
 
 "Convict her and, I regret to say, hang her. 
 Stated baldly, that is my purpose." 
 
 Hindwood perched himself on the window ledge 
 and regarded his guest intently. He didn t look a 
 monster ; he looked in all respects a kindly, well-bred 
 gentleman, and yet, if what he had just heard was 
 correct, there were few monsters in history who 
 could compare with him. Hindwood tried to picture 
 him as Santa s husband. He couldn t. He was 
 thankful that he couldn t. For a reason which he 
 did not distress himself to analyze, he didn t wish 
 to believe that she had ever had a husband. As for 
 the hints about her criminal record and her many 
 lovers, he utterly rejected them. Was it likely that 
 a woman so royal and aloof could have stooped to 
 the gutter? But if these accusations were not true, 
 what was their object? Either it was a case of
 
 72 THE VANISHING POINT 
 
 mistaken identity and there were two Santa Gorlofs, 
 or the object was to infuriate him with jealousy so 
 that he would blurt out all he knew. 
 
 He eyed the Major doubtfully. He wasn t in 
 sane. He didn t look a rascal. And yet, what hus 
 band in his senses ? He began to notice details. 
 
 The Major was less old than he had fancied at first ; 
 he was more worn than aged. Illness or tragedy 
 might have whitened him. It was even possible that 
 he had made himself up for the part he was playing. 
 His eyes were clear, and his hands virile. With the 
 mustache and imperial removed 
 
 "Major Cleasby, you ask me to accept a great 
 deal on your bare word," he said politely. "You 
 come to me with nothing to introduce you but the 
 most briefly formal letter. The moment you enter 
 my room, before you ll have anything to do with me, 
 you inspect every hiding-place as though I were a 
 counterfeiter or an anarchist. You boldly announce 
 to me that ever since I landed in England you ve 
 had me followed and observed. You use the results 
 of your spying as a kind of blackmail to induce me 
 to present you with the sort of evidence for which 
 you re searching. You trick me into telling you 
 about a shipboard flirtation with a woman whom you 
 say you want convicted of murder. No sooner have 
 I told you, than you declare that you yourself are 
 married to her. I ought to refuse to allow this in 
 terview to go further without calling in a lawyer. 
 I don t mean to be offensive, but your kaleidoscopic 
 changes put a strain on my credulity. I can t believe
 
 THE RETURN OF SANTA GORLOF 73 
 
 your story that you re a secret service agent en 
 deavoring to get your wife executed. When men 
 tire of matrimony, they find less ingenious methods 
 of recovering their bachelorhood." 
 
 The Major smiled with his patient air of affa 
 bility. "It isn t my bachelorhood that I m trying 
 to recover. It s my " 
 
 "If you don t mind," Hindwood cut in, "I d like 
 to finish my say first. One of the things that you 
 may not have learned is that I m here on a mission 
 of international dimensions. It concerns more than 
 one of the governments of Europe. I can t afford 
 to have my name mixed up in a scandal and, what s 
 more, I can bring influences to bear to prevent it 
 from being introduced. You may be anything you 
 like ; whatever you are cuts no ice. I m through with 
 you and with whatever you may imagine took place 
 on the Ryndam. You seem to think that I m con 
 cealing a guilty knowledge that would enable you 
 to bring this Gorlof woman to trial. You re on 
 the wrong tack. I have no such knowledge. The 
 longer you stay here, the more you waste my time." 
 
 The Major was on the point of answering when 
 the telephone rang shrilly. Grateful for a diversion, 
 Hindwood crossed the room. As he unhooked the 
 receiver, he glanced across his shoulder, "Excuse 
 me." 
 
 "Is this Mr. Hindwood?" 
 
 "It is." 
 
 It was the hotel operator asking.
 
 74 THE VANISHING POINT 
 
 "There s a call for you, sir. It s from some one 
 who s not on a newspaper. Will you take it?" 
 
 "Certainly." 
 
 There was a pause while the connection was being 
 made; then a foreign voice, a woman s, questioned, 
 "Eees thees Meester Hindwood? Eef you please, 
 one meenute. A lady wants to talk wiz you." 
 
 Coming across the distance, subdued and earnest, 
 he caught the tones of a voice which was instantly 
 familiar. 
 
 "Don t be startled. Don t answer me. There s 
 a man with you. Tell him nothing. If you ever 
 loved me, even for a second, don t believe a word 
 he says." 
 
 She had not been arrested! A wave of joy swept 
 over him. The uncertainty as to whether she was 
 arrested had been crushing him. 
 
 He waited, hoping she would speak again. 
 
 Shattering the spell with a touch of bathos, the 
 operator inquired, "Number?" 
 
 With that he rang off. As he raised his head, he 
 had the uncomfortable sensation that the Major had 
 turned away from watching him. 
 
 VI 
 
 "So you want to be rid of me!" The Major 
 glanced across his shoulder, at the same time making 
 no effort to remove himself. 
 
 Hindwood crossed the room thoughtfully and
 
 THE RETURN OF SANTA GORLOF 75 
 
 seated himself. "I ve made no secret of it from the 
 moment you entered." 
 
 The Major laughed genially. "I don t blame you. 
 You think I m a wronged husband trying to get 
 even, or else an unscrupulous detective baiting traps 
 with falsehoods. The situation s unpleasant for 
 you, especially." 
 
 "I m glad you realize it." 
 
 "I assure you I do. You ve given yourself away 
 completely." 
 
 "You think so?" 
 
 "I don t think; I know. What you ve told me 
 proves beyond a doubt that you re possessed of ex 
 actly the knowledge that would bring Santa Gorlof 
 to trial." 
 
 "You re imaginative." 
 
 "I m observant. You re wondering what makes 
 me so certain. The explanation s simple: I ve 
 studied Santa s tactics. Her strategy s the same in 
 every instance. When a man suspects her guilt, she 
 does what she did to you: seals his mouth with 
 kisses." 
 
 "This is too much." Hindwood brought his fist 
 down with a bang. "Do you go or do I have to 
 force you?" 
 
 "This time I ll try one of yours." 
 
 With astounding assurance the Major helped him 
 self to one of Hindwood s cigars, which he had pre 
 viously rejected. Without bravado he lighted it 
 and, having ascertained that it was drawing, con 
 tinued: "If you used force, you d regret it. You d
 
 76 THE VANISHING POINT 
 
 make certain of the unwelcome publicity you re so 
 anxious to avoid; you d miss a stranger story than 
 any Arabian tale that ever was concocted. You 
 think you can still touch bottom; as a matter of 
 fact you re already out of sight of land. You sit 
 there looking an average, successful American; ac 
 tually you ve become an heroic figure, adrift upon an 
 ocean so romantic and uncharted that it beats upon 
 the cliffs of every human passion." 
 
 Hindwood shifted uneasily. "So you re a fortune 
 teller in addition to being an ill-used husband and a 
 detective !" 
 
 Ignoring his sarcasm, the Major proceeded: 
 "Some time ago you accused me of ingenuity in the 
 means I had adopted to recover my bachelorhood. 
 It s not my bachelorhood, but my own and my coun 
 try s honor that, with your help, I m endeavoring to 
 recover. That sounds extravagant? But consider 
 what motive could be sufficiently extravagant to 
 compel a man to bend all his energies toward bring 
 ing the woman whom he loves to the scaffold? Be 
 cause I say it calmly, you doubt that I love her. 
 What man could help loving her? She s the last of 
 a long line of false, fair women who ve stirred up 
 madness and left behind a trail of ruin." 
 
 Rising wearily, Hindwood turned his back and 
 commenced fingering the documents on his desk. 
 "There ll be nothing gained by carrying this dis 
 cussion further." 
 
 With a question the Major recaptured his atten-
 
 THE RETURN OF SANTA GORLOF 77 
 
 tion. "Did it ever strike you that she s partly 
 Asiatic?" 
 
 Hindwood swung round, surprised into truth. 
 "What makes you ask it ?" 
 
 VII 
 
 "Even to myself," the Major sighed, "the story 
 which I am about to tell sounds incredible. My 
 reason for confiding it to a stranger is that, when 
 you have heard it, you may dispense with chivalry 
 and become stern enough to do your duty. To pro 
 tect a woman, whatever her age or looks, is an in 
 stinct as primitive as religion. When she happens 
 to be beautiful and the object of your affection, not 
 to protect her is a kind of blasphemy. You and I, 
 though you deny it, are both in love with Santa. I 
 am her husband, while you are no more than her 
 chance-met admirer. Yet you, in her hour of dan 
 ger, are prepared to shield her with your honor, 
 whereas I am among the most relentless of her 
 pursuers. 
 
 "The best part of my life has been spent in India. 
 I went there with my regiment when I was little more 
 than a boy. The fascination of an ancient civiliza 
 tion took possession of my imagination. I became a 
 student of it and soon acquired a knowledge of na 
 tive habits which was more fitting to a secret agent 
 than to a soldier. I learned to speak many dialects 
 and could pass myself off as an Asiatic with the
 
 73 THE VANISHING POINT 
 
 minimum amount of disguise. Instead of frequent 
 ing clubs and idling away my leisure in the usual 
 round of social futilities which make up the average 
 Anglo-Indian s life, I formed the practice of slipping 
 out into the night and losing my identity in the 
 teeming, Oriental shadow-world by which I was sur 
 rounded. 
 
 "On one of my wanderings when or where it is 
 not necessary to particularize I strolled into a 
 temple and saw a young girl dancing. As perhaps 
 you know, girls are dedicated to the worship of cer 
 tain gods and goddesses at a very early age. They 
 are for the most part deities who symbolize fecun 
 dity; the ritual with which they are celebrated is 
 gross. The temple girls are chosen for their beauty 
 and are trained by the priesthood to perform sen 
 sual dances, which are as old as time. They are not 
 nuns or priestesses ; their social status, if they may 
 be said to have any in a land where woman is at best 
 a plaything, approximates to that of temple slaves. 
 They are taken from their parents at an age when 
 sahibs children are in nurseries. From the moment 
 they are dedicated, their minds and souls are left to 
 stagnate; they are treated like performing animals 
 fed and drilled and degraded that they may em 
 ploy their bodies with the utmost grace. 
 
 "This girl, the moment I saw her, impressed me 
 as being the most fascinating human creature I 
 had ever set eyes on. I had pressed in with the crowd 
 from the evil-smelling, moonlit street. The temple 
 was dim with the smoke of swaying censers. Its
 
 THE RETURN OF SANTA GORLOF 79 
 
 walls seemed vast with the flash of gold and jewels. 
 At the far end, scarcely discernible, a huge god 
 squatted, gloating and sinister. From somewhere 
 in the shadows, swelling into frenzy, came the pound 
 ing of drums and the clash of barbaric music. 
 Across the open pavement, between the god and the 
 spectators, a chain of girls coiled and twisted like 
 a snake. 
 
 "At the time I entered, the dance was nearly 
 ended. It had evidently been going on for a long 
 while. One by one the girls were slipping down ex 
 hausted. There they lay disordered, with their hair 
 twined about them and their slim, bronze bodies 
 twitching. 
 
 "But one girl danced on, ever quickening her pace, 
 till she alone remained. She was like a streak of 
 flame, a will-o -the-wisp, a spring petal blown before 
 the wind: she seemed the symbol of everything that 
 is young and pagan. Her childish face was masked 
 in an unchanging smile. Her lips were parted ; her 
 body gleamed golden among the muted lights. She 
 stooped and darted like a lizard across her fallen 
 comrades ; with one leap she floated through the air, 
 perched for a moment on the knees of the god, and 
 vanished into his bosom. Instantly the censers were 
 extinguished, and I was carried out into the evil- 
 smelling street by the rush of the perspiring crowd. 
 
 "From that night it was as though I were be 
 witched. There was never an hour when that drift 
 ing blossom of a girl was absent from my mind. I 
 idealized her into a nobility that was more than
 
 80 THE VANISHING POINT 
 
 earthly. I flung aside all sense of caste and race. 
 I forgot that J was a sahib and over thirty, whereas 
 she was a dancing girl and little more than a child. 
 I excused my infatuation on the ground of magna 
 nimity, telling myself that if I could possess her, 
 I could save her from certain degradation. Above 
 all, I wanted to wipe out her houri s smile and to 
 cause the soul to appear in her eyes. Every hour 
 that I could spare, I disguised myself as a native 
 and haunted the temple. At rare intervals I caught 
 glimpses of her. And so six months went by. 
 
 "Gradually my desire strengthened into deter 
 mination. I was insane with chivalry utterly quix 
 otic, as quixotic as you are now. I had raised her 
 to such a pinnacle of worship that a liaison was not 
 to be contemplated. What I planned was to carry 
 her off and marry her. When you remember the gulf 
 which the Anglo-Indian places between himself and 
 the races he governs, you can estimate the measure 
 of my madness. Such an act would entail resigning 
 from my regiment and inviting social ostracism on 
 every hand. It meant ruin, but to my impassioned 
 mind no price seemed too high to pay. 
 
 "There was an old priest who, unknown to me, 
 had observed my comings and goings. One evening 
 he addressed me by name. While I was hesitating 
 as to what could be his motive, he volunteered to 
 obtain the gir! for me if I would reward him with 
 a sufficient bnbe. 
 
 "Three nights later, as I waited, a door in the tem 
 ple wall opened, and a muffled figure emerged. With-
 
 THE RETURN OF SANTA GORLOF 81 
 
 out a word, obeying the instructions I had received, 
 I turned away, and she followed. Through the 
 sleeping city we crept, like a pair of shadows. 
 
 "In the European quarter I had secretly rented a 
 bungalow which had long been deserted. It stood in 
 a wilderness of overgrown shrubberies ; a high wall 
 went about it. Not until the rusty gate had closed 
 behind us did I dare to acknowledge her presence; 
 then, taking her in ray arms, I carried her up the 
 path to the unlighted house. We entered. There 
 were just the two of us ; I had not risked engaging 
 servants. In the darkness I set her down and lighted 
 a lamp. As the flame quickened and I knelt beside 
 her, she uncovered her face. So far, I had seen her 
 only distantly. It was the moment for which I had 
 waited. Her face was white." 
 
 The Major passed his hand across his forehead. 
 His lips tightened. He betrayed every sign of a 
 man doing his best to conceal an overpowering emo 
 tion. He leaned back and gazed up at the ceiling, 
 blowing out a cloud of smoke. When he had watched 
 it disperse, he turned to Hindwood with a depre 
 cating smile. 
 
 "I hope I don t bore you. I ll omit the ardors and 
 ecstasies of my love-affair and stick to the bare out 
 line. What I discovered was that she was an Eura 
 sian. She was fourteen years of age a woman by 
 Indian standards, but still a child by ours. Her 
 eyes were gray, and her complexion was so light 
 that, with any one but an expert, she could have 
 passed for a European. There are millions of dark-
 
 82 THE VANISHING POINT 
 
 haired women with her coloring to be found in any 
 Latin country. Given the proper manners and a 
 European setting, scarcely a soul would have sus 
 pected her. Certainly no one would dare to voice 
 his suspicions who met her as my wife. 
 
 "Her history I pieced together from many conver 
 sations. Her father had been a tea-planter an 
 Englishman of good family. Her mother had been 
 a Burmese. They both had died in a cholera epi 
 demic; their half-caste child had been picked up 
 from the highways and placed in the temple. 
 
 "Seeing that I was out to be chivalrous, I made 
 up my mind to do the thing thoroughly. I hurried 
 up a furlough that was due me and, taking her to 
 France, placed her in a convent. My reason for 
 choosing France was that, when she became my wife, 
 there would be fewer chances of discovery if she 
 passed as French instead of English. In the south, 
 especially in Provence, there are many women of her 
 type descended from the Saracens. If you ve been 
 to Aries, you must have noticed them. At the end 
 of three years, when she was seventeen, I returned, 
 married her, and took her back to India. If any one 
 detected the deception, no one was bold enough to 
 proclaim it. Every circumstance argued against 
 such a surmise. She had forgotten much of the 
 English she had known, and pretended to speak only 
 French. I had coached her in her part ; she acted it 
 to perfection. By no hint or sign did she let the 
 knowledge escape her that she could understand a 
 word of any native dialect. So far as I am aware,
 
 THE RETURN OF SANTA GORLOF 83 
 
 she was accepted at her face value, as a young 
 Provencal whom I had courted in her own country. 
 
 "For some time my romantic folly brought us 
 nothing but happiness. We invented a legend to 
 account for her family, which, through continual 
 repetition, we almost came to believe ourselves. No 
 two people were ever more in love. Despite our dif 
 ference in age and the racial gulf which divided us, 
 no man and woman ever seemed more wisely mated. 
 Apparently whatever shameful knowledge she had 
 acquired in the temple had been blotted out by her 
 superimposed refinement. Even to me she betrayed 
 no hint of grossness ; she appeared to be as sweet and 
 innocent as the girl I claimed her to be the girl 
 I said I had surprised in the passionless tranquility 
 of a French convent. 
 
 "Her devotion to myself was pathetic it verged 
 on adoration. She was continually contriving new 
 ways of rewarding me for the horrors from which 
 I had saved her. To me the ground she trod was 
 sacred. I delighted in making myself her slave. We 
 competed with each other in generosity. With each 
 of us the other s slightest whim was law. She was 
 unbelievably beautiful, the most mysteriously beauti 
 ful woman in India. I was more than twice her years 
 and the envy of every man who saw her. Her beauty 
 seemed only the outshining of her goodness. Save 
 for an accident, I should never have known other 
 wise. 
 
 "We had been married two years when she bore 
 me a child. Our dread, when we knew that she was
 
 84 THE VANISHING POINT 
 
 to become a mother, was that our offspring might 
 reveal the Asiatic strain. We took every precaution 
 to hide the fact, if this should happen. But even 
 this was spared us. Our boy was blue-eyed and 
 flaxen-haired as any Anglo-Saxon. She worshiped 
 him. He seemed to symbolize Heaven s blessing on 
 the lie we practiced. He was never out of her 
 sight. In her fear lest he might develop some native 
 characteristic, she refused to have an ayah and 
 cared for him entirely. Wherever she went, she 
 kept him with her; he slept in our room at night. 
 So perfectly had she drilled herself that, up to this 
 point, I can not recall an instance in which she had 
 fallen below the level of a well-born white woman. 
 It was the finest instinct in her nature that proved 
 her undoing her mother-love that trapped her into 
 the self-revelation which produced our tragedy. 
 
 "Our child was a sturdy little fellow of nearly 
 two, just beginning to run about, when suddenly he 
 died. We had a house-party at the time. His 
 mother was playing tennis. While she was playing, 
 he was strangled and thrown down a well by a native 
 servant who believed he had been slighted. My wife, 
 missing the child, went in search of him in panic 
 and caught the native in the act of getting rid of 
 the body. Instantly she reverted to what her mother 
 had been before her. Snatching the man s knife, 
 she killed him before any of her guests could re 
 strain her. In the abandonment of her grief, she 
 became an out and out Burmese woman, scattering 
 dust on her hair, beating her breasts, and rending
 
 THE RETURN OF SANTA GORLOF 85 
 
 her clothes with the wildest lamentations. The fic 
 tion of her French origin was utterly destroyed. 
 There was no longer any doubt among those who 
 witnessed her that I was married to an Eurasian. 
 
 "Our position at once became intolerable. A half- 
 caste is despised the world over, but in India espe 
 cially. That night every servant left. None of our 
 friends came near us. We sat alone with our grief 
 in a deserted house. As her calmness returned, she 
 grew tragically contrite not contrite from any 
 moral sense, but because she had given away our 
 secret. She seemed incapable of appreciating that 
 she had done any wrong in depriving justice of its 
 victim. When I tried to explain to her that she had 
 committed a crime, she shook her head impatiently, 
 insisting that she had done what any mother ought 
 to do under the circumstances. When I pressed the 
 subject she became persuaded that I, too, was blam 
 ing her, and then that I had never properly loved 
 either her or her child. And yet I think I never 
 loved her more tenderly than at that moment. 
 
 "A week later, after miserable days and nights of 
 suspense, we received our sentence. Native sedition 
 was running high. The Government did not dare to 
 bring the wife of a British officer to trial. Such a 
 course would have proved too damaging to the pres 
 tige of Anglo-Indian officialdom. I was promised 
 that the scandal would be hushed up and I should 
 be given a new employment, if I would agree to ship 
 her out of India at once and to see to it that she 
 never returned. What it amounted to for me was
 
 86 THE VANISHING POINT 
 
 perpetual separation and for her perpetual banish 
 ment. 
 
 "I have often tried to arrive at a sane conclusion 
 as to how far I am the author of what she has be 
 come. Had I shared her banishment there can be 
 little doubt that her white blood would have kept 
 control of her poisoned heritage. Unfortunately I 
 had a living to earn. Professionally I was broken. 
 My savings were inconsiderable. I had her to main 
 tain. I was past mid-life and by leaving India 
 would have sacrificed the pension that was already 
 in sight. Moreover, I knew of no way of marketing 
 my training in any country outside India. So I 
 played safe and bowed to authority. I resigned 
 from my regiment and was transferred to the depart 
 ment of military intelligence. After knowing the 
 security of a home and wife, at past forty I became 
 a secret agent, a spy and a wanderer, a friendless 
 and unfriendly man, unsociable and socially unac 
 ceptable. As for my wife, aged only twenty-one, 
 she was exiled to England, a stranger in a gray, 
 chill country, bankrupt in her happiness, with no 
 one to defend her, taking with her the temptation 
 of her unusual beauty and the treacherous inherit 
 ance of her intermingled blood. 
 
 "There seemed no justice in the world for either 
 of us. The offending cause of our punishment was 
 the protective motherhood which had prompted her 
 to slay the killer of our child. But, to use your terse 
 Americanism, we were up against blind angers and 
 racial prejudices, which no amount of bucking on
 
 THE RETURN OF SANTA GORLOF 87 
 
 our part could change. So far as she was concerned, 
 even before her life had started, she had been con 
 demned. The initial sin had been her parents when 
 they had allowed themselves to create her. Before 
 she had seen daylight, the uncharity of mankind had 
 proclaimed her a half-caste and a pariah. From her 
 inherited fate I had tried to snatch her when I had 
 bought her from the temple. You may say that my 
 recklessness was nothing more than selfishness, 
 pharisaically parading as chivalry; in allowing her 
 to bear me a child, I had only reduplicated the crime 
 of her parents. Nevertheless, I had tried to rescue 
 her and could have succeeded, had not her mother- 
 love ensnared her. She was betrayed by the purest 
 instinct in her nature; she was shown no more 
 leniency than if it had been the basest. There lay 
 the cruelty that rankled. She was judged not by 
 motives, but by results. She would have been par 
 doned and applauded, had she been a full-blooded 
 white woman. 
 
 "In spite of all these accumulated injustices, I 
 believe she would have retained the strength to go 
 straight had there been any limit to our separation. 
 There was none. For all the comfort that I could 
 be to her, I might just as well have been dead or 
 divorced from her. I was all that remained out of 
 the ruin that had overtaken her, yet the most to 
 which she could look forward, save for brief meet 
 ings at long intervals, was that I would be restored 
 to her in my useless old age, when the glorious flood-
 
 88 THE VANISHING POINT 
 
 tide of her youth had receded. You see I am suffi 
 ciently unbiased to be able to plead her case." 
 
 The Major rose and, going over to the window, 
 stood with his back toward Hindwood, gazing out 
 into the night. Some minutes had elapsed, when he 
 turned quietly. 
 
 "Where had I got to ? Ah, yes ! To where I had 
 to send her to England ! I accompanied her to Cal 
 cutta to see her safely on the liner. Shall I ever 
 forget that journey? It had the gloom of a funeral 
 and the frenzy of an elopement. Actually my role 
 was that of a policeman deporting a miscreant who 
 happened to be his wife. We tried to pack into 
 moments the emotions of a lifetime. As background 
 to our love-making was the poignant memory of the 
 puzzled child, whom seven years earlier I had es 
 corted on the same journey, en route for France, 
 where she was to be made over into a sahib s lady. 
 In her wondering attitude toward the fortunes that 
 assailed her, she was little changed. She was still 
 startlingly unsophisticated a child-woman, danger 
 ously credulous and deceivingly unversed in mascu 
 line wiles. I had taught her to be so dependent that 
 I dared not imagine how she would do without me. 
 She was so artless. She took such pleasure in 
 admiration. Love was so necessary to her; it was 
 the breath of her life. Its misuse had been the 
 breath and the means of life of her Burmese mother 
 before her. 
 
 "Her complete lack of comprehension that I in 
 any way shared her sacrifice formed the most dis-
 
 THE RETURN OF SANTA GORLOF 89 
 
 tressing part of my ordeal. She assumed that she 
 was being exiled by my choice. She persisted in 
 talking as if she could stay, if I would only change 
 my mind. Though she did not accuse me in words, 
 she believed that I was ridding myself of her because 
 she had disgraced me that I was pushing her across 
 the horizon, where she would be forgotten and out 
 of sight. Up to the last moment she pleaded with 
 and coaxed me, as though it were I who was refusing 
 to repeal her sentence. The ship cast off, bearing 
 her from me with her broken heart and her embit 
 tered memories of the newly-dug grave, while I 
 turned back to ferret through the gutters of Asia, 
 that I might earn the wherewithal to provide for 
 her. 
 
 "At first she wrote many times a day ; then every 
 day; then regularly to catch each outgoing mail. 
 In the whole of England she knew nobody. In her 
 anger against British justice she wished to know 
 nobody. She was inconsolable, bruised in spirit, and 
 crushed in her pride. After the pomp and hubbub 
 of the East, she found London drab and melan 
 choly. From her lodgings in Kensington she poured 
 out her soul on paper. Much of what she wrote con 
 sisted of memories, the tender trifles which a mother 
 treasures about her child. 
 
 "Gradually, almost imperceptibly, there came a 
 change. A querulous note crept in, a questioning 
 of motives. Why had I sent her as far away as 
 England? Why had I sent her away at all? If it 
 were true that it was not I who had exiled her, why
 
 90 THE VANISHING POINT 
 
 had I not accompanied her? Was it because I was 
 tired and ashamed of her? It would have been 
 kinder to have left her to dance in the temple. Then 
 a new suspicion grew up, which betrayed an evil 
 that I had never traced in her. With whom was 
 I living? Some white woman? Was that why I 
 had rid myself of her? 
 
 "What answers could I make? It was like argu 
 ing with a spiteful child. Our misunderstandings 
 were as wide as the distance that separated us. She 
 implored and finally demanded that I should join 
 her. The more I stated obstacles, the more con 
 vinced she became that I was cruel, like all the 
 sahibs who were torturing her the proud sahibs 
 who thought nothing of a murdered baby, when it 
 was only the child of a half-caste woman. 
 
 "From then on her heart hardened, till at last I 
 failed to recognize in her any resemblance to the 
 gentle wife who had been so much my companion. 
 She wrote vaguely about revenge, a revenge that 
 should embrace the whole white race. Contempt 
 should be repaid with despising, hatred with blows, 
 blood with blood. Her beauty should be the weapon. 
 She seemed to have gone mad. Suddenly her letters 
 ceased. My remittances were returned; they had 
 failed to reach her. 
 
 "For what follows I have but one explanation. By 
 some species of unconscious hypnotism, so long as 
 I had exerted physical influence over her, I had had 
 the power to make the European in her predominate. 
 As my influence weakened with time and distance, she
 
 THE RETURN OF SANTA GORLOF 91 
 
 relapsed into the woman she always would have been, 
 if I had not found her : a smiling menace to the nobili 
 ties of both the races from which she was descended, 
 a human jackal following the hunt. That sounds 
 harsh? Then listen to the conclusion of my story. 
 "One day, six months after I had lost touch with 
 her, I was glancing through an illustrated weekly 
 when, on turning a page, I found her portrait gazing 
 up at me. She was photographed in almost the 
 attitude and attire in which I had first caught sight 
 of her in the temple. The very setting was similar; 
 behind her the huge god squatted, gloating and 
 sinister on her face was the unchanging houri s 
 smile. On reading the text I discovered that she had 
 leaped into instant fame as an exponent of Indian 
 dancing. You will remember that in the last two 
 years before the war the dance craze was at its height. 
 She had been acclaimed a great artist ; everything she 
 said, did, and wore was fulsomely praised and de 
 scribed. There was no false reticence about either 
 her or her admirers; she was frankly advertised as 
 being possessed of the most beautiful body in Eu 
 rope. She had given herself a French name and was 
 announced as being of French ancestry. According 
 to her printed biography, her father had been an 
 orchid-hunter who had taken her with him on all his 
 expeditions. On his last, in India, he had died; 
 she had been kidnaped for her beauty and sold into 
 the service of a Hindoo temple. From this bondage 
 she had been rescued by an Englishman of title who 
 had chivalrously restored her to her family in Mar-
 
 92 THE VANISHING POINT 
 
 seilles. There was much more to the same effect a 
 jumble of perverted truth and romantic lies, precisely 
 the kind of adventurous nonsense which appeals to 
 the sensation-seeking public. 
 
 "From then on, via the press, I was always getting 
 news of her. London, Paris, Berlin, St. Petersburg, 
 each in turn went mad over her. She captivated a 
 continent. Kings and emperors commanded her to 
 appear before them. Her tours were royal triumphs. 
 Little by little ugly rumors began to spread. There 
 was a Parisian banker who, when he had lavished his 
 all upon her, committed suicide, leaving his wife and 
 children penniless. There was another scandal; it 
 had to do with a Russian general who had betrayed 
 his country. At his court-martial he poisoned him 
 self when her name was introduced into the evidence. 
 As though a conspiracy of silence had broken down, 
 now that she began to be gossiped about, scandals 
 gathered thick and fast. Each new one was more 
 infamous than the last ; out of each she emerged un- 
 pitying and smiling. It was only her victims who 
 suffered. Her progress was marked by a trail of 
 death and ruin. Nevertheless, infatuated by the ex- 
 quisiteness of her body, men fluttered about her un 
 ceasingly, like moths, shriveling their souls in the 
 flame of her fascination. When the peace of the 
 world was violated by the Germans 
 
 Hindwood leaned forward, tapping the Major s 
 knee. "I can spare you your eloquence. The rest 
 of your story is common property. The woman you 
 describe stole the Allies* anti-submarine defense plans
 
 THE RETURN OF SANTA GORLOF 93 
 
 from her lover. He was a British naval officer, 
 temporarily in Paris. She was caught red-handed. 
 There was a sentimental agitation in her favor an 
 attempt to argue that as a physical masterpiece of 
 feminine perfection she ought to be exempted. It ac 
 complished nothing. She was a German spy, who had 
 sold men s lives for profit. She received and deserved 
 no more mercy than a rag-picker. After having 
 been encouraged in her sins because of her unrivaled 
 loveliness, she was led out at dawn in the woods of 
 Vincennes, where the body which had maddened thou 
 sands of eyes was riddled with bullets." 
 
 The Major s lips were smiling crookedly. "How 
 could she have been riddled with bullets," he ques 
 tioned, "when you crossed the Atlantic in her com 
 pany?" 
 
 Hindwood shrugged his shoulders. "If you insist 
 on propounding conundrums, it s up to you to supply 
 the answers." 
 
 "I can supply them. The person executed in the 
 woods of V r incennes was not a woman." 
 
 "That s a daring assertion. Who was it?" 
 
 "A distinguished French officer, a man who had 
 been crippled in defending his country and held the 
 highest awards for gallantry. In pre-war days he 
 had been an old flame of hers, whom she had aban 
 doned with more than her ordinary callousness. On 
 hearing of her predicament, he begged to be allotted 
 the duty of seeing that her sentence was properly 
 executed. The reason he gave was that he might 
 clear himself of the taint of ever having associated
 
 94 THE VANISHING POINT 
 
 with a traitress. He was put in charge of the guard 
 on her last night. Making use of his opportunity, 
 he exchanged clothing with her and * 
 
 Hindwood stifled a yawn. "You expect me to 
 believe this?" 
 
 The Major mastered his anger. "I expect you to 
 believe nothing. I m here to state facts and to warn 
 you that your friend, who now calls herself Santa 
 Gorlof, is the same woman. My appeal to you for 
 assistance in bringing her to justice is both personal 
 and patriotic. I am her husband; my honor is in 
 volved. I am also an Englishman ; all her intrigues, 
 even this last, in which Prince Rogovich met his fate, 
 are aimed against the friends of England one of 
 whom, I may remind you, is your own great nation. 
 All I can say is that each man has his separate 
 standard of loyalty. For me, an old soldier, my 
 devotion to my country is more important than my 
 compassion for an erring woman." 
 
 Hindwood rose. Uncomfortably, against his will, 
 he had been impressed by the stoical dignity of his 
 persistent guest. "You deserve that I should be 
 frank with you. Here s the truth I accept very 
 little of what you ve told me. Either you ve mistaken 
 my traveling companion for another woman, or else 
 you ve been trying to prejudice me with a fantastic 
 story. But even though I accepted your supposed 
 revelation, I should refuse to help you. On your own 
 showing, you re endeavoring to bring the mother of 
 your child to the scaffold. I should respect you more 
 if you left her fate to other hands. Disbelieving you,
 
 THE RETURN OF SANTA GORLOF 95 
 
 as I do, I regard the introduction of Miss Gorlof s 
 name into the discussion as rank impertinence. Your 
 coupling of my name with hers increases the coward 
 ice of your discourtesy. If you had convinced me 
 and I were eager to assist you, I couldn t. I know 
 nothing about her our acquaintance was the most 
 casual. In all probability I ve seen her for the last 
 time; I haven t the vaguest notion where she s to be 
 found. If your half-caste vampire actually escaped 
 the bullets in the woods of Vincennes, I advise you to 
 search for her in another direction. You may take 
 my word for it that if Santa Gorlof learns of your 
 activities, you ll find yourself in trouble. I reckon 
 myself some judge when it comes to character." 
 
 The Major drew out his silk handkerchief from 
 his breast pocket and flicked a speck of dust from his 
 immaculate white spats. With the utmost delibera 
 tion he recovered his hat and gloves. For a few 
 seconds he gazed out of the window thoughtfully; 
 then, turning slowly, he crossed the room. With his 
 hand on the door knob, he glanced back solemnly. 
 He passed his fingers across his lips and cleared his 
 throat. "When she has added you to her list of vic 
 tims, if she gives you time before she kills you, re 
 member that I warned you." 
 
 When Hindwood had recovered sufficiently from 
 his surprise to follow him out into the passage, every 
 sign of his unwelcome visitor had vanished. 
 
 He had scarcely closed the door and reseated 
 himself, when again there came a tapping.
 
 CHAPTER THE THIRD 
 
 HE PLUNGES INTO ROMANCE 
 
 HIND WOOD consulted his watch; the hour was 
 nearing midnight. He was surprised to dis 
 cover how the time had flown. The tapping outside 
 his door continued. There was nothing hurried 
 about it, nothing impatient. On the other hand, 
 there was nothing humble. It was a secret, intimate 
 kind of tapping, like the signaling of a woman to her 
 lover. It would cease for a minute, so that he began 
 to hope that he was to be left in quiet ; then it would 
 recommence. 
 
 He sat obstinately at bay, almost holding his 
 breath, not daring to move lest he should betray that 
 he had noticed. He was determined not to admit 
 this new disturber. He had had enough of danger 
 warnings and revengeful husbands. The only dan 
 ger that he greatly dreaded was the loss of a second 
 night s rest. 
 
 The sound was getting on his nerves. It was so ir- 
 ritatingly discreet and importunate. At first he had 
 tried to believe that his caller was a hotel employee, 
 but a servant would have taken silence for an answer 
 a good five minutes ago. If it had been any one who 
 
 96
 
 HE PLUNGES INTO ROMANCE 97 
 
 had a right to be there, the tapping would have been 
 bolder. Whoever it was, it was some one who had 
 correctly estimated his mood. 
 
 Tap-a-tap, tap-a-tap. An interval, and then, 
 tap-a-tap. 
 
 Getting stealthily to his feet, he tiptoed to the 
 threshold and flung wide the door. 
 
 "I beg your pardon." He caught her arm as she 
 stumbled back. "I guess I startled you." 
 
 "Shish!" She pressed a finger to her lips. "Let 
 me inside, so that I can sit down." 
 
 Giving her his arm, he led her to a chair. Having 
 returned and closed the door, he surveyed her at his 
 leisure. 
 
 She had the appearance of a peasant woman 
 dressed in her Sunday best, yet so great was her 
 dignity, she did not seem out of place in her sur 
 roundings. She was very aged ; her figure was shape 
 less and bowed. Her gray hair was cropped like a 
 bo} r s ; she wore spread over it, knotted at the 
 throat, a neatly folded kerchief of white linen. {She 
 was clad in a black gown of the utmost plainness. 
 Nothing distracted attention from her face, which 
 was as stoical with endurance as a gladiator s. You 
 could almost trace the riverbeds her tears had worn. 
 The fist of fate had punched it flat. It was a ruin to 
 which violence had done its worst, but had failed 
 to destroy its gentleness. And he had expected 
 Santa. Instead of feminine frailty, spurring weak 
 desires, there had come this woman, iron of will, 
 broken in body, ravished by years, with her tremen-
 
 98 THE VANISHING POINT 
 
 dous impression of moral strength. As she sat be 
 fore him, her gnarled hands resting on her cane, 
 pushing back the weight of her ancient shoulders, 
 she raised to him the dim valiance of her eyes. 
 
 "What can I do for you?" he questioned. 
 
 "Nothing." She swung her head from side to side 
 with the brooding fierceness of a decrepit lioness. 
 "It is you whom I have come to help." 
 
 "I !" he smiled. "I think you are mistaken." 
 
 "I am never mistaken." She gazed at him intently. 
 "I have come to help you to act generously. You 
 have it in your power to save a woman, perhaps at 
 the sacrifice of yourself." 
 
 He laughed quietly. "You mean Santa Gorlof. 
 I wonder when I m to hear the last of her. A secret 
 service man has spent the past two hours instructing 
 me what I can do for her. You must have met him. 
 He had scarcely left when you began to tap. He 
 tried to convince me that if I didn t protect myself 
 by giving him information which would lead to her 
 arrest, my name would be added to her list of victims. 
 A pleasant sort of threat ! I m afraid he found me, 
 as you will probably find me, disappointing. I m 
 not possessed of any incriminating information, and 
 I don t place any faith in her list of victims. She 
 struck me as being a very gracious and fascinating 
 woman. Beyond that I have no opinion about her, 
 either for oy against." 
 
 The old head sank further forward; the dim eyes 
 became searching. "Then you told him nothing?" 
 
 "I knew nothing to tell."
 
 HE PLUNGES INTO ROMANCE 99 
 
 There followed a deep silence, during which they 
 gazed fixedly at each other. She sighed contentedly, 
 nodding her approval. "So you are in love with her ! 
 That makes things easier. Even to me you lie to 
 me who am her friend !" 
 
 "I deny that I am in love with her, but what makes 
 you think so? * 
 
 "She thinks so." 
 
 "Then you come directly from her?" 
 
 He had been unable to keep back the eagerness 
 from his voice. Instantly he realized his indiscretion. 
 Pulling up a chair, he seated himself opposite her, 
 that he might lose nothing of her changes of ex 
 pression. 
 
 "You re the second unconventional visitor," he 
 said, "whom I ve received this evening. The object 
 of both your visits seems to be the same to associate 
 my name with that of a lady to whom I am compara 
 tively a stranger. We may have conversed together 
 a couple of dozen times ; when we parted, I never 
 expected to hear from her. Within the space of 
 twenty-four hours a man who claims to be her hus 
 band comes to me accusing her of every infamy. No 
 sooner has the door closed behind him than you enter, 
 asserting that I am in love with her. You must par 
 don rne if I begin to suspect a plot. For all I know, 
 you may be my first visitor s accomplice, employing 
 a more disarming method to get me to commit my 
 self. You tell me you are Santa Gorlof s friend ; you 
 might equally well say you are her grandmother 
 you offer me no proof. If she s really in trouble, I m
 
 100 THE VANISHING POINT 
 
 sorry. But I fail to see any way in which I can 
 serve her." 
 
 "If there were no way, I should not have troubled 
 you, especially at this late hour. As for her being 
 in danger, she has always been in danger. She was 
 born into the world like that. I am old very old. 
 I have no traces of it left, but I, too, was once 
 beautiful." 
 
 The trembling hands fumbled at the white linen 
 kerchief, loosening the knot against her neck. "Ah, 
 yes, I was beautiful. But I did not come to you to 
 speak of that. My friend, you are good ; I saw that 
 the moment I entered. I said to myself, There is 
 the man who could understand our Santa and make 
 her honorable like himself. The world has given 
 her no chance no, never. The husband who should 
 have cared for her tossed her aside like an old shoe 
 when, like all animals robbed of their young, she 
 struck out in self-defense. I see you have heard that 
 how her child was murdered and she was sent into 
 exile for taking justice into her own hands. Doubt 
 less you have heard much else. She is a woman who 
 would have done no harm to any one if she had 
 been allowed to remain a mother. But because they 
 scoffed at her motherhood, all her goodness has 
 turned to wickedness. Using her body as a decoy, 
 she has slain men of the race that persecuted her. 
 Because she could not get her child back, she has 
 become an outlaw, making society pay for her loneli 
 ness." 
 
 She paused, watching her effect.
 
 HE PLUNGES INTO ROMANCE 101 
 
 Hindwood had not removed his eyes from hers. 
 His face was troubled. "I don t think you know 
 what has been told me. The man who introduced 
 himself to me as her husband said that she was a 
 half-caste, a temple dancing-girl, who to revenge 
 herself had poisoned white men s happiness and 
 during the war had become an international spy, 
 working against the Allies, He made the assertion 
 that she was responsible for the vanishing of Prince 
 Rogovich. If these things are so, how can I, a 
 decent, self-respecting man " 
 
 Bending forward, the old lady clutched his hand. 
 "It was decent, self-respecting men who made her 
 what she is to-day." 
 
 He released his hand quietly. "You have not de 
 nied any of the accusations which are brought 
 against her. And yet, remembering her face, I can 
 not believe that she is bad. You want me to save her. 
 If by that you mean that you want me to pledge 
 myself not to give evidence against her, you may 
 tell her from me that I have no evidence." 
 
 "I don t mean that." 
 
 "Then what?" 
 
 "I want you to declare to me that you love her. 
 No, listen. There is still something in her that is 
 pure. You have made her conscious of it. You can 
 undo the wrong that has been done her and make 
 her the woman she should be, if you choose." 
 
 Hindwood rose from his seat and paced the room. 
 Suddenly he halted and swung round. "How did 
 you know that I desired her? Until you came, I
 
 102 THE VANISHING POINT 
 
 scarcely realized it myself. Why should you have 
 appointed yourself to tempt me you, who are so 
 old? Between sane people, what would be the use 
 of my telling you that I loved her? Though I re 
 fused to believe any of the libels against her which 
 even you seem to credit, there are two facts which 
 it does not seem possible to escape: that she is mar 
 ried and that the police are on her track. I have 
 been warned that when she traps men, she commences 
 by appealing to their chivalry. That s what s hap^ 
 pening now. Do you see where you place me? If she 
 is falsely accused, I brand myself a coward by run 
 ning away from her. If she is guilty, I endanger my 
 good name by having any more to do with her. 
 What I am waiting to hear you say is that this is 
 a case of mistaken identity that she is willing and 
 able to prove it." 
 
 "Will you help me out of my chair?" 
 
 When she was on her feet, she let go his arm and 
 commenced to move across the room. 
 
 "Where are you going?" 
 
 "To give her your message." 
 
 "I ve told you nothing." 
 
 "You ve told me that you love her." 
 
 She was on the point of leaving. With quiet deci 
 sion he put his back against the door, preventing 
 her from opening it. 
 
 "Madam," he said, "old as you are, you owe me 
 some consideration. Before you go, I at least have 
 a right to ask your name." 
 
 She smiled wistfully. The harshness in her face
 
 HE PLUNGES INTO ROMANCE 103 
 
 was replaced by a glow of tenderness. "Yes, you 
 have the right. I am called the Little Grandmother. 
 I am a readjuster of destinies the champion of the 
 down-trodden. I fight for those for whom the world 
 has ceased to care." 
 
 "But what have you to do with Santa ?" 
 
 "She has been oppressed." 
 
 "And because she has been oppressed, you overlook 
 any crimes she may have committed?" 
 
 "I am not God, that I should judge. If people s 
 hearts are empty, I reckon them my children." 
 
 "Let me ask you one more question. Did Santa 
 tell you that she loved me?" 
 
 The old head shook sorrowfully. "To act nobly 
 it is not necessary to be loved in return. Let me go. 
 Do not try to follow me." 
 
 Standing aside, he opened the door. "And we meet 
 again?" 
 
 As she hobbled out, she glanced across her 
 shoulder. In her gesture there was the ghostly 
 grace of the proud coquette who was vanishing and 
 forgotten. "Will you want to," she whispered, 
 "to-morrow ?" 
 
 II 
 
 Now that she was gone he realized that under the 
 hypnotic influence of her presence he had revealed 
 far more than he had intended. He should never 
 have allowed her to escape him. He should have in-
 
 104 THE VANISHING POINT 
 
 sisted on accompanying her. She had afforded him 
 his only clue to Santa s whereabouts. 
 
 At all costs he must see Santa. His peace of mind 
 depended on it. The thought of her would haunt 
 him. He would never rest until he had arrived at the 
 truth. Probably, until he had seen her, he would 
 never be free from the mischief-making intrusions of 
 anonymous intriguers. He dodged the theory of her 
 guilt, preferring to persuade himself that a con 
 spiracy was afoot, the object of which might be 
 blackmail. More likely it was a clever move on the 
 part of financial rivals to thwart his plans by dis 
 crediting him. If he could meet Santa, he would know 
 for certain whether she was a decoy or a fellow- 
 victim. Whatever his intellect might suspect, his 
 heart resolutely acquitted her. 
 
 It was too late to overtake the Little Grand 
 mother, but he was determined to do his best to 
 trace her. In the passage he discovered a solitary 
 individual collecting boots and shoes, which had been 
 placed for cleaning outside the neighboring doors. 
 
 "An old lady left my room a few moments ago. 
 She had short hair and a white handkerchief tied over 
 her head. No doubt you saw her." 
 
 The man rose from his stooping posture. "An old 
 lady with short hair! You say she had a handker 
 chief tied over it? It doesn t sound like the Ritz. 
 No, I did not see her." 
 
 Of the man at the elevator he made the same in 
 quiry, only to be informed that several old ladies 
 had been carried up and down.
 
 HE PLUNGES INTO ROMANCE 105 
 
 Descending to the foyer, he presented himself at 
 the desk. 
 
 "Isn t it your rule to have all callers announced 
 before they re shown in on your guests?" 
 
 "Most decidedly." 
 
 "Then how did it happen that an old lady, a 
 rather curious old lady, with short hair and a white 
 handkerchief over her head like a shawl, was allowed 
 to find her way into my room?" 
 
 "If you ll give me the particulars, I ll have the staff 
 on duty questioned." 
 
 As he turned away, he threw back across his shoul 
 der: "I shan t be going to bed yet. If you discover 
 anything you might report it." 
 
 Half an hour later he was summoned to the tele 
 phone. "About your visitor, sir; no one saw her." 
 
 Far into the early hours of the morning he sat 
 cogitating. What steps ought he to take to protect 
 himself? He could place his case in the hands of the 
 police, but if he did, he might stir up a hornet s 
 nest. Most certainly he would be compelled to post 
 pone his business on the Continent and to prolong his 
 stay in England. But more disastrous than personal 
 inconvenience, in going to the police he might be the 
 means of putting Santa s enemies on her track. They 
 would expect him to make a clean breast of every 
 thing; he would find difficulty in inventing convinc 
 ing motives to explain the shiftiness of his conduct 
 since landing. 
 
 If he could speak to Santa, he would know how 
 to act. If she were really implicated in the Rogo-
 
 106 THE VANISHING POINT 
 
 vich affair, his best way of helping her would be to 
 clear out of England. But if she could assure him 
 of her innocence, he was prepared to stay and back 
 her to the limit of his capacity. Across the jet- 
 black sky the silver moon drifted like a water-lily 
 a parable of Santa, moving immaculately among 
 rumors of darkest misdoings. Whatever she had 
 done had not quenched her purity. If she had done 
 the worst of which she was accused, her perverted 
 mother-love still clothed her with the tatters of a 
 tragic goodness. 
 
 He jerked himself irritably back to reality. How 
 could a woman who had spread death with her beauty 
 still retain her purity ? He had been warned that she 
 trapped men by appealing not to their baseness, 
 but to their chivalry. What wild-eyed feat of chiv 
 alry was this that he was performing? It was best 
 to dispense with casuistry. The accumulated 
 slanders to which he had listened had spurred his 
 curiosity. They had changed a modishly attractive 
 woman into a romantic figure a figure which, if 
 it were not noble, at least possessed the virtue of 
 lonely courage. 
 
 He would allow himself four days in England. 
 If he had not heard from her by then, he would go 
 about his business. Having to this extent set a limit 
 to his difficulties, he took himself off to bed.
 
 HE PLUNGES INTO ROMANCE 107 
 
 III 
 
 His first anxiety next morning was to scan the 
 papers. He had all the London dailies brought to 
 him and read them before he dressed. For the most 
 part they told him nothing new, merely recording, 
 with varying degrees of sensationalism, the indisput 
 able fact that Prince Rogovich had vanished. One 
 or two hinted at foul play. Several suggested acci 
 dental drowning. The bulk of them, and among 
 these were the most reputable, presumed that the 
 Prince had had private reasons for avoiding Eng 
 land and landing at a Continental port i/ncognito. 
 Santa Gorlof s name was not mentioned. He found 
 nothing to confirm the warnings of last night or to 
 alarm himself on her account. 
 
 It was later, while eating breakfast with the Times 
 propped up before him, that he came across an item 
 which set him viewing what had happened from a new 
 angle. He was skipping through a sketch of the 
 Prince s career, when he stumbled on the following 
 paragraph : "It will be remembered how last summer 
 the Polish women s sense of injustice concentrated in 
 a silent protest. For an entire week, day and night, 
 never less than a thousand mothers, each carrying a 
 dead child in her breast, camped about the Rogo 
 vich Palace in Warsaw." 
 
 Glancing back, he read more carefully the informa 
 tion which led up to the paragraph: "During the two 
 years following the close of the war, Poland, to-
 
 108 THE VANISHING POINT 
 
 gether with most of Central Europe, has suffered in 
 tensely from famine. Children have contributed by 
 far the largest proportion to the toll of death. For 
 much of this, so far as Poland is concerned, Prince 
 Rogovich has been held accountable. The national 
 wealth which he has squandered on equipping armies 
 might have been spent more profitably in purchasing 
 foodstuffs. The trip to America, from which he was 
 returning at the time of his mysterious disappear 
 ance, is said to have had as its object the floating of 
 a loan which would enable his Generals to maintain 
 their offensives for at least another twelve months. 
 While the land-owning party in Poland, supported 
 by French diplomacy, backed him up, his imperialis 
 tic policies Avere bitterly condemned by Polish moth 
 ers who had to watch their children perishing from 
 starvation in order that frontiers might be extended. 
 Already the death-rate was so high that it was im 
 possible to supply sufficient coffins. At mid-day the 
 main streets of Warsaw were jammed with funerals. 
 Many of these funerals consisted of only two persons : 
 a man and woman, themselves weak from want of 
 nourishment, staggering under the puny load of a 
 bundle wrapped in paper, containing the body of 
 the latest son or daughter to die of hunger." Then 
 followed the brief description of how the thousand 
 Polish mothers had camped for a week in protest 
 about the Prince s palace. 
 
 Hindwood looked up from his paper, gazing across 
 the flashing gulf of sunlight to where the azure sea 
 of distant sky beat against the embattled strand
 
 HE PLUNGES INTO ROMANCE 109 
 
 of housetops. If Santa had pushed the Prince over 
 board, had that been her motive that Polish chil 
 dren might no longer die of hunger? Perhaps always, 
 if indeed she had killed men, her purpose had been 
 to act as the scourge of the enemies of children. 
 The memory of her own dead child had urged her. 
 Mistakenly, but none the less valiantly, she had con 
 stituted herself the avenger of all mothers who had 
 been despoiled by masculine callousness. 
 
 What round-about journeys he was willing to 
 undertake if only he might excuse her ! Even though 
 he were compelled to admit her guilt, he was deter 
 mined to adjudge her magnanimous. At any rate, 
 she had not been apprehended. 
 
 With a lighter heart than he had experienced for 
 some hours, he dismissed her from his thoughts and 
 set out to fulfill his round of engagements. 
 
 It was three o clock when he returned. Im 
 mediately, on entering his room he noticed that a 
 sheet of writing-paper had been pinned conspicuously 
 to the pillow of his bed. Its evident purpose was to 
 attract his attention. On approaching it, he saw 
 that the message which it contained was printed in 
 large letters and unsigned. It read : 
 
 "// you wish to see her, follow but do not speak to 
 the widow" 
 
 It didn t make sense. What widow? The "her" 
 whom he could see by following the widow referred 
 presumably to Santa. But who had pinned the sheet 
 of paper to his pillow? How had this person gained 
 access to his rooms? That morning, when he went
 
 110 THE VANISHING POINT 
 
 out, he had locked his door and left his key at the 
 hotel desk. He had in his possession confidential 
 papers of almost state importance. If their secrets 
 were shared, he might just as well pack up and re 
 turn to America. His sense that he was the storm- 
 center of a conspiracy strengthened. 
 
 Seizing his hat and gloves, he hurried down-stairs. 
 He had just time to lodge a complaint with the 
 management before keeping his next appointment. 
 
 He had alighted from the elevator and was about 
 to cross the foyer, when a woman rose from a chair 
 near by and passed immediately in front of him. 
 He jerked himself up with a murmured apology; 
 then noticed that she was gowned in the heaviest 
 widow s mourning. A coincidence, he thought, and 
 yet not so very extraordinary ! He was proceeding 
 on his journey, when his eyes chanced to follow her. 
 She had halted uncertainly, as though she had for 
 gotten something; by the poise of her head, he 
 guessed that behind her veil she was gazing at him. 
 More to satisfy his curiosity than as the preface to 
 an adventure, he also halted. Somewhat ostenta 
 tiously he drew from his pocket the sheet of note- 
 paper which he had found pinned to his pillow. Un 
 folding it, he reread its printed message: 
 
 "If you wish to see her, follow but do not speak to 
 the widow." 
 
 He looked up. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, the 
 veiled figure nodded. He made a step, as if to ap 
 proach her. Instantly she turned and passed out.
 
 HE PLUNGES INTO ROMANCE 111 
 
 Without further consideration, in his eagerness to see 
 what she would do next, he followed. 
 
 IV 
 
 He had expected that outside the hotel, in the 
 throng of anonymous traffic, she would wait for him. 
 Without giving any further sign that she was aware 
 of him, she moved quietly through the fashionable 
 crowd of Piccadilly and turned into the sunlit leisure 
 of St. James Street. The unconscious gaiety of 
 her way of walking was strangely out of keeping 
 with her garments of bereavement. Hindwood s 
 curiosity was piqued. In a shamefaced way he was 
 overwhelmingly interested. He felt himself capable 
 of a great romance. For the moment he was almost 
 grateful for the annoyances that had presented him 
 with so thrilling an opportunity. 
 
 What was he meant to do? The message had for 
 bidden him to accost her. He had been ordered 
 merely to follow. How long and whither? At the 
 Foreign Office a high official was waiting for him, 
 expecting every minute to hear him announced. To 
 wander through London after an unknown woman 
 was the trick of a gallant or a moonstruck boy. He 
 was neither. He was a man of discretion, who aimed 
 at becoming the advisor of statesmen and yet his 
 conduct was open to every misinterpretation. He 
 began to feel himself a scoundrel. For a man whose
 
 THE VANISHING POINT 
 
 emotions had always been shepherded, the sensation 
 was exciting and not wholly unpleasant. 
 
 If he could only learn something about her! 
 Crossing to the opposite pavement, he hurried his 
 pace till he was abreast of her. 
 
 She was young. Her figure was slight and up 
 right. She was about the same build as Santa, but 
 seemed taller. If she were indeed Santa, this impres 
 sion of added height might be due to the somber- 
 ness of her attire. She was so carefully veiled that 
 even her hair was hidden ; there was no feature by 
 which he could identify her. He tried another ex 
 periment. Recrossing the street to a point some dis 
 tance ahead, he loitered before a shop, making a 
 self-conscious pretense of studying its wares. He 
 heard the rustle of her crepe as she drew near him. 
 She went by him so closely that she almost touched 
 him. He was conscious of the faint fragrance of her 
 perfume. In the window he caught the dim reflection 
 of her figure. At the moment that she was im 
 mediately behind him, she moved her head in a back 
 ward gesture, seeming to indicate that he should 
 follow. When he turned to obey, she was drifting 
 through the September sunshine, completely self- 
 absorbed and unnoticing. 
 
 Traveling the yard of St. James Palace, she en 
 tered the Mall. There she hesitated, giving him time 
 to catch up with her. A taxi was crawling by. She 
 hailed it. Addressing the driver, but glancing di 
 rectly at himself, she said in a sweet, distinct voice: 
 
 "Victoria Station. The Brighton platform."
 
 HE PLUNGES INTO ROMANCE 113 
 
 Was she Santa? The voice had sounded different, 
 yet, had his life depended on it, he could not have 
 decided. There was only one way of finding out 
 by joining her on the Brighton platform. This would 
 mean missing his appointment at the Foreign Office. 
 He was prepared to make the sacrifice, but he had 
 no guarantee that the chase would end there. It was 
 possible that she would still refuse to satisfy his 
 curiosity and compel him to accompany her further. 
 His role was that of the incautious fly. But who 
 was the master-spinner of this web in which it was in 
 tended that he should become entangled ? Was it the 
 Little Grandmother? He had asked her whether 
 they would meet again. In the light of present hap 
 penings, her answer took on a sinister meaning, "Will 
 you want to to-morrow?" 
 
 As he stood there in the sunshine of the Mall, with 
 the thud of fashionable equipages flashing by, a 
 sullen conviction grew up within him that he was 
 becoming afraid. An empty taxi hove in sight. He 
 beckoned. Before it had halted, he was standing 
 on the running-board. 
 
 "To Victoria Station. The Brighton platform." 
 
 The driver took his brevity for a sign that a train 
 was to be caught by the narrowest of margins. He 
 made such speed that they drew up against the curb 
 just as the widow s vehicle was departing. She threw 
 him a furtive glance from behind her veil, then turned
 
 114 THE VANISHING POINT 
 
 and moved away as though he were the completest 
 stranger. Imitating her discretion, he followed at a 
 distance. 
 
 Halting before the ticket-office, she produced her 
 purse. He edged nearer; it was necessary that he 
 should learn her destination. 
 
 "A first-class single to Seafold," he heard her say. 
 
 When his turn came, he repeated her words, 
 adding: "How long before it starts?" 
 
 "Five minutes," the clerk told him. 
 
 As he gathered up his change, he was surprised to 
 observe how little was left out of his pound. He had 
 supposed Seafold would prove to be a suburb. By 
 the cost of his ticket he estimated that it must be a 
 journey of at least sixty miles. Was it worth the 
 taking? Could he return that same evening? He 
 might get stranded. If that happened, he was unpre 
 pared to spend the night. These considerations were 
 swept aside when he noticed that the widow had once 
 more vanished. 
 
 Accosting a porter, "The Seafold platform?" 
 he asked breathlessly. 
 
 "Same as the one for Brighton." 
 
 "That tells me nothing. There s no luggage. 
 Show me." 
 
 Before he had passed the barrier, he was aware 
 that the train was crowded. In third-class compart 
 ments passengers were standing. To discover any 
 one under these circumstances would be a labor of 
 patience. Carriage-doors were being banged and 
 locked. Even at this final moment his habitual cau-
 
 HE PLUNGES INTO ROMANCE 115 
 
 tion reasserted itself. What else but folly could 
 result from an adventure so recklessly undertaken? 
 
 The porter caught him by the arm. " Ere you 
 are, mister. Op in. You re lucky." 
 
 No sooner had he squeezed himself into the re 
 maining seat than, with a groaning jerk, the train 
 started. 
 
 VI 
 
 Lucky! The luckiest thing that could have hap 
 pened to him would have been to be left behind. 
 Here he was, following a woman whose face he had 
 not seen, to a place which, up to a few moments 
 ago, he had not known existed. Even to believe that 
 he was following her required optimism; he had no 
 proof that she was on the train. Probably it had 
 been part of her strategy to send him scurrying on 
 this fool s errand, in order that her accomplices 
 might be undisturbed while they ransacked his rooms 
 in his absence. 
 
 "I ll make an end of this nonsense," he told him 
 self, "by alighting at the next stopping-place." 
 
 But Where was the next stopping-place? He 
 glanced along the double row of his fellow-passengers, 
 barricaded behind their papers. He wanted to ask 
 his question and watched for an opportunity. At 
 last, losing patience, he nudged the man beside him. 
 
 "Excuse me, sir; Fm a stranger. I ve made a 
 mistake. My ticket s to Seafold, wherever that may 
 be, and I"
 
 116 THE VANISHING POINT 
 
 With his nose still glued to the page, the man mut 
 tered : "That s all right. You don t need to worry. 
 It s where you re going." 
 
 "But it isn t all right," Hindwood contradicted 
 with a shade of annoyance. "I don ; t want to go to 
 Seafold ; I want to return to London. What I m try 
 ing to ask you is where can I get out?" 
 
 "Lewes, if you think it s worth while." 
 
 "Why shouldn t I think it s worth while?" 
 
 The paper rustled testily and was raised a few 
 inches higher. "Because Lewes is almost at Seafold. 
 It s the junction where you change the one and only 
 stop between here and Brighton." 
 
 Turning away disgustedly, he watched the swiftly 
 changing landscape. Everything that met his eyes 
 was beautiful, with a domestic, thought-out, under 
 lying tenderness. It had all been planned, that was 
 what he felt, by the loving labor of countless gener 
 ations. In a homeless man like himself the sight 
 created a realization of forlornness. He had traveled 
 five continents and had planted his affections no 
 where. It was the same with his human relations. 
 He could reckon his acquaintances by the thousand, 
 yet there was no one to whom he was indispensably 
 dear. By a mental transition, the implication of 
 which he scarcely appreciated, he began to think of 
 Santa. 
 
 They were slowing down. He was surprised to 
 discover that an hour had gone by. The man at his 
 side folded up his paper. Now that they were about 
 to part, he considered it safe to be friendly.
 
 HE PLUNGES INTO ROMANCE 117 
 
 "We re coming into Lewes," he said with a smile. 
 "The Seafold train will be waiting just across the 
 platform. You can t miss it." 
 
 Hindwood thanked him brusquely. 
 
 What to do next ? If he were fortunate in catch 
 ing an express, he could be in London in time to dine. 
 As he stepped out, he saw the Seafold local waiting. 
 What good would it do him to go to Seafold? Yet 
 to quit now would be humiliatingly unadventurous. 
 He was moving slowly towards the stair, when he 
 was arrested by a voice. 
 
 "If you wouldn t mind? It was stupid of me to 
 drop it." 
 
 He turned sharply. She was leaning out of a 
 carriage window which he was in the act of passing. 
 
 Without giving him time to question, she ex 
 plained: "My ticket it slipped from my hand. 
 There it is behind you." 
 
 The moment he had stooped and returned it, she 
 withdrew herself. It had happened so quickly that 
 he had no chance to guess at the features behind the 
 heavy veil. With a promptitude of decision which 
 almost deceived himself, as though he had never har 
 bored any other intention, he opened the door and 
 clambered into the carriage next to hers. 
 
 "That s that," he thought, smiling tolerantly at 
 his relieved sense of satisfaction. And then, "It was 
 no accident. She saw that I was giving up the 
 chase. She did it to keep me going. What s her 
 game?" 
 
 Whatever her game was, he was well on the road to
 
 118 THE VANISHING POINT 
 
 enlightenment. The engine was puffing through a 
 valley, across salt-marshes intersected by dykes and 
 sluggish streams, where derelict boats lay sunken 
 in the mud, rotting among the wild-flowers. Grazing 
 sheep made the quiet plaintive with their cries. 
 Gulls, disturbed by the train s impetuous onrush, 
 rose and drifted lazily into the peace that slum 
 bered further inland. Of a sudden, with a gesture 
 of exaltation, the gleaming chalk-cliffs of the coast 
 leaped into sight and beyond them the dull flash of 
 the Channel. 
 
 He was clamorous with excitement. Curiosity beat 
 masterfully on the door of the future. He had 
 to find out. Why had he been brought here ? What 
 had Santa to do with it? Who was the woman in the 
 next compartment? 
 
 They had halted several times. Each time he had 
 watched carefully to see whether she was eluding him. 
 Again their speed was slackening. They were enter 
 ing a little, sandy town, dotted with red-brick villas, 
 bleached by the wind and sun. He caught glimpses 
 between the houses of a battered esplanade, of con 
 crete breakwaters partly destroyed, of a pebbly 
 beach alternately sucked down and quarrelsomely 
 hurled back by the waves. Over all hung the haunt 
 ing fragrance of salt, and gorse, and wild thyme. 
 
 They had come to a standstill. Passengers were 
 climbing out and greeting friends. A porter flung 
 wide the door of his carriage, shouting, "Seafold! 
 Seafold!" 
 
 Having watched her alight, he followed. She was
 
 HE PLUNGES INTO ROMANCE 119 
 
 a few paces ahead, picking her way daintily through 
 the crowd. Again she was all discretion and gave no 
 hint that she had noticed him. Outside the gate, cab 
 men offered themselves for hire. She shook her head 
 denyingly and passed on with her tripping step. 
 Not until the station had been left behind did he 
 remember that he ought to have inquired at what 
 times the trains departed for London. Too late! 
 His immediate business was keeping her in sight. 
 
 With the unhesitating tread of one familiar with 
 her surroundings, she chose what seemed to be the 
 most important street. It was narrow and flanked 
 by little, stooping cottages, most of which had been 
 converted into shops which cater to the needs of 
 tourists. It was the end of the season. A few re 
 maining visitors were sauntering aimlessly up and 
 down. Natives, standing in groups, had the appear 
 ance of being fishermen. Some of them nodded to 
 her respectfully; without halting, she passed them 
 with a pleasant word. At the bottom of the street 
 she turned into a road, paralleling the sea-front, 
 which led through a waste of turf and sand into the 
 wind-swept uplands of the open country. Just 
 where the country met the town there stood a lath- 
 and-plaster house, isolated, facing seaward, creeper- 
 covered, surrounded by high hedges. It was more 
 pretentious than any he had seen as yet. Giving no 
 sign that she was aware she was followed, she pushed 
 open the rustic gate, passed up the red-tiled path, 
 produced a latch-key, and admitted herself. There, 
 in the bare stretch of road, having lured him all the
 
 120 THE VANISHING POINT 
 
 way from London, without a single backward glance 
 or any sign that would betray her recognition of his 
 presence, she left him. 
 
 VII 
 
 "Just what I might have expected," he said aloud. 
 
 "Did you speak ter me, mister?" 
 
 He swung round to find a freckled, bare-legged 
 urchin gazing up at him. 
 
 "I didn t. Who are you?" 
 
 "A caddy from them links over there." He 
 pointed a grubby finger along the road to where, half 
 a mile away, the level of the seashore swept up into 
 a bold, green headland. 
 
 "Then I guess you re the sort of boy I m looking 
 for. Who lives in this house?" 
 
 "A Madam Something or other. Er name sounds 
 Russian." 
 
 "What does she look like?" 
 
 "Dunno. She s a widder and covers erself up. 
 Not but what she as gentlemen friends as visits *er." 
 
 "You seem a sharp boy. Can you tell me how 
 long she s lived here?" 
 
 "Maybe a year; off and on that s ter say. I don t 
 recolleck." 
 
 "Is she by herself?" 
 
 "There s an old woman in the garden sometimes 
 as looks a undred. She wears a white hanky tied 
 round er ead."
 
 HE PLUNGES INTO ROMANCE 121 
 
 "I think that s all I want to ask you. Here s some 
 thing for you. Oh yes, do you happen to know about 
 the trains to London?" 
 
 "The last one s gorn, mister, if that s what yer 
 means. It s the one that our gents at the golf-links 
 aims ter catch." 
 
 "Then I m out of luck. Good evening, sonny, and 
 thank you for your information." 
 
 The bare legs showed no signs of departing; the 
 freckled face still gazed up. 
 
 "What s interesting you. My way of speaking? 
 I m American." 
 
 The boy shook his head. "We *ad Canadian soldiers 
 ere during the war ; they re pretty near Americans." 
 
 "Then what is it?" 
 
 "It s that you re the second gent to-day to slip 
 me a shilling for telling im about this ouse. And 
 it s something else." He sank his voice to a whisper. 
 "Don t look round. There s been some one a-peeking 
 from be ind a bedroom winder most of the time as 
 we ve been talkin . I d best be goin . Good evenin , 
 mister." 
 
 Not to attract attention by loitering, Hindwood 
 set off at a businesslike pace down the road toward 
 the headland. As he drew further away from the 
 house, he walked more slowly ; he was trying to sort 
 out his facts. The woman who lived there had a 
 Russian name. Santa Gorlof ! She dressed like a 
 widow. That would be to disguise herself. The news 
 about the gentlemen friends who visited her was quite 
 in keeping with the character which the Major had
 
 THE VANISHING POINT 
 
 bestowed on her, but not at all welcome. She had 
 lived there for a year, off and on. Her companion 
 was an old woman, nearly a hundred the Little 
 Grandmother ! But who was this man who earlier in 
 the day had bribed the boy that he might obtain 
 precisely the same information? He reminded him 
 self that the police were hunting for her. The man 
 might be a detective. If justice had already run her 
 to earth, Seaf old was the last place in which he ought 
 to be found. If the boy had been accurate about the 
 trains, there was no escape till the morning. Even 
 though he were to hire an automobile, he would be 
 placing his visit to Seaf old on record. Self-preserva 
 tion rose up rampant. What a fool he d been to in 
 volve himself in so perilous an affair ! 
 
 And yet, once more and for the last time, he 
 longed to see Santa s face. Why was it? Was it be 
 cause her hearsay wickedness fascinated him? It 
 was not because he loved her. It was not to gratify 
 morbid curiosity at least not entirely. Perhaps it 
 was because he pitied her and, against his will, dis 
 covered a certain grandeur in her defiance. She had 
 played a lone hand. Like a beast of prey in the 
 jungle, she was surrounded; at this moment she must 
 be listening for the stealthy tread of those who were 
 encompassing her destruction, yet she had not lost 
 her cunning. She was fighting to the end. Probably 
 this time, as when the firing-squad waited for her in 
 the woods of Vincennes, she was planning to employ 
 a man as her substitute himself. The fact re 
 mained that in her desperate need, she had appealed
 
 HE PLUNGES INTO ROMANCE 123 
 
 to him for help. There was the barest chance that 
 she was innocent a victim of false-appearing cir 
 cumstances. He wanted to judge her for himself by 
 tearing aside the widow s veil and gazing on her de 
 stroying beauty. 
 
 Turning off the road, he struck across the links, 
 climbing toward the towering headland. The wind, 
 coming in gusts, rustled the parched gorse and brittle 
 fronds of bracken. Behind his back the sun was set 
 ting, flinging a level bar of gold across the leaden 
 sea. In sudden lulls, when the wind ceased blowing, 
 the air pulsated with the rhythmic cannonading of 
 waves assaulting the wall of cliffs. When he listened 
 intently, he could hear the ha-ha of their cheering 
 and their sullen moan as they were beaten back. 
 It was strange to think that two weeks ago he had 
 been in New York, intent on nothing but acquiring a 
 fortune. Women had not troubled him. Why should 
 he now permit this woman, chance-met on ship-board, 
 to divert him a woman who could never be closer to 
 him? 
 
 He had reached the summit of the promontory. 
 Etched against the sky-line, his figure must be visible 
 for miles. The sun sank lower and vanished. 
 Gazing through the clear atmosphere, far below him 
 he could discern every detail of the house to which he 
 had been tempted. It looked a fitting nest for an 
 old poet. It held no hint of terror. At the same time 
 it was strategically well situated for occupants who 
 wished to keep an eye on all approaches. 
 
 He had been watching for any sign of movement,
 
 THE VANISHING POINT 
 
 when a curious thing happened. Though no figure 
 appeared, from one of the upper windows a white 
 cloth fluttered. He shaded his eyes with his hand. 
 The signal was repeated. He tapped his breast and 
 pointed, as much as to say, "Shall I come?" The 
 cloth was shaken vigorously. On repeating the ex 
 periment, he obtained the same result. When he 
 nodded his head in assent, the fluttering ended. 
 
 So every step of his progress had been observed 
 by some one spying through a telescope from be 
 hind the curtained windows ! The first moment he 
 had afforded an opportunity by looking back, the 
 signaling had commenced. That so much secrecy 
 should be employed seemed to betoken that Santa s 
 case was desperate. That she should have run the 
 risk of tempting him down from London must mean 
 that he possessed some peculiar facility for rendering 
 her a much needed service. 
 
 The imminence of the danger, both to her and to 
 himself, was emphasized by this latest precaution. 
 She had not dared to admit him to the house or even 
 to acknowledge his presence, until she had made cer 
 tain that he, in his turn, was not followed. 
 
 This thought, that he might be followed, filled him 
 with an entirely new sensation; it peopled every 
 clump of gorse and bed of bracken with possible un 
 seen enemies. The rustling of the wind, the cry of a 
 sea-bird, made him turn alertly, scanning with sus 
 picion every hollow and mound of the wild, deserted 
 landscape. It seemed unwise to allow his actions to 
 announce his intentions too plainly. What his in-
 
 HE PLUNGES INTO ROMANCE 125 
 
 tentions were he was not very certain. His imme 
 diate inclination was to shake himself free from the 
 whole mysterious complication. 
 
 Continuing his ramble, he assumed a careless gait, 
 descending the further side of the promontory and 
 bearing always slightly inland, so that his course 
 might lead back eventually to the road from which 
 he had departed. As dusk was gathering, he found 
 himself entering an abandoned military camp. The 
 bare hutments, with their dusty windows and pad 
 locked doors, stretched away in seeming endless ave 
 nues of ghostly silence. The Maple Leaf, painted 
 on walls and sign-boards, explained the village boy s 
 reference to Canadian soldiers. He had reached the 
 heart of it, when he was possessed by the overpower 
 ing sensation that human eyes were gazing at him. 
 Pulling himself up, he glanced back across his shoul 
 der, crooking his arm to ward off a blow. Realizing 
 what he was doing, he relaxed and stared deliberately 
 about him. Nothing ! No sign of life ! Yet the 
 certainty remained that human eyes were watching. 
 
 "Nerves !" he muttered contemptuously. 
 
 It was dark when, leaving the camp, he struck 
 the road. Stars were coming out. Far away along 
 the coast the distant lights of a harbor blinked and 
 twinkled. He hurried his steps. His mind was made 
 up. He would get something to eat in Seafold, 
 discover a garage, hire a car and be back in London 
 by midnight. To confirm his will in this decision, he 
 began making plans for the morrow. 
 
 To enter the town he had to pass the house. As
 
 126 THE VANISHING POINT 
 
 its bulk gathered shape, his feet moved more slowly. 
 Long before he came opposite it, he had caught the 
 fragrance of the myrtle in its hedges. The windows 
 which looked his way were shrouded. He paused for 
 a moment outside the rustic gate. He was saying 
 good-by to adventure. He was too old. His season 
 for pardonable folly was ended. The prose of life 
 had claimed him. 
 
 Prolonging the pretense of temptation, he pushed 
 open the gate. A hand touched his a woman s. 
 The desire to play safe faded. Weakly capitulating, 
 he allowed himself to be led up the path and across 
 the shadowy threshold. The door of the darkened 
 house closed behind him. She was slipping the bolts 
 into place. 
 
 VIII 
 
 He listened. He could not see her face only the 
 blurred outline of her figure. Except for the sound 
 of her movements, the silence was unbroken. At the 
 end of a passage, leading from the hall, a streak of 
 gold escaped along the carpet. 
 
 "Santa!" 
 
 No answer. 
 
 "Santa, why have you brought me?" 
 
 Gliding past him down the passage, she darted into 
 the lighted room, leaving the door ajar behind her. 
 He followed gropingly. As he entered, he was mo 
 mentarily confused by the sudden change from dark 
 ness.
 
 She was addressing him in a small, strained voice. 
 "There s no need to be afraid." 
 
 He looked about him, searching for the inspirer of 
 fear. There was no one save themselves. Then he 
 noticed how she trembled. She was making a brave 
 effort to appear collected, but it was plain that she 
 was wild with terror. Her eyes were wide and dilated. 
 She stood on the defensive, backed against the fire 
 place, as though she were expecting violence. Her 
 right hand was in advance of her body. It held some 
 thing which caught the glow of the flames a nickel- 
 plated revolver, cocked and ready for immediate ac 
 tion. His reception was so different from anything 
 he had anticipated that he stared with an amused ex 
 pression of inquiry. 
 
 At last he asked, "You knew from the start that I 
 thought you were Santa?" 
 
 Biting her lip to prevent herself from crying, she 
 nodded. Far from being Santa, she was fair as any 
 Dane, with China-blue eyes and the complexion of a 
 wild rose. He noted the little wisps of curls which 
 made a haze of gold about her forehead. She w r ore 
 turquoise earrings. They were her only adorn 
 ment. She herself was a decoration. She was like 
 a statue of the finest porcelain, so flawless that she 
 seemed unreal. Had it not been for her widow s 
 mourning, he would have said that she was untouched 
 by passionate experience. She had an appearance 
 of provoking innocence, which made the paleness of 
 her beauty ardent as a flame. 
 
 Speaking quietly, "I m not easily frightened," he
 
 128 THE VANISHING POINT 
 
 said ; "and you, while you keep me covered with that 
 revolver, have no reason to be afraid. Any moment 
 you choose you can kill me you ve only to press 
 the trigger." 
 
 Tears of horror sprang into her eyes. "But I 
 don t want to kill you." 
 
 "Then why don t you lay it aside?" 
 "Because " She gazed at him appealingly. 
 "Because I m alone. I may need it to protect my 
 self." 
 
 "From me? No. I should think you can see that." 
 Was the house really empty? He listened. It was 
 possible that some one might steal up from behind. 
 He did not dare to turn. His only chance of pre 
 venting her from shooting him was to keep her 
 engaged in conversation. 
 
 "If you feel this way, why did you go to such 
 elaborate pains to force me to visit you to-night? 
 You must have known that I didn t want to come. It 
 isn t I who have intruded." He smiled cheerfully. 
 "At the risk of appearing rude, I ll be frank with you. 
 When you crossed my path at the Ritz, I was on 
 the point of keeping a most important engagement. 
 When I followed you out of the hotel, it was because 
 of a message I d found pinned to my pillow, Follow 
 the widow.* So it wasn t you in particular that I 
 was following; I d have followed any widow. I ex 
 pected that you d speak to me as soon as we were 
 in the street. I d no intention of giving up my ap 
 pointment. You didn t ; you led me on, further and 
 further, a step at a time. I don t mind telling you
 
 Tears of horror sprang into her China-blue eyes. 
 "But I don t want to kill you." 
 "Then why not throw the thing away? You re 
 far more scared than I am."
 
 HE PLUNGES INTO ROMANCE 129 
 
 that when I found myself in the train, I was ex 
 tremely annoyed. By the time I d arrived at Lewes, 
 I d fully made up my mind to abandon the chase. 
 Then you spoke to me. I d wasted so much of my af 
 ternoon that I didn t like being beaten. You d roused 
 my curiosity. Here in Seafold, you dodged me and 
 left me standing in the road like a dummy. That 
 used up the fag-end of my patience ; I was mad clean 
 through. I didn t care if I never saw you again. 
 When you signaled me on the headland, I signaled 
 back that I was coming. I wasn t. I was tired of 
 being led on and eluded. When you caught me at 
 the gate, I was flirting with temptation, but I d 
 already laid my plans to be back in London by mid 
 night. So you see you can scarcely blame me for 
 being here. The shoe s on the other foot entirely. 
 You ve put me to great inconvenience merely to tell 
 me, it would seem, that you don t want to shoot me." 
 
 "I don t." 
 
 "Then why not throw the thing away? You re 
 far more scared of it than I am." 
 
 "Because I may have to use it." 
 
 "On whom?" 
 
 "You." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 A sweet, slow smile turned up the edges of her 
 mouth. "My orders were to keep you here, if once 
 I d managed to persuade you inside." 
 
 He laughed outright. "You hate having me here, 
 and you d hate to see me go. Isn t that the way the 
 land lies? I m more or less in the same fix: I didn t
 
 130 THE VANISHING POINT 
 
 want to come, and I don t want to stay. The fact 
 remains that we re both here. Why not make the 
 best of it? If you ll stop brandishing that weapon, 
 I ll feel much more comfortable. I m not trying to 
 escape." 
 
 "You might." 
 
 For the first time he dared to shift his position. 
 "Don t be alarmed," he warned her. "That s easier. 
 I was stiff. Now, if you ll listen, I ve a proposal to 
 make. You re treating me like a burglar, which isn t 
 fair. You may know, but I ve not the least idea 
 how long you intend to hold me prisoner. I guess 
 you re waiting for some one else to arrive, but that s 
 neither here nor there. Before the third person 
 comes, you may have shot me of course, by accident. 
 Revolvers go off if you keep them too long pointed. 
 You know nothing about firearms, and I m beginning 
 to be rather fond of life. Here s what I propose: 
 if you ll put it away, I ll give you my parole not to 
 come within two yards of you or to attempt to escape. 
 If I want my parole back, you shall have a full five 
 minutes notice." 
 
 "If I thought that I could trust you" 
 
 "You can. Is it a bargain?" 
 
 Without answering, placing her weapon on the 
 mantelpiece, she turned her back on him. She seemed 
 waiting to hear him advance further into the room. 
 He did not stir. 
 
 "What is it, Mr. Hindwood?" 
 
 "It s that I ve just remembered one thing for 
 which our armistice has not provided. You d better
 
 HE PLUNGES INTO ROMANCE 131 
 
 pick up your gun again. It s that I haven t dined. 
 I wonder whether you d let me into the village 
 
 He left his sentence unended. He suddenly per 
 ceived that she was shaken with sobbing. In his 
 concern, he forgot his compact as to distance and 
 hurried over to her side. She swung round, her face 
 blinded with tears. As she stumbled past him, she 
 muttered : 
 
 "You ve beaten me. You re not afraid. I couldn t 
 shoot you now if I wanted." 
 
 IX 
 
 Tiptoeing to the threshold, he turned the handle 
 and peeped into the passage. As before, everything 
 was in darkness. 
 
 He was free to go. There was nothing to stop him 
 nothing except his honor. It was easy to argue 
 that even his honor did not prevent him. He had 
 canceled his parole when he had reopened negotia 
 tions by telling her to pick up her revolver. She had 
 left it behind her on the mantel-shelf. He took it in 
 his hand and examined it. It was a repeater. 
 Every chamber was loaded. He whistled softly 
 so she had meant business ! Setting the hammer at 
 half-cock, he slipped the weapon in his pocket. He 
 was master of the situation now. 
 
 Why didn t he go ? Two hours of steady driving, 
 three at the most, and he could be in London. 
 He reminded himself that at this very moment his
 
 132 THE VANISHING POINT 
 
 private papers might be in the process of being ran 
 sacked. What if they were? The possibility left 
 him utterly indifferent. He couldn t save them after 
 the lapse of another three hours. 
 
 No, the truth was that since his voyage on the 
 Ryndam all the emphases of his life were becoming 
 altered. The importance of money and power no 
 longer seemed paramount. After nearly forty years 
 of living, he had awakened to the fact that it was 
 women who shed a radiance of glamour in an other 
 wise gloomy world. Of all human adventures they 
 were the most enthralling and the least certain of 
 rewarding. 
 
 It was curiosity that had enticed him into his 
 present entanglements ; his curiosity had yet to be 
 satisfied. With a revolver in his pocket, he felt that 
 he now possessed the means of extracting the right 
 answers to his questions. He had suffered mild in 
 conveniences, but so far he hadn t done so badly. 
 He had established mysterious relations with two 
 beautiful women. One of them was already under the 
 same roof; the other, he believed, was momentarily 
 expected. He began to figure himself as a poet, a 
 dreamer, a potential storm-center of romance. 
 
 "And all because she has blue eyes !" he hinted. 
 
 Then he remembered that Santa s eyes were gray, 
 and that up to the last half-hour it had been Santa 
 whom he had supposed that he was following. 
 
 He gazed about him, making an inspection of the 
 room, trying to guess at the characters of its in 
 habitants. It was square and small. Its walls were
 
 HE PLUNGES INTO ROMANCE 133 
 
 lined ceiling-high with shelves overloaded with books 
 of a learned appearance. A work-basket stood on 
 a mahogany desk with mending, scissors, and reels 
 of cotton strewn near it. A piano had been crushed 
 into a corner, looking flippantly out of place amid 
 these scholarly surroundings. Below the mantel 
 shelf was a rack containing a row of pipes. Set 
 about wherever a space allowed were vases of freshly 
 cut flowers. 
 
 The contradictions of the room suggested that it 
 had once been a man s den, but had now been taken 
 over by a woman. This seemed to indicate that the 
 owner of the house was actually a widow. 
 
 Almost the whole of the wall confronting the door 
 was occupied by a tall French window, which opened 
 directly on a lawn. Shrubs grew waist-high about 
 it. Instinct told him that this was the likeliest ap 
 proach for the other person, by whose order his 
 kidnaping had been plotted. He felt convinced that 
 this person would prove to be a woman, but he was 
 taking no chances. With the night behind her, she 
 could spy on him for hours without being detected. 
 She might be spying on him now. 
 
 Assuming a listless manner, he seated himself to 
 one side of the fireplace. Out of the tail of his eye, 
 without seeming to do so, he watched the shadowy 
 panes. His right hand was thrust into his pocket, 
 gripping the revolver. 
 
 After the lapse of some minutes, he heard in 
 the passage the widow s returning footsteps. Out-
 
 THE VANISHING POINT 
 
 side the door she halted, fumbling at the handle. 
 Giving up the attempt, she called to him to open. 
 Just as he was rising, a face, tense with eagerness, 
 lifted itself out of the bushes, peering in on him.
 
 CHAPTER THE FOURTH 
 
 HE BECOMES PAST OF THE GAME 
 
 face hung there against the darkness for a 
 * second; then the leaves closed over it as it 
 was stealthily withdrawn. In the utterness of his 
 astonishment, Hindwood all but gave himself away. 
 It was not the face he had expected. 
 
 Masking his excitement with a yawn, he turned his 
 back on the window and stepped toward the door, 
 opening it sufficiently to thrust his head into the 
 passage, but not wide enough to permit the watcher 
 in the bushes to learn anything of the person with 
 whom he talked. He found his captress standing 
 just beyond the threshold, carrying a tray, which 
 accounted for her awkwardness. 
 
 "You won t have to dine in the village," she ex 
 plained. Then, catching his strange expression, 
 "What has happened?" 
 
 "Some one was to come to-night," he whispered: 
 "the person who gave orders for my kidnaping. 
 Isn t that so? She was to enter through the win 
 dow from the lawn, while you held me prisoner at 
 the revolver s point." 
 
 "Is she here?" 
 
 135
 
 136 THE VANISHING POINT 
 
 "No, but a man who is her enemy a Major 
 Cleasby. He s hiding directly in her path. He 
 supposed you were she when you tried the door. 
 He showed his face. Is there any way in which we 
 can warn her? * 
 
 The widow set down her tray. Her eyes met his 
 searchingly. "If the man were there, you wouldn t 
 want to save her." 
 
 "Why not? You think I ve invented the man in 
 the bushes in order that Santa may be scared away? 
 I m no more afraid of Santa than I was of you. 
 Besides, in your absence I ve stolen your revolver. 
 Ah, that convinces you! The man s her husband 
 and a secret service agent. I can feel his eyes in 
 my back. If you don t warn her, she ll be caught. 
 There must have been some prearranged signal. 
 What was it?" 
 
 Instead of answering, she pressed nearer, glancing 
 fearfully across her shoulder into the unlighted hall. 
 Her voice came so faintly that he could only just 
 hear her. 
 
 "She wouldn t spare us. Why should you and 
 I ? You don t know what she intended." 
 
 He smiled grimly. "I can guess. I was to have 
 been her scapegoat for the Rogovich murder. She 
 was staging a new version of what happened in the 
 woods of Vincennes. Whether she escaped or was 
 brought to trial, I was to have been arrested. By 
 that time she would have clothed me with the appear 
 ance of her guilt. I was to have figured as her lover 
 and the Prince s rival. The motive for my crime was
 
 HE BECOMES PART OF THE GAME 137 
 
 to have been jealousy. The old story an innocent 
 man dying in her stead!" 
 
 "If you think you know that, why should you, 
 unless you are her lover?" 
 
 "Because she s a woman." 
 
 Her hands seized his, coaxing him from the door 
 way into the darkened passage. "For the love of 
 God, go !" she implored. "I give you back your 
 parole." 
 
 Drawing her to him, he held her fast. "Don t 
 struggle. He might hear you. You decoyed me. 
 You trapped me. Why this change? What makes 
 you so concerned for my safety?" 
 
 "I didn t know," she panted, "the kind of man 
 you are." 
 
 "What kind?" 
 
 Her heart beat wildly. She lay against him un- 
 stirring, her face averted. The moment he released 
 her, she burst forth into new pleading. 
 
 "For my sake. I beg of you." 
 
 Into the grimness of his smiling there stole a 
 gleam of tenderness. "And leave you? I guess not. 
 What s the signal?" 
 
 "The piano." 
 
 "Come, then," he said, "you shall play for me. 
 While you play, if we mask our expressions, we can 
 talk of what we choose. Outwardly, to deceive the 
 man in the bushes, we must act a part. I rr an old 
 friend. I ve dropped in unexpectedly. You ve 
 provided me with supper. While I eat, we chatter 
 and laugh. You sit at the piano and sing for me
 
 138 THE VANISHING POINT 
 
 occasionally. When the hour for Santa s arrival is 
 past, I take my leave. If you re brave, we can carry 
 the farce through. Are you game?" 
 
 For answer she picked up the tray and stepped 
 into the room, smiling back at him as he followed. 
 
 "I m your humble servant, as always, Mr. Hind- 
 wood, but I have only two hands and they re occu 
 pied. If you ll bring up that table yes, set it 
 before the fire. That s right. You must be com 
 fortable, if I m to sing for you. * 
 
 II 
 
 "She won t come now." 
 
 The words reached him in a sigh. The pale hands 
 fluttered from the keyboard. The fair head dnoped. 
 Almost instantly she straightened herself, banish 
 ing her appearance of weariness. "Don t think that 
 I m showing the white feather. It s only that I m 
 exhausted. She won t come now. I m sure of it." 
 Then, bending forward with a nervous tremor, "I 
 daren t look round. Has he gone?" 
 
 Hindwood pushed back his chair from before the 
 hearth. For the moment he did not answer. He was 
 striving to restore the spell which the intrusion of 
 her fear had broken. Glancing at her sideways, he 
 regarded her quietly where she sat at the piano in 
 her widow s garb. Through the window at her back 
 he caught a glimpse of the garden, shadowy and 
 patched with moonlight. Above the silence he heard
 
 the rumble of waves, sifting the pebbles on the shore. 
 Who was she, this woman who possessed the magic 
 to enchant him? Who had been her husband? 
 What kind oT man? Had she loved him? How long 
 since he had died? There were so many questions. 
 
 She had persuaded him into following her, well 
 knowing that he believed her to be Santa. She had 
 met his discovery of her impersonation with a threat. 
 When the luck was all in her favor, with the panic 
 of a stricken conscience she had thrown in her hand. 
 For the past two hours, in this cozy room, she had 
 surrounded him with shy intimacies of affection, 
 to the end that the unseen spectator, listening out 
 side the panes, might be beguiled. Apparently the 
 deception had succeeded ; the spectator had given no 
 sign. It had succeeded too well for Hindwood. It 
 had roused in him the longing that, behind her pre 
 tense of friendship, there might lurk a genuine emo 
 tion of liking. He had tried to forget that the scene 
 was stage-set. He had wanted to believe that it 
 was real. 
 
 "Has he gone?" 
 
 There was a break in her voice. 
 
 He pulled himself together. "Do you wish me to 
 make certain?" 
 
 Rising, he lounged over to the piano as though to 
 select a sheet from the pile of music. In a flash he 
 turned, wrenching wide the doors of the French- 
 window, and was across the step in a bound. Noth 
 ing rose from the shadows to disturb the peace of
 
 140 THE VANISHING POINT 
 
 the night. Stooping by the bushes, he made a hur 
 ried examination. 
 
 "Come," he called. Then, seeing how she pressed 
 her hands against her mouth, "There s no need to 
 fear." 
 
 When she was standing by his side, he explained: 
 "To-morrow you might think that I d tricked you. 
 I want you to see for yourself. Here s where he 
 was hiding when he peered in on me. The ground s 
 trampled. The bushes are bent back." 
 
 "He may be still here," she whispered, "in the 
 garden somewhere." 
 
 Hindwood smiled reassuringly into her upturned 
 face. "He wouldn t do you any harm if he were. 
 Remember he s a secret service agent. As a matter 
 of fact, he ought to make you feel safe." 
 
 "Safe!" She knotted her hands against her 
 breast. "Shall I ever feel safe? Oh, if I could 
 confess to you, to any one !" 
 
 "If it would help " 
 
 Without giving him a chance to finish his sentence, 
 she plucked at his sleeve with the eagerness of a child. 
 "Would you?" 
 
 "What?" 
 
 "Let me?" 
 
 Ill 
 
 They had reentered the room, fastening the win 
 dow securely behind them. When that was done, 
 they had drawn the curtains across the panes. She
 
 HE BECOMES PART OF THE GAME 141 
 
 had flung herself into a chair beside the fire and was 
 waiting impatiently for him to join her. But he 
 hovered in the center of the room, fingering his 
 watch and looking troubled. 
 
 "What s delaying you?" she asked without turn 
 ing. 
 
 He slipped his watch into his pocket. "I had no 
 idea it was so late." 
 
 "Does that matter? Till morning there are no 
 trains." 
 
 "I was thinking of hotels." 
 
 "They ll be shut." 
 
 "Precisely. So what am I ?" 
 
 "Stay with me," she said lazily. 
 
 The room became profoundly silent. The dark 
 ened house seemed to listen. Had he plumbed a new 
 depth in this drama of betrayal at the moment when 
 he hoped he had discovered loyalty? He had been 
 deceived by women before. Had he not allowed 
 Santa to deceive him, he would not have been here. 
 He might tell himself that this woman was different. 
 If a man did not tell himself that each new woman 
 was different, the mischief of love would end. 
 
 He caught sight of her flaxen head and became 
 ashamed of his reflections. It wasn t possible, if the 
 soul was foul, that the flesh should be so fair. She 
 had the wonder of the dawn in her eyes. Nothing 
 that she had said or done could belie the frankness 
 of her innocence. Standing behind her chair, he 
 gazed down in puzzlement at her graciousness. 
 
 "There are conventions. We may have met un-
 
 THE VANISHING POINT 
 
 conventionally, but neither of us can afford to ig 
 nore them." 
 
 Without looking up, she answered, "If you were 
 as alone as I am, you could afford to ignore any 
 thing." 
 
 "Perhaps I am." 
 
 "Then you understand." 
 
 "I think I understand." He spoke gently. "I 
 suppose no man can ever be so lonely as a woman, 
 especially as a woman who has lost her happiness, 
 but I, too, have been lonely. Everybody has. The 
 cowardice which comes of loneliness is responsible 
 for nearly every wickedness. Most thefts, and cheat- 
 ings, and even murders are committed in an effort 
 to gain companionship. But you can t elude lone 
 liness by short-cuts. Wherever you go, it s with you 
 from birth to death. Brave people make it their 
 friend. Cowards let it become their tempter. Lone 
 liness is no excuse for wrong-doing, nor even for 
 surrendering to the appearance of it." 
 
 "Preaching?" 
 
 "No. Trying to share with you my experience. 
 Until this afternoon, you didn t know that I ex 
 isted. All your life up to the last five minutes, you ve 
 been able to do without me. Don t be greedy and 
 spoil everything before it s started. There s to 
 morrow." 
 
 "Why wait for to-morrow when I trust you now?" 
 
 He stooped lower. She had become irresistibly 
 dear. In a rush he had found the clue to her char-
 
 HE BECOMES PART OF THE GAME 143 
 
 acter her childishness. She couldn t bear to post 
 pone the things she wanted. 
 
 "Trust me! I wonder! You re the first woman 
 to have the daring to tell me. I m not sure that I 
 feel complimented ; at this hour of night one has to 
 be a little cold to be trusted like that. But I trust 
 you which is strange after all that s happened. 
 The person I distrust is myself. You re beautiful. 
 The most beautiful " 
 
 "Am I more beautiful than Santa?" 
 
 He caught the vision of her blue eyes glinting up 
 at him. There was nothing roguish in their expres 
 sion. They were pathetic in their earnestness. Her 
 throat was stretched back, white and firm. Her 
 lips were vivid and parted. Her question sounded 
 like the ruse of a coquette, yet she seemed wholly 
 unaware of her attraction. 
 
 He drew himself erect, staring at the wall that he 
 might forbid himself the danger of looking at her. 
 His voice came harsh and abrupt. "Your confes 
 sion can keep till morning. One can say and unsay 
 anything. It s deeds that can never be unsaid." 
 
 He had reached the door. She spoke dully. 
 
 "You despise me." And then, "All my life I ve 
 waited for to-morrows. Go quickly." 
 
 Glancing across his shoulder he saw her, a mist 
 of gold in a great emptiness. Slowly he turned back. 
 
 "Can t you guess the reason for my going? I 
 reverence you too much." 
 
 Clutching at his hands, she dragged herself to her 
 feet. "It s friendship that I m asking. What s the
 
 144 THE VANISHING POINT 
 
 use of reverence? Like me a little. You d do more 
 for Santa. Only to like me wouldn t cost you much." 
 
 IV 
 
 "I should have died if you d left me." He was 
 feeling both amused and annoyed at his surrender; 
 at the same time he was on the alert for develop 
 ments. She had extinguished the lamps. The sole 
 illumination was the firelight. For what reason she 
 had done it, whether as an aid to confession or as a 
 discouragement to watchers, she allowed him to 
 guess. Whatever the reason, the precaution was 
 wise, but it increased the atmosphere of liaison. 
 He had pushed back his chair to the extreme corner 
 of the hearth, so that he was scarcely discernible. 
 She sat where the glow from the coals beat up into 
 her face. He saw her profile against a background 
 of darkness. 
 
 "Died!" He pursed his lips in masculine om 
 niscience. "You d have gone to your bed and had 
 a good night s rest." 
 
 "I shouldn t. I was in terror. I used to be afraid 
 only by night ; now it s both day and night. You re 
 
 never afraid. You weren t afraid even when I . 
 
 How do you manage it?" 
 
 "By doing things, instead of thinking about the 
 things that can be done to me. I ve learned that 
 what we fear never happens fear s a waste of time. 
 Fear s imagination playing tricks by pouncing out
 
 HE BECOMES PART OF THE GAME 145 
 
 of cupboards. It s the idiot of the intellect, gibber 
 ing in the attic after nightfall. It s a coward, 
 spreading cowardice with false alarms. It s a liar 
 and a libeller; life s a thousand times kinder than 
 fear would have us paint it." 
 
 She sighed happily. "It was kind to me to-night." 
 
 He waited for her confession to commence. She 
 leaned back, her eyes half shut, watching the red 
 landscape in the dancing flames. Time moved 
 gently. Night seemed eternal. Her contentment 
 proved contagious. Neither of them spoke. Noth 
 ing mattered save the comfort of her presence. In 
 a hollow of the coals he invented a dream cottage to 
 which he would take her. It had a scarlet wood 
 behind it and mountains with ruby-tinted caves. As 
 the fire settled, the mirage faded. 
 
 "Does it strike you as comic," he questioned, 
 "that you and I should sit here after midnight and 
 that I shouldn t even know what to call you?" 
 
 "Varensky. Anna Varensky." 
 
 "Russian?" 
 
 She nodded. 
 
 "But are you Russian?" 
 
 "I m Ivan Varensky s wife." 
 
 "You say it proudly, as though I ought to know 
 who Ivan Varensky was." 
 
 She turned her head slowly, wondering at him. 
 "There s only one Ivan Varensky: the man who 
 wanted to be like Christ." 
 
 Hindwood jerked himself into wakefulness. "I m 
 afraid I need enlightenment. I don t "
 
 146 THE VANISHING POINT 
 
 "You do," she contradicted patiently, "or rather, 
 you will when I ve helped you to recall him. How 
 hurt he would be, poor Ivan, that a man of your 
 standing should so soon have forgotten him ! He 
 hoped to make such a noise in the world. After 
 Czardom had fallen, he aimed to be a savior, heal 
 ing men with words. But he wanted to be crucified 
 at once. He cared more for Calvary than for the 
 road that led up to it. He was an emotionalist, 
 impatient of Gethsemane; it was the crown of 
 thorns that he coveted. Having only words with 
 which to save humanity, he dashed all over Russia 
 in special trains, speechifying at every halting-place, 
 foretelling his approaching end. He had no time 
 to waste; he believed his days were numbered. His 
 message was always the same, whether he was ad 
 dressing the Duma, armies marching into action, or 
 a handful of peasants: he was about to die for 
 Russia. Then suddenly Trotzky and Lenine came. 
 They were men who did things ; they overthrew his 
 government. Worse, still, they refused to fulfill his 
 prophecies; instead of executing him, they bundled 
 him into exile. To be forced to live, when he had 
 pledged himself to die, was a more cruel crucifixion 
 than any he had anticipated. He found himself 
 nailed to the cross of ridicule with no one to ap 
 plaud his sacrifice. He was left with nothing to 
 talk about, for the thing he had talked about had 
 not happened. He was an idealist, an inspirer, a 
 prophet, but because death had avoided liim, there 
 was no gospel to write. Having climbed the long
 
 HE BECOMES PART OF THE GAME 147 
 
 road to Calvary, he had the tragedy to survive. 
 Don t think I m belittling him. I loved him. It was 
 a proud, but not an easy task to be the wife of a 
 man who wanted to be like Christ." 
 
 She collapsed into silence, sitting lost in thought, 
 her arms hanging limply by her sides. He wondered 
 what pictures she was seeing in the fire armed men 
 marching, revolution, palaces going up in flame. 
 
 Of course he remembered the Varensky she had 
 described the Varensky who, in the darkest hour of 
 the war, had hurled himself like a knight-errant to 
 the rescue of the Allies. It was he who was to have 
 consolidated Russia, leading its millions in an endless 
 tide to the defeat of the enemies of righteousness. 
 It was freedom he had promised ; freedom to every 
 body. He had preached that every man was good 
 in himself, that the things that made men bad were 
 laws. Therefore he had swept all laws aside. He 
 had done away with compulsion, repealed death 
 penalties, thrown prisons wide. For a day and night 
 he had held the stage, a shining figure, adored by 
 despairing eyes. Then the slaves whom he had re 
 leased from restraints had surged over him. He had 
 vanished, trampled beneath ungrateful feet, and 
 Russia had become a mob. 
 
 So this was Varensky s wife! He felt awed. The 
 romantic heroism of her husband s failure clothed 
 her with a wistful sacredness. Three years ago he 
 could not have approached her. He would scarcely 
 have dared to have regarded her as a woman. The 
 hysteria of the moment had canonized her. Streets
 
 148 THE VANISHING POINT 
 
 through which she drove in Petrograd had been lined 
 with kneeling throngs. There had been something 
 medieval in the spontaneity of her worship. It had 
 been rumored that she was a bride immaculate; that 
 her purity was the secret of her husband s strength. 
 Her face made the story credible. It had the virgin 
 innocence of a saint s. And here he was allowed to 
 sit beside her, with three years gone, sharing her 
 hearth in this obscure place of hiding! 
 
 "You were a Russian Joan of Arc," he declared 
 enthusiastically. "How well I remember all the 
 
 legends one read about you. And Varensky 
 
 It doesn t matter that he failed; his was the most 
 gallant figure of the entire war. When every nation 
 was embittered, he set us an example of how not to 
 hate. He refused to kill, when all of us were slaying. 
 He had the courage of meekness ; in that at least he 
 followed Christ. What became of him? There was 
 a report " 
 
 "There have been many reports," she interrupted 
 sadly. "Lest the latest be true, I wear mourning. 
 I wear mourning for him always. Before his fall I 
 was his perpetual bride ; since his fall I am his per 
 petual widow. He wishes to be dead, so to please 
 him " 
 
 "Then he s still alive?" Immediately he was con 
 scious of the indecency of his disappointment. 
 
 She gazed into the darkness with a mild surprise. 
 "I do not know. I never know. That s the torture 
 of it. He was always less a man than a spirit. I 
 begin to think he can not die."
 
 HE BECOMES PART OF THE GAME 149 
 
 "You want him ?" 
 
 If she had heard his uncompleted question, she 
 ignored it. With folded hands she stared into the 
 red heart of the fire. Behind her, across the walls 
 and ceiling as flames leaped and flickered, shadows 
 took fantastic shapes. When she spoke, as though 
 she were talking to herself, her words came softly. 
 
 "He was such a child so dear, so vain, so in 
 tense, so sensitive. Why did he marry me, if it was 
 only to resign me? He treated me as he treated 
 Russia. We were both waiting for him to take us 
 in his arms. But it was always ideals things one 
 can t embrace that drew out his affections. Had 
 he loved humanity less and individuals more, he 
 could have gone so far. There was something mon 
 strous about his self-abnegations. Perhaps he de 
 nied himself the things for which he did not care. 
 He wanted to seem nobler than any one else. 
 Through egotism he missed his chance. Had he 
 planned to live, he could have killed his enemies and 
 prevented revolution. There was a time when he 
 could have crushed both Lenine and Trotzky. But 
 he had to be too noble. No,* he said, if their ideal 
 is more right than mine, it will conquer. Truth can 
 not be silenced by slaughter. It was his inhuman 
 magnanimity that defeated him. So Lenine and 
 Trotzky grew strong and crushed him. Because he 
 had planned to die, millions are starving, and Russia 
 is in chaos." 
 
 "But he doesn t own it?" 
 
 "In his heart yes. Like a General who has
 
 150 THE VANISHING POINT 
 
 blundered, the vision of lost battlefields is forever in 
 his eyes the forests of white crosses ! His ego 
 tism is gone. He wants to make atonement; to 
 perish seems the only way. Any one who would 
 delay him, even though she were a woman who loved 
 him, is his enemy. In his remorse he hounds death 
 as other men avoid it. He s head of the counter 
 revolution and goes continually into Russia for the 
 overthrow of Bolshevism. Not that he hopes for 
 success, but that he may be put against a wall and 
 shot." 
 
 "And always he returns?" 
 
 "Always until this last time." 
 
 Her voice sank away in a whisper. He eyed her 
 with misgiving. What was it she desired? 
 
 "I read something of this. He s been missing for 
 a long time?" 
 
 "A long time." 
 
 Coming out of the shadows, so that she could see 
 his face, he drew his chair close to hers. 
 
 "And what has this to do with your confession?" 
 
 She flinched, as though he had made a motion to 
 strike her. "My confession ! Ah, yes ! I forgot." 
 
 She tried to smile. Stretching out her hand, she 
 touched him in a timid appeal for understanding. 
 Taking it between his own he held it fast. 
 
 "Like that," he said, "as though it were a bird
 
 HE BECOMES PART OF THE GAME 151 
 
 that s tired. It isn t its own nest, but it s safe and 
 warm ; let it rest till it grows stronger." 
 
 "You re good," she faltered. "Most good men 
 are hard." 
 
 "Maybe," he laughed. "But I m not good. On 
 the other hand, I don t suppose I m bad. I m simply 
 a man who s always had to fight, so I know what it s 
 like to be up against it. You re up against it at 
 present. You can see nothing before you but a high 
 stone wall with no way round it. I ve been there, 
 and I ve found that when you can t get round a 
 wall, there s usually a door. What do you say? 
 Shall we look for a door together?" 
 
 "I have." She sank her head. "Every day and 
 night in three interminable years I ve looked for it. 
 I m like a person lost in a fog, standing still, listen 
 ing, running, falling." 
 
 "Scared to death?" 
 
 She nodded. 
 
 "Then don t be scared; stop running. Wait for 
 your fear to catch up with you. If you face it, it ll 
 shrink to nothing. The feet of a pursuer are like 
 an army. What s causing your panic? Varensky? 
 The thought that he may not return?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "That he may?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Then?" 
 
 "That he may go on wasting me forever." 
 
 She waited for him to say something. When he 
 remained silent, she bent forward staring vacantly
 
 152 THE VANISHING POINT 
 
 into the hearth. "Perhaps I m a coward and un 
 faithful. Perhaps if he d been successful I 
 
 know what he thinks of me: that I m a fair-weather 
 wife. But I m not. If it would help him, I d give 
 my life for him. He doesn t want my life. He 
 doesn t want my body. He wants the one thing that 
 I can t give him that I should believe in him. 
 There are people who still believe in him the Little 
 Grandmother. There are others, like Prince Rogo- 
 vich, who pretended to believe in him that he might 
 use him as a cat s-paw. He says good-by to me 
 for the last time and vanishes. I wait in retirement 
 for news of his execution. At the end of two months, 
 three months, half a year, he comes back. Then the 
 rehearsing for his martyrdom commences all afresh. 
 If there were anything I could do ! But to be wasted 
 for no purpose !" 
 
 She turned her head wearily, glancing at him side 
 ways. "You called me the Joan of Russia. I was 
 almost. There was a time when not to be loved and 
 not to be a mother seemed a small price to pay for 
 sainthood. It was my happiness against the happi 
 ness of millions. But now ; Her eyes filmed 
 
 over. 
 
 "But now ?" he prompted. 
 
 She brushed her tears away with pitiful defiance. 
 "I want to be a woman to be everything in some 
 man s life." 
 
 "Perhaps you are in his, but he doesn t show it." 
 
 She seemed to listen for laughter. Then, "No,"
 
 HE BECOMES PART OF THE GAME 153 
 
 she said. "When I try to be a woman, I play Satan 
 to him." 
 
 "And that s the wall?" 
 
 "Not all of it. There s Santa." 
 
 In the swift march of his emotions he had almost 
 forgotten Santa. As though she had been drowning 
 and he had turned back from rescuing her, the men 
 tion of her name stung him with reproach. 
 
 "What of Santa?" he asked in a low voice. 
 
 VI 
 
 "She s in love with my husband." 
 
 He let go her hand. "Do you mind if I smoke? 
 Perhaps you ll join me? No?" 
 
 He took his time while he lit his cigarette. Then, 
 speaking slowly, "I can t believe all the evil that I ve 
 heard about this woman. And yet I ought. Every 
 fresh person has told me something increasingly vile. 
 To make a case against her, I have only to take all 
 the trouble she s caused me. I meet her on a liner 
 and part with her on landing; from that moment I 
 have no peace. I m pestered by strangers accusing 
 and defending her. My room is entered by spies. 
 I find an anonymous note pinned to my pillow. I m 
 lured out of London into the heart of the country on 
 the pretext that she s in danger and I can help her. 
 You know the rest. Until the happenings of to 
 night, the most probable explanation seemed to be 
 that she had taken a secret fancy to me and had
 
 154 THE VANISHING POINT 
 
 turned to me in her distress, when she found herself 
 suspected of a crime. That theory won t hold water 
 any longer." 
 
 "It might." 
 
 "It couldn t. You tell me she s in love with your 
 husband." 
 
 "Santa can be in love with as many men as serve 
 her purpose. The only loyalty to which she s con 
 stant is the memory of her dead child." 
 
 He shook himself irritably. "Nothing that you* 
 or any one has told me explains her. She left on me 
 an impression of nobility which absolutely contra 
 dicts all this later information. Until I met you, it 
 almost seemed there was a conspiracy on foot to 
 poison my mind. What she is said to have done may 
 all be true, but I can t help searching behind her 
 actions for a higher motive. You d clear matters up 
 if you d tell me frankly how it is that you come into 
 the picture." 
 
 "The picture!" She shrank back from him like 
 a timid child. 
 
 Controlling himself, he spoke patiently. "Do I 
 need to be explicit? You ought to hate her. She s 
 in love with your husband. When, a few hours ago, 
 it was a case of warning her of the trap she was 
 walking into, you were reluctant to give the signal. 
 She wouldn t spare us, you said; so why should 
 
 you and I ? And yet you re her accomplice. 
 
 It was you whom I followed. It was you who, when 
 you d got me into this room, tried to hold me at the 
 revolver s point."
 
 HE BECOMES PART OF THE GAME 155 
 
 She buried her face in the hollow of her arm. Her 
 voice came muffled. "It was I." 
 
 He waited for her to say more. She made no 
 sound not even of sobbing. 
 
 "It was a dangerous game to play," he reminded 
 her. "You didn t know your man or how he would 
 take it. You must have had some strong motive. 
 You might have killed me without even intending. 
 What a risk you ran, doing a thing like that single- 
 handed ! For a moment, when I first entered, every 
 thing was touch and go." 
 
 And still she made no reply. 
 
 The fire had burned low. He emptied coals on it. 
 To bridge the embarrassment of her silence, he went 
 over to the window, pulling aside the curtains, and 
 stood gazing out at the glory of the night. The 
 moon rode high. Trees were clumped and motion 
 less. The crooning of waves made a continual 
 lullaby. 
 
 She was married, and she was wasted. She was 
 not wanted, and she was not released. She had a 
 husband who refused to live and could not contrive 
 to die. As a substitute for passion she had tried 
 sainthood ; it had not satisfied. 
 
 He let the curtains fall. Turning, he gazed back 
 at the black-garbed figure bowed in the half-circle of 
 firelight. Her golden hair had broken loose. It 
 poured across her shoulders and gathered at her 
 feet in a pool. At the moment she looked more a 
 Magdalene than a saint. And this was the woman
 
 156 THE VANISHING POINT 
 
 who had made men brave by her purity to whom a 
 nation had turned in its agony ! 
 
 A flood of pity swept over him. Poor, narrow 
 shoulders to have borne such a burden ! Poor, vir 
 gin feet to have come so long a journey! Poor, 
 mortal hands to have given such a blessing! She 
 had been robbed and cast aside. 
 
 The cruelty of idealists ! She was their victim. 
 What did they attain? Idealists slew happiness on 
 the altar of dreams that a future happiness might 
 result from it. Though their dreams were mistaken, 
 they lost nothing; they snatched their sensation of 
 godlike righteousness. But who could restore the 
 happiness of others which their frenzy had de 
 stroyed ? 
 
 If this time Varensky had had the decency to die, 
 she was free. He himself could take her. But would 
 she want him? He had no attractions. All that he 
 could offer would be to serve her. He couldn t place 
 her back on her pinnacle of fame. Instead of 
 crowds, he would be her only worshiper. Would 
 that satisfy a woman who had been a saint for a 
 day? He could promise her rest and protection. 
 He could take her feet in his hands and guide them 
 over rough places. And if she wanted to be a 
 woman 
 
 Crossing the room on tiptoe, he stood over her. 
 Sinking to his knee, he placed a hand on her shoulder. 
 
 "Won t you look up? I m not here to hurt you. 
 I wouldn t even judge you. Life s been hard. * 
 
 When she gave no sign, he spoke again.
 
 HE BECOMES PART OF THE GAME 157 
 
 "I m a man and a stranger. You re a wife. But 
 you ve told me so much. You re wounded. You 
 can t go on by yourself." 
 
 She moved. He knew now that she was listening. 
 
 "There s that door in the wall we were going to 
 find. Perhaps we ve found it. Let me be your 
 friend. It would be foolish and wrong for me to 
 tell you that I " 
 
 She raised her head. Her hair fell back, and her 
 eyes gazed out at him with hungry intensity. "Don t 
 say it," she implored. "Varensky " 
 
 "But if he s dead? If I can bring you sure 
 proof?" 
 
 For answer she pressed his hand against her 
 bosom. 
 
 VII 
 
 He seated himself at her feet, his arms clasped 
 about his knees as if crouched before a camp-fire. 
 How much meaning had she read into his implied 
 confession? He felt happy; happier than ever be 
 fore in his life, and yet, if she were the cause of his 
 happiness, the odds were all against him. She had 
 promised him nothing. She could promise him noth 
 ing. All he knew of her was what she had told him. 
 His elation might prove to be no more than an emo 
 tion that would fade in the chill light of morning. 
 
 "It would be foolish and wrong for me to tell 
 you " The words had risen to his lips unpre 
 meditated. He had not realized that he cared for
 
 158 THE VANISHING POINT 
 
 her until they were uttered. He had merely felt an 
 immense compassion, an overwhelming desire to 
 comfort her. That he should care for her at all was 
 preposterous. It was paying her no compliment. 
 Love that was worth the having required a more 
 permanent incentive than physical beauty. Her 
 mind and her character were a riddle to him. If 
 his passion was no passing mood and she were in 
 deed a widow, it would be her mind and her charac 
 ter that he might one day marry. He ought to have 
 foreseen that something of this sort would be sure 
 to happen between a man and woman left alone 
 after midnight. 
 
 But the triumphant self whom she had roused in 
 him grinned impudently at this cautious moralizing. 
 He gloried in the magnificent unwisdom of his indis 
 cretion. He was surprised and delighted at this 
 newly-discovered capacity for recklessness. When 
 experience was growing stale, he had broken through 
 limitations and found himself gazing on an unguessed 
 landscape where adventure commenced afresh. He 
 could still feel the softness of her flesh against his 
 hand. That sudden act of tenderness had altered all 
 their relations. 
 
 He glanced up at her shyly. She, too, was dream 
 ing. Her lips were smiling uncertainly; there was 
 a far-away, brooding expression in her eyes. The 
 blackness of her mourning merged with the shadows, 
 making her seem disembodied; all he could see dis 
 tinctly was the golden torrent of her hair framing 
 the pallor of her face.
 
 HE BECOMES PART OF THE GAME 159 
 
 "They knelt to you in Petrograd. I don t won 
 der." 
 
 "Poor people! It did them no good. I never 
 want any one else to do it." 
 
 "But I kneel to you. I crouch at your feet." 
 
 "I would rather be loved than worshiped." She 
 restrained him gently. "Not yet." 
 
 "Then, until I may love, I kneel to you." 
 
 "You ought to find me repellent. No, let me 
 speak. I own to you that I m married, and here I 
 sit with you alone, not knowing whether my husband 
 lives or is buried. I must be wicked more wicked 
 than I guessed. Ivan was right; he used to tell me 
 I played Satan to him. These hands, which look 
 so soft and white, are cruel. This face, which seems 
 so gentle, is a lie. This hair, which makes a pillow 
 for your head, is a snare. One good man has already 
 cast me aside. Rather than love me, he preferred 
 death. And you are good. How near I came to 
 killing you!" She bent over him, taking his face 
 between her hands. "You! Do you understand?" 
 
 She had drawn his head back against her knees. 
 Her lips all but touched him. He could feel the 
 fanning of her breath. Her voice came pantingly, 
 as though she dreaded her own question: "What 
 can you see in me?" 
 
 "Blue eyes, like a glimpse of heaven." 
 
 "Tell me truly." 
 
 "What can I see?" He stared up adoringly. "A 
 woman who s still a child. A woman who s been 
 cheated. A woman whose arms are empty. A
 
 160 THE VANISHING POINT 
 
 woman who sits outside a tomb, dreaming of life." 
 
 "Not of life," she corrected softly; "of being 
 allowed to live for a man." 
 
 "For me, perhaps?" 
 
 She smiled vaguely. 
 
 "Without knowing what kind of a man I am?" 
 
 "Do you know me?" She sat upright, gazing 
 straight before her. "You don t even know why I 
 brought you." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 "It seems strange to tell you now. It seems like 
 a forgotten sadness, so forgotten that it might be 
 long to some one else. And yet once it hurt. I 
 brought you that I might win back my husband. 
 Don t stiffen. Look up and see how I m smiling. 
 I was never his in your sense. I was an image in a 
 niche, whose hands he kissed. I was a mascot, bring 
 ing him good luck. The woman part of me he post 
 poned superstitiously till his cause should be won. 
 It will never be won now." 
 
 "But he warned you before he married you?" 
 
 She shook her head. "He made sure of me. At 
 first I was proud to be included in his sacrifice. 
 Then failure made it all absurd. I was sorry for 
 him. I knew only one way to comfort him. But 
 because he had failed, he became the more deter 
 mined to deny himself. Instead of comforting him, 
 I became his tempter. Then Santa " 
 
 Hindwood pulled himself together and bent for 
 ward, glowering into the fire. "I can t understand 
 all this talk of sacrifice. It sounds so confoundedly
 
 unpractical. As far as I can make out, your hus 
 band s idea of virtue was to abstain from everything 
 that makes life worth living. He didn t profit any 
 one by abstaining. All he did was to narrow him 
 self. If he d wanted to be an ascetic, why couldn t 
 he have done the thing thoroughly and played the 
 game? There was no need to drag you into it." 
 
 "There was no need," she assented quietly, "but 
 to have me and to -withstand me made him appear 
 more dedicated. He tantalized himself with the 
 thought of me and used me as a knife with which to 
 gash himself. I was a part of the road to Calvary 
 he was treading in order that Russia might be saved. 
 It gratified his pride to make the road spectacular. 
 Then, when we were in exile and he was no longer a 
 power, Santa came, the ruthless idealist his very 
 opposite." 
 
 "Ruthless, perhaps ! But I shouldn t call her an 
 idealist." 
 
 "She is an idealist who, to gain her ends, stoops 
 to any baseness. She s an avenging angel, beautiful 
 and sinister. She s one of the few revolutionaries 
 who knows what she wants ; because she knows, she 
 gets it. Varensky never knew. His head was in the 
 clouds. He lost sight of his purpose in a mist of 
 words." 
 
 "What does she want?" As he asked the ques 
 tion, he glanced back at her where she gleamed like 
 a phantom. 
 
 "She wants " There was a pause during 
 
 which the only sound was the struggle of the distant
 
 162 THE VANISHING POINT 
 
 surf. "She wants to make men pay for what they 
 
 do to children. All her crimes She s a mother, 
 
 robbed of her young; in her own fierce way, she s 
 taken all the children of the world to her breast." 
 
 "But men don t do anything." 
 
 She caught his tone of puzzlement. "Oh yes. 
 Each generation commits ferocious sins against the 
 coming generation that can t protect itself. It s 
 children who pay for wars and every social injus 
 tice. Men live like a marauding army, pillaging the 
 land between birth and death. They pass on and 
 leave to children the settlement of their reckless 
 debts. Take this latest war; five million children in 
 Europe alone are dying of starvation at this mo 
 ment. Santa s marked down the men who are re 
 sponsible for their suffering; silently, one by one, 
 she drugs them with her beauty and exacts the 
 penalty." 
 
 "Prince Rogovich?" 
 
 "Probably. He was raising funds for a new 
 carnage." 
 
 "But where do I come in? You said that you d 
 brought me here to help you win your husband." 
 
 "She s in love with Ivan. To be loved by Santa is 
 like witnessing the signature to one s death war 
 rant. Perhaps she s a Bolshevik agent the only 
 people to whom the Bolsheviks are merciful are chil 
 dren. Perhaps she s really in love with him. She 
 plays with him like a cat with a mouse." 
 
 "And he?" 
 
 "He s indifferent, as he is to every woman. Yet
 
 because she s treacherous and he wants to die, he 
 takes her with him on many of his journeys. I hoped 
 that if I could give you to her, she might spare him. 
 That was before I knew you. I was beside myself 
 with suspense. Ivan has been gone so long; to do 
 her bidding seemed like giving him his last chance 
 of life. She s in danger and in hiding. You re the 
 one person who can prove her guilt. I thought that 
 if I put you in her power, I d place her under an 
 obligation, so that " 
 
 "And now?" 
 
 She covered her face with her hands. "God for 
 give me, it s your safety that counts not Ivan s." 
 
 He knelt against her, plucking her hands aside. 
 "Look at me," he commanded. "So long as your 
 husband lives, his safety comes first. In saving me, 
 you might betray him. If, in snatching our happi 
 ness, we connived at his death, his shadow would 
 always stand between us. I m still your prisoner; 
 I ve not taken back my parole. Here s your re 
 volver." He drew it from his pocket and laid it on 
 her knees. "Fulfill your bargain." 
 
 "How?" 
 
 "Take me to Santa." 
 
 "But Ivan already he may be " 
 
 "Until we know, we ll play the game by him." 
 When she hesitated, he added, "I wouldn t be friends 
 with any woman who couldn t be loyal." 
 
 Her hands groped after the revolver and found it. 
 Forcing back her tears, she answered, "Nor would 
 I with any man."
 
 164 THE VANISHING POINT 
 
 Rising to his feet, he helped her to rise. "Take 
 me to her." 
 
 VIII 
 
 As they stepped into the garden, the first restless 
 ness of morning was in the air. The moon had 
 vanished. Stars were going out. Along the low 
 level of sea-line dawn cast a sickly shadow. It was 
 as though night were an indigo curtain behind which 
 silver forms were moving. 
 
 She led the way across the lawn, through a door 
 in the wall, and out on the short, crisp turf. She 
 had thrown a cloak about her and pulled the hood 
 over her head. It made her look cowled and elfin. 
 It was the hour when everything is fantastic. 
 
 He had an oppressive sense of unreality, as 
 though this were all a dream from which he would 
 shortly rouse. He stood aloof from recent happen 
 ings and surveyed his share in them in an elderly, 
 derisive fashion. What were all these promises that 
 he had been exchanging like a gallant? He tried 
 to recall his exact words. To what extent had he 
 committed himself? He had crossed the Atlantic 
 that he might multiply his fortune for no other 
 reason. He was neither an idealist nor a sentimen 
 talist; he had realized the chance that a bankrupt 
 Europe offered and had come to take advantage 
 of it. What would these derelicts of the catastrophe 
 think of him if they guessed his real purpose? They
 
 HE BECOMES PART OF THE GAME 165 
 
 were willfully, even contemptibly, unpractical; yet 
 their perverted unselfishness troubled his conscience. 
 To spend half one s years in exile, like the Little 
 Grandmother, might not correct injustice, but at. 
 least it was a brave protest. To plan to die, like 
 Varensky, because he had failed to rescue humanity, 
 was a counsel of despair, but it had its gleam of 
 nobility. To assassinate, like Santa, men whose 
 statesmanship you did not comprehend was the 
 madness of a zealot, but she at least staked her life 
 against theirs. Into none of these undertakings 
 did profit enter. It was disquieting to find himself 
 among people so determined to convert the world to 
 altruism. The world had been like this always; it 
 would be like this to the end. If they were once to 
 sense who he was, they would regard him as their 
 enemy. He was walking into danger with his eyes 
 wide open. His wisest plan would be to sink into the 
 shadows and take the first train back to sanity. To 
 do that he would have to leave her. 
 
 And why not? What did he owe her? What was 
 she to him ? She belonged to another man. Waiting 
 for him to die, or to make sure of his death, might 
 prove a tedious business a humiliating one, most 
 certainly. And yet to leave her now 
 
 She had been going on ahead or was it his steps 
 that had been lagging? She had halted. As he came 
 up, he felt the firm surface of the road beneath his 
 tread. 
 
 In the gloom she laid her hand on his arm. "If 
 you ve promised too much "
 
 166 THE VANISHING POINT 
 
 That determined him. "I keep my promises, * he 
 answered shortly. 
 
 Walking side by side, they struggled on against 
 the mass of all-surrounding vagueness. It seemed 
 like a strong, gray tide pressing on their breasts, 
 against which they made no headway. 
 
 What was to be the upshot of it? She was guid 
 ing him to Santa. His lips twisted. It would take 
 more than Santa to inspire him with terror. Eng 
 land wasn t the jungle. A man couldn t disappear 
 unnoticed. Supposing in the next half -hour Santa 
 were to do away with him, what would she gain by it? 
 She would have silenced his testimony in the Rogo- 
 vich affair, but she would have added to the evi 
 dence. If she were the woman she was painted, she 
 would be too wary to do that. No, she would not 
 attempt to kill him. Then what was her urgency? 
 
 Gradually night was fading. The paleness from 
 the sea was spreading. It drove like smoke, in bil 
 lowy banks of vapor, creeping low along the ground. 
 Live things were waking. In separate, plaintive 
 warnings, early-risen birds were calling. Across the 
 road ahead rabbits scurried. Against the formless 
 vacancy of sky the rounded shoulders of the uplands 
 became discernible. He took notice of their direc 
 tion. She was leading him to the abandoned camp. 
 
 "Madame Varensky." 
 
 She started. "Not that." 
 
 "I m sorry. It was the only name I knew to call 
 you. What do they usually ?" 
 
 "Anna."
 
 HE BECOMES PART OF THE GAME 167 
 
 She came close like a child and stood gazing up 
 at him. 
 
 He stooped and spoke gently. "You re a wild 
 rose. Once more let me look into your eyes. It s 
 so strange that you should care for me." 
 
 "More strange to me," she said. 
 
 He placed his hands on her shoulders. "There s 
 something that I want you to remember. If harm 
 comes to either of us, believe always that it was only 
 good that I intended." 
 
 "Whatever you brought me would be good," she 
 murmured. 
 
 "I wish it might." He tumbled the hood back so 
 that he could see her hair. "When a man loves a 
 woman who s already married, it doesn t often bring 
 happiness. It wouldn t be right that it should. It 
 isn t our fault that this has happened, but it will 
 be if we misuse it." 
 
 "We shan t misuse it." 
 
 "There s something else." He groped after his 
 words. "Before I came to you, I d been foolish. 
 There s no sense in regretting; if I hadn t been 
 foolish, we shouldn t have met. I thought that I 
 was following Santa ; you can guess " 
 
 She inclined her head. 
 
 "And there s one thing more. If your husband 
 comes back, promise me you ll forget." 
 
 She strained against him, so their lips were nearly 
 touching. "Never." She spoke fiercely. And 
 again, "Never. Though it s years and you forget." 
 
 His hands slipped from her shoulders, lower and
 
 168 THE VANISHING POINT 
 
 lower, till his arms closed about her. "Rest," he 
 whispered, "if it s only for a moment, poor, tired 
 little bird." 
 
 Through the ghostly twilight of the autumn dawn 
 they entered the deserted camp. Before one of the 
 hutments she halted and tapped. She tapped again. 
 There was no answer. Cautiously raising the latch, 
 she peered into the room. Beckoning to him, she 
 slipped across the threshold. 
 
 IX 
 
 The hut was empty. The floor was deep in dust. 
 The ceiling was meshed with cobwebs. Nailed across 
 the window, just as the soldiers had left it, a dingy 
 curtain hung. Striking a match, he held it above 
 his head. At the far end he made out signs of occu 
 pancy. On a shelf was a loaf of bread and near by 
 a pitcher. In a corner, spread on the bare boards 
 for a bed, was a wrap. He stooped; it was Santa s 
 cloak of sables. 
 
 The match went out. He turned. "How long 
 has she been here? * 
 
 "From the time she knew she was suspected." 
 
 "She knew she was suspected at Plymouth. What 
 made her motor all across England to this?" He 
 glanced round with pity at the poverty-stricken 
 forlornness. 
 
 "She wanted to be near. * 
 
 "What? It would be better to tell me.*
 
 "To the road out." 
 
 He lit a cigarette and considered. "So there are 
 more people in it," he said at last, "than just the 
 few that I have met ! It s an organization. I might 
 have guessed. There are the people who helped the 
 little old lady to visit me undetected. There are the 
 people who entered my room in my absence. There s 
 the foreign gentleman, who couldn t speak English, 
 who called for Santa in his car. But if this hut is 
 on the road out, why was she delaying?" 
 
 "For you, perhaps." 
 
 "But she was risking her freedom every second. 
 Why for me, Anna?" 
 
 Before he had given her time to answer, his mind 
 had leaped to a new conjecture. "What if she s 
 captured?" 
 
 Suddenly the tragedy of this strange woman, 
 temple-dancer, revolutionary, avenger of children, 
 became vivid. Her pain stung him as though he 
 had suffered it himself. He lived again the hunted 
 hours that must have been hers while she had listened 
 in this dusty room. He remembered her fascination, 
 the grayness of her eyes, the fastidiousness of her 
 dress. What a contrast to these surroundings ! 
 How often she must have crouched by that window, 
 watching from behind the shabby curtain for the 
 approach of the pursuer! The men she had killed 
 did not matter. Probably they had deserved their 
 death. His pity was reserved for her. She had been 
 the pampered darling of princes. Her whims had 
 been commands to lovers who themselves were rulers.
 
 170 THE VANISHING POINT 
 
 No present had been too costly to purchase the 
 ecstasy of her complaisance. Her body had been a 
 jewel, guarded, coveted, irrepeatable in its beauty. 
 Crimes had been committed for its possession. And 
 this was her end! He heard in memory the hoarse 
 pleading of her voice, trying vainly to convince him 
 that love could make her good. 
 
 The woman at his side was speaking. "We heard 
 no sound. She was armed. If they d tried to take 
 her, she d have defended herself." 
 
 His thoughts came back. "Last night. Yes. If 
 they d taken her in the garden. But they might have 
 known she would be armed. Perhaps they followed 
 her. If they traced her to this hut, they might have 
 waited till she was sleeping " 
 
 She shook her head. "It isn t that. She s grown 
 tired of delaying. She s gone by the road out." 
 
 He frowned. "That s the second time you ve used 
 the phrase. Can t you tell me plainly?" 
 
 "If it s not too late, I ll show you." 
 
 She darted out of the hut. When he joined her 
 in the open, she was waiting impatiently to secure 
 the door behind him. The moment it was fastened, 
 she set off at a run. She raced like a boy, with none 
 of a woman s awkwardness. With an occasional 
 backward glance, up the long deserted avenue of the 
 camp she fled. At first he was content to follow for 
 the pleasure he had in watching her. She was so 
 swift and young. She was like a deer in her slender- 
 ness. Sudden eagerness had transformed her. The
 
 HE BECOMES PART OF THE GAME 171 
 
 hood had slipped back to her shoulders ; the wind 
 of her going fluttered in her hair. 
 
 Outside the camp she bore to the left in a direc 
 tion leading further afield. Over gorse and bracken 
 dew had flung a silver net. The turf was a tapestry 
 sewn with jewels. Larks were springing up. The 
 keen fragrance of seaweed mingled with the honeyed 
 perfumes of the land. 
 
 He caught up with her. "Why?" he panted. 
 
 She had no breath to waste in words. Turning on 
 him a flushed and laughing face, she pointed ahead. 
 
 Just short of the cliff-edge, where the sheer drop 
 began, she sank to her knees, clasping her breast. 
 While she recovered, he gazed about him. He dis 
 covered no sign of the thing she was pursuing. The 
 sea was blanketed in mist. Above the blurred hori 
 zon, the red eye of the sun stared at him. From the 
 foot of the cliff came the lapping of waves. No 
 other sound. 
 
 She had risen. He was about to speak. She 
 pressed a finger to her lips. Taking him by the 
 hand, she led him to the edge. 
 
 At first, as he gazed down, he saw only the crum 
 bling face of the chalk. Then he made out a wind 
 ing path descending; it seemed no broader than a 
 track that a goat might follow. 
 
 "What is it?" 
 
 "Listen." 
 
 She dragged excitedly on his arm. 
 
 Distinctly, above the lapping of waves, he heard 
 the click of oars working in oar-locks. Beneath the
 
 172 THE VANISHING POINT 
 
 fog a vessel was hiding. It had dropped a boat 
 which was pulling toward the land. 
 
 "The road out," she whispered. 
 
 "But Santa " 
 
 She nodded. "It s not so difficult as it looks. It 
 was used by smugglers. We use it 
 
 She broke off. Oars were being shipped. The 
 prow grounded. There was a muttering of men s 
 voices. Some sort of discussion. A pause. Then 
 oars were put out again. The rowing recommenced, 
 growing fainter and fainter. 
 
 "Gone!" 
 
 She pressed against him in her gladness. 
 
 Seeing the relief in her eyes, he questioned, "What 
 does this mean to you, Anna?" 
 
 "Safety." 
 
 "Anything else?" 
 
 "Freedom, perhaps." 
 
 "You mean you think that Santa had received 
 word of your husband and that that was why ?" 
 
 "I don t want to think or mean; I only want to 
 feel. It s as though I d been living in a prison and 
 the door had been flung wide. I wasn t one of them. 
 They condemned me. In their hearts they despised 
 me. I was too weak. I couldn t bear their cross." 
 She clenched her hands against her cheeks till the 
 knuckles showed white. "What s the good of being
 
 HE BECOMES PART OF THE GAME 175" 
 
 crucified? It s so much better to live and be glad 
 for people." 
 
 "And Santa," he asked, "where she s going, what 
 will happen to her?" 
 
 She raised her face. "Pain. She ll be hounded 
 and hunted. She s getting too well known. Prince 
 Rogovich thought he recognized her. She ll be al 
 ways escaping, rushing from hiding to hiding, till 
 one day To have been loved so much and to be 
 pushed out of life " 
 
 Behind the mist they heard the creak of ropes 
 running over pulleys. A gasoline engine was started. 
 For an instant the shadow of a trawler loomed 
 through the wall of opaqueness. The tiller was 
 thrust over. She vanished. They stood very silently, 
 listening and watching. In imagination Hindwood 
 followed the vessel s course. It was not of the vessel 
 he was thinking, but of the woman on board her. 
 "To have been loved so much and to be pushed out 
 
 of life " If he had had the chance, what could 
 
 he have done for her? She had fascinated him; 
 but he had not loved her. She was past reclaiming. 
 Love with a woman of her kind would have meant 
 passion nothing more. A fierce flame, self-consum 
 ing! A slow degrading of an emotion that was fine! 
 Yet he was filled with pity and unreasoning remorse. 
 Some day her enemies would overtake her good, 
 respectable men like Major Cleasby; the good men 
 who by the injustice of their prejudices had made 
 her what she was. 
 
 "It s a chapter ended," he said quietly.
 
 THE VANISHING POINT 
 
 Slipping his arm through hers, as though she al 
 ready belonged to him, he was turning inland toward 
 the peace of the rolling country, when his step was 
 arrested. He caught the sound of labored breathing 
 and the rattle of sliding chalk. Hands groped above 
 the edge of the cliff, searching for a holding. They 
 were followed by the head and shoulders of a man 
 with a face intensely white, in which a pair of pale 
 green eyes smoldered. Lower down and out of sight 
 a woman spoke. The voice was Santa s.
 
 CHAPTER THE FIFTH 
 
 THE GREEN EYES CAST A SPELL 
 
 TTINDWOOD stood rooted to the ground. He 
 * -* had thrust Anna behind him. She was tugging 
 at his hand with the tenacity of terror. He scarcely 
 dared breathe while he watched the green-eyed man 
 dragging himself inch by inch to safety. To go to 
 his assistance might cause his death. Any move that 
 startled him might fling him back over the precipice. 
 In falling he would sweep away the unseen woman 
 who must be clinging to the face of the cliff below 
 him. 
 
 To Hindwood it seemed that he was present at 
 a fantastic rehearsal of the Day of Resurrection. 
 When the last trumpet blew, it would probably 
 be precisely in some such fashion that the sea would 
 give up its dead. It would happen about sunrise, 
 when mankind was still abed. It would commence 
 very quietly, when clouds were hanging low and the 
 first of the barnyard cocks were crowing. Without 
 warning, graves would open, and all the tired people, 
 who had been so long resting, would begin to stir. 
 Like the sound of falling rain, they would patter 
 through the drowsing country, searching for their 
 
 175
 
 176 THE VANISHING POINT 
 
 ancient dwellings. At first they would walk alone, 
 then in groups, later in crowds. By the time the 
 living looked out of their windows there would be 
 no standing room on earth. Across seas and oceans 
 the drowned would come swimming. They would 
 wade through waves and clamber up cliffs, just as 
 this man was doing. 
 
 The vision became so probable that Hindwood 
 glanced behind him to make sure that it was not 
 happening. In a shimmering expanse of dew and 
 autumn coloring lay the sweet, green landscape of 
 living men, the kindly hedgerows, the sheltering val 
 leys, the friendly villages. Everything was gentle 
 and unaltered. It was only at this barrier, which 
 the green-eyed stranger was struggling to surmount, 
 that the tranquillity ended. At its brink eternity 
 commenced, a pulsating oblivion of mist and grayness 
 across which the rising sun peered curiously. 
 
 The stranger was too occupied with his danger to 
 be aware that he was being observed. Clutching at 
 tufts and digging with his fingers, he was easing 
 himself out of the abyss. Little by little he was 
 gaining ground till at last, pulling his knees clear 
 of the edge, he sprawled exhausted on the turf. But 
 it was only for a moment. Twisting about, still 
 lying flat, he reached down to his companion. As 
 she appeared, he retreated, steadying her efforts and 
 dragging her with him. Side by side they collapsed, 
 breathing heavily and staring in dazed defiance at 
 the death they had avoided. 
 
 Hindwood made a step to approach them. He
 
 THE GREEN EYES CAST A SPELL 177 
 
 found himself tethered. Anna was gazing up at him, 
 silently imploring. Her hair seemed a mass of solid 
 gold, weighing her down. The blue veins in her 
 temples stood out beneath her fairness. Her throat 
 was milk-white and stretched back. Her lips were 
 parted, revealing the coral of her mouth. It was as 
 though she had been caught from behind by an assail 
 ant and brutally jerked back. With little endearing 
 motions she caressed Hindwood s hand. He tried 
 to fathom her necessity ; in the presence of her weak 
 ness there was nothing that he would not have 
 granted. 
 
 The man with the green eyes had recovered. In 
 the act of rising he had caught sight of them. His 
 jaw had dropped open. If it was possible, his com 
 plexion had gone a shade whiter. His expression 
 bore testimony to the medley of his emotions, the 
 chief of which was astonishment. He made an oddly 
 pathetic figure, with his scratched hands and torn 
 clothing, crouching in that hunted attitude. He had 
 lost his hat in the ascent. His brown hair was 
 lank with perspiration. He was a lean man and 
 graceful as a greyhound. Even in his present un 
 gainly posture there was a hint of something swift 
 and gallant in his bearing. One forgot that he was 
 a vagabond who had eluded formalities and completed 
 an illegal landing ; he looked more like a champion un 
 horsed in a tourney. His brow was wide and noble, 
 but the top of his head was shaped like a deformity 
 and rose into a point like a dunce s cap. His eyes 
 were well-spaced and piercing; they penetrated with
 
 178 THE VANISHING POINT 
 
 a sense of power. His mouth was thin-lipped and 
 sensitive too sensitive for a man s. His face was 
 narrow and smooth as a girl s. He had a haggard 
 appearance of perpetual suffering, which the extreme 
 ness of his pallor served to enhance. He was in 
 definably tragic. He might have sat equally well for 
 a portrait of Lucifer or of Harlequin overtaken by 
 his folly. 
 
 Very wearily he lifted himself from the ground and 
 stumbled toward them. As he did so, Santa uttered 
 a nervous cry and turned after which she watched 
 broodingly what happened. 
 
 Paying no attention to Hindwood, the man made 
 straight for Anna. Bending over her humbly, he 
 whispered unintelligible words. Her terror left her. 
 Making no sound, she raised to him eyes eloquent 
 with compassion. 
 
 "What did he say?" Hindwood questioned. 
 
 She was prepared to reply, when the stranger 
 stayed her with a gesture. "I was apologizing in 
 Russian for having returned." 
 
 Hindwood glanced at the ragged edge of the cliff 
 and shrugged his shoulders. "An apology s scarcely 
 necessary. You re to be congratulated. You seem 
 to have recognized this lady. Who are you ?" 
 
 The stranger drew himself erect. A grim smile 
 played about his mouth. "Ivan Varensky, at your 
 service."
 
 THE GREEN EYES CAST A SPELL 179 
 
 n 
 
 Hindwood stared at him with a frown. He was 
 contrasting this Ivan Varensky with the leader of 
 men whose deeds of three years ago had so deeply 
 stirred him. One picture stood out ineffaceably. It 
 was of a sea of panic-stricken soldiers, patriotism 
 forgotten, arms flung away, in wild retreat, and of 
 Ivan Varensky driving forward alone, as though he, 
 by his single courage, could turn back the enemy. 
 And this was the man the white knight of Russia, 
 the scape-goat, the magician of words ! Had he met 
 him three years ago, he would have knelt to him. 
 Now all he could do was to frown. 
 
 It was necessary to say something. He spoke 
 gruffly. "You ve chosen an odd method of returning. 
 We had news you were dead." 
 
 "I was," the green eyes narrowed, "nearly. I m 
 always nearly dying. Isn t that so, Anna? And 
 then I come back. This last time, as you observed, 
 I had the discourtesy to forget. I was thinking of 
 Santa. Actually I struggled to survive. Believe 
 me, that s unlike me." 
 
 The forbearance of his manner was rebuking. 
 Making an effort to be genial, Hindwood held out 
 his hand. "It s a strange way to meet. I ve long 
 been your admirer. It was a close call as close as a 
 man could have." 
 
 Varensky winced as the powerful grip closed about
 
 180 THE VANISHING POINT 
 
 his fingers. They were long and pointed, more like a 
 woman s than a man s. "A close call!" He smiled. 
 "You re American? It wasn t not for me. I could 
 tell you But perhaps one day, when I ve become 
 past history, Anna will do that." 
 
 As he mentioned his wife, he gave her a look at 
 once tender and furtive a look which acknowledged 
 without rancor the truth of the situation. She 
 started forward, but his eyes held her. She stopped 
 half-way. 
 
 "However you return," she said chokingly, "and 
 however often, you know that I m glad. It s the 
 certainty that I shall lose you that however often 
 you return I shall never have you 
 
 She bowed her head. From the edge of the cliff, 
 without a trace of emotion, the other woman watched 
 her. 
 
 Tilting her face with his bruised fingers, Varensky 
 regarded her earnestly. "As if I wasn t aware of 
 that!" And then, "Let s be going." 
 
 Side by side, but always separate, they moved 
 across the downs. There was no backward glance. 
 Hindwood followed them with his eyes till they sank 
 into a hollow. The last he saw was the raw gold of 
 her hair and the conical top of his pointed head, 
 growing more distant above the bracken. 
 
 Ill 
 
 "And I, too, have to apologize. I failed to keep 
 my appointment."
 
 THE GREEN EYES CAST A SPELL 181 
 
 He swung round at the mockingly spoken words, 
 to find that Santa had stolen up behind him. Until 
 now he had had no time to notice her. His anger 
 was so intense that it held him silent. After all that 
 she had done and had intended to do to him, she had 
 the effrontery to jest! Did she think that he was as 
 much her dupe as the fool who had died for her in 
 the woods of Vincennes? 
 
 But his anger was short-lived and left him sternly 
 cold. She was changed. Her fastidious elegance 
 was a thing of the past. She was commonly attired 
 as any fisher-girl. Her cheap blouse was rent at the 
 neck; its sleeves were stained and in tatters. Her 
 rough skirt had been nearly trodden off. She was 
 torn and disheveled. She had suffered even more 
 from her adventure than had Varensky. Her hat lay 
 crushed at her feet in the grass. With her wounded 
 hands she was doing her best to twine the thick coils 
 of her hair into place. She stood confessed for 
 what she was, a fugitive from justice. The wildness 
 of the landscape made a fitting setting. She looked 
 startlingly untamed. She might have passed for a 
 peasant Ophelia, except that her gray eyes were 
 calm and her manner nonchalant. 
 
 "There are a good many things, besides missing 
 your appointment, for which you have to apologize." 
 
 "I can explain " 
 
 He cut her short. "Between you and me no ex 
 planations are necessary. * 
 
 She jerked back her head, flattening her hands
 
 182 THE VANISHING POINT 
 
 against her sides like a soldier standing at attention. 
 "Why not?" 
 
 He took his time to answer. "Because you re 
 nothing to me." 
 
 Her face went white, then flamed scarlet, as 
 though he had struck her with his open palm. 
 "Nothing to you!" She spoke slowly. "I, Santa 
 Gorlof , am nothing to you ! You re the first man to 
 whom I ever offered my heart. I would lie down in 
 the mud that you might walk over me. I d let you 
 beat me like a dog if I might only follow you. I d 
 starve that you might be fed, go thirsty that you 
 might drink, break my body that you might not 
 suffer. I would die if it would give you pleasure." 
 Seeing that her rhetoric was having no effect, she 
 sank her voice. "When I could have escaped, I 
 waited for you. I risked my freedom for one last 
 sight of you." She clutched at her breast, choking 
 down a sob. "And you tell me that I m nothing 
 to you!" 
 
 He was determined to remain unmoved by her emo 
 tion. Regarding her stonily, he asked : "What right 
 had you to believe that you were anything to me?" 
 
 She laughed forlornly. "No right at all." 
 
 "If I had ever cared for you," he continued, 
 "in your present predicament it would all be ended." 
 
 She raised her brows contemptuously. "Of 
 course." 
 
 "You see, I ve found out the sort of woman you 
 are." 
 
 "What sort?"
 
 THE GREEN EYES CAST A SPELL 183 
 
 "Need I recall?" 
 
 He turned away, searching hollows and clumps 
 of bushes for bobbing heads of watchers. Her cap 
 tors might be closing in on her. Her indifference to 
 her danger was disconcerting. With eyes still fixed 
 on the distant landscape, he revealed his thoughts. 
 
 "Your talk of love is paltry. It s tragic farce. 
 You have a husband. You re liable to be jailed at 
 any moment." 
 
 He expected she would retort. When she main 
 tained silence, he glanced down at his feet, ashamed 
 of what he felt himself compelled to tell her. 
 
 "Love ! If it were true, and if your affection were 
 desired, you have no love to offer. Nothing that is 
 you is yours. Your hours are numbered. Your 
 body and your life are forfeit. The man who is your 
 husband is leading the hue-and-cry against you. If 
 you think you can persuade me to go to the scaffold 
 for you, rid yourself of the thought. There ll be no 
 repetition of the woods of Vincennes. The victim In 
 that case was your lover; I m not." He met her 
 eyes. "You never deceived me for a second. From 
 the moment we left the Ryndam, I knew who it was 
 had pushed Prince Rogovich overboard." 
 
 "If you knew," she asked quietly, "why didn t 
 you have me arrested?" 
 
 "It was none of my business." 
 
 "But you were kind after we d landed. At the, 
 hotel you arranged to breakfast with me." 
 
 "I couldn t bring myself to believe you were 
 guilty."
 
 184 THE VANISHING POINT 
 
 "And yet, after you had believed, you followed 
 me to Seafold." 
 
 "The detective instinct." He spoke testily. "Mor 
 bid curiosity." 
 
 "No." She said it wistfully. Her face softened. 
 "You followed me because, even against your will, 
 you still cared for me. You pitied me. You were 
 chivalrous. You refused to condemn me unheard. 
 You hoped there was some mistake. You followed 
 me to make sure." 
 
 "And you ve made me sure." He rapped out the 
 words. "Since you insist on the truth, I came to 
 Seafold hoping to find you innocent. If I had I 
 should have fought for you. Whereas " 
 
 "Whereas?" she prompted nervously. 
 
 "I found you d done to me what you ve done to 
 every other man who ever befriended you betrayed 
 me and had me lured into an ambush where, for all I 
 know, you d given orders for me to be shot." 
 
 "But you weren t." 
 
 "No thanks to you. Your husband was ahead 
 of you, hidden in the bushes, waiting for you. If 
 we hadn t given the signal that warned you " 
 
 "But you gave it." She spoke triumphantly. 
 "I d trapped you, and yet you didn t want me to be 
 caught. To have shown generosity at a moment when 
 you thought that I was threatening your life, you 
 must still have been fond of me." 
 
 "Thought !" He drew back from her, revolted by 
 her insincerity. "You left no room for thought. 
 You were diabolically explicit. You knew that I
 
 THE GREEN EYES CAST A SPELL 185 
 
 could prove your guilt. You meant to kill me in 
 order that I might be silenced." 
 
 Her eyes filled. She stretched out her arms be 
 seechingly. They fell hopelessly as he retreated 
 from her. 
 
 "Don t misjudge me," she implored. "I m a 
 woman who s finished. A woman, as you reminded 
 me, whose hours are numbered my body and my life 
 are forfeit. It s true what you said: nothing that 
 I am belongs to me. If you like to put it that way, 
 I m a woman who has nothing to offer. And yet I 
 love you the first man with whom I was ever in love, 
 now when it s too late. You don t believe me; 
 you re thinking of the many others. Let it pass. I 
 had to see you once more. I couldn t come to you; 
 you were surrounded by my enemies. To persuade 
 you to come to me, I had to trick you. Until it was 
 safe to visit you, I had to have you held by force. I 
 compelled Anna, Madame Varensky to 
 
 He made an impatient gesture. "Enough! I m 
 wondering to how many men you ve made that speech 
 before. I ve heard all about your appeals to chiv 
 alry. If you were a man Unfortunately you re 
 not, so I have a sentimental compunction about aban 
 doning you. What are your plans ? When I saw the 
 ship I hoped you had escaped." 
 
 "I had." 
 
 "And you came back ! Why ?" 
 
 "Varensky was landing from the boat that had 
 been sent to take me off." She was laying claim to
 
 186 THE VANISHING POINT 
 
 some obscure nobility, making a final bid for his 
 admiration. 
 
 "The mist s clearing," he said brusquely. "In an 
 other half-hour you ll be visible for miles. If you re 
 seen here, you ll be taken." 
 
 "I won t." 
 
 "You think not?" 
 
 She smiled languidly. It was her arch, mysterious 
 way of smiling that had first attracted him. "Why 
 don t you go?" she whispered in her hoarse, parched 
 voice. "You loathe and despise me. You grudge 
 me every moment we re together. I ve done what was 
 right ; I m willing to pay the penalty. I ve earned a 
 rest. I m tired you can t guess how tired." 
 
 Now that she wanted him to go, he gazed at her 
 with a new interest. If the trackers were hot upon 
 his trail, what would be his sensations? Would he 
 be able to be courteous and to talk calmly? What 
 ever might be her crimes, she had courage. What if 
 it were true that by some tortuous process of reason 
 ing she did actually believe she had done right ? And 
 what if it were true that she had intended him no 
 harm, but had only attempted to win him by violence? 
 The uneasy doubt took shape in his mind that he 
 might have misjudged her. It would be a splendid 
 memory to have, if she were wrongly executed this 
 gleaming morning, the larks singing, the blue-patched 
 sky, the valiant sun, the rosy-tinted dew, and him 
 self fleeing from the f orlornness of a woman ! Every 
 man s hand was against her. She believed she had 
 done right.
 
 THE GREEN EYES CAST A SPELL 187 
 
 He regarded her less coldly. She was perfect as 
 on the day when all Europe had gone wild over her. 
 And this masterpiece of loveliness, which had been 
 known as Santa Gorlof , was doomed to be destroyed ! 
 
 "Go." She stamped her foot hysterically. "You 
 torture me." 
 
 He faced her obstinately. "What are you pro 
 posing? You ve some plan in mind. Madame Varen- 
 sky called this the road out. Is it possible for you 
 to take it?" 
 
 "I know a shorter route." 
 
 "You re certain?" 
 
 "Please leave me. You must leave me. I m a 
 woman who has nothing to offer. You re a man who 
 has everything to lose." 
 
 He squared his lips. "I don t like the sound of 
 this shorter route. I want to know more about it." 
 
 As he made a step to. ard her, she dodged and 
 broke from him, dashing toward the cliff. On the 
 very edge he caught her. She struggled dangerously, 
 but he stumbled back with her crushed against him. 
 
 "You little fool!" 
 
 She lay quiet, her face pressed against his cheek. 
 Then she fell to sobbing. 
 
 "What difference would it make? Why wouldn t 
 you let me do it?" 
 
 IV 
 
 Why wouldn t he? It was the question he himself 
 was asking. He had done nothing humane in prevent-
 
 188 THE VANISHING POINT 
 
 ing her. He had merely spared his own feelings. If 
 she had succeeded, he would have found himself 
 in an ugly situation. He would have been suspected 
 of a crime similar to hers. There would have been 
 no evidence to hang him, but he could never have es 
 tablished his innocence. He looked down at the 
 woman shuddering in his arms, for all the world as 
 though he were her lover. He had been within an 
 ace of inheriting her isolation. 
 
 "I didn t let you do it " He hesitated. Then he 
 took the plunge. "Because I intend to save you." 
 
 She stirred. She glanced up at him. As her eyes 
 met his, their expression of wonder gave way to one 
 of gratitude. She strove to reach his lips, but he 
 restrained her. 
 
 "Promise me you ll live." 
 
 "If you ll help me." 
 
 How much she implied jy "help me," he did not 
 stop to question. 
 
 "We ve no time to lose." He spoke hurriedly. 
 "Where s the safest place of hiding?" 
 
 "My old one. A hut " 
 
 "I know," he interrupted. "I ll go ahead to make 
 sure the way is clear; you follow at a distance. 
 Keep me in sight. If I look back, take cover." 
 
 Without more ado, he turned away, retracing his 
 steps to the camp. 
 
 He attempted to walk jauntily, like a nature-lover 
 who had risen early to enjoy the first freshness of 
 the morning. Here and there he stooped to pluck a 
 blackberry. He pulled a sprig of heather for his
 
 THE GREEN EYES CAST A SPELL 189 
 
 lapel. He flattered himself that, if he were being 
 watched, his conduct was artistically normal. 
 
 For all his display of carelessness, he advanced 
 warily. There was nothing in the billowy expanse of 
 greenness that escaped him. Somewhere within a 
 radius of four miles the Major was waiting to make 
 his pounce. He might be crouched in the next patch 
 of bracken. He might be lying behind the nearest 
 mound. The dapper, gallant-appearing old gentle 
 man, who bore such a striking resemblance to Lord 
 Roberts, assumed the terror of nemesis in his imagin 
 ation. He seemed everywhere and nowhere. He 
 would pop up, suave and neatly bespatted, at the 
 moment when he was least expected. 
 
 He gazed straight before him, not daring to look 
 back, but he never lost consciousness of the fateful 
 woman following him stealthily as a shadow. And 
 always there was the memory of the other woman 
 with the gentle eyes and shining hair. 
 
 He reached the camp. It looked lonely as a grave 
 yard. Rows of hutments, bleached to a bluish white 
 ness, gleamed in the morning sunshine. The downs 
 curled above it like an emerald wave on the point of 
 breaking. 
 
 Passing along the bare avenue of silent dwellings 
 he pushed open the door of Santa s place of refuge. 
 Tiptoeing across the dusty floor, he knelt by the 
 window, peering out. 
 
 Seconds ticked into minutes. Ten minutes elapsed, 
 twenty, half an hour. There was no sign of life. He 
 strove to calm his fears. If she had been caught,
 
 190 THE VANISHING POINT 
 
 it simplified matters. But such arguments failed to 
 pacify him. He pictured her as he had seen her 
 on the Ryndam a splendid animal, proud, fastidi 
 ous, mildly contemptuous; and then as he had seen 
 her that morning, broken, desperate, defiant. 
 
 Out there in the happy sunshine they might be 
 carrying her away. They would drag her through 
 the public streets as a criminal. They would lock 
 her in a cell. They would hale her to a court to be 
 gaped at. They would paw over her private life. 
 They would pry into the intimacies of her love- 
 affairs. Nothing that was hers would be sacred. 
 Then, when the sport grew tedious, an old man, 
 turned moralist by reason of decrepitude, would don 
 a black cap and intrust her to the mercy of 
 Almighty God. 
 
 He staged her arrest as though he had seen it 
 happen. He had strolled straight through her pur 
 suers ambush. They had let him pass. Directly 
 she had appeared, they had risen out of the brush. 
 Twisting her arms behind her, they had snapped 
 handcuifs on her slender wrists. She had struggled, 
 sinking to the ground, faint with terror. They had 
 jerked her to her feet, half carrying her, pushing 
 her forward. 
 
 He raged impotently. What brutes men were! 
 Nothing that she had done to his sex was bad enough. 
 He thrust the vision from him. Each time it re 
 turned. 
 
 The door creaked. He leaped as if he had been 
 shot. She pressed a finger to her lips. Coming close,
 
 THE GREEN EYES CAST A SPELL 191 
 
 so that he could feel the rise and fall of her bosom, 
 "He s here," she whispered. 
 
 "Who?" 
 
 She was puzzled by his stupidity. Then, "You 
 know," she murmured. "He saw me in the distance 
 and started to run toward me. I dropped to my 
 knees and circled, approaching the hut from the 
 back." 
 
 "But he couldn t have recognized you." 
 
 "He s on my track." 
 
 "Alone?" 
 
 "I saw no one else." 
 
 Hindwood s forehead wrinkled as he reckoned the 
 cost. "If he comes alone, we can deal with him." 
 
 "You mean ?" She did not finish her sentence. 
 
 He smiled sternly, thinking how far he had drifted 
 from his moorings. "Scarcely. What made you 
 ask?" 
 
 "He s my husband." Her answer was enigmatic. 
 
 They held their breath. She was clinging to him. 
 There had been no sound, nothing that could have 
 warned them. Pushing her from him, he stole 
 toward the window. Not fifty yards away, rigid 
 like a hound at fault, stood the Major. Slowly, 
 scarcely turning his head, he was running his eye 
 along the double line of hutments. There was noth 
 ing in his expression that would tell what he had
 
 192 THE VANISHING POINT 
 
 found. As though he sensed that he was watched, 
 he started forward at a rambling pace. He tried no 
 doors. He peered through no panes. His bearing 
 was that of a mildly interested tourist who had stum 
 bled on the camp by accident. He passed out of sight 
 inoffensively, idly slashing at the grass. 
 
 It was some time before either of them dared to 
 whisper. Then Hindwood straightened himself and 
 drew back. 
 
 "He s gone." 
 
 "To return," she said tragically. 
 
 "If he returns alone, what of it?" 
 
 "He may catch me." 
 
 "That doesn t follow. We may catch him instead." 
 
 Her eyes grew long and narrow like a cat s. 
 "What would we do with him?" she asked softly. 
 
 He regarded her warily. "He told me he loved 
 you," he said irrelevantly. 
 
 "Love wouldn t stand in his way nothing per 
 sonal. For what he holds to be right, he d mutilate 
 himself. He d kill the thing he loved best." She 
 sank her voice. "We all would." 
 
 "All He paused and began again. "With 
 idealists like the Major, yourself and Varensky, 
 human relations don t count. That was what you 
 were trying to tell me, wasn t it? To achieve in 
 dividual ideals, you d sacrifice your own and every 
 body s happiness." 
 
 Her expression became wooden as an idol s. 
 
 "You d sacrifice mine, for instance?"
 
 THE GREEN EYES CAST A SPELL 193 
 
 When she refused to answer, he made his inquiry 
 more intrusive. 
 
 "My life, perhaps? No obligation of loyalty or 
 gratitude would hinder you? Be honest." 
 
 He recognized the struggle which his words had 
 occasioned. Her sleepy look had vanished. She 
 believed he was preparing to desert her. She was 
 mustering the courage to invent a falsehood. 
 Already her hands were lying. They were wander 
 ing over him, patting and caressing. He clasped 
 them in his own, holding her at arm s length. Her 
 eyes met his; they grew steady and absorbed him. 
 
 "Even though you were all I had, if your life 
 caused suffering to children, I would kill you." 
 
 He laughed at her solemnity over having told the 
 truth. 
 
 "With you it s children; with the Major it s pa 
 triotism; with Varensky it s freedom. With me it s 
 nothing. I follow no will-o -the-wisp which is lucky 
 for you. You re terribly tired; get some rest while 
 you can. I ll watch. I m no idealist ; you can trust 
 me. * 
 
 VI 
 
 She had wrapped herself in her sable cloak and 
 curled herself on the floor in the corner remotest 
 from the window. When he judged she was sleep 
 ing, he stole to her side and stood gazing down. Her 
 rags were hidden. Except for the weary disorder of
 
 194 THE VANISHING POINT 
 
 her hair, she was almost the fashionable beauty of 
 his Atlantic voyage. 
 
 He looked closer. Fatigue had uncovered some 
 thing hidden in her countenance, traces of lost girl 
 hood. Her body seemed smaller, her features less 
 decided. The mask of intrigue had fallen. He 
 caught a glimpse of the slim, pathetic child whom 
 the Major had discovered, swaying like lilac-bloom 
 in the perfumed dusk of the Hindoo temple. 
 
 Her feet peeped out from beneath the costly fur. 
 Such doll s feet so little to have come so long a 
 journey! Her ankles were cut by the climb up the 
 cliff. Her shoes were broken. As though the curtain 
 had gone up in the theater of his brain, her feet 
 began to act their story. He saw them tiny and 
 brown, pattering about the shaded bungalow where 
 the English tea-planter had lived with her Burmese 
 mother. He saw them lost and wandering along the 
 roads of India. He saw them in the temple, flashing 
 like a swallow s flight across mosaic pavements. He 
 followed all their progress, as they carried her 
 through triumphs and bereavements to this moment. 
 
 She sighed and moved languidly. The robe fell 
 back, revealing her hands. They were grazed and 
 wounded. 
 
 Pouring water on his handkerchief from the 
 pitcher, he bathed them gently. Just as he had 
 finished, she opened her eyes. 
 
 "You won t leave me?" 
 
 "You ll find me sitting here," he assured her, 
 "just like this when you waken."
 
 THE GREEN EYES CAST A SPELL 195 
 
 Smiling faintly, she drowsed off obediently as a 
 child. 
 
 All day she lay huddled in the corner, oblivious 
 and spent with exhaustion. This must be the first 
 long sleep she had snatched for several days and 
 nights. Crouched beside the window, he guarded her. 
 The Major might return. Varensky might send help. 
 He himself could do nothing till after nightfall. The 
 only food was the broken loaf of bread on the shelf 
 beside the pitcher. He did not dare to touch it; 
 when she woke, she would be hungry. The downs 
 poured in a steady blaze of light. A fly drummed 
 against the panes. On distant hillsides sheep were 
 grazing; he envied them their freedom. 
 
 He could go if he liked. As the monotony dragged 
 on, the temptation strengthened. He was under no 
 obligation to make himself an outlaw. If he were to 
 slip away, he would not rouse her. Within the hour 
 he could be speeding up to London. Once there he 
 would be of importance the one man, at least in 
 some statesmen s estimate, who could solve the Eu 
 ropean situation. For this woman he was sacrificing 
 the happiness of millions. The fleshpots of Egypt 
 could he his for the claiming. If he stayed and she 
 were arrested, he would be held as her accomplice. 
 Self-interest and altruism urged him to escape. He 
 owed nothing to her. Women had always been for 
 him an enemy country, forbidden and enticing. They 
 had been what darkest Africa was to the explorer, a 
 forest-world of treacherous loveliness. In imagina 
 tion he had always been approaching their borders,
 
 196 THE VANISHING POINT 
 
 fascinated by the gleam of uplifted faces. But like 
 Varensky, whose life was a constant challenging of 
 terror, in this one matter he had been cowardly. 
 Since the first false woman of his early manhood 
 
 Why was it, this sudden clamor to possess the 
 thing which all his years he had avoided? Was it 
 because he felt the rising tide of loneliness and 
 knew that the years were gaining on him? All this 
 autumn day, as the silver clearness of morning faded 
 into the deep gold of afternoon, he sat motionless, 
 considering. Up to now he had maintained his pride, 
 flattering himself that it was he who was doing the 
 refusing. He had told himself arrogantly that he 
 would succeed first succeed immensely; after that 
 he could have any woman for the asking. But could 
 he? He was losing his faculty for sharing. Merely 
 to marry a woman was not to win her. The illusion 
 of ecstasy! 
 
 He glanced over to the corner where she lay sleep 
 ing. She was the symbol of the feminine half of the 
 world whom he had disregarded. It was she who had 
 roused him, with her parched voice and instinctive 
 passion. 
 
 He studied her her golden face, her cruel lips, her 
 thin, sweet profile. He noticed the delicate firmness 
 of her arms, the fineness of her throat, the tenderness 
 of her molding. At every point she made him aware 
 of his incompleteness. 
 
 Across the downs, like a fisherman drawing in his 
 nets, the sun was setting. The hut was vague with
 
 THE GREEN EYES CAST A SPELL 197 
 
 dusk. Like the crescent of a young moon, Santa 
 had wakened and was rising. 
 
 VII 
 
 "You promised to save me." 
 
 "I will if I can." 
 
 She knotted her hands in mental anguish. 
 
 "You must. Any moment he may return. Have 
 you thought of nothing?" 
 
 Leaning across his shoulder she lifted the ragged 
 curtain, peering out at the fading landscape; as 
 she gazed, her face stiffened and her eyes became 
 fixed in a leaden stare. Not more than thirty yards 
 distant, with his back toward them, the Major was 
 standing. He had followed their trail still closer. 
 
 "We can t escape," she panted. "He ll be there 
 all night, to-morrow, forever." 
 
 "We can. Stop here and trust me." 
 
 Rising stealthily, leaving the door ajar behind 
 him, he slipped out of the hut. In the twilight he 
 halted, breathing in the sweet evening fragrance. 
 Without further secrecy, he strode toward the 
 Major. 
 
 "Good evening. I ve been expecting you." 
 
 At the first word the Major spun round, alertly 
 on the defensive. 
 
 "I have your prisoner," he continued. "I found I 
 had no taste for being added to her list of victims. 
 I ll be glad if you ll take her off my hands. She s in
 
 198 THE VANISHING POINT 
 
 there." He jerked his thumb across his shoulder. 
 
 The Major eyed him fiercely. "How d you mean, 
 you were expecting me?" 
 
 Hindwood laughed. "I caught sight of you last 
 night in Varensky s garden and this morning on the 
 downs. I didn t let you know, because there were 
 things I was anxious to investigate." 
 
 "For instance?" 
 
 "The purpose of her game." 
 
 "And you ve satisfied yourself?" 
 
 "At the risk of my life yes. When you warned 
 me against being romantic, I thought you were 
 merely jealous. Fortunately or unfortunately, 
 whichever way you like to put it, I know now that 
 everything you told me was correct." 
 
 "Humph!" 
 
 The Major twirled his mustaches thoughtfully. 
 In the last of the daylight he looked like a lean, 
 white cat. 
 
 His coolness began to wear on Hindwood s nerves. 
 "I suppose your men are hidden. Let s make an 
 end." 
 
 "I have no men." The Major spoke slowly. 
 "You forget that this woman is my wife. I wished 
 to spare her as much as possible by making the ar 
 rest myself!" His eyes narrowed shrewdly. "How 
 did you manage to secure her?" 
 
 "Luck. She had an accident. It s too long a 
 story. She can t get away. I m through ; I ve done 
 my share." 
 
 As he turned to go, the older man stretched out a
 
 THE GREEN EYES CAST A SPELL 199 
 
 delaying hand. His iron discipline wavered. "It s 
 not a cheerful task. If you ll be so good as to 
 stay" 
 
 "If you feel like that" 
 
 "I daren t allow myself to feel. It s something I 
 owe my country." 
 
 As though afraid that he would weaken, the 
 Major set out at a run across the turf. Outside the 
 hut he waited. As Hindwood caught up with him, 
 he whispered: 
 
 "Two men against one woman ! For an old soldier 
 it isn t gallant." 
 
 He was on the point of entering, when he felt 
 himself flung violently forward. Hindwood s arm 
 was crooked about his throat, shutting off his breath. 
 Bursting into the hut, he was hurled to the floor and 
 found himself struggling in the darkness. He was 
 being pressed down and down. A voice spoke, the 
 accents of which a minute ago had been friendly. 
 
 "Close the door. Get something to bind him. 
 Anything that will hold. Tear strips off your dress." 
 
 VIII 
 
 It was over. The Major had been trussed and 
 gagged. He had been handcuffed with his own 
 manacles. His revolver had been removed and his 
 pockets searched. He leaned propped against the 
 wall like a jointed doll, his body making an exact 
 right angle with his legs. The angry vigilance of
 
 200 THE VANISHING POINT 
 
 his eyes was his only sign of life. There was no 
 means of making a light, even if it had been safe to 
 employ it. Now that the fight was ended, they sat 
 staring into the gloom, anonymous as three shadows. 
 
 It was Hindwood who broke the silence. "I ve 
 been guilty of an outrage, Major; I guess that s 
 what you d like to tell me. But you gave me no 
 choice. Where I come from, women and children 
 are held sacred. It was up to some man to protect 
 her." 
 
 He paused instinctively, as though he expected a 
 reply. He looked to Santa where she crouched, 
 motionless and scarcely discernible, in her corner. 
 What were they thinking, this husband and wife, so 
 brutally reunited? His sense of discomfort urged 
 him to continue. 
 
 "Don t run off with the idea that I approve of 
 what she s done. And I m not in love with her. If 
 she were a man, I don t suppose I d raise a finger to 
 save her. But she s a woman: inconsistently, that 
 makes all the difference. I couldn t stand for seeing 
 her dragged away to the kind of shame 
 
 Again he paused. The lack of response was mad 
 dening. Scrambling to his feet, he bent over the 
 Major. 
 
 "To be frank, now that I ve got you, I don t 
 know what to do with you. If you ll promise to 
 keep quiet, I ll remove the gag." 
 
 "No." Santa had not stirred. In the darkness 
 she was little more than a voice. "Let me speak while 
 he s forced to listen. Put him where I can see him."
 
 THE GREEN EYES CAST A SPELL 201 
 
 Taking his prisoner by the shoulders, Hindwood 
 dragged him to the window. With a jerk he tore the 
 ragged curtain from its nails. The downs were a 
 sea of purple dusk. The moon hung like a lantern 
 in an unruffled sky. Against the square of glass, 
 the Major s face showed hawk-like. 
 
 "You ve changed." She spoke softly. "Do you 
 remember when last we parted? On the docks at 
 Calcutta. It hurt. Since then we ve both gone 
 down the ladder. For both of us it was the end of 
 goodness. I must have known it. I waved till long 
 after you were out of sight; then I wept till my 
 heart was shriveled up. How long I ve waited to 
 tell you what you ve made me suffer! You made me 
 feel that I d never been your wife, only a half-caste 
 plaything. But you d put a white soul into my body. 
 It was a greater wickedness than anything I have 
 done. Now that I m what you ve made me, father 
 of my dead child, you seek me out to be my judge." 
 
 Her hoarse voice died away. Like the protest of 
 an uneasy conscience, the Major s handcuffs clinked 
 together. 
 
 "You think that you re just," she began again. 
 "You come of a race which admires justice. Ah, 
 but justice is not kindness! You knew what I was 
 when you brought me from the temple a wanton 
 slave-girl. What had I learned of righteousness? 
 It wasn t for my virtue that you bought me. It was 
 for my pomegranate lips, my golden body, my little, 
 caressing hands. Afterward, as an incentive to de 
 sire, it pleased you to bring the soul into my eyes.
 
 202 THE VANISHING POINT 
 
 You made me long to be perfect. You seemed so 
 strong and wise ; I wanted to be like you. Without 
 you I was afraid. You were my God. I felt brave 
 when I touched you. * 
 
 Her voice sank. "After the little one came, I 
 was no longer frightened. He was so nearly white. 
 He was yours and mine. My blood seemed cleansed. 
 I saw the world through the innocence of his eyes. 
 The evil of the East ceased to call to me. But when 
 he was killed and you put me from you Murderer 
 of a woman s faith," she addressed the silent face, 
 "the soul in me was dying." 
 
 She rocked in the shadows. "My crimes are yours, 
 and you came to condemn me. You robbed me of 
 everything but my body. My heart was famished; 
 to feed it, I sold my beauty at a price. At first, 
 for men s money ; then, for their honor ; at last, for 
 their lives." She had risen. "You wonder why for 
 their lives? They were men like you, outwardly just, 
 who destroyed belief in goodness. Because of men 
 like you women s hearts are broken and children 
 go naked." 
 
 Hindwood leaped to his feet, blocking her path. 
 She leaned past him, staring down into the bandaged 
 face. 
 
 "Oh, husband without pity, god whom I wor 
 shipped, I burn in hell because of your justice." 
 
 Slipping to her knees, she came into the square of 
 light. "Am I not beautiful? Is there another like 
 me? Would it not have been happier to have been 
 kind? See what you have spoiled."
 
 THE GREEN EYES CAST A SPELL 203 
 
 IX 
 
 There was the rustling of footsteps in the grass 
 outside. Letting in a flood of moonlight, the door 
 was pushed gently open. 
 
 "May we enter?" 
 
 Without waiting for a reply, a man padded noise 
 lessly across the threshold. By his peaked head 
 and the litheness of his body, Hindwood recognized 
 him as Varensky. Behind him, with the mildness of 
 attendant angels, Anna and the Little Grandmother 
 followed. Just inside the room he halted. 
 
 "What s this?" 
 
 The bound face in the square of window had 
 riveted his attention. 
 
 "Her husband." 
 
 "But why?" 
 
 Hindwood spoke again. "He had come to take 
 her to be hanged." 
 
 The pale face smiled contemptuously. "Hang 
 ing s only a way of dying. Was that any reason for 
 making him suffer?" 
 
 Without further argument, taking command of 
 the situation, he stepped quickly to the Major s 
 side. Stooping, he cut the bonds and removed the 
 
 gag- 
 
 "You re free free to go where you like and to 
 
 get us all into trouble. We shall be here for at least 
 an hour, so you ll have time. I landed without per 
 mission in your England this morning. That s a
 
 204- THE VANISHING POINT 
 
 cause for police interference. My name s Ivan Varen 
 sky." 
 
 The Major rose painfully, blinking at the lean, 
 green-eyed stranger as though he had discovered in 
 him a jester. "There are still the handcuffs," he 
 muttered. 
 
 When the handcuffs had been knocked off, Varen- 
 sky repeated, "You re free to go." 
 
 The Major shook himself and resumed his strut 
 ting air, like a brave old rooster who had all but had 
 his neck wrung. "If it makes no difference, I ll stay." 
 
 With his left eye shut and his head on one side, 
 Varensky regarded him comically. "No difference! 
 It may. You re a secret service agent ; I m a revolu 
 tionary. You uphold laws ; I defy them. You re the 
 servant of force; I hate every form of compulsion. 
 What difference it makes depends on yourself 
 whether you propose to stay as a spy or as a man of 
 honor." 
 
 "As a sportsman who abides by the rules of the 
 game." 
 
 Varensky shrugged his narrow shoulders. "As 
 a sportsman who hunts women?" He turned ten 
 derly to Santa. "You re famished. We ll cover up 
 the window and make a light." 
 
 When candles which they had brought had been 
 kindled and the meal spread, Santa and Hindwood 
 sat down on the floor, facing each other. While they 
 ate there was dead silence. Hindwood kept catching 
 glimpses of her eyes. What was to be the end of 
 her? Her expression was stunned. They both knew
 
 THE GREEN EYES CAST A SPELL 205 
 
 what this silence betokened : when the meal was over, 
 her fate was to be decided. He was aware of each 
 separate personality, as though each were making 
 an effort to explain itself. What was to be hoped 
 for from the verdict of such a jury? Every one 
 in the hut, except Anna and himself, was a fanatic. 
 He did not try to see their faces ; all he saw was 
 their hands as they ministered to him. The hands 
 of Varensky, half clown s, half martyr s. The 
 wrinkled hands of the old noblewoman, worn with 
 service, who had lived with outcasts and spent her 
 years in exile. The hands of Anna, guilty with 
 yearning. 
 
 Varensky spoke without looking up. It was as 
 though he were carrying on a conversation already 
 started. "We can t restore life, so what right have 
 we to destroy it? To be merciful that s the only 
 way." 
 
 His green eyes sought the Major s. "We could 
 have killed you to-night but we didn t. Have you 
 wondered why? By letting you go, we ve put our 
 selves in your power. To-morrow you can drag us 
 all to jail. You re a hard man. You exact an eye 
 for an eye and a tooth for a tooth. You came here 
 to-night to exact a life. If we had judged you by 
 your own standards, we should have been justified 
 in giving you no quarter. If we had, what good 
 would it have done? You d only have been dead. 
 And if you d managed to capture Santa, what good 
 would that have done? To have had her executed 
 wouldn t have made her a better woman."
 
 206 THE VANISHING POINT 
 
 He reached out and took her unwilling hand, 
 
 O 
 
 bending back the fingers one by one. "They re 
 beautiful. See how cleverly they work. There s not 
 a scientist living can reproduce their mechanism. 
 No one knows how they grew to be like that." 
 
 His tone became tender. "Santa s been bad. She s 
 been treacherous and cruel: a faithless wife and a 
 menace. Merely to punish her wouldn t undo her 
 evil. Only she can do that." 
 
 For the first time the Major spoke. "At what 
 are you driving?" 
 
 Varensky made no attempt to answer him. He 
 seemed not to have heard. He sat cross-legged on the 
 floor, folding and unfolding Santa s fingers, while his 
 grotesque shadow squatted on the wall behind him. 
 He looked like a kindly, embarrassed boy, trying to 
 say something to the sulky girl so that it should 
 not sound too wounding. 
 
 "I wonder whether Santa s husband ever saw a 
 woman when she was dead. There s no light in her 
 eyes. She can t say that she s sorry. Last week I 
 saw hundreds in the ditches about Kiev. They 
 weren t lovely. We mustn t let our Santa become 
 like that." 
 
 He turned to the Major with a slow smile. "Must 
 we? You wouldn t like to think of the woman you 
 had loved " 
 
 The Major took a step into the room and stood 
 biting his lips, glooming down at Varensky. 
 
 "You and I, sir, view our duty from hostile stand 
 points. I care for this woman infinitely more than
 
 THE GREEN EYES CAST A SPELL 207 
 
 you can ever care. But I care still more for my 
 country. She s betrayed it a score of times. Shall 
 I, because I am her husband, stand by and allow her 
 to betray it? Had I accomplished the purpose that 
 brought me here to-night, my heart would have been 
 broken. To have put handcuffs on her wrists and 
 to have sworn away her life, do you think it would 
 have cost me nothing? The very judge who sentenced 
 her would have shunned me." 
 
 The Little Grandmother looked up. She spoke 
 gruffly. "And what would have been the use of 
 your suffering? Society would have been revenged. 
 It would have washed its hands, like Pontius Pilate. 
 It would have smiled smugly, believing she was wrong 
 and it was right. It would have gone on its way, 
 manufacturing more criminals like her. The old 
 evils that have made her what she is would have 
 continued, while she She snapped her fingers 
 furiously. "Like the women in the ditches about 
 Kiev." 
 
 When the room had grown silent, Varensky cov 
 ered the Major with his mocking stare. 
 
 "You must excuse our Little Grandmother. She 
 feels these things intensely. More than half her 
 years have been spent in prison." 
 
 The Major pulled himself together. "She needs 
 no excusing. What is it that you want of me?"
 
 208 THE VANISHING POINT 
 
 "Santa s life. It s of no use to you." He smiled 
 in the midst of his earnestness. "I m a boy begging 
 for a broken watch. You were going to throw it 
 away. I have dreams that I could repair it." 
 
 The Major twitched irritably. "And you talk like 
 a boy. How can I give you what doesn t belong to 
 me? At every port in Europe the police are watch 
 ing. For me to forgive her wouldn t help. It isn t 
 against me that she s offended ; it s against the laws 
 of civilization." 
 
 "I know." Varensky nodded soothingly. "You re 
 only one of the many agents of social vengeance. 
 What I ought to have asked you was to give me the 
 part of her life that does belong to you. She s 
 in your clutches. Let her escape. Keep silent and 
 drop your pursuit." 
 
 "And if I do?" 
 
 Varensky tucked his legs closer under him and 
 bent forward. "Perhaps I could turn her into a 
 saint." A note of passionate pleading crept into 
 his voice. "She loves children. It was how her wick 
 edness started. She was blind and mistaken, and 
 all her crimes were committed for children. A woman 
 who loves children must be good. She s done abom 
 inable things. She could become magnificent if she 
 would do good with an equal violence." 
 
 The Major glanced at the subject of these prophe 
 cies, sitting in their midst, rebelliously silent. He
 
 THE GREEN EYES CAST A SPELL 209 
 
 said wearily: "Mere words! You offer me no 
 proof!" 
 
 The white face seemed to grow till it filled the 
 room. The green eyes glowed like emeralds. They 
 were uncanny and hypnotic. Language came in a 
 torrent. "It isn t her body it s her soul. If she 
 were to die now, what would happen to her? I tried 
 to save the soul of a nation. Let me do for Santa 
 what I couldn t do for Russia prove that mercy 
 restores where punishment destroys. There s been 
 too much killing. The world grows worse instead of 
 better. It s been going on for ages, this hanging and 
 guillotining and bludgeoning. It s reformed nothing. 
 It s the might is right of the jungle, the justice of 
 apes and cavemen. Revenge, whether it s carried out 
 by tooth and claw or by law-courts and armies, 
 never heals anything ; it always leaves a bruise. The 
 face of Europe is bruised beyond recovery by our 
 last display of justice. Its fields are rotten with 
 corpses. Shall we add one more to the many a 
 woman s ?" 
 
 He paused, trembling like a leaf. When the Major 
 only frowned, he sank back exhausted. 
 
 "If you d seen what I ve seen His head sagged 
 stupidly. "If you d seen what I ve seen miles of 
 men, all slaughtered; women dead of starvation, 
 children hunting in packs like wolves. And all be 
 cause there s no mercy. If you d seen, you couldn t 
 kill anything." 
 
 The candles ceased to gutter. Shadows huddled 
 motionless. The very silence seemed accused.
 
 210 THE VANISHING POINT 
 
 Hindwood rose. He could endure the tension no 
 longer. "I know nothing about her soul and not 
 much about her guilt. All I know is that she s a 
 woman at the end of her tether who s been handed 
 one of the rawest of raw deals. That the world s 
 been hard on her won t excuse her. We can t alter 
 the world over night. If she s caught, as she may 
 be at any moment, it ll be all up with her. I don t 
 care what she s done or how much I lose by it, Fm 
 not going to stand by and see her taken." 
 
 The Major swung round. "Nor am I. But how to 
 avoid it?" 
 
 Hindwood showed his suspicion of this sudden 
 conversion. "Tell me," he answered cautiously, 
 "have you handed in any reports, I mean officially 
 about my knowledge of Santa?" 
 
 "Beyond the fact that you crossed on the same 
 boat with her, you ve not been mentioned." 
 
 "And there s no one in your service, besides your 
 self, who has the least idea of her whereabouts ?" 
 
 "No one." 
 
 "Then it can be managed." 
 
 He was dimly conscious of the pale expectancy 
 of the faces lifted up to him. He felt that he was 
 on the edge of a whirlpool into which he was being 
 slowly dragged. Even at this last moment he made 
 an effort to resist it. Then it seemed to him that 
 in the heart of its eddies he saw a woman. She grew 
 distinct ; her face was Anna s. 
 
 "Let me explain," he said. "I m neither humani 
 tarian nor idealist. I have no fantastic hopes of
 
 THE GREEN EYES CAST A SPELL 211 
 
 turning sinners into saints. I m head of a group of 
 American financiers, and I m in Europe to employ 
 its starving peoples. Don t misunderstand me. The 
 result of my mission may be philanthropic, but its 
 purpose is to make a profit. Since the war Europe s 
 become a bargain-counter where everything s exposed 
 for sale everything except food. I can supply 
 food. With food I can purchase, for a fraction of 
 their value, railroads, factories, labor. I tell you 
 this so that you may not doubt me when I say that 
 I have it in my power to protect her. Once out of 
 England, no escaping criminal could find a safer 
 place of refuge than in my company. I have influ 
 ence with all governments ; with food I can stop revo 
 lution. None of them dares suspect me. I propose 
 that I should take Santa with me. I travel on diplo 
 matic passports ; with me she ll have no trouble in 
 crossing frontiers." 
 
 The silence that greeted his offer lengthened. At a 
 loss to account for it, he glanced from face to face. 
 
 "Have I offended?" 
 
 It was Santa who replied. Leaping up in their 
 midst, tattered and disheveled, she threatened them 
 like dogs whom she would beat aside. 
 
 "Beasts !" A sob caught her breath. "Is it impos 
 sible even for you, who call yourselves my friends, to 
 believe any good of me? I swear before heaven he 
 has no love for me."
 
 THE VANISHING POINT 
 
 XI 
 
 Back in London he lost no time in completing ar 
 rangements for departure. Every boat that left 
 for France without him lessened Santa s chance of 
 safety. And yet, though he worked frantically, can 
 celing appointments and clearing up correspondence, 
 he couldn t bring home to himself the reality of the 
 situation. The hut on the downs and all that had 
 happened there seemed something that he had read 
 or imagined. Only the face of Anna stood out in 
 memory, clear-cut and actual. It seemed impos 
 sible to believe that he, Philip Hindwood, was in 
 league with revolutionaries. That he was in league 
 was proved to him when he set about procuring the 
 passport and vises necessary for Santa to accompany 
 him. By the time he obtained them, he had abused 
 confidence and perjured himself beyond hope of 
 pardon. They were made out in the name of "Edith 
 Jones, spinster; American-born subject; aged thirty 
 years ; confidential secretary to Philip Hindwood, 
 whom she is accompanying." All her permits were 
 marked Special and Diplomatic. It wasn t until the 
 bustle was over and he was seated in the train for 
 Dover, that the true proportions of his entangle 
 ment dawned on him. 
 
 At Dover she was to meet him. That had been 
 the understanding. From then on, day in, day out, 
 he would never be without her. No matter what 
 strange country he traversed, she would sit beside
 
 THE GREEN EYES CAST A SPELL 213 
 
 him, reminding him of his complicity in her crimes. 
 He would have to talk with her, eat with her, pretend 
 to consult with her, just as if she were what he had 
 claimed her to be his confidential secretary. Would 
 she have the sense to act discreetly? Would 
 she expect him to make love to her? He glowered out 
 of the window at the fleeting landscape. Any folly 
 was possible to a woman with her record. 
 
 What made him most iurioup T*&P *he easy way in 
 which he had allowed her to twist him round her 
 fingers. It was the woods of Vincennes all over 
 again. He was going into disordered countries, 
 where governments were toppling and anarchy was 
 rife. When she felt herself beyond the reach of 
 danger, what was to prevent her from getting rid of 
 him? Russia, if he got so far, was the kind of night 
 mare in w r hich anything might happen. In Russia 
 murder was one of the fine arts. He remembered 
 Anna s suspicion that Santa was a Bolshevist agent. 
 It added nothing to his comfort. 
 
 He had given way to idealism. It was the madness 
 of a moment. It was listening to Varensky that had 
 worked the mischief. Varensky had said something 
 about idealism. What was it? That idealism was 
 the vanishing point the last outpost between Man 
 and Eternity. His words came back. 
 
 "When you gaze up a railroad track, there s 
 always a point in the infinite distance where, just 
 before they vanish, the parallel rails seem to join. 
 If a train were ever to reach that point, it would 
 mean death. Life s like that a track along which
 
 THE VANISHING POINT 
 
 we travel on the parallel rails of possibility and de 
 sire. The lure of the idealist is to overtake the illu 
 sion, where possibility and desire seem to merge, and 
 the safety of the journey ends." 
 
 For him the safety of the journey had ended the 
 moment it had started. If Varensky had meant 
 anything by the vanishing point, he had meant that 
 death is the unconscious goal of all idealists. Hind- 
 wood shrugged his shoulders. It seemed highly prob 
 able when you took Santa with you on your travels. 
 
 The smell of the Lea was in the air. They were 
 slowing down, grinding their way to the doclqs 
 through the town of Dover. 
 
 He didn t want to see her. He would make no 
 effort to find her. She might have been prevented 
 from joining him perhaps arrested. 
 
 After the train had halted, he took his time. No 
 one whom he recognized was on the platform. Di 
 recting a porter to attend to his baggage, he went 
 quickly to the embarkation office to get his permit 
 for going aboard. As he was entering, he felt his 
 arm touched timidly, and turned. 
 
 "I m here." 
 
 "I see you are." 
 
 "Didn t you expect me?" 
 
 He made an effort to act courteously. "Of course. 
 There are formalities to be gone through. You d 
 better stick close to me. Don t attract attention. 
 Let me do the talking." 
 
 They fell into line behind a queue of passengers, 
 winding slowly toward a table where officials were re-
 
 THE GREEN EYES CAST A SPELL 215 
 
 ceiving and inspecting passports. He stood well in 
 front of her, doing his best to hide her. When his 
 turn came and the official held out his hand, he 
 presented her passport with his own perfunctorily. 
 
 "Mine and my secretary *s." 
 
 The official was on the point of returning them, 
 when a stockily-built man leaned across his shoulder 
 and vhispered something. Both of them looked up, 
 staring hard at Santa. 
 
 "Which is Miss Jones?" the official asked. 
 
 "This lady at my side." 
 
 "So you re Miss Jones, an American citizen?" 
 
 Before she could reply, Hindwood had interposed. 
 "I ve already told you she s Miss Jones. If you ll 
 look, you ll see that her passport s marked Diplo 
 matic as well as mine." 
 
 The two men consulted together in lowered tones. 
 Then the passport was O.K. d and restored. 
 
 Picking it up, together with the embarkation per 
 mits, Hindwood strolled leisurely towards the gang 
 plank. Directly they were on board he hurried Santa 
 to her cabin and shut the door. 
 
 "You ll stay here till we sight France. I m 
 giving no one else the opportunity for suspecting a 
 likeness."
 
 CHAPTER THE SIXTH 
 
 THE ESCAPE 
 
 THE steamer had no sooner reached Calais than 
 a new cause for alarm presented itself. During 
 the channel crossing Hindwood had been keyed up to 
 the last point of tension. Every moment he had ex 
 pected to be tapped on the shoulder and informed 
 that his secretary s identity had been discovered. He 
 had spent most of his time surreptitiously mounting 
 guard in the neighborhood of Santa s cabin. If the 
 same man chanced to pass him twice, he had at once 
 jumped to the conclusion that he was being shadowed. 
 
 The hesitancy at Dover over O.K. ing Santa s 
 passport had robbed him of whatever sense of se 
 curity he had possessed. It had compelled him to 
 acknowledge the ruin that faced him, should he be 
 exposed while engineering the flight of so notorious 
 a criminal. As the Major had warned him, she was 
 being sought by the police of every country. 
 
 If the worst should happen, he would find no apolo 
 gists. It would be useless for him to plead a chiv 
 alrous motive. She had been the lodestar of mas 
 culine passions too often. Though he managed to 
 escape a prison sentence, he would emerge from the 
 
 216
 
 THE ESCAPE 217 
 
 catastrophe broken in character a paltry creature, 
 half knave, half fool, who had gambled away his in 
 tegrity and made himself a laughing stock. Already 
 in imagination he was reading the scare headlines 
 which would advertise his shame to the world. He 
 would be regarded as a malefactor hustled behind 
 bars and herded for trial with blackmailers and pick 
 pockets. 
 
 Dogged by these persistent dreads, when the ship 
 was inside Calais harbor he rapped on her door and 
 having heard her bid him enter, slipped across the 
 threshold, announcing tersely: 
 
 "We re there." 
 
 Since she joined him, he had held no conversation 
 with her. She made no attempt to break through 
 his silence. Rising obediently, while she adjusted her 
 hat, she watched him in the mirror with the eyes of 
 a reproachful dog. Without sign or sound, as he 
 turned away impatiently, she followed. No sooner 
 did they appear on deck than the new cause for alarm 
 started. 
 
 A handsome and distinguished-looking foreigner 
 began taking immediate notice of her. He was so 
 quick to pick her out in the throng that it seemed he 
 must have been watching for her. Whoever and 
 whatever he was, he was manifestly a man of breed 
 ing the kind of man who might have been her com- 
 panioH in the old, wild days of her triumphant folly. 
 He was about thirty-five, tall, dark, finely-built, and 
 of military bearing. He had a closely-trimmed mus 
 tache, bold, black eyes, and a Latin type of counte-
 
 218 THE VANISHING POINT 
 
 nance. That was all that Hindwood permitted him 
 self to observe; changing his position promptly, he 
 shut Santa out from the stranger s line of vision. 
 But the man was not to be balked. With an air of 
 complete unconcern, he fell into line immediately be 
 hind them, treading closely on their heels as they 
 passed up the gangplank. On the way to the Cus 
 toms he managed to get ahead, so that he could 
 glance back several times at Santa. 
 
 After their baggage had been inspected it was 
 necessary for them to file through a stuffy room 
 where passports were examined. It was here that 
 Hindwood was fully prepared to be caught. The 
 officials at Dover had probably cabled a warning ; the 
 inquisitive stranger might prove to be their emissary. 
 Quite the contrary occurred. The French official, 
 catching sight of the magic words Diplomatic and 
 Special, scrutinized no further and returned the 
 papers with a courteous apology. Making the most 
 of his luck, Hindwood hurried Santa out onto the 
 platform, down the long train labeled Stuttgart, 
 Warsaw, etc., and into the wagons-lits which went 
 express to Vienna. 
 
 Before leaving London he had reserved two sepa 
 rate compartments in the name of "Philip Hind- 
 wood and party." Now that he claimed them, he 
 found to his annoyance that they were adjoining and 
 connected by a private door. It was an indiscretion 
 that he had not intended. Having seen Santa safely 
 settled, he set off to superintend the placing on board 
 of their bags.
 
 THE ESCAPE 219 
 
 He was gone perhaps five minutes. As he ree n- 
 tered the corridor of his section, the first sight that 
 met his eyes was the handsome stranger engaged in 
 earnest talk with the wagon-lits conductor. Some 
 money passed. Next thing the stranger s belongings 
 were being transferred from lower down the train to 
 the compartment on the further side from Santa s. 
 Hindwood entered his own compartment, shaded the 
 windows that looked out on the corridor and made 
 fast his door. 
 
 What was the game? Was this a fresh example of 
 Santa s irresistible charm? And if it was, was he 
 to be subjected to this kind of impertinence through 
 out the entire journey? Or was the man a secret 
 service agent in the employ of some foreign Govern 
 ment, who, believing he had recognized her, was keep 
 ing her in sight till she should have crossed the 
 frontier into his own country, where he would have 
 power to arrest her? 
 
 In his anger he tried to blame Santa ; she must 
 have unconsciously exercised her talent for attrac 
 tion. Strangers didn t follow women unless 
 
 But he had to own himself unjust. She was dressed 
 with the utmost plainness, in a tailored costume, 
 minus furs or any lavishness. There was nothing to 
 complain of in her deportment. It was as modest 
 as could have been expected had she really been 
 "Edith Jones, aged thirty, American-born citizen, 
 confidential secretary." The fault lay in something 
 beyond her control her beauty. It refused to be 
 subdued. It shone out the more conspicuously in
 
 220 THE VANISHING POINT 
 
 the absence of adornment. It constituted itself an 
 unforeseen embarrassment, if not a menace. The 
 further he traveled into continental countries, the 
 less he would be believed when he stated that she 
 was Miss Jones and no more than his secretary. 
 Already more people than the obtrusive stranger 
 had stared at her. She had only to appear to make 
 herself the focus of attention. Sooner or later, 
 to-day, to-morrow, a month hence, some one would 
 catch sight of her who had known her in the past. 
 She had been feted in too many cities, her portrait 
 had been too widely published, for her features not 
 to be remembered. These distressing reflections were 
 cut short by the shrill tootings of tin horns which 
 announce the departure of a train in France. When 
 Calais had been left behind and they were rushing 
 past stripped orchards and harvested fields, he un 
 latched the dividing door. She was sitting lost in 
 thought, staring out of the window with a wistful 
 expression. 
 
 "Come into my compartment. I d like to talk." 
 
 The jerk with which she turned betrayed the 
 strain under which she was laboring. He watched 
 the undulating grace with which she rose, the calcu 
 lated delicacy of her every movement. Though she 
 had dressed in rags, nothing could have disguised 
 her. 
 
 When he had closed the door, she remained stand 
 ing. 
 
 "Please sit down," he said with cold politeness. 
 "We re safe for the moment. As you see, I ve low-
 
 THE ESCAPE 
 
 ered the blinds. No one can spy on us. You ve 
 noticed him?" 
 
 Drawing off her gloves, she smoothed them out 
 mechanically, maintaining her silence. 
 
 "Tell me," he urged, "what do you make of him?" 
 
 "Nothing." Her voice was flat and toneless. 
 "Wherever I go, it s always the same. You ought 
 to know on the Ryndam you were like it." 
 
 He passed over the implied accusation. "Then 
 you don t think he s a ?" 
 
 "I ve not troubled to think." She glanced 
 drearily aside. "Men are brutes. If you d left me 
 alone on the cliff I wish you had. It would have 
 been all ended." 
 
 She said it without spite almost without re 
 proach. In the presence of her melancholy, he re 
 covered something of his compassion. 
 
 "But I didn t leave you, and nothing s gained by 
 recrimination. The point is this fellow next door. 
 What s his purpose? How are we going to manage 
 him?" 
 
 "Easily. Fling me to him as you d toss a dog a 
 bone. You ll be rid of your share of the danger." 
 
 "I don t want to be rid of you." He passed his 
 hand across his forehead, mastering his impatience. 
 "I don t pretend I shan t be glad 
 
 "To be quit of me," she prompted. 
 
 "To be relieved of the risk of you," he corrected. 
 "But not until I ve fulfilled my promise." 
 
 She smiled. "You promised you d save me. I
 
 THE VANISHING POINT 
 
 can t be saved. Varensky s talk about redeeming me 
 was visionary. I was born to be what I am." 
 
 He relaxed and sat forward, exerting himself to 
 make the conversation less unfriendly. "Of course 
 I know why you speak this way: it s because of my 
 recent treatment of you. We were nearly found 
 out at Dover; the anxiety of it s getting on my 
 nerves. I promised to give you your chance; my 
 promise stands. The least I can ask of you as a 
 sportswoman is to play up to me." 
 
 Her whole demeanor changed. The golden face 
 flashed. "I will." 
 
 "Then if this man is only an impudent admirer, 
 how are we to shake him? It s my business for the 
 present to protect you. If this is the sort of thing 
 that always happens, it s possible that it ll occur 
 again. I daren t resent his conduct. Ordinarily I 
 should know what to do with him. How is the repe 
 tition of the annoyance to be avoided?" 
 
 A slow flush mounted from her throat to her 
 cheeks. "You won t take my suggestion, so I don t 
 think I ll make it." 
 
 "Let s have it." 
 
 Not looking at him, she muttered : "He ll try to 
 scrape acquaintance. When he does, introduce me 
 to him as your wife." 
 
 "But to do that " 
 
 He fell silent. He was thinking of Anna. For the 
 first time he was conscious of his aloneness with this 
 woman. 
 
 Not wishing to wound her, he procrastinated.
 
 THE ESCAPE 223 
 
 "To do that might only add to our complications." 
 
 "It might." Her gray eyes struggled to meet 
 his gaze. "It isn t likely. He won t believe you." 
 
 "Then what would be gained?" 
 
 "You d have told him, without insult, that he 
 wasn t wanted." 
 
 He glanced out of the window at the rushing 
 landscape. At last he spoke. "If there s no other 
 way " 
 
 She rested her thin, fine hand on his gently. 
 "You re generous. If the day ever comes when you 
 despise yourself as I despise myself to-day, remem 
 ber that once you were able to make a wicked woman 
 believe in goodness to make her long with all her 
 heart to be like you." Her eyes became misty. "At 
 this moment I m not far from redemption." 
 
 Lunch was announced. He gave orders to have 
 it served in his compartment. While they ate, he 
 outlined to her his plans. He had asked her how 
 long she expected to be with him. 
 
 Her reply was discomfortingly vague. "As long 
 as you can endure me." 
 
 "Inside of two months," he told her, "I think I 
 can promise you immunity. At present, according 
 to information, Central Europe s starving. With 
 winter comes the crisis. I ve forseen that. For 
 some time I ve been shipping food to Holland. It s 
 lying there in warehouses in immense quantities. I 
 have an entire fleet secretly at work, plying back 
 and forth across the Atlantic. When the famine 
 becomes too acute, I m prepared to strike my bar-
 
 THE VANISHING POINT 
 
 gain. I ll take railroads and concessions in ex 
 change for bread. Other upstarts have carved out 
 kingdoms with armies ; I intend to conquer mine with 
 food. There never was a war or any social uprising 
 that wasn t caused by an empty stomach. Within 
 three hours of my terms having been accepted, my 
 trains will be streaming out of Holland. Where 
 they halt, the flames of revolution will be quenched. 
 If I haven t miscalculated, I shall be unofficial Presi 
 dent of the United States of Europe." He paused 
 to watch his effect. "I ve nominated myself," he 
 smiled. 
 
 His smile was unreturned. She was regarding 
 him with an expression of horror. Their roles 
 seemed reversed. It was evident that to her way of 
 thinking it was he who had become the criminal and 
 she who was looking down on him from a higher 
 moral level. 
 
 "But they re starving." Her voice shook pas 
 sionately. "If you have these stores, why don t you 
 feed them? They re dying. So many of them are 
 children!" 
 
 "You don t understand." He tried to make his 
 tones reasonable. "I ve invested all my fortune in 
 the venture. I m a business man. In business one 
 man s calamity is another s opportunity. The same 
 is true of nations." 
 
 Seeing that she still looked grieved, he patted her 
 shoulder. "Don t worry. We ll rustle through. 
 Your life will be spared."
 
 THE ESCAPE 225 
 
 "I wasn t thinking of my life." She spoke con 
 temptuously. 
 
 "Then of what?" 
 
 "Of the women dead of hunger in the ditches about 
 Kiev." 
 
 As she rose to leave, she glanced back from the 
 doorway. "There was a message I had to deliver 
 to you. Varensky s setting out on his last journey. 
 He hopes to see you in Budapest. He told me to 
 say, Soon you can have her.* 
 
 n 
 
 Thrusting its war-scarred head into the clouds, 
 Amiens had been left behind: they were skirting the 
 old battle-line. Though seasons had come and van 
 ished, memories of tragedy were still apparent. 
 Shell-torn walls had been patched, but the patches 
 served to emphasize the ruin. One could trace in 
 the landscape crumbling trench-systems and the 
 rusty red of entangled wire. Here and there, in 
 gleaming plots, white crosses grew in humble clusters. 
 In fancy he pictured the hosts who had died. The 
 unprofitable patience of their sacrifice! Had they 
 known what was to be the result, would they have 
 gone to their death so gladly? The result of their 
 idealism was hunger. He recalled his awkward 
 phrase the world s hunger had proved to be his 
 opportunity. Santa s horror disturbed his memory. 
 He was inclined to go to her and explain. Every-
 
 226 THE VANISHING POINT 
 
 thing had to be purchased by labor. Anything one 
 possessed was the wage of labor. To give things 
 away did harm. It wasn t business. It set a pre 
 mium on laziness. Even to give food to a starving 
 nation did harm ; it made that nation a pauper. The 
 most primitive of all laws was that bread should 
 be earned by the sweat of the brow that if a man 
 did not toil, neither should he eat. The only right 
 eous way to feed starving people was to set them 
 to work. So his thoughts ran on, building up the 
 argument. 
 
 But he did not go to her. It was Varensky s 
 message that deterred him: "He told me to say, 
 Soon you can have her. Did Santa know what 
 was meant that the message referred to Anna? 
 She must know. What difference would this make 
 to her? She also loved, and she was a panther- 
 woman. 
 
 The countryside grew blurred with dusk. The 
 stiff, white crosses faded out of sight. Forgetting 
 his danger, he fell asleep, wondering whether Anna 
 would be with her husband at Budapest. 
 
 Ill 
 
 When he awoke, he was in total darkness. Glanc 
 ing through the window, he discovered that the world 
 outside was weakly lit with straggling rows of 
 street-lamps. They seemed to be marching in the 
 same direction as the train ; in the far distance they
 
 THE ESCAPE 227 
 
 rushed together, making night hollow with their 
 flare. His first thought was of Santa; a thousand 
 things might have happened. 
 
 As he groped at the handle of the dividing door> 
 he caught the sound of laughter. 
 
 "May I enter?" 
 
 The Santa whom his eyes encountered was no 
 longer the fugitive from justice. She was mysteri 
 ously changed. There was animation in her counte* 
 nance and seduction in her voice. She was again 
 the enchantress of men, reckless and tender, who had 
 all but captured his heart on the Atlantic voyage. 
 He looked to see what had caused this transforma 
 tion. Lolling in the entrance was the handsome 
 stranger. 
 
 Before Hindwood could speak, she was addressing 
 him gaily. "So you ve wakened ! I didn t like to 
 disturb you. You ve almost made me miss my din 
 ner. If you re ready now 
 
 The stranger interrupted. "I ve not dined. But 
 I have my place reserved. If there should prove to 
 be no room, perhaps you would flatter me by occu 
 pying my place instead." 
 
 Santa shook her head graciously. "It s good of 
 you, but my husband and I will take our chance." 
 
 She was the only one whom her claim that Hind- 
 wood was her husband left undisturbed. The two 
 men glared at each other in astonishment. It was 
 the stranger who recovered first. 
 
 "If I had known that this lady was your wife, I 
 should have asked your permission before I made
 
 228 THE VANISHING POINT 
 
 my offer. I shall be very happy if you will permit 
 me to do you both this service. I ought to intro 
 duce myself." 
 
 He fumbled in his pocketbook and produced a 
 card on which was engraved, "Captain Serge Lajos, 
 Hungarian Royal Hussars." 
 
 "My name is Hindwood Philip Hindwood." 
 Hindwood returned the compliment surlily. "I 
 agree with my wife; we both prefer that you retain 
 your place and that we be allowed to take our 
 chance." 
 
 Santa rose eagerly to prevent the giving of fur 
 ther offense. Her smile was for the Captain. "We 
 waste time talking. You ll join us, Captain? We ll 
 take our chance together." 
 
 Without risking a reply, she led the way, Hind- 
 wood following and the Captain coming last. There 
 was no opportunity for speech in the swaying corri 
 dor. When the dining-car was reached, they were 
 shown immediately to a vacant table. 
 
 At first they sat in silence, watching how the lights 
 flashing by the panes were strengthening into a 
 golden blur. 
 
 "Where are we?" 
 
 It was Hindwood who had decided to be amiable. 
 
 "Entering Paris." 
 
 "So late as that !" He consulted his watch. "We 
 go through without changing, they told us. * 
 
 "There s no change till Vienna." 
 
 The Captain s answers were mechanical. He 
 seemed to be brushing aside a presence that an-
 
 THE ESCAPE 229 
 
 noyed him. His puzzled eyes were fixed on Santa. 
 
 Suppressing his irritation, Hindwood made an 
 other effort at friendliness. "I didn t notice you till 
 we were getting into Calais. I guess we must have 
 traveled together from London." 
 
 Captain Lajos, if that really was his name, 
 seemed to be thinking of something else. He let 
 some seconds elapse. When he spoke, it was with 
 out looking up. "I noticed you from the first. I 
 can prove it. Your wife didn t join you till Dover." 
 Then he seemed to repent of his intrusive rudeness 
 and changed the subject. "I was glad to see the 
 last of London. I d been sent to meet some one 
 who failed to arrive. It was all in the papers. You 
 probably know as much about the circumstances as 
 I do. The person was Prince Rogovich." 
 
 Santa s face went white. Her lips became set in 
 an artificial smile. Beneath the table her hand 
 clutched Hindwood s. For all that, it was she who 
 took up the challenge. 
 
 "We ve not been reading the papers lately." 
 Above the clatter of the wheels, her trembling voice 
 was scarcely audible. "My husband and I have 
 been very busy and But your friend, why was 
 he so unkind as to disappoint you?" 
 
 The Captain had turned to her as though greedy 
 for her sympathy. His dark, bold eyes drank up 
 her face. 
 
 "He wasn t unkind. He was He shrugged 
 
 his shoulders and spread abroad his hands. "Until 
 something is proved, I suppose the best way to ex-
 
 930 THE VANISHING POINT 
 
 press it would be to say that he was unavoidably 
 delayed. He left New York on a liner and disap 
 peared on the evening that he should have landed." 
 
 Hindwood bent forward, attempting to divert at 
 tention from Santa. He tapped the Captain s 
 hand. 
 
 "Excuse me for intruding on a conversation which 
 you evidently intend to include only my wife, but 
 there are no points of call on an Atlantic voyage. 
 If your friend started from New York and the ship 
 was not lost, how could he have been delayed?" 
 
 "How? That s the question." 
 
 The Captain s hostility was unmistakable, and yet 
 the odd thing was that it exempted Santa. 
 
 While the first course was being served, Hindwood 
 racked his brains to discover the motive which lay 
 behind the Captain s attitude. Was he a police- 
 agent, amusing himself and biding his time? Was he 
 doubtful of Santa s identity and cultivating her ac 
 quaintance as a means of making certain? Was he 
 inerely a disappointed male, infuriated at finding a 
 husband in possession? 
 
 Santa was speaking again. She had made good 
 use of the respite to compose herself. "It must have 
 been terribly anxious for you waiting. I suppose 
 you were there to meet him at the port where he 
 ought to have arrived?" 
 
 Hindwood held his breath. She was practically 
 asking the man whether he had been one of the wel 
 coming group of officials on that night when the 
 Ryndam had reached Plymouth. If he had been, he
 
 THE ESCAPE 231 
 
 must have seen them. He must remember them. He 
 might even know their biographical details, their 
 business, and that they were not married. At all 
 events, if that were the case, it would explain the 
 keenness of his interest. 
 
 "No, I wasn t at Plymouth." 
 
 They both shot upright in their chairs and sat 
 rigid. For a moment they had no doubt that the 
 Captain had declared his hand. 
 
 Then he postponed the crisis by adding, "You see, 
 my friend, as you call him, was traveling by the 
 Holland-American Line, so Plymouth was where he 
 should have landed. We had a special train ar 
 ranged to hurry him to London. The first warning 
 I received of the disaster was at Paddington, when 
 I was informed that the special train had been can 
 celed." 
 
 "Then it was a disaster?" 
 
 Santa asked the question in an awed tone which, 
 under the circumstances, was not altogether feigned. 
 Getting a grip on herself, she leaned across the 
 table, making her eyes large and tender. "We re 
 fellow-travelers, chance-met. My husband and I are 
 Americans ; when we part from you, it s almost cer 
 tain we shall never meet again. I m not seeking 
 your confidence, but you re worried. If it would 
 help you to tell " 
 
 The Captain shook his head gravely. He ap 
 peared to be worshiping her in everything save 
 words, though it was possible that his adoration 
 was mockery. "There s nothing to tell. Not yet.
 
 232 THE VANISHING POINT 
 
 I wish there were. There may be something at 
 Paris. The English police are working. They 
 promised to keep in touch with me by telegram." 
 
 With amazing daring Santa persisted, "But what 
 do you suppose happened?" 
 
 Before answering the Captain arranged his knife 
 and fork neatly on his plate. He looked up sharply 
 like a bird of prey. "Murder. To your dainty ears 
 that must sound shocking. I have reasons for this 
 belief which, for the present, I m not at liberty to 
 share." 
 
 During the pause that followed Hindwood was 
 on tenterhooks lest, with her next question, she 
 should betray herself. To prevent her, he flung 
 himself into the gap. 
 
 "I agree with you," he said with weighty dullness. 
 "I agree with you that some sort of accident strikes 
 one as extremely likely. You mentioned that a spe 
 cial had been chartered to bring your friend to 
 London. That would indicate that he was a person 
 of consequence." 
 
 "He was." 
 
 The words sounded like an epitaph. They were 
 spoken with the impatience of a door being banged. 
 
 Turning to Santa, the Captain was on the point 
 of saying something further, when the waiter ap 
 proached with the information that at the next 
 stop the dining-car would be cut off. They became 
 aware that they were the only diners left. The 
 train was slowing down. The noise of its progress 
 had changed to a hollow rumbling, which told them
 
 THE ESCAPE 233 
 
 that a bridge was being crossed. Shifting their 
 gaze, they discovered Paris, sparkling like a pile of 
 jewels strewn in the lap of night. Below them in 
 slow coils, mysterious with luminous reflections, 
 wound the Seine. Hindwood s instant thought was 
 that somewhere out there beneath the darkness, the 
 woods of Vincennes were hiding. 
 
 Having paid their bill, they commenced the re 
 turn journey through corridors dense with eager 
 passengers. Before their section had been reached, 
 the train was in the station. At the first open door, 
 the Captain sprang to the platform and was lost. 
 
 "Where s he gone?" Santa whispered. 
 
 Hindwood glanced at her palely. "To get his tele 
 gram. To get " 
 
 Seizing her arm, he hurried her back to his com 
 partment, where behind locked doors they could 
 spend in private whatever of freedom remained. 
 
 IV 
 
 "The jig s up." 
 
 Hoping that he was creating an impression of 
 calmness, he lit a cigarette. She raised her face to 
 his with a softness in her eyes that he had never 
 noticed. 
 
 "If it is, * she pleaded, clutching at his hands, 
 "swear you hadn t the least idea who I really am. 
 Disown me. Act as though my arrest had come to 
 you as an utter shock. *
 
 234 THE VANISHING POINT 
 
 He seated himself beside her. "But, my dear 
 Santa, that wouldn t help you." 
 
 "Help me ! Of course not," she agreed with rapid 
 vehemence. "If I m caught, I m beyond helping. 
 It s of you I m thinking you, with your generosity 
 and your splendid plans. If I dragged you down, 
 as I dragged down all the others, my heart would 
 break. I never meant you any harm. You do be 
 lieve me?" 
 
 "I do now." 
 
 "Say you know that I ve loved you," she urged. 
 And, when he hesitated, "Quickly. Time s running 
 short. Let me hear you say just once, Santa, I 
 know that you ve loved me. 
 
 "Santa, I know " 
 
 "You wouldn t kiss me?" She asked the question 
 scarcely above her breath. "There ve been so many 
 who paid to kiss me. You wouldn t give me the best, 
 that would be the last?" 
 
 When his lips touched hers, she smiled. 
 
 "They may come now." 
 
 Minutes dragged by like hours. Every sound was 
 magnified into something monstrous. A dozen times 
 they imagined they heard police clearing the cor 
 ridor, preparatory to bursting in the door. What 
 they heard was only newly-arrived passengers and 
 porters disposing of their baggage. At last sus 
 pense became its own anesthetic. 
 
 "Did he tell you his destination?" Hindwood 
 whispered. 
 
 Not daring to speak, she shook her head.
 
 THE ESCAPE 235 
 
 "Why did you get into conversation with him?" 
 
 Her lips scarcely moved. He had to listen 
 acutely. 
 
 "I didn t. He pretended to have mistaken his 
 compartment. I was crying. He saw." 
 
 "Why were you crying?" 
 
 "Because of you." 
 
 "And you told him?" 
 
 "Not exactly." 
 
 "What did he say? I heard you laughing when I 
 entered. How did he commence?" 
 
 "He said I was too beautiful to be unhappy it s 
 the way every man starts. Then he said that he d 
 recognized me, just as though he d been looking for 
 me always. And then he tortured me by wondering 
 whether our paths had ever crossed." 
 
 "And you answered?" 
 
 "Never unless he d seen me in America." 
 
 Hindwood fell silent. Without warning he leaped 
 to his feet. Before he could escape, she was cling 
 ing to him. 
 
 "Don t leave me to face them." ^ 
 
 "I m not." He freed himself from her grasp. 
 "If I ve guessed right, you won t have to face them." 
 
 With that he was gone. 
 
 A quarter of an hour elapsed: he had not re 
 turned. Nothing that she dreaded had happened. 
 With a lurch the train jerked forward. Farewells 
 were being shouted. Station-lamps streamed past, 
 the scarcer lights of freight-yards, then at last the 
 glow-worm warmth of a city under darkness.
 
 236 THE VANISHING POINT 
 
 The door opened. She rose trembling, steadying 
 herself against the wall. When she saw who it was, 
 she sank back. "Tell me." 
 
 "We were on the wrong track." He spoke lei 
 surely. "Captain Lajos wasn t lying. I followed 
 him. He met his man with the telegram. He sus 
 pects us so little that he showed it to me. It read, 
 No further developments. 
 
 "Thank God." She pressed her handkerchief to 
 her lips. And then, "Why should he have shown 
 it to you? It was to put us off our guard." 
 
 He sat down in the seat opposite. "I think not. 
 He s changed his tactics. He s made up his mind 
 to be friendly. It s you he s after, but in a different 
 fashion. He thinks he s in love with you." 
 
 "But he threatened " 
 
 "No. It was our own guilty conscience. Here s 
 how I figure it out. He probably has seen you be 
 fore. He can t remember where. It may have been 
 in the days when you were dancing. It was the 
 vague recollection of you that piqued his curiosity 
 and got him staring. When he found you alone and 
 crying, he thought he d stumbled on an adventure. 
 My entering upset his calculations. I became for 
 him the cruel husband; he hated me on the spot. 
 My dear Santa, our meeting with him is the luckiest 
 thing that could have happened." 
 
 Dabbing her eyes, she tried to laugh. "I don t 
 see it." 
 
 "It s as plain as a pike-staff." He bent forward, 
 lowering his voice. "He was mixed up with Prince
 
 THE ESCAPE 237 
 
 Rogovich. He s one of the people who s hunting 
 for you. In his company you won t be suspected. 
 He ll get you across all the frontiers." 
 
 She was still reluctantly incredulous. "But the 
 things he said at dinner. He played with us like 
 a cat." 
 
 "He wasn t playing with us." Hindwood became 
 eager in his determination to convince her. "He 
 was playing into our hands. He knows all the things 
 that we want to know. Every move the police make 
 is telegraphed to him. It was the frankness with 
 which he let us into his secrets that was so alarm- 
 ing." 
 
 "Then how must we act?" 
 
 "The way we have been acting. Until it s safe to 
 be rid of him, we must keep him believing that we re 
 married, and none too happily. I m afraid it s up 
 to you to keep him lulled by pretending 
 
 "Don t"; she closed her eyes. "It s like going 
 back to the ugly past." 
 
 "It s beastly, I know." He spoke seriously. "But 
 
 what else ? Any moment he may recall where 
 
 last he saw you. Sleep over it. We can decide in 
 the morning." 
 
 All night he had been haunted by the oppressive 
 sense that, if he did not watch, something terrible 
 would happen. It was shortly after dawn when he 
 rose. Stepping into the corridor he found that he
 
 238 THE VANISHING POINT 
 
 had the train to himself. It seemed as depopulated 
 as an early morning house and, despite the clamor 
 of its going, as silent. He placed himself near 
 Santa s door and stood staring out at the misty 
 landscape streaking past like a trail of smoke. It 
 was here that Santa found him when she slipped 
 from her compartment. 
 
 He turned quickly. "He s not up yet." Then, 
 noticing her pallor and the shadows under her eyes, 
 "You haven t slept?" 
 
 "Not much." 
 
 "Making your decision, I suppose?" 
 
 She bit her lip nervously. "I shall have to pre 
 tend It ll only be pretending. You ll under 
 stand?" 
 
 "It won t last long," he comforted her. "If we ve 
 been running on time, we must be in Alsace-Lorraine 
 already. Within the next few hours we ll be out of 
 France and into Germany. You ll feel safer there, 
 won t you?" 
 
 What he was really asking was whether it wasn t 
 true that during the war she d been a German spy. 
 
 "Shall I?" was all she answered. 
 
 They fell silent. Without mentioning it, each 
 guessed the motive which had occasioned the other s 
 early rising. They dared not let the Captain out 
 of their sight. While they could not see him, they 
 had no peace of mind. Whereas yesterday his com 
 panionship had seemed to spell death, to-day it spelt 
 protection. Yesterday they had done everything to 
 elude him ; to-day it would probably be he who would
 
 THE ESCAPE 239 
 
 do the avoiding. It was essential that they should 
 have won his confidence before they arrived on Ger 
 man soil. There was little time to lose. He had not 
 appeared when the first sitting for breakfast was 
 announced. 
 
 In the restaurant car they dawdled over their meal 
 and sat on long after it was ended. They had even 
 begun to discuss the possibility of his having left 
 the train during the night, when with an eagerness 
 kindred to their own he entered. Hindwood waved 
 to him. 
 
 "I m afraid we ve finished. But won t you seat 
 yourself at our table? I ve no doubt my wife will 
 join you in a cup of coffee. While you breakfast, 
 if it s not objectionable, I ll smoke a cigarette." 
 
 Captain Lajos beamed like a pleased boy. If one 
 wasn t prejudiced in his disfavor, it was possible to 
 find him likable. "I shall be delighted," he said in 
 an embarrassed tone. "Journeys are tedious now 
 adays. Once every one who counted was gay and 
 prosperous ; one was never at a loss to find a friend. 
 To-day, in this bankrupt world, the only travelers 
 are money-lenders and pawn-brokers." He laughed. 
 "I may as well confess : I didn t think you were up 
 yet that s what made me late. I was so tired of 
 my own society that I was waiting for you." 
 
 As he said, "I was waiting for you," his eyes 
 flashed on Santa. 
 
 It was she who spoke. "I fancy we ve been just 
 as bored with ourselves and even more eager to meet 
 you. What you told us last night sounded so mys-
 
 240 THE VANISHING POINT 
 
 terious and romantic. I could hardly sleep for 
 thinking about it. To have a Prince for one s friend 
 and to travel so far to welcome him, only to 
 
 find " She clasped her hands childishly. "Life 
 
 can be so drab how drab, a man of your kind can 
 ne\er know. American husbands, no matter what 
 they possess, take a pride in always working. * 
 
 He disappointed her curiosity with a crooked 
 smile. "Whether you re a Prince or a millionaire, 
 there s nothing romantic about being murdered." 
 
 Then her allurement kindled the longing in his 
 eyes. "You re wanting me to confide the secrets that 
 I warned you I couldn t share. Surely you must 
 know something of Prince Rogovich?" 
 
 "No. Truly." She returned his searching gaze 
 with apparent frankness. 
 
 Hindwood jogged her elbow. "My dear, I ve re 
 membered. When we sailed there was a Prince 
 Rogovich in the States, doing his best to raise a 
 loan I think it was for Poland. It was rumored 
 that the money was to be squandered on military 
 adventures. I guess he didn t find many takers. 
 You re in the Hungarian Hussars, Captain, but you 
 must excuse me for stating that on our side of the 
 Atlantic we ve seen all we want of armies." 
 
 Santa clicked her tongue impatiently. "That s 
 all very well, but it doesn t explain why the 
 Prince " 
 
 "It might," Hindwood insisted mildly. "Discour 
 aged men often commit suicide. He was coming 
 home. He d failed in his object "
 
 "He hadn t." The Captain glanced quickly be 
 hind him to see whether any one could have heard 
 him. He continued in a voice that was little above 
 a whisper, "Only a few of us knew. He was coming 
 home in triumph." 
 
 Leaning across the table with suppressed excite 
 ment, Santa made the appeal of pretty women 
 throughout the ages. "I wish you d trust me." 
 
 Hindwood pushed back his chair. "It s time for 
 a cigar. Perhaps you ll join me later. If you ll 
 excuse me " 
 
 They paid him scant attention. The last he saw 
 of them they were gazing enraptured into each 
 other s eyes. 
 
 VI 
 
 It was well over an hour since he had returned 
 to his compartment. He had left his door wide, 
 so that he could inspect every one who passed along 
 the corridor. They couldn t have slipped by with 
 out his noticing. He was becoming almost as dis 
 trustful of Santa as he was of the stranger. 
 Already the role of unwanted husband was growing 
 irksome. The thing that baffled him most was her 
 morbid curiosity. It was revolting to think of her, 
 with her disarming air of refinement, encouraging 
 her admirer to conjecture the details of a crime 
 which she herself had committed. But how had 
 she committed it? He himself did not know. He 
 had just begun to contrive the scene in his mind
 
 THE VANISHING POINT 
 
 when they entered. Her face was lit with a new 
 intensity. At a glance he was aware that whatever 
 she had learned had quickened her emotions. The 
 Captain followed grudgingly, like a dog hanging 
 back on a chain. 
 
 "Captain Lajos has been telling me," she com 
 menced. "But we d better have the door closed. 
 He s been telling me things that you ought to know. 
 He s so concerned for my sake that he s offered to 
 repeat them." 
 
 The Captain seated himself opposite to Hind- 
 wood and regarded him gravely. "The things that 
 I ve been telling your wife are not my secrets. I 
 must ask you to give me your solemn promise." 
 
 "You may take that for granted." 
 
 "And there s one other point. I didn t offer to 
 repeat them ; it was Mrs. Hindwood who urged me. 
 I m making this plain because I don t want you to 
 think I m offering you my advice uninvited." 
 
 Hindwood lit a fresh cigar, fortifying himself 
 against whatever shock was pending. "I give you 
 full credit for your motives." 
 
 "Then let me ask you a question. Have you no 
 ticed that there are scarcely any women on this 
 train?" 
 
 "I believe you re right. But until you mentioned 
 it I hadn t noticed." 
 
 "Well, if you ll watch, you ll see that I m cor 
 rect. There are women and children in plenty on 
 trains moving westward. But on trains moving east 
 ward, where we re going no."
 
 THE ESCAPE 243 
 
 Hindwood watched the man intently, wondering 
 at what he was driving. 
 
 "Would you be surprised," he continued, "if I 
 were to tell you that one of the chief reasons for 
 the women s absence is this affair of Prince Rogo- 
 vich?" 
 
 "You rather harp on Prince Rogovich, don t 
 you?" Hindwood nicked his ash. "After a time one 
 ceases to be surprised at anything. But aren t you 
 presuming too much in insisting on his having been 
 murdered? All that s known by your own account 
 is that he s vanished. In any case, what can he 
 possibly have to do with the scarcity of women on 
 trains running eastward?" 
 
 "Everything." The Captain s face darkened with 
 earnestness. "What I m trying to tell you is that 
 you re taking your wife into danger. Every man 
 who can afford it, in the countries to which you re 
 going, is hurrying his women-folk to France, Eng 
 land, Spain, America anywhere westward for 
 safety. They can feel the storm rising, the deluge 
 of catastrophe that can t be held back much longer. 
 When it bursts, it ll tear everything established 
 from its moorings and sweep across Europe in a 
 wave of savagery." 
 
 "And this deluge that you speak of what had 
 Prince Rogovich to do with it?" 
 
 "He was keeping it from bursting." 
 
 Hindwood smiled. "Alone?" 
 
 "No man s single strength could accomplish that. 
 He was one of the most powerful of the resisting
 
 244 THE VANISHING POINT 
 
 forces. When society s tottering, it s the little 
 added strain that upsets the equilibrium. Remem 
 ber how the last war started, with an obscure as 
 sassination." 
 
 Hindwood crossed his knees and dug himself back 
 into the cushions. "Your information, to say the 
 least of it, is strangely melodramatic. If I under 
 stand you aright, you re urging me to discontinue 
 my journey. Can t you be more explicit?" 
 
 "I can." The Captain betrayed a hint of tem 
 per. "I suppose I shall have to if I m to convince 
 you. The stability of the whole of Central and 
 Eastern Europe has been upset by the repartition- 
 ing of the Peace Treaty. The situation as it exists 
 to-day is intolerable. The ruin which the war com 
 menced has been completed by the pacification. The 
 old social order has been overthrown ; in its place we 
 have a dozen rash experiments. In Russia, instead 
 of the Czar, we have Bolshevism. In what was once 
 the Austro-Hungarian Empire we have a series of 
 Republics, which are nothing more than old racial 
 hatreds entrenched behind newly created frontiers. 
 In Poland, which was prisoner to three nations for 
 two centuries, we have a released convict, vengeful 
 with a sense of past injustice. Instead of recon 
 struction, we have disorganization. Trade is at a 
 standstill. Money is valueless. Confidence is gone. 
 Poverty has made a clean sweep of class distinctions. 
 Mob-rule has usurped the rights of authority. Like 
 a lean wolf, famine gallops through the desolation 
 in ever widening circles."
 
 THE ESCAPE 245 
 
 "But Prince Rogovich?" Hindwood recalled him. 
 "What had he to do with it?" 
 
 "He was the leader of the monarchist party in 
 Europe the organizer of a secret movement to set 
 up again the thrones which war has toppled. Inci 
 dentally he was to have established a new throne for 
 himself in Poland. Behind him he had the land 
 owning classes and the old aristocracy, which the 
 new regime of haphazard democracy has beggared. 
 He was biding his time till the crisis should become 
 sufficiently acute for him to strike his blow. He had 
 his armies ready. All he lacked was munitions. The 
 floating of the loan in America completed his pro 
 gram. * 
 
 "But you said that the fact that he was returning 
 in triumph was known only to a few. If only a few 
 knew it, why should his death have caused this sud 
 den exodus of women on trains running westward?" 
 
 "For two reasons : because he was the recognized 
 strong man of the buffer states which lie between 
 Russian anarchy and civilization; and because tHe 
 crisis of starvation, for which he had been waiting, 
 is now in sight. While Bolshevism was making its 
 drives against Poland, Central Europe was com 
 pelled to hold together. Now that Bolshevism is 
 crumbling, that compulsion is relaxed. All the way 
 from Siberia to the frontiers of Germany millions 
 are perishing from lack of food. Presently the Rus 
 sian millions will commence to march westward to 
 the lands of plenty. They ll march like Death, swing 
 ing his scythe. They ll sweep on like a pestilence.
 
 246 THE VANISHING POINT 
 
 They ll lope like gaunt wolves, savage and relent 
 less. The starving peoples of Central Europe, who 
 would once have resisted them, will join them. 
 Prince Rogovich, had he lived, could have prevented 
 them." 
 
 "How?" It was Santa. 
 
 "He would have declared a new war, with the re 
 turn to monarchy as his battle-cry. He had his 
 nucleus armies in readiness ; they would have sprung 
 from their hiding-places overnight. There would 
 have been a tremendous rally to him as the only man 
 unscrupulous enough to handle the situation. He 
 would have made his bargain with the Allies." 
 
 "And then?" 
 
 "He would have trained his guns on the lean 
 hordes of Russia and would have blown them back 
 across their borders." 
 
 Again Santa spoke. Her voice came low and 
 haltingly. "He would have made the world pass 
 through the fires of Moloch for a second time. The 
 person who murdered him must have known it." 
 
 Hindwood turned to her. There was a startled 
 expression in his eyes. He was quite certain she 
 had known it. He was seeing the real Santa for the 
 first time. She was a Charlotte Corday, who had 
 dipped her hands in blood that she might prevent a 
 more colossal crime. 
 
 "I begin to see," he muttered. 
 
 The Captain took the words as addressed to him 
 self. "I m glad you do. It must be obvious to you 
 now that where you re going is no place for a
 
 THE ESCAPE 247 
 
 woman. If you ll accept my advice, you ll turn 
 back at the next stopping-place." 
 
 "Impossible." Hindwood recalled himself to the 
 part he was playing. "You re a soldier; you d be 
 ashamed to run away at the first hint of danger. In 
 a sense I also am a soldier, a soldier of business. I, 
 too, have my marching orders and my duty." 
 
 "Then if you won t turn back yourself, send Mrs. 
 Hindwood back." The man s voice shook. "You re 
 taking her to almost certain death. She s too beauti 
 ful I beg it of you." 
 
 To his amazement Hindwood found himself liking 
 the stranger. "My wife s beauty has no bearing 
 on the problem. We re exceedingly grateful to you, 
 Captain Lajos; but to act on your warning it s 
 out of the question." 
 
 The Captain shot him a dark look, then let his gaze 
 rest on Santa. When she kept her eyes averted, 
 he pretended to lose interest in the subject. The 
 train was slowing down. He cleared the pane with 
 his glove. 
 
 "It s the frontier." 
 
 Hindwood rose and hurriedly commenced to gather 
 together his belongings. Sitting perfectly still with 
 an air of quiet criticism, the Captain watched him. 
 When the last bag had been strapped and made ready 
 for removal, "Why are you doing that?" he inquired. 
 
 "The German Customs. I suppose we ll have 
 to get out and go through the old jog-trot of being 
 inspected." 
 
 "You don t need to; you can have it done here.
 
 248 THE VANISHING POINT 
 
 Excuse me, if I seem officious. I was immediately be 
 hind you at Calais and couldn t help noticing that 
 your passports are the same as mine diplomatic. 
 The advantage of a diplomatic passport in crossing 
 frontiers is that the officials have to come to you." 
 
 "I didn t know. If that s the case" 
 
 He resumed his seat with a sickening sensation. 
 The Captain s presence was stifling him. He longed 
 to escape, if it were only for five minutes. He felt 
 choked with lies. It seemed impossible that the 
 Captain should not be aware of the atmosphere of 
 falsehood. 
 
 Passengers were already filing down the corridor 
 and being herded by soldiers on the platform. As 
 carriages were emptied, doors were locked and sealed. 
 Evidently nothing was to be left to chance; while 
 the passengers were held prisoners in the waiting- 
 rooms, the train was to be searched from end to end. 
 To a guilty conscience there was something exceed 
 ingly intimidating about this military display of 
 thoroughness. 
 
 The wagon-lits conductor looked into the com 
 partment. Seeing the three of them seated there, he 
 burst into a frantic protest. Captain Lajos anni 
 hilated him with the ferocity of his explanation. 
 When the conductor had retreated, the Captain 
 turned to Hindwood. 
 
 "Like most of your compatriots, I see you re not 
 strong on languages. If I can be of use to you, 
 I ll act as your interpreter." 
 
 "My wife is Then he remembered that he
 
 THE ESCAPE 249 
 
 knew nothing of Santa s linguistic attainments. 
 "You re very thoughtful of our comfort," he sub 
 stituted. 
 
 Guttural voices sounded. Two crop-headed ex- 
 drill-sergeants presented themselves. Without waste 
 of words they rasped out a peremptory order. 
 
 "They want to see your passports," the Captain 
 interpreted. 
 
 While the passports were being examined, there 
 was silence. Again questions were asked and again 
 the Captain interpreted. 
 
 "Are you carrying fire-arms?" 
 
 "Have you any contraband?" 
 
 "Do you intend to stay in Germany?" 
 
 There was a pause. The passports were folded 
 and on the point of being returned when another un 
 intelligible conversation started. 
 
 The Captain smiled. "They re punctilious. As a 
 matter of form, they want to hear you assert 
 that you re the Philip Hindwood to whom this pass 
 port was issued." 
 
 "Most certainly. They can prove that by com 
 paring my face with the attached photograph." 
 
 The Captain turned to Santa with the utmost 
 suavity. "And that you re the Edith Jones, Mr. 
 Hindwood s secretary." 
 
 Having exploded his bomb, he rose. For a mo 
 ment he seemed to hesitate as to whether he should 
 expose them. Then, making a stiff bow, he mur 
 mured, "That s all." 
 
 Directly he had departed, Hindwood locked the
 
 250 THE VANISHING POINT 
 
 door behind him. "He shall ferret out no more of 
 our secrets." 
 
 From then on, they traveled in a state of siege. 
 Several times they thought they heard a tapping. 
 Whether it was the Captain s, they did not allow 
 themselves to discover. They opened to no one whom 
 they had not summoned. 
 
 VII 
 
 Soon after the train restarted, Santa rented her 
 hand on his arm. "You think better of me now. 
 Fm so tired, I should cry if you spoke to me. Let 
 me sleep on your couch. I m afraid to be alone." 
 
 He covered her with his rug and did his best 
 to make her comfortable. She was utterly exhausted. 
 In a few minutes her eyes closed and she was breath 
 ing gently. 
 
 Several hours elapsed. She was still sleeping. He 
 was glad not to have to talk. His mind was filled 
 with a tremendous picture: "There was a certain 
 rich man, which was clothed in purple and fine linen, 
 and fared sumptuously every day. And there was a 
 certain beggar named Lazarus, which was laid at 
 his gate full of sores." 
 
 He saw the world that he was leaving, self-satis 
 fied, callous, well-nourished. He saw the world to 
 which he was going, out of which he had planned 
 to make a profit a world picked clean by the crime 
 of war and peopled by living skeletons. When its
 
 THE ESCAPE 251 
 
 pain had passed beyond endurance, the outcast world 
 would attack the world which was comfortable. It 
 would come crawling like a beggar to a rich man s 
 door. When it found the door barred, it would 
 go mad. It had nothing to lose by violence. With 
 its bare hands it would storm the dwelling. 
 
 How would the comfortable world defend itself? 
 The Captain said with cannon. From a safe dis 
 tance it would blow the empty bellies into nothing 
 ness. But bread was cheaper than high explosives. 
 Why not fill the empty bellies instead of shattering 
 them ? 
 
 He recalled the fields round Amiens, starred with 
 miniature forests of stiff, protesting crosses. Why 
 had those crosses been planted if it had not been 
 to teach the living world to share? 
 
 A barricade of bread could prevent further blood 
 shed. It always could have prevented it. The gray 
 tide of wolf-men could be halted by a barricade of 
 bread. Strange that no one had ever thought of it ! 
 There had never been a war that a barricade of 
 bread could not have halted. Back and forth across 
 the Atlantic his food-ships were plying. In Holland 
 his warehouses were bulging 
 
 He glanced at the sleeping face of Santa sweet 
 and sad as an avenging angel s. Her solution of in 
 justice was simple: to slay the wrong-doer before 
 he could do his wrong. It was her own suffering that 
 had taught her this cruel mercy. If she, a half-caste, 
 disinherited at birth, could so risk her soul s salva 
 tion for humanity
 
 He drew himself up sharply. He was turning 
 visionary. At this rate he would end as a second 
 Varensky. All his plans for capturing power would 
 be thwarted. He had seen nothing as yet that would 
 corroborate the Captain s disastrous prophecies. 
 
 At Stuttgart he watched the Captain receive an 
 other telegram. If the man had lied to him, what 
 was his purpose? How much did he know? How 
 much did he infer? Had his discovery that they were 
 not married been an accident or had he led up to it 
 by strategy? When Vienna was reached, it would 
 be necessary to throw him off their track. 
 
 They were winding through blue valleys of the 
 Bavarian Tyrol, steeped in the contentment of 
 autumnal sunshine. Like eagles* nests, built high 
 above pine-forests, he caught glimpses of chalets 
 perched on narrow ledges. Here and there they 
 passed villages, mere clusters of dolls houses, 
 childish and make-believe as memories of fairy 
 land. He began to smile at his mood of pessimism. 
 Were Santa to waken, she would refute the 
 Captain s bogey stories. He bent over her, tempted 
 to rouse her. At last he shook her shoulder. 
 
 "Santa, don t be frightened. I want to ask you 
 a question. What the Captain said wasn t true?" 
 
 She gazed up at him bewildered, dreams still in 
 her eyes; then turned her face drowsily back to 
 the pillow. "What wasn t true? I don t under 
 stand." 
 
 "The part about Prince Rogovich and blowing 
 those starving wretches back with cannon."
 
 THE ESCAPE 253 
 
 She settled herself wearily. "I m so terribly tired. 
 I don t want to be reminded." And then, "It was 
 whv I killed him; so that he shouldn t." 
 
 VIII 
 
 Darkness had long since gathered when they 
 crossed the starvation-line into Austria. Perhaps 
 it was no more than imagination, but he immediately 
 became conscious of a vague depression. Glancing 
 through the misty panes, he espied no signs of life 
 only bare fields, pollarded trees like gallows, and 
 the sullen profiles of shrouded houses. No trains 
 flashed by, going in the opposite direction. Wayside 
 stations were shuttered. Night was a stagnant tank. 
 In the all-pervading silence the sound of their own 
 going was the only clamor. 
 
 It was not until they were nearing Vienna that any 
 lights broke the monotony of the blackness even 
 these, like lanterns of lonely grave-diggers, were 
 faint and rare. Shadowy apartment-houses and rot 
 ting factories looked less like habitations than mon 
 strous sepulchers. It was difficult to believe that this 
 pulseless carcass had once been the Bacchante among 
 modern metropolises that even at this moment 
 memories of its rhythm were setting the feet of 
 happier streets to music. He caught the vision of 
 other cities after nightfall; New York, a tall white 
 virgin, sheathed in jewels; London, a grimy smith, 
 striking sparks from a giant anvil ; Paris, a wanton
 
 254 THE VANISHING POINT 
 
 goddess, smiling through the dusk, her face lit up 
 by fire-fly constellations. How impossible it would 
 be to approach any one of them without becoming 
 aware of its presence ! Yet a man might easily travel 
 through Vienna without suspecting that it lay cow 
 ering behind the darkness. 
 
 It was after midnight when the train halted in the 
 empty cathedral of the Bahnhof. Directly the doors 
 were opened, lean men poured into the compartments, 
 whining for the privilege of handling the baggage. 
 Hindwood delayed until he had allowed the Cap 
 tain sufficient time to make his exit, then he thought 
 it safe to assist Santa to the platform. Once again, 
 despite the lateness of the hour, it was necessary to 
 go through tedious formalities. The question asked 
 most pressingly, as at the German frontier, was 
 whether they were possessed of fire-arms. 
 
 At last they were free to go in search of beds. 
 As they stepped into the station-yard, they got their 
 first glimpse of Austria s destitution. Huddled 
 against the walls was a collection of human dere 
 licts which seemed more in keeping with Dante s 
 "Inferno" than the city which had set the world 
 waltzing to The Merry Widow. They were of all 
 conditions and ages, from grandparents to toddling 
 children, from artisans to aristocrats. In the scant 
 light they lifted up greenish faces which snarled, 
 while their extended hands demanded charity. The 
 police beat them back, like huntsmen separating 
 hounds from their quarry. They retreated whimper 
 ing into the shadows.
 
 THE ESCAPE 255 
 
 From the line of worn-out vehicles which were 
 waiting, Hindwood selected a creaking taxi. Having 
 seen Santa seat herself, he ordered the man to 
 drive to the Hotel Bristol. 
 
 "Pretty awful, * he groaned, as he sank back 
 against the musty cushions. 
 
 She stifled a sob. "It was nothing. It s worse 
 than that." 
 
 He spoke again. "I didn t see the Captain. I 
 think we re rid of him." 
 
 "I wouldn t be optimistic." 
 
 Down the long, deserted Mariahilfer Strasse they 
 bumped and rattled. It was ungarnished and for 
 bidding as an empty house. The few people whom 
 they met scuffled out of sight at sound of intrusion, 
 looking less like human beings than vermin. Over 
 all there hung a sense of evil, as though a crime lay 
 undiscovered behind the silence. 
 
 As they turned into the Ring, which circles the 
 inner city, Santa woke into animation. Leaning 
 from the window, she pointed. "Do you see that 
 huge pile like a palace, with all the statues and the 
 steps going up to it? That s the Opera House. I 
 danced there once at the command of the Emperor." 
 
 "Then you re known here?" He clutched her 
 hand. 
 
 She shook her head sadly. "I was the toast of 
 Europe then. Whereas to-day It makes a differ 
 ence." 
 
 In the Kartner-Ring they drew up before a 
 blazing entrance. Laughing people were passing
 
 256 THE VANISHING POINT 
 
 in and out, women muffled in costly wraps, accom 
 panied by men in evening-attire. 
 
 "What s this? * The change was so sudden that 
 it shook his sense of reality. "This doesn t look 
 like" 
 
 She placed her lips close to his ear as she alighted. 
 
 "It looks like asking for revolution. After me, 
 the deluge* you remember? The men aren t Aus- 
 trians. They re foreign vultures here to snatch bar 
 gains human bargains as well. But the women 
 
 Inside the doors of the hotel every reminder of 
 famine had been blotted out. Its white marble halls 
 and stairways were richly carpeted, Its furnishings 
 in gilt and satin had been carried out with the utmost 
 lavishness. The costal of its chandeliers glittered 
 with a dazzling intensity. From the restaurant 
 drifted the wild gayety of a gipsy orchestra, enfever- 
 ing the atmosphere with the yearning of elusive ro 
 mance. Whispering to the beat of the music came 
 the glide of dancing footsteps. Flunkeys with pow 
 dered heads, tricked out in plush breeches like 
 marionettes, hurried to and fro on all-absorbing 
 errands. 
 
 After Santa had been shown to her ornate room, he 
 stepped out into the gloomy street to assure him 
 self. It was all true, in spite of the lie which he had 
 witnessed. The pinched faces were still there, and 
 the enfeebled bodies crawling through the shadows. 
 
 As he reentered the white glare which shone from 
 the hotel, he glanced back with a sense of impending 
 ruin. For a second time his mind was filled with a
 
 THE ESCAPE 257 
 
 tremendous picture: "And there was a certain rich 
 man and a beggar named Lazarus, which was laid at 
 his gate, desiring to be fed. Moreover, the dogs 
 came and licked his sores." 
 
 He caught the vision of his food-ships piling up 
 stores in Holland. At the thought, as he crept be 
 tween the sheets in his comfortable bed, he sickened. 
 
 IX 
 
 He had returned from a disturbing interview with 
 the Austrian ministers responsible for considering 
 his proposals. He was passing the hotel desk, when 
 it occurred to him that some one might have left a 
 message. On inquiry two were handed out to him, 
 one a telegram, the other a letter. Ripping open 
 the telegram, a glance told him it was in German 
 and had been dispatched from Budapest. He had 
 slipped it into his pocket, thinking, "I ll have to get 
 Santa to translate that," when he unfolded it again 
 to see by whom it had been sent. The sender s name 
 was a single word, "Anna." 
 
 His heart gave a bound. She was near to him! 
 He could see her again within a handful of hours. 
 For a moment nothing else seemed to matter 
 neither Santa s safety, nor the agony of hunger by 
 which he was surrounded. His blood ran hot with 
 yearning. How had she reached Budapest so 
 quickly? What was her object? To have accom 
 plished the journey she must have set out from
 
 258 THE VANISHING POINT 
 
 England ahead of him or else have left on the same 
 day, traveling by the alternative route via Belgium. 
 While he had been journeying in the company of 
 Santa, going through the mummery of pretending 
 he was married, Anna had been paralleling his foot 
 steps. Was Varensky with her? But if she were 
 alone . . . 
 
 Mechanically, as he entered the elevator, he slit 
 the flap of the letter. It had evidently been left 
 personally, for it bore no postmark and was hastily 
 scrawled on the stationery of the hotel. The hand 
 was unknown to him. The note read: 
 
 "Yesterday you avoided me. I have told her 
 everything. I am more sure than ever you ought 
 to send her back. I must leave you now for a little 
 while. When we meet again, I hope it will be as 
 friends. 
 
 LAJOS." 
 
 At last they had got rid of him! But what was 
 it he had told her? And what made him so sure that 
 they would meet again? The man wrote as if he 
 were confident that he could lay his hands on them 
 at any moment. 
 
 Stepping out of the elevator, Hindwood made 
 directly for Santa s room. He recalled it vaguely 
 as he had seen it the night before, with its Empire 
 furniture, painted cupids, silken hangings, and tall 
 mirrors its knowing air of having been the illicit 
 nest of innumerable short-lived love-affairs. Its
 
 THE ESCAPE 259 
 
 gaudy luxury, so glaringly in contrast with the em 
 bittered need of the outside world, had stirred his 
 anger. In reply to his knock, her hoarse voice bade 
 him enter. Before he was across the threshold, he 
 was aware of the intoxicating fragrance of roses. 
 
 Just inside the room, frowning with bewilderment, 
 he halted. There were stacks of them sheaves of 
 them everywhere. They were scattered on the floor. 
 They were arranged in vases. They lay strewn about 
 in boxes. They were of all shades and varieties. 
 
 "What s the meaning?" 
 
 She beckoned to him to join her at the tall window 
 against which she was standing. 
 
 "We missed this last night." She pointed. 
 
 Following her direction, he saw that the window 
 looked down obliquely on the imposing architecture 
 of the Opera House. The mellow October sunlight 
 drifted softly across gray roofs and fell in an orange 
 splash into the deep fissure of the street below. 
 Along the pavements the tide of traffic wandered 
 nervelessly. On a neighboring ledge, two plump 
 pigeons were engaged in an ardent courtship. 
 
 "What did we miss? I see nothing." 
 
 Then he noticed the panting of her bosom and 
 that her expression was tender with tremulous emo 
 tion. 
 
 Drawing her fine fingers across her eyes, she 
 shuddered. "Stupid of me! I forgot; they would 
 bring back nothing to you the scent of the roses 
 and then the Opera House, looking the same as ever. 
 I ve been dreaming of other mornings, when I woke
 
 260 THE VANISHING POINT 
 
 after nights of triumph. Perhaps it was this room 
 that set me remembering. It s not the first time I ve 
 slept in it." As she caught his eyes reading her mem 
 ories, she flushed guiltily. "Yes, in those days I was 
 never lonely." 
 
 "But the roses !" he reminded her impatiently. 
 "How did you get them? At the price things cost in 
 Vienna, some one must have spent a fortune." 
 
 She placed a hand on his arm appealingly. "Don t 
 begrudge me. He must have known. I think he 
 did it for my burial." 
 
 Her words sent a chill through him. He shifted 
 his weight uncomfortably. "We re in too tight a 
 corner to waste energy on sentiment. If we re going 
 to make a fight for it, we ve got to keep our heads 
 clear. Who gave them to you?" 
 
 She pressed her forehead against the warm pane. 
 The gold of the world outside cast a sheen of gold 
 on her profile. Her unwanted loveliness hurt him. 
 It reproached him. It recalled to him the ache of his 
 old desire in the days before he had known that he 
 could have her. Aad now that he could have her for 
 the asking. . . . 
 
 "Captain Lajos gave them to me. They ve been 
 arriving ever since we parted. He waited till you d 
 gone; then he came to me. He came to tell me why 
 he d followed me. He was persuaded I was your 
 mistress. This morning he did something noble 
 very noble for a man of his sort to a woman of mine; 
 he begged me to become his wife."
 
 THE ESCAPE 261 
 
 "Without knowing anything about you ? He must 
 be mad." 
 
 "Don t say that." She closed her eyes painfully. 
 "I shan t trouble you or any one much longer. I 
 shall soon be so still. When one s sure of tkat, it s 
 good to be loved just once again, even though " 
 She turned slowly and faced him. "I don t need to 
 tell you who it is that I love truly. This man he s 
 
 nothing. No man erer wiH You see I ve lived 
 
 for men and admiration for things like " She 
 pointed to the roses. "It s new to me to be neglected. 
 So it s comforting to know that a man can still desire 
 me, even though I d rather kill myself than go with 
 him." 
 
 He broke the silence that had settled between them. 
 "You mustn t talk like this. You ve years of life 
 before you. I ll get you away safely." 
 
 She smiled. "No." Then she changed the sub 
 ject. "What happened to you?" 
 
 "You mean at my conference?" He seated him 
 self beside her dressing-table. "The worst that could 
 have happened nothing. Some change has taken 
 place for which I can t account. When I sent 
 my suggestions from America, they were hailed with 
 enthusiasm. I was a saviour everything that s 
 splendid and extravagant. But now The Govern 
 ment s paralyzed. It isn t a Government ; it s a pas 
 senger. You ve let us starve too long. It doesn t 
 matter now that s what I was told this morning. 
 The ministers with whom I consulted spoke as if 
 they were sitting on the edge of a volcano, waiting
 
 262 THE VANISHING POINT 
 
 to be blown up. They re so sure that an eruption s 
 inevitable that they don t consider it worth while 
 to make an effort to save themselves. I couldn t 
 rouse them. When I pressed them for the cause of 
 their lethargy, they prophesied a new war, in very 
 much the same words as Captain Lajos a war in 
 which the well-fed are to be pillaged by the 
 starving." 
 
 "But did you tell them that you could ship food 
 into Austria at once?" 
 
 "I told them. I assured them that I could put 
 Austria back on her feet in twelve months. I offered 
 to provision her and to supply coal for her factories, 
 if they d give me control of the railroads and a per 
 capita percentage on the total increase of national 
 industry. Provision us with pleasure was their 
 attitude; we ll raise no official objection. Very 
 kind of you, I replied; but where do I come in. 
 I m no philanthropist. He brought his fist down 
 with a bang on the dressing-table. "There s a nigger 
 in the wood-pile. Upon my soul, I believe those fel 
 lows are determined that I shan t prevent their na 
 tion from dying. If I shipped them the food as a 
 gift, they d burn it." 
 
 She came over from the window and stood 
 gazing down at him. "You re right. They would 
 if they dared. Can t you guess?" 
 
 "I can t. Their currency s hardly worth the paper 
 it s printed on. People are dropping dead in the 
 streets I saw them. Their gaols are packed with 
 children turned criminals through hunger. There ll
 
 THE ESCAPE 263 
 
 be no crops next year; the grain s consumed that 
 should have been saved for the sowing. They ve 
 butchered all their live-stock. The brains of the 
 country are in exile. The intellectual classes have 
 been wiped out. And here I come with my offer to 
 save them, and they reject it. Without the help of 
 some outside force like myself, things can only go 
 from bad to worse." 
 
 "Precisely." 
 
 He glanced up, irritated by the promptitude of 
 her agreement. "Precisely ! Why do you say that ?" 
 
 "It s what they want things to go from bad to 
 worse. The worse things get, the more certain they 
 are of revolution. They re afraid your food would 
 postpone it." 
 
 "Afraid! Why on earth?" 
 
 "Because they hope to snatch more out of the 
 catastrophe of revolution than you can offer them. 
 These ministers with whom you ve been dealing are 
 the tools of the exiled monarchists. They belong to 
 the party in all countries which made the last war 
 possible and all wars before it. What do they care 
 for the people? They never have cared. Let the 
 brutes starve, they say, *if it suits our purpose. 
 We can always breed more. They regard the people 
 as their serfs, to be fooled with patriotism when 
 danger threatens and to be kept in chains to toil for 
 them when peace has been restored. If the people 
 go hungry long enough, they ll reason that the loss 
 of their kings is the cause. They ll rise up and recall 
 them. They ll start to die for them afresh. It ll
 
 264- THE VANISHING POINT 
 
 happen in all the outcast countries. In the whole 
 sale scramble, it ll be every nation for itself. The 
 strong will struggle to expand their frontiers, and 
 the weak will go to the wall. The deluge of blood " 
 She sank to her knees, seizing his hands imploringly. 
 "If you ll sacrifice your stores of food, you can stop 
 it." 
 
 "But if I do that, without guaranties, I m bank 
 rupt. I get nothing. * 
 
 "You ll get more than I got when, to accomplish 
 the same purpose, I murdered Prince Rogovich. I ll 
 get the scaffold. You ll earn the thanks of humanity. 
 You ll go down to the ages. . . ." 
 
 He could see only the wide grayness of her eyes, 
 pleading, coercing, unbalancing his judgment. 
 
 He jumped to his feet, shaking off their spell. "I m 
 no dreamer no Varensky," he said gruffly. "I 
 have to make a profit." Then, defending himself 
 from her unspoken accusation, "We re only guessing. 
 We have no facts. There are other famished coun 
 tries Hungary and Poland. What Austria refuses, 
 they may accept." He dug his hand into his pocket. 
 "That reminds me. Here s a telegram from Buda 
 pest. I can t understand it. It s in German." 
 
 She was crouched on the floor. As he stooped to 
 give it to her, she caught sight of the signature. 
 
 "From Anna. Varensky must be with her. Then 
 the crisis is nearer than I thought." 
 
 "Read it. Tell me what it says," he urged. 
 
 She looked up palely, wilted with disappointment. 
 " Come at once. I need you That s all."
 
 THE ESCAPE 265 
 
 "Does she give no address?" 
 
 "She wouldn t risk it. I know where to find her." 
 
 "Then we ll start" 
 
 "But what about ?" 
 
 He did not hear her. The blood was hammering in 
 his temples. He left her forgotten, seated among 
 her roses. The music of a wild exultation was mad 
 dening his heart.
 
 CHAPTER THE SEVENTH 
 
 THE CAPTURE 
 
 O Anna had turned to him out of all the world ! 
 She had felt so sure of him that she had not 
 even stated the reason for her urgency only "Come 
 at once. I need you." That she should have relied 
 so implicitly on his compliance put him on his honor 
 not to disappoint her. She must have known that her 
 telegram would find him involved in important busi 
 ness. The earliest she could have counted on seeing 
 him must have been to-morrow. He was determined, 
 if it were humanly possible, to exceed her best expec 
 tations ; he would see her to-night. Having phoned 
 for the hotel porter to be sent to him, he immediately 
 commenced to pack. He recalled the message that 
 Santa had delivered him: "Varensky s setting out on 
 his last journey. He told me to say, Soon you can 
 have her. Did Anna s telegram mean that Varen 
 sky s final journey was ended? 
 
 He was throwing his belongings together when the 
 porter entered. 
 
 "You wanted me, sir?" 
 
 "Yes. What s the first train the fastest to 
 Budapest?" 
 
 266
 
 THE CAPTURE 267 
 
 "The first, if it s still running, starts from the 
 Nord-Bahnhof within the hour. But 
 
 "Then order me a taxi. I ll be ready in ten 
 minutes. Have my bill made up. Send some one 
 to my secretary s room to fetch down her baggage." 
 
 "Certainly. But" 
 
 Hindwood glanced at the man coldly. "I m in too 
 much of a hurry for conversation." 
 
 A little later, as he was pocketing his change, 
 having settled his account, the cashier addressed him. 
 
 He shook his head. "Don t understand." Then, 
 catching sight of Santa, he beckoned. "The fellow s 
 trying to say something. Find out what s troubling 
 him." 
 
 The cashier repeated more earnestly the words 
 that he had previously uttered. 
 
 "He wants to know whether you really think you 
 can leave Vienna," Santa translated. 
 
 "What s to prevent?" Then he caught her arm, 
 lowering his voice. "Perhaps they re on to you." 
 
 The Kartner-Ring was extraordinarily deserted. 
 Against the curb a wheezing taxi was standing the 
 only one in sight. Its engine was running. The 
 bags had been piled on the front seat beside the 
 driver, evidently very much to his annoyance ; he was 
 doing his best to tumble them back on to the pave 
 ment. The hotel porter was vigorously restraining 
 him. An altercation was in progress which threat 
 ened any minute to develop into a fight. 
 
 "What s the matter?" 
 
 The porter replied across his shoulder, still hold-
 
 268 THE VANISHING POINT 
 
 ing the bags in place. "He doesn t want to drive 
 you." 
 
 "Tell him I ll give him five times the legal fare." 
 
 When the offer had been translated, the man 
 seemed mollified. 
 
 The porter opened the door. "Quickly. Jump 
 in before he changes his mind. He promises to do 
 his best." 
 
 "His best ! I should think so." 
 
 As the cab moved off, Hindwood missed the 
 porter s parting words. He turned to Santa. "Do 
 they always come this hold-up game with foreigners 
 in Vienna?" 
 
 "It isn t a hold-up game. He didn t want to drive 
 us. He was afraid. Something s wrong. Look 
 how empty the streets are. Didn t you see how 
 white and scared every one was in the hotel? The 
 cashier would have told us ; you wouldn t even let me 
 listen to him." 
 
 "Jealous !" he thought. "It ll be awkward having 
 to take care of both her and Anna." 
 
 They had driven for ten minutes in silence when 
 Santa spoke again. "It s a queer way he s taking 
 us." 
 
 "How queer?" 
 
 "So round-about." 
 
 "As long as he keeps going, we don t need to 
 worry." 
 
 "But why should he turn up all the side-streets?" 
 
 "I don t know. It ll be time to grow nervous 
 when he stops."
 
 THE CAPTURE 269 
 
 At that moment he stopped, but it was only for a 
 second. Spinning his cab about, he spurted off in a 
 new direction. Glancing from the window as he 
 turned, they saw that the main thoroughfare ahead 
 was blocked by what appeared to be a procession. 
 Street after street he tried, working round in a circle, 
 never getting any nearer. At last, growing desper 
 ate, he took the plunge, tooting his horn and forcing 
 his way through the outskirts of the seething mob. 
 By the time Hindwood had ordered him to turn 
 back it was too late; for a hundred yards behind 
 them, from pavement to pavement, the thoroughfare 
 was packed with pedestrians and vehicles, all headed 
 in the one direction. To get out and walk, even if 
 they had been willing to sacrifice their baggage, was 
 out of the question. The crowd in front was more 
 dense than the crowd behind. The air was full of 
 shrieks of fainting women and the shiver of plate- 
 glass as shop-windows gave way under the pressure. 
 To escape the crush, which was momentarily increas 
 ing, people were clambering to the roof of the taxi 
 and standing thick along the running-boards. 
 
 Santa was speaking in a torrent to the strangers 
 clinging to the doors. 
 
 "Can t you stop long enough to tell me what s 
 happening?" Hindwood interrupted. 
 
 She apologized. "I forgot for the moment that 
 you can t speak German. They re as puzzled as we 
 are. All they know is that they re doing what 
 every one else is doing. They don t know the cause. 
 The same thing s happening at every station. A
 
 270 THE VANISHING POINT 
 
 panic s struck Vienna a foreboding of disaster. 
 It s a case of nerves. In some places looting has 
 started. Every one s escaping the entire popula 
 tion. It s anything to get westward to France, 
 Switzerland, Germany, away from this nightmare 
 of starvation. They re storming the trains in the 
 Bahnhof, trying to compel the engineers to " 
 
 Turning from him, she commenced to ply more 
 questions in her hurried flow of German. 
 
 It was all clear now the porter s hesitancy, the 
 cashier s earnestness, the driver s reluctance. They 
 had been trying to prevent him from hurrying a 
 woman into danger. He had been too obsessed by the 
 thought of reaching Anna even to pay attention. 
 For confirmation of what Santa had told him, he 
 had only to glance at the surrounding throng. The 
 lean multitude was absurdly prepared for its futile 
 exodus. Irrespective of class, every individual was 
 burdened with whatever he or she had had time to 
 rescue of the household goods. They carried bundles 
 beneath their arms and sacks on their backs. Every 
 thing on wheels had been commandeered. Some 
 pushed perambulators, piled high with ill-assorted 
 belongings ; others had harnessed themselves to carts. 
 None of them could have considered whether his 
 or her presence would be allowed in a happier coun 
 try. Obviously over night the half of Vienna could 
 not have procured the necessary permits to travel. 
 
 On the outskirts those who were most desperate, 
 because furthest from the station, had begun to 
 charge. Hindwood watched the stampede how ter-
 
 THE CAPTURE 271 
 
 ror was transforming forlorn human beings into 
 animals. They were of all kinds and sorts, me 
 chanics, waiters, slum-dwellers, merchants, shop-girls, 
 demi-mondaines, with here and there a sprinkling of 
 patrician faces from the palaces of the bankrupt 
 aristocracy. There were lonely men and women, 
 but for the most part they were grouped in families, 
 the children dragging at their mother s skirts and the 
 youngest in the father s arms. They pushed, jostled 
 and fought, trampling the weak in their frenzy to 
 get forward. 
 
 Suddenly the madness of self-preservation froze 
 with horror. At the end of the street, far up the 
 pale river of gray faces, horsemen were advancing, 
 standing tall in their stirrups, smiting with their 
 swords. Santa flung herself to the floor. "Down. 
 Keep down. The children oh, my God!" 
 
 Like a volley of hail, bullets commenced to patter. 
 They whipped the street from end to end, hissing 
 in their flight and thudding as they found their tar 
 get. The taxi tossed and rocked like a rowboat in 
 a mill-race. The mob had given way; like water 
 from a burst dam, it roared between the tall, con 
 fining houses. It swept backwards weeping, bleed 
 ing, desperate, exhausted, wilder in its retreat than 
 it had been in its advance. Behind it came the cav 
 alry, riding it down, firing and stabbing. In five 
 minutes nothing was in sight, save upset vehicles, 
 scattered belongings, dead lying awkwardly in the 
 October sunshine and wounded crawling weakly in 
 search of refuge.
 
 272 THE VANISHING POINT 
 
 Reaching through the shattered window, Hind- 
 wood tapped the driver s shoulder. "Drive on." 
 
 At the touch the man crumpled. There was a 
 crimson blot in the center of his forehead. 
 
 Santa sat up, staring furiously. "If you d not 
 refused them bread " 
 
 "1 didn t." 
 
 "You did. You were only willing to sell." 
 
 Her eyes were blazing. Her hands were clenched. 
 Her tears fell slowly. In the terrific silence which 
 followed so much clamor, the street itself seemed to 
 accuse him. Picking up their bags, he led the way 
 to the station. Scenes such as the one he had wit 
 nessed might be happening in Budapest. There 
 was no time to be lost. 
 
 "Find out whether it s possible to send a wire." 
 
 "Where to ?" she asked suspiciously. 
 
 "To Amsterdam." 
 
 "What for?" 
 
 "Do you need to ask?" 
 
 After a hurried conversation with a scared offi 
 cial, she turned. "If it s to do with food, they ll 
 accept it. The lines may be cut at any moment." 
 
 He dashed off his telegram. "Crisis sooner than 
 expected. Without delay start food-trains under 
 armed guard for Budapest and Vienna." 
 
 It might spell bankruptcy for him the ruin of all 
 his plans. He rebelled against the improvidence 
 of philanthropy, yet dimly he discerned the propor 
 tions of his chance. If he would, he could teach the 
 world how wars could be stopped. As he watched the
 
 THE CAPTURE 273 
 
 message being dispatched, he wondered why he had 
 sent it. Was he frightened by the sight of bloodshed, 
 or angered, like Varensky, by an unjust display of 
 force? Or had he sent it because this maelstrom 
 of human agony swirled between him and the woman 
 he loved, and food might prove to be the only means 
 by which she could be rescued? He sought to ex 
 plain his actions by business motives : if his food 
 trains were actually on the spot, he could strike a 
 better bargain with tottering governments. 
 
 II 
 
 The express for Budapest was several hours late. 
 When at last it got under way, it carried few pas 
 sengers. It was plunging straight into the heart 
 of the danger, from which all the world which pos 
 sessed the price of a fare was escaping. 
 
 Santa listened to and reported on the conversation 
 of fellow-travelers. They were Hungarian officers 
 returning to their regiments, to whom a fight spelt 
 opportunity; they were husbands and fathers, care 
 less of their own safety in their dread of what might 
 be happening to their families ; they were merchants 
 and men of wealth, anxious to be at hand for the 
 defense of their possessions. As the talk went on, 
 the greatness of the risk grew increasingly obvious ; 
 it bred an atmosphere of free-masonry. Strangers 
 accosted each other, exchanging views on the 
 hazards; they crowded about the entrance of any
 
 THE VANISHING POINT 
 
 compartment where a speaker seemed possessed of 
 accurate information. Most of what was said was 
 no more than conjecture; much of it was utterly 
 contradictory. One man asserted that the Bol 
 sheviks were attacking all along the Russian front; 
 another that Bolshevism had collapsed and the peas 
 ants were massacring. Another knew for certain 
 that throughout Central Europe the Reds were ris 
 ing ; yet another that the Monarchists had sprung to 
 arms and were marching. Every rumor or invention 
 was accepted with equal credulity. Anything was 
 possible. No one knew for certain either the magni 
 tude or the cause of the rumored disaster. Only one 
 fact seemed indisputable : somewhere further eastward 
 had occurred a catastrophe of shattering propor 
 tions a catastrophe in the tragedy of which each 
 one of them would shortly be involved. 
 
 Hindwood turned away from the babel of voices 
 to the autumn landscape gliding past the windows. 
 It consisted as far as eye could stretch of unboun- 
 daried, level fields, gridironed by straight, military 
 roads, marked by avenues of pollarded trees, inter 
 secting always at right angles. The fields were neg 
 lected. They told their own story of seed con 
 sumed, which should have been saved for sowing, 
 and of cattle slaughtered. Over everything, despite 
 the brilliant blueness of the sky, there hung an at 
 mosphere of melancholy. Down white-penciled high 
 ways little groups were trekking, always in the one 
 direction. They appeared crushed and harmless, 
 more like insects, scarcely human. They limped for-
 
 THE CAPTURE 275 
 
 lornly, dragging carts and carrying children. They 
 were the advance-guard of the army of starvation. 
 Hindwood remembered the Captain s prophecy. 
 "They ll march to the lands of plenty like Death 
 swinging his scythe, like a pestilence, like gaunt 
 wolves." 
 
 At the frontier, where the train crossed from Aus 
 tria into Hungary, he gained his first lesson in the 
 resistlessness of necessity. There had been an un 
 equal battle, in which only one side had been armed. 
 It appeared that the Austrian guards had tried to 
 turn back the Hungarian fugitives. They had fired 
 their rifles till their ammunition was exhausted ; then 
 they had sickened of the slaughter. Opposition had 
 made no difference; the tide of fugitives had still 
 pressed on. Misery had proved more potent than 
 explosives ; it had made death, if not desirable, at 
 least negligible. Its meek persistence had conquered. 
 The Austrian soldiery had revolted against their offi 
 cers and stood with grounded arms, watching the 
 stream of poverty trickling through the barrier of 
 corpses. 
 
 "Like water finding its own level," Hindwood 
 thought. It would be like this the world over, if 
 something were not done at once to check it. The 
 outcast nations lay one behind the other, like ter 
 raced avalanches, in an ascending scale of destitu 
 tion behind the Austrians the Hungarians, behind 
 the Hungarians the Poles, behind the Poles the Rus 
 sians, each a degree more agonized in its privation. 
 Now that the movement had started it would go on,
 
 276 THE VANISHING POINT 
 
 sliding, filtering, settling, until the peoples of the 
 earth had regained an economic level. The Dives 
 nations, which had refused to share, would try to 
 hold the Lazarus nations at bay by force. They 
 would spray them with cannon. They would charge 
 them with bayonets. They would bomb them, gas 
 them, dig labyrinths of trenches. In the end, as had 
 happened here, though the pariah portion of hu 
 manity was weaponless, the meek persistency of its 
 misery would conquer. Careless of oblivion, it would 
 press on. He alone could give the Dives nations a 
 seventh hour chance; at the price of his financial 
 ruin, he could prevent the deluge of famine from 
 spreading by damming it with a wall of bread. 
 
 Darkness had fallen. The carriages were un- 
 lighted. The train was moving cautiously, jerking, 
 stopping, starting, like a live thing scenting car 
 nage. Scattered through the night camp-fires were 
 burning. In the gloom conversation dragged on 
 wearily with reiterated guesses. 
 
 He felt his hand clasped. 
 
 "What is it?" he whispered. "Frightened? You 
 won t be caught now. You re as safe as the rest of 
 us. No one ll have time to remember you." 
 
 "I wasn t thinking of myself." 
 
 "Then?" 
 
 "Of you that perhaps you were born for such 
 a time as this." 
 
 "Ah !" He drew his breath. The echo of his own 
 thought ! "And perhaps you, too," he suggested. 
 
 She twisted herself, leaning her breast against his
 
 THE CAPTURE 277 
 
 arm. Glancing down through the darkness, he 
 caught the tenderness in her eyes and the gleaming 
 smoothness of her cheek and throat. 
 
 "I wish I could believe it," she said softly; "to 
 stand beside you, making you strong. . . . You 
 could never love me ; but to stand beside you, when 
 you rescue the world, that would mean redemption." 
 
 "When I rescue the world !" He laughed quietly. 
 "I m no Varensky. I came here to make money." 
 
 She swept aside his cynicism. "You were born 
 for this moment. And I, an outcast woman whom 
 the world has hunted, will help you. Perhaps I shall 
 give my life for you." She spoke exultantly. "I, 
 whom you have rejected." 
 
 "You exaggerate. Things may not be as bad as 
 they appear. What we ve seen may be no more than 
 a local disturbance." 
 
 She refused to argue. "Be kind to me while we re 
 together." 
 
 On the outskirts of Budapest they came to a 
 halt. The air was tainted with a nauseating odor. 
 Standing on a siding was a long line of freight-cars 
 in process of being shunted. By the light of lanterns 
 swung by men on the tracks, it was possible to see 
 that the freight-cars were inhabited. Figures hung 
 out of them thin as skeletons, entirely naked or clad 
 in flapping rags. The passengers of the express 
 had crowded to the windows, pointing, commenting, 
 gesticulating. 
 
 Hindwood turned to Santa. "What is it?" 
 
 She answered bitterly. "The death train."
 
 278 THE VANISHING POINT 
 
 "But the people aren t dead." 
 
 "Not yet. They re families ruined by the war and 
 by the peace. Some of them saw their homes burned 
 by the Cossacks ; others had their farms stolen to 
 pay the Allies debts. They re nobody s business. 
 When you ve reached the end of your tether in Hun 
 gary, you join the death train and die by inches. 
 You have no food, no sanitation. Wherever you 
 halt, you spread contagion. When things have 
 grown too bad in one place, you re dragged to an 
 other." She swallowed down a sob. "The train s full 
 of children and you tell me that you came here to 
 make money." 
 
 On arrival at Budapest they found the station 
 picketed by soldiers. They were immediately con 
 ducted under an armed guard to an office where the 
 purpose of their journey was investigated. When 
 Hindwood had explained their errand that it had 
 to do with the food-supply he was treated with 
 courtesy and given his choice of hotels. Santa chose 
 the Ritz. A military order was made out for their 
 rooms. A safe-conduct was handed them. A rick 
 ety conveyance, with a lean horse between the shafts, 
 was allotted to them. They were launched into a 
 city quenched of lights, with a soldier seated beside 
 the driver for protection. 
 
 The wide avenues down which they drove were 
 deserted. They were still unaware of what had 
 happened. They had not dared to ask, lest any slip 
 of the tongue might lead to trouble. There were no 
 signs of revolution in the thoroughfares. They were
 
 THE CAPTURE 279 
 
 hushed and reverent as the aisles of a cathedral. 
 Every few hundred yards a mounted gendarme rode 
 out to challenge them ; then, seeing the soldier on the 
 box, backed into the shadows. Only one disquieting 
 incident occurred. The uneasiness which it caused 
 was due to guilty memories rather J;han to any 
 actual menace. As they were turning towards the 
 Danube, they heard a sharp trotting behind them. A 
 closed brougham swept past, drawn by a pair of 
 high-stepping horses. The equipage was one which 
 must formerly have belonged to the Royal Palace; 
 it was the ghost of a forgotten splendor. Hindwood 
 rose in his seat to watch it vanish. Then he saw 
 something that made him catch his breath. Running 
 between its wheels was a snow-white Russian wolf 
 hound. 
 
 Santa heard his commotion. "What s the excite 
 ment?" 
 
 "Nothing." 
 
 By the time she had raised herself to follow his 
 glance, the hint of peril was gone. The next moment 
 they were drawing up at the hotel. 
 
 Ill 
 
 Again as the door swung to behind them, they 
 were greeted by sounds of merriment and dancing, 
 only here the abandon was wilder than at Vienna. 
 Hindwood saw at a glance that this was no assem 
 blage of alien hucksters, drawn from all the world to
 
 280 THE VANISHING POINT 
 
 gather bargains. As regards the men, they were 
 devil-may-care and smart, of the same type as Cap 
 tain Lajos the sort who would follow the game 
 to the last throw of the dice. Many of them had 
 made no attempt to disguise their profession; they 
 were clad in gorgeous uniforms of Hungarian regi 
 ments long since ordered disbanded by the Allies. 
 Their breasts were ablaze with Imperial decorations. 
 They strode the marble floors with the clink of spurs 
 and the rattling of swords. While they drugged the 
 midnight hours with laughter and debauch, their 
 faces were feverish with listening expectancy the 
 expectancy of an event for which they waited. 
 
 The women looked like captives of a raid. Some 
 hung back timidly; some were bold with wine; all 
 were weary and pinched with hunger. Like the men, 
 they seemed only to be acting a part. In the midst 
 of recklessness they would give way to distaste, as 
 though remorseful of this way of combating star 
 vation. 
 
 With the stench of the death train still in his 
 nostrils, Hindwood stared at the spectacle in pity 
 and disgust. "Fiddling while Rome is burning," he 
 muttered. 
 
 His elbow was jogged by a black-coated individual 
 with the appeasing manners of a tailor. 
 
 "I understand English. What is it you desire?" 
 
 Hindwood swung round. "So much the better. 
 I want what one usually wants at a hotel accommo 
 dation." 
 
 The man rubbed his hands. "Sorry, sir. We re
 
 THE CAPTURE 281 
 
 full up. Every room, in fact every lounge is taken." 
 
 "You ll have to find something. I have a military 
 order." 
 
 Having read it the man returned the slip of paper. 
 "That s different. You re here on Government busi 
 ness for the same purpose as these other gentlemen, 
 I take it?" 
 
 Hindwood replied non-committally. "Yes, on 
 Government business." 
 
 "In that case I ll give you a room in the base 
 ment a servant s, my last. It s all I have to offer." 
 
 "But two rooms are necessary. I have my secre 
 tary with me this lady." 
 
 The man shrugged his shouldefs. "To demand 
 the impossible is useless. To-morrow who knows? 
 If things happen, I may be able to give you more 
 rooms than you require. For the present . . . 
 
 Seeing that nothing was to be gained by arguing, 
 Hindwood consented to the arrangement. 
 
 "The room will be my secretary s. If you ll lend 
 me blankets, I ll find a place in the passage." 
 
 The room proved to be poor in the extreme noth 
 ing but four bare walls and an iron cot. When he 
 had turned the key he tiptoed over to Santa. 
 
 "What s this monstrous thing for which they re 
 waiting this something that may happen to-mor 
 row?" 
 
 She placed her hands in his, as though she felt the 
 need of protection. Her golden face was tragic. 
 "War." 
 
 His common sense revolted. Though everything
 
 282 THE VANISHING POINT 
 
 seemed to prove her guess correct, he refused to ac 
 cept it. "War ! It can t be. What would any one 
 gain by it? It was war that produced all this hide 
 ous mess the death train and all that. Besides, 
 how can people fight who can scarcely crawl ? They 
 have one foot in the grave already. Ten well-fed 
 men could defeat a battalion. Whatever s in the 
 wind, it isn t war. To launch a war requires money." 
 
 "With you it s always money. To launch this 
 kind of a war requires nothing but despair." 
 
 Stepping back from him tempestuously, she flung 
 herself full length on the cot. Her face was hidden, 
 buried in the pillow. While she lay there tense, the 
 sound of dance-music, advancing and retreating, 
 tapped dreamily against the walls. It spoke to him 
 of romance, of a woman he could love, and of pas 
 sion snatched perilously before life ended, in a 
 mysterious city after nightfall. 
 
 She had raised herself and was regarding him 
 feverishly. Her red lips were parted as with thirst. 
 
 "I know you so well," she was saying softly; "I 
 know you because I love you. You refuse to believe 
 it s war because you wouldn t be able to sell and 
 bargain. But it is war the sort of war we saw at 
 the frontier: a war in which weaponless millions will 
 march to the overthrow of embattled thousands." 
 
 "You re unjust." He spoke patiently. "I m 
 unwilling to believe it s war because I can t see any 
 reason for it." 
 
 "Any reason!" Her eyes became twin storms. 
 "Would you require a reason if you d seen your
 
 THE CAPTURE 283 
 
 children die for lack of bread? You d perish gladly, 
 if you could first tear the throat out of one person 
 who was too well nourished." 
 
 He went and stood beside her, stooping over her, 
 placing his hand against her forehead. "You re 
 burning. You ve been through too much. Get some 
 rest. To-morrow we ll find Anna and perhaps Var- 
 ensky; it s more than likely they ll be able to tell 
 us." He paused. "I know what makes you so re 
 lentless ; it s your own dead child " 
 
 Her arms shot up, dragging him down and nest 
 ling his face against her breast. **Oh, my man, it s 
 not that. It s that I m jealous for you so afraid 
 you may deceive yourself and miss your chance." 
 
 He stumbled back from the temptation of her 
 yielding body and the comfort of her fragrant 
 warmth. 
 
 "My chance is yours ; we may both have been 
 born for this moment." 
 
 Long after he had stretched himself outside her 
 door, he felt that in the austerity of the four bare 
 walls she still crouched watching from her bed. 
 
 IV 
 
 He slept restlessly. The music and the dancing 
 rarely halted. Once when he roused, it was with the 
 suffocating sense that a man was bending over him, 
 fumbling at the handle of Santa s door. As he sat
 
 284 THE VANISHING POINT 
 
 up, he was convinced that the man looked back just 
 before he vanished around the corner. 
 
 When he finally wakened, it was in the chill of 
 dawn. He was surrounded by a ghostly stillness. 
 Rising softly, he slipped down the passage and out 
 into the public rooms of the hotel. It was as though 
 a wizard had waved his wand. The merry-makers 
 lay strewn about carelessly, wherever sleep had 
 overtaken them. In the pale light of morning, 
 robbed of animation, their faces showed waxlike and 
 wan. Swords, which had clattered martially, 
 sprawled grotesquely by crumpled bodies. Uniforms 
 looked tarnished, dresses shabby. Girls, with their 
 lips parted and their hair disordered, lay with heads 
 stretched back in their lovers arms. Over all was 
 spread the weariness of folly. 
 
 Tiptoeing from group to group, he searched for 
 the man who had tried Santa s door. Nowhere could 
 he find him. Returning to her room, he tapped 
 lightly. He was afraid to make more noise in that 
 atmosphere of menace. Receiving no answer, he 
 pushed the door stealthily and peered across the 
 threshold. He had feared lest he might find her 
 gone; there she lay curled up in her cot, her hair 
 poured across her pillow, her face cushioned against 
 her hollowed arm. Gray light falling from a narrow 
 window clothed her with a lonely pathos. Bending 
 over her, he shook her shoulder. "Santa." 
 
 She sat up with a start. 
 
 "Has it happened?" 
 
 "Not yet. They re sleeping like the dead."
 
 THE CAPTURE 285 
 
 "Then why?" 
 
 "There s someone who knows us here. He tried 
 your door. It makes me think we re watched. We 
 can slip out now and hunt up Varensky. If we wait 
 till later, we ll be followed." 
 
 Her pupils dilated, obscuring the grayness of her 
 eyes ; they became black pools, mirroring her terror. 
 "To be caught with Varensky would mean death." 
 
 He seated himself on the edge of her cot. "I 
 didn t think you knew what fear was. Don t be 
 frightened. I ll protect you." 
 
 "Dear !" All of a sudden she had become intensely 
 calm. "Did you think I was afraid for myself? 
 Before many days, perhaps before to-day is out, it ll 
 be you who ll need protecting. I beg you, don t go 
 near Varensky." 
 
 "But" 
 
 "Let me go myself," she implored. When he 
 glanced away without replying, she rushed on im 
 petuously. "Some one s got to take risks. I don t 
 count. Your life must be spared." 
 
 With an effort he brought his gaze back. "There s 
 Anna." 
 
 Instead of the explosion he had expected, her voice 
 became gravely tender. "I forgot. You care for 
 her as I care for you. I m sorry." 
 
 Her feet slipped to the floor; he saw them marble 
 white against the bare, scrubbed boards beautiful 
 as hands, the feet of a dancer. As he retreated, she 
 smiled bravely, "You shan t wait long."
 
 286 THE VANISHING POINT 
 
 So far as they were aware, no one had noticed 
 their departure. The deep breathing of the motley 
 throng had been like the beat of a muffled engine. 
 Even the night-porter, who should have been on 
 guard, had collapsed across his desk with his face 
 buried in his arms. 
 
 They had stepped out of the hotel into a pulseless 
 street where mists from the Danube hung like cob 
 webs. Hindwood could not rid himself of the sus 
 picion that they were followed. He glanced back 
 repeatedly, drawing Santa sharply into doorways in 
 attempt after attempt to trap the tracker. If a 
 tracker there was, he never revealed himself. At 
 last Hindwood realized that precautions were profit 
 less. The cessation of their own footsteps gave am 
 ple warning. A pursuer had only to halt when they 
 halted, to escape detection behind the fog. 
 
 They scarcely dared talk, and then only in brief 
 whispers. It puzzled him how she could keep her 
 direction. It was like tunneling a passage through 
 chalk, which crumbled, yielded, and caved in as one 
 went forward. The whole world dripped sullenly 
 unseen gutters, unseen trees, treacherous pavements. 
 And there was always the drifting whiteness, prick 
 ing one s eyes as with little darts. 
 
 She had gone too far and turned back, feeling her 
 way along the wall. Before a large double-door 
 she paused and knocked. She rapped three times
 
 THE CAPTURE 287 
 
 peculiarly before a grill was slipped back and a ques 
 tion asked. The answer which she gave appeared to 
 be the countersign. A smaller door in the double- 
 door was opened and they entered. 
 
 The person who had admitted them was a new 
 type to Hindwood: flat featured, fair-headed, blue- 
 eyed, clad in a loose khaki shirt, which bulged like 
 a blouse, and in a pair of baggy breeches which 
 were tucked into high-boots, roomy as pouches. But 
 it was the expression of the man that was most im 
 pressive his brooding appearance of enormous pa 
 tience. Santa spoke rapidly in a language which 
 was neither German nor French. The man nodded 
 and led the way across a gloomy courtyard, up 
 stairs rotten with decay, into a stone corridor lined 
 with stout forbidding doors. 
 
 "Is it a prison?" Hindwood whispered. 
 
 "Little better. It s a barracks inhabited by the 
 brains of outcast Russia students, for the most 
 part, male and female, who have escaped from the 
 Red Terror. Russia has no use for brains at pres 
 ent. Brains are too dangerous. Wherever the Bol 
 shevist finds them, he blows them out. Many of these 
 exiles are survivors of Denikin s and Kolchak s 
 armies. Having tried to save their country with 
 rifles, they re now preparing themselves to rescue 
 her with knowledge. They re learning to be doctors, 
 engineers and lawyers, so that they may become the 
 soul of the Russia of the future. Meanwhile they 
 live anyhow, sleep anywhere and starve abominably. 
 They re not wanted in Hungary or in any European
 
 288 THE VANISHING POINT 
 
 country. They re suspected and hounded. The only 
 reason they ve been allotted this mildewed dwelling 
 is in order that they may be watched." 
 
 The guide had thrown open a door and stood 
 signing to them, trying to catch their attention. 
 
 It was a grim sight that met their eyes, similar to 
 the one they had left behind at the hotel only a thou 
 sand times more sordid. The windows were locked 
 and heavily barred. The air was poisonous. The 
 room was stripped of furnishings. On bare 
 boards innumerable human beings, without a shred of 
 bedding, sprawled, drugged with sleep, herded to 
 gether in indecent proximity. There was scarcely 
 space to walk between them. They were of both 
 sexes. Here and there a child lay folded in a 
 parent s arms. The men were of all ages, but for 
 the most part young and still in the tattered uni 
 forms of their defeated armies. The women were 
 scarcely distinguishable from the men. Their heads 
 were cropped. They wore odd garments of mixed 
 masculine and feminine attire, such as could be pur 
 chased for next to nothing at any rag-shop. Some 
 retained the soldier-garb of the Battalions of Death. 
 As Hindwood gazed across the pool of mud-colored 
 faces, "Heaven help us, if this is the soul of the 
 future Russia!" he thought. 
 
 Suddenly his interest shifted. In the corner re 
 motest from the door, his eye had caught the shining 
 of golden tresses. Their owner s face was turned 
 away from him; they seemed to weigh her down 
 and were piled beneath her head in a cushion. On
 
 THE CAPTURE 289 
 
 her left lay an aged peasant woman ; on her right a 
 man with a death-white face and a head that was 
 peaked like a dunce s cap. The guide was already 
 stooping over the man, touching him with a strange 
 reverence. The man sat up. His green eyes 
 opened. Hindwood experienced the same sensation 
 of discomfort he had felt, when he had first seen them 
 peering at him above the edge of the cliff at Seafold. 
 
 Varensky had risen. With his peculiarly catlike 
 motion, he was picking a path towards them. He 
 held out his hand. 
 
 "It was brave of you to come." And then to Santa, 
 "Of you, too. But of you it was expected." 
 
 Hindwood bristled like a dog. He was distrustful 
 of romantic attitudes. "Let s get down to facts. 
 You know as well as I do that it wasn t any lofty 
 motive that brought me." 
 
 "No?" The eye-brows arched themselves comi 
 cally. "Then what?" 
 
 "Your wife s message." 
 
 "Ah! I understand. She didn t tell me. You 
 see, she thinks I m going to get myself killed at last ; 
 probably she wants you to help stop me. Not that 
 I m of the least use to her don t think tnat. But 
 she s the soul of honor. My death would mean her 
 freedom; because of that she d do anything in her 
 power to prevent 
 
 Hindwood drew himself erect. "These are matters 
 which it s not decent for us to discuss." 
 
 The narrow shoulders flew up into a shrug. "Why 
 on earth not? When things are so, there can be
 
 290 THE VANISHING POINT 
 
 nothing indecent in being frank about them. Is it 
 less indecent for you to love my wife than for me 
 to tell that I know you love her? There d be no 
 sense in your loving her unless you both hoped 
 I won t finish what I was going to say ; your feelings 
 are so sensitive." He rested his hand not unkindly 
 on Hindwood s arm. "Don t you realize, my dear 
 fellow, that you re to be congratulated? This hap 
 pening which means catastrophe for countless mil 
 lions, for you and Anna spells opportunity. Be 
 honest. You would not have risked visiting me, if 
 you had not realized that." 
 
 Hindwood sought for spitefulness in Varensky s 
 tones. All he found was the surge of a quiet happi 
 ness. 
 
 "One would think that I wanted you to die !" he ex 
 claimed blankly. 
 
 "Well, don t you? Why shouldn t you?" Varen- 
 sky smiled sadly. "If I could love Anna or any 
 other woman the way you do But no to me such 
 affections have been denied. I love people only in 
 crowds, by tens of thousands and by nations ; in 
 my heart there s no room for more human passions. 
 I m God s instrument; the hour of my testing is at 
 hand. These mildewed walls inclose my Gethse- 
 mane." He flung his arms apart grotesquely; they 
 formed with his body the shape of a cross. The fire 
 of fanaticism blazed in his eyes. "To-morrow I 
 shall be crucified." He drew a shuddering breath. 
 
 "A born actor !" was Hindwood s silent comment- 
 "An egoist who craves the lime-light."
 
 THE CAPTURE 291 
 
 And yet, to his chagrin, he found himself im 
 pressed. He was so deeply stirred that he dared not 
 trust himself to speak for a moment ; when he did, it 
 was with calculated coldness. 
 
 "You think only of yourself. It s not you alone; 
 even those of us who make no claim to be God s 
 instruments, stand more than a sporting chance of 
 being crucified, as you call it. There are Santa 
 and Anna, for instance; there s the collection of 
 wretched down-and-outs gathered in this building; 
 there are the scarecrows I saw in the death train ; 
 there are all the teeming swarms of human lice crawl 
 ing westward along a thousand roads. In the pres 
 ence of an agony so widespread, I can t muster a 
 tear for your individual tragedy. It s no time for 
 theatrics." 
 
 For an instant Varensky s gaunt face quivered. 
 Making an effort, with an air of mocking courtliness 
 he mastered his injured pride. 
 
 "I was mistaken and I ask your pardon. We all 
 have our plans to make ahead. I supposed you were 
 here to ascertain approximately the hour at which I 
 proposed to Shall we say, depart?" 
 
 "You were badly mistaken," Hindwood cut in con 
 temptuously. "I m here to find out if there s any 
 possible way in which we can save the situation." 
 
 "Wei" 
 
 Varensky stared. He became rigid as though he 
 were carved from marble. "We!" he repeated 
 haughtily.
 
 292 THE VANISHING POINT 
 
 While Hindwood was searching for a clue to his 
 amazement, his next words supplied it. 
 
 "I thought it was I who was to save the world." 
 
 "Splendid! You have a plan?" 
 
 Varensky s eyes filmed over. "Yes. But if I were 
 to tell you, you wouldn t understand." Coming out 
 of the clouds, he placed his hand tolerantly on Hind- 
 wood s shoulder. "Splendid, you said. So you 
 want me to have a plan? Let s sit down and talk 
 more quietly. These people are tired in sleep they 
 forget. So you also have ambitions to become a 
 saviour?" 
 
 It was like the night in the hut all over again, 
 when they had talked of Santa s redemption. There 
 he sat, this discredited dictator, half-saint, half- 
 charlatan, his knees drawn sharply up to his chin, 
 his white face peering over them. The stale air 
 sighed with the breathing of sleepers. A child 
 whimpered and was hugged closer to the breast. In 
 the far corner lay the desired woman. Gazing 
 eagerly into both their eyes was the oriental coun 
 tenance of the other woman, for whom neither of 
 them cared. 
 
 "A saviour ! No. I have no ambitions in that di 
 rection. But I have a scheme," Hindwood admitted. 
 
 "What is it?" 
 
 "Bread. I came to sell bread for trade-conces 
 sions. In Austria I found the Government unwilling 
 to purchase. This morning, when I consult with 
 Hungarian officials, I may be met with the same 
 refusal. What s the game? Why should men in
 
 THE CAPTURE 293 
 
 control of hungry nations refuse my help? For six 
 months they ve been urging me to come to them. 
 Something s happened the signs of it are every 
 where. Trains running westward are packed with 
 women. The last sight we had of Vienna was a 
 street-riot and people brutally shot down. And 
 again at the frontier there were piles of dead not 
 only men: women and children who had been butch 
 ered to prevent them from escaping. Budapest s 
 under military law. By some error, Santa and I 
 on arrival were mistaken for conspirators in an army 
 plot. We re billeted at what appears to be its head 
 quarters a place jammed with carousing officers 
 of supposedly disbanded regiments. What s in the 
 air? What is this dreadful news which some people 
 rejoice over, from which others flee in panic, but 
 which no one dares to mention? If you can tell me, I 
 shall know how to act." 
 
 "If I can tell you ! Suppose I were to tell you 
 the worst, how would you act then?" 
 
 "That depends. I m no more unselfish than any 
 body else. At a pinch I could forget my own in 
 terests and ruin myself for the public welfare. 
 Here s how I stand. I have enough food at my com 
 mand to keep Europe for several weeks from actual 
 starvation. If the crisis is genuine, that ought to 
 give time for the conscience of the civilized world 
 to be aroused. But even if the world s conscience 
 should prove too sluggish, I still have a personal 
 fortune which would keep hunger at bay for several 
 months. I m no philanthropist I should make my-
 
 294 THE VANISHING POINT 
 
 self penniless reluctantly. I m in no sense your rival 
 for the honors of Calvary. My mission in Europe 
 is to sell at a profit. So if you can do better " 
 
 "What you re telling me," Varensky interrupted, 
 "is that, if by personal sacrifice you could avert a 
 world disaster, you d be willing 1 to give something 
 for nothing." 
 
 "Precisely. But I must first be convinced that 
 the circumstances warrant it." 
 
 "There s one point you ve overlooked." Varen- 
 sky s green eyes narrowed. "Up to the moment you 
 entered this room, I was fully persuaded that I was 
 the man on whom the privilege of paying the price 
 must fall. I d coveted the privilege. All my life 
 I d worked for it. If you rob me of it, have you 
 reckoned the cost?" 
 
 "In money?" 
 
 "In something more valuable. If I live, you can 
 never be Anna s husband." 
 
 Hindwood hated the man for his subtlety. He 
 was being deliberately tempted. He threw a glance 
 toward the sleeping woman in the corner whose fate, 
 as well as his own, he was deciding. Close to him, 
 drawing nearer, he saw the pleading eyes of Santa. 
 He gave his answer. 
 
 "I may be the man who was born for this mo 
 ment. Play fair by me; tell me what s happened." 
 
 Varensky rocked himself slowly back and forth. 
 Suddenly he came to rest. 
 
 "I m the thing that s happened. I m responsible 
 for everything. I ve never learnt to let bad alone;
 
 THE CAPTURE 295 
 
 in trying to make things better, I make them worse. 
 It was my hand that shot down the crowd at Vienna. 
 It was I who butchered the women and children at 
 the frontier. I m the force which drives behind the 
 human lice who crawl westward along a thousand 
 roads. You think me mad; but listen. Every free 
 dom gained entails a new bondage. I helped to free 
 Russia from the Czar; in so doing, I prepared the 
 way for Bolshevism. I ve fought Bolshevism with 
 my dreams, my happiness, with everything I pos 
 sess. Bolshevism is overthrown. What have I pro 
 duced? Chaos." 
 
 "Overthrown! Then that s the meaning of it." 
 Santa had half risen. 
 
 Varensky turned his death-white face on her, 
 chilling her enthusiasm. "It s collapsed like a pack 
 of cards. With it have vanished the last of the re 
 straints. Every Russian s his own master now to 
 choose his own ditch in which to perish. We ve 
 destroyed a vision that turned out to be a night 
 mare, but we ve set up nothing in its stead. We, 
 who are idealists, have worked the final disillusion. 
 We ve made two hundred millions hopeless. They re 
 fleeing from the emptiness. The contagion of their 
 despair is spreading. You saw its results in Vienna. 
 It runs ahead of them ; they re already on the march. 
 They ve broken into Poland. They re drawing 
 nearer. How to stop them ?" 
 
 Hindwood s lips had squared themselves. "I can 
 stop them. My food-trains will be here by to 
 morrow. What hungry men need is not political
 
 296 THE VANISHING POINT 
 
 programs, but bread." Then he added thoughtfully, 
 "I can stop them, if I m not prevented. There s 
 some one who s playing a different game; he s some 
 one who wants the world to starve. That s what 
 Austria s refusal meant; that s the meaning of 
 these secret signs of rejoicing. He s bigger than 
 any nation. Who is he?" 
 
 Varensky shook his head. "There was a man." 
 He looked knowingly at Santa. "He was drowned." 
 
 Hindwood jumped to his feet as though there was 
 no time to be lost. "I m going to find out. I have 
 an appointment with the Governor of Hungary. If 
 he rejects my offer, I shall demand " 
 
 "And if he refuses ?" 
 
 "I shall play my winning-card. Don t ask me what 
 it is. But if I play it, I shall need your help. You ve 
 talked of crucifixion: I may provide you with the 
 
 chance. How many of these ?" He pointed to 
 
 the sleeping outcasts. 
 
 Varensky s eyes were shining. "I ve four hun 
 dred: three hundred veterans of Denikin s and 
 Kolchak s armies and a hundred girl-soldiers of the 
 Battalions of Death." 
 
 "Have them warned." 
 
 As he turned on his heel, he saw that Anna had 
 wakened. She cried out after him. He dared not 
 face her. Leaping down the stairs, he went at a 
 run across the courtyard. It was only when the 
 door into the street had closed behind him, that he 
 realized that Santa was panting at his elbow.
 
 THE CAPTURE 97 
 
 VI 
 
 Mists were clearing. The sun had emerged fiery 
 above a mountain-range of clouds. As they hur 
 ried in search of their hotel, they caught glimpses 
 of the Danube, spanned by many bridges, and on the 
 further bank the palace-crowned heights of Buda. 
 The ancient city looked imperially beautiful. There 
 was a touch of the East about it, a lavishness and 
 rose-tinted whiteness. Its quays and pavements 
 shone wet, as though they had been daubed with 
 lacquer. It seemed incredible that behind its gold- 
 splashed walls the ghosts of hunger gathered. 
 
 During their absence from the Ritz, a transfor 
 mation had been effected. All signs of disorder had 
 been banished. In place of the untimely Baccha 
 nalians, stiff-bosomed waiters stood guard over neat 
 tables with a solicitous air which was bewilderingly 
 normal. Even the breakfast menu gave the lie to 
 starvation. 
 
 They took their seats in silence, eating without 
 interest whatever was set before them. Hindwood s 
 sensations were those of a man who has given 
 way to his emotions at a theatre. It was as though 
 the lights had gone up, shaming him in public. 
 There had been nothing to warrant his surrender 
 to sentiment. He totaled up the accumulated incen 
 tives : he had witnessed a street-riot, people slain at 
 the frontier, the hideous contrast between the death 
 train and dancing and last of all Varensky. But
 
 298 THE VANISHING POINT 
 
 these things in themselves constituted no argument ; 
 the cause that lay behind them was still conjectural. 
 As for Varensky, whatever he had said was unre 
 liable. His wish was parent to his thought. He 
 was a man born to stir up turbulences, which he 
 considered it his mission to pacify. He was dan 
 gerous as a forest-fire: one spark of his wild ideal 
 ism made the whole world lurid. In the breath of 
 adversity he became a sheet of flame, destructive 
 and self-destroying. His goal was the vanishing- 
 point, in the No Man s Land between desire and 
 things attainable. 
 
 Hindwood writhed at remembering the ease with 
 which his judgment had been unseated. In his 
 weakness he had given a promise, which it would be 
 folly to fulfill and dishonorable to withdraw. He 
 glanced across at Santa. How was she taking this 
 return to normality? 
 
 She met his eyes with passionate adoration. "It 
 was god-like of you. * 
 
 He pretended ignorance. "What?" 
 
 "Your self-denial. You ve given up everything 
 Anna, ambition, money all the things you wor 
 ship." 
 
 He assumed a judicial expression. "Perhaps not. 
 It mayn t be necessary." 
 
 "But it will." 
 
 "If it is," he said, "I shall stick to my contract. 
 But I ve reason to believe we ve exaggerated." 
 
 "Would to God we had !" 
 
 Her fervor disturbed him. He leaned across the
 
 THE CAPTURE 299 
 
 table. "You don t mean to tell me you accept this 
 bogey story about starving millions marching? 
 There s a sense of security this morning. Surely 
 you must have felt it? * 
 
 She shook her head. "We ve had a meal that s 
 all. Within a mile from here I could show you a 
 hospital where five hundred babies sit shivering like 
 monkeys. They re wrapped in paper; they ve never 
 known what it was not to be hungry from the day 
 they were born. I could take you to the work 
 men s quarter, where naked men and women would 
 squirm at your feet like dogs ; they re too weak to 
 walk. I could lead you past the bread-lines, already 
 forming 
 
 He stayed her by covering her hand. "I m not 
 denying it. When countries make wars they have 
 to pay penalties." 
 
 The storm that was brewing betrayed itself in 
 her eyes. "What are you denying?" 
 
 "Don t let s make a scene," he urged. "My prom 
 ise holds if I find that circumstances warrant it. 
 In a little while I m seeing the Governor of Hun 
 gary; after that I ll be sure. While I m gone, I 
 have one request to make of you: keep your room 
 and talk to nobody." 
 
 She rose from the table in suppressed defiance. 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 "For your own safety. It was lucky I slept across 
 your threshold last night. Your door was tried." 
 
 Her smile accused him. "By whom?"
 
 300 THE VANISHING POINT 
 
 "If I m not mistaken, by the man who after 
 wards tracked us through the fog." 
 
 She turned away as though she were finished with 
 him. When she found that he was following, she 
 delivered a parting shot. "You told me this to 
 frighten me. Did you think you could make me 
 your accomplice in cowardice?" 
 
 VII 
 
 So these were the rewards of knight-errantry! 
 In his anger he was glad to be rid of her. He was 
 free at last. She d been nothing but an embarrass 
 ment. If she were to attempt a reconciliation, he 
 would turn his back on her. It wasn t likely that 
 he d put his neck into the same noose twice. 
 
 Little by little from resenting her, he began to 
 suspect her. Had she been using him as a cat s-paw 
 in a deeper game? Every man with whom she had 
 ever associated, she had destroyed; could she be 
 expected to show more mercy to a man by whom she 
 had been rejected? Her husband s words came 
 back: "When she has added you to her list of vic 
 tims, if she gives you time before she kills you, 
 remember that I warned you." 
 
 Everything to do with her became distorted when 
 interpreted in the light of treachery. The pathos 
 of her unrequited affection had been a mask; her 
 humanitarianism had been a cloak for her designs. 
 When he retraced his relations with her, it seemed
 
 THE CAPTURE 301 
 
 glaringly probable that from the start she had been 
 the agent of his financial rivals, placed by them on 
 board the Ryndam with the definite intention of ac 
 complishing his ruin. Except for her final error in 
 tactics, she would have attained her object. He had 
 escaped by the narrowest of margins. 
 
 But the other people who had come upon the scene, 
 where did they stand? Were they her puppets, 
 jumping whichever way she pulled the wires, or 
 were they her active co-conspirators ? Varensky and 
 the Little Grandmother were undoubtedly her pup 
 pets ; she employed their enthusiasms to serve her 
 purposes. Anna was her victim a woman wronged 
 and cheated, infinitely dear to him and tragic. It 
 was Captain Lajos who troubled him. The more 
 he thought about him, the more certain he became 
 that the Captain and Santa were hand in glove. 
 The farce which they had enacted on the train had 
 been prearranged with a view to intimidating him. 
 His most unnerving information, concerning the 
 menace of starving millions, had come from the 
 Captain. And there was a further fact, which had 
 been disquieting him all morning: it was Captain 
 Lajos who had tried Santa s door last night. 
 
 What did they think to gain by their plotting? 
 Having pondered the conundrum, he decided that 
 their object was to thwart his schemes for grasping 
 world-power, and that the means they had chosen 
 were to compel him to give for nothing the hoards 
 of food which he had intended that Europe should 
 buy.
 
 302 THE VANISHING POINT 
 
 Well aware that this theory was far from cover 
 ing all the facts, he was still feeling his way through 
 a quagmire of surmise, when a visitor was announced. 
 In the foyer he found an officer, resplendently uni 
 formed, waiting to escort him to his audience at the 
 Royal Palace. He was whizzed away in a handsome 
 car. As he traveled, his companion entertained 
 him with anecdotes, grimly humorous, of Bela Kun s 
 reign of terror. 
 
 "Experiments of that sort soon disprove them 
 selves," he said cheerfully. "We live through them 
 and go on again." 
 
 "And your country is going on again?" Hindwood 
 inquired. 
 
 "Emphatically. Signs of revival are already 
 apparent." 
 
 "But what about Russia? How s revival possible 
 without security?" 
 
 The officer laughed carelessly. "I catch your 
 meaning ; you ve heard this latest about Bolshevism s 
 downfall. In our part of the world we pay no heed 
 to rumors ; they re inventions of political opportu 
 nists or of gamblers in the international exchange. 
 Even if this latest is true, it s the best thing that 
 could have happened." 
 
 Hindwood twisted in his seat that he might lose 
 nothing of his companion s expression. "The best 
 thing in the long run that s granted. But mean 
 while, because of the breakdown in organization, 
 over a hundred million Russians are likely to die." 
 
 Again the officer laughed, stretching his long
 
 THE CAPTURE 303 
 
 legs. "The fittest will survive. One has to die 
 somehow. The last war was fought because the 
 world was too crowded. Famine s nature s cure for 
 overpopulation." 
 
 The remark sounded singularly ill-timed, coming 
 from a man whose country was also starving. 
 Hindwood frowned. "A heartless cure and, thank 
 goodness, not the only one." 
 
 "Not more heartless than civilized society s, which 
 encourages armed nations to strangle each other 
 with every filthy invention of science. When you 
 forbid Nature to correct matters in her own way, 
 sooner or later you find yourself with a war on your 
 hands. The matter s very simple: so many mouths 
 to fill and so many rations. When the mouths are 
 in excess of the rations, some one has to go short. 
 The people who are selected to go short can either 
 drop in their tracks or fight. If they fight and 
 win, the result s the same some one else has to go 
 without. The adjustment s automatic." 
 
 "The thought of death," Hindwood suggested 
 quietly, "especially of other people s death, doesn t 
 seem to trouble you." 
 
 "That s natural. Killing and dying are my 
 trade." 
 
 Brutal as was the point of view, after Santa s 
 sentimental fallacies, there was something honest and 
 direct about these bald assertions. 
 
 Kindwood spoke again. "What applies to Russia, 
 applies equally to Hungary. My errand at the 
 Palace is to offer sufficient food to keep your coun-
 
 304 THE VANISHING POINT 
 
 try alive. According to your theory, I m interfer 
 ing with Nature s laws. I m doing something eco 
 nomically immoral. I ought to leave you to your 
 fate." 
 
 To his amazement he was met with a polite con 
 currence. "That s how I regard it." 
 
 It was impossible to credit the man s sincerity. 
 Hindwood glanced aside, irritated and shocked. He 
 was seeking a motive for such disinterested frank 
 ness. There was nothing more to say. 
 
 He had been so much absorbed in the conversa 
 tion that he had not noticed their direction. They 
 were skimming high above the Danube, crossing a 
 bridge that spanned the sunlit gulf in giant strides. 
 Behind lay Pest, modern as a second Paris ; in front 
 lay Buda, ancient and scarcely Christian, still bear 
 ing the marks of its Turkish occupation. On reach 
 ing the further bank, the ascent to the Palace begun 
 to climb. 
 
 It was just as they were reaching the top that 
 Hindwood was for a second time startled by the 
 ghost of memory. Peering down on him from the 
 ramparts, with its head between its paws, was a 
 snow-white Russian wolf-hound. The next moment 
 they had passed beneath an arch, between saluting 
 sentries, and had halted in the Palace-yard. 
 
 VIII 
 
 The Yard was an immobile sea, of faces. As far 
 as eye could reach, soldiers were drawn up in
 
 THE CAPTURE 305 
 
 close formation. It was clear that this was no 
 ceremonial parade. The men were in full marching 
 order; their field-kitchens were smoking in the back 
 ground. They had the look of troops equipped for 
 action, expecting to take the offensive at any mo 
 ment. This much he saw as he was hurried into 
 the Palace, before the great doors clanged behind 
 him. 
 
 He found himself on the threshold of a magnifi 
 cence that he had not imagined existed. Everywhere 
 his eyes rested, they encountered riches accumulated 
 through the centuries. Pictures and tapestries 
 gazed down on him from the walls, chronicling the 
 glory of the bygone Hapsburgs. Suits of mail, 
 gold-inlaid and gem-studded, stood like knights of 
 old, leaning on their swords. He followed his escort 
 up a marble staircase, along endless corridors, from 
 which doors opened into silent apartments, giving 
 yet fresh vistas of royal splendors. 
 
 At last, in the far distance, the passage was 
 blocked by a gigantic figure that might have escaped 
 from Grand Opera; it stood so stiff and motionless 
 that he mistook it for a wax-work. It was garbed as 
 a halberdier, in parti-colored hose and shining 
 armor. Only when the eyes moved did he realize 
 that he was gazing at one of the Palace-guards. 
 When the password had been given, they were al 
 lowed to slip behind a curtain. In the ante-room 
 he was told to wait. His escort vanished through the 
 inner-doors. A moment later the doors reopened 
 and his escort beckoned.
 
 306 THE VANISHING POINT 
 
 He was aware of a blaze of light, lofty walls, tall 
 windows, a tapestried room ornately furnished and 
 a treacherously polished expanse of floor. A man 
 was rising from behind an ormolu table. He was 
 a man utterly simple and modern the last man one 
 would have expected to find in the pomp of medieval 
 surroundings. His face was clean-shaven, bluff and 
 wind-tanned. In his navy-blue suit he looked more 
 like a yachtsman than the Governor of a State. 
 
 He was approaching with his hand outstretched. 
 "I couldn t do less than receive you," he was saying. 
 
 The words, though spoken pleasantly, sounded 
 like a dismissal. 
 
 "Perhaps your Excellency has forgotten the pur 
 pose of my errand? * 
 
 "Not in the least. Let s sit down; we can talk 
 more informally. The trouble is that you ve come 
 too late. Crises as acute as ours have a knack of 
 settling themselves." 
 
 Hindwood accepted a cigarette that was proffered. 
 He took his time while he lit it. "Your solu 
 tion is mustering in the Palace-yard. My food- 
 supplies are no longer needed. Is that what you 
 intend me to understand?" 
 
 "Exactly." 
 
 "Your Excellency spoke just now of crises set 
 tling themselves. Did you mean that so many of 
 your countrymen have died that at last there s 
 sufficient food to go round?" 
 
 "Far from it. Our shortage is greater than ever. 5 * 
 
 "I judged as much." Hindwood tapped his ash
 
 THE CAPTURE 307 
 
 casually. "I only arrived last night, but in the 
 time I ve been in Budapest I ve seen the death-train, 
 the bread-lines, the utter destitution. I ve reason 
 to believe that Bolshevism has collapsed and that 
 millions of outcast Russians are marching. They re 
 moving westward." 
 
 He paused, himself skeptical of the preposterous 
 assertion he was about to make. Then he remem 
 bered the words he had learnt from Captain Lajos 
 and repeated them like a lesson. 
 
 "They re sweeping westward like a pestilence. 
 They re loping like gaunt wolves. They re drawing 
 nearer, like Death swinging his scythe. Poland will 
 go down before them first. Its famished people will 
 join them. Your turn will come next. The march 
 will never halt till the empty bellies have been filled. 
 They can t be filled till the whole of Europe has been 
 
 swamped by revolution, unless " He paused 
 
 again, waiting for encouragement. When the steady 
 gray eyes still regarded him attentively, he con 
 tinued, "Unless I fill them." 
 
 "Or unless," said his Excellency like a man com 
 menting on the weather, "I destroy them." 
 
 There was a deep quiet. So Varensky had been a 
 true prophet. It was the end of the world they were 
 discussing the end of truth, justice, mercy, every 
 thing that was kind. 
 
 Across the silence a bugle-call spurted like a 
 .stream of blood. 
 
 "You see my position?" his Excellency resumed 
 reasonably. "If I buy from you, I prolong the
 
 308 THE VANISHING POINT 
 
 agony; worse still, I run my country further into 
 debt. If I give the call to arms, many of us will 
 die ; but it s better to die fighting than from hunger. 
 Besides, in the topsy-turvydom of war, who knows, 
 we may find ourselves arrayed on the winning side." 
 
 Hindwood was too stunned to think quickly. He 
 was still refusing to believe the worst. "I miss your 
 point. Would your Excellency mind explaining?" 
 
 "My point s simple enough. The condition of 
 Hungary and of the whole of Central Europe is due 
 to two causes: the first that we made a world-war; 
 the second that we lost it. The victors had a right 
 to exact a penalty, but look at what they ve done. 
 We were exhausted; nevertheless, if they d told us 
 what we owed them, we d have paid them. Instead 
 of that, they cloaked revenge with idealism. They 
 constituted themselves evangelists, fore-ordained to 
 reform us. With their gospel of self-determination, 
 they gave every racial hostility within our borders 
 a voice. They carved us up into bickering factions, 
 which they called nations, and bestowed on them the 
 power to make themselves annoying behind new fron 
 tiers. They dipped their hands into our national 
 resources and made gifts to their favorites. Tran 
 sylvania was our granary; it went to Rumania. 
 Bohemia was our coal-supply; the Czechs have it, 
 Hungary is no longer self-supporting. We have our 
 factories, but no fuel to run them ; our skilled work 
 men, but no means of employing them. On every 
 side we re fenced in by mushroom democracies draw 
 ing sustenance from what was once our body. The
 
 THE CAPTURE 309 
 
 wrong they have done us is the motive of their hate. 
 We European countries fall into three categories: 
 the robbers, the receivers of stolen goods and the 
 pillaged. There s no intercourse between us ; con 
 fidence is at an end. Our currency has become 
 worthless as the paper on which it s printed. 
 There s no flow of trade. We each have too much 
 of one commodity and none whatsoever of others 
 too many factories here, too much wheat there, too 
 much coal in another place. We re rival storekeep 
 ers, overstocked in certain lines, who refuse to take 
 down our shutters. If we could forget our quarrels 
 and club together, we d have all the means of life. 
 We deserve our fate, you ll say. But no it was the 
 Allies surgeons who carved us into impotence and 
 on top of that imposed indemnities. We have noth 
 ing to eat, so we prefer to fight." 
 
 "But what do you gain by it?" 
 
 His Excellency smiled. "Everything or nothing. 
 We can t be worse off. The Russian menace may 
 prove to be our salvation. The Red Terror has 
 vanished; the Famine Terror has taken its place. 
 If the starving hordes pouring westwards aren t 
 halted, civilization will be blotted out by savagery. 
 And who s to halt them? Not the Allies. Their 
 common people are rebellious ; they know that in 
 the last war they were as much cheated and ex 
 ploited as any of the enemy whom they routed. And 
 not their politicians and profiteers ; they re too 
 bloated with their spoils. It s the story of Rome 
 repeating itself. The obesity which follows victory
 
 310 THE VANISHING POINT 
 
 has conquered the conquerors. Their fighting days 
 are ended; they ll have to hire mercenaries. The 
 only mercenaries available are the nations they have 
 trampled. Hungary holds herself for hire at a 
 price." 
 
 "What price?" 
 
 "The restoration of her old frontiers." 
 
 Hindwood spoke eagerly. "No one shall die. 
 We ve had enough of dying. I have a better solu 
 tion bread. My food-trains should be arriving to 
 night or to-morrow. I wired for them before I left 
 Vienna. I ll build a wall of bread from the Black 
 Sea to the Baltic." 
 
 "And who ll pay you ?" 
 
 "No one." 
 
 The answer had been totally unexpected. His 
 Excellency glanced sharply across his shoulder as 
 though seeking advice. Hindwood followed his direc 
 tion and saw to his amazement that the tapestry, 
 hanging behind the ormolu table, was agitated. 
 Throughout the interview an unseen audience had 
 been present. His Excellency turned back. 
 
 "You shall neither give nor sell. I may admire 
 your humanity, but in Hungary I forbid you to 
 build what you so picturesquely call your wall of 
 bread. Austria, as I know, has already refused you ; 
 in Poland you will receive the same answer. Things 
 have advanced too far for there to be any harm in 
 telling you; moreover, I owe it to you to be frank. 
 I represent a class which the democracy of the 
 Allies has totally disinherited the class of the
 
 THE CAPTURE 311 
 
 landed gentry and the old nobility. However mat 
 ters might improve in our respective countries, our 
 lot would be in no way benefited. The Peace of the 
 Allies uprooted aristocracy and planted in its stead 
 a raw Republicanism. The estates of men like my 
 self, whether Austrian, Polish, Russian or Hunga 
 rian, have been in our families for centuries. They 
 were grants from Kings for loyalty and services. 
 Now that our Kings have been sent into exile, our 
 entire status is in jeopardy. Our rank and privi 
 leges have become a jest. To-morrow or the next 
 day, where it has not happened already, we shall 
 join our Kings in banishment; our wealth will be 
 confiscated. The excuse of a new war is the chance 
 of European Monarchists. Banded together, we 
 may snatch back our authority and set up the 
 thrones which the Allies have toppled. So long as 
 the people starve, they will follow us. Monarchy 
 is the symbol of their lost contentment ; they ll fight 
 for it if we make its restoration their battle-cry. 
 But if once we were to allow you to give them 
 bread " 
 
 Hindwood sprang to his feet. The time had come 
 to play his winning-card. "They would lay down 
 their arms," he cried triumphantly. "They shall lay 
 them down. By to-morrow they shall be fed." 
 
 Again the tapestry rustled. For a moment it 
 seemed that some one was about to disclose himself. 
 Then all grew quiet. 
 
 "I have given you your answer, * said his Excel 
 lency.
 
 312 THE VANISHING POINT 
 
 Hindwood laughed. "And I can force your hand. 
 I shall appeal to the people over your head." 
 
 Without further ceremony, he swung round on his 
 heel and departed. 
 
 On regaining the hotel he went in search of Santa. 
 She was not there. He betook himself to her room 
 to await her coming. One hour, two hours slipped 
 by. He began to be anxious. In the appearance 
 of the room there was nothing to distress him; all 
 her belongings were intact. When he made inquiries 
 of the hotel staff, they professed entire ignorance of 
 her whereabouts. 
 
 Apart from the concern he felt for her safety, she 
 was utterly essential to his plans. It was necessary 
 that he should get in touch with Varensky; without 
 Varensky and his four hundred veterans he was help 
 less. When his food-trains arrived, he would need 
 them. He made repeated efforts to rediscover the 
 mildewed barracks ; every time he missed his direc 
 tion. For fear of spies, he did not dare to ask; he 
 remembered Santa s warning, that to be seen with 
 Varensky meant death. Day faded. Darkness fell. 
 She had not returned. 
 
 It was nearing midnight when word reached him 
 that the first of his trains was in the freight-yard. 
 It had been given the right of way from Holland and 
 had been rushed straight through under an armed 
 guard. He was powerless to turn the information to 
 account. Wearied with anxiety, he had begun to 
 prepare for bed, when, without knocking, the door
 
 THE CAPTURE 313 
 
 was burst open. Captain Lajos entered. His face 
 was haggard. He was fierce and breathless. 
 
 "You ve heard?" 
 
 "I ve heard nothing." 
 
 "She s been captured." 
 
 "By whom?" 
 
 "Prince Rogovich." 
 
 Hindwood clapped his hand to his forehead. 
 Either he or this man was mad. 
 
 "It s impossible. Rogovich is dead." 
 
 "And I tell you he s at the Palace. He was there 
 behind the tapestry this morning. She s with him 
 now and he s torturing her." 
 
 "Then why are you here, if you care for her so 
 much?" 
 
 "That you may help me rescue her."
 
 CHAPTER THE EIGHTH 
 
 CPURRED into haste by the Cptain v $ air of 
 *** caLuaitT. Ilindiud lad conmoKed to dress. 
 Daring the few antes that it took him to hurry 
 oaghtfaiioadT; with the result 
 
 obctiaKleiy om Ac %e of the bed. M 
 
 the beBeV tht he ws being followed, the 
 C*pUi lad led the war into the passage. He had 
 Mr li J aad stood S&mg tike doonnt r. a tup- 
 
 o time to lose* 9 he rapped ooi, 
 ered Inn ralaij *If TOO. were seat 
 can dk> it here 3 cooreuentl as 
 
 j. The Captain 
 
 If mr errand were known, it woold 
 
 he I who woold he taurfcdUdL She s in lore with joa 
 
 11 1 1*i T. T niBjJhl jn i It s the &et that joa"re 
 314
 
 THE VANISHING POINT 315 
 
 my rival in her affections that makes you the one 
 man in Budapest whom I can trust. There ll be 
 bloodshed " 
 
 "Go slower," Hindwood interrupted. "Put your 
 self in my place. You know too much far more 
 than seems healthy. You know that this morning 
 when I was with the Governor, there was an unseen 
 listener behind the tapestry. You assert, that he 
 was a man whom all the world believes to be dead. 
 If you ll think back to our journey from Calais, 
 you ll remember that the reason for his having been 
 murdered formed your chief topic of conversation. 
 Seeing that you know so much, you re probably 
 aware that my interview with the Governor ended 
 in a threat. To make that threat effective, the co 
 operation of the woman whom you first supposed to 
 be my wife and afterwards discovered to be my sec 
 retary is absolutely necessary. On my return from 
 the Palace she had vanished. Here again, you pre 
 tend to know more than I do ; at close on midnight 
 you come bursting into my room, demanding that I 
 accompany you to her rescue." 
 
 The Captain stared dully. "Every second counts. 
 What is it that you wish me to tell? * 
 
 "Why you ve hung on my trail from Calais until 
 now." 
 
 "Eh!" His expression became embarrassed; then 
 he raised his head with a fearless gesture. "I see 
 what you re driving at. I acknowledge that my 
 movements are open to misinterpretation. But I 
 didn t follow you; it was she whom I followed. As
 
 316 THE VANISHING POINT 
 
 I told you in our first conversation, I was returning 
 from England where Fd been sent by my Govern 
 ment to intercept Prince Rogovich with important 
 despatches. The moment I clapped my eyes on your 
 traveling companion, I recognized in her a startling 
 resemblance; it was to a woman I had adored. She 
 was far beyond me the mistress of archdukes and 
 for a brief while of an emperor. The nearest I ever 
 came to touching her was when I was swept by her 
 train at Court functions." He paused dramatically. 
 "During the war she was shot by the enemies of my 
 country. Infamous things were said of her. If they 
 were true, they would make no difference to my love. 
 No difference, do you understand?" Again he 
 paused. "What else?" 
 
 Hindwood narrowed his eyes. "Each time I ve 
 met you, you ve harped on the same theme Prince 
 Rogovich. Up to now I ve not thought it necessary 
 to tell you: I knew this Prince Rogovich. Besides 
 myself, there was probably only one other person 
 who spoke with him before his end. What makes 
 you so certain that it was a man, presumed to have 
 been drowned in the English Channel, who spied on 
 me this morning from behind the tapestry?" 
 
 "I was beside him. I m his bodyguard if you 
 like, his secretary. I ve just come from him. Can 
 you have stronger proof than that?" Suddenly the 
 Captain s patience broke down. "How many more 
 questions? God knows what s happening." 
 
 Hindwood had risen. "There are several. Why 
 did he disappear?"
 
 THE VANISHING POINT 317 
 
 "He has not said." 
 
 "What makes you require my help to rescue her?" 
 
 "He may kill me. It s not likely he ll kill both of 
 us." 
 
 "What s his motive?" Hindwood spoke more 
 slowly. All his suspicion was emphasized in his 
 words. "What s his motive for kidnaping this 
 woman who resembles " 
 
 "How can I tell?" The Captain was desperate. 
 "We talk and talk while time passes. I suppose his 
 interest is the same in this woman as in all women. 
 Perhaps he was the discarded lover of that other 
 woman, and, like myself, has noticed the resem 
 blance." 
 
 Hindwood picked up his hat. "I m coming." 
 
 "Are you armed?" 
 
 "Not in your sense. I shall fight with a different 
 sort of weapon." 
 
 n 
 
 At the door a closed vehicle was standing. To 
 Hindwood it seemed the one that had flashed by him 
 on the previous evening. He glanced between the 
 wheels ; there was no Russian wolf-hound. Even be 
 fore he was seated, the lash had been laid across the 
 horses backs. The next moment they were gallop 
 ing down the gloomy street. Leaning from the win 
 dow, the Captain was urging the coachman to drive 
 faster.
 
 318 THE VANISHING POINT 
 
 When the pace had settled to a rapid trot, Hind- 
 wood broke the silence. 
 
 "You re an Hungarian officer; Prince Rogovich 
 is a Polish statesman. You tell me you re his secre 
 tary. What s a Polish statesman doing in the Royal 
 Palace, directing Hungary s affairs?" 
 
 "It isn t Hungary s affairs that he s directing; 
 it s the campaign against Democracy. The present 
 crisis has made Budapest the jumping-off point for 
 the offensive which the Monarchists have been wait 
 ing to launch. The Monarchists are men of every 
 country, who have sunk their nationalities and made 
 a common cause." 
 
 "And you are you a Monarchist?" 
 
 His reply came muffled. "I was. To-night I m a 
 traitor." 
 
 The horses, thrown sharply back on their 
 haunches, swerved toward the pavement; the car 
 riage jerked to a halt. Almost brushing the wheels 
 in the narrow street, a column of soldiers shuffled 
 past. Their rifles were slung at all angles. Their 
 shoulders were bowed beneath their heavy packs. 
 They crawled weakly, more like stragglers retreat 
 ing than storm-troops advancing. Even in the dark 
 ness their bones showed pointed and their faces lean 
 with famine. 
 
 "Reservists," the Captain explained shortly. 
 "Mobilization has begun." 
 
 Hindwood strained through the gloom, touching 
 his arm excitedly. "Starving men being sent to kill 
 men who are more starving. You ve spoken of a
 
 THE VANISHING POINT 319 
 
 woman you adored a woman who was shot for 
 hideous treacheries. Her treacheries were committed 
 to prevent just such crimes as that. Don t interrupt 
 me not yet. You ve expected me to believe an im 
 possible story : that a man can return from the dead. 
 If I were to tell you an equally improbable story, 
 what difference would it make to your love? If I 
 were to tell you that the resemblance was not mis 
 taken and that the woman at the Palace is the same 
 as she who was reported executed in the woods of 
 Vincennes ?" 
 
 The last of the column had slouched into the 
 blackness. The horses leapt forward impatiently. 
 
 The question was repeated. "What difference?" 
 
 The Captain s voice burst from him. "God for 
 give me none." 
 
 Neither of them dared to trust the other. Their 
 respite was growing shorter. They had crossed the 
 bridge above the Danube. In a moment the ascent 
 to the Palace would commence. It was Hindwood 
 who decided on boldness. If he were walking into an 
 ambush, he could not make matters worse. 
 
 He said, "Weapons will be useless. Only to kill 
 the Prince won t save her. If we manage to escape 
 from the Palace, the streets are full of anned men. 
 We should only rescue her to die with her. I have 
 a plan. Do you know the barracks of the Russian 
 refugees? If I were to write a note, would you 
 guarantee to have it delivered?" 
 
 By the light of matches held by thf Captain, he 
 scrawled rapidly. The last sentence read, "If you
 
 320 THE VANISHING POINT 
 
 have not heard from me again by 2 A. M., consider 
 that the worst has happened and carry out these 
 instructions." He addressed the note to, "The 
 Husband of Anna." 
 
 "Have it entrusted to a man who cannot read 
 English." The Captain extinguished the final match. 
 
 "I shall send it by the driver of this carriage." 
 
 Ill 
 
 They had alighted some distance short of the 
 gateway where the sentries would be on guard. The 
 message for Varensky had been handed over. The 
 horses had been wheeled about; save for their trot 
 ting growing fainter down the slope, the night was 
 without a sound. The moon shone fitfully. Stars 
 were obscured. The city out of which they had 
 climbed lay pulseless in an unillumined pit of 
 blackness. The Palace, piled high above them, 
 loomed sepulchral. 
 
 The Captain groped his way beneath the wall of 
 the ramparts, searching for something which at last 
 he found. It pushed inwards at his touch. The 
 door closed behind them. 
 
 In the intenser darkness Hindwood stretched 
 out his hands. They encountered the rough surface 
 of clammy masonry. He was in some sort of a 
 tunnel. The floor sloped gradually upwards. The 
 atmosphere smelt dank. He spoke. Getting no 
 answer, he held his breath. Going away from him
 
 THE VANISHING POINT 321 
 
 he heard the stealthy hurrying of the Captain s 
 footfall. Rather than be left, perhaps to be for 
 gotten, he started forward at a blundering run. He 
 came to steps. He was prepared to be attacked. It 
 might be here that he would be hurled back. He 
 climbed them almost on all fours, steadying him 
 self with his hands. It seemed to him that he had 
 been ascending for hours, when he heard footsteps 
 returning. A match was struck ; he saw the Captain 
 staring down at him. 
 
 "We re in time." -\ 
 
 The match went out. 
 
 "Catch hold of me. Tread softly." 
 
 They passed through another door. The air was 
 growing warmer. It was evident that they were 
 traversing a secret passage which wound within 
 the Palace walls. At a turn they heard a muttering 
 of voices. The Captain whispered, "Do nothing 
 till I give the word." 
 
 They approached more cautiously to where a 
 needle of light stabbed the darkness. Hindwood 
 caught the fragrance of tobacco smoke. As he 
 stooped to the spy-hole, a purring voice commenced 
 speaking almost at his elbow, "My dear lady, you re 
 mine a fact which you don t seem to realize. I have 
 only to press this button, which summons my at 
 tendants; I can snuff out your life with as little 
 effort as I flick this ash." 
 
 He found himself peering into a room, furnished 
 with oriental lavishness. He had a confused glimpse 
 of beaten brass-work, shaded lamps, low tables,
 
 822 THE VANISHING POINT 
 
 cushions piled about in place of chairs. It was 
 a blaze of color. At the far end was a gilded throne 
 and bound to it was Santa. Her hands were tightly 
 corded. Her ankles were lashed so that she could not 
 stir. Her face was pale as ivory. Only her eyes 
 seemed alive; they flashed indomitably. Pacing up 
 and down, never shifting his gaze from hers, was 
 the black-bearded man who had disappeared from 
 the Ryndam. 
 
 She spoke defiantly. "Summon your attendants. 
 Do you think I fear death? * 
 
 "I know you don t, dear lady. That s why I ve 
 invented a more subtle revenge. If I were an ordi 
 nary man, I should detest the very sight of you; 
 whereas, so magnanimous am I, that your attempt 
 to murder me has added a novel piquancy to your 
 fascination. I have been too much loved too 
 spontaneously, too adoringly. You afford me a 
 contrast. I intend to keep you caged like a lioness. 
 The hatred in your eyes will spur my affection. Al 
 ways, even when I caress you, I shall have to be on 
 my guard. Our courtship will be a perpetual ad 
 venture. The goal of desire will be forever out of 
 grasp, yet forever within handstretch." 
 
 He stroked his black beard thoughtfully. "With 
 you I shall never know satiety. This continual hop 
 ing will keep me young. You, my dear, will be my 
 secret source of romance. Every day I shall take 
 you down, as one takes down a volume, and turn 
 your latest pages which I alone may scan."
 
 THE VANISHING POINT 323 
 
 She strained at her bonds. "It will be no ro 
 mance." 
 
 He smiled with terrifying quietness. 
 
 "Your value to me," he continued in his purring 
 voice, "is that you ve cost me so much. Ugh ! 
 Every time I look at you I remember how it felt 
 when I sank and sank. When I rose above the 
 waves, I saw your lights, streaking like a golden 
 snake into the blackness. I struck out after you 
 hopelessly. I shouted. Then I found myself alone, 
 with no one to take pity on me and not one chance 
 in a million of being rescued. The millionth chance 
 arrived." He stooped at her feet, kissing her tor 
 tured hands. "And here we are met, under these 
 auspicious circumstances, carrying on this pleasant 
 conversation. What were you doing while I was 
 drowning? Making love beneath the stars to your 
 infatuated American leaning on his arm, perhaps, 
 warmly wrapped in your sables ? And I was so cold ! 
 Did you give me a thought, I wonder?" 
 
 She stared past him like a woman frozen. "Let 
 me know the worst." 
 
 Tapping her cheek with pretended kindness, he 
 resumed his pacing. 
 
 "Why the worst? Is that flattering, when I ve 
 spoken of our courtship? We re well matched in 
 wickedness, if in nothing else. You re wanted for 
 the scaffold, whereas I should have been hung long 
 ago if I d received my deserts. I d be interested to 
 know what you d do, if you were in my place. How 
 much mercy would you show me? You must own
 
 THE VANISHING POINT 
 
 that merely to kill a person who has tried to drown 
 you is too brief a punishment. The punishment 
 I ve planned for you is one that ll make you pray 
 every hour for extinction. For a woman who has 
 dispensed annihilation so lavishly I can think of 
 nothing more just than that, when her own life has 
 become intolerable, she should be refused the boon 
 of death." 
 
 She spoke humbly. "There s nothing too bad that 
 you can do to me. But I m not the woman who tried 
 to murder you. I m changed. I ve learnt some 
 thing. I learnt it from a man. * 
 
 He bowed towards her mockingly. "Your Ameri 
 can?" 
 
 "My American, who can never be mine. I ve 
 learnt that even when we don t acknowledge Him, 
 there s a God in the world who acts through us. It 
 was He who saved me from the woods of Vincennes. 
 It was He who prevented you from drowning. He 
 had some purpose a divine moment for which He 
 waited. That purpose has yet to be accomplished. 
 Who are you or I ?" 
 
 "I can tell you who you are," he snapped: "a 
 dancing-woman, with a price upon your head. As for 
 myself," his pale face flooded with a strangely 
 Satanic beauty, "it would puzzle the wisest man to 
 say who I am. To-night I am Prince Rogovich ; to 
 morrow I may be Emperor. My puppets are mus 
 tering. By dawn they ll be marching. They re 
 hungry ; victory to them means bread." 
 
 "But if one were to feed them ?"
 
 THE VANISHING POINT 325 
 
 "Your American again !" He gazed down on her, 
 showing his white teeth and laughing. "What faith 
 you have in the man! If your American is God s 
 unaccomplished purpose, then God and all His 
 angels are thwarted. The messenger I have sent 
 to execute him will not fail; he has good reason to 
 hate him. He s his rival for your affections. You 
 were the bribe I offered him. You ma} 7 rest assured 
 the Captain s work will be done well. His turn 
 comes next." 
 
 Jerking back her head, he stooped lower, drinking 
 in her despair. "Millionth chances come once, if 
 then. Yours came at Vincennes. Cease hoping. 
 Your American is " 
 
 "It s a lie." 
 
 Hindwood felt himself flung violently back. The 
 wall turned inwards. There was a report then 
 silence. 
 
 IV 
 
 The Prince had pitched forward with his head in 
 Santa s lap. His hands were clawing at her gown. 
 As he struggled, he stiffened and slid back, till he 
 lay across her feet, grinning up at her. The Captain, 
 his revolver still smoking in his hand, threw himself 
 to his knees, feeling for his victim s heart. He spoke 
 dully. 
 
 "The dream of Monarchy is ended." 
 
 The quietness was broken by a distant clamor. 
 Momentarily it gathered volume and drew nearer.
 
 326 THE VANISHING POINT 
 
 Throughout the Palace, which had seemed so wrapt 
 in sleep, feet were running. From the Palace-yard 
 rose the clatter of arms and the impatience of orders 
 being shouted. On the door of the chamber an im 
 portunate tapping had commenced. 
 
 Hindwood looked up in the midst of freeing Santa. 
 "They ll beat in the panels. Find out what they 
 want." 
 
 The Captain dragged himself to the door which 
 he did not dare to open. A rapid exchange of Hun 
 garian followed. As Santa tottered to her feet with 
 the last cord severed, the Captain tiptoed back. 
 
 "Escape by the passage. The shot was heard. 
 They insist on seeing Prince Rogovich." 
 
 "To be butchered in the streets ! I guess not." 
 Hindwood shook his head. "Escape does not lie in 
 that direction. They shall see him. In ten minutes. 
 At the window. Tell them." 
 
 The Captain stood aghast, pointing down at the 
 glazing eyes of the man he had murdered. "They 
 can t." 
 
 "I say they can." 
 
 The answer was delivered. The tapping ceased 
 abruptly. 
 
 "Hang on to your nerves." Hindwood crouched 
 above the body, dragging it into a sitting posture. 
 "We ve exactly ten minutes to make it look like a 
 man who hopes to become an emperor. The peace of 
 the world may depend on it." He turned to the 
 Captain. "You who were his bodyguard, how would 
 he have dressed if his ambition had been granted?"
 
 THE VANISHING POINT 327 
 
 Too pale for speech, the Captain moved towards 
 a chest; with trembling hands he drew forth a 
 purple robe, ermine-lined and gold-woven with 
 mythical beasts of heraldry. Dipping deeper, he laid 
 beside it a scepter and an iron crown of twisted 
 laurels. 
 
 Hindwood smiled grimly. "So the scene had 
 been rehearsed! How do these things go? You 
 must help me put them on him. * 
 
 When the Prince had been arrayed, "Now the 
 throne," he ordered. "It ll take the three of us to 
 move it." 
 
 The gilded throne had been hauled from its alcove, 
 so as to face the window. The dead man, in the 
 tinsel of his dreams, had been seated on it. He was 
 bound, to prevent him from lolling bound with the 
 cords with which he himself had secured Santa. His 
 gold-encrusted robe was spread about him. Across 
 his knees, with his right hand resting on it, was the 
 scepter. On his head was the iron crown of laurels. 
 
 "The lamps ! Place them at his feet. Switch on 
 all the lights, then vanish." 
 
 The curtains were flung back. A dazzling shaft 
 pierced the outer darkness. There was a breathless 
 silence as of worship; a superstitious rustling; a 
 deafening acclamation, which echoed and roared 
 about the Palace-yard. 
 
 It continued unabated for a full five minutes. It 
 sagged and sank. Again it mounted. Then !it 
 paused expectant. It was for all the world like a 
 triumph at the opera, when a singer only bows and
 
 328 THE VANISHING POINT 
 
 an encore is demanded. It recommenced. This 
 time there was a note of anger. 
 
 The dead man grinned down at the applauding 
 mob. He gave no sign to these men, prepared to 
 die for him. Slowly it seemed to dawn on them 
 that he did not care that he had never cared for 
 their wounds and hunger; that for men of his sort 
 they were only beasts ; that it made no difference 
 whether they were conquered or victorious ; he would 
 sit there as all the kings and emperors before him, 
 secure and immobile, sneering at their sacrifices and 
 coining their sufferings into profit. 
 
 They found contempt in his vacant stare; cruelty 
 in his marble hands that clutched the scepter. Ges 
 ticulating and cursing, they hurled reproaches at 
 him. They trampled the officers who tried to quell 
 them. Shots were exchanged. Pandemonium was 
 commencing. 
 
 Hindwood consulted his watch. It lacked but a 
 few minutes till two o clock. If he could hold the 
 garrison in confusion, Varensky would have time to 
 seize his chance. 
 
 He turned to the Captain behind the curtain where 
 they watched. "What is it they want? * 
 
 "It was some acknowledgment at first; then 
 a speech; now it s bread. Can t you hear them, 
 Bread! Bread! Or we do not march." 
 
 At that moment the hammering on the outer door 
 re-started. Hindiwood seized the Captain s arm. 
 "You must speak to them ; they wouldn t understand
 
 was like a triumph at the opera.
 
 THE VANISHING POINT 329 
 
 me. You re in uniform. There s Santa. If you 
 don t all is lost." 
 
 "What shall I tell them?" 
 
 "Anything. Speak to them as the mouthpiece of 
 Prince Rogovich. Say there s food in the freight- 
 yards two train-loads of it and more arriving; 
 that soon the warehouses of Budapest will be bulg- 
 ing." 
 
 The Captain stepped forward, an heroic figure. 
 Just as he appeared in the oblong of the window 
 whether it was the sight of his uniform that provoked 
 the storm was not certain a volley of bullets shat 
 tered the glass. He clapped his hand to his forehead. 
 There was a second volley. The room was plunged 
 in darkness. Hindwood darted forward. The 
 pounding on the outer-door grew frantic. In the 
 Palace-yard there was the silence of horror. 
 
 Released by the knife of flying lead, the body of 
 the Prince had doubled forward, as though to peer 
 down at the man who had betrayed him. The 
 Captain was beyond all help. 
 
 As Hindwood leapt back in search of Santa, the 
 door went down with a crash. In a second the dark 
 ness was filled to overflowing halberdiers, Palace 
 servants, wild-eyed officials. In the confusion he 
 caught her hand and escaped unnoticed through the 
 pressing throng. As they hurried through salons 
 hung with priceless treasures, looting had started. 
 The first of the mob were ruthlessly at work. At 
 the foot of the marble staircase he glanced at his 
 watch. "It s exactly two o clock," he murmured.
 
 330 THE VANISHING POINT 
 
 They had passed beneath the gateway where sen 
 tries should have challenged. Their posts were de 
 serted. As they struck the road, descending beneath 
 the ramparts, Santa questioned, "Why did you say, 
 It s exactly two o clock ?" 
 
 "Because of a note I sent Varensky." He changed 
 the subject. "How were you captured?" 
 
 She hesitated. "It was after we d quarreled. I 
 was afraid I d lost you. A messenger arrived, say 
 ing you were with the Governor and wanted me. It 
 was a lie; the person who wanted me was Prince 
 Rogovich." 
 
 "Then Lajos betrayed you?" 
 
 "No. He knew nothing of what happened on 
 the Ryndam. He was infatuated with me and must 
 have talked." She clutched his arm. "You re put 
 ting me off. You said so strangely, It s exactly two 
 o clock. What was in your note to Varensky?" 
 
 For answer he halted and pointed. 
 
 Far below in the gulf of blackness, where a mo 
 ment ago there had seemed to be nothing, life had 
 begun to quicken. In the flash of multitudinous 
 street-lamps, a city was being born. It kindled in 
 vivid strokes, like veins of fire etched on the pave 
 ment of the night. As though an artist were com 
 pleting his design, ten thousand windows opened 
 their pin-point eyes, filling in blank spaces with 
 rapid specks of gold. Seen from such a height, the
 
 THE VANISHING POINT 331 
 
 effect was in miniature. The very sounds which rose 
 up were little. At first they were no more than a 
 sustained humming, as when a hive is about to 
 swarm. They swelled to a melodious muttering. 
 Then, with a rush of ecstasy, the storm of joy broke; 
 the air pulsated with the maddening clash of chimes. 
 
 She was clinging to him. "What is it? Is it the 
 thing for which we ve hoped ?" 
 
 He glanced back across his shoulder at the huge 
 pile, towering on the rock above him. Those madmen 
 up there, destroying and pillaging, had they time 
 to hear it? The Palace was glowing like a furnace. 
 As he watched, a column of flame shot tall towards 
 the sky. 
 
 Seizing her hand, he broke into a run, making all 
 the haste he could down the steep decline. Behind 
 them the flames crept like serpents, licking the clouds 
 and mounting higher. The heat was like the breath 
 of a pursuer. Night had become vivid as day. 
 There was no concealment. The crest of the rain- 
 parts was a gigantic torch. The Danube far below 
 was stained red as wine. Their very shadows were 
 lurid. And still the bells across the river pealed 
 out their joy. 
 
 There was a galloping. Riderless horses, broken 
 loose from the stables, thundered by. Then an auto 
 mobile, driven by a man with a scared and wounded 
 face. Others followed. The crowd on foot, fleeing 
 from its handiwork, was not far behind. As an 
 empty car, with an officer at the wheel, slowed down 
 at a hairpin bend, Santa and he leapt aboard.
 
 332 THE VANISHING POINT 
 
 The danger was outdistanced. They had crossed 
 the Danube. They were scarcely likely now to be 
 implicated in what had happened to Prince Rogo- 
 vich. But they were still at the mercy of their 
 reckless driver. In his panic he had not once looked 
 around ; he was unaware that he carried passengers. 
 Hindwood knew very clearly where he wanted to go ; 
 it was probably the last place to which he would be 
 taken. The streets of Pest near the river were 
 solitary, but somewhere the mob was gathering. It 
 might prove awkward to be found in the company 
 of a uniformed Monarchist who was escaping. 
 
 Having formulated his plan, he whispered it to 
 Santa. "While I tackle him, you grasp the wheel." 
 
 Leaning forward, he flung his arm about the 
 man s neck, jerking him backwards. The car swerved 
 and mounted the pavement. Santa turned it into the 
 road again. Taken by surprise, the man offered 
 small resistance; the struggle was short. Hindwood 
 toppled him out, climbed into the front seat and 
 took his place. 
 
 "The station. Where is it?" he asked breathlessly. 
 
 She glanced at him with a revival of her old 
 suspicion. "We re not leaving. Why the station?" 
 
 He could have laughed. "Still the old, distrustful 
 Santa ! Little fool the food-trains." 
 
 The first streets which they traversed were de 
 serted; yet lamps were lighted and the air was 
 clamorous with belfry-music. As they drew further 
 into the city, they shot past groups and isolated 
 individuals, crawling in the same direction. For
 
 THE VANISHING POINT 333 
 
 the most part they were the kind of persons Santa 
 had offered to show him that morning people in 
 rags or entirely stark, who hobbled from weakness 
 or dragged themselves on all fours like dogs. It was 
 as though the dead were rising from their graves to 
 follow the Pied Piper of the Resurrection. 
 
 They came to a square, where soldiers had been 
 concentrated. Their packs and rifles littered the 
 open space; the soldiers themselves had vanished. 
 
 The traffic grew dense. It was all on foot. Hind- 
 wood turned to Santa, "We shall make better time if 
 we leave the car." 
 
 As they mingled with the crowd, he had a night 
 mare sensation of unreality. He had never rubbed 
 shoulders with so many human beings so nearly 
 naked. They themselves seemed to regard their 
 conditions as normal. It was he who was odd. Their 
 legs were mere poles ; their arms laths. Their heads 
 were misshapen like deflated footballs. With pant 
 ing persistence they padded forward, too frail to be 
 anything but orderly. The air was full of an earthy 
 fragrance. Their bodies were clammy to the touch. 
 He could push them aside like shadows. The hair 
 was brittle as withered moss. 
 
 It was the fashionable quarter of Budapest. 
 Great arc-lights shone down on this flowing river of 
 gray flesh. Behind plate-glass windows luxuries were 
 displayed for the temptation of the bargain-snatch 
 ing foreigner feathers and furs, jewels and laces. 
 Past them, with eyes enfevered by starvation, stole 
 the noiseless populace. There was a woman whose
 
 334 THE VANISHING POINT 
 
 sole clothing was a rag about her neck ; she continued 
 to live in Hindwood s imagination long after the 
 sight of her was gone. And still, with thunderous 
 merriment, the bells above the city pealed on. 
 
 At a turn they came to the station. Further prog 
 ress was blocked. Exerting his strength against 
 the weakness of the mob, Hindwood edged his way 
 forward. When he could go no farther, he swung 
 round on Santa. "Tell them that I own the food- 
 trains and that I m going to get them bread." 
 
 She had no sooner uttered her translation than a 
 lane was cleared. As he passed, he was aware that 
 parched lips stooped to kiss his hands, his garments, 
 the very ground that he trod. He shuddered. The 
 indecent self-abasement of such necessity inflamed 
 his indignation. Ahead a cordon was drawn across 
 the road. It was composed of Russian refugees. 
 He recognized them by their baggy blouses and by 
 the short-haired women of the Battalions of Death. 
 From the tail of a wagon an orator was speechifying. 
 His head was peaked like a dunce s cap. Beside him 
 stood a woman, white as a lily with hair the color of 
 raw gold. 
 
 Hindwood caught Santa s arm. "For heaven s 
 sake, what s he saying?" 
 
 "What he always says on such occasions. He s 
 preaching his gospel of non-resistance and promising 
 to die for them." 
 
 "Who cares for whom he dies, when bellies are 
 empty and bodies are naked? Tell them I ll clothe 
 them and give them bread."
 
 THE VANISHING POINT 335 
 
 As she translated what he had said, a cry went up 
 which drowned Varensky. He found himself in the 
 open space, clambering up to the wagon and drag 
 ging Santa up beside him. There was a deep silence. 
 
 "Tell them," he commanded, "that starvation is 
 ended. I ll feed them on one condition: that they 
 refuse to fight. Tell them I ll drive the Russian 
 menace back without a single shot being fired. Tell 
 them that I promise, on my honor as an American, 
 to feed them all. Though food-trains are exhausted 
 to-night, more will arrive to-morrow. More and 
 more." 
 
 He paused, blinded with emotion at sight of the 
 forest of thin hands strained up to him. Shooting 
 out his fist tremendously, he threatened. "And tell 
 them that I won t feed a jack one of them, if there s 
 another man, woman or child slaughtered, or a hint 
 of rioting." 
 
 VI 
 
 He had kept his word; as far as Hungary was 
 concerned, every living soul had been nourished. For 
 seven days and nights, sleeping only at odd intervals, 
 he had sat in the barracks of the Russian refugees 
 with the map of Europe staring down on him from 
 the wall. Wherever a food-train had been des 
 patched, the place had been marked by a little red 
 flag. He had had a wireless-apparatus installed; 
 from that bare room, heavy with mildew, he had sent 
 out his S. O. S. calls to humanity. He had begged,
 
 336 THE VANISHING POINT 
 
 threatened, argued, commanded until at last he knew 
 that he had won his cause. What he did not know 
 was that his own example had proved more convincing 
 than many words. The simple drama of his personal 
 conversion that he should be giving what he had 
 come to sell had stirred men s consciences. It had 
 given him the right to talk. Where once troops 
 would have been hurried, food was being pushed for 
 ward. It was an experiment alarmingly novel; but 
 his phrase caught on, "The Barricade of Bread. * 
 It had been flashed across five continents. Wherever 
 the printed word had power, it had kindled men s 
 imaginations. By a world war-wrecked, confronted 
 by yet another war, it had been hailed as the strat 
 egy that would end all wars. 
 
 Loaf by loaf, sack by sack the barricade was ris 
 ing. Those little red flags, pinned on the map, 
 marked its progress. It was deepening and spread 
 ing in a flanking movement, just as formerly army 
 corps had massed for offensives. Soon the barricade 
 would be complete; it would stretch in an unbroken 
 line from the Dardanelles to the Baltic. There would 
 be fighting, probably to the east of Poland, where 
 the Monarchists were marching in a forlorn attempt 
 to defeat the famished hordes. That could not be 
 prevented. But by the time the outcasts struck his 
 main defense, he would be in a position to halt them. 
 
 It was only now, when the situation was in hand, 
 that he had leisure to realize what he had been 
 doing. He was filled with depression in his hour of 
 triumph. It was long past midnight. He felt gray
 
 THE VANISHING POINT 337 
 
 and spent. The barracks were as quiet as a morgue. 
 He wondered why; they had been so crowded with 
 derelicts of valiant armies, men and girls, who, hav 
 ing failed to save Russia with the rifle, had been pre 
 paring to rescue her with knowledge. Then he re 
 called. He had sent them all away. They had 
 been the new kind of soldier, by whose sacrifice his 
 ideal had conquered. He saw again their uplifted 
 faces, as he had summoned them one by one and or 
 dered them on their perilous journeys. Wherever 
 a red flag was pinned on the map, one of those dere 
 licts was in command. The "Little Grandmother," 
 she had been the last. Beside himself and his wire 
 less operators, there could be no one left except 
 Varensky, Santa and Anna. 
 
 He glanced at the window. It was a square of jet. 
 During the early days and nights it had framed a 
 heart of fire, where the Palace had smouldered on 
 the heights of Buda. Like a subsided volcano, the 
 Palace had burned itself out. It was as though the 
 fury of his life were ended. He bowed his head in 
 his arms, striving to reconjure what had happened. 
 
 Flitting about the room, with his strangely cat 
 like tread, Varensky had been forever entering and 
 exiting. He had been his second self, silent and 
 agile, anticipating his plans without a word spoken. 
 It was Varensky who had marshaled his exiled com 
 patriots and placed their services at his disposal. 
 It was Varensky who had warned him of the strate 
 gic points where the barricade must be strength 
 ened. It had been always Varensky to whom he had
 
 338 THE VANISHING POINT 
 
 turned for advice and courage when things were 
 darkest. Without Varensky he could have ac 
 complished nothing. And yet it was Varensky whom 
 he had dethroned. This should have been his mo 
 ment. He had shouted him down, snatched control 
 from him and earned the credit. The self-effacement 
 of one whom he had despised as an egoist made him 
 humble. In a rush of tenderness he discovered that 
 he loved him. The peaked head was forgotten, and 
 the face scared white as if it had seen a ghost. The 
 timidity of his appearance no longer counted; the 
 thing that mattered was the spirit, resolute and shin 
 ing as a sword, that hid within the scabbard of the 
 grotesque body. 
 
 And now that he remembered, there had been grief 
 in his green eyes the grief of a man who had been 
 cheated. Once again Varensky had drawn him near 
 to Calvary; the chance to die had been stolen from 
 him. 
 
 And Anna he could not guess how she felt or 
 what she thought. In all those seven days and 
 nights it seemed as though she had never looked at 
 him. She had moved about him like a nun, minister 
 ing to his wants with her gaze averted. Vaguely he 
 was aware that to him she was not what she appeared 
 to others. The old legend had been revived; again, 
 as in St. Petersburg after the fall of Czardom, 
 wherever she passed people knelt. To him she was 
 no saint; his desire was too human. 
 
 Watching the three of them with sphinxlike wis 
 dom, there had been Santa, her womanhood clamor-
 
 THE VANISHING POINT 339 
 
 cms and ignored. What had she made of it? Had 
 she found material for humor in their temporary 
 heroism ? 
 
 And so he came back to his first question what 
 had he been doing? In constructing the barricade 
 of bread, he had been preventing Varensky from 
 dying; in preventing Varensky from dying, he had 
 been raising a barricade between himself and Anna. 
 Having bankrupted his pocket, he had bankrupted 
 his heart. In spite of warnings, he had gone in 
 search of the vanishing point, where the parallel 
 rails of possibility and desire seem to join the point 
 at which, to quote Varensky s words, "The safety 
 of the journey ends." It was the goal of every man 
 who wrecks himself in the hope that he may save a 
 world. 
 
 How long had he been sitting there brooding? He 
 was cold. The square of window had turned from 
 jet to gray. Furtively he glanced behind him. Anna 
 was gazing down on him. 
 
 VII 
 
 She was dressed for a journey, muffled in furs. 
 Her left hand was gloved; her right extended. His 
 heart turned coward. Surely he had earned his 
 reward. He commenced to rise, pushing back his 
 chair. The steady blueness of her eyes held him. 
 
 "Good-by," she said. "I should have left without
 
 340 THE VANISHING POINT 
 
 saying good-by, if I had not known I could trust 
 
 you." 
 
 "But you can trust me. It s because you can 
 trust me that you must stay. * 
 
 "I can t stay." 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 "We made a bargain. Do you remember? That 
 until we were free, we would play the game by him 
 that we would even guard him against himself. You 
 told me once, I wouldn t be friends with a woman 
 who couldn t be loyal. I m trying to be loyal." 
 She caught her breath. "He s gone." 
 
 "Varensky?" 
 
 She nodded. 
 
 "Where?" 
 
 "To die for us." 
 
 In the silence that followed, the heat of his temp 
 tation vanished. He felt accused by the quixotic 
 magnanimity of this strange creature, half prophet, 
 half charlatan, whose wife he had coveted. 
 
 "Once I d have been glad that he should die," he 
 confessed slowly, "but not now. Food has done far 
 more than his sacrifice could have accomplished. 
 Why should he be determined to die now?" 
 
 She trusted herself to come closer, standing over 
 him and giving him her hand. 
 
 "Perhaps for our sakes. Perhaps for his own. 
 Perhaps in the hope that his appearance may put 
 a stop to what s left of the fighting. There was a 
 wireless last night which he kept to himself. It said 
 that skirmishing was developing between the Poles
 
 THE VANISHING POINT 341 
 
 and the Russian refugees in the No Man s Land 
 beyond Kovel. It was after he had read it that he 
 went out. I waited for him to return when I 
 guessed. We ve all misjudged him. Perhaps we re 
 still misjudging him. Who can say why he s gone? 
 There s nothing gained by attributing motives. He 
 wants to give his life. He s promised he would so 
 often ; always he s been thwarted. He owes it to his 
 honor. Kovel may be the world s last battle his 
 final chance." 
 
 In the bare room the dawn was spreading. Hind- 
 wood rose from his chair, stretching his cramped 
 body and gazing at the map with its safe red line 
 of flags. 
 
 "Our work is ended," he said quietly. "Within the 
 next few hours stronger men will be here to take 
 control a commission of the best brains, picked 
 from all the nations. God chose us to be His stop 
 gap," He paused. "After having been His instru 
 ments in averting a world-catastrophe to speak of 
 things personal seems paltry. And yet my love for 
 you fills all my thoughts. I leave Budapest a bank 
 rupt. I shall have to start life afresh. Your love 
 is literally my sole possession and I have no right 
 to it." 
 
 She was backing towards the door, retreating 
 from him. He stepped over to the window, widening 
 the distance that separated them. 
 
 "Do you feel more secure now? You needn t fear 
 me," he reproached her. "Was it because I spoke 
 of our love? We have no reason to be ashamed of
 
 342 THE VANISHING POINT 
 
 it. We ve played fair. How could we do less when 
 Varensky has played so fair by us? It s for our 
 sakes he s gone, that he may free us." Then, 
 "You re setting out alone on a journey. Would 
 you mind telling me its object?" 
 
 "You know. To prevent him. To catch up with 
 him. To bring him back." 
 
 "And if he refuses?" 
 
 "To die with him." 
 
 He smiled whimsically. "The vanishing point! 
 For you, with your high standard of honor, if you 
 were to overtake it, your problem would be solved. 
 But suppose the vanishing point eludes you. Sup 
 pose your husband agrees to live, have you thought 
 of that ? It means that you and I will never " 
 
 With an imploring gesture she cut him short. "It 
 means that you and I will never learn to despise 
 each other. It means that I shall always remember 
 you at your greatest, as I ve seen you in the last 
 seven days, self-sacrificing, brave and noble so self- 
 forgetting that you could even forget the woman you 
 adored." 
 
 He sank his head. In the gray square of window 
 he looked old and haggard. "It s true, and yet it s 
 incredible: if we were to allow him to die, we should 
 
 despise each other. In the long years " He 
 
 glanced up. "Though you were willing to let him 
 and I won you, do you think I would want you? Not 
 that way. I d want you so little that I m coming 
 with you to help you to prevent him."
 
 THE VANISHING POINT 343 
 
 VIII 
 
 Long lines of neglected tillage! Deserted farms! 
 Broken fences ! A gray expanse of sky ! Knots 
 of peasants trekking always westward! Panting 
 cattle, nearing the exhaustion point ! Creaking 
 carts ! Dawn growing whiter ; day growing golden ; 
 sunlight fading ; night becoming flecked with stars ! 
 Always the rhythm of the engine, the plunging into 
 the distance, the impatient urgency to thrust for 
 ward! 
 
 It had been useless to think of traveling by trains ; 
 the railways were too congested. Moreover, they 
 had strongly suspected that he had set out by car. 
 If the No Man s Land beyond Kovel were his destina 
 tion, then Cracow would lie midway on his journey. 
 Cracow was one of the strong-points in the barri 
 cade, where a clump of red flags was flying. All 
 the traffic was escaping from the danger. If he had 
 chosen that route, there would be definite news of 
 him. Any one traveling towards the danger could 
 not help but be remarked. 
 
 As they inquired of fugitives, they discovered that 
 two cars were ahead of them. The first contained a 
 madman, with eyes green as emeralds and a face 
 white and set as a mask; the second, a dark-haired 
 woman, beautiful as a fallen angel. The woman 
 seemed to be in pursuit of the man. They were, per 
 haps, thirty miles apart. They had thundered by
 
 3M THE VANISHING POINT 
 
 into the imperiled future as though the self-same 
 devil rode behind them. 
 
 What could be Santa s purpose? Anna and he 
 argued the point, sometimes aloud, more often in 
 their unuttered thoughts. All their old doubts con 
 cerning her rose up rampant. Was she a Bolshevist 
 agent, hurrying back to sell the last of her secrets? 
 Was her purpose to save or to betray Varensky? 
 
 What had she ever wanted from him? Had she 
 found a quality in his self-destroying idealism that 
 had called forth her pitying worship? In her own 
 dark way had she enshrined him in a mysterious 
 corner of her heart? Had she recognized in him a 
 childlike weakness that had compelled her protec 
 tion? Had he stood in the twilight of her life for 
 a door that might open into ultimate redemption? 
 
 Or was it loneliness that had made her follow him 
 the sure knowledge that everything was ended? 
 In those seven days, whilst they had made history 
 together, had she seen something that had tortured 
 her? That she was not wanted, as he was not 
 wanted? Was it despair that had beckoned her into 
 the chaos through which he hurried to destruction? 
 
 When they reached Cracow it was to find the city 
 deserted. The streets by which they entered were 
 deathly silent; the doors wide open; the pavements 
 strewn with furniture which owners had lacked time 
 to rescue. Here and there were carts which had 
 collapsed, and thin horses which had died in harness. 
 Even cats and dogs had departed. Terror peered
 
 THE VANISHING POINT 345 
 
 from behind the blankness of windows. It was like 
 a city pillaged. 
 
 Whatever optimisms they had entertained, they 
 knew for certain now that war had started. Out 
 of sight, across gray wastes to the eastward, gray 
 ranks of skeletons, armed with nothing but disease, 
 were approaching. The dread they inspired was so 
 great that outcasts, only a shade less starving, had 
 stampeded before them. 
 
 At a turn they came to the railroad. Here their 
 eyes met a different spectacle. From a freight-train 
 on a siding men, white to the eyes with dust, were 
 rolling barrels. They were volunteers recruited from 
 the safer nations the first of the new kind of army. 
 They were piling flour where once they would have 
 been stacking shells. Hindwood recognized the bar 
 rels markings. His sense of tragedy lightened. 
 Laughing down into his companion s eyes, he 
 shouted, "Mine! Look, Anna. Mine that I meant 
 to sell !" 
 
 A short-haired girl, in the tattered uniform of 
 the Battalion of Death, was in charge. Coming up 
 to the car, she saluted smartly. Yes, she had seen 
 Varensky. It was three hours since he had passed. 
 He had filled up with water and gasolene, gasolene 
 having arrived on the supply-train. He had left for 
 Brest-Litovsk, stating that his object was to gain a 
 respite for the barricade-builders. He proposed to 
 put himself at the head of the famine-march and to 
 check the rapidity of its advance. After his de-
 
 346 THE VANISHING POINT 
 
 parture, the other had panted up the dark-haired 
 woman only an hour behind him. 
 
 Wasting no time in conversation, Hindwood imi 
 tated Varensky s example. He was dazed for want 
 of sleep almost nodding. But the man he had to 
 save was ahead of him. Having filled his tanks and 
 made sure of his engine, he started forward. 
 
 They were throbbing through empty streets again, 
 when a strange sound thrilled the silence a 
 trumpet-call, which rang out sharply across the 
 housetops and broke off suddenly. 
 
 Had they come? He slowed down, prepared to 
 wheel about. 
 
 Seeing what was in his thoughts, Anna rested her 
 hand on his arm reassuringly. 
 
 "It s from the tower of St. Mary s. How often 
 I ve heard it! Ah, there it is again!" Gazing up 
 and bending forward, she listened. Then she spoke, 
 as though addressing some one who walked above the 
 city, "Brave fellow! Though they ve all deserted, 
 you ve stayed on." 
 
 "To whom are you talking?" 
 
 She explained quickly. Centuries ago the Church 
 of St. Mary s had been an outpost of Christendom, 
 used as a watch-tower against the invading Tartar; 
 a soldier had been kept continually stationed there 
 to give warning on a trumpet of the first approach 
 of danger. In the fourteenth century, whilst arous 
 ing the city, the trumpeter had been struck in the 
 throat by an arrow. His call had faltered, rallied 
 and sunk. With his dying breath he had sounded
 
 THE VANISHING POINT 347 
 
 a final blast, which had broken off short. The 
 broken call had saved Cracow. Ever since, to com 
 memorate his faithfulness, there had never been an 
 hour, day or night, when his broken trumpet-call, 
 ending abruptly in an abyss of silence, had not been 
 sounded from the tower. 
 
 Hindwood leant across the wheel, staring dreamily 
 before him. "It might have been his voice Varen- 
 sky s. He s like that a dying trumpeter, sounding 
 a last warning. I almost believe in him. It s too 
 late 
 
 "It may not be," she whispered. 
 
 Night was falling. Straining his eyes to keep 
 awake, he drove impetuously on, forcing a path 
 through the opposing shadows. 
 
 IX 
 
 How they had arrived it would have puzzled him 
 to tell. He had vague memories of sunsets and 
 dawns ; of times when sleep had drugged him ; of un- 
 refreshed awakenings. 
 
 They had reached B rest-Li tovsk, the city fatal 
 to the Russians, which the Czar had always super- 
 stitiously avoided. Like Cracow, it was deserted. 
 Unlike Cracow, it was a pile of ruins. Seven times 
 in seven years it had been bombarded and captured. 
 Beneath an iron sky, it listened for the tramp of the 
 latest conqueror. 
 
 Hindwood drew forth his map. It was over a hun-
 
 348 THE VANISHING POINT 
 
 dred versts to Kovel; he doubted whether his gaso 
 lene would take him. There was nowhere where he 
 could replenish his supply. Before him lay a No 
 Man s Land from which everything had perished 
 behind a silence from which everything had escaped. 
 To continue his pursuit was folly. There was no 
 promise of success to allure him; of Varensky and 
 Santa he had lost all trace. He glanced at his 
 drowsing companion ; he had pledged his word to her. 
 Reluctantly he climbed into his seat and started for 
 ward. 
 
 The suicidal stupidity of war that was the 
 thought that absorbed him. Every sight that his 
 eyes encountered emphasized its madness. Yet be 
 yond the horizon, where distance seemed to termin 
 ate, men were killing one another. He understood at 
 last Varensky s passion to die. When all else had 
 failed, to offer one s body was the only protest. 
 
 The landscape was growing featureless. Rivers 
 had overflowed. The labor of centuries was sinking 
 beneath morass. Villages and post-houses had been 
 destroyed; woods torn by shell-fire. Stationed 
 along the route, like buoys guarding a channel, black 
 and white verst-poles gleamed monotonously. On 
 either side stretched a never-ending graveyard, 
 marked by rough crosses or inverted rifles. Down 
 this pitiless straight road had marched the seven 
 invasions Russian, German, Polish, Bolshevist, 
 each with a dream of glory in its eyes. With the 
 victory lost and the dream forgotten, they mold- 
 ered companionably.
 
 THE VANISHING POINT 349 
 
 It was half-way to Kovel that he first noticed 
 what was happening; behind scrub and fallen trees 
 it had probably been happening for some time. It 
 was a gray wolf, grown bold, which first drew his 
 attention. Like a dog, seeking its master, it came 
 trotting down the road. After that they came in 
 packs not only wolves, but every other kind of 
 untamed animal. It was as though they were fleeing 
 before a drive the tremendous drive of a famished 
 nation. In their dread they seemed to have post 
 poned their right to prey. Hunter and quarry 
 journeyed side by side, their enmities in abeyance 
 in their common terror of the enmity which stalked 
 behind. 
 
 Hindwood had grown used to the spectacle, when 
 suddenly he was startled by another sight a child. 
 A child so matted and neglected, that he scarcely 
 recognized him as human. His feet were swathed in 
 balls of rags. He limped painfully, walking among 
 the animals and staring straight before him. At 
 shortening intervals others followed, till at last they 
 came in crowds. 
 
 Beyond Kovel, where commences the crumbling 
 trench-system in which the vanished Russo-German 
 armies remained locked for so many years, he came 
 across his first trace of Varensky an abandoned 
 car with a broken axle. Varensky must be on foot, 
 not far ahead. He had passed another mile when 
 his own car halted; the gasolene had given out. 
 With the ceasing of the engine he caught another 
 sound the popping of rifle-fire. It dawned on him
 
 350 THE VANISHING POINT 
 
 that the trenches of the dead battlefield were again 
 inhabited. He had been driving straight into the 
 heart of the fighting. 
 
 The firing was drawing nearer. The Monarchists 
 were falling back. A bullet whizzed over his head 
 and pinged into a mass of rusted wire. 
 
 All that followed happened in a flash. He had 
 seized Anna and rushed with her to cover. From 
 where he watched, he could see soldiers retreating, 
 and the tops of steel helmets bobbing above the 
 trenches. Of the advancing host he could see 
 nothing. 
 
 Suddenly from behind a mound, a man with a 
 peaked head sprang up. He was dressed as a 
 civilian. He commenced to run up the road towards 
 the enemy, waving something white. Immediately, 
 from another place of hiding, a woman leapt up and 
 followed. It was as though on the instant truce had 
 been declared; a tranquillity of amazement settled 
 down. 
 
 As he reached what appeared to be No Man s 
 Land, he drew himself erect, with expanded chest, 
 and commenced to sweep his arms in the gestures of 
 oratory. It was dumb show ; it was impossible to 
 hear what was being said. While he was speaking, 
 the woman caught up with him and flung herself upon 
 him, making a shield of her body. 
 
 Curiosity satisfied, both sides fired. The man and 
 woman crumpled. Fighting recommenced. 
 
 THE END
 
 Pub., by S. H. Kress * Co. 
 
 "*B- N> . 
 
 pS: 
 .:< r r.j * 
 
 
 ffg,;i o^ 
 
 * V &^ O^t^ 
 2S . a Z?n a - - 
 
 ^v 
 
 .0.^^ r-f>- 
 i A a" ?>H 
 - - f r~\ 
 
 ^ V
 
 A 000034456 4