THE
SECRET SPRING
BY
PIERRE BENOIT
NEW YORK
DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY
1920
CONTENTS
A FOREWORD
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER I
CHAPTER II
CHAPTER III
CHAPTER IV
CHAPTER V
CHAPTER VI
CHAPTER VII
CHAPTER VIII
EPILOGUE
A FOREWORD
Long have I hesitated to give back to Life the legacy left me by Death.But at last, reflecting that Lieutenant Vignerte and She whom he lovedhave vanished into the eternal shades, I have decided that there is nolonger any reason to keep silence about the tragic events staged in theGerman court of Lautenburg-Detmold in the months immediately precedingthe Great War.
P. B.
PROLOGUE
"Unpile Arms!"
Of its own motion and by that force of habit which makes the word ofcommand superfluous, the dark mass of the company rose and formed foursto the right.
The darkness was falling, cold and cruel, slashed with long liquidstreaks. It had been raining all day. In the middle of the clearing agrey-green sky looked up at us from shadowy pools.
An order rang out: "Quick March!" The little body moved off. I was atthe head. At the edge of the wood was a country-house, someeighteenth-century fantasy; two or three shells had been enough todemolish the wings. The chandeliers of the big ground-floor room,multiplied in its mirrors and sparkling through its tall windows,enhanced the sinister blackness of the falling October night.
Five or six shadowy forms in long cloaks stood out against thisbackground of light.
"What Company?"
"The 24th of the 218th Regiment, sir."
"Are you taking over the Blanc-Sablon trenches?"
"Yes, sir."
"Good. When you've got your men installed, go for your orders tobattalion headquarters. Your C.O. has them. Good luck!"
"Thank you, sir."
In the darkness, like a group of fantastic hunch-backs, the men stoodround, leaning on their sticks and arching their backs under the amazingweight of their packs, crammed with miscellaneous paraphernalia. For thetrenches were a desert island. How could you tell what you might wantthere? So the men took down everything they could carry.
They maintained a grave, morose silence, the usual silence that markedthe occupation of a new sector. Besides, Blanc-Sablon had a badreputation. The enemy's trenches were some way off—three or fourhundred yards—it is true, but the nature of the ground was such thatthe only cover consisted of a few wretched dug-outs which were alwayscollapsing and indeed, only kept in existence at all by great baulks oftimber. Further, the place was wooded and cut by ravines where you couldnot see fifty yards ahead of you. And nothing in war is so nerve-rackingas the mystery of the invisible.
A voice—"Any chance of lights?"
"Lights" meant cards. Card-playing was permitted when the dug-outs weredeep enough and there was a good thic