Sunrise | Page 2

some little thing to lessen the
mighty mass of injustice and wrong in the world--well, I am not going
to stop to see that every one of my associates is of pure English birth,
with a brother-in-law on the Bench, and an uncle in the House of Lords.
I am glad enough to have something to do that is worth doing;
something to believe in; something to hope for. You--what do you
believe in? What is there in heaven or earth that you believe in?"
"Suppose I say that I believe in you, Evelyn?" said his friend, quite
good-naturedly; "and some day, when you can convince me that your
newly discovered faith is all right, you may find me becoming your
meek disciple, and even your apostle. But I shall want something more
than Union speeches, you know."
By this time the carriage had passed along Coventry Street, turned into
Prince's Street, and been pulled up opposite a commonplace-looking
house in that distinctly dingy thoroughfare, Lisle Street, Soho.
"Not quite Leicester Square, but near enough to serve," said Brand,
with a contemptuous laugh, as he got out of the barouche, and then,
with the greatest of care and gentleness, assisted his companion to
alight.
They crossed the pavement and rang a bell. Almost instantly the door
was opened by a stout, yellow-haired, blear-eyed old man, who wore a
huge overcoat adorned with masses of shabby fur, and who carried a
small lamp in his hand, for the afternoon had grown to dusk. The two
visitors were evidently expected. Having given the younger of them a
deeply respectful greeting in German, the fur-coated old gentleman
shut the door after them, and proceeded to show the way up a flight of

narrow and not particularly clean wooden stairs.
"Conspiracy doesn't seem to pay," remarked George Brand, half to
himself.
On the landing they were confronted by a number of doors, one of
which the old German threw open. They entered a large, plainly
furnished, well-lit room, looking pretty much like a merchant's office,
though the walls were mostly hung with maps and plans of foreign
cities. Brand looked round with a supercilious air. All his pleasant and
friendly manner had gone. He was evidently determined to make
himself as desperately disagreeable as an Englishman can make himself
when introduced to a foreigner whom he suspects. But even he would
have had to confess that there was no suggestion of trap-doors or
sliding panels in this ordinary, business-like room; and not a trace of a
dagger or a dark lantern anywhere.
Presently, from a door opposite, an elderly man of middle height and
spare and sinewy frame walked briskly in, shook hands with Lord
Evelyn, was introduced to the tall, red-bearded Englishman (who still
stood, hat in hand, and with a portentous stiffness in his demeanor),
begged his two guests to be seated, and himself sat down at an open
bureau, which was plentifully littered with papers.
"I am pleased to meet you, Mr. Brand," he said, speaking carefully, and
with a considerable foreign accent. "Lord Evelyn has several times
promised me the honor of making your acquaintance."
Mr. Brand merely bowed: he was intent on making out what manner of
man this suspected foreigner might be; and he was puzzled. At first
sight Ferdinand Lind appeared to be about fifty or fifty-five years of
age; his closely cropped hair was gray; and his face, in repose,
somewhat care-worn. But then when he spoke there was an almost
youthful vivacity in his look; his dark eyes were keen, quick,
sympathetic; and there was even a certain careless ease about his
dress--about the turned-down collar and French-looking neck-tie, for
example--that had more of the air of the student than of the pedant
about it. All this at the first glance. It was only afterward you came to

perceive what was denoted by those heavy, seamed brows, the firm,
strong mouth, and the square line of the jaw. These told you of the
presence of an indomitable and inflexible will. Here was a man born to
think, and control, and command.
"With that prospect before me," he continued, apparently taking no
notice of the Englishman's close scrutiny, "I must ask you, Mr.
Brand--well, you know, it is merely a matter of form--but I must ask
you to be so very kind as to give me your word of honor that you will
not disclose anything you may see or learn here. Have you any
objection?"
Brand stared, then said, coldly,
"Oh dear, no. I will give you that pledge, if you wish it."
"It is so easy to deal with Englishmen," said Mr. Lind, politely. "A
word, and it is done. But I suppose Lord Evelyn has told you that we
have no very desperate secrets. Secrecy,