Keeping Secrets (49 page)

“So he's proven habitual at playing both ends against the middle. If Zimmermann's plan works, Tetzel is safe over here, as far as he knows and as long as he keeps his mouth shut. If it doesn't, he'll have some clout.

“We just stand by for now. We can't afford to disclose anything yet because it will expose what we know of Zimmermann's telegram about the alliance. That could send any number of rats back into the woodwork before we have sufficient proof. Which reminds me of Electra Cabot.”

“Oh, that …”

He looked at his watch. “It's a little late for you to go down there tonight. How about tomorrow night?”

“I'm supposed to go out with a fellow.”

“Well, suit yourself, but don't wait too much longer.”

As it happened I neglected the note for the following week because Mr. Tetzel decided to clear his desk of all the old business, and I worked late every night and most of Saturday. I had just enough time to slip down on Washington and shove it under the door before getting home and dressed for the Tetzel party. I did not know Cabot was back in town, and for that reason assumed I would not find myself face to face with either of the couple that night.

Totally unprepared for what was about to happen, I arrived at the Tetzels on time and got to work checking wraps. The party was smaller than the one I'd worked before, so there was far less confusion. When the dinner was under way, I looked into the large rectangular dining room, just to feast my eyes on all the bounty—one thing to the Tetzels' credit was their fine taste in entertaining—and noticed two empty chairs up near one end of the table. I thought nothing of this at first, looking instead at the wife of the man I'd been shadowing for nearly a year and a half. Sophie just wasn't anything special to look at, regardless of the fact she did seem to attempt to dress stylishly at social affairs. She was chunky and plain, and seemed almost devoid of spirit. Over the telephone she seemed aloof and distant, unsure of herself. In person she was much the same, hardly an asset to a man like Tetzel, whose business was bound to overlap into social affairs frequently. Well, each to his own taste, I thought. I went back to the foyer to wile away the time before the guests invited only for the dance would arrive. I straightened coat sleeves and smoothed out gloves for a while, then found a comfortable place to sit.

Suddenly the door swung wide open and there stood the Cabots. Frozen in my chair, I tried to mouth an audible “good evening,” then rose slowly. One look at Electra's face told me she'd read her message. She was as stark white as her evening frock was black. Cabot, very much in command, guided her in as though she were a fragile doll. He wished me good evening, put out his cigar, and helped Electra off with her wrap. The cut of her gown was shorter both from the hem up and the shoulders down than anything I had ever seen her wear. The aigrettes in her headband and her silk stockings and shoes finished off the trend-setter appearance. She had never looked more stunning, even while obviously very much distressed.

She looked at me and made a valiant attempt at smiling, though she didn't speak, and Cabot, unusually protective and attentive, ushered her into the dining room, where they were met with greetings all around the table.

I lowered myself into my chair again, for fear my knees would buckle. It seemed plain this woman was no secret agent any more than I'd believed her to be. I'd never felt dirtier, lower, or cheaper in my life as I sat through the eternity of a six-course dinner in the next room. Mrs. Tetzel's personal maid, whom I'd met at their party before, took one look at me and brought a glass of water. “Are you ill?” she asked.

“No, just sick to death,” I answered. She knitted her brow and stared at me. As I sat there, gripping the glass of water, I kept thinking over and over how I wished all of this would end. I hated it, hated it. Worse, I hated myself.…

Later when the dancing was under way I stood with the other help at the door and watched the couples moving around on the floor. Perhaps it was only my imagination, but it seemed there was more drinking, more loud talking and laughter, less restraint than normal. Without a doubt Mr. Tetzel was acting with more gay abandon than I would have ever expected. It struck me maybe this sort of party was just what he needed to lessen the strain he'd been enduring over the past couple of years. In fact, maybe it was what they all needed in the face of what was about to happen. Anyone with a modicum of common sense could see the handwriting on the wall. We would soon be a country at war, suffering at least a taste of the deprivations already demanded in great measure of the countries in Europe. Surely our government, knowing the secrets in its possession, would keep anything too dreadful from happening over here, such as an attack by Japan and Mexico from the south? It was almost too incredible to imagine, yet someone in a high place had conceived it as a possibility.…

The music continued to flow with the whiskey and wine that evening, and toward the end Mr. Tetzel suddenly appeared at my side and invited me out on the floor for a waltz. “Oh, but I can't!” I protested, aware of my starched uniform and cap as well as my trembling knees.

“Oh, but you can,” he insisted, “my goodness your hands are cold,” and whirled me about on the floor, through three waltzes. Mrs. Tetzel stood off to the side all the while, following the music with her shoulders and head.

When finally he relinquished my arm, the other helpers were clapping from the corner. I stood back with them, winded, and watched as a tango began. The tango was my favorite of all dances, and while I couldn't execute it—I'd never learned how—that did not keep me from being entranced by watching others perform it.

It seemed very soon that couples began to disappear from the floor, and eventually there was but one still dancing: the Cabots. I kept looking into Electra's face—was I dazzled by the pain I expected to see there, compelled to watch with some sort of morbid curiosity? I don't know even now, but I couldn't stop watching, watching, as they made the uneven, sensuous moves across the floor. At first her expression was as timid and uncertain as when they walked in, but Cabot was talking to her all the time. I could see his lips moving. He held her so near and in such a daring embrace that there were whispers around me labeling the Cabots “shameful” and “risqué.” Yet to me it was a beautiful exposition, a dance of love in the strictest sense. A man who wouldn't any more let the world take his woman down than he'd let it get the best of him. How she must have adored him that night. How many of her grievances against him of late must have been wiped from the slate. If I had ever had any doubts up to that point, they were then dispelled. Those two loved each other in a way that was enviable to see, that made me hope someday I might have those feelings myself and have them returned.

All at once Electra lifted her eyes. Gradually her color returned. I think Cabot said something to her to bring this about because it occurred with suddenness, as though in reply to a command. Before it was over she was smiling and animated, moving smoothly and gracefully. When the music stopped the audience which had congregated off to the side shouted and whistled their admiration. Before leaving, the Cabots hesitated on the floor and looked about momentarily. The night was conquered. I stood transfixed, tears rolling down my cheeks, thinking of what a hideous thing I had done to her and, accordingly, to him.

I lay awake through the night.

Memories of the party fluttered through my mind like autumn leaves blown by the wind across a cold countryside. What were the Cabots saying to each other, I wondered? What would they do, now that it was clear their best-kept secret was no longer confined? How could I have done what I did; why didn't I insist on following my instincts, regardless of Edwin's feelings? He was the one who'd be standing near Durango and Flores streets at the appointed time, awaiting her arrival. Well, I could tell him right now he'd be wasting his energy. Emory Cabot himself might show up. He might beat the living daylights out of Edwin, should he know what was behind the deed. For that matter he might beat the dickens out of me. We both deserved it. Oh, how awful, how despicable. I punched at the pillow and turned over and over again. I was dangerously tempted to do a little plotting myself. I could go to the Cabots, explain the whole picture, and urge them to leave the country immediately. For a short while I let my imagination take hold, thinking how I'd get them secretly on a train for Laredo some dark night, and wave to their grateful faces as the engine roared and the smoke shot up from the powerful wheels, eager to speed them on to safety.…

Then all at once it occurred to me there was no reason I couldn't warn them. I raised up, excitedly. While releasing the Cabots would amount to a betrayal of the BNA, how much could it really matter in the end? They were primarily after Tetzel, not Cabot, who from all evidence had no certain knowledge of the gruesome extent of his involvement in German espionage.

I was practically to the point of jumping from the bed and throwing on my clothes, when I thought about the unresolved matter of Electra. If she'd really involved herself with Tetzel in an incriminating way, losing her might mean far more to the BNA than losing her husband, might undermine their efforts severely.

Yet all my instincts still shouted of her innocence. From the time I watched the Cabots glide across the dance floor like figures in a magical midnight dream, I had been caught up in my fantasy again, wanting them to be just what they appeared.…

Finally I decided to wait until Wednesday. After she failed to appear at the meeting place, there would be no gamble left, even for the BNA. Then perhaps I might tip them off. No one would ever have to know.

Morning light was peeping through the windows as I finally began to doze off, yet another specter got in the way—the face of Sophie Tetzel as I whirled around the dance floor with her husband. Then something else hit me. The picture in the safe. I had only once looked at it closely, but it seemed to me the woman didn't look like Sophie would have looked as a younger woman. I determined to have another, careful look at the picture, then fell asleep and awoke at one o'clock in the afternoon.

On Monday evening I pulled out an accumulated pile of work from my bottom desk drawer and announced I intended to stay late and finish it. “Suit yourself,” said Mr. Tetzel. “You are the most conscientious worker in this entire bank, a model for others. Well, good night. Take care getting home.”

I did indeed work away till after seven, the cleaning people dusting and sweeping around me, then disappearing down the hall. Then I went into Tetzel's office quietly and got into the locked compartment of his safe. I wanted a good long look at the picture, and this had been my main reason for staying late instead of coming back when the lights were out. There was no one around to see. First I checked for papers in the compartment. Nothing. Then I looked at the picture and knew at once the features did not belong to Sophie Tetzel. The nose was different, the eyes more deep-set and dark. The hairline was different. Every telling feature confirmed my suspicion. Yet it proved nothing. Could have been his sister for that matter. I slipped the picture back and closed the compartment.

Just as I reached for the outer safe door I realized someone was behind me. My heart took a wild leap. But then I realized with relief it was Giddy. “Oh, hi! I didn't know you were still here,” I said, closing the door slowly as though it were quite an ordinary errand that caused me to open it.

“I had to work late, too, and noticed the lights on when I came up to the ladies' room. Now, old fogies like me just work because we haven't got anything more interesting to do, but you …”

“Yes?”

“Well, my dear, if I didn't know better I'd suspect you were bucking for a raise.”

I sat back on my heels and laughed nervously. “Oh, fudge! I guess the truth's out.”

24

During the week following the party I watched Tetzel more closely than ever. Daily I opened the newspaper expecting to see publication of the full text of Zimmermann's intercepted telegram, yet it did not come. Edwin speculated, “If the President turns it loose now, he might be accused of trying to influence the Congress toward going to war out of sheer indignation. He'll try and get his Armed Ship Bill through first, out of a last-ditch attempt at keeping neutral, while protecting our merchant ships. But he has a lot of enemies in the Congress, particularly the Senate. They could tie up his bill there interminably.”

“Doesn't this session of Congress end early in March?”

“Yes, but they could call an extra session or something if they wanted to be really stubborn. Once they adjourn, Wilson has the whole ball game for nine months, and I doubt they'll want to part company with him at this crucial point, leaving all the decisions in his office.”

“Who wouldn't want the Armed Ship Bill to go through—isn't it logical to anyone that we need to protect our merchant ships?”

“The pacifists will call it a move toward war, and they're powerful in Congress.”

“Wilson's hands are sort of tied, then, aren't they? I mean, he's going to be made out a villain either way.”

“Probably so.”

“And if he can't get his bill through, he could use the telegram as a little leverage, couldn't he?”

He laughed. “Camille, they might need you in the Capitol one day.”

In the middle of the week, Cabot paid Tetzel a visit. True to his inevitable habit which had foiled us all along, he walked in and threw his hat squarely above the receiver of the recording machine. If not for its unwieldy size, we might have been able: to move the piece of equipment to another place. I hurried to the storeroom, ready once again to get what I could by listening at the wall. Cabot was apparently making firm his plans for the next month. Mostly, Tetzel just listened without comnent.