“Then I take it we are still being watched,” said Roger without any outward sign of distress; his faded-blue eyes flicked toward the window and back again.
“Yes. If only I knew who was doing this, I would feel much more”— his ironic smile vanished quickly—“sanguine than I do.”
Roger indicated the two gas lamps burning in the front room. “Should I turn them down?”
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“No. That would only imply we are aware of the watcher, and that would not be prudent, not just now.” Ragoczy gave a slight shrug. “I am going to change clothes for our journey. Then I will spend a while in my laboratory. I have received some new material from P. T. Levene in America; I want to review his findings on nucleic acids. He is doing such remarkable work with blood.”
“Your traveling suit is laid out in your apartment,” said Roger, aware that Ragoczy was eager to look at the information from America. “I will speak to the staff. Do you still intend to leave at midnight?”
“Yes,” Ragoczy said over his shoulder. “I will attract less attention, and anyone watching will be more conspicuous; and my strength will be at its greatest, although I hope I will have no need of it. Have the motor car ready at eleven.”
“Do you wish to be early to the station?” Roger inquired, following him to the stairs.
“I wish to have time to inspect the train car thoroughly. While I do not anticipate anything dangerous, there may yet be problems we know nothing of; the car has only been locked, not guarded. There might have been all kinds of mischief done. I am in no mood for surprises.” He shook his head once and went up the stairs. When he came down again it was nearly eleven and he was dressed for traveling, a neat, dark suit appropriate for the negotiations he would be attending when he reached Liege; his heavy coat over the rest was trimmed in curly black Astrakhan lamb, as was the Russian hat he had donned.
Roger also had changed to warmer clothing, his suit a conservative dark-pewter, his long, dark-brown coat of heavy Scottish wool double-caped. He signaled Ragoczy and nodded in the direction of the window. “Someone is across the street, in the shadow of the doorway.”
“I was afraid of that. Well,” he said with a gesture of philosophical resignation, “it will not be the first time weVe been followed.”
“No, it will not,” Roger agreed, and went to fetch the handcart for carrying the chests.
“A nuisance,” said Ragoczy as he lifted the heavier chest onto the handcart with ease. “But it would be unwise to put our watcher too much on the alert.”
“He does not know how heavy these are,” Roger pointed out as he moved to open the door.
“And I do not want him to start wondering about them, given their size,” Ragoczy said, cocking his head in the direction of the window. “It might be difficult to explain how a man recovering from a bullet wound
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in the side can lift an earth-filled chest so soon after his injury.” He glanced out into the street, making sure they would attract very little notice as they departed. “Very well. Let us leave, old friend.”
They reached the railway station without incident; the inspection of the private car revealed nothing more dangerous than a small pile of cigarette ash near the door into the second chamber where Ragoczys austere bed stood, covered in a spread of burgundy damask that matched the draperies on the windows.
“Very sloppy,” Ragoczy remarked in Russian as he swept the ash away with a scuff of his thick-soled boot. “Either that, or they wanted me to know they had been in my private car. It all depends on the expertise of whomever was sent to see this.” He unbuttoned his coat and slid out of it, hanging it on the brass rack near the door; his hat was put above the coat.
“It may have been a railroad employee,” Roger said, also in Russian while supervising the placement of their luggage by two sleepy porters. “Someone who was curious about a private railway carriage; nothing more.”
“I suppose it could be.” He frowned as he considered that. “It is never easy to decide these things; I do not like wearing myself out with needless speculation.”
“You will not learn by fretting,” Roger reminded him as he saw the last of their luggage brought aboard and placed in the closet designed to hold it. He paid the porters and tipped them, following them to the door of the car, then removed his own coat and hung it beside Ragoczy s.
“No; you’re right about that; all fretting will do is distract me, which is not what serves my purpose just now.” He went to the simple couch set under the window and stood over it as if undecided. “I wonder who is on this train?” he mused as he stared out onto the ill-lit platform. Finally he raised his head. “Tell the stationmaster that we are ready to go.”
“The train is getting into position now; so far as I can tell, we are not being observed,” Roger said, looking out of the car from the door leading onto the platform. “We will be away on time.”
“Excellent,” said Ragoczy, and deliberately switched from Russian to French. “Then our followers are either aboard the train, or have lieutenants in Belgium.” He shook his head once to dismiss the matter. “I am told an automobile will meet us, courtesy of Venders; I am grateful he is willing to let us use his villa. It would not be prudent to stay with the others, although having to travel to the meeting daily is inconvenient; it is preferable to giving our opponents too many targets in the same place. The Czar is going to send Verviers a formal letter of ap-
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predation for the loan of his villa.” He sat down in the Turkish chair, stretching out his legs as the joints of the chair adjusted to him. “Venders, at least, shares Nicholas’ conviction—and mine—that war in Europe would not be containable, which would lead to catastrophe.”
“Must it come to that?” Roger knew the answer but asked the question anyway; he had been with Ragoczy long enough to realize when the Count wanted to prepare himself for dealing with the opposition.
“If we cannot stop it, I fear it will. There are so many who are moving toward it, and their numbers are increasing. I hope I have gathered enough material to present an argument that will not be dismissed as alarmist.” He began to sort through the papers in the envelope. “Although how anyone can look at these figures of arms sales and not be alarmed, I cannot imagine.”
“You have done all that Nicholas could expect of you. He cannot fault your efforts.” Roger closed the door to the platform and put the bolt in place, and saw the sardonic look in Ragoczy s face. “Very well: the Czar may demand more of you, but that is another issue. We are about to get underway.” He held the grip by the door as the car lurched at the first contact with the rest of the train.
“I will stay up until dawn; then you can keep watch, if you will, although I am damned if I know what either of us is to watch for.” Ragoczy reached out for his valise which Roger had placed near him. “That’s the worst of it, not knowing who has been set to surveilling us, or why. If I could be certain about that, I would be better-prepared to negotiate.” He tapped the thick envelope he had taken from the valise. “As it is, I have a great deal to do before we arrive.”
Roger nodded and left Ragoczy to his work as the train pulled away from the station; in a short while Amsterdam lay behind them and they bowled along through rich fields and small^darkened villages. Across the flatlands of Holland the train sped on, heading south to the tumbled hills of Belgium. There was a single stop, near dawn, at Eindhoven, where two more cars were added to the train behind Ragoczy s private car. One carried mail coming from Germany and beyond, the other was a sleeping car, bound for Torino and Genova in Italy.
“It will take a while to uncouple all this in Liege,” Ragoczy remarked to Roger, who had been wakened by the disruption brought about by adding on the extra cars.
“Does that trouble you?” asked Roger, inspecting himself in the mirror.
“It probably should, but since this car is going to r
emain on a siding at Liege, we will not have to stay with it while the maneuvering is going
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on. I am grateful for that.” Ragoczy stood up and stretched.
“What automobile is Verviers sending, do you know?” Roger inquired.
“A pale-blue Hispano-Suisa, according to his telegram,” said Ragoczy, steadying himself as the car rocked. “That should be the last of it.”
“On to Belgium,” said Roger, a slight pucker to his brow.
“Yes,” Ragoczy said, understanding Roger’s reservations. “On to Belgium—not Hainaut or Brabant, and not in the fourteenth century.” He pronounced the names as they had been spoken almost seven hundred years ago.
Roger nodded, accepting the point being made. He waited while Ragoczy began to put his papers back into his valise. “Do you want to bathe, my master?”
“I don’t think so, not in a moving train, thank you,” Ragoczy said after a brief silence to consider. “I will do that when we reach the villa, where the floor will be steady, and we can slide a layer of my native earth under the tub. I will want to be fresh when I present myself at Chaudfontaine for the official start of these unofficial talks.” He started toward his bedroom, accommodating the rocking movement of the train with the length and rhythm of his stride. “I confess I am not looking forward to seeing Julian Sinclair-Howard again. He is part of the pro-German faction in King George’s government, the ones who want to leave Europe to the Kaiser and trust him to maintain order.”
“Are you certain of that?” Roger asked.
“If the information Leopold Oberstetten provided me is reliable, then yes, I am certain.” He shook his head once. “In this instance, I hope he is wrong.” With that, he went into his bedroom and closed the door.
Jacques d’Ais, Vicomte de Verviers’ pale-blue Hispano-Suisa was waiting at the cathedral-like train station in Liege. The uniformed chauffeur approached Ragoczy s private car as the train came to a halt, removing his cap in spite of the light rain that had begun an hour earlier. “I am here for le Comte de Saint-Germain,” he said, a bit uncertainly as Roger stepped onto the platform.
“I am his manservant,” Roger said, holding out his hand to the chauffeur. “I am Roger. My master will be with you directly.”
The chauffeur could not conceal his pride as he said, “I have already driven Sir Mansfield Cumming, Mister Sinclair-Howard, and an impatient fellow named Churchill to Cascade-en-Foudre at Chaudfontaine.” He put his cap back on; drops of moisture hung on his face and straight brown hair. “Two other men arrived from England yesterday morning; they say one is the assistant to the Prime Minister. I did
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not have the honor to drive them to the villa. You will be staying at Sainte-Amienne, as he requested. It is a trifle old-fashioned, and not as grand as Cascade-en-Foudre, but not uncomfortable There is a staff of three. Oil lamps, but the plumbing is fairly new, and the drive is graveled. It takes less than ten minutes to cover the distance between the two villas. There was a convent on the site of Sainte-Amienne, long ago.” He offered this last information as if could make the place more acceptable.
“Hence the name. I am sure the Vicomte and my master arranged everything to their satisfaction,” said Roger, coming down the last metal stair to the platform.
The chauffeur glanced back at the steps. “Do you need help with the luggage? Or an umbrella?”
“We may,” said Roger calmly. “If you will summon a porter?”
“Oh, yes, of course.” The chauffeur hurried off down the platform, one hand raised to summon assistance.
“What do you think?” Ragoczy was on the car behind Roger, his coat thrown negligently over his shoulders, heedless of the rain.
“Aside from the chauffeur, there is a vendor with newspapers at the far end of the platform and a dustman across the road,” Roger reported.
“Whose hands are remarkably clean,” Ragoczy agreed. “And who knows who may be in the station. With Cumming here, I would assume we are being watched by some of his men. If there are others, the British may discover them.” He came down from the train and seemed disinterested in his surroundings, although his dark eyes made a single, comprehensive sweep of the place. “At least the old market square seems much the same,” he observed to Roger in an under-voice.
“If you discount the automobiles, lorries, and bicycles; and the streetlights,” Roger remarked, noticing the chauffeur returning with a porter tagging behind him. “There are two chests, two suitcases and a valise,” he instructed the men; it was not expected that Ragoczy would address such menials directly. “We will wait for you in the motor car,” he went on, handing coins to both men.
Ragoczy led the way to the Hispano-Suisa, his expression unreadable. As he climbed into the automobile, he said, “If all goes well, we may conclude our work quickly.”
“You said you did not expect it to,” Roger reminded him as he got into the front seat next to the chauffeurs.
Ragoczy nodded once, and looked out the window toward the southeast; he seemed a bit distracted. “Monbussy-sur-Mame is not far away.”
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“No,” said Roger carefully.
Ragoczy laughed once, his tone remote and ironic at once. “You don’t need to distress yourself, old friend. I miss Madelaine, but I know there is nothing to be done, now that she and I are of the same nature.” He paused as he moved back squarely on the seat; his attitude changed, becoming brisker and a bit self-mocking. “With a memory as long as mine, nostalgia is a luxury I can ill-afford: it would be too overwhelming to indulge in it.”
“So you’ve said,” Roger told him, signaling him that the porter and chauffeur were coming.
“Um.” He put his small hands together, staring down at them. “Let us get on with it. The sooner we begin, the sooner we will finish.”
Roger recognized Ragoczy s overly pragmatic tone for what it was: a disguise for despair. “You may succeed,” he reminded the Count.
“So I may,” was the only response Ragoczy offered as the porter began to load the trunks into the boot of the Hispano-Suisa.
Text of a letter to Sidney Reilly in Berlin, sent in code using Key 11, from Sir Mansfield Cumming from Bruxelles, Belgium, October 23, 1910.
I would appear to he the only official at the meeting with Ragoczy who was convinced his work for Czar Nicholas is sincere and his fears well-founded. His reports on the escalating purchase of weapons as well as the capacities of the weapons was consistent with all we have learned from other sources. Sinclair-Howard led the opposition to Ragoczy, and succeeded at every turn in discounting everything Ragoczy offered to support his contention that without arms limitation, war would erupt before another five years have gone by. Even Churchill, who is no staunch advocate of peace for peaces sake, told me later that he thought Sinclair-Howard must be receiving largesse from the arms makers for so adamant an endorsement of their products. Why it should be that Sinclair-Howard dislikes Ragoczy so obdurately, I have not yet determined, but I am convinced that patriotism is not his only excuse for his aggressive determination to stop all Ragoczy proposed. The assumption held by the rest of His Majesty’s representatives is that the Czar wants to be free to act against his own people without any European interference: if Nicholas limits his arms purchase and manufacture along with the rest, I do not comprehend how he is supposed to achieve this end.
So it looks as if we will have war, no matter what the Czar would like.
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Our efforts at Liege were for naught but the excellent meals served at Cascade-en-Foudre. If your information is correct, Ragoczy is unlikely to be able to get Kaiser Wilhelm to endorse the Czars plan, and since King Georges advisers have set themselves against any such clandestine agreement with Czar Nicholas, the opportunity to contain the development and proliferation of arms has been lost. In the end, no one was willing to make concessions to benef
it Nicholas until either Russia or Germany has done so, which is not apt to happen at this time. Your claims that Ragoczy has powerful opponents, which at first I thought were exaggerated, now seem reasonable. Sinclair-Howard claimed to have reliable reports from Berlin that cast serious doubts on Ragoczy’s honor. But from what I was able to observe of his character, in concert with what you have told me, these claims would appear to be fallacious.
Your account of the hideous murder of Renfred Meyer and his mother was most distressing reading. I concur that such deliberate slaughter was intended to do more than silence the man. It is as obvious to me as to you that his death was a message to many using his services to abandon their activities or face a similar end. I am relieved to recall that you have more than one source of information in Berlin, and that your agents are not connected to Meyer but through their dealing with you. Assuming you have been as careful as you have been in the past, the others should be safe. Still, it might be wise to pay attention to the warning and take extra precautions. To that end, I am posting the man you call Eduard Angebot to Oslo, where I hope his loose tongue will not be as dangerous as it has been.
Incidentally, I share some of your impressions of Ragoczy. He is a very capable man, and more intelligent than one would expect of a man in his position. Undoubtedly well-educated, erudite, and cultured, but I had a glimpse of the strength of his character during our talks, and I am inclined to agree with you: for all his courtliness, he is a formidable presence, which we would do well to remember. At first I was dubious about his decision to stay at a villa away from Cascade-en-Foudre, but when it became clear that our negotiations were to be acrimonious, I revised my opinion of his tactics. I applaud your caution in observing him, and in your continuing duties, I recommend you become even more circumspect in regard to Count Saint-Germain. In the past I have not been much impressed by those men Nicholas charged with duties, but this Ragoczy is of another stripe entirely. For once, I am confident that Nicholas is well-served.
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