The Coming Conquest of England

by August Niemann

  The Lieutenant-Colonel promised to do as the Major desired.

  The same evening Heideck met Penurot by arrangement at a tavern.

  “Our business is somewhat complicated,” said Heideck. “There must be some more people working for your father, hitherto unknown to us.”

  “Why do you think that, Herr major?”

  “Your father had some letters from Admiral Hollway, which were not brought by Brandelaar.”

  “Yes, yes, I know. I can imagine that.”

  “Do you know who brought them over?”

  “I don’t know for certain, but I can guess.”

  “Can’t you get me more certain information?”

  “I will try.”

  “How will you set about it?”

  “There are some sailors’ taverns here, where I hope to get on the track. But they are desperate fellows, and it is dangerous to meddle with them.”

  “If you will point out the taverns to me, I will have all the customers arrested to-night.”

  “For Heaven’s sake, don’t, Herr major! We should ruin everything by that. These men would let themselves be cut to pieces rather than betray anything to you. If anyone can get them to speak, it is myself.”

  “Wouldn’t you be trusting them too much?”

  “No, no. I know best how to deal with them, and I know many ways of making them open their mouths.”

  “Well, do what you can. The matter is important. I am very anxious to find someone to obtain trustworthy information about the British fleet, and you know we don’t spare money.”

  Penurot was ready to attempt his difficult task at once, and took leave of Heideck, promising to meet him soon after midnight at the same tavern. Heideck left the restaurant soon after him, and walked along the quay Van Dyck, to cool his heated brow. In time of war the town presented a strangely altered appearance. There was a swarm of German soldiers in the streets; the usual busy traffic at the harbour had entirely ceased. There had been no trade since the German warships, like floating citadels, had been lying in the Schelde. And yet it was almost incomprehensible, how the change had come about so rapidly. Antwerp was an almost impregnable fortress, if the flooding of the surrounding country was undertaken in time. But the Belgian Government had not even made an attempt at defence, when the vanguard of the seventh and eighth army corps had appeared in the neighbourhood of the town. It had surrendered the fortress at once, with all its strong outer forts, to the German military commanders and had withdrawn its own army. The Imperial Chancellor was certainly right in attaching such importance to the possession of Antwerp by Germany. The population was almost exclusively Flemish, and Antwerp was thus in nationality a German town.

  From the general political situation Heideck’s thoughts returned to Edith and her letter, and at last he decided to write to her that very evening.

  To carry out his intention, he went back to the restaurant where he had met Penurot, and called for ink and paper. When he had finished his letter, he looked over the words he had written, in which, contrary to his usual practice, he had given utterance to his real feelings:—

  “MY DEAR EDITH,—In the exercise of my duty, I accidentally came into possession of your letter to Frau Amelungen. I was looking for something quite different at the time, and you can imagine how great was my surprise at the unexpected discovery.

  “From the hour when we were obliged to separate and you, possibly not without resentment and reproach, held out your hand at parting, I have felt more and more how indispensable you are to me. I treasure every word you have said to me, every look you have bestowed upon me, and your image is before my mind, ever brighter, ever more beautiful. I have never met a woman whose mind was so beautiful, so refined, so keen as yours. I must confess that your ideas at first sometimes terrified me. Your views are often so far removed from the commonplace, so far above the ordinary, that it needs time to estimate them correctly. If I now recall to mind what formerly seemed strange to me, it is only with feelings of admiration. From day to day the impression you made upon me at our first conversation has sunk deeper into my mind, and the comforting certainty, that love for you will fill my entire life in the future, grows more and more unshakable.

  “Nevertheless, I may not regret that I had the strength to leave you at Naples. The beautiful dream of our life together would have been disturbed too soon by the rude reality. My duty calls me from one place to another, and as long as this war lasts I am not my own master for an hour. We must have patience, Edith. Even this campaign cannot last for ever, and if Heaven has decreed that I shall come out of it alive, we shall meet again, never more to part.

  “You may not be able to answer this letter, for communication with Frau Amelungen is interrupted. But I know you will answer me if it is possible, and I am happy to think that, by letting you know I am alive, I have given you a pleasure, soon, I hope, to be followed by the still greater happiness of meeting again. Let us wait patiently and confidently for that hour!”

  He sealed the letter and put it in his pocket, in order to hand it over to Brandelaar on the following day. He then waited for the reappearance of Penurot, who had promised to be back at midnight. But although he waited nearly an hour over the time in the tavern, he waited in vain. The terms in which Herr Amelungen’s natural son had spoken of the people he intended to look for that evening made the Major anxious about his fate. Before returning to his quarters, he paid a visit to the town police office, requesting that a search might be made in the less reputable sailors’ taverns near the harbour for M. Camille Penurot, of whose appearance he gave a careful description.

  As there was no news of him on the following morning, Heideck felt almost certain that the affair had turned out disastrously for Penurot. However, for the moment, he could not stop to investigate the young man’s whereabouts.

  He was informed by the Lieutenant-Colonel that Brandelaar, whose vessel actually lay off Ternenzen, had been arrested with his crew, examined, and liberated during the course of the night, as had been agreed between the two officers.

  Heideck now set out for Ternenzen to give Brandelaar the information for Admiral Hollway that had been collected at his office, together with the private information that was of such importance to him.

  At last, having paid Brandelaar a thousand francs on account, Heideck also gave him the letter to Edith, with careful instructions as to its delivery. The skipper, whose zeal for the cause of Germany was now undoubtedly honourable, repeatedly promised to carry out his orders conscientiously and to the best of his power.

  On returning to Antwerp at noon, Heideck found a communication at his office from the police to the effect that Camille Penurot’s body had been found in one of the harbour basins, stabbed in several places in the breast and neck. A search for the assassins had been immediately set on foot, but up to the present no trace of them had been discovered.

  XXIX

  A WOMAN’S TREACHERY

  According to the agreement with Heideck, Brandelaar, on his return from Dover, was to put in at Flushing, and the Major had instructed the guardships at the mouth of the West Schelde to allow the smack to pass unmolested without detention. But he waited for the skipper from day to day in vain. The weather could not have been the cause of his delay; certainly it had not been too bad for a man of Brandelaar’s daring. A moderate north wind had been blowing nearly the whole time, so that a clever sailor could have easily made the passage from Dover to Flushing in a day.

  Consequently, other reasons must have kept him in England. Heideck began to fear that either his knowledge of men, so often tried, had deceived him on this occasion, or that Brandelaar had fallen a victim to some act of imprudence in England.

  A whole week having passed since Brandelaar had started, Heideck at least hoped for his return to-day. The north wind had increased towards evening; there was almost a storm, and the blast rattled violently at the windows of the room in the hotel, in which Heideck sat still writing at midnight.

&n
bsp; A gentle knock at the door made him look up from his work. Who could have come to see him at this late hour? It was certainly not an orderly from his office, which was open day and night, for soldiers’ fingers as a rule knocked harder.

  “Come in!” he said. The door opened slowly, and Heideck saw, in the dimly-lighted corridor, a slender form in a long oilskin cape and a large sailor’s hat, the brim of which was pressed down over the forehead.

  A wild idea flashed through Heideck’s mind. He sprang up, and at the same moment the pretended young man tore off his hat and held out his arms with a cry of joy.

  “My dear—my beloved friend!”

  “Edith!”

  At this moment all other thoughts and feelings were forgotten by Heideck in the overpowering joy of seeing her again. He rushed to Edith and drew her to his breast. For a long time they remained silent in a long embrace, looking into each other’s eyes and laughing like merry children.

  At last, slowly freeing herself from his arms, Edith said—

  “You are not angry with me, then, for coming to you, although you forbade it? You will not send me away from you again?”

  Her voice penetrated his ear like sweet, soothing music. What man could have resisted that seductive voice?

  “I should like to be angry with you, my dear, but I cannot—Heaven knows I cannot!”

  “I could not have lived any longer without you,” whispered the young woman. “I was obliged to see you again, or I should have died of longing.”

  “My sweet, my only love! But what is the meaning of this disguise? And how did you manage to cross the Channel?”

  “I took the way you showed me. And is my disguise so very displeasing to you?”

  She had thrown off the ugly, disfiguring cape and stood before him in a dark blue sailor’s dress. Even in her dress as an Indian rajah he had not thought her more enchanting.

  “The only thing that displeases me is that other eyes than mine have been allowed to see you in it. But you still owe me an explanation how you got here?”

  “With your messenger of love, your postillon d’amour, who was certainly rather uncouth and awkward for so delicate a mission.”

  “What! did you come with Brandelaar?” cried Heideck, in surprise.

  “Yes. The moment I received your letter from his clumsy sailor’s fist, my mind was made up. I asked him whether he was returning to Flushing, and when he said yes, I declared he must take me with him, cost what it would. I would have paid him all I possessed, without hesitation, to take me across. But the good fellow did it for much less.”

  “You foolish girl!” said Heideck reprovingly. But pride in his beautiful, fearless darling shone brightly from his eyes. “I shall have to take Brandelaar seriously to task for playing so reckless a game. But what made him so long in returning?”

  “I believe he had all kinds of private business to see after. And he was not the only one—I had my business too. I did not want to come to you empty-handed, my friend.”

  “Empty-handed? I don’t understand.”

  “I puzzled my brains how I could please you, and appease your anger at my sudden appearance—that terrible anger, of which I felt so afraid. And as I heard from Brandelaar that it is your duty to discover military secrets—”

  “The worthy Brandelaar is a chatterer. It seems as if your beautiful eyes have tempted him to open his whole heart to you.”

  “And if it had been the case,” she asked, with a roguish smile, “would you not have every reason to be grateful to him as well as myself? But really—you don’t even know what I have brought for you. Aren’t you the least curious?”

  “No military secret, I suppose?”

  He spoke jestingly, but she nodded seriously.

  “Yes—a great secret. Chance helped me, or I should hardly have got hold of it. There it is! But be sure I shall claim an adequate reward for it.”

  She handed him a sealed envelope, which she had kept concealed under her dress. When Heideck, with growing excitement, spread out the paper it contained, he recognised at the first glance the blue stamped paper of the English Admiralty.

  No sooner had he read the first lines than he started up in the most violent excitement. His face had become dark red, a deep furrow showed itself between his eyebrows.

  “What is this?” he ejaculated. “For God’s sake, Edith, how did you come by this paper?”

  “How did I come by it? Oh, that’s quite a secondary consideration. The chief thing is, whether it is of any value to you or not. But aren’t you pleased with it?”

  Heideck was still staring like one hypnotised at the paper covered with the regularly formed writing of a practised clerk’s hand.

  “Incomprehensible!” he murmured. Then, suddenly looking at Edith almost threateningly, he repeated—

  “How did you come by it?”

  “You are questioning me like a magistrate. But you may know, for all I care. The brother of the lady with whom I was staying in Dover is private secretary to the Admiralty—a poor fellow, suffering from disease of the lungs, whose one desire was to go to Egypt or Madeira, to get relief from his sufferings. By finding him the means for this I have done an act of philanthrophy. I asked him, in return for a further present of money, to give me the copy of an important document connected with his department.”

  She suddenly broke off, and Heideck burst out into a short, sharp laugh which filled her with surprise and alarm.

  “An act of philanthrophy!” he repeated in a tone of unspeakable bitterness. “Did you know what this man was selling to you?”

  “He said it was the English fleet’s plan of attack, and I thought it would interest you.”

  “But surely you must have known how far-reaching would be the consequences of your act? Had you no suspicion that irreparable harm might overtake your country, if this plan came to the knowledge of its enemies?”

  His voice quivered with fearful anxiety, but Edith did not seem to understand his excitement.

  “I understand you less and less,” she said impatiently. “It can only be one of two things. Either this paper is of importance to you, and then you ought to feel the more grateful to me, the more important it is. Or the secretary has deceived me as to its value. Then it isn’t worth the trouble of saying any more about it.”

  “Do you look at it in that light, Edith?” he said, mournfully. “Only in that light? Did you only think of yourself and me, when you bribed an unfortunate wretch to commit the most disgraceful of all crimes?”

  “Oh, my dearest, what strong language! I was not prepared for such reproaches. Certainly I was only thinking of you and me, and I am not in the least ashamed to confess it, for there is nothing in the world of more importance for me than our love.”

  “And your country, Edith? is that of no account?”

  “My country—what is it? A piece of earth with stones, trees, animals, and men who are nothing to me, to whom I owe nothing and am indebted for nothing. Why should I love them more than the inhabitants of any other region, amongst whom there are just as many good and bad people as amongst them? I am an Englishwoman: well, but I am also a Christian. And who would have the right to condemn me, if the commandments of Christianity were more sacred to me than all narrow-minded, national considerations? If the possession of this paper really made you the stronger—if it should bring defeat upon England, instead of the hoped-for victory which would only endlessly prolong the war—what would mankind lose thereby? Perhaps peace would be the sooner concluded, and, justly proud of my act, I would then confess before all the world.”

  Heideck had not interrupted her, but she saw that her words had not convinced him. With gloomy countenance he stood before her, breathing hard, like one whose heart is oppressed by a heavy burden.

  “Forgive me, but I cannot follow your train of thought,” said he, with a melancholy shake of the head. “There are things which cannot be extenuated however we may try to palliate them.”

  “Well, then, if y
ou think what I have done so monstrous, what is there to prevent us from undoing it? Give me back the paper; I will tear it up. Then no one will be injured by my treachery.”

  “It is too late for that. Now that I know what this paper contains, my sense of duty as an officer commands me to make use of it. You have involved me in a fearful struggle with myself.”

  “Oh, is that your logic? Your sense of honour does not forbid you to reap the fruits of my treachery, but you punish the traitress with the full weight of your contempt.”

  He avoided meeting her flaming eyes.

  “I did not say I despised you, but—”

  “Well, what else do you mean?”

  “Once again—I do not despise you, but it terrifies me to find what you are capable of.”

  “Is not that the same thing in other words? A man cannot love a woman if he is terrified at her conduct. Tell me straight out that you can no longer love me.”

  “It would be a lie if I said so, Edith. You have killed our happiness, but not my love.”

  She only heard the last words of his answer, and with brightening eyes flung herself on his breast.

  “Then scold me as you like, you martinet! I will put up with anything patiently, if only I know that you still love me, and that you will be mine, all mine, as soon as this terrible war no longer stands between us like a frightful spectre.”

  He did not return her caresses, and gently pushed her from him.

  “Forgive me, if I must leave you now,” he said in a singularly depressed voice, “but I must be in Antwerp by daybreak.”

  “Is it really so urgent? May I not go with you?”

  “No, that is impossible, for I shall have to travel on an engine.”

  “And when will you return?”

  Heideck turned away his face.

  “I don’t know. Perhaps I shall be sent on further, so that I shall have no opportunity of saying good-bye to you.”