Wallace Intervenes

by Alexander Wilson

  ‘Presuming that you are correct,’ he remarked, ‘with what object has this warning been conveyed to me?’

  ‘I have told you,’ she replied quickly. ‘Leave this hotel at once and, if you can, get away from Germany. Once in England you can bring pressure to bear for the release of Herr Foster from the mental home in which he is confined. Alas! Neither you nor anyone else can help the poor baroness. She is doomed. Today commenced her trial for treason. It is being held secretly, and is expected to last for three days. Colonel Schönewald does not know actually of what her treason is supposed to consist, but he says there is no hope for her – she is certain to be condemned to death.’

  Tears rose quickly to her eyes as she spoke. Cousins felt tempted to tell her that the trial was over, and that the baroness had been sentenced to be beheaded early the following morning, but he refrained.

  ‘If I happened to be the Herr Cousins of whom you have spoken, Fraulein Zeiss,’ he observed earnestly, ‘I would always feel most deeply grateful to you and the Herr Colonel for the risks you have run to warn me. I would also take your advice.’

  She smiled and rose.

  ‘I understand,’ she murmured, ‘and I am very glad. Now, Herr Cousins – I mean, Herr Bräun –’ she smiled again ‘– I must go. I am not very brave, and all the time I am here, I am very much in a state of fear for myself.’ She held out her hand and Cousins took it warmly.

  ‘There seem,’ he murmured, ‘to be several very noble ladies in Germany.’

  He let her out, deciding that it would be safer for her if she left the hotel without his seeing her to her car. When she had gone he stood for a moment or two in deep thought, then quickly he opened his suitcase, took out certain articles, including a revolver, which he might need, and laid them ready on the bed. After that he stripped off the clothing he was wearing, removed the padding, and rapidly attired himself in another suit, becoming once again his own slim self. His own extraordinarily creased and mobile countenance was now visible, too. Rapidly he darkened his skin, taking care to rub the stain well up his arms and down under his collar. This done he wound a muffler round his neck, placed a pair of horn-rimmed glasses on his nose, and a soft hat on his head, after which he surveyed himself in the mirror. He saw a studious though somewhat wizened Indian gazing earnestly at him, and was satisfied. The change of disguise would pass muster for the time being, he decided. People looking for a fat man with a fierce moustache and bristly hair would hardly glance twice at an inoffensive-looking Indian student. The articles he had laid out on the bed were one by one tucked away in his pockets. He had taken care to leave nothing that might suggest that he had altered his disguise. The suit of clothing he had discarded was hung in the wardrobe, the padding was stuffed well up the chimney. He chuckled a little to himself at thought of what would happen if it remained undiscovered until the weather became cold in the autumn or winter and the then occupier of the room had a fire lit.

  A glance at his watch showed him that it was ten minutes to nine. He would just have time to join Sir Leonard. With great caution he opened the door and glanced out. A chambermaid was walking away from him some distance along the corridor. There was nobody else about. He slipped out, shut the door, and hurried to the stairs, avoiding the lift purposely. He reached the lounge unobtrusively, and was glad to note that it was crowded. Nobody took any particular notice of him – Indians in Berlin are not uncommon. Walking casually to the entrance he received a shock. A car drew up outside, and from it descended Marlene Heckler, Colonel Schönewald, and two Nazi troopers. Cousins stepped quickly behind a pillar, and they passed within a few feet of him. He noticed that the young Colonel looked a little perturbed and worried, and guessed the reason. He was wondering if the man to whom he had sent the warning had yet had time to get away.

  ‘Just did it,’ murmured Cousins to himself, ‘thanks to you, Schönewald.’

  A minute later he was outside the hotel sauntering in aimless fashion towards a large closed car drawn up to the kerb a little distance away. Several times he paused to look in the shop windows, thus making sure that he was not being watched or followed. He came abreast of the car and standing well within view of the man in the interior, whistled softly an air which British Secret Service men the world over make use of to indicate themselves to each other. Almost immediately the motor moved slowly and silently away. It disappeared round a corner, and Cousins continued his apparently purposeless stroll. He reached the turning and entered a narrow bystreet almost completely deserted. The car was waiting for him a few yards away, the door partially open. He walked along, took one quick, comprehensive look round, and skipped nimbly inside. At once the powerful saloon glided away. Purposely it was driven round side streets, doubled on its tracks, and underwent other manoeuvres to safeguard it from possible pursuit. Satisfied at length that all was well, the driver headed in the direction of Potsdam. Neither Sir Leonard nor his companion spoke until Berlin had been left behind; then the chief eyed his companion thoughtfully.

  ‘Well?’ he queried.

  Cousins told him all that had occurred, and Sir Leonard listened with a frown on his forehead.

  ‘Worse than I thought,’ he commented at the end of the recital. ‘I should like to know how Marlene Heckler found out who you really are. I have always heard she was particularly astute and dangerous – she has certainly given us a proof of her shrewdness. One can understand now why such precautions are taken to guard the baroness, and keep all unauthorised persons away from Wannsee Prison.’

  ‘I rather fancy the hue and cry for Keller and Minck,’ observed Cousins, ‘is likely to be keener than we anticipated, sir.’

  Wallace nodded.

  ‘Much keener,’ he agreed. ‘It is comforting to know that we got rid of those disguises so quickly.’

  He spoke as though it were sheer chance that had caused them to revert to the characters they had previously portrayed. Cousins smiled.

  The two were silent most of the way to Potsdam. Sir Leonard who, all the time, appeared extremely thoughtful, once looked at his companion to remark:

  ‘I have been trying to discover if it is possible that Schönewald and Hilda Zeiss could have had some ulterior motive in arranging to warn you. I am quite satisfied, however, that their intentions were honest. No matter which way one studies the situation, their object appears convincingly altruistic. The knowledge that they are deeply in sympathy with the baroness may be very useful to us before we are through with this business. In fact, I have a feeling that it will be. You did very well to alter your disguise with such promptitude, Jerry. If you hadn’t, you would be in or on your way to a German prison by now. Possibly I would have been with you.’ Cousins eyed him reproachfully, but said nothing. ‘Ah, well!’ added Sir Leonard with a sigh, ‘even if we have another danger to avoid, we do know it exists, which is something. I only hope Marlene Heckler doesn’t get on your – or rather our – track before we rescue the baroness.’

  ‘Do you think there is a possibility she may, sir?’ Sir Leonard shrugged his shoulders.

  ‘A woman who was clever enough to see through your very excellent disguise is capable of a good deal. It all depends upon what she thinks you were watching the baroness for. If, as I suppose, she considers it was for the purpose of making an attempt to obtain from her the information she possesses, she will probably think you have been properly baulked now. On the other hand, like Schönewald, she may have an idea that you are desirous of helping Foster and the baroness. In that case, I shouldn’t be surprised to find her turning up in the neighbourhood of the prison sometime tonight. If so, she must not see you. Eyes that saw through the more elaborate disguise will not have much difficulty in penetrating your present one – even at night.’

  The car turned down a mere track between the trees not far from the prison. There it drew up, and the lights were extinguished. Leaving Cousins and the driver there, and warning the former to be keenly on the alert, an order which he well knew was quite unnec
essary, Sir Leonard walked away in the direction of the palace that had shed its ancient glories to become a political gaol. It had grown quite dark by that time, but when opposite the grim entrance gate, he found there was sufficient illumination thrown on them from a great lamp suspended above to enable him to see all who entered or left. He took up his station in the midst of a dense mass of shrubbery, and waited.

  He had just looked at his watch to find its luminous dial indicating twenty minutes to eleven, when the wicket gate opened with a clatter of chains and the squeak of rusty hinges. A woman appeared and the door immediately closed again behind her. For a moment or two she stood looking about her indecisively; then set off down the road in the direction of the town. Sir Leonard stepped cautiously from cover, and followed her without a sound, keeping always to the deeper darkness. He allowed her to get some distance from the prison before overhauling her. A little flash lamp, very much of the shape and size of a fountain pen, was now in his hand, and when within a few yards of her he switched it on. A brilliant ray of light stabbed the darkness; was almost at once extinguished. A little choking cry of fear came from the woman, while a bitter sense of disappointment pervaded the whole being of the Englishman. She was Hanni. The Baroness von Reudath had not escaped.

  ‘It is all right,’ he encouraged her. ‘It is I – the man who spoke to you last night. What has happened?’

  ‘How you startled me I – I thought – oh! I do not know what I thought.’ She paused, then with a little sob, added: ‘You see, I have failed. I did all I could, but it was useless. They would not even let me see her tonight. I spent nearly half an hour pleading with the governor, but it was hopeless. They were guarding her in a manner most extraordinary – just as though they were expecting an attempt to be made to rescue her.’ Her voice faltered, and again came a sob. ‘She – she is to be executed in – in the morning – she and Fraulein Reinwald.’

  ‘I know,’ returned Wallace gravely.

  He guessed she was staring at him; attempting to pierce the darkness in an effort to see his face.

  ‘How do you know that? Who are you?’ she whispered.

  ‘I have means of knowing these things, but do not fret, fraulein; you have done your best, I am sure! We shall now have to take other measures. Come! I have a car hidden among the trees.’

  They reached the car. Cousins was immediately by Sir Leonard’s side, enquiring hopefully whether he had the baroness with him. He spoke in German, and his chief replied to him in that language. The little Secret Service man’s disappointment was very great when he learnt of the non-success that had attended Hanni’s venture. Wallace stood for a long time thinking over a desperate scheme, which he now knew was the only hope left. Nobody interrupted him. The driver sat at the wheel like a graven image, Hanni sank to the running board of the car, and buried her face in her hands, Cousins stood by, alert, eager, ready to enter at once into a discussion concerning their future arrangements, but making no attempt to speak to the man he was confident would yet save the baroness and Dora if it were humanly possible. He could just dimly discern the motionless figure before him. Sir Leonard stood in a favourite attitude, his artificial hand, as ever, in his jacket pocket, his right caressing his chin. At length he became suddenly galvanised into life.

  ‘There is no time to lose,’ he declared sharply. ‘We must get back to Berlin.’

  ‘What are we going to do now, sir?’ ventured Cousins.

  Hanni looked up eagerly, waiting almost breathlessly for the reply. More than ever she wondered who this man was who was treated with such respect by the other. The driver, no less eagerly, abandoned his statuesque pose, and turned his eyes on the shadowy figure of the famous Chief of the British Secret Service.

  ‘There is only one thing left to do,’ remarked Sir Leonard in English, and Hanni gasped. ‘You and I, Jerry, are going to interview von Strom. It is he who will rescue the baroness and Fraulein Reinwald.’

  Cousins stiffened, stood as though he thought his chief had become suddenly bereft of his senses, then he laughed quietly to himself.

  ‘Poetic justice!’ he murmured. ‘“Far from her peril free she strode, Saved by him who had flouted her.”’

  Hanni sprang to her feet; grasped Sir Leonard convulsively by the arm.

  ‘You are English,’ she cried in her own language. ‘Now indeed I have great hope. You are perhaps friends of Herr Foster. But it is useless to go to His Excellency. He will not listen to you. He is without pity and mercy. You will only suffer if you do that.’

  ‘You leave it to us, Hanni,’ was his reply. ‘I do not fancy he will have very much choice.’

  He bade her enter the car, Cousins followed and, after giving the driver instructions, Sir Leonard sprang in. A few seconds later they were speeding back to Berlin. A powerful car passed them a mile or so from Potsdam, and in the fleeting glimpse of its passengers he was able to obtain from the headlights of his own vehicle, thought to recognise Marlene Heckler and Major Wilhelm. He frowned a little but said nothing. Hanni was dropped near the Brandenburg Gate, and told to be there again at three in the morning. She was to wait until four; then, if nobody came for her, to return home. Wallace heard her utter a fervent prayer for his success as the car glided on its way. It stopped close to the Esplanade Hotel, and he descended. He had rapidly outlined his plans to Cousins, as a result of which the little man went on to the garage, there to wait in concealment until Sir Leonard joined him again. The latter approached the hotel very unobtrusively. He did not anticipate that he, like his assistant, had come under suspicion, but he had no intention of taking any chances. He succeeded in reaching his room unobserved; entered, his hand immediately seeking the automatic in his pocket. There was no cause for alarm. It was vacant, and showed no signs to his keen eyes that it had undergone a search.

  He locked and bolted the door, then, from its place of concealment, drew out his make-up box and various articles, including crêpe hair and a wig. These were packed into a neat parcel, which was strapped to his person beneath his coat. A bulge was caused, but it was not too noticeable. Locking his suitcase again, he glanced once more round the room, still anxious to make certain that there had been no intruders during his absence. Satisfied, he went out cautiously, descending by the service stairs, and thus succeeding in avoiding observation. There were a good many waiters and other members of the staff about below, and he was forced to remain hidden for some time before he was able to emerge from the hotel without being seen. When eventually he left the building, he hurried by a circuitous route to the garage where Cousins awaited him, taking steps on the way to ascertain that he was not being shadowed. It was not that he had any expectation of anything of that nature, but too much depended now on his complete freedom of person and action to allow him to take the slightest risk.

  He reached the garage. As he expected, it was deserted. It was a private place shared by three men, of whom Gottfried was one, and had the advantage of being secluded while actually in the very midst of one of Berlin’s business districts. The car which had taken him and Cousins to Potsdam had not been Gottfried’s, but one hired from the garage proprietor. There was always a possibility that it might have come under observation by someone connected with the authorities, and the number noted. If anything had gone wrong Gottfried therefore could not have been involved. Sir Leonard was always most particular to keep members of the firm of Lalére et Cie from being concerned in anything that might bring them or the business house that cloaked their real activities under suspicion of being in any way connected with the British Secret Service.

  He found Cousins and the driver in a small room that the latter rented above the garage in which the car had been locked. They greeted him with sighs expressive of their satisfaction at seeing him again. He partook of the refreshment his host had thoughtfully provided, and went more fully into his plans.

  ‘I have decided to dispense with the car, Reichmann,’ he declared. ‘It would be more of an encumbrance than a hel
p on the job we are about to undertake. When we do use a car, the Supreme Marshal himself will have to provide one of his.’

  The member of the association of guides looked disappointed. His face fell woefully.

  ‘Then you will not need me, sir?’ he murmured.

  Sir Leonard smiled.

  ‘On the contrary, I certainly shall need you.’ Reichmann expressed his relief. ‘We will go now to von Strom’s house. Somehow or other, despite the strong guard with which we know he surrounds himself, we are going to get inside, and have a private chat with our friend. It is no use attempting to plan our entry now. Circumstances will have to show us the way. I hope also that we will be fortunate enough to catch him before he goes to bed. It might be awkward if we don’t. I have been thinking over the position, and it has occurred to me that there is too much risk connected with my previous intention of forcing him at the point of a revolver, to accompany us to Potsdam and order the release of the prisoners. I don’t think he lacks courage, and he might defy us when he is surrounded by his men, as he would be once inside the Wannsee Prison. I have brought the necessary materials, therefore, to enable me to impersonate him. I’ll be the Marshal of State for the time being, but we’ll take him along with us gagged and bound, and hidden from sight, in order that there will be no danger of an alarm being raised while we are on the job.’

  Cousins whistled long and thoughtfully, the guide Reichmann stared at Sir Leonard with wide-open mouth as though stupefied.