“Amazing!” Charles murmured. “I can’t grapple with it all yet. Tell me, though,” he added, looking out of the window and conscious of a sudden obscurity, “why has Fritz turned off his lights?”
“We are in what used to be a private road,” Blute confided, “leading to the compound. Now that the Benjamin house is unoccupied and partly in ruins the compound—part of which had been used as a garage—was also naturally left deserted. When I first started upon my scheme for concealing the pictures I had a camp bed and a few necessaries moved into it and that has been my home. We are fast approaching it.”
They turned in between two pillars, gigantic obelisks they appeared in the semi-darkness. They were in what had once been a courtyard but which was now overgrown with weeds. Blute pointed to a distant corner.
“Under the wall there,” he told Fritz, “with your lights turned off, you will be completely out of sight. There is no thoroughfare here and I may tell you that I have never known anyone to pass down this road. If by any hundred-to-one chance anyone should ask you what you are doing there, invent any story you like, but be sure not to say you brought a fare here.”
“It is well understood, mein Herr,” Fritz declared. “I shall say that I brought my young lady, that she ran away promising to return at once and has given me the hoop-la!”
“We shall make good use of that fellow, I’m sure,” Blute remarked. “Follow me very carefully, Mr. Mildenhall,” he said, pointing to a high hedge of laurels. “These bushes are a good screen but they have grown.”
He paused at last before a long low building. He counted the bricks from a certain spot, removed one when he had arrived at the fourteenth by simply pressing a piece of the mortar, thrust his hand into the cavity, turned a handle and swung open a door. He replaced the brick, stepped into a dark apartment and beckoned to Charles to follow him.
“Now don’t be alarmed that I use this torch,” Blute warned his companion. “The wires have been cut and we daren’t show much light, anyway.”
He flashed the torch around. It was a dreary-looking place and the walls showed signs of damp and decay. In a distant corner was a plain iron bedstead, a rather dejected-looking screen, two chairs, an oil stove and a cupboard.
“My surroundings, as you see, are not luxurious,” Blute pointed out. “Nevertheless, as I told you, the only nights I have not slept here since Mr. Benjamin left were the nights I spent in prison.”
“And you have never been disturbed?” Charles asked.
“Not only have I never been disturbed but I am convinced that no one has ever visited this place either in the daytime or at night. Why should they? It is just a stone barn with no obvious means of entry. Look into my cupboard!”
Charles glanced over his companion’s shoulder. There was coffee equipment but no signs of any coffee. There was a very small piece of black bread on a plate and not another thing.
“I slept here last night,” Blute confided. “I munched at that piece of bread when I got up and there it remains. I washed my face and hands in the basin opposite and I walked all the way up into the city. I served coffee during the rush hour at a café en route and there I got a mugful for myself and a roll in payment for half-an-hour’s work. It was my breakfast. My mittagessen did not exist. My dinner I will not speak about! I am fortunately a man—as you would be, I think, Mr. Mildenhall—who finds humour in violent contrasts.”
He closed up the cupboard.
“Now for some more magic!”
He moved across to the middle of the floor and stooped down, pressed a certain spot in the corner of a square slab of ancient paving-stone, and a trap-door fell slowly back. Charles followed his guide down a ladder with iron rungs into another large but perfectly dry apartment. Blute held up his torch.
“Take a pull on yourself here,” he advised. “For the first moment you may not like it.”
Charles followed him confidently. Blute raised his arm and the light from his torch partially illuminated the place. Against the wall, side by side, were four deep coffins. The black cloths which had covered them were neatly piled by their sides. Charles stared at them wonderingly.
“Defunct Gestapos?” he enquired. “Or have we here other enemies? Are these the results of a battle in the Catacombs?”
Blute smiled.
“You are a bad guesser, Mr. Mildenhall,” he said. “Within these coffins are some of the Old Masters which were the joy of Mr. Benjamin’s life.”
“Awaiting exportation,” Charles murmured.
“Precisely.”
“Won’t that be just a little difficult?”
“Not if our plans work smoothly. Consider what might happen. A shocking skiing or automobile disaster—a car rushing down, say, to catch the last train to the frontier. Four over a precipice. Fine description written the same afternoon in a well-known Viennese sporting paper. At the end of the column there is a notice that the bodies of the four victims are being conveyed to France for burial.”
“I am confused,” Charles admitted.
“It’s clear enough,” Blute pointed out patiently. “These are supposed to contain the bodies of the four young men. We have the tickets for the transport of the coffins. Remember that no notice has yet appeared in the papers concerning the accident. The day before we are ready to ship the coffins the account of the supposed accident will be published in the Viennese paper. As I said before, the accident never did happen and will be contradicted a week later. A stiff sum that little fairy story will cost but it will be worth it.”
“Are those part of the game?” Charles asked, pointing to three large cases. “They seem to have the Customs chalk mark on them already.”
“Another little idea,” Blute explained. “Those cases contain tapestry and some of the small objets d’art, including some miniatures that Mr. Benjamin is very anxious to have. I will tell you how they happen to be in their present condition. The Austrian Railway has a terribly bad name for the low wages it pays to its employees. At the Swiss frontier there are two Customs officials whose addresses I carry with me and whom I have only to advise of my coming. I have to arrange to travel by a train on which the Chef de Bagages is a certain Jean Pfeiffer, with whom I am acquainted. It was he who put me up to this in the first place. When we arrive at the frontier he will put these out of the train as usual but they will not be carried to the Customs shed where the luggage is opened. They will be glanced at and when no official is in sight they will be put back again upon the train in their old place—the first packages passed by the Customs.”
“Ingenious.” Charles observed.
“You see, the point is,” Blute went on, “Mr. Benjamin wants the contents of those cases. If by any chance the fraud were detected, they would be at the frontier, it would be the Swiss side which would take care of them and the consignee would be able to get possession of them by paying a heavy fine. If they remained in Austria the Nazis would confiscate them and Mr. Benjamin would never see them again.”
“It all seems to me like a very cleverly thought-out scheme,” Charles admitted. “The only thing is—why have you left it so long? If there is a declaration of war within the next few days—and there will be—there will be a tremendous rush of people across the frontier and you will find it difficult to get away.”
Blute, for once in his life, spoke as a man might speak who was accustomed to lose control of his temper. He even raised his voice. His soft, low intonation was gone. He almost shouted.
“Jesus Christ!” he cried. “Can’t you realize, sir, can’t you realize, Mr. Mildenhall, the agony through which that little girl and I have awakened in the morning and crawled to meet one another? No news—no fresh face—nothing at the post—nothing at the Censor’s office—and every day that passed brought us nearer disaster. We have everything planned and, simple though it may now seem, it has taken some planning and some scheming. And then we come face to face with this horrible position. For the final expenses we have not one penny between us! We h
ave no money with which to bribe the undertaker and his men who are to take the coffins to the station, we have no money for our own tickets, we still have the guard and the Customs men to arrange with. We are helpless!”
“You were helpless,” Charles said, patting him on the shoulder. “Why, it must have been maddening, Blute. Thank heavens I came along.”
Blute sat down on one of the cases. For the first time he seemed in some small degree to lose control of himself. His face twitched. Charles looked away quickly but he could almost have sworn that there were tears in the man’s eyes.
“Maddening it has been these last few weeks,” he went on. “Listen, Mr. Mildenhall, I must tell you that it was I who transferred Leopold Benjamin’s whole fortune from Germany and Austria to America and London. It was I who thought out the schemes for transference, who guarded against the currency troubles, who completed the whole business. I can assure you it was child’s play compared to these schemes which Miss Grey and I between us have perfected to bring Mr. Benjamin back his treasures. We are on the point of success. Everything is arranged and the money does not come. We have been robbed of what we had and now all the banks have closed their doors firmly against anyone who needs money in this country. I am not a beggar, Mr. Mildenhall, no more is that child a beggar, but last night I was playing a tin-pot little violin in a lowdown café to earn a wretched dinner which I shared with the child; and as for finishing our work here—it is ruined, all brought to nothing for the need of a few thousand pounds.”
“Steady on,” Charles begged. “My dear fellow,” he went on kindly, “wipe your face—do. I know it sounds terrible, but listen—that all belongs to the past. I’m coming in with you. I’ll risk all the money I can raise for you and I’m perfectly certain that even now I can get all you want. I’ll travel with you. I’ll take the whole adventure on. You and I and Patricia—we’ll fool these fellows, we’ll cheat the Customs and we’ll make that old man happy.”
“You mean that, Mr. Mildenhall?” Blute asked hoarsely. “For God’s sake don’t fool about with me.”
“I do mean it,” Charles assured him. “I can be useful to you in many ways. I have a pull with the railway and the Customs. I have a diplomatic passport as well as my own. We will devote to-morrow—or rather to-day—to deciding the train we travel on. You can get the story of the terrible accident into the paper at once. Here—wipe your face—there’s a good fellow. I have never known you to raise your voice before. Use my handkerchief. I have a spare one. You will need all your nerve for the next few days.”
The smile came back to Blute’s lips. He led the way up the ladder to the main room, bent down, closed the trap-door and standing up again moved slowly towards the exit.
“My friend, I am ashamed,” he said humbly. “For the moment I forgot. Do you really mean it? You will come to our aid, you will be once more our deliverer?”
“Of course I mean it. I’ve promised. To-morrow morning you must come straight to my room at Sacher’s. We will work out just how much money we shall need. We shall have the help of the hotel in getting the places on the train. Everything will be easy…Now what’s the matter?”
The smile had already disappeared from Blute’s lips. There was fear on his face, horror in his eyes. The door was slowly being pushed open. Fritz crept onto the threshold and was standing there, his face as white as a ghost’s.
“Mein Herr,” he cried softly. “A man has been down the lane. He came quietly but he carried a torch. I had no time to get to you or to get away before he saw the taxicab. I hid behind it. He called out. I did not answer. I heard him mumbling to himself. He stepped out into the lane again and I heard him calling. He is coming down—they are coming here—two of them. They are S.S. men! Ach, mein Herr!”
The gift of swift thought had helped Charles Mildenhall through more than one crisis of his life.
“Come inside and get behind the door, Fritz,” he ordered. “Don’t close it. Leave it open. We’ll deal with these men.”
“I have a revolver—in the car,” Fritz stammered.
“Leave it there,” Charles answered. “I have one in my pocket!”
CHAPTER XV
Table of Contents
The intruders displayed none of Fritz’s hesitation. They pushed the door noisily open and stood staring about them. They were both hefty fellows, one in a well-worn German S.S. uniform, the other in a newer outfit of the same type with the Swastika prominently displayed. They had only one rather poor torch between them carried by the Austrian.
“What are you men doing in this place?” the latter asked suspiciously.
Charles was on the point of answering him when Blute gripped his arm.
“Let me deal with this,” he begged, speaking in English. “I know how to handle these fellows better than you would. Besides, I want you to keep out of it as much as you can.”
“It’s too late to think of that,” Charles replied. “Still, go ahead, my friend. If you have an idea how to deal with this situation you’re welcome. Anything short of murder—don’t forget that.”
“Turn on the lights!” the bigger man shouted. “I want to see what sort of place we’re in.”
“There are no lights, Herr Gestapo,” Blute answered. “You’ll have to do as well as you can with your torch. What do you want here, anyway? This is private property.”
The German took the torch away from his companion and inspected the place as far as he could. His language became blasphemous.
“What in hell is a place like this for—stone walls—stone roof—stone floor and not a light?”
“It’s a prison/’ Blute explained.
“A prison for whom?” the Austrian asked contemptuously.
“You, if you don’t behave yourself,” was the quick response. “Now, put your hands up—both of you—quick!”
Blute drew a clumsy, old-fashioned revolver from his pocket and held it out. The weapon which Charles had been hiding behind his back also appeared. It was a highly modern, beautifully polished affair.
“Put your revolver away,” Blute told him. “I could hit their eyeballs if I wanted to from here. They aren’t armed, you see. They’ve got nothing but those steel whips with knobs at the end—wicked weapons but no good except at close quarters.”
“Do you know we are Gestapo?” the German shouted. “You’ll go to prison for this!”
“And you’ll go to hell, if you don’t keep your mouth shut,” Blute retorted. “Want some plain talk or a bullet, you two?”
“Proceed with the plain talk,” the Austrian demanded. “Put your revolver down. We are not armed.”
“So I see, but I will keep my revolver in my hand. I earned my living once as a trick shot on the stage. I could put a bullet in either of you any place I chose within a couple of millimetres. And, while I’m about it, get this into your brains if you’ve got any—we’ve been working here for some time and we’re not going to be disturbed. There are two things you can do. You’d better stand still and listen to them. If you make the slightest attempt to escape you are dead men and I can promise we can hide your bodies in this building in such a way that they will never be found until the rats have eaten the flesh off your bones.”
“They’ll be taking a dislike to you presently,” Charles muttered sotto voce.
“You leave me alone,” Blute whispered. “I know the breed. Now then, you fellows,” he went on, “you may put your hands down. I’m not afraid of your rushing in. You want to know what we are. We’re thieves. This place has been empty for years, there isn’t a soul living anywhere near and we’ve used it for a hiding place. We’ve still got some loot here to carry away. It will take us two or three days. Until we’ve taken it right away you’ll stay where you are.
“What, in this place?” the German called out.
“In this place,” Blute repeated. “And you can be thankful you’re not down in one of the cellars with a bullet through your forehead.”
The Austrian coughed. His
small eyes were glazed with fear.
“I think we’d better come to an arrangement,” he suggested. “I’m an S.S. man all right—so is my friend—but we all have to live. If we were free we would arrest you. As we are not, we will not be so silly as to try. Make it worth our while and we’ll clear out.”
“There’s another Austrian alive,” Blute observed with a grin, “whose word I wouldn’t trust for five minutes. I fancy you two are about the same kidney. There may be something coming to you afterwards if you behave yourselves, but I wouldn’t trust either of you further than I could see you. Come on—I’m not much of a talker—no more is my friend. We like things to happen. Take your choice. Are you going to obey us or are you going to share the contents of this revolver of mine?”
“You’ve got us,” the German said sulkily. “We’ll do as you say, provided there’s no killing.”
“There’ll be no killing unless you ask for it. You came here of your own choice—you’ll leave when we choose.”
“When will that be?” the Austrian asked uneasily.
“Possibly in either four or five days.”
The stream of blasphemy from the German left him for a moment incapable of coherent speech. The Austrian kept his head and temper.
“What do we live on for those four days?” he demanded.
“Sausages, beef, rolls, butter, coffee, beer and brandy,” was the prompt response.
“Where do they come from?” the German growled.
“You will be provided with food—just as much as you can eat,” Blute promised, “and drink—just as much as you can put away—provided you make no attempt to communicate with anyone outside.”
There was a cunning gleam in the big man’s eye. It was easy to guess at the thought behind it. Blute flashed his torch upon him.
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