“By whatever means these things are brought to you,” he said, “it will be in such a fashion that you will be dead in ten seconds if you try any tricks.”
The German scowled. This wizard of a man seemed to have read his thoughts. His companion raised his voice in excitement.
“Mein Herr,” he promised, “I will look after Adolf here. I am not going to have my life risked by his folly. I don’t care if you are a thief, I don’t care how much you get away with, I don’t mind anything as long as we aren’t hurt and we get our liberty in four or five days and something in our pockets for keeping quiet.”
“Same here,” the German echoed gruffly, but without quite as much sincerity ringing in his voice.
“Now, tell me this,” Blute asked, turning slightly towards Charles but keeping a stern watch upon the two intruders. “You said that Fritz is to be trusted. Do you mean that absolutely and entirely?”
“I mean that I trust him as completely,” Charles replied, “as I should you yourself or Miss Grey.”
“The matter, then, is easy,” Blute decided. “Fritz,” he went on, “your master wants to speak to you.”
The two men in uniform started. Fritz appeared from the shadows. There was a somewhat self-conscious smile upon his face. He pointed to the Austrian Nazi as he approached.
“My cousin,” he announced, “Johann Lehrer. He was not so bad until he joined the Gestapo.”
“Fritz!” the other exclaimed.
“Relations, eh?” Blute queried.
“I speak the truth,” Fritz said. “He is the son of my mother’s sister.”
“Family ties, eh?” Blute observed. “Well, that may help. Now listen. Fritz, I take it,” he added, turning to Charles, “is entirely at our disposal for the next four or five days, if necessary?”
“He will do whatever we tell him,” Charles answered. “His trustworthiness is guaranteed.”
“This, then, is what will happen,” Blute announced. “In the first place Fritz will drive us back to the hotel. We shall leave you there,” he went on, touching Mildenhall on the arm. “I hope you will have the night’s sleep you deserve. Fritz and I will drive on to the all-night market. Listen,” he continued, beckoning to the two others, “you can come a little nearer. First, perhaps, it would be better if you took your belts off and got rid of those ugly-looking weapons.”
The two Nazis did as they were bidden. They had lost all fear now and it was obvious that they were intrigued.
“In the all-night market,” Blute went on, “Fritz will purchase for you all the provisions I have mentioned or anything else you prefer. He will then drive back to this place, he will open the door with his revolver in one hand and pass over the provisions to you. He will then lock you up again. He can provide you with journals which he will buy on the way down. Let this be clearly understood. You have your provisions and your drinks and you will be locked up here alone.”
“With the provisions and drinks?” the German repeated in a stentorian voice.
“Precisely.”
“And tobacco?”
“And tobacco,” Blute assented. “Later in the day Fritz will return. This time he may bring you wine and perhaps a can of hot meat. You will be well fed in any case. That is understood. He may be accompanied by men who will do some removal work. That is not for you to notice. Whatever they may appear to be, these men are on our side, and if you appeal to them in any way the chapter will be closed. You will go out of the world probably with a bullet in your body and you will have thrown your lives away to no purpose.”
“We shall not do that,” the German declared. “I am not in love with my job. We will follow the directions. We are listening.”
“For two or three days you may see either this gentleman who is with me or myself at any time. Then the moment will come when we shall leave the city. Fritz here will remain. There will be twenty-four hours’ interval after we have left, during which you will have your usual supply of food and papers, drink and tobacco. At the end of that time Fritz will place in your hands a certain sum of money each.”
“What will that sum be?” the German asked, his blue eyes greedily eager.
“One thousand reichsmarks each.”
The two men were speechless. The Austrian was the first to find words.
“How do we know that we will get it?” he demanded.
“You can surely trust your relative,” Blute replied. “We are giving him his own present separately and we will hand him one thousand reichsmarks for each of you two. You hear that, Fritz?”
“Certainly, sir,” the chauffeur answered. “I can tell you both,” he went on. “One of you I don’t know but the other is my cousin and he knows very well that I have been an honest man all my life and always kept my word. These gentlemen will keep theirs. I know that much about them. They will give me the thousand reichsmarks for each of you and I will hand it over to you. You are very lucky fellows!”
“There is one thing left,” Blute reflected. “In this you will have to concern yourselves a little. How will you account for your absence to your principals?”
Johann, the Austrian, simply grinned.
“With me that is easy,” he confided. “I shall offer a princely gift to my sergeant. I shall offer him five reichsmarks. He will enter me in his book as on duty. My comrade here is in my charge. For another five he will enter him also as having been in my company.”
“You have no wives or anything of that sort?” Blute asked.
An ecstatic smile broke over the German’s face. The Austrian’s grin was seraphic.
“The little Lizette,” he muttered to himself. “I have dreamed of this! No, mein Herr,” he went on, turning to Blute, “we have no wives and we sleep in the barracks, but I think I can promise you that we shall have a wife each in five days’ time.”
“I have no wife or sweetheart in Germany,” the other said, “and these Austrian women—they are lovely.”
“Well,” Charles said, after a momentary pause, “that all seems to be happily arranged. You’d better change your plans now, Blute, and come back with me.”
“I think you’re right,” Blute agreed, “although they’d get the shock of their lives if they set out to rob me! A staff room in the back quarters of the hotel will seem like a palace after this place.”
Charles emptied his cigarette case between the two prisoners. Blute pointed out his water tap and the bed.
“In an hour,” he promised them, “Fritz will be back with the food. The one thing you must not do, either of you, is to try and leave this place.”
They helped themselves greedily to the cigarettes.
“We will sit and wait,” the German promised. “And let it not be too long—I am hungry.”
“For me,” Johann confided, “I shall dream of Lizette. I shall smoke many cigarettes which will give me a glorious thirst. When the beer comes—ach!”
Blute drew a deep sigh of relief as he locked the outer door and bared his head to the gently falling rain.
“Now at last,” he murmured beatifically, “I begin to allow myself hope.”
CHAPTER XVI
Table of Contents
Charles Mildenhall’s very pleasant salon, soon after nine o’clock on the following morning, resembled something between a tourists’ bureau and the enquiry office of a great newspaper. In a remote corner sat Blute with a map spread out before him, a directory and a heap of notepaper by his side. Down below in the square bells were ringing, military bands playing and large detachments of German troops who had taken part in the formal entry into Vienna marched through the streets for re-embarkation to Poland. The crowds were on the whole apathetic, but the German side of the Gestapo were doing their best to whip them into some sort of enthusiasm. Charles had established several contacts with his friends in London and elsewhere, and telegrams in various foreign languages were streaming in. Amongst others was a rather curt intimation from the Foreign Office in London that his return to that capit
al was greatly desired. Patricia, who was in her element amidst the stream of communications, handed him the British telegram, which was not in code, a little anxiously.
“I expected that,” he remarked, “but it can’t be helped. I’ve never taken a liberty with the authorities in my life and in this case it’s only a matter of days. Lascelles is really my senior and I have loaded him up with every scrap of information I had.”
“I do hope you won’t get into trouble,” she sighed. “It’s marvellous what you are doing for us.”
“My dear,” he assured her, “I’m enjoying it. When I think of last night I realize how empty life has seemed without an adventure of this sort…Come in, Mr. Herodin,” he called out as the manager appeared on the threshold. “Sorry to insist upon seeing you but it was necessary. Blute, you had better come and join in this consultation.”
Blute rose at once and seated himself at the round table. He exchanged greetings with the manager.
“Pretty busy, I expect,” Blute remarked.
“I am glad to get out of my office for a moment or two,” Herodin confessed.
He sank into the chair which Charles pointed out.
“In the first place,” the latter began, “as I gave you warning, I am going to drain you dry of every penny you can spare in German, English and American currencies.”
“I quite understand that, sir, and I have brought you something to be going on with,” Herodin declared. “In reichsmarks I can do you pretty well. Then I have some sterling and a certain amount of dollar currency.”
He drew some wads of notes from his pocket which he passed on to Patricia.
“I’ll just check the amounts,” she said. “Then I expect Mr. Mildenhall will have to give you a draft on account. No one can tell exactly what the exchange is likely to be—especially with war almost a certainty.”
“You think war is a certainty, Mr. Mildenhall?” Herodin asked anxiously.
“I am afraid so. In fact I know it. At the rate they’re going now Hitler’s troops will cross the frontier to-morrow. The Poles will appeal to England and France; England will declare war first and France will follow suit. Now, Mr. Herodin, you may wonder what I want all this money for. Well, I am not going to tell you!”
“I am not curious, sir,” Herodin assured his patron. “I told you that you should have all I could spare and, of course, I had about five hundred pounds’ balance on the amount you always leave with me. I think the young lady will find that I can spare altogether somewhere about three thousand pounds.”
“Marvellous!” Charles exclaimed. “What do you say, Blute?”
“We couldn’t possibly need more than that,” the latter declared. “We have some heavy expenses to face, but we shall get the whole of the money back again.”
“Well, Miss Grey will give you a receipt for this, Herodin,” Charles said. “I will also leave a cheque with you for about the amount in case anything happens to us. So far as you are concerned I don’t want you to think any more about this money. You might get into trouble with the Nazis if they knew that you were mixed up in my affairs. All that you know is that I wanted to get away from here in a hurry, I had a great many friends who were in the same predicament, I had a credit with you and you gave me what I asked for. The money is the great thing, of course, but there’s something else. I want every scrap of influence I can get with the railway here and some of this money that I am taking away from you is going to be used for what we call in the Secret Service: ‘quiet money.’ My friend Mr. Blute here knows a great deal about this. You’ve always done everything I wanted, of course, but I don’t wish to involve you in this matter. What about Joseph?”
“I really believe, sir,” the manager said impressively, “that Joseph could do even more than I could with the railway people. He knows exactly who is approachable and who is not. You want to get to the frontier, I suppose?”
“With a great deal of luggage,” Charles told him, “and, at the very latest, the day after to-morrow.”
Herodin looked grave.
“You must go before war is declared.”
“That is absolutely and entirely necessary,” Charles agreed. “As a matter of fact I expect we shall be in the train when war is declared, but we must be en route. Now, if I were you, Mr. Herodin, I would not have anything more to do with us. Send Joseph up. Drag him out of his office if you must, but I must have him here within ten minutes.”
“The people are standing ten or a dozen deep round his bureau,” the manager confided. “I’ll have to get him out at the back through my office.”
“You must do it, Herodin,” Charles insisted cheerfully. “Drag him out by those nice fat little ears of his, if you have to. I shall be down below very soon and I will bring in your cheque.”
“Very good, sir. By the by,” Herodin added, rising to his feet, “I forgot to mention it in all this excitement but there has been a terrible motor accident in the north. Four or five young people—all Americans, I believe—have lost their lives.”
Charles and Blute exchanged significant glances.
“Dear me, I’m very sorry to hear that,” the former remarked. “Racing down here to get out of Austria, I suppose.”
“Some of the roads coming south,” Herodin observed, “are in a very poor state just now and very dangerous…I’ll send Joseph right away, Mr. Mildenhall.”
“And could you send us up a paper with an account of the accident?” Blute asked eagerly. “I have some friends up north.”
“They’re selling the papers in the streets now, sir,” the manager declared. “I’ll get one and send it up at once.”
He departed, closing the door quietly behind him. Charles grinned as he took a cigarette from the box on the table and lit it.
“That’s quick work!” he exclaimed. “How did you manage it?”
“I’ve had the particulars of the accident written out for several months,” Blute confided. “When you went into the cable office on your way up here I slipped into the newspaper bureau and caught my friend just going in. I’m sorry to seem a little precipitate, Mr. Mildenhall,” he went on, “but to tell you the truth, my friend, the journalist, is sitting downstairs waiting. He’s afraid he may get the sack if the truth leaks out.”
“So he wants the money quick,” Charles observed.
“Wise fellow. How much for half a column of lurid tragedy?”
“Well, I told him it would be worth five hundred reichsmarks to him.”
“If you please, young lady,” Charles said, holding out his hand.
Patricia counted out the notes and gave them to him. Charles passed them on to Blute, who stuffed them into his pocket.
“If you will excuse me,” he begged, “I’ll just finish with that young man. I must get a few copies of the paper, too,” he added, hurrying off.
Charles and his companion were suddenly amazingly aware of each other’s presence. Patricia rose to her feet. Never in the world had she found speech so difficult. Forever afterwards, mingled with her gratitude and her genuine affection for him, she was conscious of those few moments of deep and sincere admiration for his supreme tact.
“Any time that fat old lady in the silk dress and the starched manners wants a testimonial,” Charles declared, “she can have it from me. Do you know, Patricia,” he said, leaning back in his chair and regarding her critically, “notwithstanding the fact that you possess charm of a very peculiar and distinctive order, a fact I have no doubt men have been telling you of ever since you crawled out of your cradle, I never saw you look so well as you do at the present moment. That black and white checked gown you are wearing fits marvellously and the little bit of lace at your throat is an inspiration. How on earth did you get your hair to look like that? All its fire back in a moment—and really a little colour in your cheeks.”
“Extravagance with your money, I’m afraid,” she laughed. “Do you know that in the small hours of the morning I looked at myself in the looking-glass and ten minutes
after the maid came to wake me I had a coiffeur in the room—at your expense!”
“Starvation,” he observed, “agrees with you.”
“Thank you,” she answered. “I don’t want to try it again.”
“I’ll see that you don’t!”
It was too much. The tears were in her eyes.
“I shall have several small attacks like this,” she warned him with a little choke. “Don’t take any notice of them, please.”
“I was just thinking,” he remarked, “that I should like to kiss that one away.”
“You can do just as you like,” she said, moving her handkerchief from her eyes and looking at him.
There was no doubt whatever about his inclinations or the exquisite touch of her arms around his neck. There was no doubt at all, either, about the sincerity of his imprecation at the sound of that stiff official knocking at the door. He drew quickly away.
“Come in!”
Joseph, the world-famed concierge of one of the most famous hotels in Europe, entered the room cap in hand. He was a large, rotund person whose spreading stomach was scarcely noticeable, owing to his upright carriage and agile movements. He had the face of a Napoleon and the smile of a Cheeryble brother. The supreme unconsciousness of his manner was in itself proof positive of his diplomatic gifts.
“Mr. Mildenhall, sir,” he said, “I am told that you have urgent need of me.”
“I have indeed, Joseph,” Charles replied. “I do not suppose that anyone in this world has ever been in such need of you.”
“Anything that I can do for you, sir, has always been a great pleasure,” the man assured him.
“It isn’t deeds I require, it’s miracles.”
“I am at your service, sir.”
“Very well. I want a special luggage van attached to the earliest possible train to Innsbruck and Switzerland and I also want three first-class tickets on the same train.”
The smile slowly faded from Joseph’s lips.
“Mr. Mildenhall!” he exclaimed. “May I ask you one question?”
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