“She is a friend of yours, the Baroness?”
“My dear young man, she was a Von Bless, so how in Austria could one help it? Her father was a friend of mine, her grandfather was a great gentleman and our families have been connected for generations. Of Beatrice, who made an indiscreet marriage from which I am told she has never wholly escaped, I am bound to say that I have not a high opinion. I would not advise any young man for whom I had any regard to accept her close friendship.”
Charles was thoughtful for a moment.
“Tell me, Princess, why do you warn me about her?”
“Because, from a word she let fall as she passed me in the hall,” she confided, “I thought it possible that she might be on your train, and although it is pure assumption on my part she left me with the idea that she had been discussing your probable presence upon it with her companion.”
He looked round the room.
“They don’t seem to be lunching here,” he observed.
“She and her friend, I am told, are more often to be met with at Driegel’s, which is a more intimate place than this. However, do not take what I have told you too seriously,” she added. “It was perhaps scarcely worth mentioning. It did occur to me, though, that if you knew Beatrice as the daughter of a distinguished family here, which she undoubtedly is, you might be inclined to place more trust in her than she deserves. One might tolerate—in fact many of us do—her great friendship with one of our own people, but I am afraid that she has been indiscreet in other directions. I am a garrulous old lady, am I not, Mr. Charles Mildenhall? Forget all that I have said. Remember only the warning that lies underneath.”
She gave him a little nod which he accepted as one of dismissal and returned to his place. His light-heartedness of the morning had to some extent disappeared. The more serious side of the adventure to which he was committed was assuming a more definite place in his thoughts. He had just finished his luncheon and ordered his coffee when a familiar figure entered the room, looked round for a moment or two and then made his way to Charles’s table. He was a middle-aged man, grey-bearded and bespectacled, carefully dressed and of not unpleasing presence. Charles had met him several times before, but their acquaintance was only a slight one.
“Mr. Porter, isn’t it?” Charles asked as they shook hands. “Sit down for a moment. Perhaps you will join me in some coffee?”
The visitor handed his hat and cane to the page who had followed him in but retained the despatch case which he was carrying.
“You are very kind. I will take some coffee certainly. Very trying times, these, Mr. Mildenhall.”
“They are indeed,” Charles agreed, summoning his waiter. “What about a cigar?”
“If I could have one of the light ones, native growth,” he begged. “To tell you the truth I haven’t smoked for two days. His Excellency gave me so many small things to finish up for him at the Embassy—semi-personal, of course, some of them—that with those to look after and our own curious position to consider I’ve been a trifle overtaxed lately.”
“You still have a staff of some sort, I suppose?”
“Yes, but half of them are Austrians,” Mr. Porter explained, “and a great many of them have been called up. However, I don’t want to bother you with outside affairs too much. I’ve just had a long despatch from Lascelles, brought by plane from Munich. I have found all the papers he refers to and I have brought them for your attention. I suggest that you read the note from Mr. Lascelles, then you can give me a receipt for the papers and I can get back to work. If it’s true, as they tell me, that you are leaving to-morrow for Switzerland, you will have all you can do to get through them.”
The Consul leaned back in the chair, lit his cigar and sipped his coffee and the glass of light but very pleasant liqueur brandy which Charles had ordered. Every now and then he looked out into the street. He was a native of Hull, the son of a well-to-do merchant captain, he had served in Rotterdam, Marseilles and Vienna and he had made up his mind as he sat there that he had had enough of it. Consular life in these days had become too strenuous. His pension was due in a few months. A farmhouse in Northumberland, two hundred acres of shooting and a seat on the Parish Council, perhaps, would be like a dream of Paradise after this restless continental existence. He watched Charles Mildenhall, a young man for whom he had a great respect, decode and read his letter at the same time, with a pencil in his hand. Here was a young man who was supposed to have a brilliant diplomatic future before him. Let him have it, Mr. Porter decided. Not in his line at all…Charles paused to light another cigarette and pushed the coffee towards his guest. Then he read through once more the brief note from Lascelles.
My dear Charles,
I was on the way back to confer with you in Vienna and hand you some further instructions to take up to Warsaw after you had visited our friend. They cabled the news to me and ordered me home. There is not the slightest doubt that we are in for it and the whole affair at first will be a horrible muddle, for there Is nothing on God’s earth we can do for the wretched Poles, and if our friend’s troops are anything Uke what I’ve seen entraining to-day for the Polish frontier they will walk through any half-armed rabble, however brave they may be.
I expect poor old P. will be in an awful fuss. Don’t let him worry you but the contents of 17 A, B and C black despatch boxes in the main safe must be gone through and destroyed. Please see to this yourself. Then, if you take my advice, you will leg it for home as quickly as you can.
F. L.
P.S. If you have time, and for the love of her sweet little figure find time, Charles, drop in at the hair-dressing rooms at the Bristol Hotel. Give Mademoiselle Rosette a kiss and a thousand schilling note from me.
“Well, I’m damned!” Charles exclaimed with a sudden twinkle in his eyes.
“I beg your pardon?”
“It was the postscript to my friend Lascelles’ note. I suppose one must expect one’s friends to take a little advantage these times.”
“We must certainly make allowances,” the Consul admitted. “I always found Mr. Lascelles exceedingly considerate the few times I came across him.”
“I’m not complaining,” Charles murmured.
“I am instructed,” Mr. Porter said, finishing his coffee, “to hand you over the keys of the black boxes. Here they are, Mr. Mildenhall. You will see the numbers upon the labels.”
“And the boxes?”
“They are in the charge of the great Joseph here,” Mr. Porter declared. “With your permission I will now take my departure.”
Charles walked with his visitor out into the hall. Joseph came from his bureau to meet them.
“If you are going up to your room, Mr. Mildenhall,” he said, “I will send up those three cases which the gentleman has left for you.”
“Send them up as quickly as you can,” Charles replied. “I am in the humour for a little frivolous work. Don’t send any strangers up, though. If the spies of Vienna—they tell me that every other man is a spy here, Joseph—knew what was in those black tin boxes they would blow me sky high.”
Mr. Porter, for the first time for many days, smiled slightly as he held out his hand to Charles.
“Our young friend,” he remarked to the concierge, “if I may venture to call you so, Mr. Mildenhall, treats our sacred profession a little lightly.”
“Before I leave this city,” Charles promised, “I will tell you what I think of our profession!”
He bade his visitor farewell and walked with Joseph to the lift.
“You will find them very anxious to see you upstairs, sir,” Joseph told him. “We have had to make a few changes in the arrangements. All is well, though. Everything has been carried out according to Mr. Blute’s latest instructions. The despatch cases are coming up in the lift with you, sir. I have kept them within sight ever since they were handed over into my keeping.”
Charles watched the cases placed inside, then he Spoke through the grille of the lift gate to the concierge.
“Joseph, at what time will the manicure department for gentlemen close at the Bristol Hotel this evening?”
“At about eight o’clock, sir,” was the prompt reply.
“Telephone across, if you please, and speak to Mademoiselle Rosette. Tell her not to leave the premises until an ambassador from Mr. Lascelles has visited her this evening.”
The man bowed without even the flicker of a smile.
“Your message will be delivered, sir,” he promised.
CHAPTER XIX
Table of Contents
Charles Mildenhall’s elegantly furnished salon had lost its character. It had become a bureau of industry. Blute, in his shirt sleeves, was seated at a writing-table with piles of accounts on one side and time-tables and maps on the other. He was a very different person from the Marius Blute who had been dragging wheezy music from a broken-down violin in the café des Voyageurs not many hours ago. He helped Charles arrange the black tin boxes by the side of the other writing-table and tipped the porter who brought them up. He could scarcely restrain himself until he had bundled the fellow out of the room. His manner still retained something of its phlegmatic calm but his speech was cut and dried and unhesitating.
“Mr. Mildenhall,” he announced, “we have been obliged to change some of our plans. We have been very successful in everything so far but we must bend a little where it is necessary.”
“Proceed,” Charles enjoined, throwing himself into an easy chair and casting a discontented glance around the apartment. “First of all, though, where is Miss Grey?”
“She has gone out to do a little shopping,” Blute replied. “I showed her the way out at the back and she will only be a few minutes. I don’t want to leave the place myself until I go down for the caskets. Miss Grey as Mr. Benjamin’s secretary and I as his agent might easily be recognized in the principal streets, and I am just as anxious to avoid that as I am to avoid your being seen with us.”
“I expect you’re right,” Charles agreed. “Get along with it and make your report now.”
“This is what has happened,” Blute continued. “The railway company, through sheer necessity, have had to alter their plans. The last train for the frontier leaves to-morrow morning and must run in two portions.”
“The mischief!” Charles exclaimed. “That’s rather a nuisance for us, isn’t it?”
“On the contrary,” Blute assured him, “it is a great advantage. If the three of us were to be seen on the platform, even if we were not absolutely together, it might set people thinking.”
“All right. You’re in charge of the expedition, Blute.”
“Thank you, Mr. Mildenhall. The first train, or portion of the train, will leave here at six o’clock in the morning, the second part at eight. I want to persuade you, Mr. Mildenhall, to travel on the first portion.”
“Six o’clock!” Charles groaned.
“It cannot be helped. The special van must be on the second portion, therefore Miss Grey and myself, the coffins, the four men from the undertaker’s, who will sit with the coffins, and the three cases must leave at eight o’clock.”
“I can’t see why we all can’t go by the second portion if we occupy different compartments,” Charles suggested.
His companion hesitated.
“Mr. Mildenhall,” he pointed out at last, “even if we are in separate compartments, the fact that we arc travelling in the same train might easily be noticed by anyone who was on the lookout. You must remember that I am not altogether a stranger in this city. You only know me as Mr. Benjamin’s agent, but I have worked for others besides him in Vienna. If any man could be called a professional spy I think I could fairly lay claim to that title.”
“What company I am keeping!” Charles sighed.
“You needn’t worry,” Blute assured him. “My operations have been confined to finance, politics have never interested me particularly. I have agents in every capital of Europe worth mentioning. It was with their help that I was able to arrange Mr. Benjamin’s affairs so successfully and it is through them also that I have been able to make all the preliminary arrangements for to-morrow’s expedition.”
“Useful chap to know in a crisis, aren’t you?” Charles observed. “All the same, I was able to help you a little through Joseph.”
“I most gratefully acknowledge it,” Blute declared. “What I was anxious to point out, however, was this. I have talked with every one of our expeditionary force this afternoon and I have noticed the same thing with all of them. They are looking forward to to-morrow’s journey with a certain degree of apprehension.”
“What have they to worry about? We practically own the train until we get to the frontier and as soon as we are over that we’ve nothing to fear from anybody.”
“I admire your confidence, and honestly I am inclined to share it, but that feeling I have spoken of does exist amongst the others, although I cannot understand why. Our friend, the guard, this morning I think looked upon this as a gay adventure. This afternoon he is just as keen, just as confident of carrying it through, even with these altered arrangements, but he is more serious. Then those four men that I have engaged from the undertaker, who were quite content with their little Viennese weapon, something like your English jemmy, to start with, now each one of them decide that in case anything goes wrong they would like to have a gun.”
“I don’t blame them for that,” Charles declared. “A jemmy is not much use except in a scrap and it’s astonishing what a feeling of confidence a loaded Colt gives you.”
“I notice you don’t carry a Colt yourself.”
Charles shook his head.
“I like something smaller,” he confided. “Revolver shooting is one of my few accomplishments in life. If you know where to put the bullet, it doesn’t need to be very large. By the by, how is my chauffeur, Fritz? Feeling a little better, I hope, than this morning. Were you able to make use of him?”
“Yes,” Blute replied. “I took him round to the scene of last night’s debauch to clear things up. I can tell you it wasn’t a pleasant sight, Mr. Mildenhall. We dropped in at a café on our way back and had a double brandy quick. Fritz had pretty well plastered his German friend.”
“What did you do with his remains?”
“Don’t ask me! It is not necessary, anyway, for you to know anything about that. I can tell you this, though—unless something exceptional happens it will be a good many years before anyone comes across them.”
“How is the fellow at the hospital?”
“Safe to keep his Ups closed for a few days, I think,” Blute said dryly. “The only thing Fritz seems to be afraid of is that there might be a death-bed confession. I looked at his chart, though, and I don’t think he’s as bad as that. Faithful dog, that fellow Fritz. He can’t think of anyone but his master. He is terrified lest the Gestapo get on your track. Of course, I’m a little anxious about that, too, but they’ve nothing really against you.”
“Of course they haven’t,” Charles said impatiently. “Fritz is like a lot of these Viennese. He is as impressionable and sensitive as he can be. I expect I shall end by having to take him to England.”
Patricia glided into the room. She sat on the arm of Charles’s chair.
“Everything all right?” she asked anxiously.
“Of course,” he smiled. “What is there to go wrong? Nothing—absolutely nothing.”
“Everything is O.K., so far,” Blute reported a little less enthusiastically.
“You’ve lost your colour,” Charles told Patricia. “You’re worrying, young woman.”
“I’m not.”
“You’ve had no lunch, then.”
“I have. I’ve had an omelette and a glass of red wine.”
“Not enough.”
“I’m afraid that Miss Grey is taking this affair a little too seriously,” Blute said, crossing the room towards them. “Just look at the matter for a moment as I look at it, Mr. Mildenhall. If we go crash on this enterprise what’s
the odds to those four men when they know that they’re secure for life if they bring it off, and probably only in for a short imprisonment if they fail? The guard of the train—pretty well the same thing with him. Joseph—”
“Joseph is impregnable, I admit,” Charles declared. “If anyone laid a finger upon Joseph I think there would be a minor revolution here. He’ll be mayor of the city before he’s finished. He has more friends than any man I ever knew.”
“I quite agree,” Blute assented. “I haven’t a shadow of anxiety myself about Joseph, Then there’s myself. I stand to make a million if we succeed. It’s the end of work for me—the beginning of a life of leisure. If I fail—well, Mr. Mildenhall, I’ll only say this. I have had a nasty shock these last few months—I will admit that—but it will never happen again. Everything was against Miss Grey and myself in this wretched city. It could never happen to us again to be censored out of existence.”
“From what I’ve seen of you, Blute, I think you’d get out of anything in time,” Charles declared, “but there’s Miss Grey here.”
“She isn’t really in it,” Blute pointed out. “She and I were both employees of Leopold Benjamin, but she has only the slightest association with the job I am trying to work.”
“Well, then we’ve no one to worry about.”
“We have,” the girl cried eagerly.
“Indeed we have,” Blute agreed. “There is you, sir.”
“Bosh!”
“What I’m afraid of,” Blute explained, “is this. With the war coming on, if there are any of these Gestapo about they’ll try to drag you into it. Please listen to me, Mr. Mildenhall,” he went on as Charles showed signs of escaping. “We should never have had a chance but for you. You found us the whole of the money, we are going about now—at least I am—with our pockets bursting. Think where you found us! We were down and out completely. I don’t say it would have lasted but when help came it would very likely have been too late. You’ve helped with the plans here, you’ve been wonderful, sir. If I let you get into trouble I don’t think Mr. Benjamin, or this young lady here, for that matter, would ever forgive me. I’ve been working to keep you out of it this morning and you must please do all that I ask of you.”
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