21 Greatest Spy Thrillers in One Premium Edition (Mystery & Espionage Series)

by E. Phillips Oppenheim

  Jonson had also been casting occasional glances towards the door and he showed at that moment that he had not forgotten his gift of swift motion. His farewell bow was made and he had disappeared in the more crowded part of the cafe some time before the two men who had just passed through the swing doors had found their way to Suzanne’s table. They were dour-looking men, strangely dressed for the place. They had an official bearing and the similarity of their apparel almost suggested a uniform. They sank into the vacant chairs at the table without pausing to ask Suzanne’s permission.

  “There is news?” one of them asked.

  Suzanne glanced nervously about.

  “There is news,” she assented.

  CHAPTER XXXI

  Table of Contents

  Cheng came swiftly forward from the dimly lit recesses of the salon privé on the top floor of the Café Russe to greet his two visitors. There were cigarettes, wine and glasses upon the round table in the middle of the room—nothing else. Alexander held out his hand.

  “I am glad to see you again, Prince Cheng,” he said. “You and your friend, Mr. Humberstone, whom I met recently in Monte Carlo, are the most talked-about men in Europe these days.”

  “We have been engaged on a great task,” Cheng confided. “That task approaches completion. It is a matter of great regret to me that there has been just a slight slip in our time table. We are compelled to bring our plans to fruition more quickly than we should have wished. Princess, will you take that chair, please. If you, sir, will sit there you will allow me to stand. First, may I serve you with some wine?”

  Alexander suffered his glass to be filled, but he was frankly bewildered. He helped himself to a cigarette, however, from the open box upon the table.

  “I am paying you this visit at the instigation of the Princess,” he observed, “but I am asking myself where, in this scheme of yours, Prince Cheng, I can possibly find a place. Work such as you two have been doing for the good of the world would have been agreeable to me at any time, but I have unfortunately failed to find it. I cannot bring myself to follow any ordinary occupation like some of my heroic fellow country people. I am just a refugee.”

  “You remain,” Cheng pointed out calmly, “a great figurehead. The ceremony which took place at Versailles was not perhaps quite such an empty one as you feel. I brought you here to tell you that we mean to give life and substance to that ceremony. Please prepare yourself, sir, for a rather astounding statement at such short notice. It is part of our scheme for the world’s peace that you become in actual fact the ruler of Russia.”

  Alexander sat like a man turned to stone. Cheng waited for him to speak, but silence still prevailed.

  “Alas,” the latter went on, “I do not wonder that you are dumbfounded. I have no time to explain to you the position, as I should have wished. We mistimed a certain event and we had to act sooner than we had anticipated. I refer, of course, to the disappearance of Retsky.”

  “You were concerned in that?” Alexander asked.

  “The International Bureau was responsible,” Cheng admitted suavely. “There are other strong men in Russia with warped and villainous ideas, but Retsky was in possession, and all the reins of government lay in his hands. He, too, controlled the army. Understand,” Cheng begged, leaning towards his visitor, “that the scheme which Mark Humberstone and I thought out at Harvard University and which we have spent our lives, since we were there together, towards maturing, was not at the time largely concerned with Russia. That, in its developments, becomes just one part of it. We have worked—Humberstone to realise the legacy left him by his father—with the sole idea of promoting universal peace. I have joined with him because I, too, have the same ambition, but side by side with that I confess that I have worked also for the regeneration of my own country. But please understand this, sir. The gratification of my patriotism, the remodelling of your country, are only side issues, just steps towards our final goal which is the abolition of warfare, the establishment of universal peace.”

  “Is that possible?” Alexander asked, with the air of a man who is listening to fairy stories.

  “It is accomplished,” Cheng told him. “Already I go so far as to tell you that we have achieved success. We ask you now whether you are willing to place yourself in our hands, to do just as we advise and follow out our schemes. If you will do this, we will place you upon the throne of Russia, but under a different and less autocratic form of government.”

  “But,” Alexander gasped, “the Russian army—the Russian people?”

  “I will deal with the army first,” Cheng said. “I will only ask you to recall the most amazing episode in the world’s history of warfare—the destruction of the Japanese Fleet in the Pacific. Well, the Humberstone discoveries did that. In the same way, only with even greater completeness, we can make the Russian army powerless. One quarter of the Chinese army now in the field could march at any time we chose into Moscow, if necessary, practically without opposition.”

  “You are talking of miracles!” the listening man cried.

  “Miracles which we have already proved,” Cheng continued. “I have told you how much I regret the short space of time which at the moment is all I have to spare. Faith is something in life. If you accept this great gift which we offer, you must have faith, for, frankly, I am in danger at the present moment and I have risked my life to come here to meet you. All that you have to decide is—will you accept the Suzerainty of Russia, marry the Princess Sophie of Greece, who has signified her consent to become your Czarina, and rule the country according to the statutes which will be placed in the hands of the Houses of Assembly?”

  Alexander rose to his feet. He seemed to have grown inches taller. There was a new dignity in his presence. Only his voice was choked.

  “You throw open the gates of Paradise and ask me whether I will enter,” he exclaimed. “I cannot pretend to understand, but I will prove my faith. I will ask no questions. If there are risks I will take them. If they were a hundred to one against me I would take them. The chance of honourable death fighting to restore Russia would be the happiest chance that could ever come my way.”

  “It is well spoken,” Cheng concluded.

  Downstairs, Jonson had been kept very busy indeed at Suzanne’s table. Empty glasses had five or six times been removed and replaced by full ones. Neither of the two dour-looking visitors appeared, however, to be in any worse condition. Suzanne herself had only toyed with her first glass of champagne. Presently she whispered in the ear of her nearer companion. A moment or two later she was left alone. She called Jonson over.

  “Listen,” she asked. “Why did you come to this particular café?”

  “I answered an advertisement,” he replied. “It was the first I saw in the Petit Parisien.”

  “You knew the proprietor before?”

  “I had never seen him.”

  “You are a fool or a wise man, Jonson!”

  “I think,” he confessed, “that I am a fool or I should not have been in such straits.”

  “You are poor or rich?”

  “There is no one poorer,” he said. “There was money to come to me from the Bureau but it has never arrived.”

  She was silent for a moment. She had grown older. She was no longer the bird of paradise, the decked-out courtesan seeking for men’s favours. She was a calculating, shrewd woman, weighing up possibilities, dissecting suspicions.

  “You would like to earn twenty-five thousand francs?” she asked.

  He leaned closer over the table.

  “I would sell my twin brother for half that amount,” he assured her.

  “Mr. Cheng is here in this place?”

  Jonson’s face was suddenly blank. He hesitated. “I am afraid of Mr. Cheng,” he confessed.

  “You need not be,” she went on, with a trifle more eagerness in her tone. “Mr. Cheng will never do harm to anyone else—after to-night. Where is he, Jonson?”

  “Who will pay me the twenty-five
thousand francs?”

  Suzanne reached for her bag and opened it. From a thick wad of notes she counted out ten.

  “There are ten mille,” she said. “You can have those on account. If you play us false, I shall say that you stole them. If you show us where Mr. Cheng is—you need do no more than point out the door—you shall have the remainder before I leave the café.”

  Jonson’s forehead was furrowed with thought. His eyes seemed to have retreated farther into his head. His fingers were working nervously.

  “Who were those men?” he asked.

  “They are of the Russian police,” she confided. “They have come to find the murderer of the man who came to Nice as Paul Agrestein. Make up your mind quickly. There will be no such chance as this again.”

  Jonson had the appearance of a man tortured with doubt. Suzanne reopened the bag. The wad of notes was plainly visible.

  “Very well,” he declared. “Mr. Cheng is dining here in a private room.”

  “The next room is vacant?” she asked breathlessly.

  “Yes.”

  “Order dinner there. Take it, but not in my name. Come and fetch us—very soon. You need not wait for dinner to be ready. Soon after they have returned—come. You announce the dinner. You take us to the room. That is all.”

  “I will not serve your dinner,” Jonson insisted. “I will not go inside the room. If Cheng saw me he would know.”

  She drew out her vanity case and looked at herself thoughtfully.

  “That is quite simple,” she agreed. “You can send anyone you like afterwards, provided you leave us with the key of the next room. You can go now. Bring more drinks for these two. Return and tell us that the salon is ready in five minutes.”

  “You will not like the apartment,” he warned her. “It is up almost in the attic. For the last two flights there is no lift. Better wait until Mr. Cheng comes down.”

  “We can mount two flights of stairs, my friend,” she said. “Take care of those ten mille and remember there are fifteen more to come.”

  Mr. Jonson took his leave. Suzanne’s two companions returned. They had washed their hands, brushed their hair and presented a more civilised appearance.

  “It is arranged?” one of them asked Suzanne.

  “It is arranged,” she answered.

  They exchanged glances. The hands of both of them within the next few seconds stole down towards their hip pockets. Their drinks arrived, brought by an under waiter.

  “To ourselves—to the avengers of Retsky!” one of them murmured.

  They drained their glasses. Their heads were very close together. They talked for several minutes. Then Jonson came slowly across the room.

  “Mademoiselle,” he announced, with a bow, “your private room is prepared. If you will come this way—”

  They followed him in a little procession across the room and out into the hall. He ushered them into a lift and very slowly they mounted some four flights. From the closed doors along the first two or three corridors there floated out the sound of music. On one, a door was open, and they heard the sound of feminine laughter.

  “A gay place, this,” one of the men commented.

  “There are many people dining to-night,” Jonson said. “Every room is taken except on the top floor. Madame and Messieurs will have still to mount,” he added, as he brought the lift to a standstill.

  They made no complaint. There was a very grim expression indeed upon the faces of the two men. Suzanne, a little nervous, clung to the arm of one of them. They climbed two flights of stairs. When they arrived on the top corridor, the place was almost in darkness. Mr. Jonson raised his hand and motioned them to follow him. When they had gone three or four yards he pointed to a door, from underneath which came a chink of light.

  “It is a very famous person who dines there,” he confided. “A little farther on is your room and then number seven.”

  One of the men stumbled against the wall and nearly fell.

  “Curse this corridor!” he muttered.

  “It is only a yard farther,” Jonson told him. “You can see—there is a switch there. I will turn on the other lights. Keep close to the wall and you will walk more safely.”

  They did as he begged. Presently he stopped and reached for a switch. The place was suddenly in complete darkness.

  “This way,” he whispered. “I will turn the lights on in the room. Quick.”

  They took a step forward, and it was their last on earth. Only Suzanne was a little difficult. The others plunged into the black void without hesitation. Suzanne struggled to recover her balance but one might have imagined that Jonson had been used to trouble of that sort. He stooped down, seized her ankles with one hand and her clutching fingers with the other. Her shriek was stifled almost before it left her lips.

  CHAPTER XXXII

  Table of Contents

  There was already an air of tension in the library of the American Embassy into which Cheng and Mark Humberstone were ushered at ten o’clock that evening. Mr. Mountain, who was seated at his desk, was realising to the full the gravity of the situation into which he had been drawn. In a high-backed chair on his right was seated Monsieur Châtelain, the leading statesman of France, a short, rather stout, but wholesome-looking man of early middle age, with iron grey beard and keen flashing eyes underneath his heavy brows. On the ambassador’s left General Levissier was similarly placed. He was apparently a somewhat older man but though his hair and moustache were grey, he had the carriage and air of a soldier in the prime of life. He had come straight from a reception at one of the foreign embassies and was wearing full uniform and a brilliant array of medals. The ambassador rose to his feet as the two younger men entered the room.

  “Monsieur Châtelain,” he said, “and General Levissier, permit me to present Prince Cheng and Professor Mark Humberstone, whose name you will associate no doubt with that of his illustrious father.”

  There was no attempt at cordiality on the part of the two Frenchmen. They both rose to their feet and indulged in a stiff bow. Cheng smiled courteously as he took the’ chair to which Mr. Mountain pointed. Mark contented himself with a more formal gesture.

  “I’m afraid you look upon us as rather troublesome visitors to your country, Monsieur Châtelain,” he observed.

  “Some of the activities connected with your International Bureau certainly require explanation,” the Premier pronounced. “Those, I am afraid, you will have to explain before a different Tribunal. Since we have met here, however, and Prince Cheng is also present, it would interest me to hear your explanation of the fact that there are large numbers of American officers at the present moment in China drilling and instructing Chinese troops. I am even given to understand that a staff college exists there, in which the instructors are American, for the benefit of Chinese officers.”

  “You have been perfectly well informed, sir,” Cheng acknowledged. “The only things to be noted are that naturally no American officer was able to accept a position with us who had not already resigned his position in the American army.”

  “Accepting that as a fact,” General Levissier said, “what is the meaning of this great Chinese force that has been brought together and supplied with guns and munitions, apparently by the United States? Is it your intention, may I ask, to make war against Russia?”

  “It is our intention,” Prince Cheng admitted, “to create a force with which we may threaten Russia, but my friend here, Mr. Humberstone, will tell you we are working together with one great aim, and that is to stop war—to bring peace into the world.”

  General Levissier curled his moustache.

  “You choose strange methods,” he said, “with which to attempt an impossible task.”

  “You may change your mind presently,” Mr. Cheng rejoined unperturbed. “You will be one of the first to agree, I think, that France, with America hopelessly and immovably neutral, with Great Britain wavering, with Italy a bribed but wholly untrustworthy ally, and Poland a very long
way away, has felt a little helpless before the bugbear of her nights and days—Germany.”

  “France,” Monsieur Châtelain said stiffly, “must do everything to protect herself.”

  “Who would blame her?” Cheng demanded, his tone as silky as ever, but with that look of extreme youth gone from his face. “The only thing is that she has chosen ill. The hope of Russia for an ally is the greatest illusion which a nation of statesmen ever hugged to their shivering bosoms.”

  “Russia has an army of a million prepared to take the field,” General Levissier pointed out emphatically. “She has two thousand aeroplanes already built. The whole world knows that the Russians are fine soldiers. Where is the illusion if France thinks that she might make a great ally?”

  “The illusion is this,” Cheng pronounced gravely. “Russia has gone through a purgatorial period which has cleansed neither her body nor her soul. She has emerged from the fires an altered race. She was once a warlike nation. She is so no longer.”

  There was a moment’s silence. Monsieur Châtelain was unmoved. General Levissier was angry.

  “You have been wandering about Russia lately, I presume, Prince, to be so accurately informed as to her present condition and the military stamina of her soldiers.”

  “Not I alone,” was the speedy reply. “That would be a waste of time. But we have had over a thousand spies working there during the last four years. Some of them have met with the usual fate of spies but quite enough of them have survived and sent in their reports to enable us to come to logical conclusions.”

  “A thousand spies!” Châtelain repeated incredulously.

  “I am within the figures,” Cheng assured him. “I know something about the science of espionage, for I myself have directed it on a world-wide scale, and I have seen great things accomplished with its aid.”

  “The International Bureau at Nice,” Châtelain murmured.

  Mr. Cheng bowed amiably.