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

by E. Phillips Oppenheim

  “To think,” she meditated, “that one man’s obstinacy stands between us and triumph. I will give,” she went on, and for a moment she seemed almost like a religious devotee before the altar, although the pagan words were trembling upon her lips. “I will give more than I have ever given any man or any human being before in my life. I will kill myself in his arms afterwards if he wishes it, or live for him for ever, or just as gladly, if I can get what I want that way. I will murder him without blenching. Farewell, Adolf. If you still worship the black gods of Madagascar get down on your knees and pray.”

  It was a wild supper party in strange surroundings. The restaurant was little more than a shed built to offer luncheon and dinner to the bourgeoisie of Nice, situated upon the plage itself, and in the very shadow of the château. The tables were merely wooden planks upon trestles, the chairs hard, except that Tanya sat upon a great pile of cushions enthroned like a queen. Tablecloths and napkins were of course linen, but all was scrupulously clean. The cutlery was crude. Everywhere was the impression of an almost barbaric simplicity. Nevertheless, Monsieur le Patron’s chickens were famous and his langouste a l’Américaine and bouillabaisse unsurpassed. At this hour in the morning there was only one waiter, beside Monsieur and Madame, to wait upon their guests, but never was a supper party received with so much acclamation. Never did gaiety soar to such heights. The champagne—very good champagne, too—flowed like water. Tanya, in turn voluptuous and spiritual, was an inspiration. There were seven in the party and five were already demented with drink and enthusiasm. Only Montesset sat by her side coldly sober, his strangely coloured eyes flaming all the time with an icy passion. She judged the time ripe and she leaned over and whispered in his ear.

  “Where is the American to-night—the fiance they say of Mademoiselle de Montelimar?”

  “Heavens knows. On his boat, I suppose.”

  “And Mademoiselle?”

  “She and the Marquise are at Monte Carlo. They are passing the night there. We invited the young man to come with us to your show, but he refused.”

  “Pig,” she answered. “Listen, Guy. It pleases you, this party—yes?”

  “There are too many of us,” he said. “It pleases me because I am next to you, and soon they will go away.”

  “I, too,” she whispered. “I wait for that. I want to ruffle that wonderful hair of yours, and I want—well, for that I can wait no longer.”

  She leaned over and kissed him upon the lips. His arms would have closed wildly around her, but she sat up with a laugh just in time.

  “I have an idea,” she cried. “Let us go out and wake this sleeping hermit who will not come to see me dance.”

  There was a burst of applause from everyone except Montesset. A spot of colour was burning in his cheeks. His hands, which had been perfectly steady a moment before, shook as he raised his glass to his lips.

  “I think the party has lasted long enough,” he pronounced. “You fellows are all at home. The château is only two hundred yards up the drive. I shall take Mademoiselle back to Juan.”

  “Not yet,” they shouted almost in unison. “We can’t part with Mademoiselle. Tanya!”

  They all stood up and drank to her. They threw the empty glasses with a crash upon the floor and called for fresh ones. The patron made a note of the number broken, and promptly supplied them.

  “Listen,” Tanya said. “I agree with you others. Guy shall drive me home presently, but not yet. Guy is my love. Let us take boats and board this fierce American and make him join us. If he refuses we will make him swim.”

  The roar of applause might almost have awakened Hamer in his bunk.

  “Has he plenty to drink,” one man demanded, “or shall we take champagne on board?”

  “Take champagne.” Tanya advised. “We will be on the safe side.”

  They trooped down to the edge of the plage. The moon was a little misty, but there was still light. They packed bottles of champagne in the bows of a heavy cutter, and bestowed themselves upon the seats. The patron, a little doubtfully, started them off. Montesset and Tanya sat in the aft seat together.

  “You are not happy?” Tanya whispered, squeezing his arm.

  “I am impatient,” he answered. “I am not sure that this is not a foolish business, although we are all drunk, so it doesn’t matter. The American has not our temperament, however. He may be disagreeable.”

  She laughed gaily.

  “He will forget all that,” she declared, “when he sees the present which we have brought him.”

  CHAPTER XXI

  Table of Contents

  Hamer sat suddenly up in his bed. He slept always with his door open, and he was conscious of a dark figure blotting out the moonlight. His visitor tapped at the door, and a familiar voice hailed him.

  “There’s a boatload of young people from the château here, sir,” his matelot announced.

  “From the château,” Hamer repeated incredulously. “Why, it’s 3 o’clock. What on earth do they want, Auguste?”

  “If you ask me, sir, I think they want a drink. There’s the young Duke there amongst them, and two or three of the other gentlemen who have been on board with Mademoiselle. There’s a pinnace from the Fidélité here, too. They seem to keep an eye on us all the night. I told the bo’sun to lie to until you came up on deck.”

  Hamer Wildburn wrapped himself in his dressing gown and ran lightly up the steps. The two boats—the boat from the Fidélité a little in the background—were both on the starboard side. Hamer was greeted at once with cheers as he made his appearance.

  “What do you want, you fellows?” he demanded.

  “Sorry if we’re a nuisance,” Montesset drawled. “The fact is we’ve been having supper on the plage there, and we thought we’d come out and see you. Do you feel inclined to offer us a drink? If not, we’ll offer you one. We’ve got some champagne here.”

  “Very nice of you,” Wildburn observed, with a marked absence of enthusiasm, “but isn’t it a bit late for this sort of thing?”

  “Oh, we’re making a night of it.” Montesset replied “There’s no one at home at the château, as I dare say you know. We have been having supper down on the plage. Can we come up?”

  “Of course you may,” Hamer invited. “Let down the gangway, Auguste, and go back to sleep. Tell the men from the Fidélité that it’s all right. These are friends from the château.”

  They came clambering up the steps. Hamer started when he saw the slight figure in black emerge from the obscurity and spring on deck.

  “This,” the Duke announced, “is the most marvellous artiste upon the French stage—Mademoiselle Tanya Vizille. She has been dancing to-night at Juan and driving the people crazy. Since then she has had supper with us down here.”

  She held out her hand.

  “I wished Monsieur to come and see me dance,” she said reproachfully, “but I looked for him and he was not there. Is it not your English saying that if Mahomet will not come to the mountain the mountain must go to Mahomet? You see—I am here.”

  “But understand, Hamer, my friend,” Montesset declared, lurching forward, “My mountain. You are my mountain, aren’t you, Tanya?”

  “Ah, I am the mountain of whom I love for the moment,” she confided. “Sometimes I change my mind. Sometimes there come feelings which carry one away and the world changes, and if the world changes the woman in it must change too.”

  “Well, this all sounds very nice,” Hamer remarked as good-humouredly as he knew how. “What do you want to drink?” Where will you sit? Out on deck or down in the saloon? I think perhaps we had better go below. We have a gunboat within hearing of us and a famous French statesman who is here for a rest.”

  “I should like to go below,” Tanya said softly. “I should like to see more of your boat, Mr. Wildburn.”

  “You needn’t worry about the famous French statesman,” Montesset observed. “He flew to Paris this morning. The suicide of Chauvanne’s understudy, I expect. Ho
wever, Mademoiselle wishes to go below. Come along.”

  Wildburn led the way. They seated themselves, with some difficulty, round his small table in the salon. He waved their contributions on one side, produced champagne and opened it. They drank to his health. One of the crowd sang a song.

  “You must please sit down,” Tanya whispered to her host. “Near me, please.”

  Hamer produced a stool and seated himself upon it. Tanya’s hand slipped into his. He lifted it on to the table and left his own upon it. Montesset watched with a scowl.

  “Your champagne is wonderful, Monsieur Hamer,” Tanya said, smiling at him. “I drink to your health and to your boat—the Bird of Paradise you call it—yes?”

  Hamer drank with her. Montesset left his glass untouched.

  “I was disappointed,” the girl continued, “that Monsieur did not come and see me me dance.”

  “I have heard all about it,” Hamer said courteously. “I am told that well-brought-up and respectable young men go perfectly insane when they watch you. From all I have heard I think that perhaps I was wise not to go.”

  “Why were you wise.’”

  “Because I had the marvellous good fortune to become engaged only a day or so ago,” he told her.

  “That is very pleasant,” she admitted. “All young men must become engaged. All young men must marry and found families, but there is no reason why the moments of insanity should not continue sometimes. Every passion that makes the heart beat faster is good for men—and women too. Besides, they say that you Americans keep women too far away from your hearts even when you bring them into your homes. I am a great artist at playing upon the heart-strings, Monsieur Hamer.”

  “If you are going to talk this sort of rubbish I’m off on deck,” Montesset said, a little roughly. It’s too hot down here anyway.”

  “Do.” Tanya begged. “All of you go. Mr. Wildburn and I will follow directly. I have something to say to him.”

  “So this is why you brought us here!”

  Montesset exclaimed, a furious light in his eyes.

  She laid her hand upon his arm.

  “Guy,” she said, and there was a note of warning in her tone, “you risk everything when you talk to me like that. I am in earnest when I tell you that I have something I wish to say to Mr. Wildburn. If you think that I am going to ask him to make love to me you are wrong. What I have to say to him deals with other matters. Now will you go?”

  “Come on Guy,” a young cousin of Montelimar’s who was by far the soberest of the party, enjoined. “Wildburn’s all right. He’s not like us poor simple-hearted Frenchmen who go crazy for the sake of a great artist in love, like Tanya. Besides, he’s engaged to Lucienne all right. I am to be one of the witnesses.”

  Still grumbling, Guy led the way on to the deck. Hamer Wildburn looked curiously at his companion.

  “You wrote me to come to the show, to come to your room or to the Provençal,” he reminded her abruptly. “I am very much flattered, Miss Tanya, because I know that you are a great artist. But what do you want with me?”

  “It is very difficult,” she complained, “and I have so little time.”

  “You are quite right about that,” he agreed. You will have Montesset down here in a minute. He doesn’t like your leaving him. Please tell me quickly what it is.”

  “Monsieur Wildburn” she said, and probably not one single soul amongst her thousands of admirers would have recognised her voice or herself as she spoke. “I have a religion. That religion is worship of my country, because I believe that she is being led to ruin. I am a Communist. I believe that only the Communists can save France.”

  “What!” Hamer Wildburn exclaimed. What on earth—”

  “You must take me seriously,” she begged. “Communism may mean many things. You don’t understand what it does mean. It means the giving of real liberty to people who are being deceived and robbed every day of their lives. It means giving the people liberty to breathe upon their own soil the air of the country they love—free men and free women with the right to live and the right to the means of living.”

  “That is very sensibly said,” he acknowledged. “But my deal Mademoiselle Tanya, at this time of the night with a lover aching for you on board, why start a discussion of this sort with me?”

  “Because,” she explained, “by some diabolical chance you can render the Communists of France the greatest service in the world.”

  “I?” Wildburn cried.

  “You. Not because you are yourself but because you are the owner of the Bird of Paradise.”

  Hamer Wildburn for a moment was devoid of words. He struck the table with his hands so that the glasses rattled.

  “What!” he exclaimed “The boat again.”

  “Yes,” she admitted. “It is the boat again. I do not suppose that I am the first person in the world to ask what I am going to ask you. You want it out short. I will try. Berthold, my comrade, who was executed in Marseilles, he gave me the hint. Something—signed papers, cheques—something in writing, exists upon this boat which would break the bourgeois Government of France, which would set France on fire from one end to the other, which would deliver her into our hands—into the hands of the Communists. We have a Government ready to step in. We have every means at hand and [are] prepared to stop the worst developments of revolution. We want what you have here on the Bird of Paradise to start it.”

  “But, my dear young lady,” Hamer Wildburn protested, “I have heard something of this before but not so eloquently put. I have been all over the ship myself. I have searched in every possible place. I can assure you that there is nothing the Bird of Paradise can reveal which would help you in the least.”

  “You think not,” she smiled incredulously.

  “Listen I know more than you do. I cannot go direct to the spot, but I have a hint, an idea. Give me three hours alone here, whenever you like. Oh, if you were one of that crowd upstairs, if you were a man like all these others, I would ask you what reward you needed. If you wanted me I would be your slave for the rest of my days. If you wanted money you should have it year by year from the new Government. Your name should be enshrined as one of the benefactors of France. There is nothing that you could ask for that should not come to you in the future There is nothing from me that you could not have in the present. But give me those three hours!”

  “I’m sorry Mademoiselle Tanya,” Hamer said firmly. “But in the terse language of my country—there’s nothing doing. I hate the principles of Communism, although I admit I never heard them put so sweetly as you have done, but I should not run any risks. If I thought there was anything hidden on my boat which would cause such an upheaval in the country as you suggest, I should find it myself and I should consider in whose hands to place it.”

  There was a disturbance of voices on deck. Montesset came down the companionway dangerously quiet.

  “You are wanted on deck, Hamer Wildburn,” he announced. “Tanya, you come with me. This thing has gone far enough.”

  She pointed to her companion, who had risen to his feet.

  “If he asks me to stay,” she said, “I would never leave him for the rest of my life. He will not give me what I want, but he is at least a man.”

  They mounted on deck. Hamer was conscious from the first moment that he was moving in an atmosphere of animosity. They were all Montesset’s friends and they all seemed to resent Tanya’s attitude. Montesset stepped forward and held Tanya for the moment by the wrist.

  “What do you mean by that?” he demanded. ”You are my guest. It is I who brought you here. You are coming with me.”

  “Take your hand away,” she ordered. “I shall only go because I must. If Monsieur Wildburn there invites me to stay I remain.”

  “Upon this boat.”

  “Upon this boat?”

  “With him—alone?”

  “With him alone,” she repeated. “For to-night and as long as he chooses to keep me.”

  “Look here,�
� Hamer intervened. “Don’t let there be any misunderstanding about this. Mademoiselle Tanya does not care about me, nor I about her. She has an idea that I will permit her to stay and search my boat for heaven knows what if she offers me, what I understand,” he added, with perhaps a faint show of sarcasm, “belongs, Montesset, to you. Take her away, all of you. She and I have nothing to do with one another. Mademoiselle is a very charming and talented young lady, with great gifts, but nothing which she could say would induce me to keep her on this boat for ten minutes longer than is necessary. Is that plain enough?”

  There was a new fire now in Tanya’s eyes; a very wicked fire it was. Trouble—there must be trouble at any cost.

  “I hear,” she said sadly. “It is not quite what he said downstairs, but if he insists that I must go, I must go. Another time may do very well for him. It suits me not at all.”

  “So you mean to come back another time?” the Duke demanded.

  She looked timidly up at Hamer.

  “Whenever he wants me,” she assented. “Whenever he will send for me. Whenever he will let me come.”

  Montesset turned round to his friends.

  “Have we not rather forgotten how we proposed to wind up the evening?” he reminded them. “We thought of inviting Mr. Wildburn to take a swim with us?”

  There was a little murmur.

  “Why not?”

  “It will teach him to keep his hands off other people’s property,” someone else muttered.

  “You must not hurt him.” Tanya insisted.

  Hamer Wildburn took off his dressing gown. “I am not inclined to swim with you,” he said. “You came on my boat uninvited guests and I beg you to leave it—all of you—and take Mademoiselle with you.”

  Montesset moved forward.

  “We wish you to go with us,” he confided. “There is a little lesson you should learn.”

  “Look here, Montesset,” Hamer rejoined angrily, “you are all drunk. Get away and take the girl with you. I hate hitting a smaller man than myself, but you are for it if this goes on any longer.”