Complete Works of Stanley J Weyman

by Stanley J Weyman

  “I am completely in the dark,” I said.

  “Well, you can tell me your story, at any rate. We can get that. And that may throw light on the rest. So you parted, eh? At Wittenberg? Well, how was it? And why? Better begin at the beginning, man.”

  “Yes,” I said. “I will. You shall know all that I know, Baron. But it never even occurred to me until now — when I have it from your mouth — that Perceval Ellis did not reach England three months ago. You really tell me that he did not?”

  “Haven’t I told you — over and over again?” he roared in his great bull voice. “ He has not been heard of since the first days of August, I tell you — when the earth opened and swallowed him as far as I can hear! But tell me your tale and may be we shall get some light at last.” And he wiped his brow with a handkerchief as big as a lug sail.

  I told him then what I had to tell; the story, step by step, but more briefly, which I have here related. He stopped me now and again that he might jot down a date, but otherwise he refrained from comment, though an occasional grunt of surprise bore witness to the interest with which he followed my adventures.

  I knew as I told the tale, knew only too well, that I did not come well out of it — that the part I had played in leaving Ellis must appear in his eyes unfavourable. But he made no remark on this, and the shock that this news about Perceval caused me, and the curiosity I felt to learn the facts, rendered me less tender on my own account and less susceptible to his criticism.

  When I had done, “And you come now from Zerbst?” he said.

  “I left Zerbst at noon yesterday.”

  “And Davout?” He gave way, despite himself, I think, to a bellow of laughter. “You gave him the slip, you funny dog, en tour á echecs! Ho! Ho! You funny dog, you! Mein Gott, it was well thought of!”

  I nodded, my face hot. I saw that I should never hear the last of that game of chess.

  “And you in no danger, had you known it, my lad! Why, I tell you, he is as keen to get to the bottom of this as we are. His people swear they know nothing about it, and meantime they are getting the credit of shooting you both in the ditch at Magdeburg for the sake of the despatches you carried! And on the top of the d’Enghien case and the Rumbold and the Wagstaff business they don’t like it! They are as sore as a mangy dog. A bad name and nothing gained, all the stink and no despatches, do you see? Do you see? I’m told that the Emperor has written in his own hand and rapped M. Daru pretty smartly over the knuckles. Of course if they had got the despatches it would be another story.”

  “But are you sure, Baron, that they have not got them?” I put in.

  He nodded, with a knowing look. “Well, yes, I am sure,” he said. “I think I am sure, my friend. If they had got them, more than one would have heard of it and been sorry — always supposing there was that in them which I suspect there was. No, they have not got them, or they are cleverer than I think them, and I think M. de Talleyrand the devil for cleverness. No, my friend, I am pretty sure that they have not got them. And a man who should know better than I is equally sure. And that is Justus Gruner.”

  “Justus Gruner?” I echoed. I did not know the name.

  “Was he not in your time? The head of the Prussian police.” He looked at the door and lowered his tone. ‘He has the name of being devoted to Daru; he would not hold his office another day if he had not. But” — he looked meaningly at me—” I can trust my Justus, see you, my friend, and between me and you, he is confident that they have not got them. You shall see him to-day, and tell him your story. I will arrange it.”

  “In the meantime,” I said anxiously. “ I have told you my story, Baron, but I am in the dark as to yours. Perceval Ellis and I parted at Wittenberg. I suppose that something is known of his movements after that? I left Klatz the messenger with him, and also Kaspar his servant. Have they, too, disappeared? What of them?”

  “We have them.”

  “Oh!”

  “They are both in the hands of the police — here in Berlin.”

  “But did they not tell you that!”

  “Had left Ellis? They did!” the Baron roared, and he struck the table. “They did! And we did not believe them. No one did! No one believed them! And that was one reason — there were others, of course, but that was one — why they are still in charge. They have been examined and re-examined, and always that has been against them.

  “But I’ll tell you the whole story; I have the precis here. The precis? Why, Potztausend! we have drawn up a hundred, if we have drawn up one. We’ve kept our quill-drivers at work for days and days at this! We’ve covered reams with it. Your Foreign Office has given us no rest over it, and my lord, Herr Ellis’s uncle — uncle is he not? — pheugh, there’s a man! But the precis — here it is, and here are the facts. Where shall I begin? Well, I’ll begin here. Listen to this:

  “The British envoy lately accredited to Vienna, travelling with his suite, passed, it is certain, through Berlin on the second day of August. He was provided with Prussian passports in the name of Herr Eils, and his passage is proved by the fact that a person exhibiting those passports was supplied with a relay of horses upon the demand of the landlord of the Hotel Parlement d’Angleterre.

  “But the travellers appear to have been anxious to avoid observation, so that no one acquainted with their persons is able to speak to their separate identities, though the hotel-keeper is clear that one wore a handsome fur cloak which he noticed because the day, though wet, was warm, and he drew the conclusion that the wearer was an invalid. A gentleman believed to be the Envoy called at the Danish Ministry, but in the absence of Baron von Bronberg declined to leave his name.

  “It is ascertained that the party left Berlin about four in the afternoon, but it is thought that one or more of the travellers entered the carriage as it passed through the streets; this it is supposed for the purpose of avoiding observation. They arrived at Spandau at seven, but instead of going to the principal inn, the Rothen Adler, they stayed at Koch’s inn, which being the stopping place for the stage wagons was crowded.

  “The inn-keeper, who has been repeatedly questioned, is able to state the following facts: that two gentlemen sat down to supper together and that the taller and darker of the two, who appeared to be also the superior, seemed to be in a nervous and fidgety state; that he supped — the inn has only one common room — in his fur cloak, and that by turning up the collar, on the pretext that the room was draughty, he concealed his features as far as possible from the people about him.

  “The servants of the inn differ as to the number of attendants who were with the party, but the better evidence appears to be that there were two. The travellers let it be known that they were merchants returning to Hamburg, but their appearance and their desire for privacy left the impression that they were other than they gave out.

  “On the last point the Postmaster at Spandau remembers that before leaving in the morning one of the travellers appeared to be in favour of going on with a pair of horses only, but that the wearer of the fur cloak, supported by the Postmaster’s statement that the road was sandy, overruled him and the full team was taken on.

  “Their intention, as given out, was to reach Perleberg that day, but it is believed that the principal traveller was seized with illness. At any rate on the arrival of the party at Kyritz in the afternoon he announced that he would stay the night. Unfortunately, the Black Eagle, where they stopped, was in a commotion owing to the presence of a detachment of French infantry, which had halted there on its march from Stettin to Hanover.

  “Very little therefore can be learned of the movements of the party, but it has been ascertained that the two principal persons were forced to share one room and on the pretext of illness kept themselves so close that it was only with difficulty — when inquiry was made five weeks later — that they could be traced.

  “However, there is evidence that the sick man’s companion was anxious to proceed next morning, and that something like a dispute arose.
/>   “Eventually they stayed over the day and towards evening the invalid was sufficiently recovered to descend, and he and his friend took their supper at a table which they shared with two women travellers who had just arrived. This was impressed on the memory of the attendant by a special incident.

  “As the gentleman in the fur cloak sat down and opened his napkin, he let fall a slip of paper. The waitress was beside him. She picked it up and returned it to him, and it was the agitation into which the sight of this paper threw him that brought the party to her mind. She remembers that he rose to his feet as if seized with illness and as abruptly resumed his seat; and that then, like one taking a resolution, he placed the paper in his companion’s hand.

  “He, too, appeared to be much agitated. The elder of the two ladies, a handsome woman about thirty-five — her companion was fifteen years younger and also attractive — made more than one effort to enter into conversation with them, but in vain — the travellers appeared to be so completely engrossed by the appearance of the paper.”

  “It was Klatz, of course,” I said, “to whom he handed the paper.”

  “No doubt it was. I understand that now.”

  “And the paper — there is equally no doubt — was a warning, similar to the two of which I have told you.”

  “No doubt.”

  “But now that we are again on Klatz, I wonder, Baron, I really do wonder,” I objected, “why with so little evidence of my presence with the party, you did not accept his story — that I was not there.”

  “So, to be sure!” The Baron leant forward and tapped me on the knee to ensure my attention. “Well, I will tell you. For three reasons. First, there was always a cause for the lack of evidence of your presence — the crowded inns, the shyness of the party, the disorder on the roads — the thing was always in doubt.

  “Secondly, if you were not there, and if your disappearance was not due to the same cause that accounted for Perceval Ellis’s — where were you? Why did you not come forward?

  “See, my friend? You did not appear, neither in Germany nor in England. Ergo, my dear fellow, we argued that, dead or alive, you and Perceval Ellis had disappeared together. And thirdly — thirdly — we had another reason for distrusting Klatz, which I will come to by and by. For the moment let me continue. Where was I? At the departure from Kyritz, was it not?”

  “Yes, Baron, but one moment. The postboys?

  They must have known and been able to tell you how many were in the party?”

  “Just so, my friend,” with another tap on the knee. “ Just so. And doubtless they did know. But we have them not. The two that rode from Berlin to Spandau left Berlin a week later under contract to go to Konigsberg, to the Court, and they are believed to be at present with the Queen at Petersburg. At any rate, they are lost in the eastern fog. From Spandau to Kyritz the lads who rode that stage went off with the French detachment, taking their master’s horses with them, and they cannot be traced. Justice would much like to trace them — and the horses! Then from Kyritz to Perleberg they had one postboy only, riding the leaders — a volunteer who offered himself at the last — the Postmaster was short — and who disappeared with poor Ellis.”

  “Disappeared?” I exclaimed. “ No?”

  “Ay, disappeared — with Ellis. No more trace to be found of the one than of the other.”

  “But that’s very singular,” I said. “Was the man a stranger to the Postmaster?”

  “He was — a complete stranger. A man — but don’t let this prejudice you—” the Baron shook his head with a smile—” in the French postilion service. Or he had been.”

  “The French—”

  “Postilion service. Yes.”

  I sprang to my feet. “The devil he was!” I cried. “ Why, that man, a man in a French postilion’s uniform, positively haunted me — haunted me during the last two days I was with poor Ellis.”

  “You noticed him?”

  “Repeatedly.”

  Bronberg nodded thoughtfully, but after a moment’s consideration shook his head. “Well, if we had known that,” he said, “we could not have done more than we have to find him. The other postboys could have had nothing to do with the catastrophe and search for them has been more or less perfunctory. But for this man, who was on the scene at the vital moment, the hue and cry has been strict. Not only have the most strenuous inquiries been made, but a reward of 200 thalers has been offered for his discovery.”

  “That should produce him,” I said. And I sat down again. “Well, so much for that. But I’ve led you astray. You were leaving Kyritz for Perleberg?”

  “Yes. They left Kyritz about seven or a little later. The road you know? It is infamous. It is one of the worst in Europe, if you can call it a road — sandy, heavy, unpeopled, the hamlets sparse and miserable, the inns wretched hovels! It is all sand and pine-woods, sand and pine-woods, and here and there a melancholy lake hemmed in by trees or a sluggish arm of the Havel winding through the woods and to be forded thrice in the hour! Oh, d — n it, I have travelled that road a score of times both ways, and it is still a nightmare to me! Well, on that road there is no trace of them until we come to Perleberg. They arrived at Perleberg an hour before sunset, and here, at Perleberg, every movement that they made has been traced, followed, examined, scrutinized — every movement! For if anything is certain, my friend, it is that into Perleberg your countryman drove about six in the afternoon of that day, and out of it, so far as human intelligence can determine, he never did go!”

  “Then he is there now!” I cried, astonished at the Baron’s vehemence.

  “Yes, alive or dead. Alive or dead! God knows which!” The Baron wiped his brow.

  “And someone else knows, too, I suppose?”

  “Ay, more than one probably. More than one,” darkly.

  “Yet you are sure that the French—”

  He shook his head. “No, the French did not do it. I tell you so. Nor do the French know who did it. I have reasons for being sure of that, which I will tell you by and by. Of course at first we were all inclined to lay it at their door. They had a motive, and they are not—’ with a glance at the door—” to say the least of it, scrupulous. But no, it was not they, my friend, in this case.”

  “But perhaps the Prussian police — at their bidding?”

  “No, nor on their own motion. I am quite sure of that, too. I can trust my friend Justus. They do not know, they, too, who did it. The truth is if the ground had opened and swallowed your Chief at nine o’clock that night he could not have disappeared more completely or left fewer traces behind him. Oh, it is a puzzle, a very great puzzle, my friend. Colossal! And the trouble it has given me! I sweat when I think of it!” He passed his huge bandanna over his vast smiling face. “ Colossal!” he repeated. “A puzzle!”

  CHAPTER XI

  WHO DID IT?

  “YES,” I answered thoughtfully, “it seems a most extraordinary thing, Baron, if, as you say, every effort has been made to find him.” Later, alas, sadder and deeper emotions, sorrow and remorse, were to be mine, emotions stirred by the part I had unwittingly played in the matter; but for the moment I felt only perplexity.

  “But you haven’t told me yet what did happen at Perleberg,” I continued.

  “No,” he replied, “that is what I am going to do, my friend. You know Perleberg? Have passed through it, probably? Small quiet town on the Mecklenburg frontier; a cobbled Market Place, over-big for the town and here and there grass-grown, in the middle a statue of Roland, on one side the Cathedral. Two streets, divided by the Rathhaus, leave the Market Place at the far end; in one of these streets is the principal inn, the ‘Golden Crown,’ in the other, the second-best inn, the ‘German Coffee House.’

  “From the nearer end of the Market Place one broad street runs out to the Post House, which is on the road from Berlin to Hamburg — the road skirts but does not pass through Perleberg. Opposite the Post House is a third tavern, a ramshackle place of middling reputation, though at
times travellers put up there by reason of its situation.

  “Well, that’s Perleberg — a Cathedral, a grass-grown Market Place, three streets, three inns and a Post House add a few lanes and alleys and you have the whole. Well, the carriage arrived at the Post House about six, but Perceval Ellis was not in it. He had alighted — this is agreed — some fifty yards short of the Post and had gone into the town. He asked his way to the house of Captain von Kalisch, the Governor, who lodges next door to the Rathhaus at the corner of the street in which is the German Coffee House.

  “He found Kalisch at home. He at once disclosed to him — he was in a state of great excitement — who he was and his nationality. He stated that he was being followed, that he had received repeated warnings, and believed himself to be in imminent danger. He proposed to stay the night and he requested that a guard should be furnished for his protection.

  “The Governor was taken aback. The request and the circumstances were out of the ordinary; he was a Prussian official, and he had no instructions. He was at first for refusing. But he saw that his visitor was labouring under great excitement and he took time to consider. He examined the stranger’s passports, and at length, being convinced that he really was — astounding as it seemed — a British envoy en voyage, he consented to his request, and sent two soldiers down to the Post House.

  “He is by way of being a gentleman, Kalisch, and seeing that his visitor was suffering from cold as well as from nervousness, he sent for some hot tea and insisted on him drinking a cup. This after some pressing Ellis did, but the Governor noticed that his hands shook so violently that he used both to raise the cup to his lips. About half-past six Ellis left and walked down to the Post House. You follow that?”