Читать книгу Tales of Mystery & Espionage: 21 Spy Thrillers in One Edition - E. Phillips Oppenheim - Страница 85

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The church clock on the other side of the square struck eleven as Joseph left the salon. Charles glanced at his watch with a slight frown.

“At what time was Fritz to report to us this morning?” he asked.

There was the same faint trace of uneasiness in Blute’s expression as he answered.

“Half-past ten he was to have been here. If that clock is right it is eleven o’clock.”

The frown upon Charles’s forehead deepened.

“It isn’t like Fritz to be even five minutes late,” he remarked. “You took him to the night market after you left me, I suppose?”

Blute smiled at the recollection.

“I not only did that but I took him round to the stalls. First of all we bought the largest basket you could imagine and then Fritz, who knew what he was about, I must say, filled it. I won’t disturb your early morning appetites with all the details, but there was sausage, there was ham, there was pâté, there was jam, there were rolls, butter, wine, beer—everything you can think of. Then I bought a little cheap crockery and packed him back in the taxi. He had made up his mind to stop and share the feast, I think, but anyway he promised to visit them early this morning with coffee and rolls and be here punctually.”

“At what time was he to have been here?” Charles asked again.

“At half-past ten. Still, the streets are very-crowded and he might easily be held up.”

“Will my adorable secretary telephone down and ask if the taxicab for Mr. Mildenhall has arrived?” Charles suggested.

Patricia obeyed with a slight grimace. She set down the receiver a moment later.

“Your man has just arrived,” she announced. “He is on his way up.”

They were all a trifle uneasy and there was a prompt response to the expected knock at the door. A glance at Fritz as he entered the room was sufficient to show them that something had happened. He was walking with a decided limp. He closed the door behind him carefully and advanced to the centre of the room.

“What’s gone wrong?” Charles asked anxiously.

“Ach, mein Herr,” Fritz faltered, “I do not think that it was my fault. Wait, and I shall tell my story. The service steps are steep and I did not take the lift. I didn’t want to attract any attention.”

“What is the trouble?” Blute demanded.

“I will tell my story,” Fritz repeated.

Charles made a sign towards the door. Blute hurried over and locked it. Fritz pointed to him.

“Together,” he began, “we bought much that was good last night to eat and to drink. The Herr Blute left me and I drove back to where the two Gestapo were waiting for me. All seemed well. I opened the door quietly. The two were playing cards by the light of the torch. When they saw the basket they howled with joy. The German was like a wild animal. My cousin—he is thin to look at but he eats as no other I have ever seen. I opened the wine, put out the crockery the Herr here had bought and I took leave of them. My cousin, he wished me good night without looking up from his plate; the German, his mouth was too full to speak. They never even looked out as I passed through the door. They were safe. I locked them in.”

Fritz paused for breath. His voice was becoming steadier. He leaned forward.

“This morning at nine o’clock I left my car in that corner where it is out of sight, I crossed the yard, I listened for a moment. It seemed to me then that everything was very quiet. I opened the door very carefully, as Mr. Blute had shown me. The moment it was a few inches open, out came a great hand and seized me by the collar. I was dragged in. It was the German! He was grinning like a fat, fair devil. In his left hand he held the revolver my cousin had prayed me to leave with him. There were no signs of Johann about the place, but the remains of their supper were all there. There were broken plates, glasses, a stain where wine had been spilt and food lying about. The German plumped me up against the wall.

“‘Now then,’ he shouted, ‘there is some secret about this place. There’s money here or stolen goods. What is it? Where is it? No good your twitching about like that. You’ll tell the truth or you’ll go where your cousin has gone.’

“‘Have you killed him?’ I asked.

“He grinned at me. When I think of that grin I can forgive myself for everything!

“‘You can look for him when I’ve done with you, if you can crawl so far,’ he sneered. ‘You didn’t think when you left him your revolver that I might take a fancy to it, eh?’

“It was then, at that moment, Herr Mildenhall—Herr Blute,” Fritz continued, “that my brain began to work a little. The German’s eyes were red, his face was all patchy. The bottle of wine we had brought, the beer bottles and the brandy bottle were all lying on the floor empty—except for the brandy. There was just that much left of the brandy,” Fritz went on, holding up three fingers. “The German was still half drunk but he was terribly determined. I was sure that he had murdered Johann. There was bloodshed in his eyes when he looked at me. I think he was aching to swing that revolver up into line and shoot me. He began to shuffle a little nearer.

“‘I know nothing about this place,’ I told him. ‘I brought the gentleman who sent you your supper up here. He’s been living in this room.’

“The German jeered at me.

“‘Him live here? What for? To guard something. If he lived here in a hole like this, there’s treasure about. I’ll—’

“He hiccuped. He made noise enough doing it to awaken the dead,” Fritz went on, his face whiter than ever, his eyes glaring. “Then he retched and vomited right across the room. The effort made him stagger. He dropped the revolver.”

They were all three very quiet indeed. Their eyes were fixed upon the chauffeur.

“It was a clumsy thing,” he said. “It rolled over on the floor. I am good on my feet. I jumped. Oh, it was a long jump! I hit my leg against something as I landed. I fell on the revolver—it was in my hand—he was slipping about looking like a great angry devil. There were two chambers gone—four left. I emptied all four into him. The first one only grazed him but the second, third and fourth all went into his chest. He hiccuped once more—and that was the end of him.”

There was silence in the room. Patricia was deathly pale. Blute was wiping the sweat from his forehead. Charles threw open the window.

“Well done, Fritz!” he said calmly. “You were a fool to leave the revolver with your cousin. The rest of your story is good. Now, what about Johann?”

“When I saw that the German was dead,” Fritz went on, “I hurried over to the screen. Johann was lying across the bed. I think they must have been playing cards in that spot for half the pack was scattered about the floor. He had a bad wound on the head and a bullet wound through his shoulder, but he was still breathing. I got him to swallow a little brandy. Then he opened his eyes. I bathed his head and gave him some of the hot coffee. He sat up. Then he told me that the German had stolen up behind him and hit him a blow with a bottle whilst he was sorting his cards. He had taken the revolver, all his money and refused to believe that Johann did not know what treasure was hidden in the place. Johann knew no more than the German did, so in the end, in a sort of half-drunken fury, he shot him.”

“What became of the body?” Charles asked quietly.

“Johann is still alive,” Fritz concluded. “I dragged him out, put him into my cab and drove him to one of the hospitals. I said that I had picked him up on the doorstep of a gay house early this morning. I gave a false name and address, and they took him in.”

“How badly are you hurt, I wonder?”

“I am not hurt much,” Fritz replied. “A bruised leg that will make me limp for a few days—that is all.”

“You have given us matter for thought,” Charles declared, after a brief silence. “Go and sit in your taxicab and read the news, but be sure to keep your car out of sight.”

Fritz took his usual respectful leave.

“Good thing this didn’t happen before,” Charles observed, as soon as the door was closed. “Now tell me, Blute, are there any houses about on the other side of the lane?”

“There couldn’t be a lonelier spot than the district around that extraordinary building,” Blute confided. “Mr. Benjamin refused to sell a yard of the land anywhere near the palace, fortunately.”

Charles drew a sigh of relief.

“Then for a short time,” he proposed, “let us leave the disposal of the dead Gestapo for further consideration. We ought to go right on with the general scheme.”

Patricia looked up from her desk.

“I quite agree,” she said. “I think the next thing we ought to consider is making arrangements for the guards who are travelling with the caskets.”

“Even before that,” Blute suggested, “we must make sure first of securing the van.”

“Where will you make for first when you have crossed the frontier?” asked Charles, studying the map.

“Once in Switzerland,” Blute answered, “I think we might pause and try to find out Mr. Benjamin’s whereabouts. By then I imagine we shall be getting to the end of these heaven-sent resources of yours, Mr. Mildenhall.”

Charles acquiesced.

“It seems a queer thing to me,” he reflected, “that Mr. Benjamin should have succeeded in disappearing so completely.”

“He has disappeared because he is the wisest and most sagacious man I ever met,” Marius Blute said emphatically. “No possible inducement ever succeeded in leading him to commit himself politically in any way. His whole life was an enigma to the Nazis. All that they knew was that long before they were sure of getting hold of Austria he was working like an alchemist getting rid of his fortune and his investments and distributing them all over the world. I know because it was I who was doing it for him, and their agents were on my track every day.”

Charles sauntered to the window and looked across once more at the church clock.

“I suppose you’d think I was mad, Blute, if I suggested that Miss Grey and I take a little stroll,” he remarked.

Blute’s expression for a moment was almost savage. He was, without a doubt, angry.

“In forty-eight hours,” he said, speaking very slowly and very distinctly, “we may be absolutely free to do exactly what we like, we may be in a fortress, we may be dead or we may have brought off one of the most amazing coups the secret service of the lay world has ever known. The greatest danger we have to face is association of the one with the other. How you, Mr. Charles Mildenhall, whom I should call the directing brains of the enterprise, can suggest that in this spot, which is the very centre of Nazi espionage, you and Miss Grey—who is well known as having been the private secretary of Mr. Benjamin—should be seen together in friendly conversation, defeats me.”

“I sit in sackcloth and ashes,” Charles repented. “Blute, I’m afraid you are right.”

“In your salon here,” Blute continued, “with access to the back service stairs, we have a sanctuary. I have a room leading out to the fire escape which I shall use instead of the stairs or lift if I think it advisable. Miss Grey here mingles with the servants and the hired help of the establishment. You, Mr. Mildenhall, make no attempt at concealment. You are the wealthy and distinguished patron of the hotel. If we should by any evil chance come face to face at any time there must not be the slightest suggestion of recognition.”

“I absolutely agree with Mr. Blute,” Patricia said earnestly. “You are running great and unnecessary risks for our sakes, Charles. I would never forgive myself if anything happened in these last few hours, nor, I am sure, would Mr. Blute.”

“If I might make a suggestion,” Blute said, “I think that a stroll across the square and a half-hour on view alone, Mr. Mildenhall, would be an excellent idea. I hope, too, that you will show yourself in the bar and restaurant here as usual on every opportunity. You are a well-known figure in Vienna when you pass through and people might very well wonder where you had spent your time here if you are not visible at any of the show places.”

“I am crushed,” Charles acknowledged. “I will swagger about the place presently and leave you two to go your own way for a time. If you want me, telephone to Herodin. I’ll leave word where I am. Don’t stint the ‘quiet money,’ Blute. Remember that an odd fifty pounds here and there may make all the difference.”

“You’ve been setting us a pretty good example of spending money,” Patricia observed, leaning forward to sniff at the bowl of roses upon the table.

“Roses in Vienna are like cabbages in White-chapel,” he answered. “You find them wherever you go.”

Once more a knock at the door. Joseph made his reappearance, calm but triumphant.

“Mein Herr,” he said, addressing Charles, “I have succeeded, but I have bought the railway! At least, so it seems to me—a poor man. I have arranged for the van, I have arranged that it shall be attached to the eight o’clock train to-morrow morning on one condition—that whatever you are sending in it shall be in the yard before midnight. It is yard number seven, to be reached from the Weltenstrasse.”

Patricia leaned back and clapped her hands.

“That is precisely what we were hoping for!” she exclaimed. “Not ten minutes ago. Monsieur Joseph, we were saying that it would be a great deal off our minds if we could get the van linked up tonight.”

“It is arranged,” Joseph announced. “To tell you the truth, Fräulein, the guard is waiting outside. With him, too, the preliminaries have been broached. He has consented to help in your scheme. I must warn you, Herr Mildenhall, that you will now have to face a shock.”

He handed over a slip of paper.

“For that I have bought the railway,” he murmured.

Charles glanced at the amount and smiled.

“It is an amazing feat, Joseph,” he declared. “On the other hand it is an absurdity. You have bought the railway, perhaps, for our interests, but for yourself, your wife, your children, your son’s wife—what remains? Nothing. Patricia, you must see to this. Joseph is robbing himself. You will provide him at once with another thousand reichsmarks.”

Joseph’s bow was equal to the bow of any courtier who had ever entered the royal palace.

“Monsieur is a Prince!”

“Bring in your guard,” Charles begged. “I am being dismissed from this assembly, Joseph, just when I am getting a little fun out of it. Bring in your guard that I may deal with him. And wait,” he went on, laying his hand upon the man’s shoulder, “when you come to fetch him away see that you are accompanied by Frederick, the second barman in the American Bar. See that he brings with him four carefully mixed dry Martinis still in the shaker with the ice just dropped in, also four glasses. And Joseph, see that the glasses are not too small. Frederick himself calls them doubles, I believe.”

“Der gnãdiger Herr shall be obeyed,” Joseph murmured. “I fetch now the guard. Afterwards I shall send word to Frederick.”

He disappeared for a moment and returned ushering in a stalwart-looking elderly official in the uniform of the Austrian Railway Company. The newcomer carried himself in soldierly fashion. His grey hair was neatly parted, he wore a closely clipped grey beard and he had more the appearance of a gentleman farmer than a railway official. He carried his cap in his hand. He bowed to Patricia, he smiled in more familiar fashion to Mr. Blute and he bowed respectfully to Charles. He nodded a temporary farewell to Joseph, who disappeared.

“I understand, Mr. Guard, that you are willing to help my two friends and myself in a rather sad little enterprise to which we are committed,” Charles began.

“It will give me much satisfaction to be of service,” the official replied. “Often it has been my pleasure, Herr Mildenhall, to number you amongst my patrons, more especially when I conducted the Orient Express. You had diplomatic privileges and to serve you was an honour. The present occasion, I gather, is purely a private one.”

“Entirely so,” Charles admitted. “I am here to do all that I can to help my friend Mr. Marius Blute, who is a connection of the four young people who met with their deaths in a motor accident three or four days ago.”

“A sad affair,” the man sighed.

“Mr. Blute has brought their bodies down here and the relatives are almost passionately anxious that they should be taken to Switzerland. As you perhaps realize, Europe to-morrow will probably again be in a state of war. We ourselves, therefore, must pass into a neutral country.”

“The situation presents many complications,” the guard remarked dubiously.

“Not so many as you would think,” Charles insisted. “I am sure you will agree with me presently that they are all capable of solution. The eight o’clock train, which you will take charge of from here to Innsbruck and afterwards into Switzerland, is the last train to run before the closing of the frontiers. We have bespoken through Joseph a van for the four coffins, accommodations for the four guards who will travel with them and a place for three plain cases which contain the effects of the victims. These will not require to pass through the Customs in the usual way. Nothing, therefore, need be disturbed in the van at the frontier.”

“If you entrust me with the carrying out of this programme,” the official promised, “you may consider the matter arranged. The only condition is that the coffins and boxes are brought to where the van will be waiting for them on siding number seven Weltenstrasse this evening between ten and twelve o’clock. I have postponed a dinner of celebration which some friends were giving me to be there in person.”

“This gentleman here, Mr. Blute, will look after everything,” Charles said. “He will come down with the caskets himself. He will be at the place you say at the time you name. The station van, as you know, is already arranged for.”

“I have been warned of that by the authorities, sir,” the man replied. “They have admitted that the circumstance is entirely unusual, but it is undertaken at the desire of a very distinguished Englishman to whom they wish to render service.”

The official bowed to Charles. Charles returned the courtesy.

“That’s all clear, then,” the latter said. “Now comes this important question, my friend. We are causing you grave discomfort. We are inviting your leniency with regard to several restrictions, as a rule imposed by your company. We are, in short, asking you to do us a great favour. I am to ask you, on behalf of the relatives of these unfortunate people, whether you would consider the sum of two thousand reichsmarks adequate return for your personal consideration, all other expenses having been arranged with the company.”

The official once more bowed low. He also extended his hand.

“Herr Mildenhall,” he promised, “the commission which you have placed in my keeping shall be truly and faithfully carried out.”

“Capital,” Charles declared. “And here, in what we call in English the nick of time, comes our friend Frederick with the slight apéritif which we English and Americans usually permit ourselves at this hour of the day. I hope that you will join us.”

Frederick poured out the cocktails.

“A toast,” Charles proposed, bowing towards Patricia and Blute. “To our safe journey in the last train!”