Читать книгу Last Train Out - E. Phillips Oppenheim - Страница 6

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The mansion of Leopold Benjamin, more than once the habitation of royalty, was encircled by a railing of iron bars as thick as a man’s wrist, with spiked tops, reaching at least eight feet high. The lodge keeper, who somewhat reluctantly had answered Charles Mildenhall’s summons, took down his name in a book, after which he swung open the great gates and motioned him forward. As far as he could see, when at last he reached the imposing entrance, the whole house on the other side of the huge front door was in complete darkness. He raised the knocker—a massive, wrought-iron affair—after a few moments’ hesitation, and although he could hear the bell, with which it seemed to be connected, ringing somewhere in the realms of darkness beyond, he felt almost inclined to beat a retreat. It was a night of terror in the city. In the far distance he could hear the rat-tat-tat of machine guns and overhead the droning of planes. The streets were rapidly becoming deserted. To present oneself for an informal dinner party when all Vienna was shaken with tremors of fear, seemed a little ridiculous. He was, as a matter of fact, on the point of turning away when he became aware of a sudden blaze of light shining through the windows on either side of him. There were footsteps from within. The door was suddenly opened. A bowing manservant welcomed him and closed the door immediately upon his entrance.

“Mr. Benjamin is, I think, expecting me for dinner,” Mildenhall announced, “or perhaps—” he hesitated. “The city is in such a disturbed state—”

“Der gnädiger Herr is expected,” the man assured him, collecting his coat and hat with another low bow. “Be so good as to follow me.”

Mildenhall looked around him in astonishment. The great hall, which was more like the nave of a cathedral, was beautifully but softly illuminated by hundreds of shaded lamps. There were pictures hanging everywhere—Old Masters, many of them. The world-famous portrait of Frederick the Great dominated the wall on his right. Back in the shadows was the no-less-famous marble statue of Shunach’s Venus. There were treasures on either side of him on which he had no time to bestow more than a casual glance as he followed his guide into the great reception room.

“Herr Mildenhall,” the man announced.

At first Mildenhall thought that the huge apartment was empty. Then a girl, who had been curled up in an easy chair, threw down her book, shook out her skirts and rose to her feet. She came forward to meet him with a delightful smile of welcome.

“I’m so sorry that Mr. Benjamin is a few minutes late,” she apologized as she held out her hand. “You will please excuse him, Mr. Mildenhall, and talk to me for a moment. My name is Patricia Grey. I am one of Mr. Benjamin’s secretaries.”

“I am delighted to meet you, Miss Grey,” Mildenhall said. “To tell you the truth, after that bewildering walk from the front entrance it is rather a relief to find something of normal size.”

She laughed gaily.

“Do you know,” she told him, “half the people who come here as strangers and face the splendours of the hall for the first time arrive in this room in rather a dazed condition. It is more like a museum than a private house, I admit. Do sit down, please. There will be a cocktail directly. Tell me—is it quiet outside?”

“Not very,” he admitted. “And by-the-by, half of Vienna believes that Mr. Benjamin left the city this morning. I’m afraid things don’t look very good.”

“I think they look horrible,” she agreed. “You know, of course, from my accent that I am an American. We are used to noise in the streets in New York, but this is all different. It’s terribly upsetting. We’ve been trying hard to get Mr. Benjamin to leave, but he’s very obstinate sometimes. He always feels that he might be of help to some of his own people here.”

“But what could he do?” Mildenhall asked. “The place seems to be in an uproar already. I really wondered whether I ought to come to-night. I would not have ventured but I went into the bank this afternoon and they told me there that Mr. Benjamin was not thinking of leaving.”

“Mr. Benjamin,” she said, “is a wonderful man. He was born in Vienna in this very house and time after time he has announced his intention of dying here. The fact that he is a Jew never disturbs him. He calls himself Viennese. I should think no one has a better right.”

The door was opened. Marius Blute was announced. The girl welcomed him as an old friend. He shook hands with Mildenhall and drew up a chair.

“Things are a little quieter, I believe,” the newcomer reported. “They talk about parleys and all that sort of thing. I don’t believe in them. What has to come has to come. Much better to get it over.”

“You don’t mean that you want the Germans to take over Austria?” the girl asked.

“I do not mean it,” he replied, “but however much we may dislike it, they are going to do it. How is our beloved Chief?”

“Just escaped from my hands,” she confided. “I let him off as easily as possible but there were hundreds of papers to be signed. He’ll be down in a few minutes. I never know exactly how many people are dining but I am sure it’s a small party to-night so I think that we might have cocktails served.”

“A heavenly thought,” Blute declared, springing to his feet. “You see,” he added, turning to Mildenhall, “I know the ways of the house so I am allowed to ring the bell.”

Dr. and Mrs. Schwarz, evidently habitués, were announced.

“Dr. Schwarz,” Patricia Grey told Mildenhall, “is the President of the famous Benjamin Hospital. I’ll show you a photograph of it,” she added, rising to her feet. “Please come with me.”

She led him to the farther end of the room and unfastened a portfolio.

“You needn’t look at these,” she said. “You may take my word for it that it is the most up-to-date hospital in Vienna and the entire cost is borne by Mr. Benjamin.”

“Your Chief is a Prince of Philanthropists,” Mildenhall declared. “I agree with you, though, I don’t want to see any photographs of hospitals. I want you to tell me about yourself.”

“I’m really a bank secretary,” she confided. “I happen to be pretty good at languages so they sent me over here to train the girls. Our banks are just a little more modern, you know, in New York. I worked at that for a year and then Mr. Benjamin made me his private secretary. I have a small suite of rooms in the house and when none of his married daughters or Mrs. Benjamin are here—he has crowds of relations, you know—I help him with his dinners. I wanted to say something to you, Mr. Mildenhall.”

“There are a great many things I should like to say to you,” the young man assured her.

She laughed up at him.

“That can come afterwards. Listen! Mr. Benjamin seems to have taken rather a fancy to you. He tells me that you travel all over Europe and that you know as much of what is going on as anyone. Tell me, do you think the Nazis who are coming into Vienna are going to be as wicked with the Jews as they were in Germany?”

Mildenhall looked at her thoughtfully. There was no doubt at all but that Patricia Grey was a very attractive young woman. She had a piquant face, soft grey-green eyes, red hair, a slender charming figure and a pleasant voice. Just now she was very serious.

“Shall I tell you just what I believe?” he asked.

“That’s what I want you to do,” she begged him earnestly.

“I think they’re going to be very bad,” he said. “No one knows how many millions the government of Germany has taken from the Jews. The Austrian Nazis have begun, as you know, to do the same thing here. When this country is taken into the Reich, as it certainly will be, I think that they will treat the Austrian Jews even worse than they have the German.”

“Why should they?” she asked. “The Jews are good citizens.”

“Yes, but the German Jews,” he told her, “were the great industrialists of the country. They were behind half the great commercial institutions. They were leading lights in nearly all the professions. Here the same condition of things exists, of course, but the very richest Jews of all are aristocrats. There are many old families in Vienna who have intermarried with Jews, and the Germany of to-day—I mean the government—hates the aristocrats. If I were you, Miss Patricia Grey, I should do all that I could to get Mr. Benjamin out of the country before it is too late.”

“And he loves his home here so much!” she lamented. “His pictures, his tapestry and his china—all those things are his happiness in life. He is one of the world’s greatest collectors, you know.”

“Everyone appreciates that,” Mildenhall admitted. “Still, you’ve asked for my advice, Miss Grey, and you have it. Get Mr. Benjamin out of this country as quickly as you can.”

“You’ll tell him what you think, if he asks you, won’t you?” she begged.

“It’s a promise.”

He glanced towards the door. Leopold Benjamin had made his appearance and there was a bustle of further new arrivals.

“You shall be rewarded,” Patricia told him, “for granting my request. I will now introduce you to the woman all Vienna is talking about.”

Mildenhall was standing quite still gazing towards the other end of the room.

“I think I know whom you mean.”

“Already?” she laughed.

“I met her a few nights ago—that is, if you mean the Baroness von Ballinstrode.”

“And you are a victim, I can see!”

“I met her at Victor’s restaurant,” he said a little evasively. “She was with the Archduke Karl Sebastian.”

Patricia caught at his arm. They were walking slowly towards the others.

“Don’t mention that to anyone,” she whispered. “It would be rather a faux pas here. Mr. Benjamin is devoted to the Archduke and he is also fond of the Archduchess.”

“I will remember,” Mildenhall promised.

She flitted away to greet the new arrivals. Mildenhall remained a little in the background, dividing his attention between the woman he admired and his host. In his simply cut dinner clothes Leopold Benjamin would have been an arresting figure anywhere. He was tall—over six feet—and very thin, but his carriage made his height unnoticeable. His features were excellent and the deep lines in his face detracted nothing from his good looks. His forehead was high, his grey hair brushed simply back. His expression was very grave in repose and it was evidently a very serious matter which he was discussing with the Baroness. Her fingers were resting upon his arm, those beautiful blue eyes were upturned to his. It was obvious that she was making a request of some sort which he was not wholly disposed to grant. He suddenly caught sight of Charles Mildenhall in the background, and beckoned to him with the air of one who welcomes a diversion.

“We will speak of these serious matters later, Baroness,” he said pleasantly. “I must introduce to you a young friend who is making a flying visit to Vienna. He belongs, I think, more to your world than do we of this sober household. Mr. Mildenhall,” he added, “the Baroness von Ballinstrode permits me to present you. Everything you wish to know about the gaiety of this fascinating city she can reveal.”

The Baroness was gracious but showed no signs of ever having heard of Mildenhall before. The latter, grateful for Patricia Grey’s hint, murmured only the few formal words necessary. Leopold Benjamin turned away to speak to Mrs. Schwarz.

“Our host is in an obstinate humour this evening,” the Baroness confided.

“I have been watching you from a distance,” he admitted. “If such a thing were possible, I should have divined that you were asking him a favour which he was not disposed to grant.”

“You are evidently,” she said, sinking into one of the beautiful Empire chairs and motioning him to draw one to her side, “a person of discernment, perhaps I should also add—tact.”

“You flatter me,” he murmured. “As a matter of fact, I generally lose my head when I have a really pleasant surprise.”

She tapped his knuckles with her fan.

“But listen,” she begged. “I was really giving Mr. Benjamin some wonderful advice, if he would listen to it. The situation to-night is worse but—you know a little of the Viennese temperament, I’m sure—nobody will believe it. They are light-hearted; they hope always for the best. No one will believe what I know to be the truth. The Germans have two divisions of picked troops actually on the frontier. They will be in Austria before daylight to-morrow.”

“As bad as that,” he murmured.

“Worse,” she answered, “a great deal worse for Leopold Benjamin. I need not tell you how the Jews have been treated in Germany. It is too awful a subject to discuss—especially in this house. But listen, my friend—I know these things because I have influential connections—in this country Leopold Benjamin stands upon a pinnacle. He is the Emperor of all the Jews. No one believes that harm could come to him. All the same, it will. I want him to leave at once. I want him to pack up all those treasures of his—millions and millions of your English pounds they are worth—and take them over the Swiss frontier. He would be safe there. Not only that—his treasures would be safe. He will not listen to me. He will not believe even the late news that I bring him. Look at him listening to the Princess Sophie’s chatter! Don’t you love that gracious stoop of the neck he has? Have you influence with him, Mr. Mildenhall?”

“Not a scrap,” Mildenhall assured her. “He was a great friend of my uncle’s, but I only met him a few days ago and he knows nothing about me except that I am distantly connected with the British Embassy here.”

She looked up at him with a reawakened gleam of interest in her eyes.

“So that was why you were dining with Freddie Lascelles!”

“An old friend of mine,” he assented. “We started our career together in Paris.”

“Later on this evening you must tell me all about yourself,” she said. “Just now I feel that I want to talk about nothing but Leopold Benjamin. Someone ought to make him see reason. He has bad advisers here.”

“He looks far too intelligent to make mistakes of that sort,” Mildenhall remarked.

“He is too kindly. He sees nothing but the best side of everybody. How he came to make this enormous fortune banking I cannot imagine, except that his father had paved the way for him. Tell me, do you know a queer little man—Marius Blute, I think his name is?”

“Yes, I know him. I met him the same day that I met Mr. Benjamin. He’s dining here to-night.”

“That man,” she said seriously, “is one of Leopold Benjamin’s most dangerous advisers.”

“Really? Of course, I know nothing about him,” Mildenhall continued, “but I should not have thought that he possessed sufficient significance to be an adviser to one of the most astute men in Austria.”

Patricia Grey glided up to them. In her simple black frock, with her delightful figure and marvellous colouring, she presented an altogether charming appearance—a complete and intriguing foil to the Baroness.

“We are going in to dinner quite informally,” Patricia announced. “We have not even table cards. Will you look after the Baroness, Mr. Mildenhall? I am told that I must be somewhere in the neighbourhood as Mr. Mildenhall is our only stranger to-night.”

“Seems to me,” he remarked with a smile as he offered his arm to the Baroness, “that the strangers get all the luck here.”