Wallace Intervenes (9 page)

He smiled fondly down at her, though he felt a little disappointed at her decision.

‘You are very scrupulous, Sophie,’ he asserted, ‘but I greatly admire you for it. You do not feel you can give me a little hint concerning just the military scheme?’

She shook her head.

‘I cannot. I must be honourable to myself. I could never again feel peace if I betrayed what has been confided in me without the reason I have given.’

‘I understand.’

‘But,’ she went on, ‘there is one thing I will do. I will write everything down; then, if anything happens to me, you will have the knowledge I possess.’

‘For God’s sake!’ he protested, ‘don’t talk like that.’

‘It is possible, dear,’ she persisted softly. ‘The danger is present. Even now von Strom may have decided that it is better I should not live. You see the naiad on the fountain?’ He nodded miserably. ‘Well, she is sitting on a part that is hollow. There is a small hole a little way down, hidden by her left leg. Inside that hole I will put the document. But promise me that you will not search for it or allow others to come and search, unless – unless I am threatened.’

He promised, begged her to be careful, then swore that, if any harm came to her, he would not rest until he had avenged her. She smiled fondly at him.

‘Of what use will that be to me?’ she queried. ‘You must remember that you are pledged to a great service. You must do nothing to bring harm upon yourself which may result in your country being robbed of you.’

They strolled back to the fountain, their conversation being now devoted to intimate personal topics. For a little while they remained listening to the soothing melody of the running water; then went on to the house. They had almost reached the terrace when two men strode from the library, stood gazing down at them. Sophie’s face suddenly became drained of all colour.

‘The Marshal!’ she gasped. ‘Why has he come back?’

Foster regarded the man who had so large a part in deciding the destinies of Germany with a good deal of interest. He had never seen him in the flesh before, though he had studied numerous pictures of him. He was stockily built, a mass of unruly hair falling carelessly low over his forehead. A well-clipped moustache gave him a military appearance. His eyes were dark and held a penetrative quality. The face on the whole suggested obstinacy rather than strength, sullenness rather than force. On acquaintance, however, one became aware of the personality and magnetism of the man.

Sophie quickly recovered herself. She succeeded in greeting him with a smile as she and Foster ascended the steps to the terrace. The man in attendance, a tall, broad-shouldered individual in uniform with a row of medals across his breast, stepped back; stood by the French windows opening into the
library. Beyond Foster caught a glimpse of the pale, anxious face of Dora Reinwald.

‘This is an unexpected pleasure, Your Excellency,’ cried Sophie gaily. ‘Have you come to lunch?’

‘No, I have come to talk to you,’ replied von Strom in a harsh, unpleasant voice. ‘Is this the young man who has pestered you with his attentions?’

Foster was careful to show no sign that he understood what was being said. The baroness now knew that he was familiar with the German language, but it was essential that no one else should be aware of the fact.

‘Do not be unkind about him,’ laughed Sophie. ‘After all, he is in love with me, and that is no sin, is it?’

‘It is a sin when it does not meet with the approval of the Supreme Marshal of State,’ declared that gentleman. ‘You are certain he has no knowledge of German?’

‘He would not stand there looking with eyes of admiration at you, Excellency,’ retorted the girl pointedly, ‘if he understood the language.’

He turned and surveyed Foster. He saw before him a tall, fair-haired typical Englishman, good-looking, but with a naive not over-intelligent face. Apparently he decided that the man whose association with the Baroness von Reudath had caused so much commotion was, after all, of a harmless type. He actually smiled, and bade Sophie present Foster to him. The latter appeared overwhelmed with gratification at the honour. He stammered, dropped his eyeglass, screwed it back in his eye, and generally comported himself as though thoroughly confused. Von Strom watched him with a smile of half-veiled contempt. His English was not very good, and he refrained from airing it
to any great extent. Presently he turned back to the girl.

‘I am surprised,’ he commented, ‘that a woman of your great intelligence should find any pleasure in the company of such a man. He is good-looking, yes possesses a fine figure, no doubt, but he is only a fool. The rumours I have heard that you were in love with him are absurd. You, Sophie Von Reudath, could not love a man of his type. I must admit the sight of him has eased my mind.’

The baroness stole a look at the innocently bland countenance of her lover. She felt she would have given a lot to have been able to laugh at that moment. There was certainly a fool at the top of these steps, she reflected, but it was not Bernard Foster.

‘You are cruel to him, Friedrich,’ she protested. ‘He is really very nice and he amuses me.’

‘Have you made it clear to him that he must discontinue his friendship with you?’

She sighed.

‘Yes; and he has submitted to your decree, but it has upset him very much. He told me Colonel Schönewald had already made that apparent. What harm can there possibly be in his association with me, Friedrich? I confess I do not understand. I like him, and he loves me. It is nice to be loved.’

‘Have I not proved that I love you?’ demanded the Marshal. ‘Is not that sufficient for you? You should know that being a woman who has knowledge of great matters, it is unwise to possess too many so-called friends, more particularly when they are foreigners. I expect you to remember that your life is devoted to Germany and to me. I can make you great – what can a man of his type do?’

‘You talk as though there was a question of my choosing
between you,’ she protested in reply to his bombastic utterance. ‘Why should you do that?’

‘Choose between us!’ he sneered. ‘How absurd!’

‘That is exactly what I thought. There is no question of a choice at all.’

‘So! Let us have no more foolishness then. What were you and he talking about in the garden for so long? I am told that you have been there for an hour and twenty minutes.’

‘Why is it that my movements are being spied upon?’ she cried passionately. ‘Why am I made to feel a prisoner in my own house?’

‘I desire to protect you from fools,’ was the reply. ‘Tell me what you spoke about!’

‘There were so many things that it is difficult to remember. We spoke of the flowers – he thought the garden lovely – about places we had visited in Budapest, people we had met. He asked me a lot of questions about the beauty spots of Berlin and its suburbs, about the restaurants, bathing places, and the best dancing resorts, and – oh! A lot of other trivial matters.’

‘It took an hour and twenty minutes for rubbish like that,’ commented von Strom. ‘What a waste of time! Did he ask you any questions concerning the army, the navy, or the flying service?’

‘Not a single one. Why do you ask?’

‘Foreigners are apt to be inquisitive on those points. Very well, dismiss him. You and I will walk in the garden for a little while, then you shall entertain me to lunch.’

Sophie turned to Foster, and held out her hand.

‘Goodbye,’ she said. ‘I have enjoyed your companionship on my holiday. It has been very nice. When you go back to England, give my love to Mrs Manvers-Buller and all my other friends.’

‘Is this really goodbye?’ asked Foster as he held her hand in his.
‘Is it quite out of the question for me to come and see you again?’

‘Quite, I am afraid. You will find many friends in Berlin, however, if you decide to stay here for a little while. I will ask people to call on you.’

‘Come, Baroness!’ called the marshal. ‘I am waiting.’

She left him with a smile intended only for him – a smile which conveyed many things. He bowed to von Strom, received a curt nod by way of reply, and entered the library. The officer standing on the threshold of the French windows moved aside to let him pass, favouring him with a contemptuous glance as he did so.

After an exceedingly lonely dinner at his hotel, during which he was oppressed by memories of Sophie, his partner at so many meals during the previous fortnight, he went to the Gourmania roof, the indefatigable Schmidt accompanying him as before. By that time he had given up protesting against the fellow’s presence. It was merely a waste of breath. Schmidt reiterated with monotonous regularity that his main duty was the protection of the visitor.

‘You do not the Sherman spik,’ he repeated. ‘If you got lost what you do?’

Foster, therefore, resigned himself to the inevitable. The man did not obtrude at the Gourmania which was one blessing. The place was so crowded that the Englishman felt it would have been an easy matter to have given his follower the slip had he desired to do so. No doubt, though, Johann Schmidt was lurking in the vicinity somewhere. The Gourmania was very modern. There seemed to be music and dancing on every floor. The roof was narrow and long with a circular dance floor at each end. The ceiling, of opaque glass from which a bluish illumination was diffused, was supported by columns of burnished copper; the walls were panelled in blue glass. A
large jazz band supplied the music. There did not seem to be a vacant table in the place, but a seat was found for him at one where a man and girl were sitting, apparently unconscious of anyone but themselves. Foster was rather embarrassed. He did not like intruding on what was so obviously a love affair. It seemed the custom at the Gourmania, however, for strangers to share tables. He ordered coffee, rejecting the waiter’s suggestion that he should try the almost universally popular drink, a sickly-looking concoction in long narrow glasses. It surprised him to observe that little beer was being drunk. At one table not very far from his, however, a small, remarkably small, very stout man, with a fierce moustache and hair like the bristles of a brush, was very busily engaged in drinking beer. A succession of glasses of Pilsener seemed to reach his table, be emptied and replaced. The Englishman frowned thoughtfully. Where had he seen the fellow before? Suddenly it dawned on him. He was Jerry Cousins! It was stupid of him not to have remembered at once, but the disguise was so marvellous. Foster wondered, what he was doing there. As he took no notice of the other people sharing his table, it was to be presumed that he was alone.

At the table beyond Cousins’ were two beautifully dressed young women and a fair-haired, good-looking man. Foster recognised the latter at once as Colonel Schönewald, and immediately became deeply thoughtful. Was it possible that his colleagues were keeping watch on the young Nazi officer? He grew so interested that it was some time before he noticed that the waiter was patiently standing by expecting him to pay for the coffee. He took out a handful of change and was looking for the coin he needed, when a voice asked if he was having trouble.
He looked up to find Schönewald smiling down at him.

‘I thought you were in difficulties,’ remarked the German. ‘Money is always a beastly nuisance when one first tries to understand it in a foreign country. Allow me!’

He selected a mark from the heap in Foster’s hand.

‘That isn’t enough for a tip as well, is it?’ asked the Englishman.

‘Heavens, yes! More than enough. Don’t spoil the fellow.’ The waiter departed, well satisfied. ‘Would you like to join my party?’ went on Schönewald. ‘It must be beastly lonely for you. If you’re keen on dancing, you’ll find that the two ladies with me are A1.’

Foster rose with real gratitude.

‘I say that’s sporting of you,’ he declared. ‘Are you sure I won’t be butting in?’

‘Of course not. Bring your coffee along.’

Foster followed him to the other table where the two girls watched his approach with smiling friendly eyes. Though neither of them was particularly good-looking, they both had attractive faces. One was exceptionally dark, with a magnificent pair of eyes that more than made up for the shortcomings of her other features. The other had brown hair, blue eyes, and an excellent complexion. Schönewald introduced the first as Fraulein Marlene Heckler, the second as Fraulein Hilda Zeiss.

‘They both speak English as well as I do,’ he added with a laugh, ‘so you need have no qualms. By the way, have you learnt any German yet?’

‘Oh, I say, give a fellow a chance,’ begged Foster. ‘I only arrived last night. I find, though, that one can get along very nicely by saying “ja” and “so” every few minutes.’

The three laughed.

‘It might come a trifle awkward on occasions,’ commented
Schönewald. ‘For instance,’ he added. ‘I wouldn’t recommend you to say “ja”, if asked whether you are in this country to learn the secrets possessed by the Baroness von Reudath.’

Foster inwardly felt a sense of perturbation. Had he been invited to that table, not altogether from motives of friendliness but more with the idea of subjecting him to an innocently sounding kind of third degree? The thought put him very much on his guard. He eyed Schönewald with an air of complete innocence.

‘Does she possess any secrets of importance?’ he asked. ‘I can’t help feeling mystified, don’t you know. We’re all friends here, and all that, so I suppose you won’t mind my asking you a question.’

‘Not at all,’ murmured Schönewald. ‘Go ahead!’

Foster noticed a swift look pass between him and the black-haired girl.

‘What is it all about?’ he asked. ‘You came to me this morning and warned me to cease showing any interest in the baroness. You also asked me whether she had divulged any matters of importance to me, and hinted at state secrets and what not. I find it all jolly mysterious and can’t make head nor tail of it. Can’t you give me some sort of idea about what you’re all driving at?’

Schönewald smiled.

‘I’m sorry,’ he replied regretfully, ‘but I can’t. If I could, I assure, I would.’

Foster sighed.

‘I tried to get the baroness to tell me what the trouble is,’ he observed, ‘and why I was forbidden to see her, but she would only say that her holiday was over, and that, as she is a busy woman, she could not spare any more time to me. Of course she said she was sorry about it, and all that sort of thing, but it’s beastly hard on a fellow, don’t you know. At least I think
someone might tell me why I’m regarded as a jolly old plague spot.’

‘You take it too seriously, my dear chap,’ laughed Schönewald. ‘Forget all about the baroness, if you can. It will be better for both of you.’

‘Forget her!’ repeated Foster. ‘Sounds easy enough, doesn’t it? I’d like to see you try it, if you felt as I do about her.’

‘You see,’ observed the Nazi in rapid German to Marlene Heckler, ‘he is just in love with her – nothing else. A young fool with more money than brains, but a nice fellow all the same. There is no guile in him.’

‘I think you are right,’ she answered, ‘but I will see what I can do.’ She turned to Foster with a smile. ‘The Herr Colonel has told me that you are very much fond of dancing,’ she remarked in English. ‘I also like it. One can forget much when waltzing or foxtrotting. Would you like to dance with me, and afterwards with Hilda?’

‘Rather,’ he assented eagerly. ‘I was about to ask you myself.’

They rose, Schönewald, at the same time, inviting Hilda Zeiss. It was at that moment that Cousins, in the person of the little fat German at the next table, rose and somehow or other tripped. He plunged headlong into Foster, sending him staggering back. If the latter had not grabbed him, he would have fallen to the floor. In the short time that it took to steady him, however, Cousins whispered urgently:

‘Be careful of Marlene Heckler – one of Germany’s most dangerous spies.’

Foster’s face retained its ingenuous expression. The accident seemed only to have amused him. He patted the little man on the shoulders.