Wallace Intervenes

by Alexander Wilson

  ‘Baroness von Reudath arrives in London tomorrow. She will be entertained a great deal by the many friends she has here during her stay of a week or ten days. The day after tomorrow Lady Ashington gives a reception at which she will be present. You will receive a card, and Mrs Manvers-Buller, who has known the baroness almost as long as she has known you, will present you to her. With you it will be a case of love at first sight. For the rest of the baroness’ stay in this country you will never be very far from her, but don’t overdo it. If you gain her interest in you, then go wherever she goes until you have succeeded in becoming thoroughly intimate with her and – in her confidence. If she will have nothing to do with you, we must try other means of finding out what I want to know or else rely entirely on Rosemary Meredith. Presuming that you will succeed in becoming very friendly with the baroness, you will eventually go with her or follow her to Berlin. There you will get in touch with Gottfried, who will convey any future orders to you. As he is the Berlin manager of Lalére et Cie, what more natural than that you should go to him to purchase perfumes for your inamorata? Whatever you learn from the baroness concerning the three things I shall presently enumerate, no matter how trivial it may seem, and even though reported as a rumour, don’t fail to inform Gottfried. But be very careful how you obtain your information. Sophie von Reudath is an exceedingly clever as well as a beautiful woman, and, if you once raise her suspicions against you, you will be done. If she speaks to you of these things, show little or no interest, appear to have one thought in your mind only and that your infatuation for her. Circumstances must guide you in your method of obtaining your facts without causing distrust. She may possibly talk of them to you, though it’s most unlikely; you may overhear or see something, however, that will tell you a lot. In any case your job will require infinite patience, tact, and ingenuity. I recognise that I am staking a lot on giving a young, inexperienced man like you such a task, but you are the right type for the part I have cast you to play. It is certain your connection with the Secret Service is unknown and unsuspected; above all, I fancy I have discovered in you certain qualities which should prove of great value under the present circumstances. You have your chance, Foster; take it!’

  The young man swallowed convulsively. He had never anticipated anything like this, and for a moment he found himself bereft of words. Eventually, however, he succeeded in murmuring huskily:

  ‘Thank you, sir. I won’t let you down.’ His blue eyes met the grey ones of his chief with a look full of confidence.

  ‘I am sure you won’t,’ smiled Wallace. ‘Remember: if you are in any difficulties in Berlin, go and purchase perfume at the Lalére agency in the Unter den Linden and consult Gottfried. But never, under any circumstances, go to him if you feel you are in danger or suspected. No doubt of the bona fides of Gottfried or Lalére and Company must be raised. To all seeming, throughout the world, Lalére’s is merely a famous and popular perfume firm. In Berlin Gottfried is one of the Prussians of the old school – a strong, fanatical devotee of the cult of Deutschland über alles. Nothing must occur to weaken or endanger his position in Germany. You must lose your life rather than imperil Lalére’s. Understand that perfectly?’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ replied Foster firmly and at once.

  ‘You will not be entirely alone. Once you are established in your friendship with the baroness, I will take steps to see that someone is nearby to help you in the event of trouble. But that someone will not be Gottfried. Now all that remains is to tell you what it is I hope you will succeed in learning from or through the baroness. The Marshal has formed and carefully drawn up secret military plans. It is believed that the final scheme was discussed and agreed upon at a private meeting in the residence of the baroness. The Chancellor and the Minister for Propaganda were the only others present. It is not known if the baroness actually took part in the discussion. I am anxious – very anxious – to know what those secret military plans are. The second item concerns a very deadly gas which is reported to have been invented by a German scientist named Hans Mohrenwitz, the third is a wireless ray invented by another scientist named Joachim Bräu, which is said to have the effect of putting aircraft out of action. I want details of the gas and the ray, every item of information concerning them you can gather, in fact. You may think I am setting you a herculean task, Foster, but I am only asking you to find out what the baroness knows. If she knows nothing, we must go elsewhere. That’s all – for the present.’ He held out his hand, which Foster gripped with great warmth. ‘Good luck, Bernard,’ was said in a tone of deep sincerity. Major Brien also shook hands and wished the young man good luck. Foster turned towards the door, with an unaccustomed though very happy lump in his throat. He had almost reached it when Sir Leonard called: ‘You’re twenty-six, aren’t you?’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ replied the ex-guardsman.

  ‘So is she,’ murmured Wallace. ‘What a delightful age for a romance!’

  CHAPTER TWO

  The Baroness von Reudath

  Foster duly received his card for Lady Ashington’s reception, and proceeded to the house in Belgrave Square wondering what the immediate future held in store for him. He was not blind to the fact that the path he would have to tread might prove to be one of desperate peril. Hitherto he had not been engaged on any enterprise overshadowed by much danger. Now, alone, unaided, he was expected to carry out a task that would quite likely involve him in trouble not only with the German secret police but with the Marshal of State himself. He certainly had been given his chance – a glorious chance – and he intended grasping it with both hands. Nevertheless, it must be confessed that he felt a trifle worried. Ever since he left school he had been thrown constantly in the society of girls, most of them his sister’s friends. He had got on very well with them; had more than once imagined himself in love, only to find out that there was a disease that frequently gripped young men called infatuation. This fact was pointed out to him by the girls themselves, who being very modern in their ideas, were extremely sensible. Now he was asked to become infatuated, or at least pretend to be infatuated, with an experienced, worldly-wise woman. The questions that bothered him were: Could he do it, and gain her interest and sympathy? Could he succeed without her seeing through the deception? He recognised the wisdom of Sir Leonard in selecting him for the part. He knew himself to be good-looking and attractive to members of the opposite sex – there was no nonsensical or mock modesty in the composition of Foster – in addition his circle of friends was acquainted with his amorous affairs, and would, therefore, not be surprised at another. It would be rather distasteful to make love to a woman with the purpose of worming important secrets from her, but a Secret Service man cannot regard his feelings or those of others when duty bids otherwise. Unpleasant functions make part of the price one has to pay for serving one’s country in such a capacity. The disturbing thought occurred to him that he might find the young baroness distinctly attractive and, despite all his efforts to the contrary, actually fall in love with her. He had no illusions on the score that he was impressionable. To betray the woman one loved seemed a desperately low-down thing to do. He resolved to be on his guard from the very first, and avoid falling in love with her if he possibly could. But what difference would that make? It was his business to get her to fall in love with him, or at least become fond of him, wasn’t it? As low-down to disclose the secrets of a woman who had conceived an affection for one, and therefore trusted one, as to betray the woman one loved; more so in fact. Such reflections caused a little frown to appear on his ingenuous face; he shrugged his shoulders rather painfully. Perhaps for the first time he was realising something of the unsavoury side of Secret Service life. His instincts rebelled against accomplishing anything by underhanded means, but it never occurred to him to attempt to back out; he would go through with his job to the bitter end no matter what it cost him personally. As a Secret Service man he had no right to personal feelings, and perhaps he comforted himself with the thought that nothing ca
n be underhand that is performed in the service of country.

  He arrived at Lady Ashington’s stately home to find himself in the midst of some very famous people. His host and hostess greeted him charmingly, saying a few words to him before turning to welcome other guests, and leaving him free to wander about at will. He found several acquaintances, and entered into conversation with them, but all the time his eyes were searching, trying to catch a glimpse of the woman with whom he was to become infatuated. He saw no one quite resembling the description he had been given, and he did not mention her to any of his friends. Sooner or later, he knew, Mrs Manvers-Buller would arrive and pilot him to the baroness. She had appeared once from out of the throng, had smiled and nodded, but had passed on, which suggested that the baroness had not yet come or the time was not ripe for the introduction. Foster was a little intrigued by the position occupied by Mrs Manvers-Buller in the affair. He knew that she was a great friend of Sir Leonard and Lady Wallace, but he did not know that she had more than once been of much assistance to the Chief of the Secret Service; that she was, in fact, a kind of honorary member of the department. A great traveller, with an intimate knowledge of and acquaintance with some of the greatest diplomats in the world, she had, on occasion, passed on most valuable information to Wallace acquired during her peregrinations abroad. She possessed a tremendous, almost fanatical devotion to Great Britain and the Crown. If she had not occupied her very important position in society, and was not more useful to him as she was, it is likely that Sir Leonard would have offered her permanent employment in the Secret Service. He had known her since she was a girl at school with his sister. She had married the Honourable James Manvers-Buller, a man considerably older than herself, and it was through him that she had obtained her flair for diplomacy and international intrigue. He had been the first secretary of the embassy in Paris when he had died, just as he was about to be appointed to a higher post.

  Foster saw Lady Wallace sitting with an elderly peer, and approached to pay his respects, not of course as one of her husband’s young men, but as a friend of the family. She kept him in conversation for some time, her beauty sending a thrill through his receptive heart. He had known her for many years, but time made no difference. Whenever he saw her, the same feeling of worship possessed him. He was not unique in that respect. The charm and beauty of Lady Wallace makes slaves of all who know her. It is a tribute to her sterling character that women worship her with the same sincerity as do men. Sir Leonard is wont to declare that the greatest puzzle of his life is, and always will be, what she saw in him to cause her to love and marry him, but then the man who thinks least of Sir Leonard Wallace is notably Sir Leonard Wallace himself. Foster stayed talking to her as long as he dared, only tearing himself away when the baleful looks of the elderly peer told him that the latter considered him de trop. He departed in search of refreshment with some cronies of his, and it was while at the buffet that Mrs Manvers-Buller came to him. She chose the moment well. Surrounding him were nearly a dozen young men and girls, most of them engaged in twitting him about the air of boredom he had thought fit to adopt. Into the circle stepped Mrs Manvers-Buller, a small, bright-eyed, vivacious woman, leaning on the arm of an attendant cavalier.

  ‘Did I hear someone say that our Bernard is bored?’ she demanded.

  A regular chorus gave an answer in the affirmative, and Foster grinned sheepishly.

  ‘I never feel very happy at these affairs,’ he confessed.

  ‘Well, shall I show you how?’ she asked. She turned to the man at her side, one of the under-secretaries of the government, spoken of as a cabinet minister of the near future. ‘It would only be a kindness on our part to bring happiness into his young life. Don’t you agree, Bunny?’

  Several of the girls standing by laughed. The fact that Mrs Manvers-Buller addressed an important Member of Parliament as ‘Bunny’ struck them as amusing. The under-secretary did not view it in the same light. There was no doubt but that he felt his importance, and considered it undignified to be called by such a name, particularly before a crowd of young, irresponsible people.

  ‘Why did you call Mr Erskine “Bunny”?’ asked one smiling girl.

  ‘He used to twitch his ears delightfully when he was a schoolboy,’ explained Mrs Manvers-Buller. ‘The performance thrilled my young heart, and I christened him Bunny. Won’t you give a demonstration, Michael?’ She turned to the frowning MP.

  ‘Were you not talking of – er – bringing happiness into the life of Foster?’ he asked hastily, amid further laughter.

  ‘Oh, so I was,’ cried the little woman. She slipped her disengaged arm into that of Foster. ‘Come along, Bernard,’ she commanded, ‘we’ll introduce you to Sophie von Reudath. She’ll be a change from these bright, unsophisticated young things.’

  ‘He’ll fall in love with her,’ jeered one of Foster’s companions.

  ‘So much the better,’ pronounced Mrs Manvers Buller. ‘Sophie likes to be loved – I think it’s time she found another husband.’

  ‘Oh, I say,’ protested Foster. ‘Isn’t this rather like leading a lamb to the slaughter?’

  ‘You won’t consider it slaughter when you see her,’ was the response.

  As they crossed the crowded room, the under-secretary leant down until his lips were very close to Mrs Manvers-Buller’s ear.

  ‘Do you think this is – er – judicious?’ he whispered. ‘Foster is rather impressionable, and the baroness is known to be a very warm friend of the—’

  ‘Bunny,’ interrupted the little woman, ‘you have an evil mind.’

  They found the Baroness von Reudath holding a little court in an alcove. Sitting on either side of her were two cabinet ministers, another stood close by; various other important people, men and women, stood or sat in the vicinity. Foster started to draw back, but Mrs Manvers-Buller had no intention of letting him go. She was a privileged person, and into the circle she stepped, to be greeted by the baroness with a little cry of delight.

  ‘My friend,’ exclaimed the latter in perfect English which had hardly any trace of a foreign accent, ‘I thought you had deserted me.’

  ‘Why this relief to see me, Sophie?’ demanded the outspoken little woman. ‘Have these intriguing statesmen, knowing you are persona grata with the powers that be in Germany, been attempting to pump you?’

  ‘Pump me! What is that?’ asked the baroness.

  Laughing protests came from the ministers. They felt no sense of resentment against Mrs Manvers-Buller. Everybody liked her; apart from which it was generally recognised that she was a very valuable little lady. In addition, they felt that perhaps it had been a trifle unsporting to get the baroness to talk about conditions in Germany, especially when she was visiting England on a holiday. Foster studied the Baroness von Reudath with a great deal of interest. At first sight of her he had had difficulty in suppressing a gasp of sheer admiration. She was certainly beautiful; more beautiful that he had imagined. Her corn-coloured hair was brushed back from a high, flawless forehead, and caught up artistically at the nape of her neck. She was no stranger to the use of cosmetics, but obviously applied them sparingly. Delicately pencilled eyebrows surmounted a pair of frank blue eyes framed by long, dark lashes. Her nose was small and well-shaped, her mouth could not have been better conceived by an artist, her ears, from each of which hung a valuable pearl, were shell-like in their daintiness. She possessed a pure, creamy complexion. Altogether a woman any man might be proud to—Foster pulled himself up abruptly. There he was – thinking of her already as something to be loved, forgetting that she was the confidante of perhaps the most dangerous man in Europe, a woman who was probably the holder of secrets that might at any time mean war. There was something else besides beauty in her face. The broad forehead, the determined little chin, the almost arrogant tilt of her head proclaimed intelligence, strength, character. Altogether a glamorous personality. Foster began to fear that he was already more than half in love with her. He felt that he liked be
st about her the frankness of her eyes. She was as straight as a die, he thought, the last person in the world to betray any secret that had been confided to her care. He reflected that his task had suddenly assumed gigantic proportions, and for more reasons than one.

  Mrs Manvers-Buller shooed away the statesmen as though they were so many sheep, declaring that Baroness von Reudath did not want to be bothered by a lot of hoary-headed old sinners, when young men were longing to enter the realms of beauty and romance with her. They went meekly, one or two chuckling, one or two sighing, perhaps regretting their lost youth.

  ‘Really, Elsa, you are too terrible,’ declared the baroness, her eyes twinkling merrily, ‘you make one feel hot and cold all over.’

  ‘I am glad you feel something,’ retorted her friend with mock severity. ‘You should be ashamed of yourself casting your spell on the venerable seigneurs who fondly imagine they are ruling England.’

  ‘But if they do not rule,’ laughed the baroness, ‘who does?’

  ‘The newspapers, my dear. But let me present to you a very bored young man who declared that he is never happy at an affair like this.’

  The Baroness von Reudath had already cast approving eyes on the tall, well-set-up figure of Bernard Foster, whose faultless evening attire showed off his lean, athletic form to perfection. The introductions were effected.

  ‘If you are not happy why do you come?’ queried the baroness.

  ‘God knows,’ remarked Mrs Manvers-Buller, answering for him. ‘The young men, far more than the girls, obey the dictates of society like a litter of puppies running after their mother. If you ask them why, they will make some fatuous remark about its being the thing to do. They turn up in top hats, stiff collars, and morning coats to attend the Eton and Harrow cricket match even in the hottest weather. I say attend, because nobody goes there to see the play – they’d be fools, if they did, for there isn’t any worth talking about. If it were the fashion to bathe naked in the Serpentine in the middle of winter, they would do it, simply because it would be the thing to do.’