Wallace Intervenes

by Alexander Wilson

  ‘Perhaps you will ask him when it will be convenient to see him. My name is Foster.’

  The assistant went away; returned a minute or two later to announce that Herr Gottfried would come and speak to him. The burly form of the man he knew well presently appeared. Gottfried with his round, closely-cropped head and bristling moustache, looked a typical Prussian. Yet he was as British as Foster, though he had spent most of his life in Berlin where no one had the slightest idea that he was anything but a pure German. One of the most reliable men in the Secret Service, his presence as an accepted German in the capital of the country had, for many years, been of the utmost value to Sir Leonard Wallace. He was on various municipal and other committees, mixed in the highest circles, and generally was recognised as a man of shrewd common sense whose love for the country amounted to a passion. It was little wonder, therefore, that he was on numerous occasions consulted upon highly confidential matters. No sign of recognition passed between the two as he and Foster faced each other.

  ‘I understand,’ commenced Gottfried in English which had the slightest trace of accent, ‘that you are in search of a perfume of a special nature. If you will accompany me to my office, which is also something of a laboratory, I will be able, I think, to place before you that which will meet your requirements.’

  ‘But I understand you are engaged,’ objected Foster. ‘I will call again.’

  ‘By no means. The two gentlemen with me are very much interested in scent. They will not mind.’ Foster went with him, feeling rather puzzled that he had not been given an appointment for another time. They could certainly not discuss anything of importance before strangers. He was more perplexed and definitely perturbed when he was inside the office facing the two men – Germans of the most obvious type – Gottfried, having made certain that the door was fast closed, announced that he had expected him.

  ‘Don’t bother about whispering, when you speak,’ he went on. ‘This room is absolutely soundproof.’

  Foster stared at him with incredulous eyes. Was the man crazy? His gaze encountered that of one of the Germans, a bronzed, hearty-looking man in the uniform of a naval officer. He had a round, jolly face and fair hair parted very much on one side. The other was small and extremely fat with hair standing up like bristles and a moustache of fierce proportions. Foster was not prepossessed in his favour. His face was wreathed in a smile that was apparently intended to be friendly, but rather failed in its object. The naval officer was smiling also; much more attractively, thought the young Secret Service man, though there was a suggestion of mockery in it. He turned back rather helplessly to Gottfried, who was regarding him with amused eyes.

  ‘What about that perfume?’ he asked. ‘I want something special that—’

  ‘Will be a worthy present for the most wonderful girl in the world,’ the sailor went on for him, and he spoke in the voice of Sir Leonard Wallace. Foster swung round with a cry of sheer amazement and stared incredulously at him. ‘Well, our disguises seem to be pretty good,’ laughed Wallace, ‘since they have taken in both you and Gottfried.’

  ‘Good heavens!’ ejaculated the astonished Foster. ‘Is – is this one of us also, sir?’ he asked, weakly indicating the small, fat man.

  ‘It is most reprehensible,’ came the voice of Cousins, ‘for a junior to speak of a senior as this? To quote Mallory—’

  ‘Cousins!’ yelled Foster. ‘Good old Jerry!’

  ‘How dare you interrupt a quotation! You youngsters have no manners.’

  ‘It’s a lucky thing this room is soundproof,’ commented Gottfried drily. ‘Foster’s yell might otherwise have reached to Potsdam.’

  That young man did not heed his remark. He seemed unable to tear his eyes from the two men smiling at him. Although he knew Sir Leonard and Cousins were past masters of the art of disguise, he had never seen a more complete transformation than this. Foster sighed. He already knew there was a great gulf between himself and the ‘experts’ in many phases of Secret Service work. He felt he never could hope to aspire to such complete success in this very necessary branch.

  ‘Well, if you have finished studying us,’ laughed Sir Leonard, ‘we will proceed with more important matters. I am extremely anxious to know if you have discovered anything of importance yet.’

  Foster sank into the chair pushed up for him by Gottfried.

  ‘I’m rather afraid I’ve failed pretty hopelessly, sir,’ he confessed, ‘and there doesn’t seem much chance now that I will have any more opportunities of getting the information.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  The young man told his story, carefully taking his listeners over every incident that had happened since he and the Baroness von Reudath had left London, except of course those of a nature intimate to himself and her. He repeated everything she had said to him that was in any way relevant to his object in being with her. He then went on to describe the arrival of Major Ernst Wilhelm in Budapest with a summons to Sophie to return to Berlin, and the courier’s attempt to dissuade him from accompanying her. Finally he told of Colonel Schönewald’s visit to the Esplanade Hotel, repeated word for word what had been said, and informed his hearers that he had been saddled with a guide who, he was sure, was a member of the secret police who had orders to keep observation on him.

  ‘He is outside now,’ he concluded, adding with a grim smile: ‘He guided me here, after I had asked him where I could purchase some extra special perfume.’

  Sir Leonard appeared very thoughtful when Foster had ceased speaking. For some moments there was a profound silence in the room; then he smiled at the anxious-eyed young man.

  ‘I do not consider that you have failed hopelessly at all,’ he declared. ‘It is true you have not yet obtained the information I want, but I did not expect you to do that at once. I think I told you your job would require patience, tact, and ingenuity. You have certainly succeeded in becoming persona grata with the baroness.’ He smiled. ‘Much more so than I anticipated, in fact. She has even told you that only a vow she has taken prevents her from confiding certain facts in you. What those facts are we can guess. Altogether, young man, you have done very well. I am certainly pleased with you.’

  Foster flushed with deep pleasure. Praise of that nature was extremely gratifying. He had not expected it.

  ‘I seem to be up against a blank wall now, sir,’ he reminded his chief. ‘If by continuing my association with the baroness, I am likely to bring harm upon her, it seems to me that I shall have to try some other way of obtaining the information.’

  ‘It is obvious,’ commented Sir Leonard, ‘that von Strom is very worried about something. Either he regrets now that he has confided in her to the extent he has – we actually have no proof that she is his confidante—’

  ‘No positive proof, sir,’ interposed Gottfried, ‘but there is little doubt about it.’

  ‘Well, as I was saying, he either regrets that he has given her his confidence or else he is jealous of you, Foster. Probably it is both. Cousins and I noted the arrival of Major Wilhelm in Budapest and drew our own conclusions from your sudden change of plans—’

  ‘Were you in Budapest, sir?’ asked the astonished Foster.

  ‘We were. We have been with you all the time like a couple of guardian angels. Surprised?’

  ‘Very much so, sir, I had no idea.’

  ‘Naturally. Nevertheless, we travelled on the train with you to Budapest; we were on the same train to Berlin. We crossed the Channel on the boat on which you and the baroness crossed.’

  Cousins chuckled.

  ‘Do you remember seeing your friend Carl sitting on a seat at the stern, Foster?’ he asked. ‘I noticed you glanced that way.’ The young man nodded. ‘Did you happen to observe that he was sitting between two old ladies?’

  ‘Yes, I did, now you remind me of it.’

  Cousins chuckled again.

  ‘We were the two ladies,’ he declared.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  A Surprise for the
Baroness

  Sir Leonard turned suddenly to Foster.

  ‘You are calling on the baroness this morning, aren’t you?’

  ‘Yes sir,’ was the reply. ‘Apparently no objection is to be raised to that, but it is expected, I gather, to be my last visit to her.’

  ‘H’m! We shall have to consider that point: we must consider ways and means. When you see her this morning warn her that she is being watched by her maid Hanni. I think it is time she knew. If she remains ignorant she is likely to bring trouble on herself. You can tell her of the conversation you overheard in the garden of Lord Ashington’s house.’

  ‘I am not supposed to know German, sir,’ Foster reminded him. ‘Am I to say the conversation was in English?’

  ‘No,’ was the unexpected reply; ‘you can admit to her that you do understand and speak German. In fact, Foster, you have my permission to come right out into the open with her. Cousins and I have made a very complete study of her and, from the information with which you have supplied us, I am very certain she is utterly reliable. Furthermore I am convinced that she is working against, not for, von Strom. It has not been difficult to put two and two together. The key which has opened the door, and revealed a lot to me, is her love for Austria. She is an Austrian – she knows the Chancellor’s ambition to rule Austria as well as Germany; thus her hatred of the man who is implementing his ambition. I had gathered that already, when you told me of the look of hatred that flashed across her face once when you spoke of von Strom being her friend. You could not understand it, and wondered if it had been directed against you. I reached the conclusion then that it was the thought of von Strom that had caused it. Events have proved that I was right. By some means she has been forced to take a vow of silence regarding certain things which she feels she cannot break unless she can discover a link in some chain of events. How that link can release her from her vow it is impossible to guess without knowing more. I have come to the conclusion, however, that for your own sake, and for the sake of the job you have on hand, the time has arrived to tell her who you are and assure her that the British Secret Service stands behind her. It is a rare thing for us to take a step of this nature, but it is not a gamble. For one thing I am perfectly convinced of her honesty, and another she is deeply in love with Foster. She would never think of betraying him, even if she were working at cross purposes with the British Intelligence.’

  Foster’s face was scarlet.

  ‘You – you think that, sir? You really think she loves me?’

  Sir Leonard smiled.

  ‘I don’t think,’ he continued. ‘I know. Any fool, with half an eye, could see it, as easily as he can see that you are in love with her. No doubt von Strom has been informed of the fact, and he is either seething with jealousy or he fears what love may cause to be revealed. Anyhow, you can tell her everything – you have my full permission. In return, beg her to confide in you. She knows very well that Great Britain is in sympathy with Austria, and that if Germany is plotting against her country she can be certain that support against any aggression can be looked for from ours. Probably she will be a little bit upset to learn that you were more or less sent to spy on her originally, but I’ve no doubt you will be able to smooth that out. I’m sure also that you will be glad to be able to be frank with her.’

  ‘Glad, sir!’ cried Foster. ‘It will be marvellous.’

  When Foster visited Sophie in her residence near the Grunewald Forest, he told her first of the visit he had received from Colonel Schönewald and of the warning given to him under the guise of advice. Sophie’s eyes flashed angrily. With great indignation she commented upon the manner in which her freedom of action and his were being curtailed; informed him that she had received a visit from von Strom early in the morning. He had been very nice to her up to a point, but had insisted that her friendship with Foster must cease. She had vehemently demanded the right to have friends, and to choose them herself, but he had proved adamant.

  ‘He fears, I think,’ she added, ‘that I may divulge to you certain secrets of his that I possess. I reminded him of the vow I had taken, but he was so much rude as to say that, under certain circumstances, a woman thinks nothing of breaking a vow. I was very angry, and did not part on amicable terms. I find now, my friend Bernard, that I am virtually a prisoner in my own house. You have seen the two storm troopers in the garden?’

  He nodded.

  ‘By what right does he treat you like this?’ he demanded. ‘It is shameful.’

  ‘He is all-powerful,’ she reminded him. ‘He can do what he likes.’

  ‘But why does he act in such a manner? Why cannot you and I be allowed to carry on a companionship that cannot hurt him?’

  ‘He fears, as I have said, that I may tell you something of the schemes which are known to me. It is certain that he regrets now that they were ever confided to me. I know too much, Bernard, and, as he has lost a lot of confidence in me, I am in very great danger. I tell you this because I think soon I may perhaps die suddenly. In England you have a saying – “Dead men tell no tales”. When I am dead I cannot speak. He will then not be worried.’

  ‘Sophie!’ cried Foster in agonised tones. ‘Please don’t speak like that. You make me feel – oh, I can’t tell you! Surely he is not such a fiend – he would not harm you.’

  She smiled wistfully. He was amazed at her calm.

  ‘You do not know him,’ she remarked. ‘Always he was arrogant, I think. Now that he is bloated with power and success, he is many times worse. In everything he must have his own way. He is relentless, ruthless, domineering and implacable. My husband helped him to rise; he became fond of me, and it was then I was admitted to his confidence. He is of that type of man who likes to strut, and appear great and wonderful to a woman. Praise to him is the food of life – without it he would starve. And I also helped him in his efforts. But now his love for me is filled with fear. I know so much. Only the Chancellor and the Minister of Propaganda possess the knowledge that I possess. They also fear that someday I will let out the secret. That is why, my Bernard, I believe I may die suddenly, if I do not quickly convince them that there is, after all, nothing to fear.’

  ‘This is awful, Sophie,’ he groaned.

  ‘Do not worry about me, Bernard. Our association has been very dear to me – it will remain always as a happy memory. But it must cease. After this morning you will please see me no more, and do not attempt to write to me. You will help me most by leaving Berlin. When you are gone, I think I can quickly chase away all doubts and fears from the mind of the Supreme Marshal.’

  He turned a white, miserable face to her.

  ‘But why must you?’ he asked hoarsely. ‘Sophie darling – leave Berlin with me. I want you so. Surely you must know that I love you. I—’

  ‘Ah! No,’ she cried pitifully; ‘please do not say it, please do not. I have known for a long time, Bernard. I have seen it in your eyes; heard it in your voice. Of course I know, and my heart has yearned with a great ache for you, because I also love you with all my soul.’

  ‘Sophie!’ His voice, despite the torture he was suffering, was glad, triumphant. A wonderful, incredulous light broke through the expression of pain in his eyes. ‘My Sophie!’ he added reverently.

  ‘I can never be that,’ she sobbed, ‘except in thought. Life is very cruel, Bernard, but, at last, now we must part, we can seek a little consolation from the knowledge that we have told each other that which is in our hearts.’

  ‘Sophie,’ he murmured again, this time very brokenly, ‘must this cruel thing go on? Is there no hope that together we can seek happiness?’

  She shook her head, the unheeded tears rolling down her white cheeks.

  ‘Listen,’ she whispered. ‘I have told you of my love for Austria. It is because of that that I cannot, I must not, run away. These things which I know, if they are used in an aggressive sense, will mean the destruction of my beloved country. I must remain here to find the link that will complete the chain of wh
ich I have spoken to you. I will find that link,’ she added fiercely, ‘even if I have to give myself to von Strom.’

  He started back, a little horrified, a little awed.

  ‘You would do that?’ he asked.

  ‘I would do that for Austria,’ she told him simply.

  The time had come for his revelation, but already they had been out in the garden too long. At any moment interruption might come. He must hurry.

  ‘Let us walk,’ he suggested.

  She accompanied him readily, stopping every now and then with the pretence of admiring the flowers. He obtained a pledge of secrecy from her; then plunged into his story without preamble or any attempt at excusing himself. He told her of his connection with the British Secret Service, of the task that he had been set of obtaining from her, if possible, full information of the suspected German military plans, of the gas invented by a man names Hans Mohrenwitz, and Joachim Brau’s wireless ray. She was obviously tremendously startled, but listened to him without interruption as though enthralled. The only time she spoke was when he informed her of the conversation he had overheard in Lord Ashington’s garden between Carl and Hanni and described Carl’s subsequent espionage. She admitted then that she had for some time suspected Hanni. He kept nothing back, even telling her that he had been instructed to appear infatuated with her, and was expected to do his utmost to cause her to fall in love with him in the hope that thus she would be inveigled into betraying State secrets.

  ‘Told as I have told it,’ he concluded, ‘it all sounds horrible, loathsome, but we in the Secret Service have often to perform rotten jobs. All the time, Sophie, I have been aching to confide in you, to tell you the truth. I discovered at once that you were not at all the type of woman you were spoken of as being. I learnt to know you as the finest, noblest of God’s creatures that is why there was no necessity to pretend to be infatuated with you. I fell deeply, helplessly in love with you at once, and to be compelled to live a lie in your companionship has been a hideous nightmare to me.’