Wallace Intervenes

by Alexander Wilson

  She was silent for several minutes after he had ceased speaking. At length she looked up at him, and he sighed with profound relief to find there was no scorn in her eyes.

  ‘This is all very much surprising, Bernard,’ she admitted. ‘It is difficult at once to adjust my mind. I have thought you were a man of leisure, of no profession, and I find you are engaged in the most dangerous work in the world. You are clever, my friend, to have deceived me so completely. I had thought I had learnt to know you so well, and I find I have known so little. So! You are of the famous British Secret Service. I think I am glad!’

  ‘Glad!’ he echoed. ‘Then you are not angry with me? You feel no contempt for me?’

  She shook her head.

  ‘Of course I do not. I am not without understanding. You had your duty to do, and although, I know, it must have been very painful for you, you strove to do it. But I am sure,’ she added, with a faint smile, ‘if you had pretended only to be infatuated with me, I should have known. My own great love would have told me. I know so well that your heart was really mine. There was no doubt of that.’

  Foster brushed his hand roughly across his eyes, forgetting the monocle, which he dislodged. He took some time readjusting it. It was in a very husky voice that he presently spoke.

  ‘Sophie,’ he muttered, ‘you’re more than wonderful. I think sometimes you are very nearly divine.’

  ‘Hush! You must not say things like that. Tell me, Bernard: why is it that you have told me now all this?’

  ‘I was told this morning that I could,’ he informed her. ‘The chief has gathered that your motives are all for the benefit of Austria. I am to let you know that the British Secret Service stands behind you. It is ready to come to your assistance whenever it may be needed.’

  She clutched his arm involuntarily, her glorious blue eyes sought his almost feverishly.

  ‘Is that true?’ she cried. ‘Really true?’

  ‘Absolutely,’ he assured her.

  ‘Oh, it is wonderful, amazing! I feel already that perhaps now I may escape from the danger that threatens me.’

  ‘You will,’ he vowed. ‘You can depend upon that.’

  ‘I have heard so much of the work of the British Secret Service, and of the man you call the chief. It is Sir Leonard Wallace, I know. He was pointed out to me at the house of Lord Ashington. I think perhaps he is in Berlin?’ She laughed softly as Foster remained silent. ‘I see I must not ask questions like that. Oh, my Bernard, I feel that a new lease of life has come to me.’ She was silent for a few seconds, and he wondered at the quick tumultuous rise and fall of her bosom; then: ‘Perhaps,’ she uttered in a voice so low that he had to bend down to hear, ‘after all we shall go together to seek the happiness of which you spoke. No longer I feel alone.’

  A wave of great emotion surged through him. It was all he could do to resist the impulse to take her into his arms.

  ‘You were never alone, Sophie,’ he reminded her gently. ‘I was always ready to do anything you required of me.’

  ‘I know that, my Bernard, but I was fearful of dragging you into danger with me. Now everything seems so different. I find that your life is passed in danger. You are working for your country, and the interests of your country are identical with mine. It is very comforting to know that you are of the English Secret Service and are at hand to help me.’

  ‘Oh,’ he sighed impulsively, ‘how I wish I could kiss you.’

  The colour immediately mantled her cheeks, but she looked up at him frankly, her eyes eloquent of her love.

  ‘How I wish you could!’ she murmured. ‘You must go now, and remember you must not see me again. It is impossible. What you have told me cannot alter that. When I find that link of which I have spoken, I will find some way of communicating with you, if you do not leave Berlin.’

  ‘Leave Berlin!’ he repeated with a laugh. ‘Not likely.’

  ‘It would be better if you did. Listen! Tell your chief that it is true I am in full possession of the secret military scheme of the Chancellor. I know also all about the gas of Mohrenwitz and wireless ray of Joachim Brau, but the vow I have made prevents me from revealing them. I cannot break such an oath, if Germany’s policy is pacific. It is possible that the military scheme, the gas, and the ray will only be used in the event of aggression by another power. They may be defensive measures. It is that which I am so anxious to discover – the link in the chain. If that link shows me that Germany’s intentions are offensive, not defensive, then I will consider that I am at liberty to break my vow. An oath means nothing if by breaking it I am able to prevent Europe from being plunged into a terrible war. I could not break it, when I was certain Germany had no belligerent aspirations. You do understand that, do you not?’

  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?’

  CHAPTER NINE

  His Excellency The Supreme Marshal of State

  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 th
at 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.