Wallace Intervenes

by Alexander Wilson

  He contemplated her, for several seconds in silence, making no attempt to veil the sneer that curled his thick lips.

  ‘So!’ he commented at length. ‘You are going to marry him! That is indeed news. Do you think by so doing you may restore his mind to health?’

  ‘He is no more insane,’ she cried scornfully, ‘than you are. Far less in fact, for I am beginning to believe, on account of your behaviour and manner, that there is something wrong with your mind.’

  Foster suppressed a groan. All hope of her escaping the vengeance of von Strom was rapidly evaporating. Instead of attempting to conciliate him she was deliberately defying him. It is true that the intimate scene he had interrupted had rendered extremely doubtful any possibility of Sophie being able to resume her old position of trusted friend and confidante. Nevertheless, Foster felt that something might have been done to save the situation. He pressed her arm in an effort to convey a warning to her, but she seemed determined now to champion the Englishman to the limit, and at the same time, convince the autocrat that his domination over her was at an end. She was a glorious picture of outraged dignity as she stood there her beautiful head raised proudly, her great blue eyes expressing her feelings without restraint.

  ‘I was not even permitted to take a holiday away from Germany in peace,’ she declared. ‘Everywhere I went I was spied upon, my actions noted, my words reported. Because I formed a friendship with a charming Englishman which developed into love, you became alarmed. He and I also were regarded with suspicion. Since he has arrived in Berlin he has been harassed and watched by men instructed by you. Is that the way Germany should treat her guests? I have been subjected to espionage in my own home, made to feel myself almost a prisoner. Why has all this been done? Why have you committed the terrible crime of having Herr Foster certified as insane? Is it any wonder that I should begin to think that it is you who are mad?’

  Von Strom had listened to her without interruption, but his brow had grown blacker and blacker as she spoke. She had barely finished, when the storm broke.

  ‘How dare you speak in this manner to me, you wanton!’ he raged. ‘I wonder I do not strike you down at my feet. So this is the result of the friendship and privileges I have extended to you. You stand there and confess to a ridiculous love for a fool who may have money but has no position. You would scorn me, turn me aside – I, Supreme Marshal of Germany! – for a foreign nonentity. I was right. I suspected your duplicity. It was for that reason that I personally conveyed to you the news that he was to be confined in a home for mental cases. I wished to see how you would react. You were distressed. It was apparent, though you tried hard to hide the fact. After I had gone, you came here to your lover, to his room, where you threw yourself into his arms like any abandoned woman.’

  ‘Stop!’ she cried. ‘You have no right to say things like that. You may be—’

  ‘I have the right to say whatever I will. And I will add this. I am convinced that he is nothing but a spy, who has inveigled you into loving him in order to learn from you that which is not yours to impart.’

  At that she laughed scornfully.

  ‘So!’ she cried. ‘It is that which is behind it all. The great Marshal of State is in fear, he trembles lest his guilty secrets should be made public. What would the great German people think if they knew you were afraid? What would the Chancellor himself think? You have never had cause to distrust me, Excellency. I have not once, in the slightest particular, betrayed anything you have confided in me. As I say, it is only a guilty conscience that makes you fear. You have admitted me to your counsels with the Chancellor and the Minister of Propaganda. Why? Because you had a respect for what you called my woman’s instinct, and sense, also because you were infatuated with me. You hoped one day I would submit to the proposals you were continually making to me.’

  ‘Enough! Enough!’ roared von Strom. ‘You go too far, Baroness. If you—’

  ‘Ah! You are again afraid. Afraid this time that I may tell these gentlemen of the manner in which you entreated me to—’

  ‘Wait outside!’ ordered von Strom sharply turning to his companions.

  They went at once. Sophie gave a contemptuous little laugh, and sank into a chair.

  ‘You sent them away too late,’ she observed quietly. ‘They know now why it is the Baroness von Reudath was admitted to the confidence of his Excellency the Supreme Marshal of Germany. No doubt they suspected the reason, but now they are certain. They also know that your object failed.’

  He stood glowering down at her, his whole attitude making it plain that she had gone beyond any hope of pardon or mercy from him. It was not difficult to guess at the thoughts that were passing through his mind. Foster’s heart had sunk until a feeling of the most utter despair filled him. Why had she done it? She must have known that she was only rendering her position desperate. Von Strom completely ignored the Englishman; he seemed to have forgotten his presence.

  ‘What did you mean,’ he demanded, endeavouring to keep the passion from his voice, ‘when you spoke of guilty conscience and guilty secrets. How can my conscience and my secrets be guilty?’

  ‘You know very well,’ she returned at once. ‘Is it not your ambition, as soon as your preparations are complete, to plunge Europe into a war? You have—’

  ‘Who told you that?’ he shouted, all his rage rising to the surface again.

  At that moment he looked a thoroughly startled man. There was a gleam in Sophie’s eyes, and Foster thought he was beginning to understand her apparently reckless defiance. She had roused him to his present state of anger purposely. She was endeavouring to bluff him into disclosing the information which would either mean her divulging what she knew to the world or retaining, for ever, her silence. She was engaged in a gamble, quite unconcerned that whichever way it went her life would be forfeit. Foster listened fascinated.

  ‘I do not betray matters confided to me,’ she replied to his question. ‘You ought to know that.’

  ‘Answer me! Who spoke of war to you?’

  She shook her head, looking up at him with insolent unconcern.

  ‘Let it suffice that I do know. Are you so sure that you did not tell me yourself, Friedrich?’

  ‘I certainly did not,’ he stormed.

  ‘But, my dear man,’ she protested, her drawl being a model of calculated impudence, ‘what of the confidential military plans? The secret concentration of troops on the Polish, French and Austrian frontiers, particularly on the Austrian frontier! That was not arranged for amusement.’

  ‘It was a measure of defence. You know it. Have I not many times told you so?’

  ‘You have and although I wondered why the most powerful army was to be sent to the Austrian frontier, I accepted your word. But since I have learnt differently. They are to be concentrated for offensive not defensive reasons, and it would be absurd of you to deny it.’

  For a moment he was silent, staring malevolently down at her; then he bent and catching her roughly by the arms dragged her to her feet. Foster made a movement to go to her help, but paused. She would never forgive him if he interfered at that moment. He stood by therefore, biting his lip to restrain himself as von Strom cruelly shook the girl.

  ‘Who has told you this?’ shouted the man almost beside himself with passion. ‘I will know. You shall tell me.’ Then came the admission she had striven to obtain. ‘Other than the Chancellor only two people beside myself know of my plans – one of them must be the traitor. Who is he?’

  ‘What does it matter? You have told me yourself now.’

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Charged with Treason

  He released her and stood trembling with his anger. His eyes, boring into hers, certainly looked just then, as though they were those of a madman. Suddenly he let out a cry that must have been heard some distance away.

  ‘God in Heaven!’ he shouted. ‘You were not told, you trapped me into an admission. What was your reason? Answer!’

  She looked at him
calmly, steadfastly in the face.

  ‘Because I am an Austrian and love Austria,’ she said quietly.

  ‘And you would betray my plans, eh? What of your oath, you devil; what of it, I say?’

  ‘When I believed Germany’s intentions were merely defensive your secrets were safe with me. But I would be a wicked, degraded creature were I to keep silent, and allow her to throw the world into another war, permit you to devastate and ruin my own country. I withdraw my vow. At least I owe it to tell you that.’

  ‘You traitress!’ he hissed. ‘You scheming, plotting creature of the devil! You will never have the opportunity of betraying me. You have signed your own death warrant. And,’ he added with a laugh that sent a shiver through Foster, ‘you can die with the knowledge that it is our intention to make your precious country a province of Germany. All my efforts are directed to the attainment of that object.’ He gripped her again cruelly, shook her with savage force. ‘Think of that and carry the thought to the grave with you, you infernal traitress.’

  She shook her head.

  ‘I am not a traitress,’ she replied quietly. ‘It is you, Supreme Marshal of Germany, who are the traitor, the renegade. You may kill me, if you will, but I shall die with the knowledge that I have done my part to save Austria and preserve Europe from wanton bloodshed.’

  ‘Oh, you will,’ he jeered, continuing to shake her brutally. ‘We shall see.’

  Foster had endured as much as flesh and blood could stand. He strode forward now and, gripping von Strom by the shoulders, swung him away from Sophie with such force that he went staggering across the room.

  ‘I don’t like your ways,’ he drawled, ‘and you’ll keep your hands off the lady who is going to be my wife.’ He caught sight of a bruise on Sophie’s neck. ‘God!’ he exclaimed, ‘I’m tempted to knock you down, Supreme Marshal or not.’

  Von Strom stood glaring at him, in far too great a fury to reply in anything like passable English. However, he did his best.

  ‘You – you – I haf forgot. On me the handts dare you to place! I – I—’

  He almost frothed at the mouth.

  Then abruptly he turned and left the room. They heard the sound of the door being locked. Sophie was very white, but she smiled up at her lover.

  ‘I have obtained that link to my chain, Bernard,’ she murmured.

  He nodded miserably.

  ‘But at what a cost,’ he groaned. ‘I didn’t understand at first why you were going out of your way to defy him. I gathered what you were up to afterwards, of course. Sophie darling, was it worth it?’

  She nodded her head emphatically.

  ‘Certainly,’ she declared, ‘there is now nothing to hold back your friends from obtaining my statement from—where I have placed it. You told them?’

  ‘Yes. So you have already put it there! You are sure nobody saw you?’

  ‘I took very great care. It was at midnight, and there is no moon.’

  Their conversation had been carried on in an almost inaudible whisper both feeling certain that ears were listening at the door eager to catch whatever was said. There suddenly came a knock, a slight pause; then Colonel Schönewald entered. His good-looking face wore a look of distress, his manner was a trifle embarrassed. He closed the door behind him, and bowed to the baroness.

  ‘Nice of you to knock, Schönewald,’ remarked Foster. ‘At least you are a gentleman. There seems to be a remarkable shortage of them in Berlin.’

  Schönewald ignored him. He addressed Sophie in a low apologetic tone.

  ‘I very much regret, Baroness, that I have been ordered to arrest you on a charge of treason and to escort you to the Wannsee prison.’

  He spoke in German, and Foster once again had great difficulty in refraining from betraying his knowledge of that language. He bit his lip to suppress the cry of anguish that was on the point of breaking from him. Sophie’s face went perfectly bloodless, but even in that moment she could remember her lover’s necessary pose of ignorance.

  ‘Will you kindly speak in English, Herr Schönewald,’ she requested. ‘I would like Herr Foster to understand.’

  The Nazi bowed.

  ‘Very well, Baroness,’ he said in that language, and turning to Foster added: ‘I have been ordered to arrest the Baroness von Reudath on a charge of treason.’

  ‘What an awful lot of rot!’ exclaimed the Englishman angrily. ‘Is it treason for her to visit a man who has been falsely certified insane by the orders of your precious Marshal of State? Is it treason for her to—?’

  ‘I cannot enter a discussion about the matter,’ interrupted the other sharply. ‘I have my orders, and they must be obeyed.’

  ‘You, a gentleman,’ commented Foster scornfully, ‘obeying the orders of an upstart bully!’

  ‘Sir,’ protested Schanewald angrily, ‘you are speaking of His Excellency, the Supreme Marshal of Germany. A remark of that nature is quite enough to get you a severe term of imprisonment.’

  ‘Have you forgotten,’ drawled the Englishman, ‘that three men who represent themselves as Berlin’s most famous doctors have declared that I am a lunatic? I can, therefore, say anything I like with impunity. If what I say is taken seriously, and I am punished for it; then those doctors will have to reverse their decree.’

  Schönewald turned from him impatiently.

  ‘There are some men here awaiting my commands, Baroness,’ he informed her, ‘but it is my intention to save you from humiliation and as much pain as possible by sending them away. Then you and I can enter your car without anyone guessing that you are under arrest.’

  She drew herself up proudly, but her little hands were tightly clenched.

  ‘You are very good, Colonel Schönewald,’ she acknowledged. ‘I am ready.’

  ‘I will go and dismiss them. In ten minutes I will return, if that is suitable to you.’

  ‘Thank you,’ she murmured gratefully.

  He went out locking the door after him. Immediately she had thrown herself sobbing into Foster’s arms. He held her close to his heart, doing his best to comfort her, while he himself was in an agony of grief.

  ‘Oh, Bernard, Bernard,’ she moaned, ‘how can I leave you. It is not what they may do me that is breaking my heart – I am not afraid. But I cannot bear to lose you, dear, and this, I know, must be the end of all my hopes, all my happiness. Nobody can do anything for me now. Your wonderful Secret Service men cannot help me once I am in the Wannsee prison. Those gates I know will close on me for ever. How can I leave you, Bernard, my beloved, how can I? Oh! How can God be so cruel?’

  ‘Keep up a stout heart, Sophie,’ he implored. ‘Somehow you will be rescued – I know it. Sir Leonard will find out what has happened, and he will leave no stone unturned to save you from that fiend.’

  At last came the knock they were both dreading. They rose to their feet, stood facing the door. It opened slowly. Schönewald entered. His eyes fell quickly when he noticed the ravages that sorrow had made on the face of a beautiful woman, and a usually cheerful happy man.

  ‘I am sorry, Baroness,’ he remarked, with a note of infinite regret in his voice, ‘but I fear we must go now.’

  ‘I am ready,’ she declared bravely.

  ‘Look here, Schönewald,’ commenced Foster, but she placed her fingers gently on his lips.

  ‘Do not make his task harder, Bernard,’ she begged. ‘You can see he loathes it. He can do nothing. Goodbye, my beloved, my man.’

  One long last kiss, and she was gone swiftly from the room, leaving Foster staring after her, a figure of abject tragedy. Schönewald told him that he had ordered his custodians to remain outside and not intrude, but the Englishman made no sign of having heard. He remained where he was standing like an image carved in stone.

  The hours passed and dinner was brought to him, but he could not touch a morsel. He had partaken of a very meagre luncheon, knew that it was necessary to eat to retain his strength, but he felt that he would choke if he attempted it. For al
l he knew, Sophie was even then lying dead in the cold, horrible surroundings of a prison cell, a victim of the hatred of a man who had once pretended to love her. Desperately he tried to shake off such thoughts, feeling that he would indeed go mad if they persisted. Backwards and forwards in his room he paced, a prey to the most terrible anguish a man could possibly be called upon to endure. The shades of evening began to fall, the heat of a brilliant June day was now tempered by the fresh breeze which blew in the open window. The room became darker, but he did not switch on the light, continuing his restless walk to and fro until he was unable any longer to discern clearly the objects in the room. He found a certain measure of relief in the coming of night. Soon now, he reflected, they would be taking him away; strove to fix his mind on his own position, wonder what sort of a place it would be in which he was to be confined. It was all no use, however, his mind was unable to dwell on anything but the agony of the one all-absorbing thought.

  Suddenly he thought he heard a sound on the balcony, as though someone had dropped lightly on to it. At once he hurried out, wondering if another attempt was being made to break into the room, and, if so, what sense there could possibly be in such a venture, when he was so utterly at the mercy of the people who insisted on spying on him. He could do nothing to prevent their searching either his person or his belongings if they so desired. A dim form confronted him, a hand grasped his arm.

  ‘S’sh!’ came in a low warning. ‘Not a sound. There are two men below now as well as those in the corridor. You will be taken away at ten. Into the room! It is safer there.’