‘The baroness spoke always most highly of your great patriotism, and the brilliance of your mind, Excellency,’ commenced Herr Keller.
His Excellency gave vent to an impatient exclamation.
‘I do not wish to hear that stupid kind of talk,’ he snapped.
He then proceeded to question them very closely and shrewdly with the intention of discovering if they were aware of any details concerning their disclosures, but they succeeded in convincing him that they were not.
‘It is enough,’ he declared at length, turned and spoke in whispers to his two right-hand men for some minutes. Presently he faced the pseudo-Bavarians again. He actually smiled at them. ‘It is good that you repeated to a very loyal German the things you were told,’ he proclaimed. ‘Perhaps you did not realise the significance of such information being imparted to you. Fortunately, however, he did. The very fact that the Baroness von Reudath dared to open her mouth concerning such matters was treason. Do you follow me? Treason.’ He held up a hand peremptorily as Keller and Minck were about to speak. ‘You do not understand. This I will tell you in confidence. Sophie von Reudath has already done much to rouse our suspicion and distrust. We have discovered beyond doubt that she is a traitress and a menace to the safety of the Fatherland. She has been arrested, and today her trial is taking place. You will be required to testify against her.’
Looks of utter dismay appeared on the faces of the two.
‘But, Excellency,’ protested Minck, ‘she always seemed so loyal, so devoted to you. She—’
‘All pretence,’ grunted von Strom. ‘I was a fool myself. I trusted her. But I do not intend to allow my previous feelings of friendship for her to influence me now. She will be punished severely and the girl Dora Reinwald with her.’
‘Not Dora, surely!’ cried Herr Minck in agitated tones. ‘She has done nothing, has she?’
‘Did she not tell you she hates me?’ demanded von Strom sternly. The little man groaned. ‘Not that is of any account. Many hate me, many, that is, who have not the good of Germany at heart. I am convinced, and there is proof, that she has been concerned in treachery with the Baroness von Reudath. Besides, she is a Hebrew, and no good German,’ he added significantly, ‘has any affection for the Jews.’
‘Must – must we really testify against – against them?’ faltered Herr Minck.
‘Have you any objection?’ asked the Chancellor.
Sir Leonard almost smiled at the question. As though it would matter one way or the other if they had! He hastened to assure the man of destiny that they had not.
‘It is naturally a great shock to us, Excellency,’ he went on. ‘We had no idea that the baroness was anything but a loyal and enthusiastic lady, but we are prepared to do our duty.’
‘It is well. You will be conveyed to the prison where the trial is already taking place, and will tell the judges exactly what you have told us when you are called upon to do so. It is my wish that the baroness and her companion shall have an absolutely fair trial, but for obvious reasons it must take place in secret. You will leave at once.’ He turned to the Minister of Propaganda. ‘I am worried at the escape of the English girl.’ Wallace heard him say in a low voice, and add viciously: ‘The fools, to let her go! Do you think she has made for the British embassy?’
The Minister shook his head confidently.
‘It has been under observation ever since her escape was discovered,’ he replied. ‘I do not think she has gone there.’
‘She may have arrived there before it was known that she had got away. If so – it will be difficult to explain. See that these men are sent to the prison under escort at once.’
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
A Travesty of a Trial
They were handed over to Major Wilhelm, who was awaiting them outside. He received his instructions standing stiffly at attention, then, bidding the sham Bavarians accompany him, led them to a large car which was awaiting him below. The driver was in the uniform of a storm trooper, as was the man who sat by his side. Major Wilhelm with a sergeant took seats in the tonneau opposite the new witnesses. The speedy run to Potsdam was not marked by any more eagerness on the part of Major Wilhelm to enter into conversation with the men under his charge than before. For the most part he sat moodily silent, only occasionally addressing a curt word to the sergeant by his side. Sir Leonard and Cousins maintained an attitude of anxious discomposure as though feeling a guilty dislike for the task to which they were committed. Once or twice they essayed to speak to each other about the country through which they were passing, only to lapse almost immediately into silence again apparently having no heart for such a topic.
The Wannsee Prison had been itself a castellated palace before the Great War, but it had nothing of the stillness and lifelessness of its fellows. The high walls half hiding it looked grim and forbidding, the powerful iron gates menacing, the towers, rearing their grey bulk to the sky, suggestive of stern, unrelenting restraint. As a palace it must have been an unpleasant kind of place in which to reside; as a prison it certainly appeared to be fulfilling its real object. It was; in fact, the very building in which political prisoners would be expected to be confined. As he viewed it, Sir Leonard’s lips pursed a little. If Hanni’s attempt failed, the chances of getting the baroness away seemed very slender.
Major Wilhelm was subjected to a good deal of questioning and his orders carefully scrutinised before the gates were opened, and the car allowed to proceed. A powerful guard, with sentries posted every few yards it seemed, was on duty; in fact, the whole place simply bristled with armed men. Wallace had not expected anything quite like that. He wondered if von Strom possessed any suspicions that an attempt might possibly be made to rescue the Baroness von Reudath. To hold a secret trial, and then send a large body of Nazis to keep guard seemed a contradictory state of affairs. The very presence of the armed force was enough to rouse interest and excitement, thereby promoting rumours which would naturally spread like wild-fire, and rumour is ever apt to be dangerous. The German press was muzzled, of course, but matters which cause exceptional curiosity have a habit of percolating out of even the most guarded country. The Supreme Marshal certainly would not wish foreign newspapers to get hold of half a truth and from that deduct and publish an exaggerated report which would attract the suspicious eyes of Europe to his country.
Within the walls there remained more indication of the old glories of the palace that had become a prison. The courtyard still contained marble fountains, while the exterior cornices of the buildings, enclosing it on three sides, were supported on geometrically positioned pilasters. Through an open doorway beyond, Wallace and Cousins caught sight of flowers and hedges in stiff patterns, lilac and laburnum trees, festoons of bourgainvillea and lavender and white acacia. Further on terraces, still trim and neat, could be seen descending to the bank of the Wannsee. But neither the Chief of the British Secret Service nor his companion were particularly interested in searching for signs of ancient dignity and beauty just then. Their eyes were occupied, though not appearing to be thus engaged, in absorbing a picture of their surroundings and imprinting it on their minds for future reference. Not an item escaped them. The positions of the sentries, the guardhouse, everything likely to be of possible use, was noted, and all in the space of a few minutes during which the car traversed the broad courtyard and drew up on the farther side by the door of a great grim tower that seemed entirely out of keeping with the fountains and pavilions surrounding it and the masses of blooms beyond. Here, without doubt, the baroness and Dora Reinwald had been confined, here also, it appeared, they were being tried.
Wilhelm stepped out of the car, and curtly bade the supposed Bavarians follow him. They passed through the frowning portal between more guards into a great stone hail. There they were left in the charge of the sergeant and storm trooper, while the major disappeared through a doorway to the right of the hall. The formality of searching them was gone through despite their indignantly voiced protests. Fortuna
tely, anticipating such a procedure, neither of them carried weapons. Sir Leonard and Cousins listened intently to every scrap of conversation they could catch, but none of it was of any interest to them until two men descended the broad curving staircase to their left and, passing close by them, entered the room whither Major Wilhelm had gone. They were clothed in the sombre garments of lawyers.
‘It will be all over tonight, without a doubt,’ one was saying.
‘And the verdict?’ questioned the other.
‘You will get it, of course, my friend. Guilty! It is a pity – they are very lovely women.’
Major Wilhelm reappeared, beckoned peremptorily to them. They promptly joined him, and entered the room with him. They found themselves in a long bare dining room, in which half a dozen men, all garbed in legal gowns, were eating at a table in the centre. Apparently the midday recess was on, though to Cousins and Wallace it seemed a trifle early for the meal. They were taken to a man who sat close to the head of the table, making unpleasant noises of enjoyment as he swallowed prodigious quantities of sauerkraut. He was a coarse-looking fellow with small, shrewd eyes, and thick, sensual lips. He looked up at the newcomers and nodded curtly.
‘So! You are the two Bavarians of whom we have been told,’ he commented with his mouth disgustingly full. ‘Your evidence will be taken after the recess, though it is not needed,’ he added with a leer. ‘I could have closed my case with perfect satisfaction this morning, if I had not known you were coming.’
‘We do not wish to testify if it is not necessary,’ Herr Minck declared eagerly.
The other laughed roughly.
‘It has nothing to do with you,’ he returned. ‘You are here to obey orders, not to say what you do or do not wish to do, Guertner!’ he called.
A man a few places away looked up.
‘Yes, Herr Doctor?’ he asked.
‘Take these two men up to see the prisoners, before the court sits. They are further witnesses for the prosecution, and I want them to be sure that they have not made a mistake.’ He turned his eyes back to Wallace and Cousins. ‘It would not do for you to enter the court, and then discover that the people you thought were Sophie von Reudath and Dora Reinwald in Budapest were not they at all. It may seem a little irregular to you to be taken to the prison cell to view the defendants, but it is best to make sure first that you will be giving evidence against the right people.’
It was irregular, most irregular, thought the two, but they were glad. They were being given an unexpected opportunity of finding out where the cell of the baroness was situated and how it could be reached.
‘There can be no doubt concerning them,’ remarked Herr Franz Minck, ‘unless you have the wrong people here. We are quite sure we met the Baroness von Reudath in Budapest.’
‘So am I, but the law requires proper identification.’
‘Surely that would take place in court,’ put in Wallace.
‘Enough, I have my reasons for wishing you to see them before the trial is resumed. You had better go into the witnesses’ room and obtain food. Herr Guertner will call for you there.’
They were conducted to a room on the floor above where a dozen men and women sat eating. They gave the impression of being out on a holiday, and the two Englishmen felt disgusted with the lack of any concern in their faces. Engaged in swearing away the lives of two innocent young women, through a mass of perjured evidence, they yet had no guilty thought, no regret for the crime they were committing. They were eating and drinking away as though their only concern was food. It has to be reported that Herren Keller and Minck quite failed to compare with their companions either as trenchermen or imbibers of beer, neither did they present the same self-satisfied, unconcerned front. It was a relief to them to get away from the noisy eating, the ribald remarks about the prisoners, above all from the neighbourhood of creatures so utterly vile who, for the sake of gain, were prepared to swear innocent victims into cruel oblivion.
Herr Guertner came for them long before they would have had time to have partaken of a meal if they had desired it. He was one of the men they had overheard speaking in the hall below, and appeared to be assistant prosecutor. He was quite a presentable young man who showed a disposition to be friendly. Leading them along a corridor and up a further flight of stone steps he spoke engagingly of Bavaria of which he seemed to have an excellent knowledge. Neither of his companions listened or replied with a great deal of interest, however. They were too much engaged in taking into those receptive minds of theirs every detail of their progress to the upper storeys. They ascended three further flights of stairs which brought them to the fifth floor. On the way they had hardly encountered a soul, but now they again found themselves in the presence of half a dozen well-armed Nazis, standing at intervals along a narrow stone passage in which every few yards appeared iron-studded doors. Although at such a height from the ground, the place was dark and gloomy as well as badly ventilated and stiflingly hot. A contemptuous smile appeared fleetingly at the corner of Herr August Keller’s lips. The precautions taken to guard two delicate, inoffensive women struck him as ludicrous. It would have been amusing had it not been so tragic for them. How it would ever be possible to rescue them from the fate that threatened them was a greater mystery than ever now, and it appeared that there was only one night to do it in. If the two girls were found guilty and sentenced that day the chances were that they would be executed next morning. Sir Leonard had almost given up hope that the scheme he had arranged with Hanni would succeed. The more he had seen of Wannsee Prison, the more impossible it appeared that Sophie von Reudath would be able to walk out unsuspected as her own maid. He marvelled now that the girl had agreed to undertake such a foolhardy enterprise as to endeavour to change places with her mistress. He could only think that she was so desperate at thought of what she considered she had done that she was willing to risk anything and face whatever consequences might befall.
Guertner explained the reason for his coming with the Bavarians to the man in charge of the guard, and after a considerable amount of discussion, a door about halfway along the passage was unlocked and thrown open. Guertner beckoned to Wallace and Cousins to approach. They obeyed. Inside a tiny room, with small barred windows, bare except for a table, chair and little iron bedstead, was Sophie von Reudath, dressed neatly and elegantly as ever. She had been standing looking out of the aperture when the door had been opened. Now she turned and confronted them, her head raised almost with queenly dignity. They noticed, however, that her hands at her side were tightly clenched. Guertner asked her courteously to step out into the corridor in order that the men with him could have a good view of her face. She obeyed apathetically as though the hopelessness of her position had taken her in its grip. When she left her cell, however, she seemed to become aware of the two sham Bavarians for the first time, and started violently.
‘Ah!’ exclaimed Guertner. ‘I see you recognise them.’ He turned to the pair. ‘This, I presume, is the lady you met in Budapest.’
‘Without a doubt,’ responded the bogus Keller, as he bowed to the baroness.
His heart went out to her. He would have given anything at that moment to have been able to whisper a few words of comfort and encouragement in her ear. Her ordeal had done nothing to impair her beauty, but the dark rings under her lovely eyes told their own tale.
‘It is strange to meet you here, Herr Keller,’ she murmured, ‘and you also, Herr Minck, but I do not understand. Why are you here? Why have they brought you to see me?’
‘Alas, Baroness!’ interposed Guertner, before either could reply. ‘They are here to give evidence against you.’
Cousins felt he could have shaken him by the hand for the note of contempt he detected in his voice.
‘Give evidence against me!’ she cried. ‘How can that be possible?’ She swung round on the two, her voice raised in outraged indignation. ‘Surely, you two, who seemed men of honour, are not also going to add to the lies that have been told about m
e and poor Dora Reinwald. All the morning it has been lies, lies, lies. Mother of God! Surely it is not to continue. Is there nobody I can trust in this world? Nobody but one?’ she added, as though correcting herself, and the watchers noticed the soft light that came into her eyes.
She was gently requested to return to her cell by Guertner, and a guard locked the door. Another was then opened, and sitting in an almost identical room, was Dora Reinwald. She rose slowly at their entrance, her burning gaze fixed on Cousins and Wallace. She showed no surprise at their appearance, and it became evident that she had overheard what had transpired. Her large eyes were smouldering with an unaccustomed fire in their depths, her face was as serene as ever. Her gracefulness as she walked slowly from her room to face them, drew a sigh of admiration from the lawyer.
‘So!’ Her words came quietly, but with an intensity of bitter contempt. ‘You come all the way from Budapest to identify Sophie and me, and bear false witness against us. You are devils, not men, like all the rest of them from that hypocritical, bullying, lying Marshal of State down—’
‘S’sh!’ warned Guertner. ‘Compose yourself, fraulein!’
‘Compose myself!’ echoed Dora, and laughed harshly. ‘What does it matter what I say or whether I compose myself or not? The result will be the same. When is this farce of a trial to end? You are an advocate – one of them – you know the result was decided upon before it began. Tell me why such a travesty of justice is permitted to take place? Where is the old German blood – the blood that was red and of men – real men? Where is it now? Has it become water under the squeezing of that monster who has forced himself to power on misery? Why are these two here? In Budapest I thought they were friends. Has not the farce gone on long enough?’
Wallace Intervenes Page 18
