In consequence, although in no immediate danger of discomfort, the Duke had no alternative but to while away the first days of the war as best he could; thinking of his beloved Ilona, cursing Sir Pellinore as the original cause of his predicament, reviewing the past and pondering on the future.
He was allowed to have newspapers, so was able to follow the war news, such as it was; but the closing of frontiers and the secrecy necessary to conceal projected military operations had suddenly drawn a series of impenetrable curtains across the European scene, the like of which had never before been known. Between them could be caught only faint glimpses of isolated events, and these did not even suggest that great battles might be in progress; so to the ordinary reader it seemed impossible to believe that hostilities on a scale previously unequalled in world history had actually started.
The Austrians were continuing their bombardment of Belgrade across the Danube and, in consequence, the Serbian government had removed to Nish; but there was no news of Austro-Hungarian troops having so far invaded Serbia. When the Germans had marched into the little independent Grand Duchy of Luxemburg, the beautiful golden-haired young Grand Duchess had driven to the main bridge in her capital, had her Rolls Royce halted sideways across it, and forbidden the invaders to pass. The Germans had politely removed the car from their path and marched on into Belgium.
King Albert of Belgium had refused them permission to pass through his territories, and was resisting them by force of arms. But the ill-prepared Belgians could not stem the mighty tide, which was flowing on: the key city of Liége had been captured and its ring of forts was being hammered into submission by the giant Krupp siege guns that had been brought up.
On 4th August the German battleship Goeben, and her escorting cruiser Breslau were in the Adriatic. A powerful British squadron was within range and could have sunk them that afternoon, but had refrained as Britain’s ultimatum to Germany did not expire till midnight. Under cover of darkness the fast German ships had slipped away. An exciting four day hunt had followed, but the Germans had succeeded in reaching, unharmed, the temporary safety of neutral Turkish waters.
Thus, in the first week and more of hostilities, nothing of real importance seemed to have happened. There was no news at all of the French, Russian and Serbian armies, very little of those of Germany and Austria, and not a word about the main Fleets of any of the nations that were engaged. The actions, if any, of all these major forces remained shrouded in mystery.
Yet, in a general sense, de Richleau’s specialised knowledge enabled him to pierce the veil. He knew that great armies cannot be concentrated for action overnight. Such secret preparations as Germany and Austria-Hungary had made during the last three weeks of July would prove of considerable value to them; but nothing short of public mobilisation could call the great mass of reservists to the colours. Then, between two and three weeks would be needed to pass them through the depots, move them up to the frontiers and dispose them in battle array; so no major clash could be expected before the third week in August. But in his mind’s eye he could visualise the scenes that were now taking place over thousands of square miles of territory, much of which must soon become the fiercely contested ground of battle.
The operations at Liége were a thing apart. For the carrying out of the Schlieffen plan it was essential that the Germans should secure the fortress, and the network of railway that radiated from it across Belgium, at the earliest possible moment; so they would have attacked in that area with regular formations of shock troops which had, no doubt, been held in readiness for that purpose for several weeks. There, every latest device—scouts on motor bicycles, cyclist battalions, machine guns mounted in motor-cars, siege artillery drawn by tractors, and still larger guns on railway mountings—would be used for the swift reduction of the city’s defences. But elsewhere the opening of hostilities would present a very different picture.
From the southern corner of Luxemburg down to Belfort on the Swiss frontier; from Memel on the Baltic down to the northern corner of Rumania; and from the Iron Gates of the Danube right round to Cattaro on the Adriatic; an unnatural quiet would have descended.
To a depth of twenty miles on either side of these three immensely long and fantastically irregular man-made divisions of territory all normal activities would have ceased. The trains that had crossed them regularly by a hundred different lines for as long as men remembered, crossed them no more. The roads were now empty of wagons and pedestrians. The ferries and river boats lay moored on hostile banks. The bridges had been seized by advance guards, or blown up. The villages within rifle shot of the enemy had been evacuated, and strips of territory as long as the frontiers themselves sealed off, so that no civilians without a permit could enter them. Even in the fields there was no movement, as the cattle would have been driven away. To the casual eye it would appear as if a mighty witch had waved a wand over these areas, paralysing their inhabitants, so that the countryside lay spell-bound and silent in the summer sun.
Yet that appearance of desertion and smiling sleep was an illusion. De Richleau knew that each army would have thrown out its cavalry screen to protect it from surprise and gain such information as it could about the concentrations of the enemy. Every coppice would conceal its vedette, every barn contain its picket of troops, every church tower hold its look-out; and along every hundred yards of river front a sentry with a loaded rifle would lie hidden, ready to fire at the first sign of movement on the opposite bank.
Occasionally enemy patrols would come face to face in a wood or gorge and skirmishes occur, a few shots be exchanged, a few men fall dead or wounded, and the weaker party beat a hasty retreat. By night, small bodies of Cossacks, Hussars, Uhlans or Curassiers would sally from the woods on a foray into enemy territory; but there would be no major engagements, and except for a few ranging shells to register targets the artillery would give no sign of its existence.
Further back, out of sight of the enemy, the scene would again be very different. There, the country roads would see more traffic in a week than they had done in a generation. Every route leading towards an enemy frontier would now be in use to its maximum capacity. Along a thousand roads endless, snake-like processions of men and vehicles would be crawling. Battalion after battalion of infantry; battery after battery of guns; train after train of wagons: machine gun units, siege artillery, signal sections, staff cars, field bakeries, field hospitals, and the sanitary corps that would dig the graves for the fallen. Still further back, with almost equal slowness, thousands of trains would be creeping up to railheads to disgorge tens of thousands more wagons, limbers and guns; hundreds of thousands more men and horses; and millions of tons of munitions. And every single individual in these vast ant-like swarms was moving to a destination unknown to himself, but already decided for him by one of a few directing brains that had long since worked out this intricate pattern.
Each of the countless columns winding through the forests of the Ardennes and the Vosges, over the Bosnian and Carpathian mountains, and across the plains of Prussia, Hungary and Poland, was advancing to a carefully planned time table. The heads of each would already have reached their deployment line, but more and more formations would be piling up behind them in the concentration areas, and those would be like long chains of lakes, each fed by innumerable rivers. When the lakes were full, the word would be given and the sluices opened. Heralded by fire and flashing with steel, the human tides would rush towards one another, to meet head-on for days, weeks, perhaps months, on end, in a series of such violent collisions that a slaughter must ensue, the like of which the world had never seen. But that was not to be—yet; not for another ten or twelve days.
Although the Duke spent much of his time visualising such scenes and speculating on their outcome, he did so only as a grim recreation from trying to think of a way in which he might regain his freedom.
As he had committed no crime, he felt sure that if only he could get a message to his friends they would soon get h
im out of Major Ronge’s clutches. Of course, now that the British Empire and the Dual-Monarchy were at war, he was liable to be detained in an internment camp, and he thought it unlikely that his friends would be able to do more than arrange for his transfer to one. But that would mean freedom to mix with other Britons caught by the war in Austria and, for a man of his resource, plenty of opportunities to escape. Whereas, as long as he remained confined in a cell and closely guarded by professional warders escape was next to impossible.
Puzzle his wits as he would, it was not until his fourth night in prison that an idea came to him which seemed to offer at least a slender hope of success. So on Saturday the 8th of August he awaited with suppressed eagerness the daily visit that Major Ronge paid him.
When the fat Secret Service Chief arrived, he sat down on the Duke’s bed, offered him a cigarette, and said:
“Herr Graf, I do wish that I could persuade you to be a little more communicative. Naturally, I have never expected you to confess to any espionage activities in this country, but now that we are at war with Serbia it is of great importance that we should find out all we can about our enemies. If you would tell me the truth about your visits to Belgrade and all you learned in connection with the Serbian War Office, we might come to some arrangement about your future. Instead of keeping you in close confinement indefinitely, I could have you transferred to the more pleasant surroundings of an internment camp; and in a few months’ time, when any information you have gathered in Vienna has become stale, it might even be arranged for you to leave the country.”
De Richleau guessed that once the Major had obtained an admission from him that he was a spy, no matter where he had operated, that would be quite enough for the K.S. to have him legally put away in a fortress for the duration of the war; and he had no intention of falling into such a trap. So he replied:
“Alas, my dear Major. I fear I cannot take advantage of your offer. As I have said on several previous occasions, your friend Herr Höller has been the victim of hallucinations, and it is impossible for me to give you information that I do not possess.”
With a frown of annoyance the fat man stood up, but the Duke went on: “Before you go, I have a small favour to ask. It concerns not myself but another, and I should be grateful if you would assist me to do a kindness to one of your compatriots.”
“Which will at the same time inform him that I am holding you here, eh?” The Major’s sly little eyes twinkled between their heavy folds of flesh. “No thank you.”
“Not at all. It is merely that I owe some money and wish to pay it. You may perhaps have heard of the painter, Herr de Lazalo? After my return from Belgrade I commissioned him to paint a portrait for me. Few artists can afford to paint pictures without being paid for them, and I meant to send him a cheque before leaving Sacher’s, but your arrival prevented that. My signature on the cheque will be sufficient to inform him from whom it comes, so there is no call for any covering letter, and you need not fear that this is a ruse to send him some cryptic message. I simply wish to send the poor chap the money he is entitled to, that is all.”
The Major fingered one point of his waxed moustache thoughtfully for a moment, then he nodded. “All right. I see no objection to that. Give me the cheque and the address; then I will put it in a plain envelope and post it for you.”
When the K.S. Chief had gone, de Richleau felt much the same as would a shipwrecked mariner on a desert island who has found a rocket and managed to get it off within sight of a ship passing a long way out.
De Lazalo would probably be a little surprised at receiving the cheque, as Ilona had commissioned him to paint her portrait and he would naturally be expecting her to pay for it. However, as he was aware of her relations with de Richleau, he would no doubt assume that the portrait was for him and she was allowing him to foot the bill. The odds were that the painter would then pay the cheque into his bank, and think no more about the matter.
On the other hand he might query the payment with Sárolta. Then things should start to happen. If they noticed that the date on the cheque was the 8th of August and that it had been posted locally, they would realise that, although the Duke was supposed to have left on the 4th, he was still in Vienna. Once Ilona had reason to believe that, he felt confident that she would not rest until she found him.
Having managed to send off his distress signal, de Richleau spent most of the weekend wondering if its significance would be realised soon after de Lazalo’s post arrived on the Monday morning; but he feared it was much more likely that the artist would not mention the cheque to his lovely young relative until Ilona broached the subject of paying for the portrait, and that might not happen for some weeks to come. So he tried to put the matter out of his mind and think of others ways of letting his friends know of his unhappy situation.
In that, by Tuesday evening, he had met with no success. He was just on the point of going to bed when footsteps halted outside his cell, the door was unlocked and a warder told him that he was wanted in the Governor’s office. Instantly his hopes were aroused and his pulses began to race with excitement. Hardly able to keep his hands steady, he followed the man down several long passages and into a spacious, well-furnished room.
Opposite the door, an elderly Colonel with grey mutton-chop whiskers was seated behind a big desk. Beside him stood Major Ronge. Sitting in an arm-chair on the right of the desk was Adam Grünne. With a sigh of relief de Richleau smiled a greeting to his dark, broad-shouldered friend; then, with a bow to the Governor, sat down in another arm-chair to which that functionary waved him.
The Governor stroked his right side-whisker for a moment, while regarding the prisoner thoughtfully from a pair of rheumy blue eyes, coughed, and said: “Herr Graf, I have never been called on to deal with a case similar to yours, and I hardly know what to do about it.”
De Richleau was now on his mettle, and replied at once: “I am very happy at this opportunity to discuss the matter with you, sir. During the past week I asked repeatedly to do so, in vain. I have committed no crime, neither have I been charged with one, and I am being held here illegally. I demand that if you have anything against me I shall be given a fair trial with legal aid, or, alternatively, be released at once.”
“In peace time your demand would be fully justified,” The Governor tapped the ash of a cigar he was smoking off into a tray. “But we are now in a state of war. As an enemy alien suspected of activities prejudicial to the State, we are fully entitled by our emergency regulations to hold you without trial for as long as we consider desirable. However, a new factor has arisen which greatly complicates the situation. It is beyond dispute that you hold a commission in the Archduchess Ilona Theresa’s regiment of Hussars; and on that account Her Imperial Highness has demanded that we should give you up to her.”
“I protest!” put in Ronge. “It is also beyond dispute that the Herr Graf is of British nationality, and I consider him to be one of the most dangerous men that I have ever had on my files.”
“Have you any proof of that?” asked the Governor.
“I am fully satisfied, sir, that while in Belgrade during June he was associating with members of the Serbian General Staff for the purpose of making himself acquainted with their secrets. While in Vienna during July, his association with many highly placed persons cannot have failed to place him in possession of information which would be of great value to the enemy. Therefore, I am most strongly opposed to his release.”
The Governor stroked his right whisker again. “Unless you can bring a specific charge against him, I do not see how I can refuse Her Imperial Highness’ demand.”
Ronge shrugged his heavy shoulders. “The decision lies with you, sir, I do not think he can do us much damage providing that he is not allowed to get out of the country. By rights, quite apart from our suspicions of him, he should be interned; but if Her Imperial Highness is prepared to be responsible for him, that seems as good a protection as putting him in a camp, from which he would prob
ably be able to escape without great difficulty.”
“Very well then. I will sign the order for his release.”
With a smile of satisfaction de Richleau watched the Governor sign the paper, then stood up. But the K.S. Chief still had a shot left in his locker, and now he discharged it:
“Herr Graf, before you go I should like to give you a warning. It is my duty to prevent information reaching the enemy, and I still intend to carry out that duty as far as you are concerned. Her Imperial Highness has no official status, and the responsibility she has assumed for you can only be accepted on the grounds that you are an officer in her regiment. To fulfil your functions in that respect you must remain in Vienna. As long as you do so my police will not molest you: but should you leave the city, we shall assume that Her Imperial Highness’ responsibility has automatically lapsed. I intend to issue a description of you to all railway and frontier police, with orders that they are to keep a special look out for you. Should you attempt to get out of the country you will be re-arrested. Even should Her Imperial Highness have given you leave to go, I am prepared to risk her displeasure by stopping you; because I shall take the matter to my Minister, and I am confident that in the interests of security he will support me.”
De Richleau bowed. “My dear Herr Major, I have always admired devotion to duty, and I congratulate you on your admirable sense of it. I find it regrettable only that you should not direct your energies into more promising channels.”
Adam Grünne stood up and said to the Governor: “I have already given you Her Imperial Highness’ letter requiring the release of her officer; so, if there are no further formalities, it remains only for me to ask you, sir, to be good enough to have his belongings sent to the barracks of the regiment.”
The Second Seal Page 44
