21 Greatest Spy Thrillers in One Premium Edition (Mystery & Espionage Series)

by E. Phillips Oppenheim

  “Go ahead.”

  “Do you realize that if things proceed as now seems inevitable, the morning train to-morrow will be the last train to leave Austrian territory before the declaration of war?”

  “Better than you do, Joseph, because I know for a fact what you only surmise. You are quite right. That is the last train which will leave Austro-German territory before the declaration of war and that is why it is absolutely imperative that I and my friends travel by it together with the special luggage truck.”

  “You wouldn’t care to risk your plane, I suppose, Mr. Mildenhall?” Joseph suggested.

  “My plane is at the present moment on its way over from England,” Charles replied. “It is bound for Switzerland and it wouldn’t carry a tenth part of the luggage.”

  “I have at the present moment,” Joseph confided, “nearly a hundred people around my desk demanding accommodations by that train. Of telephone calls I take no account. There are about the same number.”

  “Seems to be quite a rush of people wanting to get away,” Charles observed.

  “For many of them,” the concierge replied, “it is a question of getting away or being interned.”

  “You wouldn’t like that to happen to me, Joseph, I’m sure?

  “I should not, sir,” was the devout answer, “but I do not think it is possible, because you are a diplomatic gentleman.”

  “No use nowadays. Our Embassy here is broken up. Then there are my friends and the luggage.”

  “Would the luggage be very heavy, sir?”

  “Let me see—the weight of four people might be—what do you think, Blute?”

  “I do not think,” Blute, who had just re-entered the room, replied, “that you need reckon it that way. Together with the weight of the guard of four men I can assure our friend here that the weight would be less than half what any ordinary luggage truck is supposed to carry.”

  “What does the gentleman mean by a guard, sir?” Joseph asked anxiously.

  “I rather forgot that, I’m afraid,” Charles confessed. “Can’t carry everything in your mind, though, these unusual times. Would you work for us, Joseph, with more confidence if I let you into a secret as regards the proposed contents of that truck?”

  “It certainly would be helpful, sir.”

  “Very well. Do you happen to have read the special edition of the paper?” he asked, taking one from the roll upon the table which Blute had brought up and holding it out. “There has been a terrible accident to some motorists driving here from Moravia. They were apparently in as great a hurry as we are to get out of the country. The chief contents of this luggage van will be four large coffins.”

  Joseph’s equanimity was for once troubled. He gazed incredulously at the speaker.

  “Coffins?” he repeated.

  “Caskets which contain the remains of these four unfortunate people,” Charles said gravely. “Quick work, isn’t it? I can explain that, though. This accident happened several days ago, but the Press have only just got hold of it. The four guards who will travel with the coffins are the representatives of the undertakers. We shall want tickets for them, of course.”

  Joseph coughed and looked up towards the ceiling. When he spoke again there was a faint change in his manner.

  “As I presume you know, sir,” he remarked, “the linings of the coffins would be of lead, to conform with the regulations. This would add considerably to the weight. Then there are the four guards. Nearly all the undertakers’ assistants whom I have ever come across,” he went on thoughtfully, “have been small, straggly types of men—”

  “I hope these won’t be anything of the sort,” Charles interrupted, “but anyhow, I think that my friend Mr. Blute over here is right when he says that the weight will not be a difficulty. The tickets for the four guards I shall require as a matter of course. Even though they must travel in the luggage truck I have no desire to smuggle them out of the country. This is a perfectly straightforward transaction, you understand, Joseph, carried out at the desire of the—er—relations.”

  Joseph’s eyes once more sought the ceiling. They lingered there for a moment. When they came down his gaze was perfectly respectful, his tone gently enquiring.

  “I am well aware of the regulation rates for merchandise, Mr. Mildenhall,” he said, “but I think if by any miraculous means I was able to put this affair through for you the charges would be something in excess of the ordinary.”

  Charles smiled—a very understanding gesture.

  “I think that you are probably right, Joseph,” he acknowledged. “Now, if you should be successful in carrying this little affair through and procuring for me a compartment in the train, or, at any rate, three first-class seats, I would show my appreciation of the fact that the charges of a miracle-monger must necessarily be high. I should hand over to you, Joseph, a sum which would roughly represent a thousand pounds in English money. I should look upon it as being necessary to dispense a considerable portion of this amongst the officials of the railway company—what proportion I should have to leave to your judgment. The balance of the thousand pounds would belong to you. Miss Grey,” he added, turning round, “the equivalent of one thousand pounds sterling in reichsmarks, if you please. Now, Joseph,” he concluded, “I would suggest that before your luncheon hour you take a little carriage down to the railway station, fill your pockets with cigars and interview your friends.”

  “The guard of the train,” Joseph reflected, “will be at his house for his day off before the journey. He is a very good friend of mine. Something, of course, might be arranged, but the station authorities will also require a little special information. The length of the train is probably already prodigious. I think your idea is a good one, Mr. Mildenhall. I will see what I can do personally. In any case sir,” he wound up, picking up his cap from the chair, “if I fail I shall have to introduce a new word into my vocabulary. I shall report as soon as possible. Fräulein, Herr Mildenhall, Herr Blute, I wish you good morning.”

  “One of nature’s dictators,” was Charles’s only remark after the door was closed.

  CHAPTER XVII

  Table of Contents

  The church clock on the other side of the square struck eleven as Joseph left the salon. Charles glanced at his watch with a slight frown.

  “At what time was Fritz to report to us this morning?” he asked.

  There was the same faint trace of uneasiness in Blute’s expression as he answered.

  “Half-past ten he was to have been here. If that clock is right it is eleven o’clock.”

  The frown upon Charles’s forehead deepened.

  “It isn’t like Fritz to be even five minutes late,” he remarked. “You took him to the night market after you left me, I suppose?”

  Blute smiled at the recollection.

  “I not only did that but I took him round to the stalls. First of all we bought the largest basket you could imagine and then Fritz, who knew what he was about, I must say, filled it. I won’t disturb your early morning appetites with all the details, but there was sausage, there was ham, there was pâté, there was jam, there were rolls, butter, wine, beer—everything you can think of. Then I bought a little cheap crockery and packed him back in the taxi. He had made up his mind to stop and share the feast, I think, but anyway he promised to visit them early this morning with coffee and rolls and be here punctually.”

  “At what time was he to have been here?” Charles asked again.

  “At half-past ten. Still, the streets are very-crowded and he might easily be held up.”

  “Will my adorable secretary telephone down and ask if the taxicab for Mr. Mildenhall has arrived?” Charles suggested.

  Patricia obeyed with a slight grimace. She set down the receiver a moment later.

  “Your man has just arrived,” she announced. “He is on his way up.”

  They were all a trifle uneasy and there was a prompt response to the expected knock at the door. A glance at Fritz as he entered th
e room was sufficient to show them that something had happened. He was walking with a decided limp. He closed the door behind him carefully and advanced to the centre of the room.

  “What’s gone wrong?” Charles asked anxiously.

  “Ach, mein Herr,” Fritz faltered, “I do not think that it was my fault. Wait, and I shall tell my story. The service steps are steep and I did not take the lift. I didn’t want to attract any attention.”

  “What is the trouble?” Blute demanded.

  “I will tell my story,” Fritz repeated.

  Charles made a sign towards the door. Blute hurried over and locked it. Fritz pointed to him.

  “Together,” he began, “we bought much that was good last night to eat and to drink. The Herr Blute left me and I drove back to where the two Gestapo were waiting for me. All seemed well. I opened the door quietly. The two were playing cards by the light of the torch. When they saw the basket they howled with joy. The German was like a wild animal. My cousin—he is thin to look at but he eats as no other I have ever seen. I opened the wine, put out the crockery the Herr here had bought and I took leave of them. My cousin, he wished me good night without looking up from his plate; the German, his mouth was too full to speak. They never even looked out as I passed through the door. They were safe. I locked them in.”

  Fritz paused for breath. His voice was becoming steadier. He leaned forward.

  “This morning at nine o’clock I left my car in that corner where it is out of sight, I crossed the yard, I listened for a moment. It seemed to me then that everything was very quiet. I opened the door very carefully, as Mr. Blute had shown me. The moment it was a few inches open, out came a great hand and seized me by the collar. I was dragged in. It was the German! He was grinning like a fat, fair devil. In his left hand he held the revolver my cousin had prayed me to leave with him. There were no signs of Johann about the place, but the remains of their supper were all there. There were broken plates, glasses, a stain where wine had been spilt and food lying about. The German plumped me up against the wall.

  “‘Now then,’ he shouted, ‘there is some secret about this place. There’s money here or stolen goods. What is it? Where is it? No good your twitching about like that. You’ll tell the truth or you’ll go where your cousin has gone.’

  “‘Have you killed him?’ I asked.

  “He grinned at me. When I think of that grin I can forgive myself for everything!

  “‘You can look for him when I’ve done with you, if you can crawl so far,’ he sneered. ‘You didn’t think when you left him your revolver that I might take a fancy to it, eh?’

  “It was then, at that moment, Herr Mildenhall—Herr Blute,” Fritz continued, “that my brain began to work a little. The German’s eyes were red, his face was all patchy. The bottle of wine we had brought, the beer bottles and the brandy bottle were all lying on the floor empty—except for the brandy. There was just that much left of the brandy,” Fritz went on, holding up three fingers. “The German was still half drunk but he was terribly determined. I was sure that he had murdered Johann. There was bloodshed in his eyes when he looked at me. I think he was aching to swing that revolver up into line and shoot me. He began to shuffle a little nearer.

  “‘I know nothing about this place,’ I told him. ‘I brought the gentleman who sent you your supper up here. He’s been living in this room.’

  “The German jeered at me.

  “‘Him live here? What for? To guard something. If he lived here in a hole like this, there’s treasure about. I’ll—’

  “He hiccuped. He made noise enough doing it to awaken the dead,” Fritz went on, his face whiter than ever, his eyes glaring. “Then he retched and vomited right across the room. The effort made him stagger. He dropped the revolver.”

  They were all three very quiet indeed. Their eyes were fixed upon the chauffeur.

  “It was a clumsy thing,” he said. “It rolled over on the floor. I am good on my feet. I jumped. Oh, it was a long jump! I hit my leg against something as I landed. I fell on the revolver—it was in my hand—he was slipping about looking like a great angry devil. There were two chambers gone—four left. I emptied all four into him. The first one only grazed him but the second, third and fourth all went into his chest. He hiccuped once more—and that was the end of him.”

  There was silence in the room. Patricia was deathly pale. Blute was wiping the sweat from his forehead. Charles threw open the window.

  “Well done, Fritz!” he said calmly. “You were a fool to leave the revolver with your cousin. The rest of your story is good. Now, what about Johann?”

  “When I saw that the German was dead,” Fritz went on, “I hurried over to the screen. Johann was lying across the bed. I think they must have been playing cards in that spot for half the pack was scattered about the floor. He had a bad wound on the head and a bullet wound through his shoulder, but he was still breathing. I got him to swallow a little brandy. Then he opened his eyes. I bathed his head and gave him some of the hot coffee. He sat up. Then he told me that the German had stolen up behind him and hit him a blow with a bottle whilst he was sorting his cards. He had taken the revolver, all his money and refused to believe that Johann did not know what treasure was hidden in the place. Johann knew no more than the German did, so in the end, in a sort of half-drunken fury, he shot him.”

  “What became of the body?” Charles asked quietly.

  “Johann is still alive,” Fritz concluded. “I dragged him out, put him into my cab and drove him to one of the hospitals. I said that I had picked him up on the doorstep of a gay house early this morning. I gave a false name and address, and they took him in.”

  “How badly are you hurt, I wonder?”

  “I am not hurt much,” Fritz replied. “A bruised leg that will make me limp for a few days—that is all.”

  “You have given us matter for thought,” Charles declared, after a brief silence. “Go and sit in your taxicab and read the news, but be sure to keep your car out of sight.”

  Fritz took his usual respectful leave.

  “Good thing this didn’t happen before,” Charles observed, as soon as the door was closed. “Now tell me, Blute, are there any houses about on the other side of the lane?”

  “There couldn’t be a lonelier spot than the district around that extraordinary building,” Blute confided. “Mr. Benjamin refused to sell a yard of the land anywhere near the palace, fortunately.”

  Charles drew a sigh of relief.

  “Then for a short time,” he proposed, “let us leave the disposal of the dead Gestapo for further consideration. We ought to go right on with the general scheme.”

  Patricia looked up from her desk.

  “I quite agree,” she said. “I think the next thing we ought to consider is making arrangements for the guards who are travelling with the caskets.”

  “Even before that,” Blute suggested, “we must make sure first of securing the van.”

  “Where will you make for first when you have crossed the frontier?” asked Charles, studying the map.

  “Once in Switzerland,” Blute answered, “I think we might pause and try to find out Mr. Benjamin’s whereabouts. By then I imagine we shall be getting to the end of these heaven-sent resources of yours, Mr. Mildenhall.”

  Charles acquiesced.

  “It seems a queer thing to me,” he reflected, “that Mr. Benjamin should have succeeded in disappearing so completely.”

  “He has disappeared because he is the wisest and most sagacious man I ever met,” Marius Blute said emphatically. “No possible inducement ever succeeded in leading him to commit himself politically in any way. His whole life was an enigma to the Nazis. All that they knew was that long before they were sure of getting hold of Austria he was working like an alchemist getting rid of his fortune and his investments and distributing them all over the world. I know because it was I who was doing it for him, and their agents were on my track every day.”

  Charles saunte
red to the window and looked across once more at the church clock.

  “I suppose you’d think I was mad, Blute, if I suggested that Miss Grey and I take a little stroll,” he remarked.

  Blute’s expression for a moment was almost savage. He was, without a doubt, angry.

  “In forty-eight hours,” he said, speaking very slowly and very distinctly, “we may be absolutely free to do exactly what we like, we may be in a fortress, we may be dead or we may have brought off one of the most amazing coups the secret service of the lay world has ever known. The greatest danger we have to face is association of the one with the other. How you, Mr. Charles Mildenhall, whom I should call the directing brains of the enterprise, can suggest that in this spot, which is the very centre of Nazi espionage, you and Miss Grey—who is well known as having been the private secretary of Mr. Benjamin—should be seen together in friendly conversation, defeats me.”

  “I sit in sackcloth and ashes,” Charles repented. “Blute, I’m afraid you are right.”

  “In your salon here,” Blute continued, “with access to the back service stairs, we have a sanctuary. I have a room leading out to the fire escape which I shall use instead of the stairs or lift if I think it advisable. Miss Grey here mingles with the servants and the hired help of the establishment. You, Mr. Mildenhall, make no attempt at concealment. You are the wealthy and distinguished patron of the hotel. If we should by any evil chance come face to face at any time there must not be the slightest suggestion of recognition.”

  “I absolutely agree with Mr. Blute,” Patricia said earnestly. “You are running great and unnecessary risks for our sakes, Charles. I would never forgive myself if anything happened in these last few hours, nor, I am sure, would Mr. Blute.”

  “If I might make a suggestion,” Blute said, “I think that a stroll across the square and a half-hour on view alone, Mr. Mildenhall, would be an excellent idea. I hope, too, that you will show yourself in the bar and restaurant here as usual on every opportunity. You are a well-known figure in Vienna when you pass through and people might very well wonder where you had spent your time here if you are not visible at any of the show places.”