“It lies at the bottom of the avenue on the left-hand side coming up,” Blute replied without hesitation.
“Right to my door!” Gunther exclaimed with a gesture of gratitude. “Well, you really are the most accommodating interlopers I ever knew. To realize that I might have gone to the trouble of bringing all these things down here from Vienna myself and then very likely made a mess of it—as you have done! I really am indebted to you both—and to the young lady, too,” he added with a little bow.
“Nothing to thank me for,” Patricia remarked with a slight yawn. “I have been rather in the way.”
“Fancy, the bottom of the avenue here!” the Count repeated. “Really! We’ll say nothing about the freight but I think that I ought to pay something towards the Customs. What do you think, Mr. Blute?”
“Go to hell!”
The Count looked at the speaker gravely.
“Mr. Blute,” he remonstrated, “there is a young lady present. However, as it seems to irritate you I will make no more comments upon this dismal failure of yours. Under the circumstances perhaps it was to be expected. There is one question, however, I would like to ask. What has become of the guard you brought with you whose instructions were to remain with the caskets in the luggage van?”
“They are still guarding our property,” Blute replied. “They will go on doing that, you know, for the present.”
“I judged that they might be,” the other observed. “To tell you the truth, when Mr. Mildenhall complained just now of what he called my monologue I was perfectly truthful in my reply. I was talking to save time. It occurred to me that if those four men of yours were to march up here I should have been obliged to get rid of you two in order to have made our numbers a little more even.”
“How should you have got rid of us?” Patricia asked.
“I should have left you out of the affair entirely, young lady,” he assured her. “I have a great fancy for red hair and those queer greenish eyes that go with it sometimes. I admire a slim figure, too. That is why I could not get on so well with my own wife lately. She is just a little too much inclined to put on flesh. Don’t you think so, Mr. Mildenhall? Ah, I see you agree with me. You, young lady, as I was saying, I should reserve for a different fate, as they say in the pictures, but I should have been compelled to take Mr. Mildenhall and Mr. Blute up to the—er—rackets court. Sounds better than execution ground.”
“I’d rather go with them than listen to you talk,” she declared boldly. “I think that you are a most annoying person. Couldn’t they have done something about it while you were young?”
“My mother and father,” he assured her, “loved to listen to my childish prattle. However—finished. I’ve gained all the time I wanted. I am going to shoot you two—you, Blute, because you have already cut into one or two of my little affairs and I’m getting tired of it. If it hadn’t been for a stroke of good luck you’d have spoilt this one for me—and that would have meant,” he went on, leaning forward, “something like four million pounds. The Leopold Benjamin collection is worth quite that.”
“I believe it is,” Blute agreed.
“Well, you say you have four men guarding it down there. Now, I have eleven men who will hurry back here when they find that I am not at the rendezvous because they will know that I have taken this little affair over and they will want to know where the treasure is. In a very few minutes they will no doubt be here. They will fight it out with your four brave warriors. What do you say, my divinity with the red hair? Will you come up with me to the tower and look out through my telescope and watch the Struggle or will you come and watch a little diversion on the rackets court first?”
“I would go anywhere for the pleasure of seeing you shot!” she retorted.
“Bad manners,” he sighed.
“In any case, if ever you laid a finger on me,” she assured him, “I would shoot you before you did so if I could, but I would shoot you afterwards if I had to wait a dozen years. That’s my red hair, you see. Bad temper it means.”
Her inquisitor smiled. It was one of the most unpleasant smiles that ever parted a man’s lips.
“I foresee that there might be difficulties in my original scheme,” he remarked. “Strauss, move those two revolvers I have left upon the table. We are excellently placed here. Unless I am very much mistaken the diversion down below is about to commence.”
Charles suddenly caught up the chair by his side and held it over his head.
“I’ve had enough of this! Get out of the way, Patricia. Let the fellow shoot.”
He smashed the window in front of them into a dozen pieces. He was poised for the spring through what was left of it when Patricia’s shriek rang through the room.
“Stop, Charles!” she cried. “These aren’t his men at all!”
A lorry had turned in at the bottom of the drive and was being driven furiously towards the chateau. It was packed with soldiers in an unfamiliar uniform. Behind was another and smaller car, and then a limousine. The Count stood like a man turned to stone. He watched the approaching cavalcade with blank amazement. His upraised hand which had been clutching the revolver fell to his side. Patricia made a lightning-like dash at the weapon and snatched it from his loosened fingers. She tossed it across to Charles.
“Catch!” she cried.
Charles caught it.
CHAPTER XXVII
Table of Contents
The actual moments that passed before the door was flung open must have been almost negligible, yet to Patricia they seemed interminable. To the man who stood now covered by his own revolver they might have been a lifetime. There was no doubt but that it was not so much cowardice as blank and complete astonishment which robbed him temporarily of the power of speech or movement. He only recovered himself when he heard the babel of voices in the hall and found the room invaded. An officer in field-grey uniform crossed the threshold. A sergeant and a dozen privates pressed after him. Then for the first time the Count found his voice.
“Who the mischief are you?” he demanded.
“Major Huber—Swiss Infantry,” was the prompt reply. “Arrest that man, sergeant!”
The sergeant and two privates seized hold of the Count just a little too late. He was recovering himself. He sent the first private sprawling. His place was taken by another, however. All the time Charles’s gun was perfectly steady.
“I can shoot him if you give the word,” he declared.
“So could I,” the officer, who had withdrawn his revolver from its holster, replied. “My job is to arrest him, though.”
The Count was himself again but a few seconds too late. The first private was still on the floor, the sergeant, who had staggered back after a fierce blow on the cheek, had recovered himself and was holding his prisoner’s arm. Two other privates obeyed the word of command. At least a half-dozen men had their grip upon him. He ceased to struggle.
“What is the charge. Major?” he asked.
The officer turned towards the entrance. He made a sign to the man who was standing on duty there. The door was flung open. Beatrice von Ballinstrode, with a soldier on either side, entered.
“Baroness,” the Major said, “are you able to identify this man?”
She advanced into the full light of the room. Charles very nearly dropped his revolver. She was probably the calmest person there. She looked him in the face, then turned back to the Major.
“Certainly,” she answered. “I was unfortunately married to him eighteen years ago under the name of Schrafft—Paul Schrafft.”
“You are positively able to identify him, Baroness?”
“Absolutely,” she said.
“The charge is, then,” the Major said, “that you have been for fifteen years, Paul Schrafft, a deserter from the Swiss Army. Have you anything to say about that?”
“It is you who identify me?” he asked, looking across the room at Beatrice.
“It is I. Do you know why I do it? I see that you do. Major, I spent th
e night at a little village not far from here at the chateau of my cousins. This man here, still my husband, I suppose, sent one of his company of thieves all the way there to steal my passport. He was afraid that it was my intention to interfere in a little business he was engaged upon. He was quite right, but I arrived here all the same and, I should imagine,” she continued, her eyes sweeping the room, “just in time.”
The Major saluted.
“We are obliged. Baroness,” he said.
“Is my presence required further?” she asked.
“Certainly not. Sergeant, you may remove the prisoner. Allow me to see you to your car. Baroness. Which of you gentlemen is Mr. Mildenhall?”
Charles stepped forward.
“I’m here.”
The Major smiled.
“I shall be returning directly,” he said, “for the favour of a few minutes’ conversation with you.”
There was a tramping of feet. In a moment or two the room was empty except for Patricia, Blute and Charles. Marius Blute was smoothing his hair before a mirror after a hurried glance down the avenue. Patricia had thrown herself into a chair. Her own hair was in wild disorder and she had torn her skirt in the convulsive leap forward when she had snatched the revolver from the arrested man. Charles was on his knees by her side. Nevertheless, although she was very pale, her eyes were open and she forced a smile as she felt the pressure of his fingers.
“If I could have some water,” she murmured.
“Look round the room—there’s a good fellow,” Charles asked Blute.
The latter looked round the room in vain, then he stepped out into the hall. He returned, followed by a chauffeur and a plump lady dressed in black. Charles welcomed them gladly.
“That’s you, is it. Holmes?” he exclaimed. “Thank heavens! And you, Madame Renouf!”
“We’re here, sir,” the chauffeur said, “but it’s been a funny business!”
“It has indeed,” Madame Renouf assented. “Allow me, sir.”
She poured some water from the carafe which she was carrying into a tumbler.
“The poor young lady,” she murmured sympathetically. “She’s had a nasty shock and no mistake.”
“I shall be all right in a minute,” Patricia declared.
“Tim’s gone, sir,” the chauffeur announced gloomily. “He smelt a rat, Tim did, and he let on to the Count. The Count shot him down just as you or I would brush away a fly. Thank God he’s off the premises, sir. He came here and said he’d leased the chateau from you for six months. If it hadn’t been your own voice I heard on the phone last night, sir, I should have been off to-night. They made me answer the phone and wouldn’t let me say a word on my own.”
“Plane all right?” Charles asked.
“Going like a humming bird, sir.”
“Johnson there? That’s his name, isn’t it? The pilot.”
“He’s around all right, sir, but again he isn’t, so to speak. The Count told him he might want the plane this morning. Never said a word about your coming. Johnson’s off in hiding, he is, but I can put my hand on him in a minute.”
Patricia sat up.
“I’m absolutely all right,” she announced. “Charles, do you realize what has happened?”
She threw her arms round his neck. The housekeeper glanced discreetly away.
“And me, I think,” Mr. Blute suggested.
Patricia embraced him without hesitation.
“That,” he remarked as he withdrew himself a little awkwardly, “is the first time I have kissed a lady for twelve years.”
“It’s been worth while waiting, hasn’t it, dear?” she laughed.
“Don’t you try your tricks on me!” he warned her. “Remember, you’re as good as a married woman!”
“There is nothing that could go wrong, now, is there?” she asked, a great relief shining out of her eyes.
Blute escorted her to the window.
“Our four guards are there smoking cigarettes and guarding the treasure. The Count is seated in the middle of that lorry which has just passed out through the gate, two soldiers either side of him and two behind. I never thought I’d see the end of the Three G’s crowd. Whichever way our plans lie now we are safe and when opportunity arises I shall most certainly drink the health of that brave lady who has got us out of this mess.”
“We are returning to earth again,” Charles said.
“It’s a mercy, sir,” the housekeeper declared, “because I’m hoping you’ll fancy some luncheon, even if it is late.”
There was a squeal from Patricia, various other sounds of approbation from Blute and Charles.
“The Count’s been sort of funny all this morning,” Madame Renouf remarked. “I could never get him to tell me how many to cook for but there’s enough for ten or twelve anyhow and something over if you’ve men to feed.”
“Who’s looking after my cellar here?” Charles asked.
“Mr. Needham’s been doing it until the last few days, sir,” she declared. “He felt like I did about the Count and he refused to give up the keys. There was a sort of scramble and Needham didn’t get the best of it. He’d have liked to have got away, but this place has been like one of them fortresses, sir. There have been men watching at every door. You weren’t very fond of strangers in your day, Mr. Mildenhall, sir,” she remarked, “but the Count, he was a lot worse.”
“What I want to know now,” Charles said patiently, “is—where are the cellar keys?”
“I have them here, sir,” she announced, producing them. “I made that other man—the Count’s valet, he was really—hand them over every night. I’ve a couple of maids in the kitchen. They weren’t in with the rough lot at all—they’re Swiss girls I found myself. They can be getting on with the luncheon and you’d better let me be seeing what there is I can bring you up from the cellar. I know where everything is. I’m thinking it’s a cocktail that the young lady and you gentlemen will be wanting—and no wonder with the morning you’ve been through.”
“I’d come with you, Madame Renouf,” Charles declared, “but I want to speak to the Major before he slips away. Bring us up vermouth, gin, Cointreau, lemons, champagne and white wine—all you can carry.”
“There’s a cellar boy with a wine basket,” she confided. “The Count was a terrible man but he knew the way the gentry did things. We’re all very curious down below but I’ll be asking questions a little later on.”
“And ice, Madame Renouf,” Charles called out.
The housekeeper looked round in mild reproof.
“As though I’d be forgetting such a thing!” she exclaimed reproachfully. “I’ll go and see Mr. Need-ham at once. He’ll perhaps be able to look after you now he knows the others have gone. In three-quarters of an hour’s time, sir, I shall be able to serve lunch and if those are your men in the park, sir, with the luggage, they can come in and have a bite in the servants’ hall when they’ve a mind for it.”
“What a heavenly person!” Patricia breathed as Madame Renouf left the room.
“She’s a character,” Charles grinned. “She comes from Geneva and is really more French than Swiss. My head seems to be going round still,” he went on after a moment’s pause, “I’ll never forget the shock when that fellow Strauss met us in the hall. I felt there was something wrong.”
Blute lit a cigarette. Charles rose to his feet.
“Patricia,” he said, “I think I ought to go and speak to the Baroness.”
“I should think so,” the girl declared. “Charles, she was absolutely splendid. She faced that man, who looked as though he was dying to kill her, like a lioness, and what pleased me most was that she never even attempted to make eyes at you!”
The Major made his appearance. Charles went forward to meet him.
“Major,” he said, “I hope you’re not in a hurry. You’ll stay and have lunch with us?”
“That’s very kind of you. Are you sure it won’t be inconvenient?”
“Not in the least,
” Charles assured him. “This prize criminal you’ve laid by the heels seems to have kept most of my staff. My housekeeper tells me that luncheon for as many people as we like will be ready in three-quarters of an hour. That should give us almost time enough to drink as many cocktails as the occasion demands.”
The Major smiled.
“Ah,” he exclaimed, “that delightful American and English custom! The cocktails—yes. Delightful.”
Needham and the chauffeur appeared with a tray and the cellar boy with the bottles. One of the maids brought glasses and the ice.
“I’ll make the cocktails,” Patricia decided, jumping down. “Forgive my skirt—I’ll mend it afterwards.”
“One moment,” Charles said. “Major, I must present you to my fiancee—Mademoiselle Grey. If you were an Englishman and played cricket you would know what I mean when I say that she has just made the most wonderful throw-in I ever saw.”
“You were pretty nippy with the catch,” Blute observed.
“We were in a hole here,” Charles admitted. “We walked in expecting nothing of this sort and I suppose we were a little foolish, but anyhow the Count got our revolvers. He brought us over to the window to see a massacre. He was holding his weapon all the time and I think he’d made up his mind to shoot me. He saw the lorry full of soldiers turning in at the gate and for a moment he relaxed. Miss Grey gave one jump, snatched his revolver from his fingers while he was staring out of the window and threw it over to me. We haven’t had time to say a word about it yet and however long we live I don’t suppose we shall ever forget it. I’ve been in a few tight corners in my time but I shall never forget this one.”
“If you are Major Mildenhall of the British Intelligence, sir,” the Major declared, “you certainly have. We knew all about your having this chateau unofficially, but of course we couldn’t approach you in any way.”
“Yes, I’m Mildenhall, but I should have been a dead Mildenhall instead of a live one if it hadn’t been for this girl,” Charles confided as he escorted her to the table. “I’ll hand you the bottles, Patricia, and you do the mixing. Heavens, what a gorgeous shaker! I don’t think that belongs to the house.”
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