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

by E. Phillips Oppenheim

“Very well, then,” Norgate decided, “I accept. When shall I start?”

  Selingman laid his hand upon the other’s shoulder as he rose to his feet.

  “Young man,” he said, “you have come to a wise decision. Your salary will commence from the first of this month. Continue to live as usual. Let me have the opportunity of seeing you at the club, and let me know each day where you can be found. I will give you your instructions from day to day. You will be doing a great work, and, mind you, a patriotic work. If ever your conscience should trouble you, remember that. You are working not for Germany but for England.”

  “I will always remember that,” Norgate promised, as he turned away.

  CHAPTER XIX

  Table of Contents

  Norgate found Anna waiting for him in the hall of the smaller hotel, a little further westward, to which she had moved. He looked admiringly at her cool white muslin gown and the perfection of her somewhat airy toilette.

  “You are five minutes late,” she remonstrated.

  “I had to go into the city,” he apologised. “It was rather an important engagement. Soon I must tell you all about it.”

  She looked at him a little curiously.

  “I will be patient,” promised Anna, “and ask no questions.”

  “You are still depressed?”

  “Horribly,” she confessed. “I do not know why, but London is getting on my nerves. It is so hatefully, stubbornly, obstinately imperturbable. I would find another word, but it eludes me. I think you would call it smug. And it is so noisy. Can we not go somewhere for lunch where it is tranquil, where one can rest and get away from this roar?”

  “We could go to Ranelagh, if you liked,” suggested Norgate. “There are some polo matches on this afternoon, but it will be quiet enough for lunch.”

  “I should love it!” she exclaimed. “Let us go quickly.”

  They lunched in a shady corner of the restaurant and sat afterwards under a great oak tree in a retired spot at the further end of the gardens. Anna was still a little thoughtful.

  “Do you know,” she told her companion, “that I have received a hint to present myself in Berlin as soon as possible?”

  “Are you going?” Norgate demanded quickly.

  “I am not sure,” she answered. “I feel that I must, and yet, in a sense, I do not like to go. I have a feeling that they do not mean to let me out of Berlin again. They think that I know too much.”

  “But why should they suddenly lose faith in you?” Norgate asked.

  “Perhaps because the end is so near,” she replied. “They know that I have strong English sympathies. Perhaps they think that they would not bear the strain of the times which are coming.”

  “You are an even greater pessimist than I myself,” Norgate observed. “Do you really believe that the position is so critical?”

  “I know it,” she assured him. “I will not tell you all my reasons. There is no need for me to break a trust without some definite object. It seems to me that if your Secret Service Department were worth anything at all, your country would be in a state almost of panic. What is it they are playing down there? Polo, isn’t it? There are six or eight military teams, crowds of your young officers making holiday. And all the time Krupps are working overtime, working night and day, and surrounded by sentries who shoot at sight any stranger. There are parts of the country, even now, under martial law. The streets and the plains resound to the footsteps of armed hosts.”

  “But there is no excuse for war,” he reminded her.

  “An excuse is very easily found,” she sighed. “German diplomacy is clumsy enough, but I think it can manage that. Do you know that this morning I had a letter from one of the greatest nobles of our own Court at Vienna? He knew that I had intended to take a villa in Normandy for August and September. He has written purposely to warn me not to do so, to warn me not to be away from Austria or Germany after the first of August.”

  “So soon!” he murmured.

  They listened to the band for a moment. In the distance, an unceasing stream of men and women were passing back and forth under the trees and around the polo field.

  “It will come like a thunderbolt,” she said, “and when I think of it, all that is English in me rises up in revolt. In my heart I know so well that it is Germany and Germany alone who will provoke this war. I am terrified for your country. I admit it, you see, frankly. The might of Germany is only half understood here. It is to be a war of conquest, almost of extermination.”

  “That isn’t the view of your friend Selingman,” Norgate reminded her. “He, too, hints at coming trouble, but he speaks of it as just a salutary little lesson.”

  “Selingman, more than any one else in the world, knows differently,” she assured him. “But come, we talk too seriously on such a wonderful afternoon. I have made up my mind on one point, at least. I will stay here for a few days longer. London at this time of the year is wonderful. Besides, I have promised the Princess of Thurm that I will go to Ascot with her. Why should we talk of serious things any longer? Let us have a little rest. Let us promenade there with those other people, and listen to the band, and have some tea afterwards.”

  Norgate rose with alacrity, and they strolled across the lawns and down towards the polo field. Very soon they found themselves meeting friends in every direction. Anna extricated herself from a little group of acquaintances who had suddenly claimed her and came over to Norgate.

  “Prince Herschfeld wants to talk to me for a few minutes,” she whispered. “I think I should like to hear what he has to say. The Princess is there, too, whom I have scarcely seen. Will you come and be presented?”

  “Might I leave you with them for a few minutes?” Norgate suggested. “There is a man here whom I want to talk to. I will come back for you in half an hour.”

  “You must meet the Prince first,” she insisted. “He was interested when he heard who you were.”

  She turned to the little group who were awaiting her return. The Ambassador moved a little forward.

  “Prince,” she said, “may I present to you Mr. Francis Norgate? Mr. Norgate has just come from Berlin.”

  “Not with the kindliest feelings towards us, I am afraid,” remarked the Prince, holding out his hand. “I hope, however, that you will not judge us, as a nation, too severely.”

  “On the contrary, I was quite prepared to like Germany,” Norgate declared. “I was simply the victim of a rather unfortunate happening.”

  “There are many others besides myself who sincerely regret it,” the Prince said courteously. “You are kind enough to leave the Baroness for a little time in our charge. We will take the greatest care of her, and I hope that when you return you will give me the great pleasure of presenting you to the Princess.”

  “You are very kind,” Norgate murmured.

  “We shall meet again, then,” the Prince declared, as he turned away with Anna by his side.

  “In half an hour,” Anna whispered, smiling at him over her shoulder.

  CHAPTER XX

  Table of Contents

  The Right Honourable John William Hebblethwaite strolled along by the rails of the polo ground, exchanging greetings with friends, feeling very well content with himself and the world generally. A difficult session was drawing towards an end. The problem which had defeated so many governments seemed at last, under his skilful treatment, capable of solution. Furthermore, the session had been one which had added to his reputation both as an orator and a statesman. There had been an astonishingly flattering picture of him in an illustrated paper that week, and he was exceedingly pleased with the effect of the white hat which he was wearing at almost a jaunty angle. He was a great man and he knew it. Nevertheless, he greeted Norgate with ample condescension and engaged him at once in conversation.

  “Delighted to see you in such company, my young friend,” he declared. “I think that half an hour’s conversation with Prince Herschfeld would put some of those fire-eating ideas out of your head
. That’s the man whom we have to thank for the everyday improvement of our relations with Germany.”

  “The Prince has the reputation of being a great diplomatist,” Norgate remarked.

  “Added to which,” Hebblethwaite continued, “he came over here charged, as you might say, almost with a special mission. He came over here to make friends with England. He has done it. So long as we have him in London, there will never be any serious fear of misunderstanding between the two countries.”

  “What a howling optimist you are!” Norgate observed.

  “My young friend,” Hebblethwaite protested, “I am nothing of the sort. I am simply a man of much common sense, enjoying, I may add, a few hours’ holiday. By-the-by, Norgate, if one might venture to enquire without indiscretion, who was the remarkably charming foreign lady whom you were escorting?”

  “The Baroness von Haase,” Norgate replied. “She is an Austrian.”

  Mr. Hebblethwaite sighed. He rather posed as an admirer of the other sex.

  “You young fellows,” he declared, “who travel about the world, are much to be envied. There is an elegance about the way these foreign women dress, a care for detail in their clothes and jewellery, and a carriage which one seldom finds here.”

  They had reached the far end of the field, having turned their backs, in fact, upon the polo altogether. Norgate suddenly abandoned their conversation.

  “Look here,” he said, in an altered tone, “do you feel inclined to answer a few questions?”

  “For publication?” Hebblethwaite asked drily. “You haven’t turned journalist, by any chance, have you?”

  Norgate shook his head. “Nevertheless,” he admitted, “I have changed my profession. The fact is that I have accepted a stipend of a thousand a year and have become a German spy.”

  “Good luck to you!” exclaimed Hebblethwaite, laughing softly. “Well, fire away, then. You shall pick the brains of a Cabinet Minister at your leisure, so long as you’ll give me a cigarette—and present me, when we have finished, to the Baroness. The country has no secrets from you, Norgate. Where will you begin?”

  “Well, you’ve been warned, any way,” Norgate reminded him, as he offered his cigarette case. “Now tell me. It is part of my job to obtain from you a statement of your opinion as to exactly how far our entente with France is binding upon us.”

  Hebblethwaite cleared his throat.

  “If this is for publication,” he remarked, “could you manage a photograph of myself at the head of the interview, in these clothes and with this hat? I rather fancy myself to-day. A pocket kodak is, of course, part of the equipment of a German spy.”

  “Sorry,” Norgate regretted, “but that’s a bit out of my line. I am the disappointed diplomatist, doing the dirty work among my late friends. What we should like to know from Mr. Hebblethwaite, confidentially narrated to a personal friend, is whether, in the event of a war between Germany and Russia and France, England would feel it her duty to intervene?”

  Hebblethwaite glanced around. The throng of people had cleared off to watch the concluding stages of the match.

  “I have a sovereign on this,” he remarked, glancing at his card.

  “Which have you backed?” Norgate enquired.

  “The Lancers.”

  “Well, it’s any odds on the Hussars, so you’ve lost your money,” Norgate told him.

  Hebblethwaite sighed resignedly. “Well,” he said, “the question you submit is a problem which has presented itself to us once or twice, although I may tell you that there isn’t a soul in the Cabinet except one who believes in the chance of war. We are not a fire-eating lot, you know. We are all for peace, and we believe we are going to have it. However, to answer your questions more closely, our obligations depend entirely upon the provocation giving cause for the war. If France and Russia provoked it in any way, we should remain neutral. If it were a war of sheer aggression from Germany against France, we might to a certain extent intervene. There is not one of us, however, who believes for a single moment that Germany would enter upon such a war.”

  “When you admit that we might to a certain extent intervene,” Norgate said, “exactly how should we do it, I wonder? We are not in a particular state of readiness to declare war upon anybody or anything, are we?” he added, as they turned around and strolled once more towards the polo ground.

  “We have had no money to waste upon senseless armaments,” Mr. Hebblethwaite declared severely, “and if you watch the social measures which we have passed during the last two years, you will see that every penny we could spare has been necessary in order to get them into working order. It is our contention that an army is absolutely unnecessary and would simply have the effect of provoking military reprisals. If we, by any chance in the future, were drawn into war, our navy would be at the service of our allies. What more could any country ask than to have assured for them the absolute control of the sea?”

  “That’s all very well,” Norgate assented. “It might be our fair share on paper, and yet it might not be enough. What about our navy if Antwerp, Ostend, Dunkirk, Calais, Boulogne, and Havre were all German ports, as they certainly would be in an unassisted conflict between the French and the Germans?”

  They were within hearing now of the music of the band. Hebblethwaite quickened his pace a little impatiently.

  “Look here,” he protested, “I came down here for a holiday, I tell you frankly that I believe in the possibility of war just as much as I believe in the possibility of an earthquake. My own personal feeling is that it is just as necessary to make preparations against one as the other. There you are, my German spy, that’s all I have to say to you. Here are your friends. I must pay my respects to the Prince, and I should like to meet your charming companion.”

  Anna detached herself from a little group of men at their approach, and Norgate at once introduced his friend.

  “I have only been able to induce Mr. Hebblethwaite to talk to me for the last ten minutes,” he declared, “by promising to present him to you.”

  “A ceremony which we will take for granted,” she suggested, holding out her fingers. “Each time I have come to London, Mr. Hebblethwaite, I have hoped that I might have this good fortune. You interest us so much on the Continent.”

  Mr. Hebblethwaite bowed and looked as though he would have liked the interest to have been a little more personal.

  “You see,” Anna explained, as she stood between the two men, “both Austria and Germany, the two countries where I spend most of my time, are almost military ridden. Our great statesmen, or the men who stand behind them, are all soldiers. You represent something wholly different. Your nation is as great and as prosperous as ours, and yet you are a pacifist, are you not, Mr. Hebblethwaite? You scorn any preparations for war. You do not believe in it. You give back the money that we should spend in military or naval preparations to the people, for their betterment. It is very wonderful.”

  “We act according to our convictions,” Mr. Hebblethwaite pronounced. “It is our earnest hope that we have risen sufficiently in the scale of civilisation to be able to devote our millions to more moral objects than the massing of armaments.”

  “And you have no fears?” she persisted earnestly. “You honestly believe that you are justified in letting the fighting spirit of your people lie dormant?”

  “I honestly believe it, Baroness,” Mr. Hebblethwaite replied. “Life is a battle for all of them, but the fighting which we recognise is the fight for moral and commercial supremacy, the lifting of the people by education and strenuous effort to a higher plane of prosperity.”

  “Of course,” Anna murmured, “what you say sounds frightfully convincing. History only will tell us whether you are in the right.”

  “My thirst,” Mr. Hebblethwaite observed, glancing towards the little tables set out under the trees, “suggests tea and strawberries.”

  “If some one hadn’t offered me tea in a moment or two,” Anna declared, “I should have gone back to t
he Prince, with whom I must confess I was very bored. Shall we discuss politics or talk nonsense?”

  “Talk nonsense,” Mr. Hebblethwaite decided. “This is my holiday. My brain has stopped working. I can think of nothing beyond tea and strawberries. We will take that table under the elm trees, and you shall tell us all about Vienna.”

  CHAPTER XXI

  Table of Contents

  Norgate, after leaving Anna at her hotel, drove on to the club, where he arrived a few minutes before seven. Selingman was there with Prince Edward, and half a dozen others. Selingman, who happened not to be playing, came over at once and sat by his side on the broad fender.

  “You are late, my young friend,” he remarked.

  “My new career,” Norgate replied, “makes demands upon me. I can no longer spend the whole afternoon playing bridge. I have been attending to business.”

  “It is very good,” Selingman declared amiably. “That is the way I like to hear you talk. To amuse oneself is good, but to work is better still. Have you, by chance, any report to make?”

  “I have had a long conversation with Mr. Hebblethwaite at Ranelagh this afternoon,” Norgate announced.

  There was a sudden change in Selingman’s expression, a glint of eagerness in his eyes.

  “With Hebblethwaite! You have begun well. He is the man above all others of whose views we wish to feel absolutely certain. We know that he is a strong man and a pacifist, but a pacifist to what extent? That is what we wish to be clear about. Now tell me, you spoke to him seriously?”

  “Very seriously, indeed,” Norgate assented. “The subject suggested itself naturally, and I contrived to get him to discuss the possibilities of a European war. I posed rather as a pessimist, but he simply jeered at me. He assured me that an earthquake was more probable. I pressed him on the subject of the entente. He spoke of it as a thing of romance and sentiment, having no place in any possible development of the international situation. I put hypothetical cases of a European war before him, but he only scoffed at me. On one point only was he absolutely and entirely firm—under no circumstances whatever would the present Cabinet declare war upon anybody. If the nation found itself face to face with a crisis, the Government would simply choose the most dignified and advantageous solution which embraced peace. In short, there is one thing which you may count upon as absolutely certain. If England goes to war at any time within the next four years, it will be under some other government.”