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

by E. Phillips Oppenheim

  “You mean to tell me that he did not kill you?” Domiloff exclaimed.

  “On the contrary—I killed him. At least they carried him away with a bullet in his chest.”

  “Prince Anselm of Herm,” Domiloff groaned.

  “That is the chap. Chief of the Chancellor’s bodyguard. I cannot help it,” Rudolph went on, setting down his cup. “I am the first man who has got away alive since the days of the student corps and he would have killed me but for a squawking magpie.”

  “A what?”

  “A magpie,” Rudolph repeated. “The wood was full of them. They were flying about in all directions. We played the game all right—back to back, twenty paces, we turned round, arms up. Anselm blew a whistle. We both fired. My shot carried through. His went through a skimming bird, was deflected a few inches and took the bark off the tree behind me. Ergo—I live and he dies. I cannot feel as sorry as I ought to. The fellow went out of his way to try and kill me and anyway I did not like him.”

  Domiloff laid his hand for a moment on the young man’s shoulder.

  “I congratulate you, Rudolph,” he said. “All the same, I can tell you this. You are the luckiest man I know. What induced you to go into the wood and fight a ridiculous duel?”

  “Because,” Joan intervened from the background, “if he had not fought the duel, they would have opened fire upon our car and very likely killed both of us. We had to stop because they blocked the way and they kept us covered all the time Rudolph was talking to Prince Anselm. They played the game, though, after it was all over. The Prince declared that it was a properly fought duel and they were to leave us alone. Then they bolted for Nice, or at any rate along the Route de Nice.”

  “And let you come away?”

  “Never even looked at us again.”

  “You have courage, young man,” Domiloff observed.

  “Not a scrap,” Rudolph declared. “I was terrified to death. The only person who had real courage was Miss Haskell here.”

  “It is not true,” she cried out indignantly. “I was shivering with fear all the time and I should have been worse if Rudolph had not kept so calm. He went and stood out in the road where any one of them could have shot him easily. He insisted upon it that they did not shoot at the car because I was inside. It was more than courage. It was heroism.”

  “Le preux chevalier,” Lydia murmured.

  “It was the bravest thing I ever saw,” Joan declared with a sob in her throat. “I have not dared to tell him so yet but I shall never forget it as long as I live.”

  “You have not had an opportunity,” Rudolph reminded her. “I fainted off like a girl as soon as it was all over.”

  “For five minutes,” she protested, “and that was when you found your face bathed in blood and filth from that beastly bird.”

  He laughed—this time quite gaily and freely.

  “Joan, my dear,” he insisted, “that is the most unfair speech I have ever heard. Do you not realize that that bird—a single magpie, too—saved my life? I shall never be superstitious again!”

  Tashoff presented himself with a discreet bow of apology towards Lydia. He glanced meaningly at Domiloff, who nodded.

  “I will congratulate you all in due form presently,” the latter said, “and I shall have a special word to say to you, Miss Joan Haskell,” he added, smiling. “You will have to excuse me for some time. I have a rather important caller and I have not yet the least idea what I am going to say to him.”

  “Mr. Ardrossen is waiting for you, sir,” Tashoff announced as soon as they reached the corridor.

  CHAPTER XXXI

  Table of Contents

  ARDROSSEN, looking more than ever like a middle-aged bachelor of precise habits and almost Quaker-like simplicity of attire, sat in a high-backed chair with his arms folded, his eyes indifferently fixed upon the man who had invited his presence. Domiloff, who had muttered a word of apology upon his entrance, scribbled his signature to a dozen letters and documents which Tashoff had laid before him, then waved the latter away, leaned back in his chair and looked thoughtfully across at his visitor.

  “How goes the gentle art of espionage, my friend?” he asked.

  “Uneventfully,” Ardrossen admitted. “Things happen and I discover them. It is well for some people that I do. It is not so well for the others. You have changed your quarters, I see, or was it by accident, may I ask, that I was shown into this room for my audience with you?”

  “Why do you ask that question?” Domiloff enquired.

  Ardrossen pointed to the chairs and counted them.

  “Eight places around the long table. Seven for the Councillors of State, one for the State secretary. One at each end—one for Monsieur le Baron Domiloff, the other for Monsieur Pierre Regnier, the newly elected rulers of Monaco. Am I right?”

  “Right but not so impressive this afternoon,” Domiloff observed. “The appointments are all in this morning’s paper.”

  “I offer you my congratulations,” Ardrossen continued calmly, “upon your very ingenious idea of making every Monégasque citizen over the age of seventeen into what we call in England ‘Special Constables.’ You have christened them, I believe, gardes d’honneur. Very good idea. Between seven and eight hundred of them, I think, up to date.”

  “Truly a magician,” Domiloff remarked, with a flutter of the eyelids. “Tell me some more.”

  “Did you send for me here that I should disclose to you the fruit of my day-by-day work?” Ardrossen asked.

  “Not at all,” Domiloff replied. “I sent to tell you that I have, about an hour ago, received by the hand of a special messenger a formal request from his government to hand over Rudolph Sagastrada to an escort who are now on their way here. Considering its origin, the request is almost courteously worded. It is nevertheless intended to be an ultimatum.”

  Ardrossen was mildly but only mildly interested.

  “The matter of yielding up the young man has already been discussed between us,” he said. “You do not, I am sure, need any assistance in drafting your reply.”

  “Since this demand was made,” Domiloff confided, tapping the topmost file of papers on his desk, “the situation has become very complicated. Rudolph Sagastrada has fought a duel this afternoon with Prince Anselm of Herm and either killed or mortally wounded him.”

  “I do not agree with you,” Ardrossen said, “that the situation is in any way complicated. There is nothing prohibiting duelling in the new charter and encounters of that description have taken place here within the last fifty or sixty years. Furthermore, Prince Anselm’s wound is not likely to be fatal. The latest news from the Nursing Home to which he was taken is favourable.”

  Domiloff for a moment was speechless. He leaned a little across the table.

  “You must forgive a curious enquirer, Mr. Ardrossen,” he said. “I have already complimented you upon your sources of information but this duel was fought less than two hours ago and not a word concerning it has been breathed in the Principality.”

  “I am always pleased,” Ardrossen said, “to elucidate my methods to those with whom I have friendly relations. One of the five men who accompanied Prince Anselm this morning to La Turbie is in my pay. He rang up on a private wire which I have installed at Nice, and the information which I have just given you came to me even before your message.”

  “It will make negotiations with regard to the young man a little more difficult,” Domiloff observed.

  “There will be no negotiations,” Ardrossen said calmly. “That is already understood between us.”

  “But under the altered conditions,” Domiloff persisted, “it is necessary for the State of Monaco to reconsider the situation. Supposing the government of Sagastrada’s country is prepared to go to extremes, they have three or four warships that one knows of in the Mediterranean at the present moment.”

  “No warship of that country will pass Toulon,” Ardrossen declared. “I find you a difficult man to deal with, Baron, because you ob
viously do not trust me, even though I have shown you my credentials. You have seven days to reply to that request which you choose to consider an ultimatum. Within that time I will, if it is any satisfaction to you, obtain a signed declaration from the French Admiralty. This should put your mind entirely at ease. If that is not enough, here is a further undertaking for you. There has been some question within the last few weeks of the visit to the Port of Monaco of a British warship with a squadron of destroyers. Send your invitation to-night to Admiral Hayes. I give you my word that it will be accepted.”

  The light suddenly broke in upon Domiloff. His face grew sterner.

  “Do you mean then,” he exclaimed, “that there is to be war?”

  Ardrossen picked up his hat and stood for a moment in thoughtful silence.

  “There must be war before long,” he said. “Why not now? I shall wish you good-day now, Baron. The guarantee you have asked for, signed by the French Naval Minister, should be in your hands in four days.”

  Domiloff also rose to his feet. He refrained from pressing the bell which signalled to his secretary the departure of a guest.

  “One moment, Mr. Ardrossen,” he said. “Since you are here I should like to ask you a question upon a different matter.”

  “Well?”

  “Sir Julian Townleyes was one of the people in the Principality in whose doings you were interested?”

  “To a certain extent.”

  “You know that Townleyes has disappeared?”

  “I have heard so.”

  “Perhaps you have also heard what I have been told within the last half-hour, that his body has been discovered in the harbour and is now lying in the Morgue?”

  “No, I had not heard that,” Ardrossen admitted, “and if I had been told it, I should not have been interested.”

  “Why not?”

  “Simply because it is not true.”

  “You believe that Townleyes is alive?”

  “I am sure that he is.”

  “Then whose body is it that lies in the Morgue now?”

  “Not having seen it,” Mr. Ardrossen protested gently, “it is hard for me to say, but I should think that it might very likely be the body of Denkin, the captain of the Silver Shadow.”

  “Any reason for thinking so?”

  “The best.”

  “You mean that you murdered him?”

  “Not at all. Townleyes was bound to kill him as soon as he found him out.”

  “Then where the devil is Townleyes?”

  “Now, alas, I begin to fail you,” the other regretted. “To tell you the truth, I should like to know myself. He is somewhere out on the high seas but where he is making for I do not know.”

  “What, out alone in that boat?” Domiloff asked incredulously.

  “Sir Julian Townleyes is a skilled navigator,” Mr. Ardrossen explained. “In smooth weather he would not have the slightest difficulty in handling the Silver Shadow, which, by-the-by, is completely controlled from the wheel-house. By this time, for instance, he might be halfway to Toulon. There are a great many places which sound a long distance off which he might easily reach.”

  The telephone purred. Domiloff took off the receiver. He listened to what was said and hung up the instrument.

  “It appears,” he said to Ardrossen, “that you have been telling me the truth. The café proprietor down at the port has visited the Morgue and although he is unable to positively identify the drowned man, he is willing to swear that it is not Sir Julian Townleyes.”

  “The worst crime possible in my profession,” the other remonstrated gently, “is to tell a falsehood. I never indulge in misstatements.”

  Domiloff smiled slightly. He was beginning to enjoy the tense atmosphere which seemed somehow to have been created. More than ever he was curious about his visitor.

  “I will give you an opportunity to prove your words,” he said. “What was Townleyes doing down here?”

  “We have reached the inevitable cul-de-sac,” Ardrossen said. “It would be better if you put that question to Townleyes himself.”

  “But we neither of us know where he is,” Domiloff pointed out.

  Ardrossen smiled.

  “I should think that he might be heard from at any moment. In the meantime, please allow me to take my leave.”

  Domiloff pointed to the door on the left-hand side of the room.

  “That door only opens from this side,” he said. “You can pass out, turn to the left in the narrow passage and you will be close to the passport office.”

  “I thank you,” Ardrossen said, moving deliberately in the direction indicated.

  With his fingers clasping the handle of the door, he turned round. He did not raise his voice, yet with the length of the room between the two men, every syllable he uttered seemed charged with a clear-cut crystal distinctness.

  “Beyond all things, Baron Domiloff,” he said, “it is necessary that I emphasize once more our clear understanding. You are guaranteed protection by the French and British navies if your reply to that ultimatum we spoke of should lead to reprisals on the part of the country of which Rudolph Sagastrada is a citizen. The escort which will arrive here for him are not to be received. The young man is to remain your guest. It is understood?”

  “It is understood,” Domiloff repeated.

  CHAPTER XXXII

  Table of Contents

  THE entrance of Domiloff into the bar a few mornings later produced something like a commotion.

  “Why, here’s the Lord and Ruler of the Principality come to life again!” Lucille cried, waving her hand gaily.

  “The Last of the Dictators, or I’m a Dutchman!” Foxley Brent exclaimed.

  “It is the Lord and President of the State who has returned to his loyal citizens,” Prince Léon de Hochepierre declared. “What a wonderful hour he has chosen for his return! He must have heard the ice clinking in the glasses.”

  Everyone stood up to add to their greetings as Domiloff approached the table. Joan rose with the rest. She was the only one who had not spoken.

  “You are all very kind,” Domiloff acknowledged easily. “I really think that such a welcome, on such an occasion, too, deserves recognition. Louis, will you see to it on my account?” he added to the barman. “Honestly, I am flattered. I scarcely thought that my absence for a few days from you all would have been noticed.”

  “False modesty!” Dolly Parker observed languidly.

  “Let us salute the latest and most human of all the Dictators,” the Prince proposed, bowing to Domiloff. “Remember, we are citizens of a new State, all of you. There only remains for us to institute and join the Foreign Legion of Monaco, for Sagastrada here to make the State a present of a navy, and the whole thing will be complete. I shall become a naturalized Monégasque,” he concluded. “There are no taxes to pay.”

  “There are infinite possibilities about the place,” Foxley Brent pointed out. “Why should not the Baron institute an order of nobility, give away for a suitable recompense titles of every degree? A title of some sort is what I have always craved. It would stop this constant flow of the youth and beauty of America into the arms of English dukes and earls. Don’t you agree, Miss Haskell?”

  “You are all very bright this morning,” Joan observed. “I think I should like to be a duchess.”

  “No good to Sagastrada, I am afraid, even if he produced a navy,” Domiloff remarked. “His family are always being offered titles in every country of Europe. Why have you never accepted one, Rudolph?”

  “I have waited,” the young man replied, “to be the first Earl of Monaco.”

  “H’m, that might be a little difficult,” Domiloff pointed out. “You cannot all take your titles from the name of the place. What about Beausoleil? Anyway, I am very glad to see you all again,” he concluded, raising his glass.

  “There is only one toast this morning, of course. To the new State of Monaco,” the Prince put in quickly, “and its first Presidents—Baron Domiloff
and Monsieur Regnier. Good luck to them! And may they go on skinning the civilized world so long as we have a franc in the bank!”

  The conversation continued in the same vein of frivolity. Sagastrada, who had been a late arrival, drew Joan a little on one side.

  “Joan,” he asked, “will you come for a drive with me—now, at once?”

  “I will do anything you ask,” she answered quietly, “but have you not had enough of expeditions just for the present?”

  “I have placed myself in the hands of the great Baron Domiloff,” he confided. “Six of the new gardes d’honneur will accompany us, three in front and three behind. I have had them all the morning. I hope you understand that I consent, on this special occasion, just to please him.”

  “Well, I should hope it is not going on all the time,” she laughed. “Tell me, where do you want to go?”

  “Not far away,” he answered.

  “Does the Baron know?”

  Rudolph’s little grimace was illuminating.

  “He knows and he is not altogether pleased about it, but I think he will be content later on. I wonder, could you be very kind and come at once? Will you fetch your cloak or anything you want for motoring a short distance and meet me in the baggage court in ten minutes?”

  She rose to her feet at once.

  “I shall be there,” she promised. . . .

  In a quarter of an hour they were driving up towards the middle Corniche. The little party they left behind all watched the car as it disappeared.

  “I don’t know whether it has occurred to anyone else,” Lord Henry whispered to the Princess, “but I think Sagastrada is a pretty selfish fellow. Domiloff’s as brave as a lion, of course, but this business is giving him a devil of a twist. He has got it coming and going, as it were. If anything happens to the young man here, it will be a terrible blow to the Principality, and if he remains obstinate and won’t give him up that might mean a European war.”

  “Oh, don’t be such a prophet of woe!” the Princess exclaimed. “It is the wrong atmosphere for this place. If anyone talks to me I want to be made to feel happy.”