The tap on my door from Cadet Kreutzer almost sent me diving for cover, so loud did it seem over the steady racket of the rails. I did what I could to compose myself and went to the door.
“Just what was ordered, sir,” said Kreutzer, holding out a tray with three covered dishes on it. “Pork roast with apples and prunes, potatoes with cheese and onions, and cabbage soup with cream and pine nuts.” When I hesitated, he added, “I have just served McMillian.”
“In that case, thank you very much,” I said, taking the tray and putting it down on the end of the bench near the window. Before I closed the door, I asked, “Is your ... charge well?”
“He will be sending a telegram at the next station we reach, which will be in an hour or so.” He saluted and departed.
I could not bring myself to relish the meal I had been provided, but I did realize that it was what my body craved, and I set about consuming it as methodically as I was able, though it had all the savor of a sack of feathers to me. As I finished the food, I began to be sleepy, and I hoped that at last I could restore myself with sleep. With all the events of the last few days, I had begun to fear I would not be at rest again until I was laid out for my wake. Putting the tray and its now empty dishes on the floor, I opened one of the blankets and stretched out on the wooden bench, trusting to the steady rhythm of the train to lull me into slumber.
It was quite dark when I opened my eyes again, and at first I could not fathom why I had awakened. Then I became aware of a muffled, scuffling sort of noise coming from the next compartment. The compartment that was supposedly locked. The compartment containing McMillian’s luggage. I sat up, shaking my head as if to sort out my thoughts more clearly, all the while listening to the movement in the adjoining compartment. Were they actually stealthy, or did the thickness of the walls only make them seem so?
At last I decided I had to do something, in case the thief was in search of something more valuable than cuff links and shirt studs. How much I wished I had my lost pistol and knife now. And how little I wanted to have to use them. As I made for the door, I heard another soft thud, and I moved more quickly. I opened my door with care, making sure it made no telltale sound to alert the miscreants in the other compartment. It would probably be best, I thought, to grab the thief from behind, and pinion his arms to his sides, so that if the fellow had a weapon, he could not easily turn it on me.
The most difficult part was immediately ahead of me. I had to open the compartment door without alerting the person inside. I had put my hand on the latch when I heard a soft oath in English, and the tautness went out of my hand. I rapped on the door. “Herr McMillian,” I called out, wanting to avoid any misunderstanding on his part or the part of the German guard, who was supposed to be watching this car. “Herr McMillian, is all well with you? Is anything wrong? This is Jeffries.”
“Thank God, and about time,” he said, pulling the door open and glaring at me. “Where the bloody hell have you been?”
“In my compartment. I ... went to sleep.”
“So early?” he demanded. The lamp in this compartment had been lit, and I saw that McMillian’s cases and trunks and chests were all in a jumble. “I’ve been trying to find it.”
“To find what?” I asked.
“The map case, of course,” he said, as if any simpleton would have known the answer.
My heart went cold in my chest, as if it had been filled with ice instead of blood. I tried to maintain an even tone. “It is in the chest you had it in this morning. I packed your boots and hunting jacket with it.” I was growing more awake by the moment. “Is it missing?”
“Find it for me,” ordered McMillian in a tone that would tolerate no objections.
With a languor I did not feel, I stretched and said resentfully, in Jeffries’ character, “If you wish. But it is late, and your luggage isn’t going anywhere. Why is it so important now?” I realized too quick a compliance might well make him suspicious of my purpose here, and kept up my assumed surliness. “Surely I can do this in the morning?”
“I want it done now,” said McMillian in a flat voice that promised a fine display of temper if I did not set to work at once.
“All right,” I said, and sighed as I looked at the disorder McMillian had already wrought in the compartment. My distress at the confusion was only partly feigned and covered my rising panic well. “If you would return to your own compartment, I will do what I can to find the map case for you.” As he started to leave, I held out my hand. “I will need the key, sir.”
“So you will, so you will,” said McMillian, and took it from his waistcoat pocket. “It is now ten-twenty. If you have not discovered it in forty minutes, let me know, so that I may inform the guard of what has happened, and appropriate measures may begin to return my property to me. And put all this to rights.” With that he returned to his compartment, leaving me with the chaos he had made of his own belongings.
The chest in question was, of course, on the bottom of a stack of cases. It took me fifteen minutes of shifting the various trunks and cases into other piles before I could reach my target. When I opened the lock, I put my hand on the map case almost at once, in the very place I had been told to pack it. Relief coursed through me; the treaty had not been discovered or touched. Holding this trophy in my hand, I ventured into the compartment next door. “This is what you wanted, isn’t it, sir?”
“It is,” he said with as much visible relief as he could bring himself to express around someone of my station in life. “And the lock is in place?”
I extended my arm so he could see the lock. “Closed all right and tight. You have the key for this. I do not.”
McMillian cleared his throat as if ridding himself of a cud, and gave a single nod. “Very good. I am satisfied that there has been no tampering. Replace it carefully, make certain the lock is set on the chest, and restack my luggage. And ask the waiter to come for the tray.” Now that he was assured of the safety of the treaty, he wanted to restore his dignity as quickly as possible.
“What sort of map’s in that case, sir, that it’s so important to you?” I could not keep myself from asking.
“The map is none of your concern,” came McMillian’s brusque answer. “It is necessary only that you make certain it is protected.”
“That I will,” I said, and added, expressing the worry that had taken hold of me. “But what of the guard you’ve been assigned? Shouldn’t he be looking after this?”
McMillian shot me a startled look. “I should think so. Go and find him. Tell him I want a word with him.” His brow darkened, promising that the word would be a harsh one.
“Very good,” I said at once, and started toward the head of the car in the other valet’s compartment. The guard was not there, though I did see a large cup with the last remnants of chocolate at the bottom of it, suggesting he had waited there earlier in the evening. There was also a faint, drying impression of another glass, for a dark ring remained where a second libation had stood. I made note of this to include in my report.
In the compartment immediately next to McMillian’s the guard lay asleep, his rifle tucked along his body like an ungainly doll. He was snoring gently but with that steadiness that indicates deep sleep. I would not rid myself of the unwelcome suspicion that the fellow had imbibed something in his second drink that had promoted this sleep as chocolate and cream would not. I bent over and smelled his breath: a strong odor of kirschwasser was present; the odor of cherries could conceal many other substances. Reluctantly I woke him, and noticed the groggy confusion that possessed him, and the muddled way in which he formed his words. He had certainly had more than one glass of schnapps or he had had something along with it. “Herr McMillian has had a disturbance and wants to talk to you.”
“A disturbance?” the guard repeated thickly. “I didn’t hear anything.”
“That is what
he wants to talk with you about,” I said, and helped him to his feet, feeling I was doing him no kindness.
McMillian received the fellow with haughty, hearty displeasure. “I heard someone enter the compartment behind this one. You were nowhere about. Are all Germans so lax in their duty?”
“Well, you see,” the guard said, his face turning red, “I ... I fell asleep, mein Herr. There is only the invalid in the next car, and when his companion offered me chocolate, I didn’t think there was any harm in it”
“Chocolate!” jeered McMillian. “Brandy, more like.”
“No, sir,” I interrupted, taking care to speak in English, no matter how rude. “Chocolate. I saw the dregs in the cup.” I did not want him pursuing the manner in his ham-handed way, which I was certain he would do if I revealed what I had observed. I had also to consider what might happen should McMillian take it into his head to confront my true employer.
McMillian’s gaze was intended to turn me to stone. “How dare you defend this coward!”
“I am not defending him, sir, far from it,” I persisted, hoping I would not be dismissed out of hand for this. “But it would not surprise me if the chocolate might have been drugged.”
“Drugged! What nonsen—” McMillian burst out. “What sort of fool would—?” Then his eyes narrowed. “Drugged,” he mused. “What makes you say that?”
“Well, as you must have noticed, it is early in the evening to sleep, and this man—look at him—is still logy; you might think he had drunk himself into a stupor. If the chocolate were poisoned, it might account for it, mightn’t it?”
Now McMillian ruminated on the question, his face blank with concentration. “It is possible,” he allowed. “And if so, all the more reason to demand a competent guard.” He switched back to German. “You, sir, have failed in your duty. You will be put off the train at the next station and a new guard will take your place.”
The man bowed his head. “Jawohl, mein Herr.”
“And I will inform the railroad of what took place aboard this train.” This addition was intended to impress the guard with McMillian’s importance, and it came near enough to succeeding.
“The invalid’s companion brought the chocolate,” said the guard, trying to offer some defense of his actions.
“I will speak to him, if you like,” I volunteered quickly, wanting to postpone any meeting of those two men for as long as possible. “There may be some explanation I can gain without bringing any embarrassment to anyone.”
McMillian regarded me doubtfully. “Would it do any good?”
“I cannot guarantee it, but it may avoid attention that could ... compromise your mission,” I said as boldly as I dared.
If McMillian thought I had stepped out of line, he did not say so. “That might be wisest,” he said, as if satisfied that he would not have to sully himself dealing with underlings. He rounded on the guard. “Put yourself at my man’s disposal and I will take your remorse into consideration when I make my report on this incident.”
“If that is what you want, mein Herr,” said the guard, looking more hangdog than before.
“It is what you have created for yourself, sir,” said McMillian. “And should you ever be permitted such a duty as this again, remember what your poor judgment has brought about here.”
The guard did not salute, but his dejection was so complete that McMillian was satisfied without it.
I realized that before we reached the next stop I would have to have a word with Mycroft Holmes.
FROM THE PERSONAL JOURNAL OF PHILIP TYERS:
When I returned from hospital this evening, Inspector Cornell had brought a number of written questions for M.H. to answer, and was not pleased at being put off. I cannot admit that M.H. is out of the country, and I suspect that Cornell would not believe me in any case. He insists he must speak with M.H. tomorrow, and will not accept that this is impossible. I have claimed that press of work for the Admiralty has claimed all his attention, and that the work is intended to avert a crisis on the Continent, which is true enough, but the Inspector will not be willing to make allowances for this excuse much longer. I will be grateful when word comes from M.H. again and I will have some notion as to when I may expect him to return. If I can provide Cornell with a time when he can put his questions to M.H. in person, much of his impatience will fade, I am certain of it.
Edmund Sutton is now positive he is being watched and has taken every precaution he and M.H. arranged four years ago to be certain they are not compromised and their purpose discovered.
“I DON’T LIKE IT,” said Mycroft Holmes as he drew his heavy dressing robe more tightly around him. “You were right to inform me before you spoke to anyone else.”
“I am supposed to be speaking to the conductor. But I could not do that without passing through your car, in any case. I will have to do it fairly quickly, however,” I said with an uneasy glance over my shoulder, as if I expected to be pursued by the still-irate McMillian—which, to some degree, I did.
“I can’t imagine that McMillian is taking this well,” he said fatalistically. “He would not let such an opportunity to display his importance go by.” He sighed. “We will take on water in another hour or so. There is no telegraph that I know of at that stop, so I may have to send Kreutzer off on an errand from there. I may do it, in any case,” he went on enigmatically. He placed the tips of his long fingers together, and continued in a contemplative manner. “It must be either the Brotherhood or the Golden Lodge. They are the ones who would have the greatest access to those working on the railroads, and would be able to enlist their support without any difficulty. And you saw the emblem on the stationmaster’s fob.”
“Are you certain of that? That it must be German?” I asked, thinking that there were countries that would find it to their advantage to compromise this treaty.
“Yes. Most railroad employees would not endanger their salaries by dealing with foreigners. It is not a German thing to do, given the German character.” He slapped his hands together. “Therefore the skullduggery is internal, a matter among Germans. Which is more than sufficient to endanger all our months of negotiations.”
“What do you want me to do?” I asked, thinking that I was treading a very uncertain path, with unseen traps all around me. I was not wholly convinced that Mycroft Holmes fully understood the gravity of the matter, but I would have to rely on him utterly, for all other advice that might be offered to me was twice-tainted.
“Speak to the conductor first, and make note of his demeanor. If he is truly surprised to learn of this occurrence, permit him to assign you another guard. If you are not entirely satisfied that the man had no knowledge or suspicion that this attempt might be made, then say you will summon assistance when we reach Karlsruhe.”
“And how am I to convince McMillian that this is a wise course?” I asked, rather more testily than I intended.
“Appeal to his vanity, of course. Say that his mission is too important for mere railroad guards. Tell him you doubt that any of the railroad guards have enough comprehension of his significance to protect him with sufficient care.” Mycroft Holmes had a smile that was disquietingly reminiscent of a wolf pursuing prey. He wore it now. “In fact, you might plan to take that tack, in any case. Kreutzer can arrange for it. You will have the new guard in time to be with you when you change trains for Mainz.”
“That is an obvious ploy, sir,” I remarked.
Mycroft Holmes nodded in quick approval. “Exactly. And for that reason will more likely be accepted. McMillian would not expect anything so clumsy from those he fancies are his enemies.”
“It would not be good for me if McMillian discerned my purpose,” I said, letting my doubts show.
“Then all the more reason for you to be at pains so that he will not.” His lupine smiled returned. “Men like McMillian make very biddable to
ols if you will only use their weaknesses as strengths.”
I bowed slightly, wondering if this philosophy extended to me. “I will endeavor to keep your instructions in mind.”
Holmes chuckled. “Don’t cut up rough, Guthrie. It isn’t my practice to make tools of men. I need those about me whom I can trust and whose integrity is impeccable.” He beetled his brow. “You’re certain about the second glass and the kirschwasser?”
“Absolutely, sir,” I said with conviction.
He nodded. “I was afraid you were. If you wonder, your observation serves to confirm my opinion of your excellence, and I fear sets the seal of doubt on ... another.”
Was he, I asked myself, flattering me or telling me the truth? Or perhaps some of both? In spite of my uncertainties, I let myself be persuaded for the time being, and I left the private car and went in search of the conductor in order to lodge the complaint for McMillian. After a brief conversation with that worthy we agreed that a special guard would join McMillian at Karlsruhe and travel with us.
“For I don’t mind telling you,” said the conductor as we finished our dealing. “That man who employs you is a difficult and demanding one.”
At that moment, as I agreed with the conductor, I thought such could be said, and justifiably, of both Cameron McMillian and Mycroft Holmes.
By the time I had got back to McMillian, it was after midnight, and he was cranky with lack of sleep. I recommended he have a brandy, to take the edge off. I did not want to have to deal with him in the morning if he passed the night unhappily: he would be hard enough to deal with as it was.
Against the Brotherhood Page 22
