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L.P.M. : The End of the Great War, a novel by J. Stewart Barney |
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Chapter 5. Echoes From The Wilhelmstrasse |
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_ CHAPTER V. ECHOES FROM THE WILHELMSTRASSE After leaving the War Offices, Rebener went directly to the nearest public telephone. "Hello, Karlbeck," he called, after satisfying himself by mumbling a jumble of unintelligible words and numbers that he had the man he wanted on the wire. "Is Smith there? What? Thames Embankment? What did you say is the number of that officer? Oh, my old butler, Pat! That's all right. Now listen; if I should miss Smith and he comes in, tell him to call me at my hotel at once. I have made an engagement for dinner with our man for eight o'clock tonight, but you and H. R. H. need not be at my rooms until half-past eight. You understand, eh? Good-bye." He strolled out, following Edestone's course with the air of a man wishing to enjoy this beautiful spring morning, and approaching the officer who had interrupted the interview between Edestone and Smith, he said, with a little twinkle in his eye: "Will you tell me which of these bridges is called the London Bridge?" The blue-coated Pat, with Hibernian readiness, caught the humour of the situation. "Shure, I would gladly, but 'tis a strhanger I am here mesilf," he grinned as he smothered the entire lower part of his face with his huge paw of a hand, and significantly closed one eye. "Pat, your fondness for joking will get you into trouble yet. Did Smith turn Edestone over to you?" "He did, and I mesilf took him up to the Admiralty where he is now. 4782, I think they called him, takes him up from there, and will keep him until he hears from either you or Smith." "Where has Smith gone?" "Shure he's up at Claridge's, bein' shaved by Count von Hottenroth." "Now, now, Pat, if you don't stop that joking of yours I'll certainly report you to the Wilhelmstrasse." "And they said I was to be the first King of dear old Ireland!" as with a broad grin on his face he raised his hand as if drinking. "Der Tag!" he cried, thereby causing several passers-by to laugh at the idea of a London bobby giving the sacred German toast. Rebener, leaving him, went directly to his rooms at The Britz where he was received with the greatest consideration by everybody about the place. He was shown to the royal suite by the proprietor himself, who after he had carefully closed the door upon them stood as if waiting for orders. "Call Claridge's on the 'phone, and tell Smith who is being shaved," he smiled at the recollection of Pat's jest, "to meet me here at once. I do not want him seen in the hotel, so tell him to come in by the servants' entrance, and you bring him up on the service elevator and in here through my pantry and dining-room." The proprietor retired to attend to this, but was soon back, and Rebener continued his instructions. "Luckily Edestone invited me to dine with him tonight before I had a chance to invite him," he said, "but I will persuade him to come here and dine with me." "So, Mr. Bombiadi," he turned to the proprietor, "I shall want dinner here for four at 8:30. See to it yourself, will you, that my guests are brought through my private entrance, and one especially--you know who--who will be incognito, must not be recognized. Not that there could be any objection to these men dining with me here--a common rich American, who loves to spend his money on princes and things--but by tonight this man Edestone will be watched by at least twenty men from Scotland Yard, and they suspect anyone of being a German spy, be he prince or pauper." Their conversation was interrupted at this point by the arrival of Smith, who came in very much excited. Sniffling and rubbing his nose with the back of his forefinger, like a nervous cocaine fiend, he broke out agitatedly: "Mr. Rebener, I'm getting sick of this job. When I undertook to find out for you what was going on at the Little Place in the Country, I was working for Germany as against the world, and anything that I can do for her I am glad and proud to do, but that Hottenroth talks like a damn fool. Excuse me, Mr. Rebener, but he don't want to stop at anything. He says that if he pulls off this thing the Emperor, when he gets to London, will make him Duke of Westminster, or something, and six months from now he will appoint me Governor-General of North America. I tell you, Mr. Rebener, that fellow is plumb nutty." "Pardon me, Mr. Rebener," interposed the proprietor, "it is true that Hottenroth is excitable, but he is faithful to the Fatherland and an humble servant to His Imperial Majesty. He has been in charge of a fixed post in London for fifteen years. He was one of the very first to be sent here, and he was in Paris before that. He would die willingly for the Fatherland, as would I, and if this Schmidt, I mean Smith, thinks there is any sin too great to be committed for the Fatherland, he is not worthy of a place among us, and the sooner we get rid of him the better." And he looked at the unfortunate Smith in a way that showed he was willing to do this at any moment. But Rebener, who had lived all his life in America, and like Smith did not thoroughly agree with the philosophy of German militarism--before which everything must bow--hurriedly raised his hand. "Come, come, you are both getting unnecessarily excited. Don't let us try to cross our bridges until we get to them. What did von Hottenroth have to report?" "It was not very satisfactory, to tell you the truth, Mr. Rebener," said Smith; "they searched through all of his things and they found nothing but a drawing of a Zeppelin of our 29-M type, with some slight changes, which Hottenroth said don't amount to anything, and some photographs of Mr. Edestone himself, doing some juggling tricks with heavy dumb-bells and weights, but we learned afterwards from the porter that an expressman had left two large and heavy trunks marked, 'A. M. Black and P. S. Stanton,' at No. 4141 Grosvenor Square East." "Well what is the report," demanded Bombiadi, "on No. 4141 Grosvenor Square?" Smith read from a memorandum book: "Lord Lindenberry, who is a widower, lives there with his mother, the Dowager. The old lady is now up at their country place, in Yorkshire, and the Marquis went on to Aldershot last night after having dined with Edestone at Brooks's and dropping him at Claridge's at 12:15 A.M. The house is only partially opened; there are only a few of the old servants there." "And do you think these trunks contain the instrument which you reported to us from America was always kept in the safe at the Little Place in the Country?" snapped the hotel proprietor. "I don't know," whined Smith. "Mr. Edestone probably has it with him." "Well, we must get hold of it before he shows it to Underhill," frowned the proprietor, "that is, if it has not been shown already, and in that case we must get hold of Edestone himself." "Now that is exactly what is troubling me," Smith's voice rose hysterically. "I'm not going to stand for any of that rough stuff, Mr. Rebener. Mr. Edestone and his father have both been mighty good to me, and if anything happens to him I'll blow on the whole lot of you." "So?" The proprietor's pale fat face was convulsed with a look of hatred and contempt. "Then we are to understand, Smith, that if we find it necessary to do away with Edestone you wish to go first? You dirty little half-breed," he growled in an undertone. "Your mother must have been an English woman." "Here, here, you two fools!" Rebener broke in with sharp authority, "there is no question of 'doing away' with Edestone, as you call it. What we're after is the invention and not the man himself, and we'll not get it by 'doing away' with him. I am, like Smith here, opposed to murder, even for the Fatherland." "But it is not murder, Mr. Rebener," interrupted the proprietor, "if thereby we are instrumental in saving thousands of the sons of the Fatherland." "That would not only not save the sons of the Fatherland, but would put an end to our usefulness, both here in London and in America, especially if Edestone has already turned the whole thing over to England. The very first thing for us to do is to find out how the matter stands. If the Ministry knows nothing, we must work to get him to Berlin, and then even you fire-eaters may safely trust it to the Wilhelmstrasse. If it should happen, however, that the British Government has the invention, His Royal Highness tonight will try to get enough out of Edestone to enlighten Berlin, and in that way we shall at least get an even break. That is, always provided that Edestone has not a lot of the completed articles, whatever they may be, at the Little Place in the Country. That would put us in bad again, and it will be up to Count Bernstoff to attend to it from the New York end." "Of course, Mr. Rebener," said the proprietor, "we can do nothing until we hear from His Royal Highness, but I am satisfied that he will say Edestone must not be allowed to go to Downing Street tomorrow to continue his negotiations, unless in some way we can get hold of this secret tonight." "Well, I'll be damned if I'll--!" started Rebener angrily, when he was interrupted by the proprietor, who holding his finger to his lip, said: "Please, Mr. Rebener, please! Always remember that the service on which we are engaged has no soul and a very long arm." Then dropping into the persuasive and servile tone of the maitre d'hotel: "I propose, Mr. Rebener, that you allow me to send you up a nice little lunch, some melon, say, a salmon mayonnaise or a filet du sole au vin blanc and a noisette d'agneau and a nice little sweet, and you must try a bottle of our Steinberger Auslese '84. "And Smith," he turned to the humbler agent, "you had better get in touch with 4782, who is reporting to His Royal Highness every hour. His last message was that Edestone is still with Underhill, so you get down to the Admiralty and report to me here as often as you can. Edestone will probably lunch quietly alone somewhere, as I know that all of his friends are at the front, but don't lose him until you turn him over to Mr. Rebener tonight at 8 o'clock." His eyes narrowed as they followed the skulking figure of the architect out of the room. "That fellow needs watching," he muttered to Rebener. "He has lost his nerve. He is not a true German anyhow. But if he makes a false step, 4782 knows what to do and you can depend upon him to do it. We do not know who he is, but he is a gentleman, if not a nobleman, and he will kill or die for his Emperor." Smith, in the meantime, had gone down the service stairs and out at the rear of the hotel. He was thoughtful, and when he was settled in his taxi, after having directed the chauffeur where to drive, he said to himself: "They are going to kill him tonight unless they get that machine, or else can fix it so that Rockstone doesn't get it tomorrow, that is if Underhill hasn't got it already. I wish I'd never started this business; I never thought it would go so far, and what do I get out of it? A German decoration which I can't wear in America, and God knows I don't want to live in Germany, and seventeen dollars a week. I'm not going to stand for it, and that's settled." Arriving in front of a little restaurant he entered and sat down at a table near a window looking out on Whitehall Place. The proprietor, who was another German, came over to him, and while ostensibly arranging the cloth spoke to him in an undertone in his own language. "Edestone is still with Underhill," he said. "The taxi driver on the stand opposite, the one who looks as if he were asleep, is 4782. In that way he keeps the head of the line, you see, and when Edestone comes out, if he doesn't take that cab, 4782 can follow him until he alights again, and then he is to telephone His Royal Highness. So you sit here and have lunch, where you can see what is going on." Then, turning to a group of his regular customers at another table, the jovial host in a loud voice and in perfect English took a violent pro-Ally part in the war discussion that was going on. _ |
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