CHAPTER XVI
A HAND-CLASP BY THE RHINE
That afternoon Francis and I walked out along the banks of the swiftlyflowing Rhine until we were far beyond the city. Anxious though I wasthat he should reveal to me that part of his life which lay hiddenbeneath those lines of suffering in his face, he made me tell my storyfirst. So I unfolded to him the extraordinary series of adventures thathad befallen me since the night I had blundered upon the trail of agreat secret in that evil hotel at Rotterdam.
Francis did not once interrupt the flow of my narrative. He listenedwith the most tense interest but with a growing concern which betrayeditself clearly on his face. At the end of my story, I silently handed tohim the half of the stolen letter I had seized from Clubfoot at theHotel Esplanade.
"Keep it, Francis," I said. "It's safer with a respectable waiter likeyou than with a hunted outcast like myself!"
My brother smiled wanly, but his face assumed the look of grave anxietywith which he had heard my tale. He scrutinized the slips of paper veryclosely, then tucked them away in a letter-case, which he buttoned up inhis hip pocket.
"Fortune is a strange goddess, Des," he said, his weary eyes roving outover the turgid, yellow stream, "and she has been kind to you, though,God knows, you have played a man's part in all this. She has placed inyour possession something for which at least five men have died in vain,something that has filled my thoughts, sleeping and waking, for morethan half a year. What you have told me throws a good deal of light uponthe mystery which I came to this cursed country to elucidate, but italso deepens the darkness which still envelops many points in theaffair.
"You know there are issues in this game of ours, old man, that standeven higher than the confidence that there has always been between ustwo. That is why I wrote to you so seldom out in France--I could tellyou nothing about my work: that is one of the rules of our game. But nowyou have broken into the scramble yourself, I feel that we are partners,so I will tell you all I know.
"Listen, then. Some time about the beginning of the year a letterwritten by a German interned at one of the camps in England was stoppedby the Camp Censor. This German went by the name of Schulte: he wasarrested at a house in Dalston the day after we declared war onGermany. There was a good reason for this, for our friend Schulte--wedon't know his real name--was known to my Chief as one of the mostdaring and successful spies that ever operated in the British Isles.
"Therefore, a sharp eye was kept on his correspondence, and one day thisletter was seized. It was, I believe, perfectly harmless to the eye, butthe expert to whom it was eventually submitted soon detected aconventional code in the chatty phrases about the daily life of thecamp. It proved to be a communication from Schulte to a third partyrelating to a certain letter which, apparently, the writer imagined thethird party had a considerable interest in acquiring. For he offered tosell this letter to the third party, mentioning a sum so preposterouslyhigh that it attracted the earnest attention of our Intelligence people.On half the sum mentioned being paid into the writer's account at acertain bank in London, the letter went on to say, the writer wouldforward the address at which the object in question would be found."
"It was a simple matter to send Schulte a letter in return, agreeing tohis terms, and to have the payment made, as desired, into the bank hementioned. His communication in reply to this was duly stopped. Theaddress he gave was that of a house situated on the outskirts ofCleves.
"We had no idea what this letter was, but its apparent value in the eyesof the shrewd Mr. Schulte made it highly desirable that we should obtainpossession of it without delay. Four of us were selected for thisdangerous mission of getting into Germany and fetching it, by hook or bycrook, from the house at Cleves where it was deposited. We four were toenter Germany by different routes and different means and to converge onCleves (which is quite close to the Dutch frontier).
"It would take too long to tell you of the very exact organization whichwe worked out to exclude all risk of failure and the various schemes weevolved for keeping in touch with one another though working separatelyand in rotation. Nor does it matter very much how I got into Germany.The fact is that, at my very first attempt to get across the frontier, Irealized that some immensely powerful force was working against me.
"I managed it, with half a dozen hairbreadth escapes, and I set down mysuccess solely to my knowledge of German and to that old trick of mineof German imitations. But I felt everywhere the influence of this unseenhand, enforcing a meticulous vigilance which it was almost impossible toescape. I was not surprised, therefore, to learn that two of mycompanions came to grief at the very outset."
My brother lowered his voice and looked about him.
"Do you know what happened to those two gallant fellows?" he said. "JackTracy was found dead on the railway: Herbert Arbuthnot was discoveredhanging in a wood. 'Suicide of an Unknown Individual' was what theGerman papers called it in each case. But I heard the truth ... nevermind how. They were ambushed and slaughtered in cold blood."
"And the third man you spoke of?" I asked.
"Philip Brewster? Vanished, Des ... vanished utterly. I fear he, too,has gone west, poor chap!
"Of the whole four of us I was the only one to reach our objective.There I drew blank. The letter was not in the hiding-place indicated.I think it never had been or the Huns would have got it. I felt all thetime that they didn't know exactly where the letter was but thatthey anticipated our attempt to get it, hence the unceasing vigilance allalong the frontier and inside it, too.
"They damned nearly got me at Cleves: I escaped as by a miracle, and theprovidential thing for me was that I had never posed as anything but aGerman, only I varied the type I represented almost from day to day.Thus I left no traces behind or they would have had me long since."
The sadness in my brother's voice increased and the shadows deepened inhis face.
"Then I tried to get out," he continued. "But it was hopeless from thefirst. They knew they had one of us left in the net and they closedevery outlet. I made two separate attempts to cross the line back intoHolland, but both failed. The second time I literally had to flee for mylife. I went straight to Berlin, feeling that a big city, as remote fromthe frontier as possible, was the only safe hiding-place for me as longas the hue and cry lasted.
"I was in a desperate bad way, too, for I had had to abandon the lastset of identity papers left to me when I bolted. I landed in Berlin withthe knowledge that no roof could safely shelter me until I got a freshlot of papers.
"I knew of Kore--I had heard of him and his shirkers' and deserters'agency in my travels--and I went straight to him. He sent me toHaase's ... this was towards the end of June. It was when I was atHaase's that I sent out that message to van Urutius that fell into yourhands. That happened like this.
"I was rather friendly with a chap that frequented Haase's, a manemployed in the packing department at the Metal Works at Steglitz. Hewas telling us one night how short-handed they were and what good moneypackers were earning. I was sick of being cooped up in that stinkingcellar, so, more by way of a joke than anything else, I offered to comeand lend a hand in the packing department. I thought I might get achance of escape, as I saw none at Haase's. To my surprise, Haase, whowas sitting at the table, rather fancied the idea and said I could go ifI paid him half my wages: I was getting nothing at the beer-cellar.
"So I was taken on at Steglitz, sleeping at Haase's and helping in thebeer-cellar in the evenings. One day a package for old van Urutius cameto me to be made up and suddenly it occurred to me that here was achance of sending out a message to the outside world. I hoped that oldvan U., if he tumbled to the 'Eichenholz,' would send it to you and thatyou would pass it on to my Chief in London."
"Then you expected me to come after you?" I said.
"No," replied Francis promptly, "I did not. But the arrangement wasthat, if none of us four men had turned up at Head-quarters by May 15th,a fifth man should come in and be at a given rendezvous near thefront
ier on June 15th. I went to the place on June 15th, but he nevershowed up and, though I waited about for a couple of days, I saw nosign of him. I made my final attempt to get out and it failed, so, whenI fled to Berlin, I knew that I had cut off all means of communicationwith home. As a last hope, I dashed off that cipher on the spur of themoment and tucked it into old van U's invoice."
"But why 'Achilles' with one 'l'?" I asked.
"They knew all about Kore's agency at Head-quarters, but I didn't daremention Kore's name for fear the parcel might be opened. So I purposelyspelt 'Achilles' with one 'l' to draw attention to the code word, sothat they should know where news of me was to be found. It was devilishsmart of you to decipher that, Des!"
Francis smiled at me.
"I meant to stay quietly in Berlin, going daily between Haase's and thefactory and wait, for a month or two, in case that message got home. ButKore began to give trouble. At the beginning of July he came to see meand hinted that the renewal of my _permis de sejour_ would cost money. Ipaid him, but I realized then that I was absolutely in his power and Ihad no intention of being blackmailed. So I made use of his cupidity toleave a message for the man who, I hoped, would be coming after me,wrote that line on the wall under the Boonekamp poster in that filthyhovel where we slept and came up here after a job I had heard of at theCafe Regina.
"And now, Des, old man," said my brother, "you know all that I know!"
"And Clubfoot?"
"Ah!" said Francis, shaking his head, "there I think I recognize thehand that has been against us from the start, though who the man is, andwhat his power, I, like you, only know from what he told you himself.The Germans are clever enough, as we know from their communiques, totell the truth when it suits their book. I believe that Clubfoot wastelling you the truth in what he said about his mission that night atthe Esplanade.
"You and I know now that the Kaiser wrote that letter ... we also knowthat it was addressed to an influential English friend of William II.You have seen the date ... Berlin, July 31st, 1914 ... the eve of theoutbreak of the world war. Even from this half in my pocket ... and youwho have seen both halves of the letter will confirm what I say ... Ican imagine what an effect on the international situation this letterwould have had if it had reached the man for whom it was destined. Butit did not ... why, we don't know. We do know, however, that the Emperoris keenly anxious to regain possession of his letter ... you yourselfwere a witness of his anxiety and you know that he put the matter intothe hands of the man Clubfoot."
"Well," I observed thoughtfully, "Clubfoot, whoever he is, seems to havemade every effort to keep my escapades dark...."
"Precisely," said Francis, "and lucky for you too. Otherwise Clubfootwould have had you stopped at the frontier. But obviously secrecy is anessential part of his instructions, and he has shown himself willing torisk almost anything rather than call in the aid of the regular police."
"But they can always hush these things up!" I objected.
"From the public, yes, but not from the Court. This letter looksuncommonly like one of William's sudden impulses ... and I fancyanything of the kind would get very little tolerance in Germany inwar-time."
"But who is Clubfoot?" I questioned.
My brother furrowed his brows anxiously.
"Des," he said, "I don't know. He is certainly not a regular official ofthe German Intelligence like Steinhauer and the others. But I _have_heard of a clubfooted German on two occasions ... both were dark andmysterious affairs, in both he played a leading role and both ended inthe violent death of one of our men."
"Then Tracy and the others...?" I asked.
"Victims of this man, Des, without any doubt," my brother answered. Hepaused a moment reflectively.
"There is a code of honour in our game, old man," he said, "and thereare lots of men in the German secret service who live up to it. We giveand take plenty of hard knocks in the rough-and-tumble of the chase, butambush and assassination are barred."
He took a deep breath and added:
"But the man Clubfoot doesn't play the game!"
"Francis," I said, "I wish I'd known something of this that night I hadhim at my mercy at the Esplanade. He would not have got off with acracked skull ... with one blow. There would have been another blow forTracy, one for Arbuthnot, one for the other man ... until the accountwas settled and I'd beaten his brains out on the carpet. But if we meethim again, Francis, ... as, please God, we shall! ... there will be nocode of honour for _him_ ... we'll finish him in cold blood as we'd killa rat!"
My brother thrust out his hand at me and we clasped hands on it.
Evening was falling and lights were beginning to twinkle from thefurther bank of the river.
We stood for a moment in silence with the river rushing at our feet.Then we turned and started to tramp back towards the city. Francislinked his arm in mine.
"And now, Des," he said in his old affectionate way, "tell me some moreabout Monica!"
Out of that talk germinated in my head the only plan that seemed tooffer us a chance of escape. I was quite prepared to believe Franciswhen he declared that the frontier was at present impassable: if thevigilance had been increased before it would be redoubled now that I hadagain eluded Clubfoot. We should, therefore, have to find some coverwhere we could lie doggo until the excitement passed.
You remember that Monica told me, the last time I had seen her, that shewas shortly going to Schloss Bellevue, a shooting-box belonging to herhusband, to arrange some shoots in connection with the Governmentalscheme for putting game on the market. Monica, you will recollect, hadoffered to take me with her, and I had fully meant to accompany her butfor Gerry's unfortunate persistence in the matter of my passport.
I now proposed to Francis that we should avail ourselves of Monica'soffer and make for Castle Bellevue. The place was well suited for ourpurpose as it lies near Cleves, and in its immediate neighbourhood isthe Reichswald, that great forest which stretches from Germany clearacross into Holland. All through my wanderings, I had kept this forestin the back of my head as a region which must offer facilities forslipping unobserved across the frontier. Now I learnt from Francis thathe had spent months in the vicinity of Cleves, and I was not surprisedto find, when I outlined this plan to him, that he knew the Reichswaldpretty well.
"It'll be none too easy to get across through the forest," he saiddoubtfully, "it's very closely patrolled, but I do know of one placewhere we could lie pretty snug for a day or two waiting for a chance tomake a dash. But we have no earthly chance of getting through atpresent: our clubfooted pal will see to that all right. And I don't muchlike the idea of going to Bellevue either: it will be horribly dangerousfor Monica!"
"I don't think so," I said. "The whole place will be overrun withpeople, guests, servants, beaters and the like, for these shoots. Bothyou and I know German and we look rough enough: we ought to be able toget an emergency job about the place without embarrassing Monica in theleast. I don't believe they will ever dream of looking for us so closeto this frontier. The only possible trail they can pick up after me inBerlin leads to Munich. Clubfoot is bound to think I am making for theSwiss frontier."
Well, the long and the short of it was that my suggestion was carried,and we resolved to set out for Bellevue that very night. My brotherdeclared he would not return to the cafe: with the present shortage ofmen, such desertions were by no means uncommon, and if he were to givenotice formally it might only lead to embarrassing explanations.
So we strolled back to the city in the gathering darkness, bought a mapof the Rhine and a couple of rucksacks and laid in a small stock ofprovisions at a great department store, biscuits, chocolates, some hardsausage and two small flasks of rum. Then Francis took me to a littlerestaurant where he was known and introduced me to the friendlyproprietor, a very jolly old Rheinlander, as his brother just out ofhospital. I did my country good service, I think, by giving a mostharrowing account of the terrible efficiency of the British army on theSomme!
Then we d
ined and over our meal consulted the map.
"By the map," I said, "Bellevue should be about fifty miles from here.My idea is that we should walk only at night and lie up during the day,as a room is out of the question for me without any papers. I think weshould keep away from the Rhine, don't you? As otherwise we shall passthrough Wesel, which is a fortress, and, consequently, devilishunhealthy for both of us."
Francis nodded with his mouth full.
"At present we can count on about twelve hours of darkness," Icontinued, "so, leaving a margin for the slight detour we shall make,for rests and for losing the way, I think we ought to be able to reachCastle Bellevue on the third night from this. If the weather holds up,it won't be too bad, but if it rains, it will be hellish! Now, have youany suggestions?"
My brother acquiesced, as, indeed, he had in everything I had proposedsince we met. Poor fellow, he had had a roughish time: he seemed glad tohave the direction of affairs taken out of his hands for a bit.
At half-past seven that evening, our packs on our backs, we stood on theoutskirts of the town where the road branches off to Crefeld. In thepocket of the overcoat I had filched from Haase's I found an automaticpistol, fully loaded (most of our customers at the beer-cellar wentarmed).
"You've got the document, Francis," I said. "You'd better have this,too!" and I passed him the gun.
Francis waved it aside.
"You keep it," he said grimly, "it may serve you instead of a passport."
So I slipped the weapon back into my pocket.
A cold drop of rain fell upon my face.
"Oh, hell!" I cried, "it's beginning to rain!"
And thus we set out upon our journey.
* * * * *
It was a nightmare tramp. The rain never ceased. By day we lay in icymisery, chilled to the bone in our sopping clothes, in some dank ditchor wet undergrowth, with aching bones and blistered feet, fearingdetection, but fearing, even more, the coming of night and theresumption of our march. Yet we stuck to our programme like Spartans,and about eight o'clock on the third evening, hobbling painfully alongthe road that runs from Cleves to Calcar, we were rewarded by the sightof a long massive building, with turrets at the corners, standing backfrom the highway behind a tall brick wall.
"Bellevue!" I said to Francis, with pointing finger.
We left the road and climbing a wooden palisade, struck out across thefields with the idea of getting into the park from the back. We passedsome black and silent farm buildings, went through a gate and into apaddock, on the further side of which ran the wall surrounding theplace. Somewhere beyond the wall a fire was blazing. We could see theleaping light of the flames and drifting smoke. At the same moment weheard voices, loud voices disputing in German.
We crept across the paddock to the wall, I gave Francis a back and hehoisted himself to the top and looked over. In a moment he spranglightly down, a finger to his lips.
"Soldiers round a fire," he whispered. "There must be troops billetedhere. Come on ... we'll go further round!"
We ran softly along the wall to where it turned to the right andfollowed it round. Presently we came to a small iron gate in the wall.It stood open.
We listened. The sound of voices was fainter here. We still saw thereflection of the flames in the sky. Otherwise, there was no sign orsound of human life.
The gate led into an ornamental garden with the Castle at the furtherend. All the windows were in darkness. We threaded a garden path leadingto the house. It brought us in front of a glass door. I turned thehandle and it yielded to my grasp.
I whispered to Francis:
"Stay where you are! And if you hear me shout, fly for your life!"
For, I reflected, the place might be full of troops. If there were anyrisk it would be better for me to take it since Francis, with hisidentity papers, had a better chance than I of bringing the documentinto safety.
I opened the glass door and found myself in a lobby with a door on theright.
I listened again. All was still. I cautiously opened the door andlooked in. As I did so the place was suddenly flooded with light and avoice--a voice I had often heard in my dreams--called out imperiously:
"Stay where you are and put your hands above your head!"
Clubfoot stood there, a pistol in his great hand pointed at me.
"Grundt!" I shouted but I did not move.
And Clubfoot laughed.