E. Phillips Oppenheim - 21 Greatest Spy Thrillers in One Premium Edition (Mystery & Espionage Series)

“There will be police—and soldiers—” Patricia faltered.

“Not within my four walls,” he declared, and his voice was full of confidence. “Now then, waiter—supposing I settle with you. How much for the wine and rolls and all the rest of it?”

The man handed him a strip of paper. Charles put down the amount.

“And now tell me,” he went on. “What is the largest tip you have ever received?”

“A piece of gold,” the man faltered in a voice that was scarcely audible. “The patron who gave it to me was drunk.”

“Well, I am sober,” Charles told him, “and I am very happy. There is the equivalent of five pieces of gold. Keep some for your wife and children.”

They left the man supporting himself against the marble-topped table and stammering out his thanks. Charles held Patricia and Blute firmly by the arm, led them out into the street and tucked them into the taxi. He gave Fritz his orders and in seven minutes they were in the back regions of the hotel. They entered by the staff door and mounted quickly to the first floor. One turn to the left along the corridor and they were in Suite Seventeen. Charles threw his hat into the air.

“Arrived!” he cried. “Joyfully and safely! Sit down. Wait for my orders. I am in command of this expedition.”

His protégés were utterly numb. Speech would have meant a breakdown. Charles stood pressing the bell and beaming upon them. Servants came hurrying in. There was a valet, a waiter and a chambermaid. Never did Charles feel more thankful for his glib use of the Viennese patois .

“Greta,” he directed, pointing to a door, “that is my bathroom. Take this young lady in there. My friends have been in distress like many others in this city. They have lost their baggage—everything. Prepare a bath for Fräulein , fetch anything she asks for and wrap her in a dressing-gown. Do not leave the suite until after you have seen her into her bath and then come to me for orders. Come here, Franz,” he went on, turning to the valet. “Take this gentleman into my bedroom and turn on a bath for him. Take linen, underclothes and socks from my suitcase and put them out for him. See that he has everything he needs—you understand?”

“Perfectly,” the valet replied. “If the gentleman will come this way.”

Blute followed the man out with shaking footsteps. Charles drew a long breath and lit a cigarette.

“ Kellner, “ he asked, turning to the waiter, “what is best for us to eat? My friends, you understand, have been starving.”

The waiter smiled sympathetically. He had seen others on the verge of starvation during the last few months.

“Plain dishes, gnädiger Herr ,” he advised.

“Good,” Charles agreed. “Bring them some hot consomme, perfectly plain grilled cutlets of lamb or veal—heaps of them—figure to yourself that there are six or twelve of us!—and serve plenty of vegetables. Afterwards fruit. Now for wine. There we must be careful. We have drunk—not much but a little—heavy red wine. There is no German red wine like Carlowitz but my friends have now revived a little. We will give them a good Moselle, a Piesporter or a Braunberger, and I think with the help of their baths and getting accustomed to their new surroundings we could venture on a cocktail each. Let this all be ready in half-an-hour.”

“It shall be done, mein Herr .”

“No one but Fritz, my chauffeur, is to come near this room except by my orders. Now please send me the housekeeper.”

The man hurried off. Charles threw open a window and looked out upon the well-lit but still somewhat turbulent city. He drew a long breath. He was alone. He was free to relax. His heart was beating like a boy’s. There were tears in his eyes which he forced back with difficulty. Two starved human beings! What was there about that suddenly to change the world around him, to excite him more than any success he had ever had? He sat down. He was growing calmer every moment. He lit a cigarette. His brain was functioning now more normally. He knew what had happened to him. He saw her first startled look, he watched the joy which transformed her pinched, weary expression. He remembered her slow coming to life, the light that flowed from her eyes as she had turned round from the bathroom door before disappearing, the faint little wave of her thin fingers. He knew quite well what had happened. He crossed the room and rang the bell. He returned to the window. Every second the thing was becoming clearer. He remembered how often she had occupied his thoughts. This wave of tenderness was amazing. All the same, he knew that never again in his lifetime would he feel the same thrill of exquisite joy which had come to him when he had turned the corner of that shabby restaurant, recognized Blute, seen Patricia lift her head, watched that dazed look in her hollow eyes suddenly disappear, watched the transformation which that flood of light brought into them…

There was a knock at the door. A stately, elderly woman dressed in black silk was ushered in by the waiter.

“I was told, sir, that you wished to speak to the housekeeper,” she announced.

Charles was himself again. He motioned the lady to a chair.

“Waiter,” he said, “I will have my cocktail at once. Let it be one of Frederick’s special White Ladies.”

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The dinner commenced almost normally except for the slight badinage occasioned by Blute’s appearance in trousers turned up four times.

“I had no idea that I was such a fine fellow,” Charles remarked as he took his place.

“I remember thinking the first time we met,” Patricia confessed demurely, “that you had rather nice legs.”

Charles looked at her with a smile. Already the joys of anticipation were making a lover of him. The deathly pallor had gone from her face, although her eyes were still sunken. She had entered from the bathroom with a faint glow upon her cheeks and a silk dressing-gown of Charles’s effectively shortened with the aid of safety pins, displaying something of her beautifully silk-stockinged legs. She glanced at her host a little suspiciously.

“Do you travel round the world,” she asked, “with a choice selection of lady’s underwear of all sizes as part of your wardrobe, and do you really use for yourself all those powders and delicate perfumes the maid was trying to press upon me?”

“Not guilty,” he assured her. “I travel always alone, as my own servant would tell you if he were here. Fortunately, though, I choose the right hotel. All these lighter feminine belongings came from the ladies’ hairdressing department, which that delightful old housekeeper opened up for the occasion.”

“And the—other things I am wearing?” she asked with a touch of her old self in her mischievous glance.

“If you came here in the daytime,” he pointed out, “you would notice that there are several establishments from Paris and two from Vienna itself which have showcases in the hall. The housekeeper procured the keys. We looted them.”

“You have very good taste,” she told him.

“I am glad they please you,” he answered. “I am afraid I can’t claim all the credit. There were two showcases—I took one and the housekeeper the other. I simply helped myself to an armful—everything that was displayed. The housekeeper was more selective. She explained that everything was likely to fit you because in showcases they always display the articles of women’s attire in the smaller sizes because they look more attractive.”

“You pick up things very quickly,” she smiled, taking a long delicious sip of her cocktail. “Oh, what happiness!” she went on, with her eyes still half closed. “The feeling, the caress of this silk, the perfume of violets, the taste of a real cocktail, the smell of these cutlets! Mr. Mildenhall, you are a god and this is a personally conducted tour into Paradise!”