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

“I feared it,” Blute said gloomily. “Here the people are taking it lightly. They are too obsessed all over Austria with this stupefying chaos of German propaganda. They believe that England will threaten and barter and argue, but they do not believe that she will fight.”

“They are wrong. In this room I can talk to you in a way I should not have ventured to a week ago. I have been on a special mission to Poland. On the one hand I have had to convince their leaders of a fact which they were only too ready to accept—that England would keep strictly to her obligations, that France would do the same and that the day Poland was invaded both countries would declare war against Germany. Well, as I said, they were only too eager to believe that. On the other hand, it was my duty to point out to them that no practical aid could be looked for from England or even from France for many months—neither by air, nor by land, nor by sea could we reach her with any fighting forces. She must bear that in mind every time she remembered the pact. Our help would come, our word would be kept but if she went to war at the present moment she must make up her mind that she would have to look after herself for at least six months.”

“What was the reply to that?” Blute asked.

“Well, they listened to me but all the time they shrugged their shoulders, they babbled about the British Fleet, the French Army, our united air strength. The practical side of the matter is that I have been over to drill into them hard facts which they seem determined to ignore. I left them with the plainest statement of the situation, exactly as it exists; and I insisted upon it that not only the politicians but also the Air Field-Marshal, the Commander-in-Chief of the Army and the man who is responsible for their Navy be given the opportunity of listening to me. I battered it into their understandings that they would probably have five to six months’ fighting without a soul to help them except by indirect pressure. It made no difference, I fear. I know for a fact that the plenipotentiary Hitler insists upon having will not be sent; I also know that if he does not arrive Hitler will move across the frontier immediately, and England and France will be at war with Germany twenty-four hours later.”

“It is bad news. It affects, of course, what I have to say to you. It affects the position in which Miss Grey is placed. It affects my position…I fancy I hear her returning.”

“I shall ring, then, for the coffee,” Charles announced, rising to his feet. “As soon as Miss Grey comes I can hear your story and we will consider what help I can give you.”

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Patricia came quietly back, helped herself to coffee, lit a cigarette and slipped into a corner of the couch. The housekeeper explained the situation to Charles, who went in search of her.

“The very gracious young lady,” she said, “has made our task a pleasant one. She has moved us to admiration, but she is very firm. She has chosen two frocks of the least expensive stock, a travelling coat and two simple hats. She would look at nothing else. She has asked us to procure a pair of shoes and a pair of slippers, for which we have taken her measurements, and—the gnädiger Herr will pardon me—of the underclothes she has asked for two more sets to be supplied to-morrow morning with the other things. I have calculated out the amounts. I do not think that Herr Mildenhall will find the cost excessive. The Fräulein was very obstinate. The total amount of the indebtedness I have reckoned out at the figure shown here. The gnãdiger Herr may be grateful from his point of view that Fräulein is not like most of the young ladies we have to deal with.”

Charles glanced at the bill.

“But it is ridiculous!” he exclaimed.

The housekeeper shook her head sadly.

“Perhaps,” she remarked, smiling as the idea occurred to her, “Herr Mildenhall and the young lady will be in Vienna later on. They will bear in mind the fact that it is my sister who has been of assistance.”

“That is indeed exceedingly likely,” Charles agreed, “and with your permission I shall add this note for distribution between yourself and the young ladies, to compensate you for your—er—unusual services.”

The housekeeper dropped one of the curtsies of her youth.

“The gift of mein Herr is joyously accepted,” she said. “The two young ladies will join me in my thanks.”

Charles hurried back into the salon. He took a place by Patricia’s side upon the divan. Marius Blute disposed of himself in an easy chair opposite. Charles held up his hand.

“One moment,” he begged.

He pressed the bell for the waiter.

“There are omissions here,” he said, pointing to the table. “We must rectify them.”

From the waiter he ordered French brandy, an orange and lemon squash for Patricia, with a small Grand Marnier to drink with her coffee. The cigars were brought back again. The conversation began.

“My one object,” Blute said, lighting a fresh cigar, “is to save words. I want to put my situation and the situation of Miss Grey before you, sir, in as short a time as possible.”

“Excellent,” Charles murmured.

“For ten years,” Blute continued, “I have been a sort of private confidential agent to Mr. Leopold Benjamin. His need of me was based upon this idea. He was the most far-seeing man I have ever come across. He foresaw twelve years ago a state of affairs very like the present one. He employed me for one purpose and one purpose only. It was my business to travel to the cities of Europe which contained sound banking institutions, to open up a correspondence with them on his behalf so that he could deposit money there at a reasonable rate of interest and assume possession of it when the necessity arrived. I shall speak only in sterling so that you, Mr. Mildenhall, who are perhaps not a great financier, will understand in a moment. I have invested nine millions sterling for Mr. Benjamin in this fashion. It has increased in value so that it is now ten millions. Besides this he had about three millions in Vienna. Two million the Nazis stripped him of the day they sacked his bank; one million he took away with him in cash and short-dated bills. Twenty thousand pounds are somewhere waiting for Miss Grey and fifty thousand for me—but we have not the faintest idea where.”

“Let me get my breath,” Charles begged. “Did you draw no salary, Blute?”

“A splendid one,” the latter acknowledged. “I spent more than half of it in expenses, the rest I left in Benjamin’s Bank. It was taken over by the government.”

“That explains your situation,” Charles admitted. “Now, what about Miss Grey?”

“My salary,” she confided, “was six hundred pounds a year. It was lodged to an account in my name. I drew the money exactly as I required it. Two years ago I thought I should like a small car. I bought it with Mr. Benjamin’s approval. He paid for my lessons in driving and that Christmas Mrs. Benjamin gave me a brooch which must have been worth two or three hundred pounds. When the assets of the bank were devoured by the raids following the Anschluss , they helped themselves to the deposits and mine went with the rest.”

“This is all very clear,” Charles said, “but what I do not understand is this. Mr. Benjamin struck me as being a very delightful, a generous and a sympathetic person. I cannot conceive his suddenly flying out of the country and leaving you two—Miss Grey still in charge of his affairs and his secretary, and you, Blute, as his agent—without any form of farewell or without any certainty that your balances in the bank would not be touched. He must have known that if this happened you were penniless.”