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

“Understand at once,” Blute begged, “that neither Miss Grey nor I have a word of complaint against Leopold Benjamin. He would be incapable of any act of unkindness or inhumanity. On the night he received that terrible message and decided to leave the country he sent for us both. You will remember the occasion, Mr. Mildenhall. You yourself were dining in the house. His aeroplane was only a mile away. He told us his decision. We agreed that it was for the best. He laid upon us both a special task. He knew quite well that it would cost a great deal of money. We have both been working upon it for the last two years. He handed over to us, before he departed, ten thousand pounds in Bank of England notes. We were to deduct our own expenses or balances at the bank from this and the rest was to go towards the responsibility he laid upon us. Mr. Benjamin was princely in his departure from us as he had been through his life. He is not to be blamed in the least for our misfortunes or that we have come very near starvation.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” Charles declared. “I hate to be disappointed in people. I believed in Mr. Benjamin. Now then, we come to the pith of the story. What happened to all the money?”

“The simplest, most foolish thing that could possibly happen,” Blute groaned. “To carry an amount like that about with me was an utter impossibility. Miss Grey felt just the same about it. What we had to do for Mr. Benjamin was a costly affair. I spent a thousand pounds of it the first day, a second thousand the next day. By that time the trouble was getting worse here. Miss Grey, at my suggestion, decided to send a thousand pounds back to America. We arranged that. I sent my wife back home with another two thousand. We pooled the rest and I let Miss Grey have such money as she wanted as occasion arose. She was still living in the house. I was living not a quarter of a mile away—soon I shall have occasion to tell you where. The night that the house was raided by the Nazis all Vienna went mad. The Nazis were bitterly disappointed. They searched every person in the house. They took Miss Grey’s money and they simply treated it as a terrific joke when she assured them that it was part of her salary and without it she was penniless. They found me in the library where I worked most evenings and they found also my money which I kept in a safe behind the desk. I fought for it but I hadn’t a chance. I was carried away on a stretcher and was found by Miss Grey a week afterwards in a hospital. Not a penny of my money was left. Miss Grey went to the bank. It was already too late. The assets had been seized, a seal put upon the safes and not a schilling was parted with to any of the depositors. She and I were left very nearly destitute. I lodged a complaint in the Courts. I was perhaps foolish but it seemed to me there was nothing else to be done. As a result we were thrown into prison. When I was freed I found Miss Grey with difficulty. I tried to get a job at a tourist agency. Meanwhile I wrote home to my wife for money. Miss Grey wrote to America. We both of us wrote to Mr. Benjamin at every address we could think of. No answer came to either of us from anywhere. Soon we saw official notices in all the Austrian and German papers. What they called ‘a moratorium’ existed.”

“I read of that,” Charles murmured.

“No money from abroad could be claimed by individuals until the exchanges had been adjusted. If money was sent it was confiscated by the State and any letters accompanying it were destroyed by the censor. It was sheer robbery. Meanwhile our employment came to an end. We met day by day. It was impossible for me to leave Vienna because of the money I had already spent on Mr. Benjamin’s account. Between us we could not raise enough for Miss Grey’s passage to England, much less back to America.”

“Why didn’t you go on writing to Mr. Benjamin?” Charles asked.

“Because we neither of us had the slightest idea where he actually was,” Patricia pointed out eagerly. “It was absolutely necessary, until he could reach a place of safety, that no one should know his whereabouts. As soon as that time arrived he promised to write to us. We have had not a line, but as every letter that arrived here was censored, it seemed a hopeless task to get in touch with anyone.”

“When disaster first came,” Blute went on, “we had three hopes. One was that we should hear from Mr. Benjamin, that he would get a letter through to us somehow or other notwithstanding the censorship; the second was that the Benjamin Hospital, with a foundation from him which brought them in the equivalent of a quarter of a million dollars a year, would let us have the sum we needed to complete our obligations to Mr. Benjamin, and the third hope—it was the slimmest of all—was that we might some day or other come across a friend passing through Vienna.”

“Nothing so wonderful as this, though, ever entered into our dreams,” Patricia murmured.

“Well, that’s a very clear explanation of everything that has happened,” Charles pronounced. “It has been a horrible time for both of you. Now tell me this—I have made a wild guess. Am I right? The work you undertook for your Chief—had it anything to do with getting all his pictures and wonderful possessions out of Vienna?”

They were both silent.

“That was just what it was,” Blute said hoarsely after a moment’s pause. “We came so near success—”

“You didn’t succeed, then?”

There was a long and melancholy silence. Blute was shaking his head sadly. Patricia sat with her hands folded in front of her and it seemed to Charles that she was going through some sort of inward struggle. When at last she spoke it was as though the three words she uttered were tearing at her very heartstrings.

“No,” she confessed. “We failed.”

There was a knock at the door of the salon. The waiter entered. He indicated a chambermaid who was waiting outside.

“The young woman has come,” he announced, “to fetch the Fräulein who was dining here and who has a room on the other side of the hotel. It is a little difficult to find without help.”

Patricia rose to her feet. She held out her hands to her host.

“Mr. Mildenhall,” she said, “Charles, if you wish it—there are no words I can use to thank you. I go to bed without fear, almost happy for the first time for months. It is all your doing.”

“‘Almost’ happy?” he repeated.

She nodded.

“If you knew the difference between now and last night,” she said smiling, “you would not worry about the ‘almost.’”

“When can we meet to-morrow?”

“I do not know,” she answered thoughtfully. “I must see Mr. Blute, but I am too weary to talk any more to-night.”

“Come and have your coffee and rolls with me here in the morning,” he begged. “The chambermaid who looks after you will bring you along. I will be ready at nine o’clock.”

“You wish it?”

“I do seriously,” he insisted.

He led her towards the door.

“I wish it,” he repeated, “and I am determined also to know the meaning of that ‘almost.’”

The light faded from her face. She shook her head.

“That,” she said, “I shall not tell you just yet. It is not for you to know. Be satisfied with thinking what you have done for us, the misery from which you have snatched poor Mr. Blute and me. Apart from all of which,” she added, “I shall tell you this—”

She grasped his hand tightly. Suddenly she raised his fingers to her lips and kissed them.

“You are the sweetest Good Samaritan,” she cried, “the most wonderful and most tactful who ever brought a poor girl back into life!”

Her feet seemed to have recovered some of their old grace and lightness. She was across the room in a moment. She waved her hand and disappeared with the chambermaid.