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

“Of course,” he murmured. “I knew that I had seen you somewhere before. You were in the party who were entertaining the local royalties last night at the Hôtel de France.”

“That is so.”

Fawley glanced out of the porthole. They were heading for the open seas now and travelling at a great speed. On the right was the Rock, with its strangely designed medley of buildings. The flag was flying from the palace and the cathedral bell was ringing.

“Many things have happened to me in life,” he reflected, with a smile, “but I have never before been kidnapped.”

“It sounds a little like musical comedy, doesn’t it?” the Prince remarked. “The fact is—it was my cousin’s idea. She was anxious to talk to you, but the hotel is full of spies and she could think of no safe place in the neighbourhood.”

“I thought there was something fishy about that note,” Fawley sighed. “Is Princess Elida really on board?”

“She certainly is,” was the prompt reply. “Wait one moment. I will summon her. I can assure you that she is impatient to meet you again.”

He stepped back to the doorway and called out her name. There came the sound of light footsteps descending from the deck. Elida, in severe but very delightful yachting attire, entered the room. She nodded pleasantly to Fawley.

“I hope Maurice has apologised and all that sort of thing,” she said. “We had no intention of really keeping you here by force, of course, but it did occur to us that you might not want to be seen in discussion with us by your other friends here.”

“It might have been awkward,” Fawley admitted pleasantly. “It is humiliating, though, to be whisked off like this. Your designs might have been far more sinister and then I should have felt very much like the booby who walked into the trap. There is nothing I enjoy so much as a cruise. Wouldn’t it be pleasanter on deck, though?”

“As you please,” the Prince assented. “There is a little movement but that is not likely to hurt any of us. As a matter of form, Major, may I beg for your word of honour that you will not seek to call the attention of any passing craft to your presence here?”

“I give it with pleasure,” was the prompt acquiescence.

They found a sheltered divan on the port side of the boat. A white-coated steward arranged a small table and appeared presently with a cocktail shaker and champagne in an ice pail. The Prince drank the latter out of a tumbler. Elida and Fawley preferred cocktails. Caviare sandwiches were served and cigarettes.

“This is very agreeable,” Fawley declared. “May I ask how far we are going?”

The Prince sighed.

“Alas, it can be only a short cruise,” he regretted. “The Princess is unfortunately commanded to lunch.”

“Then I suggest,” Fawley said, “that we commence our conversation.”

Elida leaned forward. She looked earnestly at her opposite neighbour.

“We want to know, Major Fawley, whether it is true that you are going to Germany with Adolf Krust and his two decoys?”

“We should also,” the Prince added, “like to know with what object you are visiting that country and whether you are going as the accredited agent of Berati?”

“Would it not be simpler for you to ask General Berati?” Fawley suggested.

“You know quite well,” Elida reminded him, “that for the present I am not allowed in Italy. Believe me, if I were there, I should find out, but I may not go and I know well that my letters here are tampered with. Prince Patoni promised me news but nothing has come.”

Fawley reflected for a moment.

“How did you know,” he asked, “that I was going to Germany?”

She smiled.

“My dear man,” she protested, “I am, after all, in a small way doing your sort of work. I must have a few—what is it you say in English?—irons in the fire. Adolf Krust, I hear, is hoping for great things from the little girl. Are you susceptible, I wonder?”

Fawley looked steadily across at the Princess.

“I never thought so until about a month ago,” he answered. “Since then I have wondered.”

She sighed.

“If my hair were that wonderful colour and my morals as elastic, do you think I could throw a yoke of roses around your neck and lead you into Germany myself?”

“A pathetic figure,” Fawley observed. “I will go with you to Germany at any time you invite me, Princess. But, I should carry out my work when I got there in exactly the way I intend to now.”

“I want you to meet General von Salzenburg,” she murmured.

“The world’s fire eater,” Fawley remarked.

“These damned newspapers!” Von Thal exclaimed angrily in his deep bass voice. “What is it to be a fire eater? Fire purges the earth. God knows Europe needs it!”

“I am not a pacifist, by any means,” Fawley protested, accepting a cigarette from Elida. “In the old days war was the logical method of settling disputes. There was no question of reparation. The victorious nation cut off a chunk of the other’s country and everything went on merrily afterwards. Those days have gone. War does not fit in with a civilisation the basis of which is economic.”

Von Thal stiffened visibly. One could almost feel the muscles swelling underneath his coat.

“It seems strange to hear an ex-army man, as I presume you are, Major Fawley, talking in such a fashion,” he declared. “To us war is a holy thing. It is a means of redemption. It is a great purifier. We shall not agree very well, Major Fawley, if you are going to tell us that you are a convert of Krust.”

“I am not going to tell you anything of the sort,” Fawley replied, helping himself to another sandwich. “As a matter of fact, I have had very little conversation with Herr Krust. Between our three selves, as the Princess here has had proof of it, I am working on behalf of Italy. All I have to do is to make a report of the political situation in Germany as I conceive it. The rest remains with General Berati and his master. Besides,” he went on, “it would be very foolish to imagine that my reports would be more than a drop in the bucket of information which Berati is accumulating. He is a very sage and far-seeing man and he is collecting the points of view of as many people as he can.”

Von Thal grunted.

“I am afraid,” he pronounced, “that our conversation is not approaching a satisfactory termination.”

“You see,” Elida murmured softly, “our information does not exactly match with what you tell us. We believe that Berati is prepared to shape his policy according to your report. The great national patriotic party of Germany, to which my cousin here and I belong and of which General von Salzenburg is the titular chief, is the only party which we believe in, and for our success we must have the sympathy of and the alliance with Italy.”

“And war?” Fawley queried gravely.

“Why should I deny it?” she answered. “And war. You do not know perhaps how well prepared Germany is for war. I doubt whether even Adolf Krust knows; but we know. War alone will free Germany from her fetters. This time it will not be a war of doubtful results. Everything is prearranged. Success is certain. Italy will have what she covets—Africa. Germany will be once more mistress of Europe.”

“Very interesting,” Fawley conceded. “You may possibly be right. When I get back from Germany, I shall very likely be in a position to tell you so. At present, I have an open mind.”

Von Thal poured himself out a glass of wine and drank it. He turned to Elida. His expression was unpleasant.

“This conversation,” he said, “has reached an unsatisfactory point. The Princess and I must confer. Will you come below with me, Elida?”

She shook her head slowly.