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

Herr Selingman laid his finger upon his nose.

“That may be,” he said. “Yet there are many who look at us with envious eyes. I am a good German. I know what it is that we want. We want peace, and to gain peace we need strength, and to be strong we arm. That is everything. It will never be Germany who clenches her fist, who draws down the black clouds of war over Europe. It will never be Germany, I tell you. Why, a war would ruin half of us. What of my crockery? I sell it all in England. Believe me, young gentleman, war exists only in the brains of your sensational novelists. It does not come into the world of real purpose.”

“Well, it’s very interesting to hear you say so,” Norgate admitted. “I wish I could wholly agree with you.”

Herr Selingman caught him by the sleeve.

“You are just a little,” he confided, “just a little suspicious, my young friend, you in your little island. Perhaps it is because you live upon an island. You do not expand. You have small thoughts. You are not great like we in Germany, not broad, not deep. But we will talk later of these things. I must tell you about our Kaiser.”

Norgate opened his lips and closed them again.

“Presently,” he muttered. “See you later on.”

He strolled to his coupe, tried in vain to read, walked up and down the length of the train, smoked a cigarette, and returned to his compartment to find Herr Selingman immersed in the study of many documents.

“Records of my customers and my transactions,” the latter announced blandly. “I have a great fondness for detail. I know everything. I carry with me particulars of everything. That is where we Germans are so thorough. See, I place them now all in my bag.”

He did so and locked it with great care.

“We go to dinner, is it not so?” he suggested.

“I suppose we may as well,” Norgate assented indifferently.

They found places in the crowded restaurant car. The manufacturer of crockery made a highly satisfactory and important meal. Norgate, on the other hand, ate little. Herr Selingman shook his head.

“My young English friend,” he declared, “all is not well with you that you turn away from good food. Come. Afterwards, over a cigar, you shall tell me what troubles you have, and I will give you sound advice. I have a very wide knowledge of life. I have a way of seeing the truth, and I like to help people.”

Norgate shook his head. “I am afraid,” he said, “that my case is hopeless.”

“Presently we will see,” Herr Selingman continued, rubbing the window with his cuff. “We are arrived, I think, at Lesel. Here will board the train one of my agents. He will travel with us to the next station. It is my way of doing business, this. It is better than alighting and wasting a day in a small town. You will not mind, perhaps,” he added, “if I bring him into the carriage and talk? You do not understand German, so it will not weary you.”

“Certainly not,” Norgate replied. “I shall probably drop off to sleep.”

“He will be in the train for less than an hour,” Herr Selingman explained, “but I have many competitors, and I like to talk in private. In here some one might overhear.”

“How do you know that I am not an English crockery manufacturer?” Norgate remarked.

Herr Selingman laughed heartily. His stomach shook, and tears rolled down his eyes.

“That is good!” he exclaimed. “An English crockery manufacturer! No, I do not think so! I cannot see you with your sleeves turned up, walking amongst the kilns. I cannot see you, even, studying the designs for pots and basins.”

“Well, bring your man in whenever you want to,” Norgate invited, as he turned away. “I can promise, at least, that I shall not understand what you are saying, and that I won’t sneak your designs.”

There was a queer little smile on Herr Selingman’s broad face. It almost seemed as though he had discovered some hidden though unsuspected meaning in the other’s words.

Table of Contents

Norgate dozed fitfully as the train sped on through the darkness. He woke once to find Herr Selingman in close confabulation with his agent on the opposite side of the compartment. They had a notebook before them and several papers spread out upon the seat. Norgate, who was really weary, closed his eyes again, and it seemed to him that he dreamed for a few moments. Then suddenly he found himself wide-awake. Although he remained motionless, the words which Selingman had spoken to his companion were throbbing in his ears.

“I do not doubt your industry, Meyer, but it is your discretion which is sometimes at fault. These plans of the forts of Liege—they might as well be published in a magazine. We had them when they were made. We have received copies of every alteration. We know to a metre how far the guns will carry, how many men are required to man them, what stocks of ammunition are close at hand. Understand, therefore, my friend, that the sight of these carefully traced plans, which you hint to have obtained at the risk of your life, excites me not at all.”

The other man’s reply was inaudible. In a moment or two Selingman spoke again.

“The information which I am lacking just at present in your sphere of operations, is civilian in character. Take Ghent, for instance. What I should like here, what our records need at present, is a list of the principal inhabitants with their approximate income, and, summarising it all, the rateable value of the city. With these bases it would be easy to fix a reasonable indemnity.”

Norgate was wide-awake now. He was curled up on his seat, underneath his rug, and though his eyelids had quivered with a momentary excitement, he was careful to remain as near as possible motionless. Again Selingman’s agent spoke, this time more distinctly.

“The young man opposite,” he whispered. “He is English, surely?”

“He is English indeed,” Selingman admitted, “but he speaks no German. That I have ascertained. Give me your best attention, Meyer. Here is again an important commission for you. Within the next few days, hire an automobile and visit the rising country eastwards from Antwerp. At some spot between six and eight miles from the city, on a slight incline and commanding the River Scheldt, we desire to purchase an acre of land for the erection of a factory. You can say that we have purchased the concession for making an American safety razor. The land is wanted, and urgently. See to this yourself and send plans and price to me in London. On my return I shall call and inspect the sites and close the bargain.”

“And the Antwerp forts?”

The other pursed his lips.

“Pooh! Was it not the glorious firm of Krupp who fitted the guns there? Do you think the men who undertook that task were idle? I tell you that our plans of the Antwerp fortifications are more carefully worked out in detail than the plans held by the Belgians themselves. Here is good work for you to do, friend Meyer. That and the particulars from Brussels which you know of, will keep you busy until we meet again.”

Herr Selingman began to collect his papers, but was suddenly thrown back into his seat by the rocking of the train, which came, a few moments later, to a standstill. The sound of the opening of windows from the other side of the corridor was heard all down the train. Selingman and his companion followed the general example, opening the door of the carriage and the window opposite. A draught blew through the compartment. One of the small folded slips of paper from Selingman’s pocket-book fluttered along the seat. It came within reach of Norgate. Cautiously he stretched out his fingers and gripped it. In a moment it was in his pocket. He sat up in his place. Selingman had turned around.