LITMIR.BIZ

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(He pronounced it like the first syllable in ‘stomach’.) ‘Very pleased to meet you again, Colonel. I had the honour of making your acquaintance at our Embassy. I reckon Ambassador Gerard didn’t cotton to our conversation that night.’ And the new-comer plumped himself down in the corner opposite me.

      I had been pretty certain I would run across Blenkiron somewhere in Germany, but I didn’t think it would be so soon. There he sat staring at me with his full, unseeing eyes, rolling out platitudes to Stumm, who was nearly bursting in his effort to keep civil. I looked moody and suspicious, which I took to be the right line.

      ‘Things are getting a bit dead at Salonika,’ said Mr Blenkiron, by way of a conversational opening. Stumm pointed to a notice which warned officers to refrain from discussing military operations with mixed company in a railway carriage.

      ‘Sorry,’ said Blenkiron, ‘I can’t read that tombstone language of yours. But I reckon that that notice to trespassers, whatever it signifies, don’t apply to you and me. I take it this gentleman is in your party.’

      I sat and scowled, fixing the American with suspicious eyes.

      ‘He is a Dutchman,’ said Stumm; ‘South African Dutch, and he is not happy, for he doesn’t like to hear English spoken.’

      ‘We’ll shake on that,’ said Blenkiron cordially. ‘But who said I spoke English? It’s good American. Cheer up, friend, for it isn’t the call that makes the big wapiti, as they say out west in my country. I hate John Bull worse than a poison rattle. The Colonel can tell you that.’

      I dare say he could, but at that moment, we slowed down at a station and Stumm got up to leave. ‘Good day to you, Herr Blenkiron,’ he cried over his shoulder. ‘If you consider your comfort, don’t talk English to strange travellers. They don’t distinguish between the different brands.’

      I followed him in a hurry, but was recalled by Blenkiron’s voice.

      ‘Say, friend,’ he shouted, ‘you’ve left your grip,’ and he handed me my bag from the luggage rack. But he showed no sign of recognition, and the last I saw of him was sitting sunk in a corner with his head on his chest as if he were going to sleep. He was a man who kept up his parts well.

      There was a motor-car waiting—one of the grey military kind—and we started at a terrific pace over bad forest roads. Stumm had put away his papers in a portfolio, and flung me a few sentences on the journey.

      ‘I haven’t made up my mind about you, Brandt,’ he announced. ‘You may be a fool or a knave or a good man. If you are a knave, we will shoot you.’

      ‘And if I am a fool?’ I asked.

      ‘Send you to the Yser or the Dvina. You will be respectable cannon-fodder.’

      ‘You cannot do that unless I consent,’ I said.

      ‘Can’t we?’ he said, smiling wickedly. ‘Remember you are a citizen of nowhere. Technically, you are a rebel, and the British, if you go to them, will hang you, supposing they have any sense. You are in our power, my friend, to do precisely what we like with you.’

      He was silent for a second, and then he said, meditatively:

      ‘But I don’t think you are a fool. You may be a scoundrel. Some kinds of scoundrel are useful enough. Other kinds are strung up with a rope. Of that we shall know more soon.’

      ‘And if I am a good man?’

      ‘You will be given a chance to serve Germany, the proudest privilege a mortal man can have.’ The strange man said this with a ringing sincerity in his voice that impressed me.

      The car swung out from the trees into a park lined with saplings, and in the twilight I saw before me a biggish house like an overgrown Swiss chalet. There was a kind of archway, with a sham portcullis, and a terrace with battlements which looked as if they were made of stucco. We drew up at a Gothic front door, where a thin middle-aged man in a shooting-jacket was waiting.

      As we moved into the lighted hall I got a good look at our host. He was very lean and brown, with the stoop in the shoulder that one gets from being constantly on horseback. He had untidy grizzled hair and a ragged beard, and a pair of pleasant, short-sighted brown eyes.

      ‘Welcome, my Colonel,’ he said. ‘Is this the friend you spoke of ?’

      ‘This is the Dutchman,’ said Stumm. ‘His name is Brandt. Brandt, you see before you Herr Gaudian.’

      I knew the name, of course; there weren’t many in my profession that didn’t. He was one of the biggest railway engineers in the world, the man who had built the Baghdad and Syrian railways, and the new lines in German East. I suppose he was about the greatest living authority on tropical construction. He knew the East and he knew Africa; clearly I had been brought down for him to put me through my paces.

      A blonde maidservant took me to my room, which had a bare polished floor, a stove, and windows that, unlike most of the German kind I had sampled, seemed made to open. When I had washed I descended to the hall, which was hung round with trophies of travel, like Dervish jibbahs and Masai shields and one or two good buffalo heads. Presently a bell was rung. Stumm appeared with his host, and we went in to supper.

      I was jolly hungry and would have made a good meal if I hadn’t constantly had to keep jogging my wits. The other two talked in German, and when a question was put to me Stumm translated. The first thing I had to do was to pretend I didn’t know German and look listlessly round the room while they were talking. The second was to miss not a word, for there lay my chance. The third was to be ready to answer questions at any moment, and to show in the answering that I had not followed the previous conversation. Likewise, I must not prove myself a fool in these answers, for I had to convince them that I was useful. It took some doing, and I felt like a witness in the box under a stiff cross-examination, or a man trying to play three games of chess at once.

      I heard Stumm telling Gaudian the gist of my plan. The engineer shook his head.

      ‘Too late,’ he said. ‘It should have been done at the beginning. We neglected Africa. You know the reason why.’

      Stumm laughed. ‘The von Einem! Perhaps, but her charm works well enough.’

      Gaudian glanced towards me while I was busy with an orange salad. ‘I have much to tell you of that. But it can wait. Your friend is right in one thing. Uganda is a vital spot for the English, and a blow there will make their whole fabric shiver. But how can we strike? They have still the coast, and our supplies grow daily smaller.’

      ‘We can send no reinforcements, but have we used all the local resources? That is what I cannot satisfy myself about. Zimmerman says we have, but Tressler thinks differently, and now we have this fellow coming out of the void with a story which confirms my doubt. He seems to know his job. You try him.’

      Thereupon Gaudian set about questioning me, and his questions were very thorough. I knew just enough and no more to get through, but I think I came out with credit. You see I have a capacious memory, and in my time I had met scores of hunters and pioneers and listened to their yarns, so I could pretend to knowledge of a place even when I hadn’t been there. Besides, I had once been on the point of undertaking a job up Tanganyika way, and I had got up that country-side pretty accurately.

      ‘You say that with our help you can make trouble for the British on the three borders?’ Gaudian asked at length.

      ‘I can spread the fire if some one else will kindle it,’ I said.

      ‘But there are thousands of tribes with no affinities.’

      ‘They are all African. You can bear me out. All African peoples are alike in one thing—they can go mad, and the madness of one infects the others. The English know this well enough.’

      ‘Where would you start the fire?’ he asked.

      ‘Where the fuel is driest. Up in the North among the Mussulman peoples. But there you must help me. I know nothing about Islam, and I gather that you do.’

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