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

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them some hot consomme, perfectly plain grilled cutlets of lamb or veal—heaps of them—figure to yourself that there are six or twelve of us!—and serve plenty of vegetables. Afterwards fruit. Now for wine. There we must be careful. We have drunk—not much but a little—heavy red wine. There is no German red wine like Carlowitz but my friends have now revived a little. We will give them a good Moselle, a Piesporter or a Braunberger, and I think with the help of their baths and getting accustomed to their new surroundings we could venture on a cocktail each. Let this all be ready in half-an-hour.”

      “It shall be done, mein Herr.”

      “No one but Fritz, my chauffeur, is to come near this room except by my orders. Now please send me the housekeeper.”

      The man hurried off. Charles threw open a window and looked out upon the well-lit but still somewhat turbulent city. He drew a long breath. He was alone. He was free to relax. His heart was beating like a boy’s. There were tears in his eyes which he forced back with difficulty. Two starved human beings! What was there about that suddenly to change the world around him, to excite him more than any success he had ever had? He sat down. He was growing calmer every moment. He lit a cigarette. His brain was functioning now more normally. He knew what had happened to him. He saw her first startled look, he watched the joy which transformed her pinched, weary expression. He remembered her slow coming to life, the light that flowed from her eyes as she had turned round from the bathroom door before disappearing, the faint little wave of her thin fingers. He knew quite well what had happened. He crossed the room and rang the bell. He returned to the window. Every second the thing was becoming clearer. He remembered how often she had occupied his thoughts. This wave of tenderness was amazing. All the same, he knew that never again in his lifetime would he feel the same thrill of exquisite joy which had come to him when he had turned the corner of that shabby restaurant, recognized Blute, seen Patricia lift her head, watched that dazed look in her hollow eyes suddenly disappear, watched the transformation which that flood of light brought into them…

      There was a knock at the door. A stately, elderly woman dressed in black silk was ushered in by the waiter.

      “I was told, sir, that you wished to speak to the housekeeper,” she announced.

      Charles was himself again. He motioned the lady to a chair.

      “Waiter,” he said, “I will have my cocktail at once. Let it be one of Frederick’s special White Ladies.”

      CHAPTER XI

       Table of Contents

      The dinner commenced almost normally except for the slight badinage occasioned by Blute’s appearance in trousers turned up four times.

      “I had no idea that I was such a fine fellow,” Charles remarked as he took his place.

      “I remember thinking the first time we met,” Patricia confessed demurely, “that you had rather nice legs.”

      Charles looked at her with a smile. Already the joys of anticipation were making a lover of him. The deathly pallor had gone from her face, although her eyes were still sunken. She had entered from the bathroom with a faint glow upon her cheeks and a silk dressing-gown of Charles’s effectively shortened with the aid of safety pins, displaying something of her beautifully silk-stockinged legs. She glanced at her host a little suspiciously.

      “Do you travel round the world,” she asked, “with a choice selection of lady’s underwear of all sizes as part of your wardrobe, and do you really use for yourself all those powders and delicate perfumes the maid was trying to press upon me?”

      “Not guilty,” he assured her. “I travel always alone, as my own servant would tell you if he were here. Fortunately, though, I choose the right hotel. All these lighter feminine belongings came from the ladies’ hairdressing department, which that delightful old housekeeper opened up for the occasion.”

      “And the—other things I am wearing?” she asked with a touch of her old self in her mischievous glance.

      “If you came here in the daytime,” he pointed out, “you would notice that there are several establishments from Paris and two from Vienna itself which have showcases in the hall. The housekeeper procured the keys. We looted them.”

      “You have very good taste,” she told him.

      “I am glad they please you,” he answered. “I am afraid I can’t claim all the credit. There were two showcases—I took one and the housekeeper the other. I simply helped myself to an armful—everything that was displayed. The housekeeper was more selective. She explained that everything was likely to fit you because in showcases they always display the articles of women’s attire in the smaller sizes because they look more attractive.”

      “You pick up things very quickly,” she smiled, taking a long delicious sip of her cocktail. “Oh, what happiness!” she went on, with her eyes still half closed. “The feeling, the caress of this silk, the perfume of violets, the taste of a real cocktail, the smell of these cutlets! Mr. Mildenhall, you are a god and this is a personally conducted tour into Paradise!”

      “Entirely my sentiments,” Blute murmured, gripping at his trousers.

      “To be light-hearted again even for a moment—it is wonderful!” Patricia declared, patting her host’s hand.

      “Another part of my anatomy is aiming at other things,” Blute grunted. “I used to think I would be a happy man to lose four inches around the waist. They have gone, but the road to happiness—”

      “Not a word!” Patricia insisted. “Until dinner is over the past is dead. I am in Paradise and my guide is serving my food.”

      “Lamb cutlets with Sauce Béarnaise,” Blute murmured. “What a novelty but what a heavenly sauce!”

      The soft delicate wines were drunk almost with reverence. The cutlets disappeared in almost miraculous fashion. Patricia looked up guiltily as she finished her second and found the waiter by her side. He had entered into the spirit of the feast, however, and he gave her no time to hesitate. He served her and passed on.

      “It is my third cutlet,” she confessed. “They are so large, too, but oh, how delicious!”

      “The Viennese is the only school of cookery,” Charles pronounced, “which condescends to acknowledge the grill. The French will have none of it.”

      “As a hungry—let me throw away affectation and say a starving girl,” Patricia declared, “I am glad that we are in Vienna.”

      Not a single serious word was spoken during that meal from beginning to end. Towards its conclusion there was a knock at the door and the housekeeper reappeared. She was followed by two girls carrying frocks and coats upon each arm. She smiled graciously upon the diners.

      “I am too soon, I know,” she said. “I shall take my young ladies into the bedroom and await your convenience. I was fortunate enough to find my sister and my two nieces in our establishment. They were only too anxious to help.”

      Charles rose to his feet and directed them to his bedroom.

      “We will send you the young lady in a quarter-of-an-hour, Madame,” he promised. “Will you take your assistants in there and ring for the chambermaid if there is anything you want?”

      “Of course, this is a dream!” Patricia laughed a little jerkily. “Please, Mr. Mildenhall—”

      “Charles,” he interrupted.

      “Charles, then,” she went on. “This really isn’t necessary. We can telephone to one of the big establishments for a gown and a hat and I can buy anything else I want to-morrow if you let me have a little money.”

      “Can’t disappoint the dear old lady,” he said. “She’s knocked them all up and they’re quite excited about it. Don’t think

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