LITMIR.BIZ

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have you left it so long? If there is a declaration of war within the next few days—and there will be—there will be a tremendous rush of people across the frontier and you will find it difficult to get away.”

      Blute, for once in his life, spoke as a man might speak who was accustomed to lose control of his temper. He even raised his voice. His soft, low intonation was gone. He almost shouted.

      “Jesus Christ!” he cried. “Can’t you realize, sir, can’t you realize, Mr. Mildenhall, the agony through which that little girl and I have awakened in the morning and crawled to meet one another? No news—no fresh face—nothing at the post—nothing at the Censor’s office—and every day that passed brought us nearer disaster. We have everything planned and, simple though it may now seem, it has taken some planning and some scheming. And then we come face to face with this horrible position. For the final expenses we have not one penny between us! We have no money with which to bribe the undertaker and his men who are to take the coffins to the station, we have no money for our own tickets, we still have the guard and the Customs men to arrange with. We are helpless!”

      “You were helpless,” Charles said, patting him on the shoulder. “Why, it must have been maddening, Blute. Thank heavens I came along.”

      Blute sat down on one of the cases. For the first time he seemed in some small degree to lose control of himself. His face twitched. Charles looked away quickly but he could almost have sworn that there were tears in the man’s eyes.

      “Maddening it has been these last few weeks,” he went on. “Listen, Mr. Mildenhall, I must tell you that it was I who transferred Leopold Benjamin’s whole fortune from Germany and Austria to America and London. It was I who thought out the schemes for transference, who guarded against the currency troubles, who completed the whole business. I can assure you it was child’s play compared to these schemes which Miss Grey and I between us have perfected to bring Mr. Benjamin back his treasures. We are on the point of success. Everything is arranged and the money does not come. We have been robbed of what we had and now all the banks have closed their doors firmly against anyone who needs money in this country. I am not a beggar, Mr. Mildenhall, no more is that child a beggar, but last night I was playing a tin-pot little violin in a lowdown café to earn a wretched dinner which I shared with the child; and as for finishing our work here—it is ruined, all brought to nothing for the need of a few thousand pounds.”

      “Steady on,” Charles begged. “My dear fellow,” he went on kindly, “wipe your face—do. I know it sounds terrible, but listen—that all belongs to the past. I’m coming in with you. I’ll risk all the money I can raise for you and I’m perfectly certain that even now I can get all you want. I’ll travel with you. I’ll take the whole adventure on. You and I and Patricia—we’ll fool these fellows, we’ll cheat the Customs and we’ll make that old man happy.”

      “You mean that, Mr. Mildenhall?” Blute asked hoarsely. “For God’s sake don’t fool about with me.”

      “I do mean it,” Charles assured him. “I can be useful to you in many ways. I have a pull with the railway and the Customs. I have a diplomatic passport as well as my own. We will devote to-morrow—or rather to-day—to deciding the train we travel on. You can get the story of the terrible accident into the paper at once. Here—wipe your face—there’s a good fellow. I have never known you to raise your voice before. Use my handkerchief. I have a spare one. You will need all your nerve for the next few days.”

      The smile came back to Blute’s lips. He led the way up the ladder to the main room, bent down, closed the trap-door and standing up again moved slowly towards the exit.

      “My friend, I am ashamed,” he said humbly. “For the moment I forgot. Do you really mean it? You will come to our aid, you will be once more our deliverer?”

      “Of course I mean it. I’ve promised. To-morrow morning you must come straight to my room at Sacher’s. We will work out just how much money we shall need. We shall have the help of the hotel in getting the places on the train. Everything will be easy…Now what’s the matter?”

      The smile had already disappeared from Blute’s lips. There was fear on his face, horror in his eyes. The door was slowly being pushed open. Fritz crept onto the threshold and was standing there, his face as white as a ghost’s.

      “Mein Herr,” he cried softly. “A man has been down the lane. He came quietly but he carried a torch. I had no time to get to you or to get away before he saw the taxicab. I hid behind it. He called out. I did not answer. I heard him mumbling to himself. He stepped out into the lane again and I heard him calling. He is coming down—they are coming here—two of them. They are S.S. men! Ach, mein Herr!”

      The gift of swift thought had helped Charles Mildenhall through more than one crisis of his life.

      “Come inside and get behind the door, Fritz,” he ordered. “Don’t close it. Leave it open. We’ll deal with these men.”

      “I have a revolver—in the car,” Fritz stammered.

      “Leave it there,” Charles answered. “I have one in my pocket!”

      CHAPTER XV

       Table of Contents

      The intruders displayed none of Fritz’s hesitation. They pushed the door noisily open and stood staring about them. They were both hefty fellows, one in a well-worn German S.S. uniform, the other in a newer outfit of the same type with the Swastika prominently displayed. They had only one rather poor torch between them carried by the Austrian.

      “What are you men doing in this place?” the latter asked suspiciously.

      Charles was on the point of answering him when Blute gripped his arm.

      “Let me deal with this,” he begged, speaking in English. “I know how to handle these fellows better than you would. Besides, I want you to keep out of it as much as you can.”

      “It’s too late to think of that,” Charles replied. “Still, go ahead, my friend. If you have an idea how to deal with this situation you’re welcome. Anything short of murder—don’t forget that.”

      “Turn on the lights!” the bigger man shouted. “I want to see what sort of place we’re in.”

      “There are no lights, Herr Gestapo,” Blute answered. “You’ll have to do as well as you can with your torch. What do you want here, anyway? This is private property.”

      The German took the torch away from his companion and inspected the place as far as he could. His language became blasphemous.

      “What in hell is a place like this for—stone walls—stone roof—stone floor and not a light?”

      “It’s a prison/’ Blute explained.

      “A prison for whom?” the Austrian asked contemptuously.

      “You, if you don’t behave yourself,” was the quick response. “Now, put your hands up—both of you—quick!”

      Blute drew a clumsy, old-fashioned revolver from his pocket and held it out. The weapon which Charles had been hiding behind his back also appeared. It was a highly modern, beautifully polished affair.

      “Put your revolver away,” Blute told him. “I could hit their eyeballs if I wanted to from here. They aren’t armed, you see. They’ve got nothing but those steel whips with knobs at the end—wicked weapons but no good except at close quarters.”

      “Do you know we are Gestapo?” the German shouted. “You’ll go to prison for this!”

      “And you’ll go to hell, if you don’t keep your mouth shut,” Blute retorted. “Want some plain talk or a bullet, you two?”

      “Proceed with the plain talk,” the Austrian demanded. “Put your revolver down. We are

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