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supposed to carry.”

      “What does the gentleman mean by a guard, sir?” Joseph asked anxiously.

      “I rather forgot that, I’m afraid,” Charles confessed. “Can’t carry everything in your mind, though, these unusual times. Would you work for us, Joseph, with more confidence if I let you into a secret as regards the proposed contents of that truck?”

      “It certainly would be helpful, sir.”

      “Very well. Do you happen to have read the special edition of the paper?” he asked, taking one from the roll upon the table which Blute had brought up and holding it out. “There has been a terrible accident to some motorists driving here from Moravia. They were apparently in as great a hurry as we are to get out of the country. The chief contents of this luggage van will be four large coffins.”

      Joseph’s equanimity was for once troubled. He gazed incredulously at the speaker.

      “Coffins?” he repeated.

      “Caskets which contain the remains of these four unfortunate people,” Charles said gravely. “Quick work, isn’t it? I can explain that, though. This accident happened several days ago, but the Press have only just got hold of it. The four guards who will travel with the coffins are the representatives of the undertakers. We shall want tickets for them, of course.”

      Joseph coughed and looked up towards the ceiling. When he spoke again there was a faint change in his manner.

      “As I presume you know, sir,” he remarked, “the linings of the coffins would be of lead, to conform with the regulations. This would add considerably to the weight. Then there are the four guards. Nearly all the undertakers’ assistants whom I have ever come across,” he went on thoughtfully, “have been small, straggly types of men—”

      “I hope these won’t be anything of the sort,” Charles interrupted, “but anyhow, I think that my friend Mr. Blute over here is right when he says that the weight will not be a difficulty. The tickets for the four guards I shall require as a matter of course. Even though they must travel in the luggage truck I have no desire to smuggle them out of the country. This is a perfectly straightforward transaction, you understand, Joseph, carried out at the desire of the—er—relations.”

      Joseph’s eyes once more sought the ceiling. They lingered there for a moment. When they came down his gaze was perfectly respectful, his tone gently enquiring.

      “I am well aware of the regulation rates for merchandise, Mr. Mildenhall,” he said, “but I think if by any miraculous means I was able to put this affair through for you the charges would be something in excess of the ordinary.”

      Charles smiled—a very understanding gesture.

      “I think that you are probably right, Joseph,” he acknowledged. “Now, if you should be successful in carrying this little affair through and procuring for me a compartment in the train, or, at any rate, three first-class seats, I would show my appreciation of the fact that the charges of a miracle-monger must necessarily be high. I should hand over to you, Joseph, a sum which would roughly represent a thousand pounds in English money. I should look upon it as being necessary to dispense a considerable portion of this amongst the officials of the railway company—what proportion I should have to leave to your judgment. The balance of the thousand pounds would belong to you. Miss Grey,” he added, turning round, “the equivalent of one thousand pounds sterling in reichsmarks, if you please. Now, Joseph,” he concluded, “I would suggest that before your luncheon hour you take a little carriage down to the railway station, fill your pockets with cigars and interview your friends.”

      “The guard of the train,” Joseph reflected, “will be at his house for his day off before the journey. He is a very good friend of mine. Something, of course, might be arranged, but the station authorities will also require a little special information. The length of the train is probably already prodigious. I think your idea is a good one, Mr. Mildenhall. I will see what I can do personally. In any case sir,” he wound up, picking up his cap from the chair, “if I fail I shall have to introduce a new word into my vocabulary. I shall report as soon as possible. Fräulein, Herr Mildenhall, Herr Blute, I wish you good morning.”

      “One of nature’s dictators,” was Charles’s only remark after the door was closed.

      CHAPTER XVII

       Table of Contents

      The church clock on the other side of the square struck eleven as Joseph left the salon. Charles glanced at his watch with a slight frown.

      “At what time was Fritz to report to us this morning?” he asked.

      There was the same faint trace of uneasiness in Blute’s expression as he answered.

      “Half-past ten he was to have been here. If that clock is right it is eleven o’clock.”

      The frown upon Charles’s forehead deepened.

      “It isn’t like Fritz to be even five minutes late,” he remarked. “You took him to the night market after you left me, I suppose?”

      Blute smiled at the recollection.

      “I not only did that but I took him round to the stalls. First of all we bought the largest basket you could imagine and then Fritz, who knew what he was about, I must say, filled it. I won’t disturb your early morning appetites with all the details, but there was sausage, there was ham, there was pâté, there was jam, there were rolls, butter, wine, beer—everything you can think of. Then I bought a little cheap crockery and packed him back in the taxi. He had made up his mind to stop and share the feast, I think, but anyway he promised to visit them early this morning with coffee and rolls and be here punctually.”

      “At what time was he to have been here?” Charles asked again.

      “At half-past ten. Still, the streets are very-crowded and he might easily be held up.”

      “Will my adorable secretary telephone down and ask if the taxicab for Mr. Mildenhall has arrived?” Charles suggested.

      Patricia obeyed with a slight grimace. She set down the receiver a moment later.

      “Your man has just arrived,” she announced. “He is on his way up.”

      They were all a trifle uneasy and there was a prompt response to the expected knock at the door. A glance at Fritz as he entered the room was sufficient to show them that something had happened. He was walking with a decided limp. He closed the door behind him carefully and advanced to the centre of the room.

      “What’s gone wrong?” Charles asked anxiously.

      “Ach, mein Herr,” Fritz faltered, “I do not think that it was my fault. Wait, and I shall tell my story. The service steps are steep and I did not take the lift. I didn’t want to attract any attention.”

      “What is the trouble?” Blute demanded.

      “I will tell my story,” Fritz repeated.

      Charles made a sign towards the door. Blute hurried over and locked it. Fritz pointed to him.

      “Together,” he began, “we bought much that was good last night to eat and to drink. The Herr Blute left me and I drove back to where the two Gestapo were waiting for me. All seemed well. I opened the door quietly. The two were playing cards by the light of the torch. When they saw the basket they howled with joy. The German was like a wild animal. My cousin—he is thin to look at but he eats as no other I have ever seen. I opened the wine, put out the crockery the Herr here had bought and I took leave of them. My cousin, he wished me good night without looking up from his plate; the German, his mouth was too full to speak. They never even looked out as I passed through the door. They were safe. I locked them in.”

      Fritz paused for breath. His voice was becoming steadier. He leaned forward.

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