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21 Greatest Spy Thrillers in One Premium Edition (Mystery & Espionage Series). E. Phillips Oppenheim
Читать онлайн.Название 21 Greatest Spy Thrillers in One Premium Edition (Mystery & Espionage Series)
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isbn 9788026849964
Автор произведения E. Phillips Oppenheim
Жанр Языкознание
Издательство Bookwire
Charles, in accordance with the very sage advice of Marius Blute and his temporary lady secretary, Patricia Grey, descended a short time later by the crowded lift to take luncheon in the restaurant of the great, luxurious hotel. He stopped short, however, on the threshold of the American Bar. If the presence of the lady who was its sole occupant had anything to do with his hesitation, he was too late. Already the Baroness was waving her hand. He continued his progress into the room and raised her fingers to his lips.
“A divine chance!” he murmured.
“And you,” she exclaimed, and those beautiful eyes were full of reproach, “you are here in Vienna and we meet by accident!”
His moment of irresolution passed. There was not the slightest suggestion of self-consciousness about her manner. It was plain that the result of their little duel had ceased to rankle.
“Baroness,” he replied, “an accident indeed, but I am running for my life. Something tells me that it would not be healthy for an Englishman to be found in Vienna to-morrow night.”
“But you were here the night before last,” she complained. “You took your coffee with the Princess Sophie.”
“It is true,” he acknowledged. “She was gracious enough to send over a message asking me to join her for a few minutes.”
“So you remember the last time you met her?”
“I shall never forget it. You sat on my right hand. The Princess Sophie was opposite. We were the guests of that delightful man—Leopold Benjamin. You drove me home and, alas, you developed a very unfortunate curiosity about that catalogue I was carrying away.”
“You were very obstinate and very unkind,” she said. “No wonder I had completely forgotten you.”
“We are quits, then,” he remarked, “because that would have been an act of even greater unkindness.”
“There is no doubt whatever,” she acknowledged, “that for an Englishman you have a very glib tongue.”
“I have also a very susceptible heart.”
“Call it fancy.”
“Fancy is a delightful word,” he reflected, “and perhaps we do overtax that other organ a little. Am I permitted to offer you a cocktail?”
“Why not?”
Charles shivered as she selected a cherry brandy. He himself asked for a small Martini.
“You do not approve of my taste in apéritifs?” she queried.
“Nor in my sex,” he replied. “That is to say if your luncheon companion is to be the gentleman who looked in here and disappeared a moment ago.”
“You mean Lieutenant von Hessen? He may not be a very agreeable person but he is interesting.”
“Really?”
“I mean it,” she continued. “You probably do not know that he is in the German Intelligence Department.”
“I should never have believed that he was qualified for the post if you had not told me so.”
“Stupid!” she answered, smiling. “He only asked to be presented to me because he had heard that I was an acquaintance of Leopold Benjamin’s.”
“Why on earth is everyone so interested in poor Benjamin?”
The Baroness yawned.
“Why do we talk of these foolish things after our long separation?” she murmured.
“I am not so sure that they are foolish. My time in Vienna is short. I arrived here late at night. In the morning the impulses of my civilized life assailed me. I remembered that dinner and I started out to leave my card of ceremony at the Palais Franz Josef.”
“You found no one upon whom to leave it!”
“Neither man nor house,” he replied. “I cannot say that I was surprised. If the Germans really expected that Mr. Benjamin would sit there and wait to be arrested they were very foolish. He must have known what would have been in store for him. He probably had plenty of cars and planes and he took his leave. Why are your German friends angry at that? Probably, if I were caught wandering about the streets here in a couple of days, I should be placed in a concentration camp. I should very much dislike to be placed in a concentration camp. That’s why I am hurrying home. Worse things, far worse things, might have happened to Mr. Benjamin. He might have been dropped into a fortress and it is just possible that he might never have been seen again. No, I don’t think Mr. Benjamin ought to be blamed for having hurried away.”
She leaned nearer towards him, although the room was still empty except for the barman.
“I think,” she confided, “that it was not his flight so much that they disapproved of. They rather expected that. It was what he took with him.”
“Of course, I have heard no particulars about his leaving,” Charles said slowly. “It still seems to me a little crude to destroy a magnificent specimen of historical architecture like the Palais Franz Josef. They would have done better to confiscate it.”
“I should think that they did it,” she continued, still in the same undertone, “in case by any chance there had been some secret spot in the mansion where some of his treasures might have been hidden.”
Charles did not attempt to conceal his expression of incredulity.
“Secret hiding-places of that sort do not exist nowadays,” he said. “Benjamin’s house had been completely modernized and all traces of the old portion had vanished. In their place it possessed shower baths, racket courts, music rooms and all manner of luxuries. Baroness, alas, I fear I must take my leave. For the second time your prospective host has looked in here. A Nazi lieutenant in the German Army, even if he should only be in the Intelligence Department, must not be kept waiting by a British civilian.”
The Baroness played a false card.
“But you are not a British civilian,” she rejoined. “You are a major in the Dragoon Guards—one of the British crack regiments.”
“And how did you know that?” he asked swiftly.
She looked up at him with a little pout. Underneath the caress of her eyes he knew very well that she was annoyed with herself.
“I heard it somewhere. It must have been at the old Embassy. Perhaps you are right about the Lieutenant, though. I have kept him waiting already a quarter-of-an-hour. Shall I see you again?”
He shook his head dolefully.
“Alas, Baroness,” he said as he held her fingers for a moment to his lips, “I am compelled to say—I hope not. I am moving heaven and earth to get away by the eight o’clock train to-morrow. If not I shall be in trouble.”
“I will hide you,” she whispered.
“You have heard before now what happens to the men of my country in the world,” he said sorrowfully, “when they hide under the skirts of the ladies of their hearts after their country has declared war. But Baroness,” he added, after he had risen to his feet, “before we part there is one question I would like to ask.”
“I have no secrets from you.”
“Why were you so anxious to secure possession of my present from Mr. Benjamin, so anxious that you came back to my hotel and stole it?”
“I was piqued. Mr. Benjamin had promised me a copy of his marvellous catalogue. He had one copy left and he chose to present it to a stranger. It was not like Mr. Benjamin. It was an ungallant action.”
He seemed dissatisfied.
“It seems an insufficient reason,” he persisted. “What is the use of the catalogue without the pictures?”
“The