LITMIR.BIZ

      CHAPTER XXIV

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      The grim hand of tragedy was suddenly lifted. Charles’s depression disappeared. He was unexpectedly aware of a glow of happiness. It certainly was not the appearance of the trim, broad-shouldered Mr. Blute who had wrought the change. It was the sight of the girl by his side in the neat travelling coat, smart little hat and graceful carriage, whose unrestrained cry of joy and upraised arms had brought the thrill into his pulses and lifted the weight from his heart. Charles was not in the least a demonstrative person but it seemed the most natural thing in the world to stoop down and kiss the eagerly lifted lips, to smile into those beautiful dancing eyes and draw her hand underneath his arm.

      “It’s awfully nice to see you people again!” he exclaimed. “How goes it, Blute?” he added, dropping his voice.

      “So far according to plan,” was the impassive reply.

      Charles’s relief shone out of his face.

      “Excellent,” he chuckled.

      “It seems ages since yesterday,” Patricia sighed. “But oh, how wonderful all this is!”

      They were crossing the road slowly towards the Schweizerhof, unnoticed units of the crowd. She was laughing now at the discomforts of the journey.

      “Nine people in the compartment,” she confided. “No water to wash in, wine and biscuits for lunch. Everyone eating horrible messes, windows that opened with difficulty—English, French, a few Austrians and dozens of Americans all jumbled up together. Everyone talking at the same time. But Mr. Blute as silent as the Sphinx. Charles, will there be any danger?”

      “Not a hope, I should think,” was the cheerful reply.

      “Who cares?” she laughed. “We shall be in Switzerland to-morrow—the land of plenty. Charles, do you love Switzerland?”

      “To look at—not to live in. I shall probably love it passionately to-morrow for a short time.”

      “Mr. Benjamin used to say that he got nearly the best food in the world at Geneva. What do you think, Mr. Blute?”

      Blute was watching the crowd amongst whom they were slowly making progress. His eyes seemed to be studying every person there. He walked like a man self-absorbed yet always watching.

      “Switzerland is a great country,” he conceded, “but a little difficult to get into, except during the tourist season. There are times when it is equally difficult to get out of.”

      They reached the hotel. The same state of confusion prevailed. An angry crowd was besieging the telephone booth—journalists, a French professor who was frankly pushing people out of his way in his anxiety to reach the closed door, a screaming woman and two students with knapsacks on their backs who were loudly lamenting their interrupted holiday. Blute turned away in disgust.

      “I shall try the manager’s room,” he whispered to Charles. “Come this way for a moment.”

      He led them down the passage. A perspiring little waiter greeted Blute with a grin. The latter caught him by the arm and made a few rapid enquiries. He turned to Charles.

      “This fellow says there is not the slightest chance of any dinner. The manager himself is dining off the last tureen of soup in his room here. There is plenty to drink, though. I have ordered you two a vermouth and cassis. Will you both pass out through the door in front into the garden? The waiter will find you there.”

      Blute, who appeared to be perfectly at home in the place, knocked at the manager’s door and disappeared. Charles and his companion passed on into the grounds, which were rather reminiscent of a tea garden in a London suburb on a Bank Holiday. People were lying about on the lawn and every seat and bench was occupied. One man with a map in his hand was already lecturing about the war; another, an exiled Pole, was making a furious attack upon England and France who, he said, had guaranteed his country and then were going to declare war a fortnight too late to save her. Charles and Patricia found a grassy bank at the far end of the lawn where they seated themselves and looked tolerantly out upon the scene. The French professor, finally ejected from the room which contained the telephone box, was striding up and down in silent fury. The waiter who had recognized Blute came running across the devastated stretch of turf. He had a bottle in each of his coat pockets and he carried three glasses.

      “Vermouth and cassis,” he announced to the two as he paused breathless. “Herr Blute—he ordered.”

      Charles took the bottles from him.

      “Vermouth and cassis,” he remarked. “It’s a good enough drink, Patricia. How much for the three, waiter?”

      “Five francs, Monsieur L’Anglais.”

      “How much for the two bottles?”

      “Twenty francs.”

      Charles handed out the money, added five francs and motioned him away. The waiter departed, his face wreathed in smiles.

      “Delicious!” Patricia exclaimed, sipping hers.

      They drank a glassful each. Charles also nodded his approval.

      “The civilized person,” he observed, “becomes awfully narrow about his drinks. If I lived to be a hundred I should never have ordered a vermouth and cassis. Here comes Mr. Blute. We’ll mix his.”

      Blute approached them, walking a shade more quickly than usual, but otherwise preserving his attitude of stony abstraction. He accepted his drink, however, and sipped it appreciatively.

      “I regret to say,” he announced, “that there is not a room to be had in the hotel. For forty people the lounge is reserved. The dining hall being empty—there is no food here to be served—it is also turned into a dormitory. Two American tourists, students from Grenoble, a man and a girl on their honeymoon, have commandeered the billiard table. There seems really to be not an inch of space vacant. I did not book rooms in advance because having done so for Mr. Mildenhall I did not wish it to appear that we were travelling in his company.”

      Charles laughed gaily.

      “You’re over-scrupulous, my friend,” he declared. “I still hope to be in London only a day after I was expected, and when I am on the sort of mission I have been engaged on during the last two months I make my own plans and choose my own company.”

      “They would not have been able to keep the rooms, in any case,” Blute remarked. “The people on the first train forced their way in.”

      “And things otherwise are going all right?” Charles asked, a lingering note of anxiety still in his tone.

      “Everything goes like clockwork. The guards have permission to sleep in the van. That I arranged in Vienna. They brought their food with them. I paid them a farewell visit just before we reached this place and found them at their posts perfectly satisfied and ready for anything. The guard of the train has already taken possession of the cases which are supposed to contain the effects of the victims and he assures me that there is not the faintest chance of trouble with the Customs. I shall not worry any longer about these by-way telephones. We shall go through to Zürich and from there I know I can ascertain Mr. Benjamin’s whereabouts.”

      “In the meantime I have an idea,” Charles said. “We mount from here to my bedroom. There we can talk undisturbed. Afterwards, naturally. Miss Grey will occupy it. You and I, Blute, can easily sleep out of doors if necessary.”

      “I could sleep very well where we are,” Blute assented, “but your room will be an excellent refuge for a short time. I don’t fancy this mixed crowd of people all around us.”

      They rose to their feet and made their way through the uneasy mob into the hotel and up the stairs. Charles unlocked his door and threw open the windows.

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