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

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still slim and alert in his manner, hastened across the room towards Elida, bowed in perfunctory fashion and broke into a stream of rapid German. Two or three younger men also pushed their way into the bar and ranged themselves by his side. Elida rose slowly to her feet, curtsied and resumed her place.

      “You are a disgrace to your name and your family,” the angry newcomer wound up. “Of your relationship I am ashamed.”

      “The shame is on my side,” Elida answered indignantly. “I should feel it in the case of even an acquaintance who would attempt to brawl with a woman in a public place. If you have anything to say to me which you have not already said through Von Salzenburg and Maurice von Thal, please find another opportunity.”

      “What are you doing with this American?” the other demanded.

      “That is entirely my affair.”

      “I am inclined to make it mine,” was the sullen reply. “Americans are not welcome in Germany just now. We wish to be left alone to settle our own affairs.”

      “You do not like Americans?” Fawley asked softly.

      “I hate them.”

      “Perhaps that is to be understood,” Fawley observed. “Unfortunately, I am in the same position with regard to Germans—of your type. I don’t exactly see what we can do about it.”

      There was a tense silence for a moment. Outside in the restaurant the music, too, had paused. It was as though every one had recognised the fact that there was trouble afoot. One of the younger men in the group stepped forward and tendered his card to Fawley. The latter made no movement towards taking it.

      “Sir,” the intervener declared, “you have insulted one who does me the honour to regard me as a friend. You insult me also if you refuse my card.”

      “What am I to do with your card?” Fawley asked.

      “You give me yours,” the other replied, with a flash in his eyes. “By to-morrow morning you will know.”

      Fawley accepted the card, tore it in two and flung the pieces from him.

      “It is time the world had finished with such theatrical trash,” he observed calmly. “I happen to have earned the right to refuse to fight with any one, as you can see for yourself, if you consult an American army list. In the meantime, I suggest that you allow me to take the Princess to her table and I will return to discuss the matter with you.”

      Elida passed her hand through his arm. She knew most of these men who had entered and she was very determined that Fawley should leave with her.

      “Since you have reminded me of our relationship,” she said, turning towards the man who had first addressed her, “let me beg you, for the sake of your name, to avoid anything like a brawl. Major Fawley is a distinguished guest and I believe a well-wisher of your country.”

      The music outside was still silent but there was a curious shuffling of feet upon the dancing floor. The main curtain was abruptly thrown back, a party of the young men who had followed Behrling into the restaurant made their appearance. They entered quietly, without any sign or word of menace, but they were a formidable-looking body as they ranged themselves around the bar. By some manoeuvre, or it may have been by chance, they spread themselves out between Elida and her angry relative. In dead silence, although to the accompaniment of a cloud of evil looks, Fawley and his companion passed out of the room.

      CHAPTER XVII

       Table of Contents

      Almost before they had stepped on to the dancing floor, the shock came. There was the sound of a shrill, penetrating whistle from a distant corner, two sharp revolver shots, and within another second the whole room was enveloped in darkness. For a moment or two the music continued, the dancers swayed against one another, a moving phalanx of half-laughing, half-terrified humanity, groping their way through the perfumed obscurity. Then a woman’s hysterical cry following those two reports struck a note of fear. Somewhere in the middle of the floor a woman fainted, calling out wildly as she collapsed…A powerful hand gripped Fawley’s arm, a man’s voice whispered in his ear:

      “I lead you. Hold my wrist and the Princess.”

      Fawley for a moment hesitated. It was obvious that there was some sort of trouble on hand. Elida whispered in his ear.

      “It is Gustaf who speaks. Do anything he says.”

      Behind them in the darkness was the sound of something which was like a concerted movement—the steady shuffling of purposeful feet. From the corner near where they had been seated and in the vicinity of which the two shots had been fired, they could hear the low moaning of a wounded man. Some one on the dancing floor lit a match and thrust the tiny flame almost into the faces of the man and woman by his side, only to blow it out quickly, as though he realised that the two were not the people whom he sought. Fawley hesitated no longer. With his arm still around Elida, he suffered himself to be led between the tables towards the side exit and down a passage leading into the street. Underneath the flare of an electric standard a line of cars was ranged along the curb. Gustaf opened the door of one and literally pushed them inside. The car moved off at once. A familiar voice greeted them from the corner.

      “My dear Princess and Major Fawley, I owe you the most profound apologies. Gustaf is in despair. His restaurant has practically been seized by the members of a political party who would be delighted to involve me in a scandal—or worse.”

      “We heard shots,” Fawley remarked.

      “They were meant for me,” Behrling said grimly. “Gustaf had a secret message and he hurried me off. It is not for myself I fear. It is for the cause.”

      “Who was responsible for putting out the light?” Elida asked.

      “An asinine crowd of young bloods,” Behrling replied contemptuously, “all blindly following that middle-aged roué. As a matter of fact, it was the best thing that could happen for us. Gustaf was able the easier to manoeuvre our departure. By the by, Fawley, if this is going to be the bad night that they threatened us with, what about putting you down at your Embassy?”

      Fawley shook his head.

      “Sorry,” he regretted. “For the moment I am not engaged in my country’s interests. I can claim no privileges.”

      “You are not by any chance in disgrace with your own people?” Behrling asked curiously.

      “Not in the least,” Fawley assured him. “I simply asked for a job, found there was nothing doing, and took on a mission of observation for a friendly power.”

      Behrling nodded.

      “What happened in the bar?” he asked abruptly.

      “Nothing really happened,” Fawley replied, with a smile. “Nothing except threats, that is to say. A gentleman of the student type offered me his card and reminded me of the ancient institution of duelling.”

      “What did you do with it?”

      “He tore it up,” Elida intervened.

      Behrling nodded approval.

      “In the new Germany,” he muttered, “there will be no duels. The blood of every citizen will be needed for the nation.”

      “You think that there will be war?” Fawley asked.

      Behrling peered curiously through the obscurity of the vehicle.

      “Is that not already determined upon? There may be war and unless Berati makes the one unpardonable mistake, the map of Europe will be altered. I have no more to say. Here is your destination. You have made me no promises, Major Fawley. You have spoken no word of approval. You have given me no hint as to where your sympathies lie. Yet I have a feeling of satisfaction. I am glad that we have met.”

      He

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