Wallace Intervenes (18 page)

‘The mystery of the disappearance of two Bavarian guests,’ commented Cousins, ‘will probably cause a good deal of conjecture.’

‘Not if the authorities trace us to this hotel,’ retorted Wallace.
‘It will look rather obvious why we have come and gone so quickly. They will merely think that we had got wind of the fact that they were after us. I’d rather like to know how they will regard the escape from Potsdam. I only hope it won’t cause them to suspect an attempt at rescue, and thus be more acutely on the
qui vine
than ever. Now we’ll dine, then get the car and go to Potsdam.’

Casting a final look round to make sure that nothing of an incriminating nature had been left lying about, Sir Leonard unlocked the door, and looked out. The corridor was deserted, and they descended to the lounge, where the chief ordered cocktails. The assistant manager caught sight of them as they sat waiting for the drinks to arrive.

‘Good evening, Herr Commander,’ he bowed. ‘You are back I see.’

‘It is evident,’ replied Wallace drily. ‘My friend and I are not dressed for dinner, as you observe. Kindly give orders to the head waiter for a table to be kept for us in a secluded part of the dining room where our attire will not be noticeable.’

‘It shall be done, but there are others who have not dressed. The Herr officer and his friend have no reason to feel embarrassed.’

‘We shall not feel embarrassed,’ murmured Sir Leonard in English to his companion when the manager had departed, ‘but I am not anxious for us to be particularly noticed.’

In his character of the gross-looking man with the fierce moustache, Cousins had taken a room in the Fürstenhof. As he had not been back there the previous night, and had left no message to explain his absence, it was thought advisable for him to show himself for fear comment might be caused by his disappearance. Thither, therefore, the two repaired after dinner and, meeting the manager, Cousins confided to him that he had had a rather hectic
night, as a result of which he had spent the day sleeping off the effects at a friend’s house. The man laughed.

‘You visitors to Berlin,’ he commented, ‘certainly do enjoy yourselves when you come here. By the way,’ he added, ‘a lady has several times telephoned for you today. She would not leave her name or a message. I was informed because you could not be found and your room had not been slept in last night.’

Cousins was barely able to repress a start of surprise. He stole a glance at Sir Leonard to find the latter smiling genially. The information must have equally disturbed the chief, but, if so, he showed nothing of it.

‘Ah, ha!’ he laughed. ‘One of your peccadilloes seems to have found you out, Otto.’

‘It seems like it,’ agreed Cousins ruefully. ‘Did she say nothing,’ he asked the manager, ‘to give a clue to her identity?’

‘Nothing at all. The last time she telephoned was at about four.’

‘I see. Thank you.’

Left alone, he and his chief repaired to a quiet corner of the smoking room.

‘This is intriguing and highly disconcerting,’ murmured Sir Leonard, appearing to be the least concerned of men.

‘Who on earth can she be?’ whispered Cousins.

‘I am afraid conjecture is rather hopeless. It seems to me that someone has somehow got on your track, Jerry, unless it was Miss Meredith ringing up from the embassy. She knew you were staying here and the name under which you are going. But surely she would not be so foolish as to do a thing like that.’

‘If she had something urgent to communicate, sir, surely she would be more inclined to get in touch with you. She is—’ He stopped abruptly as a page boy poked his head into the almost
empty room, and called a number. ‘Mine!’ he ejaculated, and beckoned the boy to him.

He was informed that he was wanted on the telephone.

‘You’d better find out who it is,’ muttered Wallace
sotto voce
. ‘Be careful!’

As Cousins hurried away in the wake of the boy, Sir Leonard’s hand involuntarily sought the pocket in which he had placed an automatic pistol when in his room at the Esplanade Hotel. A few minutes later Cousins was back. He slid into his chair quietly.

‘It was the same woman apparently,’ he whispered; ‘she would not give her name – says that she had something of the utmost importance to tell me, and insisted upon coming round here at once.’

‘H’m!’ grunted Wallace. ‘I can’t say I like the sound of it. Still it is necessary to find out what it is about. I had better make myself scarce. If someone has tumbled to you, there may be still a possibility that I am unsuspected. Have you any idea how long she will take to get here?’

‘She said she’d be here in five minutes, sir.’

‘Then you’d better place yourself in a prominent position in the lounge, where she can’t miss you. I’ll go and get the car and wait for you a little way along the Potsdam-Platz on this side. If you don’t join me by nine I’ll go on. Good luck, Jerry.’

The two men quietly and unobtrusively gripped hands. Both knew that that might be the last they would ever see of each other. If Cousins’s real identity had been discovered, his first duty as a Secret Service man would be to endeavour to cover all traces of his unsuspected colleague, even at the cost of throwing away his liberty and disappearing from the ken of his country and his companions without seeking or expecting the slightest
assistance. It was a poignant moment for both, but they smiled cheerfully at each other. A few seconds later Sir Leonard left the smoking room. He walked out of the hotel in a casual manner, but was actually very much on the alert to note whether he was being observed. Taking the most elaborate precautions to avoid being followed, he eventually arrived at a garage in a turning off the Unter-den-Linden, quite certain that no attempt had been made to trail him. There he found a closed car awaiting him that had been arranged for by Gottfried. The driver was a man who looked as much a German as Gottfried himself, but was just as British, and belonged to the rank and file of the Secret Service. He was a member of the Guides Association, and very well known in the districts of Berlin, where tourists gather. Sir Leonard nodded to him, entered the car, and directed him to drive to the Potsdam-Platz, and draw up a little way from the Fürstenof.

After the chief had left him, Cousins sauntered into the lounge, and took up his position in a place where he could see and be seen by all who entered the hotel.

Only two or three minutes had gone by, when a young woman, perfectly dressed in an evening gown of emerald tinted tissue and carrying a black Spanish shawl on her arm, appeared. She stood for a moment gazing round her; then, catching sight of the disguised Englishman, hurried towards him. He recognised the beautifully waved brown hair, lovely complexion and blue eyes of the girl who had been the companion of Marlene Heckler and Colonel Schönewald on the night the latter had invited Foster to join the party at the Gourmania. She was Fraulein Hilda Zeiss. Involuntarily he stiffened. This appeared rather worse than he had anticipated. Marlene Heckler was one of Germany’s greatest secret
agents, a woman who was reputed to have an amazing knowledge of members of the espionage corps of other nations. It was not too much to imagine that Hilda Zeiss, who was so often her companion, was also employed in Germany’s Secret Service. She reached him, and, glancing round her in a manner that suggested anxiety, spoke in a low voice.

‘You are registered here as Otto Bräun, am I not right?’ she asked.

‘That is my name, fraulein,’ he replied easily. ‘I must confess that I am intrigued by this visit.’

‘Take me somewhere where we can speak without being seen or heard,’ she directed.

‘My room would be the best place for that,’ he remarked dubiously, ‘but—’

‘We shall go to your room then,’ she decided.

Hesitating for a moment, he shrugged his shoulders and escorted her to the lift. A little later they were in the privacy of his own apartment with the door closed on them. She sank into a chair, while he stood two or three yards from her, regarding her curiously.

‘I have been trying to find you,’ she commenced, ‘since noon today. It would have been better for you had you not returned to this hotel. As it is, I am here to warn you to leave at once and, if you can, get away from Germany.’

‘Why, fraulein?’ he asked, becoming more deeply interested than ever.

‘This is no time for pretence,’ she told him, her eyes holding his eagerly. ‘I know your proper name is not Otto Bräun. I also know you are not a German.’ She leant forward, and suddenly spoke in English. ‘You are an Englishman who is suspected of being a
prominent member of the British Secret Service, and your name is thought to be Cousins.’

The little man felt as though his whole world was tumbling about his ears. For a moment the room seemed to be whirling dizzily round him, but not by the flicker of an eyelid did he betray himself. Instead he smiled and twirled his fierce moustache.

‘This is very amusing,’ he commented, persisting in speaking German. ‘I am afraid you have made a very grave mistake, fraulein.’

She clicked her tongue impatiently.

‘Very well,’ she decided, reverting to German herself. ‘Since you intend being obstinate, I must convince you. Two nights ago you were at the Gourmania. You sat at a table next to one occupied by Colonel Schönewald, Fraulein Marlene Heckler and myself. Lest you do not know it, I must tell you that Marlene is in the espionage service of Germany. She has made it her speciality to know as many of the agents of espionage of other countries as possible. She knows Herr Cousins well by sight. When Herr Foster, who was suspected of being friendly with the Baroness von Reudath for the purpose of obtaining information from her, joined our party you stumbled against him on your way out. Whether it was an accident or intentional I do not know, but Marlene, who is always suspicious, sent a man to shadow you, find out who you were and all about you. She has many ways of communicating directions like that to others. A man or woman, or perhaps both, of her service are nearly always close by wherever she goes, and a finger raised, a nod of the head, or some other indication which nobody but they observe, gives them their instructions. You were followed, therefore, to this hotel, and information regarding you obtained. It was discovered that you had come from Budapest, which in itself was enough to rouse in Marlene greater interest
than before, for Herr Foster and the Baroness von Reudath had also come from that city. Yesterday morning you were followed to the residence of the baroness, where you were seen to be keeping watch. When she went to the Esplanade Hotel you followed. Afterwards, when Colonel Schönewald took her to Potsdam to the Wannsee Prison, you followed again. But on that journey you were also trailed by Marlene herself, who had been informed of your activities by that time. You had lunch in the Polast Café at Potsdam and, while you were eating, you were under observation by her from behind a curtain in an adjoining compartment. What it was that made her guess who you were I do not know, but she is certain that you are Herr Cousins of the English Secret Service. When you left Potsdam, trace was lost of you – perhaps you suspected that you were being followed, and took steps to put those trailing you off the scent. I do not know, and it is of no concern of mine—’ Cousins could have informed her that he had gone to Gottfried’s establishment, and, in accordance with the strict rule of Sir Leonard Wallace that a Secret Service man visiting a branch of the firm of
Lalére et Cie
must on all occasions, whether on duty or not or convinced of freedom from surveillance, take the utmost precautions, had travelled in no less than three different taxicabs, over circuitous routes, and had visited several shops during his progress, always emerging by a different door from that by which he had entered. He felt a great wave of relief now at the recollection of his caution. ‘Watch, however, was kept on your hotel,’ went on the girl, ‘and much concern caused by your non-appearance. Before taking any steps against you, Marlene desired to be quite certain that she was right, and she was much troubled by your disappearance.’

He eyed her thoughtfully.

‘May I know,’ he asked, ‘who you are, and why you tell me this?’

She shrugged her shoulders.

‘It does not matter much who I am,’ she returned, ‘but perhaps you will be more convinced that I mean you no harm if I tell you that Colonel Schönewald is much upset at the treatment that has been meted out to Baroness von Reudath and Herr Foster. He knows that Herr Foster and the baroness are deeply in love with each other, and considers that, if you are indeed Herr Cousins of the English service, you will no doubt be eager to help them. In that case, though he can do nothing, he is desirous of thwarting Marlene in her efforts to have you apprehended. Today, anticipating that you might return here, he succeeded in withdrawing the men who were watching this hotel for you, but he cannot keep them away for long lest suspicion fall on himself. He asked me to telephone and, if you came back, to make an appointment with you, and warn you. I have done as he desired.’

‘What interest have you in the affair?’

‘The same as his. I feel as he does, you see,’ she added simply. ‘I am his fiancée. My name is Hilda Zeiss.’

Cousins rubbed his chin reflectively. The situation called for a good deal of thought. On the face of it she must be telling the truth. There could be no reason for her to come and inform him of Marlene Heckler’s activities except the one she had given; that is, to warn him. He felt a glow of gratitude to her and to Colonel Schönewald. It did not take him long to realise the risk they were running. They must be very certain of his identity, otherwise they would not have dared to have been so open with him. Had it chanced that Marlene Heckler had made a mistake the consequences to them of admitting so much to a genuine Otto Bräun would have been disastrous.

‘Presuming that you are correct,’ he remarked, ‘with what object has this warning been conveyed to me?’

‘I have told you,’ she replied quickly. ‘Leave this hotel at once and, if you can, get away from Germany. Once in England you can
bring pressure to bear for the release of Herr Foster from the mental home in which he is confined. Alas! Neither you nor anyone else can help the poor baroness. She is doomed. Today commenced her trial for treason. It is being held secretly, and is expected to last for three days. Colonel Schönewald does not know actually of what her treason is supposed to consist, but he says there is no hope for her – she is certain to be condemned to death.’

Tears rose quickly to her eyes as she spoke. Cousins felt tempted to tell her that the trial was over, and that the baroness had been sentenced to be beheaded early the following morning, but he refrained.

‘If I happened to be the Herr Cousins of whom you have spoken, Fraulein Zeiss,’ he observed earnestly, ‘I would always feel most deeply grateful to you and the Herr Colonel for the risks you have run to warn me. I would also take your advice.’

She smiled and rose.

‘I understand,’ she murmured, ‘and I am very glad. Now, Herr Cousins – I mean, Herr Bräun –’ she smiled again ‘– I must go. I am not very brave, and all the time I am here, I am very much in a state of fear for myself.’ She held out her hand and Cousins took it warmly.

‘There seem,’ he murmured, ‘to be several very noble ladies in Germany.’

He let her out, deciding that it would be safer for her if she left the hotel without his seeing her to her car. When she had gone he stood for a moment or two in deep thought, then quickly he opened his suitcase, took out certain articles, including a revolver, which he might need, and laid them ready on the bed. After that he stripped off the clothing he was wearing, removed the padding, and rapidly attired himself in another suit, becoming once again
his own slim self. His own extraordinarily creased and mobile countenance was now visible, too. Rapidly he darkened his skin, taking care to rub the stain well up his arms and down under his collar. This done he wound a muffler round his neck, placed a pair of horn-rimmed glasses on his nose, and a soft hat on his head, after which he surveyed himself in the mirror. He saw a studious though somewhat wizened Indian gazing earnestly at him, and was satisfied. The change of disguise would pass muster for the time being, he decided. People looking for a fat man with a fierce moustache and bristly hair would hardly glance twice at an inoffensive-looking Indian student. The articles he had laid out on the bed were one by one tucked away in his pockets. He had taken care to leave nothing that might suggest that he had altered his disguise. The suit of clothing he had discarded was hung in the wardrobe, the padding was stuffed well up the chimney. He chuckled a little to himself at thought of what would happen if it remained undiscovered until the weather became cold in the autumn or winter and the then occupier of the room had a fire lit.

A glance at his watch showed him that it was ten minutes to nine. He would just have time to join Sir Leonard. With great caution he opened the door and glanced out. A chambermaid was walking away from him some distance along the corridor. There was nobody else about. He slipped out, shut the door, and hurried to the stairs, avoiding the lift purposely. He reached the lounge unobtrusively, and was glad to note that it was crowded. Nobody took any particular notice of him – Indians in Berlin are not uncommon. Walking casually to the entrance he received a shock. A car drew up outside, and from it descended Marlene Heckler, Colonel Schönewald, and two Nazi troopers. Cousins stepped quickly behind a pillar, and they passed within a few feet of him.
He noticed that the young Colonel looked a little perturbed and worried, and guessed the reason. He was wondering if the man to whom he had sent the warning had yet had time to get away.

‘Just did it,’ murmured Cousins to himself, ‘thanks to you, Schönewald.’

A minute later he was outside the hotel sauntering in aimless fashion towards a large closed car drawn up to the kerb a little distance away. Several times he paused to look in the shop windows, thus making sure that he was not being watched or followed. He came abreast of the car and standing well within view of the man in the interior, whistled softly an air which British Secret Service men the world over make use of to indicate themselves to each other. Almost immediately the motor moved slowly and silently away. It disappeared round a corner, and Cousins continued his apparently purposeless stroll. He reached the turning and entered a narrow bystreet almost completely deserted. The car was waiting for him a few yards away, the door partially open. He walked along, took one quick, comprehensive look round, and skipped nimbly inside. At once the powerful saloon glided away. Purposely it was driven round side streets, doubled on its tracks, and underwent other manoeuvres to safeguard it from possible pursuit. Satisfied at length that all was well, the driver headed in the direction of Potsdam. Neither Sir Leonard nor his companion spoke until Berlin had been left behind; then the chief eyed his companion thoughtfully.

‘Well?’ he queried.

Cousins told him all that had occurred, and Sir Leonard listened with a frown on his forehead.

‘Worse than I thought,’ he commented at the end of the recital. ‘I should like to know how Marlene Heckler found out who you
really are. I have always heard she was particularly astute and dangerous – she has certainly given us a proof of her shrewdness. One can understand now why such precautions are taken to guard the baroness, and keep all unauthorised persons away from Wannsee Prison.’

‘I rather fancy the hue and cry for Keller and Minck,’ observed Cousins, ‘is likely to be keener than we anticipated, sir.’

Wallace nodded.

‘Much keener,’ he agreed. ‘It is comforting to know that we got rid of those disguises so quickly.’

He spoke as though it were sheer chance that had caused them to revert to the characters they had previously portrayed. Cousins smiled.

The two were silent most of the way to Potsdam. Sir Leonard who, all the time, appeared extremely thoughtful, once looked at his companion to remark:

‘I have been trying to discover if it is possible that Schönewald and Hilda Zeiss could have had some ulterior motive in arranging to warn you. I am quite satisfied, however, that their intentions were honest. No matter which way one studies the situation, their object appears convincingly altruistic. The knowledge that they are deeply in sympathy with the baroness may be very useful to us before we are through with this business. In fact, I have a feeling that it will be. You did very well to alter your disguise with such promptitude, Jerry. If you hadn’t, you would be in or on your way to a German prison by now. Possibly I would have been with you.’ Cousins eyed him reproachfully, but said nothing. ‘Ah, well!’ added Sir Leonard with a sigh, ‘even if we have another danger to avoid, we do know it exists, which is something. I only hope Marlene Heckler doesn’t get
on your – or rather our – track before we rescue the baroness.’

‘Do you think there is a possibility she may, sir?’ Sir Leonard shrugged his shoulders.

‘A woman who was clever enough to see through your very excellent disguise is capable of a good deal. It all depends upon what she thinks you were watching the baroness for. If, as I suppose, she considers it was for the purpose of making an attempt to obtain from her the information she possesses, she will probably think you have been properly baulked now. On the other hand, like Schönewald, she may have an idea that you are desirous of helping Foster and the baroness. In that case, I shouldn’t be surprised to find her turning up in the neighbourhood of the prison sometime tonight. If so, she must not see you. Eyes that saw through the more elaborate disguise will not have much difficulty in penetrating your present one – even at night.’

The car turned down a mere track between the trees not far from the prison. There it drew up, and the lights were extinguished. Leaving Cousins and the driver there, and warning the former to be keenly on the alert, an order which he well knew was quite unnecessary, Sir Leonard walked away in the direction of the palace that had shed its ancient glories to become a political gaol. It had grown quite dark by that time, but when opposite the grim entrance gate, he found there was sufficient illumination thrown on them from a great lamp suspended above to enable him to see all who entered or left. He took up his station in the midst of a dense mass of shrubbery, and waited.

He had just looked at his watch to find its luminous dial indicating twenty minutes to eleven, when the wicket gate opened with a clatter of chains and the squeak of rusty hinges. A woman appeared and the door immediately closed again behind her. For
a moment or two she stood looking about her indecisively; then set off down the road in the direction of the town. Sir Leonard stepped cautiously from cover, and followed her without a sound, keeping always to the deeper darkness. He allowed her to get some distance from the prison before overhauling her. A little flash lamp, very much of the shape and size of a fountain pen, was now in his hand, and when within a few yards of her he switched it on. A brilliant ray of light stabbed the darkness; was almost at once extinguished. A little choking cry of fear came from the woman, while a bitter sense of disappointment pervaded the whole being of the Englishman. She was Hanni. The Baroness von Reudath had not escaped.

‘It is all right,’ he encouraged her. ‘It is I – the man who spoke to you last night. What has happened?’

‘How you startled me I – I thought – oh! I do not know what I thought.’ She paused, then with a little sob, added: ‘You see, I have failed. I did all I could, but it was useless. They would not even let me see her tonight. I spent nearly half an hour pleading with the governor, but it was hopeless. They were guarding her in a manner most extraordinary – just as though they were expecting an attempt to be made to rescue her.’ Her voice faltered, and again came a sob. ‘She – she is to be executed in – in the morning – she and Fraulein Reinwald.’

‘I know,’ returned Wallace gravely.

He guessed she was staring at him; attempting to pierce the darkness in an effort to see his face.

‘How do you know that? Who are you?’ she whispered.

‘I have means of knowing these things, but do not fret, fraulein; you have done your best, I am sure! We shall now have to take other measures. Come! I have a car hidden among the trees.’

They reached the car. Cousins was immediately by Sir Leonard’s side, enquiring hopefully whether he had the baroness with him. He spoke in German, and his chief replied to him in that language. The little Secret Service man’s disappointment was very great when he learnt of the non-success that had attended Hanni’s venture. Wallace stood for a long time thinking over a desperate scheme, which he now knew was the only hope left. Nobody interrupted him. The driver sat at the wheel like a graven image, Hanni sank to the running board of the car, and buried her face in her hands, Cousins stood by, alert, eager, ready to enter at once into a discussion concerning their future arrangements, but making no attempt to speak to the man he was confident would yet save the baroness and Dora if it were humanly possible. He could just dimly discern the motionless figure before him. Sir Leonard stood in a favourite attitude, his artificial hand, as ever, in his jacket pocket, his right caressing his chin. At length he became suddenly galvanised into life.

‘There is no time to lose,’ he declared sharply. ‘We must get back to Berlin.’

‘What are we going to do now, sir?’ ventured Cousins.

Hanni looked up eagerly, waiting almost breathlessly for the reply. More than ever she wondered who this man was who was treated with such respect by the other. The driver, no less eagerly, abandoned his statuesque pose, and turned his eyes on the shadowy figure of the famous Chief of the British Secret Service.

‘There is only one thing left to do,’ remarked Sir Leonard in English, and Hanni gasped. ‘You and I, Jerry, are going to interview von Strom. It is he who will rescue the baroness and Fraulein Reinwald.’

Cousins stiffened, stood as though he thought his chief had
become suddenly bereft of his senses, then he laughed quietly to himself.

‘Poetic justice!’ he murmured. ‘“Far from her peril free she strode, Saved by him who had flouted her.”’

Hanni sprang to her feet; grasped Sir Leonard convulsively by the arm.

‘You are English,’ she cried in her own language. ‘Now indeed I have great hope. You are perhaps friends of Herr Foster. But it is useless to go to His Excellency. He will not listen to you. He is without pity and mercy. You will only suffer if you do that.’

‘You leave it to us, Hanni,’ was his reply. ‘I do not fancy he will have very much choice.’

He bade her enter the car, Cousins followed and, after giving the driver instructions, Sir Leonard sprang in. A few seconds later they were speeding back to Berlin. A powerful car passed them a mile or so from Potsdam, and in the fleeting glimpse of its passengers he was able to obtain from the headlights of his own vehicle, thought to recognise Marlene Heckler and Major Wilhelm. He frowned a little but said nothing. Hanni was dropped near the Brandenburg Gate, and told to be there again at three in the morning. She was to wait until four; then, if nobody came for her, to return home. Wallace heard her utter a fervent prayer for his success as the car glided on its way. It stopped close to the Esplanade Hotel, and he descended. He had rapidly outlined his plans to Cousins, as a result of which the little man went on to the garage, there to wait in concealment until Sir Leonard joined him again. The latter approached the hotel very unobtrusively. He did not anticipate that he, like his assistant, had come under suspicion, but he had no intention of taking any chances. He succeeded in reaching his room unobserved; entered, his hand immediately seeking the automatic
in his pocket. There was no cause for alarm. It was vacant, and showed no signs to his keen eyes that it had undergone a search.