Wallace Intervenes (3 page)

‘Tell me about yourself, Mr Foster,’ she begged. ‘Are you also a Member of the Parliament?’

‘Good Lord, no,’ he returned with more force than politeness ‘I beg your pardon,’ he added hastily. ‘I did not mean to be so vehement, but I can imagine few things more futile than being a Member of Parliament.’

‘Oh, but why?’ she asked. ‘Surely an ambitious man would have his hopes centred on a position in the Cabinet, and what could be greater than to be one of those governing your country?’

‘Few can attain to such heights,’ he told her, ‘and fewer still succeed in arriving before their best days are over, and they are half-senile, doddering old men.’

She laughed.

‘Your sentiments,’ she declared, ‘are very much like those of Elsa.’

‘Well, it’s the truth,’ he persisted. ‘Young, energetic, enterprising men are kept back to a ludicrous extent in this country. The old hang on to their jobs like grim death, and are terrified lest a younger man gets a foot into the nest they have made so comfortable for themselves. It is not only the case in Parliament. The same thing applies in the big firms, even in sport.’

‘You sound as though you are bitter about these gentlemen.’

‘It is because old men who are long past their best hold the reins in this country,’ he went on, ‘that we have become such an unenterprising nation.’

‘I wonder if Britain is really so unenterprising,’ she mused.

‘Of course it is. You belong to a nation that is far more enterprising and go-ahead. I sometimes think you Germans must smile at our futility.’

‘I am not a German, my friend!’

He turned and looked at her, surprise showing in his face. She noticed that, for once in a way, his eyes had lost their customary sleepy look; decided that he was far more alert that she had supposed, and liked him the better for it.

‘Not a German!’ he repeated. ‘Why I thought—’

‘My husband was a German,’ she told him. ‘I am an Austrian – a Viennese. But you have not told me yet what profession is yours.’

‘I am a gentleman of leisure,’ he replied with a half-ashamed grin. ‘I was in the Guards, but resigned my commission. There is not much fun in soldiering in peacetime.’

‘You would like a war?’ she asked quietly.

‘Heaven forbid!’ he cried earnestly. ‘I hope there will never be another war.’

‘My feelings are exactly as yours in that matter,’ she declared. ‘Another war would be too terrible to contemplate.’

For some minutes she spoke lightly with several people who had strolled up, while Foster rose and stood impatiently waiting for them to go. His impatience was not assumed. He wanted to have her to himself in order that he could gradually allow her to see that he was becoming infatuated with her. His desire to be alone with her was not altogether from a sense of his duty. She fascinated him; he found her a very charming companion. It seemed, however, that his wishes were doomed to disappointment. No sooner did one person or party wander away than another approached. At last, when they were again alone for a few seconds, very daringly he suggested that they should seek a place free from interruption.

‘I have never met anyone quite like you, Baroness,’ he explained hastily, ‘and I should very much like to be able to talk to you without others constantly butting in. It’s horribly selfish of me, I know, and please tell me if you think I have stopped with you long enough.’

While he was speaking her eyebrows rose slightly, and he feared for a horrible moment that he had offended her. Then she smiled gloriously, and rose.

‘You shall find a quiet spot,’ she agreed, ‘but I cannot give up too much time to you, Mr Foster. I have a duty to my host and hostess which I must not neglect. Where shall we go?’

Rather surprised that she had acquiesced but decidedly elated, he led her out into the gardens, which had been decorated with innumerable little coloured electric lights and in which cane chairs and tables had been placed. Many of the guests had sought relief out there from the heat of the crowded rooms, but Foster found two chairs and a little table in a secluded position in the midst of a clump of rhododendrons. The early June moon looked placidly down from a clear sky, like a benevolent deity keeping watch and
ward over puny mankind. The baroness sank into her chair, with a little sigh of pleasure; accepted a cigarette from her companion.

‘It is delightful out here,’ she decided; then, after a short pause; ‘So you have no profession. That is a great pity, Mr Foster.’

‘I suppose you think I am a waster,’ he murmured ruefully.

‘No; I do not think that. It would be foolish of me if I did. It does not require great perception to know that you have much character and many good qualities. But like many of the young men of these times you regard life from a wrong angle. You are too quiescent – I think that is the word I need. A little while ago you spoke of the men who continue to hold the power in their hands, and keep younger and more energetic men out. You like others, resent it. Yet you take no steps to alter these things.’

‘What steps could we take short of staging something like a revolution?’

‘It would need no revolution to force the men in power to recognise you and your rights. Supposing that all the men in this country below the age of fifty, no matter what profession is theirs, united together and demanded recognition, what would the result be? Why, my friend, the government would no longer remain in the hands of those who have grown old and weary, the army and navy would not be controlled by officers who lack energy and enterprise because age had taken its toll of them; the courts would not be presided over by judges and magistrates whose minds were no longer alert. The same thing would apply to all other professions and trades. The young would hold all predominant posts. I do not mean the too young. A man is at his best from the age of thirty until fifty – perhaps to fifty-five. After that he should be content to retire, and make way for a younger personality. After all, when one has worked hard for thirty years, one deserves to enjoy leisure. It is in
my mind that there would be little unemployment if fifty-five were universally considered the retiring age. There would be no necessity for what you call the dole. The money put aside for that would be paid out in pensions to those who had worked hard and deserved it. I feel that you young men who grumble are to be blamed. You would only have to assert yourselves in unity to obtain your rights. It is not fair to scoff at the lack of enterprise in those who hold the power, when you yourselves are so much unenterprising as to permit them to do so.’

‘I suppose you are right, Baroness,’ agreed Foster, thinking at the same time that he, at least, was a member of a service – perhaps the most enterprising and successful in the world – which was entirely controlled and in the hands of comparatively young men. The oldest member of the staff was Maddison, then about forty-six. Sir Leonard Wallace himself, he knew, had recently only reached his thirty-eighth birthday. Perhaps, however, it was unfair to think of the Secret Service as a shining example of youthful enterprise, when it was a profession in which only youngish men could be expected to succeed. The hazardous nature of its demands, the strain, the difficulties could only be faced and endured by men physically and mentally in perfect condition. Foster felt a little bit ashamed at having given the baroness the impression that he had no profession. The more he learnt to know her, the more he hated deceiving her. He wondered what she would think if she discovered the truth. ‘But in your own country,’ he went on, ‘there are many men holding important positions who are well over the age of fifty-five.’

‘If you are referring to Germany,’ she returned a trifle coldly, ‘I wish you to remember that it is not my country.’

‘But—’ he commenced, and paused for a moment abashed. He
wondered why she persisted in her assertion that she was not a German. ‘You do not consider,’ he queried presently, ‘that your marriage to a gentleman of German nationality made you of that race?’

She shrugged her dainty shoulders.

‘According to law – yes, but not otherwise. I am an Austrian, and very proud of it, Mr Foster, even though my poor country has been divided up and impoverished until it is almost obliterated. The heart of Austria still beats fervently and firmly, and you must not think, like so many people, that Austria and Germany are names very nearly synonymous. But to resume our discussion, you say there are many men holding important positions in Germany who are over fifty-five years of age. You are incorrect to say many. It is certain that there are fewer than in this country. Those who govern are nearly all young men.’

‘What about the President?’ he asked.

‘Ah!’ she exclaimed, and he could see the gleam of her little white teeth, as she smiled. ‘He is little but a figurehead. A great man – that was. He is content now to leave all to a younger and more virile man.’

‘The Chancellor is a great friend of yours, is he not?’ asked Foster greatly daring.

She was silent for a while.

‘Yes,’ she murmured at length ‘he and I are very good friends. He is an Austrian also,’ she added, as though in explanation.

‘But not, I think,’ he remarked quietly, ‘as fervent an Austrian as Baroness von Reudath.’

‘Perhaps not,’ she agreed. ‘He could hardly be expected to be under the circumstances.’

They were silent for some moments.

‘I wonder,’ ventured Foster at length, ‘why you have been so
kind to a dull nonentity, as to sit out here with him, when there are so many interesting men and women present only too anxious to claim your attention.’

‘I do not consider you a nonentity at all Mr Foster,’ she replied, adding frankly: ‘I like you, otherwise I would not have come here with you. Perhaps also I am a little tired of talking politics and entering into the tortuous paths of diplomatic conversation. You see I am not trying to hide from you the fact, which is well known, that I have been concerned in political affairs in Germany. It would be a useless evasion, would it not? I am well aware that at the reception tonight are many who would like me to talk of Germany in the hope of learning something from me. Out here with you I am free from that, at peace, and in very pleasant company.’

‘It is nice of you to say that,’ he murmured.

‘It is nice of you,’ she corrected gently, ‘to spend your time with me when, I am sure, there are many charming girls anxious for your society.’

‘There are none here half as charming or as beautiful as you, Baroness,’ he whispered.

She laughed softly.

‘S’sh! Do not pay me such compliments – I like sincerity in my friends. Compliments without sincerity are very cheap, Mr Foster.’

‘What I said was sincere – nothing could be more so, Baroness,’ he assured her earnestly. ‘I meant every word.’

‘So …’ She was silent for a moment, and he thought to hear a little sigh. ‘I believe you,’ she murmured presently. ‘Thank you, my friend. Now we must return to the house. I am afraid we have already stayed away from the others too long.’ They rose, and she took his arm. ‘I had almost forgotten I am young also,’ she confided. ‘You have made me remember.’

‘I am glad,’ he told her with simple sincerity. ‘Presently I shall be separated from you by more important people. Before I am forced to take leave of you, may I make a request, Baroness?’

‘Of course. What is it?’

‘I badly want to call on you. May I?’

She turned her face towards him and, in the moonlight and the illumination cast by the little lamps, he saw that she was smiling gloriously.

‘I shall not forgive you, if you do not,’ she vowed. ‘As perhaps you know, I am staying at the Carlton. I shall expect you tomorrow at four, Mr Foster.’

‘How did you get on with the baroness?’ asked Mrs Manvers-Buller, a little later.

‘Splendidly,’ Foster assured her.

‘I’m so glad. Be as kind as you can to her, Bernard. She’s a dear girl. Your job is not too pleasant, is it?’

He stared at her with incredulous eyes.

‘Then you know?’ he gasped.

‘Of course I know.’ She smiled at him. ‘I know a very great deal. Perhaps that is why I am so anxious that Sophie should not be hurt.’

‘I won’t hurt her, Elsa, if I can possibly help it.’

She patted his hand affectionately.

‘I know you won’t. I can’t understand what she sees in that von Strom. He certainly seems to have blinded Sophie pretty effectively. One of these days, though, Bernard, everybody’s eyes
will be opened at once; then our friend the Marshal will fall with a bump that will shake Germany from end to end.’

‘Elsa,’ came in plaintive tones from Major Protheroe, ‘need you stand flirting with that young fellow before my very eyes, when I am longing to take you into the garden.’

‘I haven’t said yet that I want to go with you into the garden,’ she retorted.

Nevertheless she went. Foster was left on his own. Instead of rejoining the circle of his own intimate friends, he also wandered out once again on to the lawn. He felt he wanted to be alone, to think. Unconsciously his steps took him in the direction of the remote clump of rhododendrons where he and the baroness had sought seclusion. There seemed no one in that part of the gardens, and he was about to make his way to the chair he had previously occupied, there to sit, smoke, and think in peace, when the murmur of voices caught his ears. He pulled up abruptly, rather surprised that the sequestered little spot was occupied after all. He decided that he had almost interrupted a lover’s tête-à-tête, and was glad that the soft, springy turf had silenced his footsteps. He was about to creep quietly away, when he caught a name, followed by a phrase in German. For a moment he stood irresolute; then approached closer to the rhododendron bushes on the side behind the chairs and stood listening. The phrase in German coupled with the name of Mrs Manvers-Buller had decided him. He knew that the baroness was in the house; had seen her taking refreshments with a crowd of other people just before he had emerged. Who else but she would be likely to talk German, and why was the name of Mrs Manvers-Buller mentioned? He disliked eavesdropping, but this seemed to be a case of necessity. It would be easy enough to retreat once he had ascertained that he was listening to a harmless
conversation. There followed a silence so prolonged that he began to wonder if the occupants of the chairs had moved away or had heard him, and were keeping quiet on purpose. Suddenly, however, someone laughed.

‘Why are you amused?’ asked a woman’s voice in German.

‘I was thinking,’ came in the deeper tones of a man speaking the same language, ‘of the indignation of the little Sophie, if she knew that her movements were being watched by you and me. His Excellency does not like this tour of hers at all. He was particularly against her coming to England.’

‘And you really think Frau Manvers-Buller is likely to be a bad companion for our Sophie?’

‘My dear, it is known that the lady is the great friend of Herr Wallace, and we all know of the position he holds in this country. Who is to say that she does not act for the British Secret Service? It is no secret that the baroness and the Supreme Marshal are extremely friendly, and that he goes to her, and sometimes confides in her, perhaps under the force of his passion for her, for it is believed that he loves her deeply. Frau Manvers-Buller may quite well attempt to obtain from the baroness the secrets that have been confided to her.’

‘Then she will fail,’ replied the woman. ‘No secret that is ever imparted to Sophie will be revealed without permission. She is staunch, and you know it. I hate this unpleasant task of following her about, and periodically searching her belongings. It is one thing to be of the espionage service, but quite another to be forced to spy on a very sweet woman simply because she
might
divulge something which His Excellency wishes to be kept secret. You and I know that it is nothing of any great importance we also know that this Frau Manvers-Buller has been friendly with Sophie
since she was a child. Why then should she be suspected simply because Sophie has come to England, and because she happens to be friendly with the Chief of the British Secret Service? It is all a great waste of time, Carl.’

‘Perhaps you are right. Nevertheless, His Excellency has given the orders, and it is for us to obey.’

‘A fine man he is to give orders for the woman he is supposed to love to be spied upon!’ The contempt in the woman’s tone was unmistakable.

‘S’sh, Hanni! What sentiments are these? If you said that in Germany, you would be likely to get into serious trouble.’

‘We are in England, not in Germany.’

‘But you will be returning, and then—’

‘And then you will report what I have said! Is that so?’

‘Certainly not,’ protested the man. ‘You do me a great injustice. Do you not know how deeply I love you?’

‘About as deeply as the Supreme Marshal loves Sophie, I suppose. You men, whether the highest or the lowest, are all the same. Women are fools to trust you. Sophie, no doubt, has great belief and trust in His Excellency. Yet he has her spied upon. I tell you, Carl, I am sick of the business, for I have become very fond of Sophie.’

‘What harm is there in it so long as she does nothing to betray the confidence reposed in her? If she does, it will be our duty to act. In that case I feel sure you will be the first to do your duty.’

There was silence for a few moments.

‘How did you come here?’ asked the woman.

‘From the mews at the back. It was easy.’

‘Why did you come?’

‘Because at such a function as this people are more likely to
endeavour to worm from the baroness what is not hers to tell.’

‘You could not trust me to keep watch on her?’

‘My dear Hanni, two are always better than one. Also, I was not sure that you would be brought. It is not usual for a maid to accompany her mistress to receptions.’

‘You know very well that I always do. She likes to have me at hand to attend to her in case of necessity. It has been so since her illness.’

‘And why is it that I find you wandering in the garden?’

The woman gave vent to a sound of impatience.

‘Have I not already told you that I followed her and the young man, and listened to their conversation here?’

Foster started.

‘Yes; that is so,’ agreed the man. ‘It was entirely innocent, you say?’

‘Entirely innocent, my suspicious Carl,’ was the reply, delivered in mocking tones. ‘I am beginning to believe you are anxious that the baroness should do something wrong.’

‘By no means, Hanni. I would regret it very much if she committed any action inimical to Germany.’

‘Well, she has not, and will not.’

‘Who was he – the young man sitting here with Sophie?’

‘My friend, how do I know? His name I did hear, but I have forgotten it. As I told you, Sophie was telling him that he and the young men of England should assert themselves and not grumble because the old men hold all the good positions. It was delightful to hear her advising him like a mother. But I do not think that one could ever be assertive. He is too unintelligent and sleeping-looking. One of those who live for pleasure and nothing else.’

This time Foster smiled broadly. It was rather refreshing to
discover the opinion the German woman had conceived of him.

‘I must go in,’ he heard her say. ‘Soon the guests will be departing. Next time, when the baroness goes to a reception or a party, Carl, I advise you to leave watching her to me. There was no sense in coming in here. What could you do?’

‘Well, what are you doing?’ grumbled the other.

‘Sitting with a man,’ retorted the woman tartly, ‘who is keeping me from my duty both to my mistress and to His Excellency. Perhaps I shall have something to say when we return to Berlin about the foolishness of my comrade.’

‘I am only doing what I conceive to be my duty.’

‘Conceive it in a more sensible manner in the future. You will look rather ridiculous if you are caught here.’

‘I will not be caught,’ was the confident reply. ‘I will sit here until the guests are gone, and all is silent; then I will quietly go away.’

Foster, however, had other ideas. The discovery that the baroness was being spied upon by orders of the very man who gave her his confidence had roused a feeling of utter contempt in him. Like the German woman, he was inclined to say, ‘A fine lover indeed!’ But was von Strom Sophie’s lover? From the very depths of his heart Foster hoped that he was not. The very thought gave him a sense of dismay; he hated the idea of any man having anything but the purest relationship with the girl he had already learnt greatly to admire. Of one thing he was convinced: the Baroness von Reudath must have been the recipient of very important secrets of the German Supreme Marshal, despite what the people he had overheard had said, otherwise, why should it be necessary to spy on her? It appeared that Sophie, after all, possessed the information which it was Foster’s duty to collect. More than ever
now his task appeared distasteful to him. But it was his intention to put a stop, if he could, to the activities of the man who had so confidently stated that he would not be caught. He did not wish to appear himself in the affair, because of his future actions, but he knew Major Brien and Sir Leonard Wallace were present at the reception. He had caught sight of them once or twice. Perhaps he would be able to get hold of one of them, and tell him before the fellow moved from his retreat. Waiting until the German maid had gone, Foster crept quietly towards the house. He was fortunate. The guests were departing, but he came upon Major Brien talking to a friend in an alcove. A Secret Service man engaged on a mission does not openly speak to another he may meet who is not in the case with him. But there are methods by which they indicate that they wish to communicate with each other. Foster passed close by Major Brien softly whistling a certain tune. He took no notice of his superior, but walked on into a little room which he found vacant, and entered. There he waited. In less than two minutes Brien strolled in; closed the door behind him.

‘Well?’ he queried in a low tone.

Foster plunged quickly into a succinct account of the conversation he had overheard, concluding by repeating the man’s statement that he would wait where he was until the way was clear.

‘I thought,’ went on the young man, ‘that it might be a good idea, sir, if he is discovered and arrested for trespassing. It would then mean that the baroness would for the future be watched by one person only, and one who is more or less sympathetically disposed towards her.’

Brien shook his head slowly.

‘As soon as the woman knew that her fellow spy had been apprehended,’ he declared, ‘she would inform her employer, and
someone else would be sent to take his place. It is much wiser to allow this fellow to go free, unsuspecting that he is known; then, for the future, you will have the advantage of knowing him as well as the woman when you see him, and can be on your guard accordingly. You obtained a glimpse of him, of course?’

Foster’s jaw dropped. He had been too full of the idea of having the fellow arrested for trespassing to think about endeavouring to see what he was like. He confessed his omission very apologetically. Brien frowned a trifle, but did not reprimand him.

‘You’d better get back as quickly as you can,’ he ordered, ‘and do your best to repair the error. You may be in time. Be careful he does not see you or suspect your presence. Afterwards go to Sir Leonard’s house and, if he is not there, wait for him.’ Foster hurried away without another word. As the door closed behind him, Brien slowly shook his head as though stricken with a feeling of doubt. ‘I wonder,’ he murmured to himself, ‘if his lack of experience is going to let him down on this job!’

Feeling a little dismayed and rather annoyed with himself for failing to see the matter from the same angle as had Major Brien, Foster returned to the gardens, and stealthily made his way in the direction of the clump of rhododendrons. He made up his mind then and there that, in the future, he would weigh up every possibility before taking action. He had been given a demonstration on how risky it was to act on impulse; wondered why it had not occurred to him that it would be a great advantage to know the spy, also that the fellow’s arrest would only mean his being replaced by another whose identity was unlikely to be revealed to him. He reached the great clump of evergreen shrubs without making a sound, and positioned himself where he knew he was bound to see the German when he emerged. The moon had
set, but the multitude of little electric lamps still remained alight, and would provide ample illumination to enable him to obtain a very fair view of the trespasser. Several minutes passed by, and he began to fear that the man had already gone. Gradually a feeling of despair began to take possession of him. What a fool he had been to lose an opportunity which, he now realised, would have meant so much to him in the future. He was young and inexperienced, and perhaps may be forgiven for almost permitting a groan to escape from his lips at the thought that he had blundered right at the beginning of his first big job as a Secret Service agent. It was fortunate that he suppressed it.

Nearly a quarter of an hour had passed, and he was quite certain in his own mind that the German had gone, when suddenly, without warning, a man stepped into the open, glanced cautiously about him, and went hurriedly but with stealthy tread towards the mews at the rear. A great wave of relief surged through Foster, as his eyes eagerly took in an indelible, though perhaps somewhat blurred, portrait of the fellow who had been sent to watch the Baroness von Reudath. He was of medium height, rather stockily built. A soft hat was drawn low over his forehead, but, as he had looked up towards the house, Foster had glimpsed a clean-shaven, hawklike face, with large gleaming eyes and flashing teeth. Above all, a scar ran from the lobe of his left ear to the point of his chin. The Secret Service man was satisfied that he would recognise the German again anywhere. As he knew his first name was Carl and would also recognise his voice, he now felt no fears for the future.