VON STROMBERG
“There has been no word?” asked the officer in German.
“None, Excellenz.”
“You stationed your men as I directed?”
“Yes, Excellenz”
The officer paused. And then, “Send Herr Hauptmann von Winden the moment he arrives.”
The man saluted, wheeled and went out, closing the door noiselessly behind him. The tall figure regarded the door fixedly for a moment in deep thought, and then tapped the back of his left hand with the fingers of his right, a habit he had when things were not going to his liking. General Graf von Stromberg, Privy Councilor to the German Emperor and head of the military sections of the Secret Service, was not a person accustomed to have things go wrong, and delay of any kind annoyed him exceedingly.
But the door of the room opened and a young officer in uniform appeared and stood awaiting the will of his superior. He was blond, ruddy and well set up and bore all the marks of the army training—a member beyond doubt of the military caste with something in the clearly cut, if somewhat arrogant, features of his face which suggested good blood and lineage.
“Ah, Herr Hauptmann!” said the General, frowning. “You have heard?”
“Yes, Excellenz. He should be here by midnight.”
“What was the cause of the delay?”
“He was forced to come down at Ostend, yesterday. It has taken him all day to make repairs. He is on the way now.”
Von Stromberg grunted and sank into his chair at the table, motioning the younger officer into one beside him.
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