The Yellow Dove/Chapter 11

 

CHAPTER XI
VON STROMBERG

IN the Taunus range north of the Schwartzwald, lies the village of Windenberg, on the slopes of the well-wooded hills that lead by slow stages to higher elevations of the Grosser Feldberg. In the valleys are vineyards, orchards, chestnut and almond-groves and in times of peace, the people are contented, well-to-do and industrious. The schloss of the Counts von Winden stands upon an eminence and looks down upon a rolling country of velvety woods extending for miles along the slope of the range. In this region of firs and beech trees one might walk for miles off the roads without coming upon a sign of human habitation, or indeed without passing the boundaries of the von Winden estate.

But three miles from Winden Schloss well hidden among the hills was a spot of cleared land containing perhaps two hundred acres which had been once used by the von Winden family as a farm, but had been taken since the beginning of the war by the State for purposes of its own. A good road led to Windenberg five miles away through the forest, but much secrecy attached to Blaufelden, as the place was called. Men of the Imperial Forest Service kept guard upon all the roads, and no one but those having official permission were allowed to come within two miles of the place.

A visit would have soon explained the reasons for this extraordinary care on the part of the men in uniform, for not far from the house and stables, unobtrusive buildings of brick and stone, were aviation sheds, a well-supplied garage and storage houses, which indicated at almost any hour of the day or night a military activity.

Within the farmhouse of Blaufelden, rather late in a night in March a tall iron-gray figure, slender, buttoned to the neck in a close-fitting uniform coat, paced slowly up and down. A plain wooden table stood in the center of the room. It was lighted by a lamp with a green shade and covered with papers arranged in orderly piles. There were chairs, strongly but simply made, and a sad-colored rug, and the walls were decorated with pictures of hunting scenes, while over the stone fireplace in which the pine logs intermittently blazed, there was a colored lithograph of the Emperor of Germany. It was the kind of room, and the kind of furniture one would expect to find in any of the rural districts of the great empire, with the one difference that nowhere was there visible the touch of a woman’s hand. Whatever its original purpose the room at the present moment contained only the essentials of the barest comfort. And the figure of the man in uniform, erect, silent and austere, completed the impression which the barrack-like simplicity of his surroundings created—order, cleanliness, efficiency expressed in the simplest terms.

The German officer stopped pacing the room and touched a bell upon the table. His brows were furrowed and his broad capable hands tapped impatiently among the documents. His summons was answered almost immediately by a man in the uniform of the Jägers, the Imperial Forest Service, who stood silently his heels together awaiting orders.

“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.

“Come, sit down. Let’s forget that we are parts of the intricate machinery of State. Here is a cigar. Smoke. It will do you good.”

Von Winden, flattered by this mark of condescension, obeyed.

“You are glad?” von Stromberg asked.

“Yes, Excellenz. I am glad. It is not the kind of thing one wants to be worried about—one’s own flesh and blood. But I knew there must have been a mistake.”

General von Stromberg puffed his smoke toward the ceiling and stretched his long legs upon the floor.

“It is very curious. I am not sure that I understand. Herr Rizzio is a careful man and he has much at stake. Why should your cousin Hammersley have refused to take cognizance of his credentials?”

“He had doubtless good reasons of his own. But since he will soon be here he will answer your questions himself. The fact that he comes at all, Excellenz, should be proof of his loyalty.”

“Yes,” said the General thoughtfully. “That should be true. One doesn’t thrust one’s head into the lion’s mouth for the mere pleasure of examining his teeth. Who sent this message?”

“General von Betzdorf.”

“There were no other wireless communications?”

“None, Excellenz. But Stammer should reach Wilhelmshaven tonight.”

The General smoked silently for a moment, and then:

“Herr Hammersley’s mother was a Prussian?”

“Yes, Excellenz, a sister of my mother——”

“Yes, I remember now. Von Eppingen——” the General muttered, his brows wrinkled. And then, “You saw much of your cousin?”

“For a while he went with me to the gymnasium, then to the University of Heidelberg. He has come over each year and shot with me here at Windenberg.”

“You are fond of him?”

Von Winden shrugged.

“He is my relative. We have always got along. I should not have cared to find that he was a traitor.”

The General smoked silently, his gaze on the fire.

“But his father was an Englishman, Graf von Winden. We can’t forget that. Tell me. You have known him always. What was his attitude at the University? Did he show a real affection for German life and customs? In short was he ever able to forget that half of him was English?”

Udo von Winden pulled at his small blond mustache thoughtfully.

“I can only say that he was quieter than most of us. But he was popular. He was a member of the Saxe-Borussia and represented the Corps on the Mensurboden against Suevia and Guestphalia. A Prussian for all that any of us knew— Prussian of Prussians.”

“His father died when he was quite young, I believe?”

“Yes, Excellenz. But his father, too, had lived much in Germany. He was a diplomat and scholar and enjoyed the friendship of the Iron Chancellor. That was before the ‘Hassgesang,’ Excellenz.”

“Or before the ‘Tag,’” growled the General. “Your loyalty to your cousin is natural, but loyalty to the Vaterland——”

Udo von Winden rose quickly.

“You would not suggest, Excellenz——?”

“Quatsch! Sit down, Captain. I suggest nothing. There are merely some phases of the question which puzzle me. Perhaps when he arrives he can explain them.”

“He will explain. I will stake my honor on it.”

“I trust so. This is hardly a time when my department can afford to make mistakes in the character of those in its employ.”

“But, Excellenz, you surely have no cause to doubt the exactness of the information he has furnished you!”

“It depends upon what you mean by exactness. Our information, as you know, comes from a number of sources. Some of it has proven valuable—some useless. Herr Hammersley’s has been neither the one nor the other.”

“But the British fleet at Cuxhaven——”

“Yes, he gave us that, but they came two days earlier than we expected. It cost us the Blücher.”

“But you knew that the orders were changed—and he sent a wireless——”

“The morning the Blücher was sunk,” said von Stromberg dryly.

“But, Excellenz, he gave us a clear sea for the raid on Falmouth!”

General von Stromberg rose and laid his hand on von Winden’s shoulder.

“You are younger than I, Graf von Winden. The Secret Service makes a maxim to believe everyone guilty until he proves his innocence.”

“But Herr Hammersley?”

“We have reason to believe that the British Government permitted the raid on Falmouth, as a means of increasing the enlistments.” He slowly paced the floor and then said reassuringly, “Oh, I merely question—I merely question——”

His words trailed off and Udo von Winden stood silently until he spoke again. “Oh, very well. We shall see—we shall see.”

A knock at the door and an orderly entered.

“Well?”

“Dispatches, Excellenz.”

Udo von Winden watched his superior officer as he dismissed the man and broke the seal of a large envelope and read, the lamplight playing on his long bony features, giving his sharp nose a peculiarly vulture-like avidity. The importance of the communication was obvious, for the small eyes under the heavy thatch of brows flamed in sudden interest. The General read the paper through quickly and then slipped it between the buttons of his coat.

“That will be all, Herr Hauptmann——” he said, with a return of his military abruptness. “You will go at once to the hangar and await the arrival of Herr Hammersley.” And as the officer moved toward the door: “Also, you will first tell Herr Hauptmann Wentz that I wish to see him at once.”

Von Winden clapped his heels together, saluted and went out while the General paced the floor of the room again tapping the back of his left hand with his right. “It is curious,” he muttered to himself. “A coincidence perhaps, but strange. And yet—possible.”

While he was reading the document again Captain Wentz entered. He was short, thickly set and dark with a blue chin and heavy eyebrows, the type of a man who rises in the service from sheer ability. He waited at the door, immovable, in the presence of the great man until ordered to approach.

“An important message has come from the Wilhelmstrasse, which indicates a mission of peculiar importance.” The General paused a moment, his keen eyes searching Captain Wentz with a terrible tensity, but the face of the younger man remained expressionless. He was merely a piece of machinery—excellent machinery.

“You may have thought it curious, Herr Hauptmann Wentz, that I should have come from the Wilhelmstrasse to Blaufelden. Is it not so?”

“It is not my duty to think, Excellenz, unless ordered to do so,” said the other briefly.

The General smiled. The answer pleased him.

“I wished to see Herr Hammersley, as you know. That is important, and the Yellow Dove cannot go to Berlin.” He stopped and then went on quickly: “Herr Hauptmann, you have been attached to the Secret Service Department three years?”

“Yes, Excellenz.”

“You have performed several important duties and have won promotion. I am now about to commit to your care, a——”

At a gesture of von Stromberg’s thumb the officer went on tiptoe to the door and opened it quickly.

“No one, Excellenz.”

“Good. Now sit. First, you speak French without accent.”

“That was a part of my qualification for this service.”

“Yes. It is in my mind to give you an important mission—one which will require great skill and fortitude.”

Wentz listened attentively, but he made no comment.

“It is unnecessary of course to warn you to hold what I tell you in the strictest confidence.”

“I do not talk, Excellenz.”

“This is a matter of grave importance to the Empire, a matter which concerns one of the enemies of the Vaterland. The safe delivery of certain dispatches which I am to receive may mean a readjustment of the European situation—perhaps the end of the war with Germany victorious and England humiliated.”

The eyes of Captain Wentz grew a little rounder and sparkled ever so slightly, but he said nothing.

“I am telling you this that you may know the importance of the duty I am giving you. It is an honor which I hope you will appreciate, an honor that may lead to greater favors than you have hitherto received.”

“I hope I may deserve them, Excellenz.”

General von Stromberg took the paper from his breast and glanced over it again.

“You will remember,” he continued, “the affair of the Socialist, Gottschalk?”

“I knew nothing of the details, Excellenz. That matter came in the duty of Oberleutnant von Weringrade.”

“This much then, only, I need tell you. Herr Gottschalk, who lived at Schöndorf near here, came into the possession, in a manner which need not be described, of certain important papers. He kept them for some time, not aware of their importance, and then realizing their value and being a good German, though opposed to the war, two weeks ago communicated with the Government. The result of this correspondence was a summons from Berlin and the delivery of these papers into the hands of the Emperor. Do you follow me?”

“Yes, Excellenz.”

“This letter which I have just received by special messenger informs me that His Majesty has decided to act at once, and gives me three days in which to make arrangements to have these papers, which will be forwarded tomorrow, delivered to General Dalmier, commanding at Verdun, to be handed before a certain date, to the President of the French Republic. You are to be the bearer of those letters. They must be delivered personally. You will be provided with the proper passes and facilities, including an armed escort to the French lines. From there you must trust to your own resources. The important matter is that no one, not even Captain von Winden, shall suspect your mission. Perhaps now you will realize the confidence I am reposing.”

“I am honored, Excellenz. These papers will arrive tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow night by automobile at eleven, by the Schöndorf road.”

“And until then——?”

“You will have time to make your arrangements.”

“I shall prepare, Excellenz.”

Captain Wentz rose, but the General halted him.

“One thing more. Herr Hammersley is returning tonight from England with dispatches. He is to be carefully watched tonight and tomorrow, though I shall let him believe that he moves in perfect freedom. You will give the necessary orders. Also I would like you to keep watch outside the door when he is brought to this room, which may be at any moment.”

“Zu befehl, Excellenz.”

“That is all. You may go.”

Left alone, General von Stromberg took a chair facing the fire, and lighted another cigar. For many years he had been engaged in deciphering interesting problems and in preparing problems for other persons to decipher. Therefore it may be truly said that his was the analytical mind, the mind of the chemist, of the mathematician, and the philosopher, with so complete a schooling in the trade of deception that all things and all persons in the cosmic scheme except himself were objects of suspicion. For him the obvious was the negligible and by converse the negligible of prime importance. As he had said to von Winden, every man was guilty until he was proven innocent. He had a rare nose for scenting unsuspected odors, and a fine hand for finding the weak links in the armor of those he used as well as of those who sought to use him. He had a faculty for appearing at places where he was least expected and a prescience almost miraculous in forestalling the moves of his adversaries. He ruled by fear and by admiration and there was not a man in the Empire with a skeleton in his closet, no matter how high his station, who did not live without a terror of von Stromberg in his heart.

But the habit of mind of suspecting everybody, while it had placed him upon the safe side of every equation, had also resulted, through the elimination of the sentimental, in eliminating the more direct contacts with human nature. To judge a man by his possibilities for venality is like judging a rose by the sharpness of its thorn. Something of the weakness of this cynicism had been apparent to the keen intellect of von Stromberg and he had been finding of late a rare pleasure in trifling with his convictions, admitting into the stored cavern of his mind for experimental purposes, an occasional ray of optimism. At the present moment he was analyzing the result of his summons to Herr Hammersley to come to Germany at once and the communication from Herr Rizzio which impugned Herr Hammersley’s loyalty to Germany. Von Stromberg had known Herr Rizzio for years and had done him more than one service in finding ways to cater to his passion for collecting objects of art. It was German social influence secretly exerted that had helped to make easy Rizzio’s rise in favor at the court of St. James. There had been a possibility that some day John Rizzio might be of service to von Stromberg and to Germany. And von Stromberg had long been laying the plans which had made his system of espionage the most perfect in Europe. Von Stromberg had found Rizzio’s weakness and had traded on it, saving his most tempting bait for his greatest service, the betrayal of the home of his adoption. He weighed Rizzio contentedly sure of his own power over him and despising him for having been so easily bought. Rubens’s “Descent from the Cross”! There were fortunately other Rubenses in conquered territory—some very good ones that John Rizzio might like. Von Stromberg had made a list of them. He had learned that it was as necessary to be provided with bribes as with threats. Fortunately Rizzio himself had given him material for the latter. Racially, the great Councilor did not like Latins, and he was quite sure he cared less for Italians now than he did before the proclamation of neutrality. They were not to be trusted by good Germans. If Rizzio had played false to the country of his adoption for the sake of a paltry picture, it was within the bounds of possibility that he could be false to Germany if the necessity arose for an even smaller consideration. Yesterday morning before leaving Berlin for Windenberg, von Stromberg had received a dispatch from Rizzio which told of his departure on his yacht from Scotland for Bremen. This was curious—also interesting. Rizzio was needed in England and was useless in Germany. Why was he coming? Had something been learned of him at Scotland Yard? Or had his departure to do with the case of Herr Hammersley? Whatever the visit meant, it was necessary, very necessary, to have Rizzio and Hammersley together at once, so he had deemed it wise to send orders to Bremen to have Rizzio caught on the wireless and when he reached port sent through at once to Windenberg.

Von Stromberg smiled in self-gratulation. There would be no loose ends about this affair. Merely as a precaution in so important a matter he had set one agent to watch another. Byfield had been watched by Hammersley, who in turn had been watched by Rizzio, who had been watched by Herr Maxwell, an agent long in von Stromberg’s service. Rizzio had been given the power and credentials to use his discretion with Hammersley. Why had not Hammersley relinquished the cigarette papers to Rizzio? Hammersley should have good reasons for his refusal. Was there reason for Hammersley to suspect Rizzio? Herr Maxwell, who had been set to watch Rizzio, was silent. This was puzzling. What had happened to Herr Maxwell?

General von Stromberg threw his finished cigar into the fire and got up, rubbing his hands together. Oh, it was very interesting—very. The situation was rapidly approaching culmination. In a short while all the threads of this pretty tangle would be within reach of his long fingers. And all that he, von Stromberg, had to do was to catch them by the ends and hold. What would Herr Hammersley bring?

General von Stromberg straightened, listening. The sound of voices and men outside. So. He was here already. There had been no sound from the machine. Of course, he had planed down. A knock on the door and von Winden, Wentz and Hammersley entered.