The Yellow Dove/Chapter 14
CHAPTER XIV
VON STROMBERG CATECHISES
TO the girl the way from Bremen to Windenberg seemed interminable. She shared with John Rizzio a private compartment in the train. He was still ceremoniously polite and inclined to conversation, but now, thoroughly realizing the danger which faced her as well as Cyril, Doris had decided upon a policy of silence. She would wait until she learned what they required of her and then perhaps some instinct or inspiration would direct her. Of one thing she was certain, that nothing could make her speak if she did not think it wise to do so.
When Rizzio commented upon the beauty of the passing landscape she assented with a smile and then returned to her own thoughts. Cyril, she knew, would be at Windenberg, for it was to Windenberg that the Yellow Dove had made its flights. She had succeeded in eliciting that much information from her captor the other night at dinner when he was attempting by frankness and hospitality to minimize the brutality of his actions. She had many reasons to believe that he had already regretted that frankness for at every subsequent attempt of hers to get more information about von Stromberg, John Rizzio had turned the subject adroitly or had remained obstinately silent.
She tried to put together the scraps of information she possessed in order to understand just what Cyril’s position at Windenberg might be. He had answered the summons of the secret messenger willingly and at once. That much was in his favor. If they had suspected him before, this immediate obedience must have disarmed them. In the mind of General von Stromberg there could be no possible reason why Cyril should put himself at his mercy. General von Stromberg could not know as she knew that Cyril had another mission to perform. She looked up quickly to find John Rizzio’s dark eyes gazing at her. He frightened her at that moment, for it almost seemed from the expression of his face that he had succeeded in reading her thoughts—and in the light of his previous omniscience even that psychic feat seemed within the realm of possibility. But he merely smiled at her and looked out of the window.
That mission of Cyril’s! What was it? The obtaining of some information necessary to England? Some military secret such as the machinery of ordnance or the chemical mixture of explosive shells? Or was it something more personal, more sinister and dreadful—the death of some high official—perhaps the Emperor himself? She shuddered and shut her eyes, her mind painting unimaginable horrors. Not murder—even for Cyril she could not connive at that. But she must be prepared to do something for him, to help him, if she could by false testimony or if necessary, no matter what they did to her, by silence. If they suspected Cyril, of course he would be kept in ignorance of her arrival. Of all these things and others she thought with ever-growing doubt and timidity. And all the while in the back of her head was the idea of her possible appeal to the American Ambassador at Berlin.
But if she had any hopes that an opportunity would be given her to use the post, or even to be free from surveillance, their arrival at Windenberg speedily diminished them. For upon the platform of the small station a German officer met them and conducted them at once to a closed carriage which started off through the village immediately. The officer and Mr. Rizzio exchanged a few commonplaces which politely included her, but as to the real meaning of her visit and their possible intentions—nothing. So she sank back in her seat and looked out through a small window at the forest into which the road almost immediately passed, reaching their destination in apparent calmness, the high tension of her nerves resolutely schooled to obedience.
A farmhouse in the midst of meadows surrounded by forests, with a broad hospitable door in which they entered, seeing no one. The German officer who directed them showed her the way to a room upstairs and when she was in the room locked the door. She was in the dark, for the shutters of the windows were closed. Her first impulse at reaching a haven of privacy even though a prison was to seek the line of least resistance and give her nerves the relaxation they needed in tears. But she fought the weakness down, going to the windows and peering out through a crack in the shutters. When she tried to open them, she discovered that they were locked or nailed from the outside. She had been a prisoner she knew, upon the yacht, but the firmness with which the hard wood and iron resisted her efforts gave her for the first time the grim reality of her predicament. A prisoner in the heart of a German forest with no way to turn for help! Where was Cyril? Perhaps after all, her surmises had been incorrect. They had sent him away to Berlin. Or perhaps he had gone back in freedom to England. Grave fears assailed her as to Rizzio and his intentions. Once a friend, but after that an unsuccessful lover! What did she know of him or of these people into whose hands he was committing her? Germans! She was ready to believe anything of them after Belgium—the worst! Had Rizzio’s story about bringing her to the head of the Secret Service of Germany been a mere invention to serve other ends? He had told her at Kilmorack House that he would never give her up. Was this what he had meant? A blind terror seized her which seemed for the moment to deaden all her faculties for analysis. The room, though chill, seemed to stifle her, its walls and ceiling to be closing in to crush her. She stumbled to the bed upon which she fell and lay for a long while exhausted and at last the blessing of tears came to her and then, sleep.
How long Doris slept she did not know, but she realized that it could not have been long, for strange ugly figures came into her dreams and strange ugly events followed each other with lightning swiftness. But a knock upon the door brought her back to the terrors of her predicament and she answered it, wondering what was to happen. It was a tall man in the Jäger uniform bearing a tray of food—some toast, eggs and a cup of chocolate. He entered with a smile and a polite greeting in German, putting the tray upon the table and then forcing open the shutters a little so that a narrow bar of sunlight came into the room and lay upon the bright drugget upon the floor. By its light she examined the man. He was tall, grizzled at the temples and walked with a slight limp. He smiled at her again and she could not refrain from answering the smile in kind.
“I hope the Fräulein will enjoy her lunch,” he said. “The toast especially, for I have made it myself. I trust that the Fräulein prefers dry toast.”
“Thanks, anything will do. I am not hungry.”
“I am sorry,” said the Forester, bowing and then continuing in a lower tone: “The Fräulein will not forget that the toast is excellent and that I made it myself.”
She examined him curiously, wondering whether he were not perhaps a little demented. But at the door he bowed and disappeared and she heard the key turn in the lock. He was apparently not too demented to forget that she was a prisoner.
She was not hungry but she knew that she must eat something to keep up her strength for any ordeal that was in store for her, so she drew a chair to the table and sat, pouring out the chocolate in the cup and helping herself to the eggs.
All the while she thought of the strange behavior of her servitor. Why did he lay such stress upon the excellence of the dry toast? And why because it was dry? She raised a piece of it with her fingers and examined it, lifted the second piece, when a gasp of surprise escaped her. Above the third piece of toast, folded neatly, was a thin strip of paper. She glanced toward the door and window and then getting up from the table and going to a spot where observation of her actions was impossible, opened the slip of paper. It was in Cyril’s hand.
Her heart beating high, she read the paper through twice to familiarize herself with the instructions which she perfectly understood. Then she found a matchbox on the candlestick, put the paper in the hearth and burned it. After that she sat at the table and ate. It was there that Captain von Winden found her some moments later when he came to request her presence in the room on the ground floor.
•••••
During the time that Doris slept, in the living-room downstairs General von Stromberg sat with John Rizzio. A peaceful winter landscape looked in at the windows, the sun slanted in a yellow rhomboid upon the floor, a cheerful fire was burning upon the hearth and General von Stromberg, his left hand tapping gently upon the back of his right, was gravely listening to John Rizzio’s story. All of the pieces of the little game were upon the board. He was now about to move them skillfully from one square to another until only one piece remained, and that one piece, the victor in all such games, was—himself.
“And what was his manner,” went on von Stromberg, “when you showed your credentials?”
“He was surprised—very much surprised—and I think alarmed.”
“And what arguments did you use to make him give the packet up?”
“I threatened him with serious consequences.”
“Which meant me,” said von Stromberg grimly.
“Yes, Excellenz. But he refused without other grounds than his own judgment.”
“And then”
“Excellenz, Fräulein Mather came in. She heard something from behind the curtain—but she gave no sign.”
“Oh! She is clever?”
“Exceptionally so. I have brought her here of my own volition and she will speak if properly approached, but I hope Excellenz will be pleased to make the interview as easy for her as possible. If any harm should come to her”
“It is not the practice of my department to do hurt to women,” said the General quickly. Then he laughed. “I suspect, Herr Rizzio, that you have a tenderness in that quarter.”
“It is true. I hope, therefore, that you will be patient with her.”
Von Stromberg waved his hand impatiently.
“And what happened then?”
“Hammersley and Miss Mather went out. I remained in the smoking-room and then telephoned to Maxwell to send his men at once. They came. I met them outside the house before Hammersley emerged and gave them my instructions to follow Hammersley’s machine and get the papers.”
The older man started forward, his long acquisitive nose eagerly scenting a clue.
“And how long was it after they left the smoking-room for the machine?”
Rizzio pulled at his mustache a moment thoughtfully.
“I could not say exactly,” he said after a time. “A matter of half an hour perhaps.”
“Did you know what Herr Hammersley was doing in the meanwhile?”
“No. I could not say. I telephoned first and then went out. The guests were all in the drawing-room.”
“Did you go up to the library?”
Rizzio showed surprise. “No, Excellenz.”
“Are you sure that Herr Hammersley was in the drawing-room with the others when you went out?”
“Yes, Excellenz. I am sure of it. There was no reason for him to be anywhere else.”
“There was no chance of his going upstairs to the library for ten—fifteen minutes—without your seeing him?”
Rizzio straightened and pulled at his mustache. “Excellenz, I think I understand the object of your questions. It is not possible that Herr Hammersley could have made a copy of the papers at Lady Heathcote’s house.”
Von Stromberg paused a moment, then he asked:
“How long after you left the door of the house before he came out with the lady?”
“Scarcely more than ten minutes.”
The General’s fingers tapped more rapidly.
“Oh,” he growled, “I see.” And then, “Tell me how the matter was arranged that Captain Byfield should deliver those papers.”
“Maxwell managed it through a cipher. The War Office had grown suspicious and all the usual channels were closed. Byfield was frightened and refused to deliver further messages. So Maxwell hit upon the scheme of the cigarette papers to be delivered to Hammersley. I could not receive them from Byfield because of your instructions not to let my interests be known to anyone in England but Maxwell—you thought the time was not ripe for me to play my coup.”
“Yes,” said von Stromberg dryly, “but the time is ripe now and you are not there to play it.”
“But this affair was of such importance”
“Yes, yes,” the general broke in quickly, “go on.”
“It was the day of an anniversary always celebrated for me by Lady Heathcote, whose house, as you know, is one of the most exclusive in England and above suspicion. I invited the guests and Maxwell communicated with Hammersley, arranging the manner of the exchange which was accomplished. My demand upon Hammersley was made in accordance with your orders. It was a test of his loyalty. He failed.”
“Do you think he had an opportunity to glance at the papers, I mean between the time he received them and the time of your demand of him?”
“Yes. He studied them for a moment behind the curtains of an alcove in the drawing-room. I was watching. I saw his shadow as he bent over to the light of the lamp.”
“By that you mean he had a hope that they might be spurious?”
“Yes, Excellenz. When it was discovered that there was a leak, false orders were issued to test the different departments of the War Office.”
“H—m. And then, Maxwell’s men followed him, and when he was on the point of capture he turned the papers over to the lady, who escaped through the hedge?”
“As I have said before, Excellenz, the lady is clever. She read the papers, but her loyalty to Hammersley kept her silent, though at that time she suspected that he was a German agent.”
“I see,” said von Stromberg, manifesting a sudden activity with his fingers. “The lady is interested in Herr Hammersley?”
“Yes, Excellenz.”
“More interested in him, perhaps, than she is in you?”
Rizzio bowed in silence.
“Gut,” said von Stromberg rising. “That perhaps makes matters more amusing for us—perhaps a little more amusing for Herr Hammersley.”
He paced the floor with long strides while Rizzio watched him until he stopped before the fire and spoke again.
“Herr Rizzio, you have told me about the events in Scotland when, as you say, Hammersley, acting as an Englishman, warned the lady against you as an agent of Germany. What I would like very much to know is why, when you were sure he was acting for England, you did not have him killed at once.”
“I tried, Excellenz, but he was too well prepared for me. My men shot at him on the road and wounded him slightly—but on the cliffs at Ben-a-Chielt he had a confederate who killed one of my men. The other, as I have related, fell over the cliffs.”
“But you”—put in the officer harshly—“what were you doing all the while?”
“I shot at him and missed.”
“That was unfortunate—from our point of view. It is not the custom of agents of my department to miss—at anything, Herr Rizzio. But since Hammersley is here, the damage, if damage there is, can be repaired. What did you do after that?”
“I had reason to suspect that Hammersley was the cause of the arrest of Captain Byfield. I had also reason to suspect that he had informed, or would inform, the War Office as to my connection with Germany. Accordingly I had made arrangements to have my boat within easy reaching distance of Ben-a-Chielt. With the help of two other men who had been set to watch the roads in case of surprises I kept watch on Hammersley. Miss Mather we lost in the darkness of the moor. This was unfortunate, as I had planned to take her, too. But we followed Hammersley on horses to Rudha Mor to be sure that he would obey your summons and fortune aided us, for Doris Mather had followed him, too, and we managed to take her without difficulty—and brought her aboard the yacht. Hammersley’s departure for Germany, of course, relieved me of all responsibility on his behalf.”
Von Stromberg paused before the fireplace, his brows puckering.
“On the whole, Herr Rizzio, you have done well. I shall not complain. But if your story is true, I should like you to tell me two things. The first is, why should Herr Hammersley return to Germany to face certain death at my hands?”
Rizzio shrugged his fine shoulders.
“Excellenz, I do not know. I did not think he would come when I sent you my request to summon him. The knowledge he possessed was dangerous to me and I had made every possible plan to kill him at Rudha Mor. Nothing that could have happened surprised me more than when I saw him fly out in obedience to your message. It has puzzled me. I do not know why he came unless it was to learn something in Germany and return to England.”
Von Stromberg gave a dry chuckle.
“The supposition does not flatter his intelligence or mine. Aside from the difficulties of his position at present, if he were seeking information as to the plans of the Empire, he would have about as much chance of getting away from here alive as you would have, Herr Rizzio, in the same circumstances.”
The old man towered to his full height and brought his huge fist down with a crash upon the table which startled Rizzio, who fingered his mustache, his face a shade paler.
“I am glad, Excellenz,” he said with a laugh, “that I am not in Hammersley’s shoes.”
Disregarding Rizzio’s comment, the old man paced the floor again, storming.
“The other question that I would like to ask you is, what has become of Herr Maxwell?”
Rizzio started up, now in genuine concern.
“Have you not heard from him, Excellenz?”
“No,” roared the other. “Why haven’t I? You should know.”
“I do not know. I saw him the day I left London for Scotland. He was fully informed of all that had happened. Could it be that”
Rizzio paused with a deep frown.
“Where is he? Why has he not reported? Could anything have happened to him? What were you thinking?”
“That Hammersley perhaps—but that could hardly be—since he always moved under cover”
“Du lieber Jesu! Speak out! Will you?”
“I thought that Hammersley might have been the cause of his arrest.”
“Oh, you think that? Why?”
“Because it was Hammersley who told the War Office of Byfield”
“What proof have you of that?”
“No one knew of Byfield’s connection with us but Hammersley, Maxwell and myself.”
“Those were my orders. How do I know that they were obeyed?”
“One doesn’t disobey orders, Excellenz, with one’s head in a noose.”
“H—m. There are many necks in nooses at Windenberg. And one of the nooses will be tightened.”
He had stopped before Rizzio and was scowling at him with eyes that shot malevolence. Rizzio knew something of von Stromberg’s methods and was sure that he was merely trying to intimidate him, to reduce him to a consistency which would reveal hidden weaknesses in texture; yet, knowing this, Rizzio felt most uncomfortable. He twirled his mustache and looked out of the window, but his glance came back to von Stromberg’s eyes, which never wavered or changed in intensity, as though under the influence of some strange hypnotic attraction.
“You know, of course,” the old man’s harsh voice snapped at him, “what Herr Hammersley accuses you of?”
“I can imagine, Excellenz.”
“He says that you have been acting for the English Government.”
Rizzio started up in alarm.
“You do not for a moment believe”
“Don’t get excited. I believe nothing—which I do not wish to believe. But he tells a very pretty story, Herr Rizzio.”
“He would,” said Rizzio easily. “I will do him the credit of saying that he is skillful. But a lie will discover itself in the end.”
“Exactly. I am glad you agree with me. What I now propose to do is to set the lie in motion. The easiest way to provoke a liar is to put him upon the defensive. You and Hammersley shall debate the matter. I shall be the judge of the debate. We shall see what we shall see.”
He strode to the table and was about to touch the bell when Rizzio broke in.
“One moment, Excellenz. I should like to know on what he bases his accusation.”
“Humph! Not weakening, Rizzio?”
“Hardly, Excellenz,” the other smiled. “It will not be difficult for me to verify my statements if Hammersley will only talk.”
“You need not fear. He will talk.”
“What I wanted to know, Excellenz, was the nature of the information received in the yellow packet. Would you permit?”
“Not yet, Herr Rizzio, not yet. The contents of the message will come in time. For the present there is quite enough to occupy Herr Hammersley’s mind—and yours.”
Rizzio shrugged. “As you please. I would like to know, however, before you summon him, whether his accusation is based on my attempt upon his life.”
Von Stromberg chuckled. “Is not that enough to prejudice a man—if he were honest?”
“Yes, if he were honest,” said Rizzio. “Did he have any authority for his belief?”
“Yes, Herr Rizzio,” said the General, fixing Rizzio with his stare. “He told me that Maxwell had learned it from Byfield.”
“Byfield!” Rizzio started forward quickly. “Hammersley is a fool. Have I not told Excellenz that Byfield knew nothing whatever of my connection with the affair?”
Von Stromberg stretched his long arms impatiently.
“Herr Maxwell, unfortunately, is silent. Captain Byfield is in a position where the only questions that can be put to him will be those at the Gates of Heaven by his Maker.”
He gave the bell on the table a resounding blow and grinned mischievously at Rizzio.
“You say that Herr Hammersley is a fool. He asserts that you are one. I shall now smoke a cigar and decide for myself which of you is correct.”
And, as the soldier entered, “Tell Herr Hammersley that I wish to see him here at once.”
“I can only say, Excellenz,” said Rizzio, when the man went out, “that I am willing to abide by your verdict.”
“Even though it should be unfavorable to yourself?” growled von Stromberg.
“That, Excellenz, is quite impossible.”
“I have known stranger things to happen. The worst aspect of your case is that Herr Hammersley is here. There was no need for him to come. You yourself admit that. He had only to stay in England to devote his talents to a more congenial occupation.” Von Stromberg puffed on his cigar and leaned across the table. “Can you tell me why Herr Hammersley came to Germany? Answer me correctly, Rizzio, and I will give you every masterpiece in Belgium.”
Rizzio frowned into the fire.
“I cannot say,” he replied. “I have admitted that he has puzzled me. I can only think of one thing. Hammersley is a type of man who under the guise of inefficiency does all things well. He is a sportsman. He would do such a thing for the love of adventure, because the danger, the excitement, appealed to him—because it was the ‘sporting thing.’”
“A reason, Rizzio,” muttered von Stromberg, “but not the real reason.”
Rizzio started and a smile broke at the corners of his lips.
“Oh! You realize, then, that there is something else—something?” He paused.
“I realize nothing,” growled the General. “Realization, Rizzio, is the one banality of existence! Uncertainty is the only thing worth while. When one is certain of anything it ceases to be interesting. That is why Herr Hammersley, whom you call a fool in one breath and a genius in the next, excites my profound attention. Come, I think you will agree with me that he is worth it.”
“I do not like Hammersley, Excellenz.”
“Natürlich! But that need not prevent your interest in him, even though your interest is largely in his death.”
The phrase was significant, delivered significantly, and in spite of himself Rizzio felt the gaze of the General piercing his veneer.
“I could feel no happiness in such a misfortune,” he said gravely, “notwithstanding my dislike of him.”
A knock at the door interrupted further conversation and, at a command from the General, Hammersley entered.