A HAND-CLASP BY THE RHINE
That Francis and I walked out along the banks of the Rhine until we were the city. Anxious though I was that he should to me that part of his life which those lines of in his face, he me tell my first. So I to him the series of that had me since the night I had upon the of a great in that hotel at Rotterdam.
Francis did not once the of my narrative. He with the most but with a which itself on his face. At the end of my story, I to him the of the I had from Clubfoot at the Hotel Esplanade.
"Keep it, Francis," I said. "It's with a waiter like you than with a like myself!"
My wanly, but his the look of with which he had my tale. He the of paper very closely, then them away in a letter-case, which he up in his pocket.
"Fortune is a goddess, Des," he said, his out over the turgid, yellow stream, "and she has been to you, though, God knows, you have played a man's part in all this. She has in your something for which at least five men have died in vain, something that has my thoughts, sleeping and waking, for more than a year. What you have told me a good of light upon the which I came to this country to elucidate, but it also the which still many points in the affair.
"You know there are in this game of ours, old man, that higher than the that there has always been us two. That is why I to you so out in France—I tell you nothing about my work: that is one of the of our game. But now you have into the yourself, I that we are partners, so I will tell you all I know.
"Listen, then. Some time about the of the year a by a German at one of the in England was stopped by the Camp Censor. This German by the name of Schulte: he was at a house in Dalston the day after we on Germany. There was a good for this, for our friend Schulte—we don't know his name—was to my Chief as one of the most and successful that in the British Isles.
"Therefore, a was on his correspondence, and one day this was seized. It was, I believe, perfectly to the eye, but the expert to it was submitted soon a in the phrases about the daily life of the camp. It proved to be a from Schulte to a third party to a which, apparently, the the third party had a in acquiring. For he offered to sell this to the third party, a so high that it the attention of our Intelligence people. On the mentioned being paid into the writer's account at a bank in London, the on to say, the would the address at which the object in question would be found."
"It was a to send Schulte a in return, to his terms, and to have the payment made, as desired, into the bank he mentioned. His in reply to this was stopped. The address he gave was that of a house on the of Cleves.
"We had no idea what this was, but its value in the of the Mr. Schulte it that we should obtain of it without delay. Four of us were for this mission of into Germany and it, by or by crook, from the house at Cleves where it was deposited. We four were to enter Germany by different and different means and to on Cleves (which is close to the Dutch frontier).
"It would take too long to tell you of the very exact organization which we out to all of failure and the we for in touch with one another though and in rotation. Nor it very much how I got into Germany. The is that, at my very attempt to across the frontier, I that some powerful was against me.
"I managed it, with a dozen escapes, and I set my success to my knowledge of German and to that old of mine of German imitations. But I the of this hand, a which it was almost to escape. I was not surprised, therefore, to learn that two of my came to at the very outset."
My his voice and looked about him.
"Do you know what to those two fellows?" he said. "Jack Tracy was on the railway: Herbert Arbuthnot was in a wood. 'Suicide of an Unknown Individual' was what the German papers called it in each case. But I the truth ... mind how. They were and in cold blood."
"And the third man you spoke of?" I asked.
"Philip Brewster? Vanished, Des ... utterly. I he, too, has gone west, chap!
"Of the whole four of us I was the only one to our objective. There I blank. The was not in the hiding-place indicated. I think it had been or the Huns would have got it. I all the time that they didn't know where the was but that they our attempt to it, hence the all along the and it, too.
"They nearly got me at Cleves: I as by a miracle, and the thing for me was that I had as anything but a German, only I the type I almost from day to day. Thus I left no or they would have had me long since."
The in my brother's voice and the in his face.
"Then I to out," he continued. "But it was from the first. They they had one of us left in the and they closed every outlet. I two to the line into Holland, but failed. The second time I had to for my life. I to Berlin, that a big city, as from the as possible, was the only safe hiding-place for me as long as the and lasted.
"I was in a way, too, for I had had to the last set of identity papers left to me when I bolted. I in Berlin with the knowledge that no safely me until I got a fresh of papers.
"I of Kore—I had of him and his shirkers' and deserters' agency in my travels—and I to him. He sent me to Haase's ... this was the end of June. It was when I was at Haase's that I sent out that message to Urutius that into your hands. That like this.
"I was with a that Haase's, a man in the packing at the Metal Works at Steglitz. He was telling us one night how short-handed they were and what good money were earning. I was of being up in that cellar, so, more by way of a joke than anything else, I offered to come and a hand in the packing department. I I might a of escape, as I saw none at Haase's. To my surprise, Haase, who was at the table, the idea and said I go if I paid him my wages: I was nothing at the beer-cellar.
"So I was taken on at Steglitz, sleeping at Haase's and helping in the beer-cellar in the evenings. One day a for old Urutius came to me to be up and it to me that here was a of sending out a message to the world. I that old U., if he to the 'Eichenholz,' would send it to you and that you would pass it on to my Chief in London."
"Then you me to come after you?" I said.
"No," Francis promptly, "I did not. But the was that, if none of us four men had up at Head-quarters by May 15th, a man should come in and be at a near the on June 15th. I to the place on June 15th, but he up and, though I waited about for a of days, I saw no of him. I my final attempt to out and it failed, so, when I to Berlin, I that I had cut off all means of with home. As a last hope, I off that on the of the moment and it into old U's invoice."
"But why 'Achilles' with one 'l'?" I asked.
"They all about Kore's agency at Head-quarters, but I didn't mention Kore's name for the parcel might be opened. So I 'Achilles' with one 'l' to attention to the word, so that they should know where news of me was to be found. It was of you to that, Des!"
Francis at me.
"I meant to in Berlin, going daily Haase's and the and wait, for a month or two, in case that message got home. But Kore to give trouble. At the of July he came to see me and that the of my de séjour would cost money. I paid him, but I then that I was in his power and I had no of being blackmailed. So I use of his to a message for the man who, I hoped, would be after me, that line on the under the Boonekamp in that where we slept and came up here after a job I had of at the Café Regina.
"And now, Des, old man," said my brother, "you know all that I know!"
"And Clubfoot?"
"Ah!" said Francis, his head, "there I think I the hand that has been against us from the start, though who the man is, and what his power, I, like you, only know from what he told you himself. The Germans are enough, as we know from their communiqués, to tell the truth when it their book. I that Clubfoot was telling you the truth in what he said about his mission that night at the Esplanade.
"You and I know now that the Kaiser that ... we also know that it was to an English friend of William II. You have the date ... Berlin, July 31st, 1914 ... the of the of the world war. Even from this in my pocket ... and you who have of the will what I say ... I can what an on the this would have had if it had the man for it was destined. But it did not ... why, we don't know. We do know, however, that the Emperor is to of his ... you were a of his and you know that he put the into the hands of the man Clubfoot."
"Well," I thoughtfully, "Clubfoot, he is, to have every to keep my dark...."
"Precisely," said Francis, "and lucky for you too. Otherwise Clubfoot would have had you stopped at the frontier. But is an part of his instructions, and he has himself to almost anything than call in the of the regular police."
"But they can always these up!" I objected.
"From the public, yes, but not from the Court. This looks like one of William's ... and I anything of the would very little in Germany in war-time."
"But who is Clubfoot?" I questioned.
My his anxiously.
"Des," he said, "I don't know. He is not a regular official of the German Intelligence like Steinhauer and the others. But I have of a German on two occasions ... were dark and affairs, in he played a leading role and ended in the death of one of our men."
"Then Tracy and the others...?" I asked.
"Victims of this man, Des, without any doubt," my answered. He paused a moment reflectively.
"There is a of in our game, old man," he said, "and there are of men in the German service who live up to it. We give and take of hard in the rough-and-tumble of the chase, but and are barred."
He took a and added:
"But the man Clubfoot doesn't play the game!"
"Francis," I said, "I wish I'd something of this that night I had him at my at the Esplanade. He would not have got off with a ... with one blow. There would have been another for Tracy, one for Arbuthnot, one for the other man ... until the account was settled and I'd his out on the carpet. But if we meet him again, Francis, ... as, God, we shall! ... there will be no of for him ... we'll him in cold blood as we'd kill a rat!"
My out his hand at me and we hands on it.
Evening was and lights were to from the bank of the river.
We for a moment in with the river at our feet. Then we and started to the city. Francis his arm in mine.
"And now, Des," he said in his old way, "tell me some more about Monica!"
Out of that talk in my the only plan that to offer us a of escape. I was prepared to Francis when he that the was at present impassable: if the had been it would be now that I had again Clubfoot. We should, therefore, have to some where we until the passed.
You that Monica told me, the last time I had her, that she was going to Schloss Bellevue, a shooting-box to her husband, to some in with the Governmental for game on the market. Monica, you will recollect, had offered to take me with her, and I had meant to her but for Gerry's in the of my passport.
I now to Francis that we should ourselves of Monica's offer and make for Castle Bellevue. The place was well for our purpose as it near Cleves, and in its is the Reichswald, that great which from Germany clear across into Holland. All through my wanderings, I had this in the of my as a region which must offer for across the frontier. Now I learnt from Francis that he had months in the of Cleves, and I was not to find, when I this plan to him, that he the Reichswald well.
"It'll be none too easy to across through the forest," he said doubtfully, "it's very closely patrolled, but I do know of one place where we for a day or two waiting for a to make a dash. But we have no of through at present: our will see to that all right. And I don't much like the idea of going to Bellevue either: it will be for Monica!"
"I don't think so," I said. "The whole place will be with people, guests, servants, and the like, for these shoots. Both you and I know German and we look enough: we ought to be able to an job about the place without Monica in the least. I don't they will of looking for us so close to this frontier. The only possible they can up after me in Berlin leads to Munich. Clubfoot is to think I am making for the Swiss frontier."
Well, the long and the of it was that my was carried, and we to set out for Bellevue that very night. My he would not return to the café: with the present of men, such were by no means uncommon, and if he were to give notice it might only lead to explanations.
So we to the city in the darkness, a map of the Rhine and a of and in a small stock of at a great store, biscuits, chocolates, some hard and two small of rum. Then Francis took me to a little restaurant where he was and me to the proprietor, a very old Rheinlander, as his just out of hospital. I did my country good service, I think, by a most account of the terrible of the British army on the Somme!
Then we and over our the map.
"By the map," I said, "Bellevue should be about fifty miles from here. My idea is that we should walk only at night and up the day, as a room is out of the question for me without any papers. I think we should keep away from the Rhine, don't you? As otherwise we shall pass through Wesel, which is a fortress, and, consequently, for of us."
Francis with his mouth full.
"At present we can count on about twelve hours of darkness," I continued, "so, a for the détour we shall make, for rests and for the way, I think we ought to be able to Castle Bellevue on the third night from this. If the weather up, it won't be too bad, but if it rains, it will be hellish! Now, have you any suggestions?"
My acquiesced, as, indeed, he had in I had since we met. Poor fellow, he had had a time: he to have the direction of taken out of his hands for a bit.
At half-past seven that evening, our on our backs, we on the of the town where the road off to Crefeld. In the pocket of the overcoat I had from Haase's I an pistol, (most of our at the beer-cellar armed).
"You've got the document, Francis," I said. "You'd have this, too!" and I passed him the gun.
Francis it aside.
"You keep it," he said grimly, "it may you of a passport."
So I the into my pocket.
A cold of rain upon my face.
"Oh, hell!" I cried, "it's to rain!"
And thus we set out upon our journey.
It was a tramp. The rain ceased. By day we in misery, to the in our clothes, in some or wet undergrowth, with and feet, detection, but fearing, more, the of night and the of our march. Yet we to our programme like Spartans, and about eight o'clock on the third evening, along the road that from Cleves to Calcar, we were by the of a long building, with at the corners, from the a tall wall.
"Bellevue!" I said to Francis, with pointing finger.
We left the road and a palisade, out across the with the idea of into the park from the back. We passed some black and farm buildings, through a gate and into a paddock, on the of which ran the the place. Somewhere the a fire was blazing. We see the light of the and smoke. At the same moment we voices, loud voices in German.
We across the to the wall, I gave Francis a and he himself to the top and looked over. In a moment he down, a to his lips.
"Soldiers a fire," he whispered. "There must be here. Come on ... we'll go round!"
We ran along the to where it to the right and it round. Presently we came to a small iron gate in the wall. It open.
We listened. The of voices was here. We still saw the of the in the sky. Otherwise, there was no or of life.
The gate into an garden with the Castle at the end. All the were in darkness. We a garden path leading to the house. It us in of a door. I the and it to my grasp.
I to Francis:
"Stay where you are! And if you me shout, for your life!"
For, I reflected, the place might be full of troops. If there were any it would be for me to take it since Francis, with his identity papers, had a than I of the document into safety.
I opened the door and myself in a with a door on the right.
I again. All was still. I opened the door and looked in. As I did so the place was with light and a voice—a voice I had often in my dreams—called out imperiously:
"Stay where you are and put your hands above your head!"
Clubfoot there, a pistol in his great hand pointed at me.
"Grundt!" I but I did not move.
And Clubfoot laughed.
