70 
Number 42

The arrival at Nr. 42 Ebendorfer Strasse in Vienna was the last thing Ramsay’s mother expected. Suddenly standing in the parlor, where the real Gertrut Oswald had admitted them and to which she had been summoned, were four men who obviously had nothing resembling a social visit on their minds.

She vaguely recognized one but had never met him, so she couldn’t be altogether sure. Two wore high-ranking uniforms of the Austro-Hungarian army. They were accompanied by a German officer of like importance. The long black leather overcoat and wide-bill hat of the fourth might have been sufficient indicators in themselves, but it was the eyes which said most clearly of all that here was a spy if ever there was one. It was this latter who spoke the moment the matron of the house entered the room.

“Mrs. Halifax,” he said, “I am Rald Wolfrik, with Prussian Intelligence. We have a situation. I need to speak with Hartwell Barclay.”

“He is not here.”

“I gathered that. I am asking you where he is.”

“On his way to Paris,” answered Mrs. Halifax.

“Paris—why?”

“We had a certain breach of security. He and my son are attempting to put an end to the problem.”

“Yes, I am aware of the—”

A light clearing of the throat was added briefly for effect.

“—the, uh . . . activities of your son,” said Wolfrik. “We have had him under scrutiny for some time.”

“You have been watching my son?”

“We watch those whom we judge useful,” replied Wolfrik.

Mrs. Halifax thought it best to say nothing further. She held her ground stoically.

“In any event,” the man went on, “we must contact your colleague, Mr. Barclay—immediately. There has been a major defection from the very ranks of the high command itself. You are, I believe, acquainted with Generaloberst von Bülow.”

Mrs. Halifax nodded. “He has been here several times.”

“Yes, so he informed me. His assistant, one Colonel Spengler, has recently disappeared near the Balkans. Our intelligence sources indicate the worst. Generaloberst von Bülow personally sent me here.”

“What is it you want us to do?” asked Mrs. Halifax.

“Steps are being taken to locate Colonel Spengler. Transport, we believe, is by sea. I may need to get to England as soon as possible. These orders from the generaloberst,” he said, indicating a folded paper in his hand, “instruct Hartwell Barclay to get me there.”

“You are the assassin?” said Mrs. Halifax.

“I carry out my orders,” replied Wolfrik. “I will only add that we have a very resourceful individual already on his way north should his services be required. We may also recruit your son’s assistance. Where can we notify Barclay?”

Feeling suddenly short of breath, but realizing she had no alternative, Mrs. Halifax gave them the name of the hotel in Paris.