Still disguised as a round-faced, jolly-looking naval officer, Sir Leonard Wallace left the Esplanade Hotel at half past ten and, hiring a taxicab, directed the chauffeur to drive him to the Grunewald quarter. During the journey he sat for the most part with his chin sunk on his breast, a deeply thoughtful figure. Nobody realised better than he the stupendous task he and Cousins would have, if they were to rescue the Baroness von Reudath. Gottfried would be required to help, of course, but his part would have, of necessity, to be performed from the background. Sir Leonard made it a rule that men who represented the firm of Lalére et Cie must on no account expose themselves to risk of recognition when acting for the British Secret Service. No suspicion must be allowed to fall on the great Parisian scent corporation. Still, with his influence, Gottfried would prove almost indispensable. He it was who had discovered for Sir Leonard the orders of von Strom concerning the Baroness von Reudath. She was to be tried for treason in a room of the prison in which she was confined. The trial was to be in camera, and would start at ten o’clock on the following morning. Wallace had hoped to have been able to plan to rescue her when being conveyed to or from the courts of justice. It would have been a desperate venture, of course, but nothing like as desperate as it would now prove to get her away from a strongly guarded fortress. Even his great heart fell a little at thought of the stupendous task before him and Cousins. He wished now that he had made the attempt when she was being taken by Colonel Schönewald to the prison. But there had been no time to plan anything, and he well knew that to attempt an enterprise of a nature so desperate it is imperative to have the whole scheme cut and dried beforehand. Every contingency must be provided for, the whole thing planned down to the smallest detail, alternatives arranged in case of an unexpected alteration in some particular, possibilities of failure through some unseen cause guarded against. Entire secrecy was absolutely essential. Once the slightest suspicion was sown in the minds of the authorities that an attempt might be made to rescue the baroness all hope of success would automatically be destroyed. At present it was unlikely that thoughts of such a nature had occurred to them. The only person who, to their knowledge, would have been likely to have tried anything so hare-brained was Foster, and he had been certified and, by that time, was in a place as safe as a prison. They would, therefore, be in a state of unsuspicious equanimity. Sir Leonard intended that they should remain in that frame of mind. He was resolved that he would move heaven and earth, if necessary, to free the girl. In a sense he felt responsible for her terrible predicament. If he had not directed Foster to become acquainted with her with a view to learning from her the information she possessed, the chances were that she would have returned to Berlin without rousing von Strom’s anger or suspicion. She would not have defied him as she had done in Foster’s room in the hotel and shown him her hand so openly. Perhaps sooner or later she would have discovered that which she had been anxious to learn and, in consequence, have notified him that she no longer intended keeping silent. She was so essentially honest and scrupulous that she would, as indeed she had done, tell him she withdrew her vow. But the chances are that, before doing so, she would have, at least, arranged for her escape from his clutches. Apart from all this, she and Foster were deeply in love with each other, and Sir Leonard was determined, somehow or other, to save her for the sake of his young assistant. He felt also that he owed it to the country of her birth, for which she possessed a devotion of such deep nobility, to rescue her. The problem, however, was extremely intricate, difficult in the extreme. All the way to the Grunewald he was turning it over in his mind, only to reach the conclusion that the first essential was to obtain a complete knowledge of the routine in the prison and a thorough acquaintance with the prison itself. Gottfried would be required to pull more strings. Either Sir Leonard or Cousins or both of them must pay a visit to the place and, while being shown round, make notes of everything in preparation for the rescue they would plan.
The taxi driver, obeying instructions, stopped his cab in one of the streets of the villa colony some distance from the Baroness von Reudath’s magnificent residence. He was directed to await his passenger’s return. Sir Leonard became very cautious as he drew near the house. He anticipated that it would be guarded, and had no intention of being found wandering about the premises. He proved correct. A sentry stood inside the gates. He heard the man humming softly to himself as he crept silently up. Stepping softly, in order to avoid making the slightest sound, he went on by the side of the high wall until he came to a fine old chestnut tree. By the dim light of a lamp burning some distance away he was able to assure himself that a branch was overhanging the top of the wall. There were no pedestrians about and only an occasional car passed. It was a fortunate circumstance that the house was in such a secluded district. Watching his opportunity he presently commenced on one of those feats which were the admiration of his colleagues. Although badly handicapped owing to the fact that he only possessed one arm, he climbed the tree, a trifle awkwardly perhaps but with something of the agility of a monkey. Reaching the branch which was his objective, he lay at full length along it, and wriggled his way towards the wall. Once there he remained still for some time, his eyes endeavouring to pierce the gloom. At length, satisfied that there was nobody in his vicinity, he let himself down on to the top of the wall. He sat there for a little while wondering if he would be able to get back as easily as he had reached there. Deciding that he would find a way, and that his most pressing task at the moment was to secure the document for which he had come, he let himself down at arm’s length, dropping softly on a flower bed below.
Moving like a shadow he encircled the house, avoiding the terrace, at length reaching the lawns at the back. He was quite familiar with the place. Cousins and he had reconnoitred it, thinking it might be useful to become acquainted with it, on the night of their arrival in Berlin. There were several lights showing from the house but, apart from the man at the gates, there seemed no one about. He paused for some minutes listening intently, but the only sound to reach his ears was the musical flow of the water in the fountain. Gradually he approached, and was only a few yards away when he stopped dead. His keen eyes had caught, even in the gloom of that moonless night, the outlines of a figure. It seemed to be sitting on the verge of the pool and, as far as he was able to ascertain, was quite alone. It was clothed in a garment of some light material, and Sir Leonard quickly decided that it was a woman. One of the servants perhaps. He quietly lowered himself to the ground, afraid that she might catch sight of the silhouette of his figure against the lighter background of the house. There he waited, the minutes passing slowly, and no sign of movement coming from the woman. Studying her, it seemed to him that she was leaning forward as though her head was sunk upon her breast. She certainly looked a very dejected person. Presently above the sound of the water, he distinctly heard a sob, and everything became plain to him. She was sorrowing for her mistress, and no wonder. Wallace had heard that the servants of the baroness were utterly devoted to her. This poor girl had apparently gone out there to be alone with her grief. He sat listening, wishing he could go to her and offer her words of comfort.
Suddenly she rose to her feet and he was able to observe her much more distinctly. She stood, as far as he could gather, looking down into the pool. The next moment he was up and running towards the fountain. The woman had either fallen or thrown herself in. It was not deep enough to drown anyone unless the person herself deliberately meant to drown or perhaps had fallen in in a faint. Arrived at the side, Sir Leonard looked in. She was lying face downwards, her hair floating on the water above her. Throwing himself at full length he bent down and clutched at her. Directly she felt his hand she struggled violently to free herself; there was no doubt about it now, she was bent on committing suicide. Grimly he ignored her frantic efforts to evade his grasp, pulling her slowly but surely from the water and wishing then, perhaps as much as he had ever wished it, that he possessed his left arm as well as his right. He was very thankful that she did not scream or cry out. He had feared that, as soon as her face was free from the water, she would have made a clamour. She did nothing of the sort, fighting desperately in a kind of dogged silence to seek the death she had planned for herself. Twice she succeeded in squirming away from him, but he obtained a grip on a leg and at length dragged her up the bank on to the grass. She gave up the struggle then and, lying quiescent, burst into a storm of weeping, the sound of which caused his heart to ache. He reflected that if all those tears and her determined attempt to drown herself were caused by her sorrow at the fate that had overtaken the baroness, she must possess an amazing devotion for that gallant lady. He sat by her side, making no attempt to interrupt her grief until she showed signs of regaining control of herself. Then he spoke to her with infinite gentleness, his attractive voice imparting to the German language a quality which it seldom seems to contain.
‘What is the trouble, fraulein?’ he asked. ‘Tell me, and perhaps I will be able to help you. There are no troubles so great in this world, you know, that no remedy can be found.’
‘Why did you not leave me alone?’ she sobbed passionately. ‘I wished to die. Who are you? What business is it of yours to interfere. If you think that you have saved my life, and deserve thanks, you will not get it. I hate you for doing it – do you hear? I hate you.’
‘Calm yourself, fraulein,’ he begged in the same soothing voice. ‘By taking your own life you do not end grief. Think of those who love you – there must be many, I am sure. Is it fair to stifle the grief in your own heart by killing yourself and thus bring sorrow into the hearts of those who love you?’
‘Oh! Go away! Leave me alone! Leave me alone!’ She sat up and covered her face with her hands.
‘I will go if you promise me not to act foolishly again.’
‘I will not promise! I will not! I have determined to end my life, and nothing will prevent me. For the time you have succeeded, but you will not always be there. I must die. It is the only way I can get away from the hell that is tormenting me.’
‘What hell?’ he asked curiously.
She was silent for a while; then once again broke into a paroxysm of wild weeping. It subsided, at last, and she regained sufficient control of herself to speak almost normally.
‘I was the maid of the Baroness von Reudath. When she went away the police made me one of their secret agents and promised to pay me well, if I spied on her and reported all her actions and words to them. They sent a man also to watch, and to whom I was to pass on my information. She has now been arrested – tomorrow she will be tried for treason, and they will execute her. And I have done it – I have done it. I who love her.’
She sat rocking backwards and forwards, her sobs tearing at the heartstrings of the grim-faced man watching her. Sir Leonard felt that he had seldom witnessed grief like this.
‘So you are Hanni!’ he commended quietly.
‘Yes, I am Hanni,’ she moaned, ‘the woman Judas who has betrayed her mistress for money.’ Then he sensed rather than saw that she had taken her hands from her face and was staring at him. ‘How do you know about me?’ she demanded. ‘Are you of the police? If so, I curse you and all your breed because you have made me what I have become.’
‘No, I am not of the police,’ he assured her.
‘Who are you then? What are you doing here?’
‘I think,’ he returned calmly, ‘that perhaps I was sent to save you from doing a very stupid thing, and to give you the chance of redeeming yourself.’
‘I do not understand.’ She had of a sudden become very quiet in her manner. He knew she was turning her head to pierce the darkness in an effort to obtain a glimpse of his face. ‘You have not told me who you are.’
‘That does not matter. I am as distressed about the trouble which has befallen the baroness as you are, though I have done nothing to bring it upon her. I cannot fail to see that you are sincerely sorry for the harm you have done. What would you do to try and repair it?’
‘Anything,’ she whispered at once. ‘Oh, anything!’
‘Do you mean that? Would you dare the anger of the Marshal himself?’
‘Yes. He could kill me if he wished. Rather that than harm should overtake Sophie.’
‘You call her Sophie, do you? Were you so familiar with her?’
‘No, no. I should not call her that. I was only a servant. But I have become used to thinking of her as Sophie, and I spoke without thinking.’
‘I see.’ He was a little abstracted in his manner. An idea had occurred to him, and he was busily engaged in considering it from every angle. It all depended upon whether he could trust Hanni. Was she so sincerely repentant and desirous of making amends that she really would do anything to save the baroness? He reached a decision. ‘You, of course, are quite unsuspected?’ he asked.
‘Unsuspected,’ she repeated bitterly. ‘I have been thanked and rewarded for what I have done. The money I have thrown into that pool. I would now be lying there as useless, if you had not dragged me out. Oh! Why did you do it? Why did you?’
She showed signs of becoming hysterical again.
‘Calm yourself, Hanni!’ he commanded sternly. ‘I am going to give you a chance of saving her.’
There was a long pause; then:
‘How?’ she demanded in a tense whisper.
‘You are still the maid of the baroness, are you not? You are allowed to see her?’
‘I took some clothes to her this evening. Why do you ask?’
‘Do you think you can go and see her tomorrow night after dark? You can take a dress or something she may be expected to require for the following day.’
‘Yes,’ she replied eagerly. ‘I think I can do that.’
‘Perhaps they will insist on taking it from you and giving it to her. What then? It is necessary for my plan that you actually go to her and see her alone.’
‘They will let me go. Of that I am certain. They have no reason to suspect me.’
‘Then listen! Wrap your face up well as though you have the toothache. When you are alone with the baroness change clothing with her, and send her out in your place, making sure that she wraps up her face well. I will be waiting outside the prison with a car for her. Will you do this? Think well I am asking you to run a great risk. It is possible you may be severely punished.’
‘They may quite likely sentence me to death. But I will not mind dying to undo the harm I have done. Yes, I will do it.’
‘Excellent,’ he approved, ‘but do not worry about being killed. I will see that you are rescued before they can do that – if they go so far. The main thing is to get the baroness out of their clutches as soon as possible.’
‘You talk with great confidence,’ she commented. ‘Who are you?’
‘A friend of the Baroness von Reudath,’ he replied, adding: ‘And of yours now, I hope.’
‘How do you know that I will not betray you, as I have betrayed her?’
‘I always know when I can trust men or women,’ he told her quietly. ‘I am ready to put absolute trust in you.’
A sob reached his ears out of the darkness. He smiled quietly to himself. He was confident he could rely upon this strangely complex being. The sob, he felt, gave him his final assurance. They discussed the details of the project, and she marvelled at the manner in which this stranger thought of all the eventualities and instructed her how to meet them. More than ever she wondered who he was, but he did not satisfy her curiosity. It was arranged that she should visit the prison in the morning before the trial began, and announce, when she was coming out, to the governor, or whoever she saw in authority, that the baroness had asked her to bring some things at ten o’clock that night ready for the following day and to take away certain articles she would have discarded. That was reasonable enough. Sophie was permitted to wear her own clothing and would probably not be disrobing before that hour. Hanni was to tell her in the morning the scheme that had been planned in order that she would be prepared. At ten o’clock Hanni would return, her face wrapped up, and complaining bitterly of toothache. She would insist upon being alone with her mistress, given some intimate reason as an excuse if any objection were raised. That she did not anticipate, however. She had been left alone with her that evening. Directly she was locked in she and the baroness would change clothes, and she was to make certain that the latter wrapped up her face well, and tell her to walk with her hand to her cheek as though in great pain. The baroness would be met as soon as she left the prison, and escorted to the car waiting for her.
‘After that,’ remarked Sir Leonard, smiling in the darkness, ‘I shall have to concoct plans for rescuing you.’
‘Make sure that the baroness is safely away first,’ urged the woman. She then proceeded to give Sir Leonard a great shock. ‘What about Fraulein Reinwald?’ she asked. ‘Can you do nothing for her?’
‘Why? Where is she?’ he asked in quick alarm.
‘In the same prison as the baroness. She is to be tried with her for treason tomorrow.’
‘Good God!’ exclaimed Sir Leonard. ‘Poor girl! What has she done?’
‘Nothing. Of that I am certain. But she was a companion of the baroness and in her confidence. Also she is a Hebrew.’
‘And what of the other girl?’ asked the shocked and startled man. ‘I mean Fraulein Meredith. Is she also in prison?’
‘No; she is English. The Supreme Marshal dare not go too far with English people. She has been certified insane like the other young man friend of the baroness and is under guard in the house. Tomorrow she is to be sent to the mental home where he is at.’
‘My God!’ muttered Sir Leonard to himself. ‘What a fiend the fellow is. It seems to me I shall be very busy during the next two or three days,’ he added aloud. ‘However, we must concentrate on saving the baroness first. Now go in and take those wet things off. It is a warm night, but you might get a chill.’
‘I shall hate entering that house,’ she declared vehemently. ‘It is full of police, whom now I detest from my heart. They are searching everywhere for evidence to produce against my poor mistress.’
‘Never mind them. Remember that you are about to wash out everything you have done of a nature treacherous to the baroness. You are going to prove that your betrayal was a mistake, and that your love and loyalty soars above all.’
He helped her to her feet. Impulsively she bent down and kissed his hand, then was gone. He waited for a little while, after which he took off his shoes and socks, turned up his trousers, and waded into the pool. He reached the naiad and, after some fumbling, felt the hole in the plinth. At once he inserted his hand, feeling eagerly within. A moment later he withdrew a long envelope folded in two. Placing it in a pocket, he waded back to the bank. There he quickly dried his feet with his handkerchief and replaced his shoes and socks. A few seconds later he had left the fountain and was creeping silently round the side of the house towards the wall. He heard voices a little way in front of him, and saw the glow of cigarette ends. Two men were there taking the air. There might be others about. He redoubled his precautions, moving away from the smokers, yet on the alert lest they were approaching other prowlers. He reached the wall safely, however, walked slowly along searching the darkness for a tree which would enable him to scale the obstruction. There appeared no trees inside that part of the wall at all, and, finding himself perilously near a gate, he turned and retraced his steps. Suddenly he caught his foot painfully against something lying on the ground. He bent down to find, to his surprise, a ladder there half-concealed in the grass. A strange place to leave such an article, he reflected, but the very thing he required. Peering cautiously round, he raised it, and placed it against the wall with great care. Then, for some moments, he stood looking back meditatively at the house. He was half-inclined to attempt to rescue Rosemary Meredith while he was there, but on consideration decided that it would be the height of folly. He did not know the geography of the house; had not the slightest idea where she was incarcerated. As the place was full of police, according to Hanni, the chances of his finding her and getting her away without capture were exceedingly remote. He dare not take the risk of losing his own liberty when so much was at stake, and Rosemary was in no actual danger. With a sigh he turned away. The whole affair was becoming distinctly complicated. Apart from the central figure, whom it was vital to rescue as soon as possible, there were now three others, and Hanni would make a fourth. He climbed the ladder and, sitting on the top of the wall, pushed it over. It fell with a thud to the ground, but he was certain did not make enough noise to be heard, unless there was somebody in the vicinity. Waiting a few minutes to make certain, he let himself down the other side, and went in search of his taxi.
The driver grumbled at being kept waiting so long, but grew mollified at the promise of a large gratuity. Sir Leonard directed him to drive to the Unter den Linden. There he dismissed the man, keeping his promise so generously that he was overwhelmed with thanks. He entered a telephone booth, and rang up Gottfried.
‘My friend,’ he remarked on hearing the latter’s voice, ‘I am bored with life. Is it too late for me to come up and spend an hour with you?’
‘Come by all means,’ was the hearty and indeed eager reply. ‘I have a little party on here. We shall be glad to have you with us.’
Sir Leonard frowned a little.
‘Ah! Then I shall not intrude. I will see you tomorrow.’
‘No, no, no!’ cried Gottfried urgently. ‘Come now! They are friends of yours.’
Wallace went without further hesitation. Gottfried possessed a luxurious flat above his shop. He himself opened the door to Sir Leonard, and led him into an elegant sitting room. Two people rose on their entry. One was Cousins, still disguised as an acquisitive-looking Teuton. The other was Rosemary Meredith. Wallace eyed her without any apparent surprise.
‘How did you get here?’ he asked.
‘I have been a prisoner,’ she replied. ‘I managed to escape.’
‘That explains the ladder,’ he commented.