Both Sophie and Dora received the sentence with wonderful calmness. Except that their faces went entirely bloodless, their eyes showed horror, and their hands gripped convulsively, they gave little sign of distress. They walked steadily away between their guards, passing close to the men who had vowed to rescue them. The baroness held her head high with a noble, touching dignity; she looked neither to the right nor to the left. Dora Reinwald, however, cast a long searching look at Cousins in which he read a tragic appeal. He and Sir Leonard watched until they had disappeared. They stood unheeding as the judges passed out and the room rapidly emptied. It was almost with a sense of surprise that they presently found themselves alone, except for a clerk who was busily writing in a large book at the table.
‘Come!’ muttered Sir Leonard. ‘Let us get out of this.’
They descended to the hall below. At the entrance door their progress was stayed by a burly Nazi guard.
‘Quarters for the witnesses have been provided in the pavilion over there,’ he announced, pointing across the courtyard.
‘Quarters for the witnesses!’ repeated Cousins, almost making a muddle of his German in his surprise.
‘That is what I said,’ declared the man gruffly.
‘But we do not require quarters,’ Sir Leonard told him with a smile, though a dreadful suspicion had entered his heart. ‘We have rooms at the Adlon Hotel in Berlin. It is our purpose to go there at once.’
‘It may be your purpose,’ grunted the fellow, ‘but it is not ours. The orders are that no witnesses are to leave the castle until tomorrow afternoon.’
The suspicion had become fact. Realisation of what it would mean passed through Sir Leonard’s brain in a flash, but he allowed no sign of his feelings to show.
‘That is rather inconvenient,’ he observed calmly. ‘Surely such an order cannot apply to us. We are visitors to Berlin, and—’
‘The order applies to all witnesses without exception. Paul,’ he called to another man a short distance away, ‘escort these two to their quarters.’
They went without further demur, but their thoughts were indescribable. They were shown into an ornately decorated building, the long corridor within, with its beautiful carved work, the trophies of the chase hanging from the panelled walls, speaking eloquently of a glory that had departed. At the door of a large room their guide left them, after informing them that they were at liberty to walk in the courtyard, but would be turned back if they approached the gates, or attempted to wander into the gardens or any other part of the prison. They entered the apartment to find the other male witnesses sitting on chairs or reclining on the camp bedsteads that had been provided. It was a large room with a wonderful ceiling, oak-panelled walls, and a great open fireplace. A long table ran down the centre, and was covered with papers and magazines, which had been provided for the entertainment of the reluctant guests. It was not possible for the two British Secret Service men to talk unheard or unnoticed there. Selecting their beds, therefore, they sauntered out into the courtyard. They chose a quiet spot, where they could reasonably expect to be free from interruption and were far enough from any sentries or other officials to be able to converse unheard. There they paced to and fro discussing the situation in low voices. The one essential they decided at once was that they must escape by some means or other, but try as they would that means refused to present itself to them. After dark there might be more hope, but the chances were that then they and the other witnesses would be locked in for the night. It was a terrible problem that confronted them. Already faced with the seemingly impossible task of rescuing the two condemned girls, they were now themselves prisoners, utterly unable to make arrangements for carrying out any scheme that might suggest itself to them in the event of Hanni failing in her purpose. Even if she succeeded, and they still remained in the castle, there would be no car to meet the baroness and whirl her away to safety, nobody to get Dora Reinwald away. Time was slipping by – it was already long past six o’clock. They stood watching a lorry coming through the gates. It was driven by a soldier, another sitting by his side, and seemed to be loaded with a variety of objects from sacks of vegetables and crates of groceries to articles of military equipment. After it had undergone the usual scrutiny at the entrance it was driven to a building that had the appearance of a storehouse quite close to where they were standing. There it was unloaded. A gleam showed fleetingly in Sir Leonard’s eyes as he watched men throwing in bundles of empty sacks and crates from which the contents had been removed.
‘If we could only get inside and cover ourselves with the sacking,’ he muttered, ‘our problem would be solved. Let us go and show how interested we are, Cousins.’
A little smile appeared in his companion’s face. Sir Leonard’s casual manner suggested to the little man that action was imminent. The chief never appeared more unconcerned than when he had resolved on taking a desperate chance. They strolled as though aimlessly across to the lorry, and stood within a yard or two of the back watching the men at work. There were four of them apart from the driver, who still remained at the wheel. After a few enquiring glances no notice was taken of them. They merely appeared a pair of individuals who, having nothing better to do, were taking a cursory interest in the proceedings. From where they stood they could only be seen from one part of the courtyard, and that was deserted; had been deserted for some time, a fact which had first decided Sir Leonard on taking the chance on which he was now bent. If the four men would only enter the building at the same time instead of in relays as they were doing, it would mean that there would be nobody within sight of the rear of the vehicle for any appreciable period, perhaps half a minute. Unfortunately as one or two went inside others came out, and thus it went on. Wallace managed to draw a couple into conversation, as they were departing for a fresh load of empty sacks, asking them casually what the sacks had contained, and why they were taking them away. They responded to his overtures genially enough.
‘Why,’ laughed one, ‘you would be surprised how all the sacks are numbered and docketed. If we of the supply lose one there is a great fuss. They come here loaded with potatoes and other vegetables and when emptied, are carefully folded and stacked up. Empties – boxes, sacks and all – are collected once a fortnight like this, and taken back to the depot in Berlin.’
‘You people up here are very particular,’ remarked Herr August Keller. ‘In Bavaria we do not bother much about trifles.’
‘The quartermaster would have a fit,’ commented the second man, ‘if he heard you talk of his beloved sacks as trifles. So you are from Bavaria? I was once at Munich. It is a fine city. Are you witnesses for the trial?’
‘Yes,’ chuckled Cousins, ‘and we are being given free board and lodging for one night. What a tale I shall have to tell when I get home. I shall horrify my friends by saying I was kept in a prison in Potsdam. That will shock them. They are all so good, and will think I am stamped with a blot that will not come off.’
There was a general laugh at that. The other two men came up, one carrying a couple of empty cases, the other a bundle of sacks. Sir Leonard adroitly drew them into the conversation. He now had the four together, which meant that they would depart together. For some minutes they stood talking; then one said:
‘Come on, you fellows! There is still quite a lot of stuff to be loaded.’
‘And we were told a meal would be given us soon,’ observed Cousins, ‘so we had better be going back to our little bit of the palace or we may miss it.’
‘You look as though that would be a great grief to you,’ observed the man, who seemed to be the senior.
‘It would be – a great grief,’ returned Cousins.
The four went off laughing. Sir Leonard cast a last look round. They still seemed to be unobserved, the part of the courtyard from which they could have been seen remaining unoccupied.
‘In you get,’ he whispered, ‘and don’t make a noise, or the driver may hear.’
Cousins promptly drew himself up and wriggled along to the far end. Wallace was up and in as rapidly; despite his handicap. They squirmed their way under piles of sacks, taking care that they were completely covered, and lay close behind the driver’s cab. It was perhaps a fortunate circumstance that the latter did not possess a little window like so many. The man might have looked through, and thus put a complete end to their chances of escape. They could hear him singing softly to himself, as they lay hot and half stifled but now definitely hopeful. For some time they were filled with anxiety, fearful lest they had been noticed, but no hubbub rose, no sound of excited voices there came no sudden removal of their coverings and a curt demand for them to get out. From time to time they heard other crates and bundles being dumped in the lorry, occasionally caught scraps of conversation. It seemed a very long time before the lorry moved, and all the time they were troubled by the thought that they might be missed, and a search made for them. At last the engine was started.
They lay for a long time under the sacks without venturing to raise their heads. There was a possibility that a man was riding in the back with them in which case he would be bound to discover them if they moved their coverings. But Sir Leonard had no intention of riding to the depot and thus perform the time-honoured action, of falling from the frying pan into the fire. It was his design to descend at some quiet spot in the suburbs of Berlin. If there appeared to be a man riding in their part of the lorry, it would be a pity – for the man. Cautiously he moved the stifling, evil-smelling sacks away from his head, and looked out. They were alone. He nudged Cousins who sat up promptly, and drank in a great draught of fresh air.
‘O – oh!’ gasped the latter. ‘What a relief! “Air so precious, air so divine, air that is—”’
‘All right, Cousins,’ grunted Sir Leonard in his ear. ‘We’ll think of other things than quotations just now. The first thing is to keep a sharp lookout, and slip off when we are close to Berlin. That is, if we can do it without being noticed. After that we shall have to rid ourselves of these disguises. They’ll soon be on the lookout for Messrs. Keller and Minck.’
Cousins laughed softly to himself.
‘I hope,’ he observed, ‘that the real couple will not suffer on account of our little impersonation.’
Sir Leonard shrugged his shoulders.
‘If they are arrested, they ought to be able to prove an alibi. As far as we know they are still in Budapest. If by some unfortunate chance, they have come to Berlin, it may prove awkward for them. We cannot risk returning to the Adlon. I think the best thing we can do is to get a taxi and drive straight to the Esplanade. We’ll book rooms there in fresh names, then when all is clear, get into the room I still retain in my – er – naval capacity – I left word that I might be away for a day or so. We can then shed these disguises and walk out as our previous selves or as an entirely new couple. Incidentally we can obtain possession of my own make-up gear which is locked away there. Now that Gottfried has gone to Paris we can’t use his flat, and we shall possibly want several fresh personalities before we are done with this business. It is certainly proving rather a strain on our powers of disguise. Are you tired?’ he asked, as Cousins yawned.
‘A bit, sir,’ admitted the little man, ‘“I lay me down in dead fatigue, As the arms of Morpheus to me are stretched. I call on thee—” Oh, sorry, sir.’
Sir Leonard laughed.
‘You can’t help yourself, can you? It has occurred to me that we haven’t had much sleep lately, and we are not going to have any tonight. Before morning we must rescue the baroness, Fraulein Reinwald, and Foster. Possibly the woman Hanni as well. We’ve quite a busy time before us, Jerry.’
‘Quite a busy time,’ agreed the little man drily.
Whenever the lorry passed a populous district, they covered themselves again. At length they reached Berlin and the two of them, choosing the moment well, dropped off the back of the vehicle while it was passing along a temporarily deserted avenue. The pace was not sufficiently great to cause the undertaking to be dangerous. Cousins let himself down easily enough, but Sir Leonard, owing to his handicap, went down rather awkwardly lost his footing, and was thrown somewhat violently to the ground. His companion helped him to his feet.
‘Are you hurt, sir?’ he asked anxiously.
Wallace shook his head.
‘A bit shaken, that’s all,’ he replied, cheerfully, as he proceeded to brush some of the dust from his clothing. He watched the lorry disappearing in the distance, and smiled. ‘We’ve been lucky,’ he declared. ‘I was afraid that we should never strike an entirely deserted spot.’
They walked on for some minutes before they reached a shopping district. There they engaged a taxicab and were driven to the Esplanade Hotel. They booked rooms, explaining that their baggage was at the Atadtbahn. The reception clerk offered to send for it, but they declined with many expressions of thanks. There were certain dues and gratuities to be paid, they told him. When they had seen their rooms, and had washed, they would go themselves. They were accommodated on the floor above that on which was Sir Leonard’s previous flat. Waiting until there was nobody about the chief descended and entered the other room – he had retained his key. A few minutes later, Cousins joined him. At once behind locked doors they proceeded to remove their disguises. After a little discussion they decided to revert to their previous characterisations. The clothes they had worn had, of course, been left in Gottfried’s flat, but Sir Leonard had other garments at hand, and Cousins could continue to wear those he had on with certain alterations which would render them unrecognisable as the clothing of the fat little Bavarian who had that evening taken a room. Make-up, wigs, and all other necessary appliances were packed in a cunningly constructed secret compartment of Sir Leonard’s large suitcase.
Working rapidly but carefully, the faces and figures of the two Englishmen were metamorphosed into the bronzed, hearty-looking naval officer with the round face and fair hair and the small fat man with the bristly hair, a fierce moustache and sagging, unhealthy-looking flesh. When they had done, they inspected each other critically, putting a finishing touch here and there. Discarded articles were packed away in the secret compartment, which had escaped the vigilance of numerous customs as well as other officials.
‘The mystery of the disappearance of two Bavarian guests,’ commented Cousins, ‘will probably cause a good deal of conjecture.’
‘Not if the authorities trace us to this hotel,’ retorted Wallace. ‘It will look rather obvious why we have come and gone so quickly. They will merely think that we had got wind of the fact that they were after us. I’d rather like to know how they will regard the escape from Potsdam. I only hope it won’t cause them to suspect an attempt at rescue, and thus be more acutely on the qui vine than ever. Now we’ll dine, then get the car and go to Potsdam.’
Casting a final look round to make sure that nothing of an incriminating nature had been left lying about, Sir Leonard unlocked the door, and looked out. The corridor was deserted, and they descended to the lounge, where the chief ordered cocktails. The assistant manager caught sight of them as they sat waiting for the drinks to arrive.
‘Good evening, Herr Commander,’ he bowed. ‘You are back I see.’
‘It is evident,’ replied Wallace drily. ‘My friend and I are not dressed for dinner, as you observe. Kindly give orders to the head waiter for a table to be kept for us in a secluded part of the dining room where our attire will not be noticeable.’
‘It shall be done, but there are others who have not dressed. The Herr officer and his friend have no reason to feel embarrassed.’
‘We shall not feel embarrassed,’ murmured Sir Leonard in English to his companion when the manager had departed, ‘but I am not anxious for us to be particularly noticed.’
In his character of the gross-looking man with the fierce moustache, Cousins had taken a room in the Fürstenhof. As he had not been back there the previous night, and had left no message to explain his absence, it was thought advisable for him to show himself for fear comment might be caused by his disappearance. Thither, therefore, the two repaired after dinner and, meeting the manager, Cousins confided to him that he had had a rather hectic night, as a result of which he had spent the day sleeping off the effects at a friend’s house. The man laughed.
‘You visitors to Berlin,’ he commented, ‘certainly do enjoy yourselves when you come here. By the way,’ he added, ‘a lady has several times telephoned for you today. She would not leave her name or a message. I was informed because you could not be found and your room had not been slept in last night.’
Cousins was barely able to repress a start of surprise. He stole a glance at Sir Leonard to find the latter smiling genially. The information must have equally disturbed the chief, but, if so, he showed nothing of it.
‘Ah, ha!’ he laughed. ‘One of your peccadilloes seems to have found you out, Otto.’
‘It seems like it,’ agreed Cousins ruefully. ‘Did she say nothing,’ he asked the manager, ‘to give a clue to her identity?’
‘Nothing at all. The last time she telephoned was at about four.’
‘I see. Thank you.’
Left alone, he and his chief repaired to a quiet corner of the smoking room.
‘This is intriguing and highly disconcerting,’ murmured Sir Leonard, appearing to be the least concerned of men.
‘Who on earth can she be?’ whispered Cousins.
‘I am afraid conjecture is rather hopeless. It seems to me that someone has somehow got on your track, Jerry, unless it was Miss Meredith ringing up from the embassy. She knew you were staying here and the name under which you are going. But surely she would not be so foolish as to do a thing like that.’
‘If she had something urgent to communicate, sir, surely she would be more inclined to get in touch with you. She is—’ He stopped abruptly as a page boy poked his head into the almost empty room, and called a number. ‘Mine!’ he ejaculated, and beckoned the boy to him.
He was informed that he was wanted on the telephone.
‘You’d better find out who it is,’ muttered Wallace sotto voce. ‘Be careful!’
As Cousins hurried away in the wake of the boy, Sir Leonard’s hand involuntarily sought the pocket in which he had placed an automatic pistol when in his room at the Esplanade Hotel. A few minutes later Cousins was back. He slid into his chair quietly.
‘It was the same woman apparently,’ he whispered; ‘she would not give her name – says that she had something of the utmost importance to tell me, and insisted upon coming round here at once.’
‘H’m!’ grunted Wallace. ‘I can’t say I like the sound of it. Still it is necessary to find out what it is about. I had better make myself scarce. If someone has tumbled to you, there may be still a possibility that I am unsuspected. Have you any idea how long she will take to get here?’
‘She said she’d be here in five minutes, sir.’
‘Then you’d better place yourself in a prominent position in the lounge, where she can’t miss you. I’ll go and get the car and wait for you a little way along the Potsdam-Platz on this side. If you don’t join me by nine I’ll go on. Good luck, Jerry.’
The two men quietly and unobtrusively gripped hands. Both knew that that might be the last they would ever see of each other. If Cousins’s real identity had been discovered, his first duty as a Secret Service man would be to endeavour to cover all traces of his unsuspected colleague, even at the cost of throwing away his liberty and disappearing from the ken of his country and his companions without seeking or expecting the slightest assistance. It was a poignant moment for both, but they smiled cheerfully at each other. A few seconds later Sir Leonard left the smoking room. He walked out of the hotel in a casual manner, but was actually very much on the alert to note whether he was being observed. Taking the most elaborate precautions to avoid being followed, he eventually arrived at a garage in a turning off the Unter-den-Linden, quite certain that no attempt had been made to trail him. There he found a closed car awaiting him that had been arranged for by Gottfried. The driver was a man who looked as much a German as Gottfried himself, but was just as British, and belonged to the rank and file of the Secret Service. He was a member of the Guides Association, and very well known in the districts of Berlin, where tourists gather. Sir Leonard nodded to him, entered the car, and directed him to drive to the Potsdam-Platz, and draw up a little way from the Fürstenof.
After the chief had left him, Cousins sauntered into the lounge, and took up his position in a place where he could see and be seen by all who entered the hotel.
Only two or three minutes had gone by, when a young woman, perfectly dressed in an evening gown of emerald tinted tissue and carrying a black Spanish shawl on her arm, appeared. She stood for a moment gazing round her; then, catching sight of the disguised Englishman, hurried towards him. He recognised the beautifully waved brown hair, lovely complexion and blue eyes of the girl who had been the companion of Marlene Heckler and Colonel Schönewald on the night the latter had invited Foster to join the party at the Gourmania. She was Fraulein Hilda Zeiss. Involuntarily he stiffened. This appeared rather worse than he had anticipated. Marlene Heckler was one of Germany’s greatest secret agents, a woman who was reputed to have an amazing knowledge of members of the espionage corps of other nations. It was not too much to imagine that Hilda Zeiss, who was so often her companion, was also employed in Germany’s Secret Service. She reached him, and, glancing round her in a manner that suggested anxiety, spoke in a low voice.
‘You are registered here as Otto Bräun, am I not right?’ she asked.
‘That is my name, fraulein,’ he replied easily. ‘I must confess that I am intrigued by this visit.’
‘Take me somewhere where we can speak without being seen or heard,’ she directed.
‘My room would be the best place for that,’ he remarked dubiously, ‘but—’
‘We shall go to your room then,’ she decided.
Hesitating for a moment, he shrugged his shoulders and escorted her to the lift. A little later they were in the privacy of his own apartment with the door closed on them. She sank into a chair, while he stood two or three yards from her, regarding her curiously.
‘I have been trying to find you,’ she commenced, ‘since noon today. It would have been better for you had you not returned to this hotel. As it is, I am here to warn you to leave at once and, if you can, get away from Germany.’
‘Why, fraulein?’ he asked, becoming more deeply interested than ever.
‘This is no time for pretence,’ she told him, her eyes holding his eagerly. ‘I know your proper name is not Otto Bräun. I also know you are not a German.’ She leant forward, and suddenly spoke in English. ‘You are an Englishman who is suspected of being a prominent member of the British Secret Service, and your name is thought to be Cousins.’
The little man felt as though his whole world was tumbling about his ears. For a moment the room seemed to be whirling dizzily round him, but not by the flicker of an eyelid did he betray himself. Instead he smiled and twirled his fierce moustache.
‘This is very amusing,’ he commented, persisting in speaking German. ‘I am afraid you have made a very grave mistake, fraulein.’
She clicked her tongue impatiently.
‘Very well,’ she decided, reverting to German herself. ‘Since you intend being obstinate, I must convince you. Two nights ago you were at the Gourmania. You sat at a table next to one occupied by Colonel Schönewald, Fraulein Marlene Heckler and myself. Lest you do not know it, I must tell you that Marlene is in the espionage service of Germany. She has made it her speciality to know as many of the agents of espionage of other countries as possible. She knows Herr Cousins well by sight. When Herr Foster, who was suspected of being friendly with the Baroness von Reudath for the purpose of obtaining information from her, joined our party you stumbled against him on your way out. Whether it was an accident or intentional I do not know, but Marlene, who is always suspicious, sent a man to shadow you, find out who you were and all about you. She has many ways of communicating directions like that to others. A man or woman, or perhaps both, of her service are nearly always close by wherever she goes, and a finger raised, a nod of the head, or some other indication which nobody but they observe, gives them their instructions. You were followed, therefore, to this hotel, and information regarding you obtained. It was discovered that you had come from Budapest, which in itself was enough to rouse in Marlene greater interest than before, for Herr Foster and the Baroness von Reudath had also come from that city. Yesterday morning you were followed to the residence of the baroness, where you were seen to be keeping watch. When she went to the Esplanade Hotel you followed. Afterwards, when Colonel Schönewald took her to Potsdam to the Wannsee Prison, you followed again. But on that journey you were also trailed by Marlene herself, who had been informed of your activities by that time. You had lunch in the Polast Café at Potsdam and, while you were eating, you were under observation by her from behind a curtain in an adjoining compartment. What it was that made her guess who you were I do not know, but she is certain that you are Herr Cousins of the English Secret Service. When you left Potsdam, trace was lost of you – perhaps you suspected that you were being followed, and took steps to put those trailing you off the scent. I do not know, and it is of no concern of mine—’ Cousins could have informed her that he had gone to Gottfried’s establishment, and, in accordance with the strict rule of Sir Leonard Wallace that a Secret Service man visiting a branch of the firm of Lalére et Cie must on all occasions, whether on duty or not or convinced of freedom from surveillance, take the utmost precautions, had travelled in no less than three different taxicabs, over circuitous routes, and had visited several shops during his progress, always emerging by a different door from that by which he had entered. He felt a great wave of relief now at the recollection of his caution. ‘Watch, however, was kept on your hotel,’ went on the girl, ‘and much concern caused by your non-appearance. Before taking any steps against you, Marlene desired to be quite certain that she was right, and she was much troubled by your disappearance.’
He eyed her thoughtfully.
‘May I know,’ he asked, ‘who you are, and why you tell me this?’
She shrugged her shoulders.
‘It does not matter much who I am,’ she returned, ‘but perhaps you will be more convinced that I mean you no harm if I tell you that Colonel Schönewald is much upset at the treatment that has been meted out to Baroness von Reudath and Herr Foster. He knows that Herr Foster and the baroness are deeply in love with each other, and considers that, if you are indeed Herr Cousins of the English service, you will no doubt be eager to help them. In that case, though he can do nothing, he is desirous of thwarting Marlene in her efforts to have you apprehended. Today, anticipating that you might return here, he succeeded in withdrawing the men who were watching this hotel for you, but he cannot keep them away for long lest suspicion fall on himself. He asked me to telephone and, if you came back, to make an appointment with you, and warn you. I have done as he desired.’
‘What interest have you in the affair?’
‘The same as his. I feel as he does, you see,’ she added simply. ‘I am his fiancée. My name is Hilda Zeiss.’