They found a belated taxicab and drove to the Konigs-Plats. There they dismissed it, walking the rest of the way to von Strom’s residence. The nearer they drew to his great mansion the more cautious became their progress. The square in which it stood was practically deserted, but from the seclusion of a thick group of trees they could see the numerous sentries marching up and down before the great iron railings or standing on guard at the gates. Lamp standards every few yards threw a radiance of light on the scene which in one way was helpful, but otherwise disconcerting. To enter such a place secretly seemed well-nigh impossible, but the word ‘impossible’ has no place in Sir Leonard’s vocabulary. He studied the building in silence for some time. A small gate at the extreme left of the railings attracted most of his attention. It stood open, and a sentry was stationed to one side of it. A few yards from it was a large chestnut tree. He decided that their entry should be made at that point. Whispering instructions to his followers, he made a wide detour, crossing the square some distance away, and avoiding the light as much as possible. In single file, and treading without a sound, they gradually approached the tree until they stood behind it.
Sir Leonard gazed reflectively at the lamp throwing its powerful illumination on the gate and the sentry box. If he could cause it to fail the neighbourhood would be thrown into darkness, and make it fairly easy for them to enter the courtyard. A shot would have the desired effect, but a shot would bring the guard to the spot in double quick time, and put a complete end to their hopes. No; it was out of the question to extinguish the light. By some means or other the sentry’s attention must be diverted. He bent down and, to his satisfaction, found several small stones at the base of the tree. He picked up two or three, bidding his companions do the same. They then proceeded to throw them at regular intervals some yards beyond the sentry.
As the first fell lightly to the ground, the man grew rigidly on the alert. Glancing round the tree, Sir Leonard saw that he was staring in the direction from which the sound had come. Another and another stone followed; then came the rattle of a rifle as it was shouldered. The sentry, as Wallace had hoped, marched to the place whence the noise appeared to come. Directly his back was turned, the three sped like shadows across the intervening space, and succeeded in passing through the gate. They reached the deeper darkness surrounding a linden tree; stood there with every sense acutely on the alert, hardly daring to breathe. But no alarm was raised; they had entered without being seen. Reichmann, who was unused to such ventures, gave vent to a great sigh of relief, which was immediately stifled by Cousin’s hand.
‘Be quiet!’ whispered the little man. ‘This courtyard is patrolled by police. There may be one or two close by.’
He had hardly spoken when they heard the measured tramp of feet, and two shadowy forms passed by a few yards away. They waited until the sound had died in the distance; then, running on tiptoe, and with Sir Leonard leading the way, they reached a side entrance of the building, and stood safely under the portico. The chief had noticed that this was the only one in darkness, the other doors, visible from the square, all being illuminated. So far everything had gone well. It now remained for them to enter the house. Obeying instructions, Cousins produced from somewhere on his person, a case of finely-tempered steel instruments. Selecting one of these, he quickly had the door unlocked, but it would not move.
‘Bolted!’ he muttered tersely.
Bolts, however, were not impossible obstacles to men who had, of necessity, become expert at opening all sorts and conditions of doors and windows. Once the bolts were located, Cousins worked silently and skilfully, using a long, slender instrument with a gripping, curved end. The operation took some time and when Sir Leonard heard a clock in the distance strike one, he whispered to his assistant to hurry. At length the job was done and muttering a fervent hope to himself that no burglar alarm was connected, Cousins slowly and silently pushed open the door. It was at that moment that they heard the sound of approaching footsteps. Another police patrol was coming. Sir Leonard drew his automatic ready, if discovered, to take the aggressive, but the man went by, greatly to his relief. He had no wish to risk an encounter with any of the guard if such could be avoided. A moment later the three of them were inside the house. The door was shut, locked, and bolted again, and, in place of his case of steel implements, Cousins now held a revolver in his hand. Reichmann was unarmed, and was instructed to keep close behind the chief, the little Secret Service man bringing up the rear.
His faculty of being able to see quite well in the dark now stood Sir Leonard in good stead, for he was reluctant to use his torch. He had led the way unerringly along a narrow passage, which presently broadened out into a wide corridor. While in the square, he had noted light issuing from two windows on the first floor. It was his object to reach the room or rooms in which the electricity burnt, hopeful that inside he would find His Excellency at work. They passed several rooms, all in darkness, before emerging into a large, lofty hall adjoining the main door. The light from outside illumined the place, showing them a broad staircase ascending to the upper regions. Without hesitation and in the same order as before, they went up. The corridor above was in darkness, but after traversing several passages, they came to a corner where light was dimly diffused from a lamp, apparently some distance away. Sir Leonard glanced cautiously round; almost immediately drew back. He had found himself looking along a gallery lighted by a single electric globe half way along. Sitting in a chair close to a shut door, and almost directly under the lamp, was a man in Nazi uniform. He appeared to be dozing. The Chief of the British Secret Service was not disconcerted. On the contrary he felt quite a glow of satisfaction. The presence of the man in the chair suggested that von Strom was up and working in the room outside which the orderly was sitting. He stole another look. The Nazi’s head was bent forward, his eyes closed. He was not a very vigilant attendant, which was all to the good. If he could be approached without alarming him, it might be possible to overcome him without causing a disturbance. It was a pity they would be forced to encumber themselves with an additional prisoner, but it could not be helped. Sir Leonard retreated a few yards, and, putting his automatic in his pocket, asked Cousins for his revolver.
‘Your Nazi uniform is along that corridor,’ he whispered to Reichmann. ‘Mr Cousins and I are going to get it for you. Remain here until we come back.’
The guide eyed him in puzzled fashion, but nodded. Sir Leonard whispered to Cousins to follow him and be ready to prevent the Nazi from falling noisily to the floor when rendered unconscious. The chief regretted the necessity that would force him to stun the man, but did not care to risk pointing a revolver at him and ordering him to be silent. The fellow would quite likely dare being shot to raise the alarm. Creeping round the corner, and keeping close to the wall, the pair gradually approached the unsuspecting man, who still dozed on. They were within a few paces of him, when he suddenly stirred and looked up. For a fraction of a second his eyes encountered those of Sir Leonard. He appeared momentarily stupefied; then his mouth opened to cry out. The butt end of the revolver wielded with scientific precision, descended on his head with a soft but sickening thud. Without a sound he sagged forward, Cousins catching his body and preventing it from sliding to the floor. He supported it in his arms, while he and his chief listened intently to make certain that no alarm had been caused in the room.
Satisfied that all was well, Wallace sent Cousins back to fetch Reichmann, he himself keeping a hold on the senseless figure in the chair. The little man quickly returned with the other, and they were directed to carry the Nazi to the end of the corridor. Round the corner Sir Leonard ordered them to strip the man of his uniform.
‘He is about your size, Reichmann,’ he whispered, ‘which is fortunate. Later we shall have to disguise you. It won’t do for you to be recognised, or not only will your usefulness in Berlin be gone, but you will probably lose your life as well. I don’t know quite what we are going to do about a uniform for you, Cousins. I doubt if there is a Nazi on the staff here so small. You’re a problem. However, quite a minor one.’ He smiled.
The unconscious man was quickly divested of his clothing. Reichmann discarded his own outer garments and donned the uniform. It proved an excellent fit. When that was done, Cousins was sent to search for materials with which to bind and gag the Nazi. He was gone for several minutes, and Sir Leonard began to grow anxious lest von Strom who, he firmly believed, was in the room, should emerge or summon the orderly. However, the little Secret Service man came back at length armed with a tablecloth and several napkins. He had discovered the dining room from where he had abstracted the articles. The German was gagged and bound with scientific thoroughness, after which, he was carried along the corridor, and placed in a room almost opposite the apartment in which they presumed von Strom to be at work. Cousins had glanced in during his search to find it an office apparently used by clerks of the household. Deserted at that hour, of course, it would do as a temporary prison for the orderly. Reichmann’s clothing was also placed inside, and the door closed. The guide was then told to sit in the German’s chair, and keep watch.
Sir Leonard bent down and endeavoured to look through the keyhole of the Marshal’s room, but the key was in the way, and he could see nothing. He stood with his automatic in his hand – the revolver had been handed back to its owner – while Cousins softly turned the handle. At a word from his chief, the little man suddenly swung the door open, and stepped aside. Sir Leonard entered at once. He found himself in a large room furnished, not elaborately but quite comfortably, as a library. In the centre of the apartment was a large desk, almost covered with books and documents. Behind it sat a man. The Supreme Marshal of State!
He looked up in startled fashion at Sir Leonard’s entry and, as it dawned on him, that here was a complete stranger, sprang to his feet. The sight of the automatic held steadily pointed at him, caused him to pale a little, but he showed no sign of fear. For a moment the two stared straight at each other, but those cold, steel grey eyes of Sir Leonard’s were too much for von Strom. His gaze flickered and fell. Then abruptly he recovered from his surprise.
‘Who are you, sir,’ he demanded in harsh, angry tones, ‘and how did you come here?’
‘That hardly matters,’ drawled Sir Leonard. ‘I am here, and it is quite sufficient to concern you for the present. Sit down, and keep your hands above the desk.’
Von Strom took no notice of the order. He remained standing, his eyes flashing fiercely.
‘You will suffer severely for this,’ he stormed. ‘Do you think you can enter in a manner so threatening the private apartment of the Supreme Marshal of Germany, and escape without severe punishment?’
‘I have no time to bandy unnecessary words with you,’ retorted the Englishman. ‘As you see, I have the advantage of you. If this little weapon happens to go off, the Chancellor will be forced to look for a new Marshal. That will be sad for you, will it not? Though doubtless of great benefit to Germany. However, I do not intend to shoot you unless you force me to take such a drastic course. Sit down!’
‘Do you think I fear that stupid weapon?’ snarled the other.
‘Yes,’ was the calm retort. ‘You would hardly be human if you did not. Few of us wish to die, least of all you, bloated with power and ambition.’
‘You fool!’ snapped the Marshal. ‘Within call are a hundred men who, at a word from me, would tear you to pieces. What is to prevent my summoning them?’
‘This,’ replied Wallace, nodding at the automatic. He slowly approached the desk. ‘Sit down,’ he repeated sternly. For a while von Strom defied him, but his resolution was not proof against the grim little weapon pointed so unwaveringly at his head, and presently, with an oath, he sank back into his chair. ‘Ah! That’s better,’ commented the disguised Englishman. ‘Now we can talk. There is quite a lot to discuss. Keep your hands together on the desk. That’s right. Thank you.’
Cousins had entered behind his chief, and, closing the door, remained standing with his back to it, his revolver swinging loosely in his hand. Von Strom, whose attention had hitherto been centred on the florid faced man with the automatic, now seemed to become aware of the second intruder for the first time. He frowned in rank astonishment.
‘An Indian!’ he ejaculated. ‘What is the meaning of this theatrical display?’
‘I am glad you can look upon it in such a light,’ observed Sir Leonard cheerfully. ‘You have certainly come quite near the mark, as far as my friend and I are concerned. But there is no time to waste. I have a lot to do, and quite a lot to say. Today you caused two young women to undergo the humiliation of a farcical trial for treason – I refer to the Baroness von Reudath and Fraulein Reinwald.’ Von Strom gasped audibly. He leant forward, and studied the speaker’s face intently. ‘There are no words expressive of the foul manner in which you have behaved,’ continued Sir Leonard sternly. ‘The so-called trial had not an atom of justice or mercy in it. From first to last it was evident that the judges and attorneys for both sides had received their orders. They obeyed them only too well. These two poor girls have been condemned to be beheaded at sunrise, and all because you were scorned by one of them whom you could not bend to your will.’ Von Strom spat out a forcible exclamation and half rose to his feet. ‘Sit down!’ snapped Sir Leonard, and the automatic was again raised threateningly.
The Marshal sank back, and looked round him with the suggestion of a hunted expression in his eyes. The Englishmen, watching him intently, were rather pleased to note that he had turned a little pale. It seemed that he was not quite so brave as he pretended to be. Perhaps his conscience, if he possessed one, was troubling him a little, perhaps he read nemesis in the cold eyes of the man confronting him.
‘Those women are traitresses,’ he grunted, ‘and, as such, deserve the fate that is about to overtake them.’
‘They are not traitresses,’ retorted Sir Leonard. ‘Whether or not the baroness contemplated betraying the secrets you confided in her for your own vicious purposes, is neither here nor there. She is not a German, though the law may have dubbed her as one on her marriage to the Baron von Reudath. She is an Austrian, and I happen to know gave a vow to you of secrecy, only on your giving your word that your military plans were non-aggressive. You deluded her. Anyone with any knowledge would have known that they could not possibly be.’
Von Strom was now white to the lips. His mouth kept opening and shutting convulsively as though he were endeavouring to speak, but could not, while his eyes appeared to be very nearly protruding from his head, as he stared at the stern, calm man before him.
‘What do you know?’ he muttered hoarsely at length.
‘Everything,’ was the reply, ‘and before many hours have passed, my knowledge will be public property.’
‘Who are you?’ gasped the other, and a sound very much like a groan broke from his pallid lips.
‘It does not matter in the least who I am. I have come here to demand justice, and justice I am going to obtain. The baroness must be released. Dora Reinwald, who is entirely innocent, must be released. The Englishman, Foster, whose great crime in your eyes was that he dared to love a woman whom you desired, must be released. Why, you cur, do you think you can use your power unchallenged to perpetrate gross, hideous crimes, that call to heaven for vengeance? I do not pretend to be heaven’s instrument of punishment, but, at least, I am here to give you the opportunity of righting the wrongs you have already done, and of preventing a bloody crime that, if carried out, will ring down the ages as one of the worst acts in history. You have paper before you, pen and ink. Sign at once, an unconditional order for the release of the Baroness von Reudath, Fraulein Reinwald, and Herr Foster, and a safe conduct for them to leave Germany.’
‘And what of you,’ sneered the other, ‘you and your black companion? Do you not want a safe conduct also?’
‘We desire nothing from you for ourselves. All we require are the documents I have mentioned.’
Abruptly the Marshal was on his feet, his face livid with rage, his whole body trembling violently with the passion of his anger.
‘God in heaven!’ he screamed. ‘Who are you to force yourself into my presence and dictate to me? Am I safeguarded by traitors that such things can be. Someone will suffer for their slackness, and you, you swine hounds, will undergo the punishment that Sophie von Reudath is about to suffer. You would demand an order for release and a safe conduct, would you?’ He laughed harshly. ‘Fools, madmen, you have walked into the lion’s den and from it, you will never escape.’ Leaning forward, he added between clenched teeth ‘And you shall tell me who you are, the extent of your information, and from where it was obtained.’
‘Quite a pretty display of temper,’ commented Sir Leonard coolly, ‘but useless. Write those orders!’
The Marshal stormed in more violent fashion than before. A string of bloodthirsty and blasphemous denunciations poured from his lips, which was in no wise restrained by sight of Sir Leonard’s automatic approaching closer to his head. He was beside himself, in a rage far too great to take account of the danger in which he stood. Wallace began to fear that his shouts would be heard, and bring people to the room bent on finding out what was wrong. He gestured to Cousins who promptly stepped up to von Strom, swinging his revolver by the barrel. Sir Leonard interrupted the flow of invective sternly.
‘I give you one more chance,’ he snapped. ‘Write those orders for release and safe conducts at once—’
‘Or you will murder me!’ snarled the other. ‘Try it, and see what happens to you and your Indian friend. There is an electric alarm bell in the floor, and my foot is on it. I am just about to press it.’
‘You’re a liar!’ retorted Sir Leonard deliberately. ‘There is no bell push in the floor. A friend of mine who knows your residence well, described this room to me. The alarm bell is rung by that rope hanging by the fireplace behind you. Your chances of pulling it are not very great.’
Another great cry of rage broke from von Strom. He swung round and made a desperate dash for the silken cord, but Cousins was too quick for him. The butt of the little Secret Service agent’s revolver descended on his head with sickening force. He grunted and went down as though he had been poleaxed. Cousins eyed his recumbent form with the air of an expert who had performed his task skilfully and well.
‘“Down to the ground the tyrant sank”,’ he quoted, ‘“His eyes fast closed in death—” Well, not exactly in death,’ he interrupted himself, ‘but he will be as good as dead for some time.’
‘It was fortunate Gottfried knew this room,’ commented Sir Leonard, ‘and had described it to me. His tale of the alarm bell in the floor might otherwise have bluffed us sufficiently to enable him to reach the cord. Turn him over Cousins, and drag him right under the light. I’ll get on with the make-up right away.’
Cousins did as he was bidden.
‘You won’t have to alter your figure much, sir,’ he observed. ‘The padding you are wearing for the general naval officer makes you just about the same build as von Strom, and your height is not noticeably different.’
Sir Leonard placed his make-up box with the other articles he had brought with him on the desk and, aided by Cousins, commenced at once on his preparations, working with the most meticulous care, and studying every line and feature of the face of the unconscious Marshal, he gradually transformed himself into a marvellously complete double of the man. When he had finished, he stretched himself at full length beside the other, and while Cousins held a mirror over them, compared the two faces with painstaking thoroughness, making a slight alteration here and there. Satisfied at length, he rose to his feet, and he and his assistant proceeded to strip the Marshal of his outer clothing. Sir Leonard took off his own and donned the other. When that was done, he made another careful examination of himself. Cousins’ bright eyes twinkled with delight.
‘It is the finest thing you have ever done, sir,’ he declared. ‘It is amazing. There is not a flaw anywhere.’
‘Now for the voice,’ observed Wallace. ‘I let him talk and shout more than I should otherwise have done in order to be able to study it and catch every shade of inflection.’
He rattled off a series of commands. Cousins listened with admiration shining from his eyes.
‘Perfect!’ he declared, when Sir Leonard stopped, and looked at him enquiringly. ‘You have caught the voice in every particular. It is great. Not a soul will ever dream that you are not the great man himself. I bet you’d take in his wife, sir.’
‘I have no wish to make the experiment,’ returned Sir Leonard drily. ‘Now will you make up Reichmann to resemble the fellow whose place he has taken? After that you’d better remove that stain, and we’ll think of a disguise for you.’
There were many points of resemblance between Reichmann and the orderly, which made it fairly easy for Cousins. Quarter of an hour later his task was finished. He found a bathroom and with the aid of grease followed by warm water, removed the stain from his face and arms. When he had finished, he contemplated the towel he had used.
‘Someone will wonder what has happened to this in the morning,’ he murmured, and rejoined Sir Leonard.
The latter was a little puzzled at first regarding Cousins’ disguise. Several ideas were mooted and dropped – the lack of a uniform causing most of them to be ruled out. A search had failed to bring to light anything, either of a fit or type, to transform the little man into a Nazi storm trooper, or a member of a similar body. Neither of them felt like looking for what they required in any of the bedrooms for fear of disturbing any of the people sleeping in the house.
‘You’re a great problem, Cousins,’ frowned Sir Leonard.
‘Well, sir,’ commenced the little man, ‘it is well known that Euclid—’
The chief interrupted him by laughing softly.
‘Marlene Heckler,’ he remarked, ‘is convinced that you are in Berlin. Therefore it does not matter much if you are so long as you get out safely. You shall remain yourself, Jerry. If she sees you with me, she will have the astonishing experience of observing the Supreme Marshal of Germany in friendly association with a member of the British Secret Service.’
Cousins stared at him a moment, then he also laughed.
‘Splendid!’ he ejaculated. ‘Perhaps she will think I have touched your hard and flinty heart regarding the fate of the condemned women.’
‘Now we’re ready, not the least difficult part of our job remains. I’ll go down myself and shout for a car. In the meantime you had better gag and bind von Strom; then carry him, and afterwards the orderly, down to the hail and place them out of sight. How we’re going to get them into the car without being spotted, I don’t quite know – yet take steps to see that the way is fairly clear, but there is such an infernal amount of light round the front door. I can hardly use any other.’
‘You leave it to me, sir,’ remarked Cousins. ‘I have an idea.’
Sir Leonard smiled, and departed thoroughly satisfied. He had great confidence in his famous assistant. Cousins’ fertility of imagination was probably the chief reason why the little man was still alive and on the active list.