21 Greatest Spy Thrillers in One Premium Edition (Mystery & Espionage Series). E. Phillips Oppenheim
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might a weaker man.”
“Our country is worth lying for,” Von Thal declared. “Why should we not report that Fawley, taking a short cruise with us, slipped and fell overboard? No one can say otherwise.”
“Major Fawley,” Elida objected disdainfully, “is not one of those men who slip on decks, especially with rails such as we have and in a calm sea. Be reasonable, Maurice.”
“I am no damned by the Almighty Jesuit!” Von Thal persisted. “You tell me that you have information that Berati has placed his faith in this man. He is sending him to Germany to report upon the situation, to choose between Krust, Behrling and us, in plain words. Very well. You go on to say that you fear he will decide for Krust.”
“I did not go so far as that,” Elida protested earnestly. “Only yesterday Berati refused to receive Krust. He had to come back from San Remo where he went to telephone. He refused to see him or to take him anywhere else for an audience. The matter is not decided. Our object with Major Fawley should be to get him to promise that we have fair play, that he shall see something of our organisations and hear something of our plans as well as Krust’s. After that will come the time for arguments, and after that, Maurice, but not before, might come the time for the sort of action you are contemplating.”
She was suddenly more grave. There was a smouldering light in her eyes. She turned to face Fawley.
“If we arrive at that stage,” she said, “and we are faced with an unfavourable decision, I think I would send the dearest friend or the dearest relative I have into hell, if he elected to hand Germany over to the bourgeoisie.”
“Better to the Soviet,” Von Thal grunted.
The captain came and spoke to Von Thal in a low voice.
“It is a mistral which arrives, Your Highness,” he announced.
The Prince rose to his feet and gazed westward. There was a curious bank of clouds which seemed suddenly to have appeared from nowhere. White streaks of foam danced upon the sea below. Von Thal waved the man aside with a muttered word and turned his back upon him.
“The trouble of this affair,” Fawley declared, “is that the Princess has formed an exaggerated idea of my influence. I am only a pawn, after all. Berati has already a sheaf of reports from Germany. Mine will only be one of the many.”
“At the risk of flattering your self-esteem,” Elida said, “I will tell you that Berati has an extraordinary opinion of your resource and capacity. He does not believe that any other man breathing could have obtained for him the plan of the new French defences on the frontier with particulars of their guns and preserved his life and liberty.”
Fawley laid down his cigarette. For once Elida had scored. He was genuinely disturbed.
“That sounds rather like a fairy tale, Princess.”
“Never mind,” she persisted. “It was bad diplomacy on my part, I admit, to tell you that, but I could not resist the temptation. You are a clever man, Major Fawley, but neither I nor my friends walk altogether in the dark. You need not be afraid. Only I and two others know what I have just told you and how you communicated with Berati is still a secret to us.”
“Such an enterprise as you have alluded to,” Fawley observed, “would have been more in my line. I am no politician. That is what neither my Chief nor you seem to understand. I will promise what you ask,” he went on, after a moment’s pause. “I shall not travel to Germany with Krust. I will not be subject to his influence and I will visit any organisation or meet any one you may suggest.”
Von Thal sprang to his feet. There was a sullen look in his face, angry words trembling upon his lips. Elida rose swiftly and laid her fingers upon his mouth.
“I forbid you to speak, Maurice,” she enjoined. “You hear that? You see, I have guessed your thoughts. You would wish to provoke a quarrel with Major Fawley by means of an insult. I will not tolerate it. I accept Major Fawley’s proposition. Remember, I am your superior in this matter. You must do as I say.”
She withdrew her hand slowly. The blood seemed to have rushed to Von Thal’s head. He was by no means a pleasant sight.
“And if I refuse?” he demanded.
“You will be ordered to return to Germany to-night,” she told him. “You will never again be associated with any enterprise in which I am concerned and I shall do my best to discredit you entirely with Von Salzenburg.”
Von Thal hesitated for a moment, then he swung on his heel and strode away forward. From their sheltered seats they could see him leaning over the side of the boat, regardless of the spray through which they were driving.
“A nice joy ride you are giving me,” Fawley grumbled. “How do you know that I am not liable to seasickness?”
“You do not seem to me to be that sort of person,” she answered absently.
They were rolling and pitching now in the trough of a heavy sea. Occasionally a wave sent a cloud of spray over their heads. They had turned toward the harbour but it was hard to see more than its blurred outline. A sailor had brought them oilskins and removed the plates and glasses.
“We are running in with the wind now,” Fawley remarked. “Good thing we turned when we did.”
She drew him farther into the shelter. It seemed to him that her fingers lingered almost caressingly upon his wrist.
“If only you and I,” she sighed, “could be on the same side.”
“Well, I think I should be an improvement upon your present fellow conspirators,” he rejoined.
“Maurice, as I dare say you know,” she told him, “is a nephew of Von Salzenburg. He has the reputation of being a fine soldier.”
“These fine soldiers,” Fawley grunted, “are always a terrible nuisance in civil life. What the mischief is he up to now?”
Conditions had changed during the last few moments. They were only about a hundred yards from the entrance to the harbour but they seemed to be taking an unusual course which laid them broadside to the heavy seas. Two sailors were busy lowering one of the dinghies. Elida pointed towards the wheel. The Prince had taken the captain’s place, he had thrown off his oilskins and coat, and was standing up with the wheel in his hand, his broad ugly mouth a little open, his eyes fixed steadily upon the narrow entrance to the harbour.
“He is mad!” Elida exclaimed.
A great wave broke over them, smashing some of the woodwork of the deck lounge and sending splinters of glass in every direction. People were running, dimly visible shrouded figures, through the mist and cloud of rain to the end of the pier. There were warning shouts. The captain gripped Von Thal by the arm and shouted indistinguishable words. Maurice’s right hand shot out. The man staggered back and collapsed half upon the deck, half clinging to the rails. Once again they mounted a wave which for a few seconds completely engulfed them.
“Maurice is running straight for the sea wall,” Elida gasped.
“In that case,” Fawley exclaimed, tearing off his coat, “I think we will make for the dinghy.”
There was suddenly a terrific crash, a splintering of wood all around them, a crashing and screeching of torn timbers. They seemed to be up in the air for a moment. Von Thal, who had left the wheel, came dashing towards them. The deck seemed to be parting underneath their feet. Fawley drew the girl closer into his arms, her wet cheeks were pressed to his. For a period of seconds their lips met fiercely, hungrily, the flavour of salt in their madness, and the roar and blinding fury of the breaking waves stupefying them…Once again the yacht, which had been sucked backwards, crashed into the stone wall. This time she fell apart like a cardboard box. Fawley saw, as though in a dream, Elida hauled into the dinghy. She was surrounded by ugly pieces of wreckage, threatening them every second with death. He drew a long breath and dived down to the calmer waters.