THE TRENCH DAYS: The Collected War Tales of William Le Queux (WW1 Adventure Sagas, Espionage Thrillers & Action Classics). William Le Queux
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Chasseurs? Do you know?” asked the girl anxiously.
“Well, yes, I happen to know because Jacques, my second chauffeur, is in the regiment of Monsieur Valentin. They belong to the Sixth Brigade under General Paul Thalmann.”
“Thalmann!” echoed the Baroness. “Ah, we know him quite well. He was commandant at Bruges a year ago. Then he was moved to Ghent. Aimée and I stayed with him for three days during the Exhibition. A fine old soldier. One of the best men in all Belgium.”
Arnaud Rigaux smiled curiously. The Hebrew came out in him at that moment.
“Yes,” he said, with slight hesitation. “But a gambler, my dear Baroness. He is in my debt to a considerable extent. Besides, I — well, I suspect him.”
“Of what?” asked the great financier.
“Of dealings with the enemy.”
Aimée started.
“What do you mean, m’sieur?” she asked quickly.
“I simply mean what I say, Mademoiselle. General Thalmann has, to my knowledge, been on the verge of bankruptcy for the past three years. He is a bosom friend of a certain Karl Schnerb, whom I have long suspected of being a secret agent of Germany. After his acquaintance with Schnerb, the General began to repay me some of what I had lent him. Voilà tout!”
“You say, then, that General Thalmann is in the pay of our enemies?” asked Aimée quickly.
“You surely don’t mean that, Arnaud?” asked her father at the same moment.
“I only tell you facts that I know, my dear Baron,” was their visitor’s reply. “And for that reason, and that alone, I say: ‘May God help our poor little Belgium.’”
Aimée was silent.
Was it possible that a traitor was in command of Edmond’s brigade?
The girl held her breath. If what Arnaud Rigaux had alleged was the actual truth — and he always knew the truth — if such things were, then poor little Belgium was, alas! doomed.
Chapter Nine
The Kaiser’s Secret Agent
“The position is a very grave one, Henri,” Rigaux explained when, a few minutes later, they were alone together in a small, circular, book-lined room, that room below one of the high round towers of the château, which the Baron used as a bureau. “I hesitated to speak very openly before your wife, because it would cause her undue alarm. There is no doubt — indeed, there has been abundant proof in these last four days — that Belgium swarms with German spies. They are everywhere. Our enemies have been most crafty and cunning in their preparations for our undoing. They have arrested and shot sixteen German agents in Antwerp alone. They had carrier-pigeons, secret wireless, code-books, German ammunition, secret stores of petrol, and other things, which showed, only too plainly, their intentions. Now your telephone was cut at noon to-day, was it not, and you are wondering? Well, the truth is that the Germans occupied Brussels at eleven o’clock this morning?”
“They are in Brussels!” gasped the Baron, starting up. “You must be joking!”
“I am not, I regret to say. To-day, at eleven, Burgomaster Max met the German commander in the Chausée de Louvain. There was no resistance, and the enemy marched into the city, doing the goose-step as they passed the Gare du Nord.”
“Impossible?” gasped de Neuville, pale as death.
“But it is the unfortunate truth. The Germans are asking for an indemnity of eight millions sterling. The Minister of finance has asked me to negotiate the loan. Will you and your friends take part in it?”
For a moment the Baron de Neuville was silent. He knew the financial straits of the Government at that moment, and he was reflecting.
At last he said, in a low, earnest voice:
“Arnaud, if I touch it at all, my friends in London and myself will make the whole loan.”
“What, you will bear the eight millions?” asked Rigaux, with some surprise.
“Yes. I feel it my duty to assist in the present crisis.”
“But I only asked for a portion. I can do some myself, and obtain the remainder in Holland.”
“I tell you I will arrange to bear the whole responsibility. I will send word to Monsieur Max to-night. I can arrange with good substantial friends in London to assist me.”
Rigaux was silent for a few seconds.
“Well,” he said enthusiastically at last, “yours is indeed a fine example of patriotism, Henri, I will let Max know your generous offer. There is no telegraphic or telephonic communication with Brussels now.”
He did not add that in his pocket was a special pass, signed by the German commander, which allowed him to go through the enemy’s lines, backwards and forwards, at will. If the Baron and his friends paid over eight millions to the enemy, then his friends in Berlin would be highly pleased at his clever diplomacy.
“You return to Brussels to-night — eh?”
“Yes, at once. It is a risky business to be on the roads at night nowadays.”
“I shall go to Brussels to-morrow, and make the offer personally,” the Baron said.
“But, if you do so, you will not leave your wife and daughter here. If I were you I would send them to Ostend, where, if further trouble occurs, they can easily cross to England. They should not be left here alone. One never knows what may happen.” The Baron did not reply. He was still reassured by the words of certain highly-placed officials in Brussels that the Baroness and Aimée would be quite safe at Sévérac, and Rigaux, on his part, did not think it worth while to tell him of the close proximity of the Uhlans.
“I shall see you in Brussels to-morrow,” the Baron said briefly.
“Yes. May I tell Max that you will be at the Hôtel de Ville at noon — eh?” asked the secret agent of the Kaiser, “and that you and your English friends will, if necessary, guarantee the loan to the municipality of the eight millions demanded?”
“Yes,” was his friend’s reply.
“Ah, Henri,” cried Arnaud Rigaux, “you are a true patriot. You, the wealthiest man in Belgium, to come forward at such a time,” And, Judas-like, he took the Baron’s hand — he who was now secretly acting as financial agent of the German Government. “Monsieur Max has been made responsible for the good behaviour of the capital, and they have handed him back his scarf of office. The surrender was a sad and impressive scene, I can assure you,” he added.
“Ah, yes,” replied the Baron very gravely. “I had no idea that the enemy were already in Brussels.”
“Yes. They have taken Liège, Tirlemont, and Louvain, and are now coming up to bombard Namur.”
“So near!” cried the broad-shouldered Baron, amazed.
“Yes. That is why I suggest to you, privately, that the ladies should be sent at once to the coast.”
“Thanks for your hint, my dear Arnaud. I will certainly consider it,” was the other’s reply.
He handed Rigaux the big silver box of cigarettes, and when both had lit up, the footman brought, in response to his master’s summons, two tiny Bohemian liqueur glasses and filled them with fine old cognac.
They tossed them off, in Belgian fashion, and soon afterwards Rigaux gripped his friend’s hand, saying:
“Au revoir, till to-morrow. And all Belgians will thank you, Henri, for saving their capital from the Kaiser’s brigands.”
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