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Page 49
It was not on the usual rock--money--that this German-American marriage
was wrecked, for the Count was very wealthy himself. I had supposed that
the German man's habitual attitude of mind towards women had not suited
the girl's independent spirit on hearing that Monica, a few years after
her marriage, had left her husband and gone to live in America. I had
not seen her since she left London, and, though we wrote to one another
at intervals, I had not heard from her since the war started and had no
idea that she had returned to Germany. Monica Rachwitz was, in fact, the
last person I should ever have expected to meet in Berlin in war-time.
So, as briefly as I could and listening intently throughout for any
sounds from the corridor, I gave the two women the story of the
disappearance of Francis and my journey into Germany to look for him. At
the mention of my brother's name, I noticed that the girl stiffened and
her face grew rigid, but when I told her of my fears for his safety her
blue eyes seemed to me to grow dim. I described to them my adventure in
the hotel at Rotterdam, my reception in the house of General von Boden,
and my interview at the Castle, ending with the experiences of that
night, the trap laid for me at the hotel and my encounter with Clubfoot
in the room below. Two things only I kept back: the message from Francis
and the document. I decided within myself that the fewer people in those
secrets the safer they would be. I am afraid, therefore, that my account
of my interview with the Emperor was a trifle garbled, for I made out
that I did not know why I was bidden to the presence and that our
conversation was interrupted before I could discover the reason.
The two women listened with grave faces. Only once did Monica interrupt
me. It was when I mentioned General von Boden.
"I know the beast," she said. "But, oh, Des!" she exclaimed, "you seem
to have fallen right among the top set in this country. They're a bad
lot to cross. I fear you are in terrible danger."
"I believe you, Monica," I answered, dolefully enough. "And that's just
where I feel such a beast for throwing myself upon your mercy in this
way. But I was pretty desperate when I met you just now and I didn't
know where to turn. Still, I want you to understand that if you can only
get me out of this place I shall not trouble you further. I came to this
country on my own responsibility and I'm going through with it alone. I
have no intention of implicating anybody else along with me. But I
confess I don't believe it is possible to get away from this hotel.
They're watching every door by now. Besides..."
I stopped abruptly. A noise outside caught my listening ear. Footsteps
were approaching along the corridor. I heard doors open and shut. They
were hunting for me, floor by floor, room by room.
"Open that wardrobe," said a voice from the bed: a firm, business-like
voice that was good to hear. "Open it and get right in, young man; but
don't go mussing up my good dresses whatever you do! And you, Monica,
quick! Switch off those lights all but this one by the bed. Good! Now go
to the door and ask them what they mean by making this noise at this
time of night with me ill and all!"
I got into the wardrobe and Monica shut me in. I heard the bedroom door
open, then voices. I waited patiently for five minutes, then the
wardrobe door opened again.
"Come out, Des," said Monica, "and thank Mary Prendergast for her
cleverness."
"What did they say?" I asked.
"That reception clerk was along. He was most apologetic--they know me
here, you see. He told me how a fellow had made a desperate attack upon
a gentleman on the floor below and had got away. They thought he must be
hiding somewhere in the hotel. I told him I'd been sitting here for an
hour chatting with Miss Prendergast and that we hadn't heard a sound.
They went away then!"
"You won't catch any Deutschers fooling Mary Prendergast," said the
jovial lady in the bed; "but, children, what next?"
Monica spoke--quite calmly. She was always perfectly self-possessed.
"My brother is stopping with me in our apartment in the
Bendler-Strasse," she said. "You remember Gerry, Des--he got all smashed
up flying, you know, and is practically a cripple. He's been so much
better here that I've been trying to get an attendant to look after him,
to dress him and so on, but we couldn't find anybody; men are so scarce
nowadays! You could come home with me, Des, and take this man's place
for a day or two ... I'm afraid it couldn't be longer, for one would
have to register you with the police--every one has to be registered,
you know--and I suppose you have no papers that are any good--now."
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