where we shall meet Fédor,” Yvette explained.
It was not until after they had had dinner, a homely meal in the true Galdavian fashion, and it grew dark, that they heard from the roadway three sharp blasts on a motor-horn.
“There he is!” exclaimed the shrewd athletic girl. “Get the car out, Dick!”
The latter hurried to the shed at the rear which served as a garage and when, a few moments later, he drove the Mohawk into the white dusty roadway he found a big touring car drawn up and Yvette talking to a tall, dark-eyed young fellow whom she introduced to Dick as “Count Fédor Ruffo.”
Dick gazed at him with quick interest, for he had heard much of a wonderful invention of the Count which was expected to play an important part in their quest. Fédor was a young fellow of quiet demeanour, with the long nervous hands of an artist, a delicately cultured voice and soft dreamy eyes. Dick took him for an Austrian, which he afterwards found to be correct. He had taken a high degree in science at Vienna and had settled in Langengrad as a teacher at the University there.
“Follow the Count’s car as closely as possible, Dick,” said Yvette. “We want to slip into Langengrad unnoticed, if possible. The fewer people who see the Mohawk the better.”
The Count’s car moved away almost noiselessly into the darkness. Several times Fédor stopped and listened intently, and once they waited an hour at a point where two roads crossed. Nothing happened, however, and about one o’clock in the morning they reached the outskirts of Langengrad. Here the Count left the main road and slipped into a series of crooked by-streets lit only by the light of the moon. Finally, he turned into the courtyard of an old-fashioned house standing in its own grounds and the Mohawk was speedily backed into a large empty shed, and the door locked.
“Now, Mr Manton,” said the Count in fair English, “will you drive Miss Pasquet in my car to the Continental and register there? She knows the way. Rooms have been taken for you. You had better use my car while you are here. In the meantime if we meet in public remember we are strangers. Foreigners here are pretty closely watched.”
The Hôtel Continental at Langengrad is one of those cosmopolitan caravanserais dear to the heart of the tourist. As usual it was crowded, and even at two o’clock in the morning the café was humming with activity. Consequently Dick and Yvette arrived almost unnoticed. Explaining that they had been delayed by a motor breakdown they were soon in their rooms and were sound asleep.
Next morning Yvette took Dick out into the gay pleasant city of boulevards and handsome buildings. He was immensely interested in the brilliant scene, but he realised they were on a desperate mission and took care to fix firmly in his mind the roads they would have to use. It was necessary, of course, to keep up the appearance of being mere gaping sightseers and they went from shop to shop buying a quantity of souvenirs which neither desired in the smallest degree, and arranging for them to be delivered to their hotel.
In the Balkanskaya, one of the principal streets, Yvette paused at last before a jewellers’ window which blazed with gems. A moment later, followed by Dick, she slipped into a narrow passage at the side of the shop and turning into a doorway began to mount a flight of stairs which seemingly led to suites of offices in the upper part of the building. On the third floor she halted before a dingy door, and knocked softly.
Instantly the door was opened by Fédor who, inviting them within, shut the door and locked it. “Well, Fédor, what luck?” Yvette asked.
“The best,” was the reply. “We have been able to find out exactly the people with whom Bausch and Horst are associating, and where their meetings are being held. You have arrived in the very nick of time. I fancy – indeed, I am almost sure – the agreement will be signed either to-night or to-morrow night. I have overheard most of their talk.”
“But how have you managed that?” Dick asked eagerly.
“Miss Pasquet’s telephone, of course,” said Fédor. “Didn’t she tell you about it?” Yvette blushed and laughed.
“You didn’t know I was an electrician, did you, Dick?” she said. “Well, you will soon see my little invention at work. But it is nothing to compare with Fédor’s.”
The good-looking Count talked earnestly for half an hour, acquainting them fully with the work of Yvette’s agents in the Galdavian capital, until Dick became amazed at the perfection of the organisation which the alert young French girl had so swiftly created.
“Ostrovitch’s Party,” Fédor concluded, “usually meet at the house of General Mestich, who, as you know, is the Commander of the Headquarter Troops in Langengrad. He is a wonderfully able man, but is a confirmed gambler and bon viveur, and is head over ears in debt. He plays at the Jockey Club each night. There can be no doubt whatever that he has been bought by Germany. His house in the Dalmatinska for a long time has been notorious for its rowdy parties, and as a result it is quite easy for the conspirators to meet there without attracting undue attention. I am certain the Government does not realise how far things have gone yet. There is not a scrap of direct evidence. Mestich is personally very popular, and would in any ordinary matter carry with him a big volume of public opinion. But he dare not, as yet, venture on any direct revolutionary action. His hope is to give his plot some semblance of a popular movement, and he is gradually winning important adherents. If he is given enough time I think he will succeed. But without Bausch and Horst – that is without Germany – the plot must go to pieces. They are finding the money, which is being spent like water.”
“This is certainly interesting,” Dick exclaimed. “What are your intentions?”
“Well, immediately opposite Mestich’s house is an old building which for many years has been used as a store. It belongs to a loyalist friend of ours, and I can use it as I like. From one of the upper windows it is possible to see right into Mestich’s little salon, where the meetings are held. We will meet there to-night. You must come separately to the alley at the back; we dare not enter by the front. There is a small doorway there, half overgrown by clematis and apparently never used. I will be inside waiting to open the door when you knock.”
For the rest of the day Dick and Yvette were careful to behave as ordinary tourists “doing the sights” of Langengrad, the Rathaus, the Museum, and the Opera House, and still buying piles of useless souvenirs. But they were soon to realise that a careful watch was kept on all strangers in Langengrad.
Just as they were finishing dinner that night they were approached by an officious little black-moustached man who sent a waiter to call them aside. When they were in a small smoking-room he made a courteous request for their papers. These were, of course, in order, and Dick had no misgivings on the point. But for some reason the shrewd, sallow-faced official seemed suspicious, and Dick noticed with anxiety that he spoke faultless French.
Would his own, he wondered, pass muster?
“Monsieur speaks French like an Englishman,” the police officer suddenly rapped out.
Luckily Dick was prepared.
“Yes,” he answered readily, “I was brought up in England. I was at school at Rugby. My friends in our French Air Force nicknamed me ‘The Englishman.’”
The officer, it appeared, had also been an airman and proceeded to talk interestingly on the subject of aero engines. He was perfectly courteous, but none the less Dick had an uncomfortable suspicion that he was beneath a human microscope. Fortunately the subject was on one which he could not possibly be “stumped” and try as he would the police official found he had met his match.
Dick was intensely interested and amused by his skill and courtesy. None the less
