Chapter XI
CHAPTER I
Mr. Paul Schlesser, number-one cashier to the banking firm of Leopold Benjamin & Co., Ludenstrasse, Vienna, broke off in his conversation with the distinguished-looking young Englishman who was leaning over his portion of the counter and, in an undertone, directed the latter’s attention to the taller of the two men who were issuing from the private office the other side of the marble tiled floor.
“That,” he announced with bated breath and a note of deep respect in his tone, “is the present head of our firm—Mr. Leopold Benjamin. He comes here very seldom nowadays. It is a great pleasure for us to welcome him.”
Mr. Schlesser, who was an insignificant-looking person, seemed to expand and grow almost into dignity as he bowed low to the tall, thin man who was passing by. Mr. Leopold Benjamin did not in the least resemble his cashier. No one would have imagined them to belong to the same race, a race which in those days stood in hourly peril of its life. His smile was scarcely cheerful, but pleasant enough in its way as he half paused to return his employee’s greeting. His eyes looked enquiringly at the stranger. The cashier slipped open the wire partition which separated him from the outside world.
“If you will pardon me, Mr. Benjamin,” he said, “this gentleman, Mr. Charles Mildenhall, has a Letter of Credit here from Barclay’s in London. This is the head of our firm, Mr. Mildenhall—Mr. Leopold Benjamin.”
The banker let his fingers slip from his companion’s shoulder. He held out his hand. His voice was pleasant, almost musical.
“You are perhaps related to my old friend—Sir Phillip Mildenhall?” he asked.
“Sir Philip is my uncle, sir,” the young man replied. “He was First Secretary here in his younger days.”
Mr. Benjamin nodded reminiscently.
“He was a delightful companion. He dined with me often. A connoisseur, too, of pictures—in fact, of all objects d’art, I missed him very much when he went to Bucharest.”
“I think in a way he was sorry to go,” Mildenhall remarked. “He had many friends here. Amongst them I have heard him speak of you, sir. I heard from him of your marvellous collection of Old Masters.”
“You are in the Diplomatic Service yourself?” the banker asked.
“In a way I am,” the young man answered. “Just now I am on long leave.”
“Your uncle is well, I trust?”
“In excellent health, I thank you, sir. I shall tell him of our meeting.”
“You must come and see me before you leave the city,” the banker invited. “How long do you stay here?”
“Only a few days longer, I fear.”
“Will you dine with me on Thursday night?” the other suggested. “I am compelled to choose an early date because my movements are a little uncertain.”
“I will do so with pleasure,” the young man assented. “It will interest my uncle very much to have news of you.”
Mr. Benjamin shrugged his high, stooping shoulders. There was a momentary look of sadness in his sunken eyes.
“Not too good news, I am afraid,” he said. “Our race becomes less and less popular in this country as the days go by. Things were different in your uncle’s time. At present we find the future full of anxiety. One pleasure at least I shall make sure of,” he concluded with a smile. “I shall have the pleasure of seeing you on Thursday at eight o’clock. I trust that you do not mind our early hours.”
“Not in the least, sir.”
“Our friend here at the desk,” Leopold Benjamin said, with a benevolent smile towards the cashier, “will write down my address for you. Auf Wiedersehen, Mr. Mildenhall.”
He passed on, his companion—a short, thick-set man with a very intelligent face—by his side. The cashier looked at his client with increased respect.
“We regard it as a great honour,” he confided as he counted out some notes, “to be received by Mr. Benjamin. He entertains very little now. Your money, sir—also your Letter of Credit,” he went on, returning the latter to its parchment envelope. “It will always be a pleasure to serve you here when you are in need of more money or if there is any general information about the city we can give you. I am writing here the address of Mr. Benjamin: Palais Franz Josef. Any vehicle you engage would drive you there without hesitation.”
The young man gathered up his belongings, nodded in friendly fashion and took his leave. On the broad steps of the very handsome bank building he hesitated for a few moments, then decided to walk for a while in the Ringstrasse. It was barely five o’clock and, notwithstanding that these were days of strain and anxiety, something of the
