manner was not ingratiating.
“I have the honour to address Mr. Charles Mildenhall?” he enquired frigidly.
Charles eyed him with some surprise.
“You have the advantage of me, sir,” he said.
“I am Lieutenant von Hessen of the Third Army Corps, now quartered in Vienna. The Commanding Officer of my regiment desires a few words with you.”
“I am at his disposition,” was the quiet reply.
The young officer hesitated.
“My C.O. then will await your coming,” he said.
“Wait one moment,” Charles begged. “I said that I was at the disposition of your C.O. here.”
“Are you a British officer?” the lieutenant asked a little arrogantly.
“Certainly.”
“It is a peculiar habit you English have,” he complained. “On the eve of war you discard your uniforms. May I enquire your rank?”
Mildenhall produced his pocketbook, drew out a card and handed it to his questioner. The latter read it out thoughtfully:
“‘Major the Hon. Charles d’Arcy Mildenhall. Dragoon Guards.’
“You will permit me?” the young man added with some reluctance. “I will present your card to Major von Metternich.”
He recrossed the room and leaned down to speak to his senior officer. Charles measured with his eye the distance between the table at which he had been seated with the Princess and the one occupied by the officers. It was absolutely impossible that they should have been able to overhear a word of his conversation. He waited with equanimity for what might happen. Presently a tall, broad-shouldered man with the Swastika a prominent embellishment of his uniform came across the room and addressed him. His manner was stiff but agreeable.
“May I have a few minutes’ conversation with you, Major Mildenhall? I am Major von Metternich of the Third Army Corps.”
“With pleasure,” Charles replied. “Pray sit down.”
The Major seated himself and toyed with his miniature moustache for a moment or two. He spoke excellent English but he did not seem altogether at his ease.
“The matter which I wish to discuss with you, Major, is not altogether a military one,” he confessed. “It is in a sense passed on to us from our Intelligence Department. It concerns the disappearance of a well-known Jewish banker and financier from his house and bank here in Vienna.”
“Mr. Leopold Benjamin?” Charles ventured.
“Precisely. It appears that just before our Führer decided to rescue these poor people and draw them into the Reich, Mr. Benjamin gave a small dinner party at his house. From that dinner party he disappeared.”
Charles nodded thoughtfully. He said nothing.
“In the course of my investigations,” the Major continued, “I received a list of the guests who were present. Your name was amongst them.”
“That is quite probable,” Charles assented. “I was present.”
“I have had an opportunity,” the Major went on, “of questioning most of the other guests—I or someone representing our Intelligence Corps. Not one of them was able to give me the slightest clue as to Mr. Benjamin’s probable whereabouts.”
“I am sorry to hear it,” Charles replied. “I was going to call at the bank to-morrow morning.”
“I am afraid,” the other observed, “you would find that a waste of time. The bank has ceased to operate.”
“Bad luck,” Charles remarked carelessly. “My visit was of no importance, however. Just a slight matter of business.”
“Mr. Benjamin is not, to our knowledge, engaged in any business in Vienna at the present moment,” the Major said. “He is a member of a race which is entirely out of favour with our Führer. He is a Jew.”
“I think everyone in Europe knows that,” Charles smiled. “However, if he is no longer in business I must find the small amount of money I need somewhere else.”
“That is an easy matter for you, no doubt, Major. With our Intelligence Department, which I represent, it is a different matter. Mr. Benjamin is heavily in our debt. It seems highly improbable that he has left the country and the department is determined to find him.”
“That he should be heavily in debt to your country astonishes me,” Charles observed.
“He owes,” Major von Metternich confided, “a very large sum for unpaid taxes. The Treasury of the Reich has decided that if he should show any indisposition to pay, it would be necessary to seize his great collection of pictures and other objects d’art. They have been famous throughout Europe for many years.”
“Quite true.”
“You have seen them, without a doubt?”
“Never,” Charles replied. “I was to have seen them, I believe, the night of the dinner party of which you speak and from which Mr. Benjamin was summoned away.”
“Did you ask to see them on that occasion?”
Charles’s eyebrows went slowly up.
“You must excuse me. Major von Metternich,” he said, “but you seem to be cross-examining me on a purely private matter.”
“This is a friendly conversation,” was the irritated reply. “If you cannot regard it in that light it may be necessary for me to pass the affair on to another tribunal.”
“Is that a threat?”
“You may accept it as such, if you like.”
Charles considered the matter for a moment quietly.
“I will tell you all that I know about the Benjamin collection,” he proposed.
“That is all I can expect, Major,” was the somewhat mollified response.
“My request to see the pictures,” Mildenhall told his companion, “was received as quite an ordinary one, but, to be frank with you, there was a sense of excitement and unrest at that dinner party which I suppose was due to the fact that Vienna was at any moment expecting the arrival of your invading army. Towards the end of dinner Mr. Benjamin received a message and left the room. A short time afterwards word came that he had been called away. I left at once. So did most of the other guests. As soon as it was daylight I continued my journey.”
“To England?”
“To England. I had stayed over for the Princess von Liebenstrahl’s ball that night.”
“And you have not seen Mr. Benjamin since?”
“I have not seen him since.”
“Nor
