which he accepted as one of dismissal and returned to his place. His light-heartedness of the morning had to some extent disappeared. The more serious side of the adventure to which he was committed was assuming a more definite place in his thoughts. He had just finished his luncheon and ordered his coffee when a familiar figure entered the room, looked round for a moment or two and then made his way to Charles’s table. He was a middle-aged man, grey-bearded and bespectacled, carefully dressed and of not unpleasing presence. Charles had met him several times before, but their acquaintance was only a slight one.
“Mr. Porter, isn’t it?” Charles asked as they shook hands. “Sit down for a moment. Perhaps you will join me in some coffee?”
The visitor handed his hat and cane to the page who had followed him in but retained the despatch case which he was carrying.
“You are very kind. I will take some coffee certainly. Very trying times, these, Mr. Mildenhall.”
“They are indeed,” Charles agreed, summoning his waiter. “What about a cigar?”
“If I could have one of the light ones, native growth,” he begged. “To tell you the truth I haven’t smoked for two days. His Excellency gave me so many small things to finish up for him at the Embassy—semi-personal, of course, some of them—that with those to look after and our own curious position to consider I’ve been a trifle overtaxed lately.”
“You still have a staff of some sort, I suppose?”
“Yes, but half of them are Austrians,” Mr. Porter explained, “and a great many of them have been called up. However, I don’t want to bother you with outside affairs too much. I’ve just had a long despatch from Lascelles, brought by plane from Munich. I have found all the papers he refers to and I have brought them for your attention. I suggest that you read the note from Mr. Lascelles, then you can give me a receipt for the papers and I can get back to work. If it’s true, as they tell me, that you are leaving to-morrow for Switzerland, you will have all you can do to get through them.”
The Consul leaned back in the chair, lit his cigar and sipped his coffee and the glass of light but very pleasant liqueur brandy which Charles had ordered. Every now and then he looked out into the street. He was a native of Hull, the son of a well-to-do merchant captain, he had served in Rotterdam, Marseilles and Vienna and he had made up his mind as he sat there that he had had enough of it. Consular life in these days had become too strenuous. His pension was due in a few months. A farmhouse in Northumberland, two hundred acres of shooting and a seat on the Parish Council, perhaps, would be like a dream of Paradise after this restless continental existence. He watched Charles Mildenhall, a young man for whom he had a great respect, decode and read his letter at the same time, with a pencil in his hand. Here was a young man who was supposed to have a brilliant diplomatic future before him. Let him have it, Mr. Porter decided. Not in his line at all…Charles paused to light another cigarette and pushed the coffee towards his guest. Then he read through once more the brief note from Lascelles.
My dear Charles,
I was on the way back to confer with you in Vienna and hand you some further instructions to take up to Warsaw after you had visited our friend. They cabled the news to me and ordered me home. There is not the slightest doubt that we are in for it and the whole affair at first will be a horrible muddle, for there Is nothing on God’s earth we can do for the wretched Poles, and if our friend’s troops are anything Uke what I’ve seen entraining to-day for the Polish frontier they will walk through any half-armed rabble, however brave they may be.
I expect poor old P. will be in an awful fuss. Don’t let him worry you but the contents of 17 A, B and C black despatch boxes in the main safe must be gone through and destroyed. Please see to this yourself. Then, if you take my advice, you will leg it for home as quickly as you can.
F. L.
P.S. If you have time, and for the love of her sweet little figure find time, Charles, drop in at the hair-dressing rooms at the Bristol Hotel. Give Mademoiselle Rosette a kiss and a thousand schilling note from me.
“Well, I’m damned!” Charles exclaimed with a sudden twinkle in his eyes.
“I beg your pardon?”
“It was the postscript to my friend Lascelles’ note. I suppose one must expect one’s friends to take a little advantage these times.”
“We must certainly make allowances,” the Consul admitted. “I always found Mr. Lascelles exceedingly considerate the few times I came across him.”
“I’m not complaining,” Charles murmured.
“I am instructed,” Mr. Porter said, finishing his coffee, “to hand you over the keys of the black boxes. Here they are, Mr. Mildenhall. You will see the numbers upon the labels.”
“And the boxes?”
“They are in the charge of the great Joseph here,” Mr. Porter declared. “With your permission I will now take my departure.”
Charles walked with his visitor out into the hall. Joseph came from his bureau to meet them.
“If you are going up to your room, Mr. Mildenhall,” he said, “I will send up those three cases which the gentleman has left for you.”
“Send them up as quickly as you can,” Charles replied. “I am in the humour for a little frivolous work. Don’t send any strangers up, though. If the spies of Vienna—they tell me that every other man is a spy here, Joseph—knew what was in those black tin boxes they would blow me sky high.”
Mr. Porter, for the first time for many days, smiled slightly as he held out his hand to Charles.
“Our young friend,” he remarked to the concierge, “if I may venture to call you so, Mr. Mildenhall, treats our sacred profession a little lightly.”
“Before I leave this city,” Charles promised, “I will tell you what I think of our profession!”
He bade his visitor farewell and walked with Joseph to the lift.
“You will find them very anxious to see you upstairs, sir,” Joseph told him. “We have had to make a few changes in the arrangements. All is well, though. Everything has been carried out according to Mr. Blute’s latest instructions. The despatch cases are coming up in the lift with you, sir. I have kept them within sight ever since they were handed over into my keeping.”
Charles watched the cases placed inside, then he Spoke through the grille of the lift gate to the concierge.
“Joseph, at what time will the manicure department for gentlemen close at the Bristol Hotel this evening?”
“At about eight o’clock, sir,” was the prompt reply.
“Telephone across, if you please, and speak to Mademoiselle Rosette. Tell her not to leave the premises until an ambassador from Mr. Lascelles has visited her this evening.”
The man bowed without even the flicker of a smile.
“Your message will be delivered, sir,” he promised.
CHAPTER XIX
