the sound of a shrill, penetrating whistle from a distant corner, two sharp revolver shots, and within another second the whole room was enveloped in darkness. For a moment or two the music continued, the dancers swayed against one another, a moving phalanx of half-laughing, half-terrified humanity, groping their way through the perfumed obscurity. Then a woman’s hysterical cry following those two reports struck a note of fear. Somewhere in the middle of the floor a woman fainted, calling out wildly as she collapsed…A powerful hand gripped Fawley’s arm, a man’s voice whispered in his ear:
“I lead you. Hold my wrist and the Princess.”
Fawley for a moment hesitated. It was obvious that there was some sort of trouble on hand. Elida whispered in his ear.
“It is Gustaf who speaks. Do anything he says.”
Behind them in the darkness was the sound of something which was like a concerted movement—the steady shuffling of purposeful feet. From the corner near where they had been seated and in the vicinity of which the two shots had been fired, they could hear the low moaning of a wounded man. Some one on the dancing floor lit a match and thrust the tiny flame almost into the faces of the man and woman by his side, only to blow it out quickly, as though he realised that the two were not the people whom he sought. Fawley hesitated no longer. With his arm still around Elida, he suffered himself to be led between the tables towards the side exit and down a passage leading into the street. Underneath the flare of an electric standard a line of cars was ranged along the curb. Gustaf opened the door of one and literally pushed them inside. The car moved off at once. A familiar voice greeted them from the corner.
“My dear Princess and Major Fawley, I owe you the most profound apologies. Gustaf is in despair. His restaurant has practically been seized by the members of a political party who would be delighted to involve me in a scandal—or worse.”
“We heard shots,” Fawley remarked.
“They were meant for me,” Behrling said grimly. “Gustaf had a secret message and he hurried me off. It is not for myself I fear. It is for the cause.”
“Who was responsible for putting out the light?” Elida asked.
“An asinine crowd of young bloods,” Behrling replied contemptuously, “all blindly following that middle-aged roué. As a matter of fact, it was the best thing that could happen for us. Gustaf was able the easier to manoeuvre our departure. By the by, Fawley, if this is going to be the bad night that they threatened us with, what about putting you down at your Embassy?”
Fawley shook his head.
“Sorry,” he regretted. “For the moment I am not engaged in my country’s interests. I can claim no privileges.”
“You are not by any chance in disgrace with your own people?” Behrling asked curiously.
“Not in the least,” Fawley assured him. “I simply asked for a job, found there was nothing doing, and took on a mission of observation for a friendly power.”
Behrling nodded.
“What happened in the bar?” he asked abruptly.
“Nothing really happened,” Fawley replied, with a smile. “Nothing except threats, that is to say. A gentleman of the student type offered me his card and reminded me of the ancient institution of duelling.”
“What did you do with it?”
“He tore it up,” Elida intervened.
Behrling nodded approval.
“In the new Germany,” he muttered, “there will be no duels. The blood of every citizen will be needed for the nation.”
“You think that there will be war?” Fawley asked.
Behrling peered curiously through the obscurity of the vehicle.
“Is that not already determined upon? There may be war and unless Berati makes the one unpardonable mistake, the map of Europe will be altered. I have no more to say. Here is your destination. You have made me no promises, Major Fawley. You have spoken no word of approval. You have given me no hint as to where your sympathies lie. Yet I have a feeling of satisfaction. I am glad that we have met.”
He shook hands warmly. Fawley turned to make his adieux to Elida. She too, however, was preparing to descend.
“I am staying with my aunt, who has a suite here,” she explained.
Behrling leaned forward from his corner.
“Before we meet again, Major Fawley,” he prophesied, “there will be a great change in this city—in this country. You are here now in these terrifying moments before the storm, when the air is sulphurous and overcharged with the thunders to come. You will find us a saner country when you return.”
* * * * *
There was the sound of music and many voices as they arrived on the fourth floor. At the end of the corridor was a vision of bowing servants and beyond, rooms banked with flowers and waving palms. Elida gave one look and stepped swiftly back into the lift.
“I cannot bear it,” she told Fawley. “My aunt receives her political friends on Thursday evenings and to-night they are all there in force. I can hear their voices even here. They will tear themselves to pieces before they have finished. There must be, it seems, a hundred different ways of saving Germany and every one of my aunt’s friends has hold of a different plan. Let me come and sit with you for a few minutes. I heard the waiter say that he had placed a note in your salon, so I feel that I may come without compromising you.”
“By all means,” Fawley assented. “My sitting room is not much, but from the window one has at least a fine view of the city. Come with the greatest pleasure, but,” he went on, as they stepped out of the lift and he fitted the key in the door of his suite, “do let us leave politics alone for a time. My sympathies are of no use to any one. I cannot turn them into action.”
She sighed as she followed him into the rooms and allowed her cloak to slip from her shoulders.
“It is too bad,” she lamented, “because there was never a time in her history when Germany more needed the understanding of intelligent Anglo-Saxons. So this is where you live?”
He smiled.
“For a few hours longer,” he reminded her. “I am off to-morrow.”
“To Rome?”
He remained silent for a moment.
“In these days of long-distance telephones and wireless, a poor government messenger never knows where he will be sent.”
He picked up the despatch which lay upon the table and, after a questioning glance towards her, opened it. He read it carefully then tore it into small pieces.
“Your plans are changed?” she asked.
“Only confirmed,” he answered. “Come and sit before the window and look down at this beautiful city. We have an idea in America, you know, or rather we used to have, when I was interested in politics, that in order to bring about a state of bankruptcy in Berlin, the people beautified their city, built new boulevards, new public buildings, and then failed to pay the interest on their
