THE SPY-DRIVEN TAXI
On coming out of the Admiralty, Edestone, a trifle preoccupied, was
about to take the taxi with the rather sleepy driver which stood at
the head of the line. But the thought came to him, where shall I go?
As he had told Rebener, none of his pals were in town and he had
absolutely nothing to do until dinner at eight o’clock. Why not take
lunch at some quiet little place in the neighbourhood?
“I say, cabby, is there any sort of a decent restaurant around here
where one can get a very nice little lunch?”
“Yes, sir, thank you, sir”; the chauffeur rather abruptly came into
full possession of his faculties. “There is a very neat little place
right across the road, sir, thank you, sir,” and he pointed in the
direction of the window at which Schmidt was sitting.
“Ah, thank you, cabby,” said Edestone in his usual kind manner with
people of that class. He was rather struck by the handsome face of the
man, although it was covered over with grease and grime. “Here is a
shilling. Don’t you think I might be able to walk that far this
beautiful day?”
“Yes, sir, thank you, sir.” The man showed no appreciation of the
humour. “Would you be wanting a cab later on, sir? If so I’ll just
hang about, sir. Times is hard in these war times, sir.”
“Certainly, wait by all means,” said Edestone with a jolly laugh. “Set
your clock. Now open your door and drive me to that restaurant over
there, and then wait for me till I have had my lunch. By the time that
I get through with you I think you will find that you have done a good
day’s work.”
“I am sure of it, sir.” The chauffeur hid a surreptitious chuckle with
his very dirty hand.
On entering the restaurant the first person Edestone saw was Schmidt,
and he gave a little nod of recognition.
“Well, Mr. Schmidt, we seem to be meeting quite often this morning. I
hope that I am to infer from your presence that I will be able to get
some of your delightfully greasy German dishes.”
But at this point he was interrupted by the proprietor, who came
bustling up, trying to force him to take a seat at a table in another
part of the room.
“German dishes?” stammered the restaurant keeper. “Not at all. That
was when the place was run by Munchinger, but he went back to Germany
last July, and this place is run by me, and I am a Swiss. Still, sir,
if you are fond of the German dishes I think I might be able to
accommodate you, sir.”
“Well, suppose I leave that entirely to you. I can’t by any chance get
a large stein of Münchener beer?”
“No, sir, I am sorry. I can get you some French beer though, which we
think is much better. You know that Admiral Fisher has got those
Dutchmen bottled up so tight that they tell me the beer won’t froth
any more in Germany.” And he burst into a roar of laughter in which he
was joined by a chorus of adoring customers sitting about at the
different tables.
Edestone sat down while the proprietor in person took his order to the
kitchen. In a very short time, the man returned and put down before
him a _gemüse suppe_, following this with _schweine fleisch,
sauerkraut_, and _gherkins_--a luncheon which might have been
cooked in a German’s own kitchen--and set before him a glass of beer
which Edestone would have sworn had not been brewed outside of the
city of Munich.
The proprietor bustled about, laughing and cracking clumsy jokes with
everyone who would listen to him, and his jokes seemed to Edestone to
be almost as German as his beer. In this way he finally worked over to
where Smith was sitting, and as he pretended to arrange something on
the table whispered sharply: “Go to the lavatory.”
Smith, unable to eat, sat toying with his food. He gulped his beer as
if it choked him. He turned around several times to look at Edestone,
but the latter after his perfunctory greeting took no further notice
of him. At last, paying his check, the man walked to the rear of the
restaurant and into a small, dark, badly ventilated room under the
stairs. The place was so dimly lighted that he could scarcely see in
front of him a wash basin, but as he was wondering what he was
expected to do next he heard a voice that seemed to come from a little
partially opened window that looked out into a dark ventilating shaft
to the left of the basin. “Pretend to wash your hands,” the voice
whispered cautiously. Smith did as he was directed and found that he
thus brought his left ear close to the window opening.
“Now listen,” said the voice, speaking rapidly in German. “God is with
the Fatherland today! 4782 has been engaged to wait. Hottenroth has
telephoned that our man undoubtedly has his instrument with him. The
order is for you and 4782 to get it from him this afternoon at any
cost. 4782 knows what he is to do.” And the window closed softly.
Smith broke out into a cold perspiration. He knew that he was looking
death straight in the face, and in a twinkling his mind carried him
back over his entire life. He clutched at his throat as he realized
his horrible situation. His present position in the grip of this
relentless but invisible master had come about so gradually that he
had not realized how firmly he was caught until now it was too
late. Not being borne up by the hysterical exaltation of the true-born
Prussian, he resented that he should be the one selected to do this
ghastly thing.
He staggered back into the restaurant where the proprietor, laying a
hand upon his arm, and laughing loudly and winking as if he were
telling a risqué story, muttered some further directions into his ear.
“He is preparing to go now. Join him and don’t leave him until--” he
broke off and rushed over to Edestone who had risen from the table and
was taking his hat and cane from the waiter.
“I hope, sir, you found everything perfectly satisfactory?” he bowed.
“Very nice indeed,” said Edestone, handing him a half-crown. “I am
glad to have discovered your place and I shall come again.”
At the door he encountered Smith, who was lingering about as if
waiting for him.
“Oh, Mr. Edestone,” he forced himself to say, swallowing and fumbling
with his mouth. “I remember when I was fixing up your Little Place in
the Country for you that you took a great deal of interest in old
English prints. Well, I have just found an old print shop over in the
Whitechapel district with some of the most wonderful old prints, and
if you have the time to spare I would like to take you over and have
the old man show them to you.”
“I should like to very much,” said Edestone. “I have just been
wondering what I should do with myself this afternoon.”
“The Kaiser and God will bless you for this,” the restaurant keeper
whispered into Smith’s ear, after he had bowed Edestone out to the
sidewalk.
“Mr. Smith, will you please give the address to the driver,” said
Edestone as he stepped into the taxi. Smith leaned over and gave some
mumbled instructions to the chauffeur, who had remained upon his box;
then he took his place at the side of his friend and patron.
But no sooner had the motor started than he turned to
Edestone. “Mr. Edestone,”--his voice trembled so violently that he
could scarcely speak,--“please do not move or seem surprised at what I
am going to say.”
Edestone drew back slightly and looked at him. He thought at first
that the man had suddenly lost his reason. Smith was perfectly livid
and his little eyes were starting from his head. His mouth was open
and he seemed to be vainly trying to draw his blue lips over his great
dry yellow teeth on which they seemed to catch, giving him the
appearance of a snarling dog as he cringed in the corner of the
cab. One hand was pulling at his collar while with the other he
clutched at the seat in a vain effort to restrain the tremors which
were shaking him from head to foot. “Don’t speak. I must talk and talk
fast,” he said.
Edestone leaned forward as if to halt the car, but the fellow caught
him by the knee in a grip almost of desperation.
“For God’s sake don’t do that!” he pleaded. “He will kill both of
us. Oh, don’t you understand? He is a German spy. I am German, Rebener
is German, we are all Germans--all spies. We have been watching you
for the past six months. This man is now driving you to a place where
they will certainly kill you unless you turn over that instrument
which you have in your pocket.”
At this Edestone started. Although he could scarcely control himself
and felt like strangling the chicken-hearted wretch, he recovered
himself in time to say with a look of disgust, “You poor miserable
creature.”
“I know, Mr. Edestone, but please keep quiet. I may save you if you
will do as I say. I don’t know about myself. I am a dead man for
certain, though, if you let him once suspect,” and he motioned in the
direction of the chauffeur. Then continuing he gasped out: “Stop the
taxi anywhere along here: get out and go into some shop. When you come
out again say to me that you have decided you will look at the prints
some other day, and that you will walk to the hotel. Discharge and pay
him. I will re-engage him and as soon as we get out of sight you take
another taxi and drive straight to your hotel. But you must be
careful; he knows that you have the instrument with you. They are
desperate enough to do anything. Your life is in danger.”
Edestone, thoroughly enjoying the excitement of the situation, had
absolutely no fear either for himself or for the instrument, since as
a matter of fact he knew that he could destroy that at any moment. He
felt sorry for Smith, however. He pitied him for his weakness but
realized that he was risking his life to save him, so he did as he was
urged.
While he was in the shop 4782 got off the box, and, looking into the
cab, said sternly to Smith in German: “If you are playing me any of
your American tricks, you half-breed, you will never see the sun set
again.”
Also, when Edestone returned and discharged him with a very handsome
tip, he did not seem especially gratified, and when poor Smith in a
trembling voice re-engaged the taxi, the driver almost lost control of
himself. Had he done so, Edestone, who was watching him closely, would
have been delighted, since he would have liked nothing better than to
have forced the fellow to show his hand then and there. He was again
struck with the chauffeur’s appearance as he stood talking to Smith
for he had the air of a gentleman and even through his dirt looked
above his position. Leaving them there, the American strolled along,
and, after a block or two, hailed another cab and ordered it to drive
to Claridge’s. He really did not think to look about him, but had he
done so he might have discovered that he was being followed by the
first taxi with its woebegone passenger and its handsome chauffeur.
Arriving at the hotel he was interested to see standing in front of
the door a carriage with men in the royal livery, and he was met at
the entrance by the proprietor himself in a frightful state of
excitement.
“Mr. Edestone, one of the King’s equerries is waiting in the reception
room to see you. I have been calling you up at every club and hotel in
London.”
Edestone went into the reception room where he was met by an officer
in the uniform of the Royal Horse Guards, who after going through the
formality of introducing himself delivered his message:
“His Majesty, the King, instructs me to say that he will receive you
and inspect your drawings, photographs, etc., at Buckingham Palace
this afternoon at half-past four o’clock.”