THE VOICE IN THE TELEPHONE
Edestone waited. He thought he heard, or rather he felt, a vibration
as if someone were moving in the next booth. He tried the door again,
but found that it held fast.
He was about to signal the switchboard operator and tell him to come
and open up the booth, when an, “Are you there, Mr. Edestone?” came to
him from across the wire, and caused him for the moment to forget the
refractory door.
“Hello!” he answered. “Yes; I am Mr. Edestone. Who is this?”
The voice, instead of replying directly, spoke as if to another person
with an aside. “Mr. Edestone is on the wire.”
A moment, and then a second voice spoke. “Are you there, Mr.
Edestone?”
It was not the voice of his friend, and he answered a trifle
impatiently: “Yes. Who are you? Are you speaking for the Marquis of
Lindenberry?”
“No, I am not,” came the reply. “And I must apologize for having used
his name.”
The voice bore the unmistakable intonation of an English gentleman.
“I am the Count Kurtz von Hemelstein. I regret that circumstances
compel me to force myself upon you in this caddish manner. But my duty
as a soldier in the service of His Majesty, the Emperor of Germany,
demands it. I shall not delay you long, however, if you will only do
what I ask.”
There was a moment’s pause. Involuntarily Edestone drew back slightly
from the instrument.
“Count Kurtz von Hemelstein, did you say?” He spoke with a touch of
sternness. “I do not think that I have ever had the pleasure of
meeting you, sir. I did meet a Count Heinrich von Hemelstein last
summer.”
“Yes; that was my brother. He has often spoken of you, Mr. Edestone.
If I am not mistaken, you were rivals for the attention of a pretty,
young matron with a good-natured husband?”
“Not rivals, Count von Hemelstein.” Edestone laughed, but under the
laugh he was doing some rapid thinking. “Your brother was the favoured
one, and when the war broke out, and he had to leave for the front,
the lady was almost inconsolable.
“But, Count von Hemelstein,” he continued, “what can I do for you? We
Americans, you know, do not always insist upon a formal introduction.
As we say, ‘Any friend of a friend of mine.’”
“Also, you are wrong on one point,” said the Count, with a little
chuckle. “I have had the pleasure of meeting you. It was a trifle
informal, I must admit, but you were just as charming as you are now,
and I think I am indebted to you to the amount of several shillings.
In the end, you did leave me rather abruptly, and seemed offended at
something I had done; but I trust you have recovered from that by this
time.” Edestone could hear him laughing heartily.
“You have met me?” repeated Edestone, completely mystified. “When and
where?”
“Today; in London. Indeed, I am in London now.”
“In London, Count von Hemelstein?” Involuntarily Edestone lowered his
voice. “But I say, isn’t that taking a bit of a chance for a German
officer? Where are you speaking from now, may I ask?”
The Count was laughing so, that just at first he could not answer; but
after a moment he managed to control his amusement.
“I am in the next booth to you,” he said.
When he spoke again, his tone had lost all trace of levity and become
hard and direct like that of a man charged with a distasteful duty,
yet with which he was determined not to let his feelings interfere.
“In regard to our meeting today,” he said; “I was in disguise. In
short, I was the taxi-driver whom you gave the slip this afternoon by
the aid of that cur, Schmidt. And now, Mr. Edestone, you must realize
what it is I want.” In a more conciliatory tone, he added: “I can see
no reason, however, why we should not settle this matter as between
gentlemen.”
“Please be more explicit,” returned Edestone, quietly.
“In brief, then, I am authorized by my Government to meet, and even
double or quadruple any offer for your invention made by the English
Government. I will take your word of honour. All that you have to do
is to say now, on your word as a gentleman, that you will sell it to
my Government, and you can return to your friends. My Government will
then communicate with you, and close with you at your own price.”
“And if I decline the proposition?” said Edestone.
“Then I fear I shall be compelled to use force; and much as I may
regret to do so, I will tell you that I am prepared to stop at
nothing.
“You are now,” he went on, “locked in that solid oak booth, with its
strong double doors, perfectly sound-proof. The operator at the
switchboard is my man. He can by pulling a wire uncork a bottle which
is concealed in your booth and asphyxiate you in one half minute.”
But if he had expected the American to show any trepidation as a
result of his threats, he soon found out his mistake. Edestone’s reply
was as insouciant as if he had been merely commenting on the weather.
“Really, this is quite interesting, Count von Hemelstein,” he said. “I
might almost call you a man after my own heart. That bottle trick is
so simple and yet effective that I, as an inventor, cannot help but
compliment you. I am wondering just what chemical you have employed.
There are of course a dozen or more that would answer your purpose;
but as their action varies greatly in the effect upon the victim, I am
naturally curious.”
“Does that mean that you are about to decline my offer?” demanded the
Count sharply. “Have a care, Mr. Edestone. I am not merely trying to
frighten you, as you may suppose. The facts are just as I have stated
them, and I shall not hesitate to----”
“Assuredly, my dear Count,” Edestone broke in. “I have never doubted
that for a moment. Nor am I going to refuse your proposition--that is,
not definitely. Instead, I have been so pleased by the charming manner
in which you have presented this little matter that I desire to submit
a counter-proposition. Only, I must beg you to urge your modest friend
with the weak eyes out there at the switchboard to be a little careful
with that wire. Judging from the atmosphere in this booth, his bottle
has been leaking for some time.”
“Come, come, Mr. Edestone.” The Count’s voice rose nervously, showing
the strain under which he was labouring. “I have already told you that
this is no joke. If it is your game to play for time, in the hope that
some one may come to release you, or that you may discover the manner
in which the bottle is secreted, you are going to be disappointed. I
must do my work quickly. If I do not have your answer at once, I will
give the signal and take your instrument away from you by force.”
“It is not time I want, but air.” Edestone gave a little gasp. “You
yourself have spent more time than I, with your kind explanations as
to how I may avoid what would be to me a most distressing accident.
However, since celerity is what you want, I hasten to say that I have
not my instrument, nor indeed any instrument with me.”
“Not with you?” snapped the Prussian angrily. “Where is it, then?”
“Ah! That is my counter-proposition. Count von Hemelstein, if I
promise to tell you, on my word of honour, where you may find this
instrument of mine that contains the entire secret of my
invention--and it is near at hand where, if you are a brave man, you
can easily get it,--if I do this, will you, on your side, give me your
word as a gentleman, that you will immediately open this booth?
“I may add,” he went on, as von Hemelstein seemed to hesitate, “that
this is my last and only proposition, and you can take that or
nothing. I will die here in this box before I will sell my invention
to any European Government; but you may have it as a free gift, Count,
if you have the nerve to go after it. There is a challenge to your
boasted Prussian valour! Are you a sport, Count von Hemelstein, or are
you not?”
Von Hemelstein wavered no longer. From what Edestone told him, he
argued that the inventor must have left his instrument with some of
his subordinates, probably Black and Stanton, and relied upon them to
protect it; and it stung him to think that the American should believe
a German officer would falter at such odds--a couple of electricians,
mere Yankee artisans.
“Yes,” he growled hoarsely. “I accept your terms. It is a bargain.”
“On your honour?”
“On my word of honour as a Prussian officer and a gentleman.”
“Well, then, hurry up and open this door. It is getting stifling in
here; and, besides, Rebener will be growing anxious about me.”
“But, first, your information. Where is the instrument?”
“Oh, the instrument?” It was now Edestone’s turn to laugh. “Why, that
is lying on the floor under the table in Mr. Rebener’s dining-room. I
dropped it there, when I came out to answer your telephone call, and I
also gave instructions to the sentries on guard at the door of the
apartment to shoot any one who attempted to pass in or out during my
absence. You are doubtless a brave man, but I do not think you are
prepared to tackle a whole company of British cavalry.
“And now,” he concluded, “I have kept to my bargain. Will you kindly
open the door?”
A muttered German imprecation, like a snarl of baffled chagrin, was
his only answer. But a moment later the door to his booth swung open,
and he was free.
As he stepped out, he found the lights in the room turned on, and the
man at the switchboard gone. He also noticed that the door to the
adjoining booth was shaking, as if someone had just jerked it open and
had passed out hurriedly, and, as he came out into the corridor, he
thought he glimpsed the figure of a man hastily disappearing down the
staircase. So far as any other evidence went, except for his wilted
collar and heaving lungs, the whole experience might have been a
dream.
He returned quietly to the dinner table, and stooping over, as if to
pick up his napkin, recovered the instrument and slipped it into his
trousers pocket.
“Lord Denton” and “Karlbeck” kept staring at him with puzzled, almost
incredulous faces.
“Did you find your friend on the wire?” finally ventured “Lord
Denton,” leaning across the table toward him.
“No; it was another gentleman speaking for him,” smiled Edestone, “a
mere visitor to England like myself. I took the liberty of asking him
to join us, but he declined. He is, I fancy, leaving the country very
shortly--probably going to Berlin.”
A little gasp from behind him caused him to turn in his seat. It came
from the hotel proprietor who, entering the room by the rear door,
stood rooted in amazement at the sight of Edestone, his jaw dropping,
his eyes as big as saucers.
Edestone regarded him a moment; then turned to his host.
“What silly-looking waiters you have in this hotel, Rebener,” he said.
“That fellow yonder doesn’t appear to have brains enough to be even a
German spy.”
The real waiter, overhearing this compliment to his employer, clapped
his hand over his mouth and dived for the pantry, just managing to get
through the swinging door before he exploded.
The self-satisfied Bombiadi also overheard, and although he
endeavoured to appear unconscious, a dull red flush crept up over his
cheeks, and after shifting for a moment from one foot to the other, he
left the room.
“Lord Denton” and “Karlbeck” exchanged glances out of the corners of
their eyes; and Rebener, although he made out to grin at the speech,
shifted a little uneasily in his chair.
But Edestone, who, under his quiet exterior, possessed a rather
mischievous spirit, was not yet through with them.
“As I was saying when I was called to the telephone,” he leaned across
the table toward the _incognito_ Royal Duke, “the desire of Your Royal
Highness--pardon me, I mean, of ‘Lord Denton’--is of course to see
England victorious in this contest; but that may mean years of
fighting and an appalling loss of men and money. Such true patriots as
yourself and ‘Mr. Karlbeck’ must see that it would be far better to
end the war now, provided that a lasting peace can be ensured, and
that I think I can guarantee with my discovery. I should be delighted,
therefore, to co-operate with you gentlemen to that end, and if you
would advocate the proposition that England allow me to go to Berlin
with something to show that she is willing to enter into _pour
parlers_, I shall bring pressure to bear on Germany to make some
liberal answer.”
“Lord Denton,” however, seemed no longer interested in the matter, and
was unable to concentrate his attention; while “Mr. Karlbeck” made no
attempt to hide the fact that he was disgusted gusted with the
evening, and wished to see it end as soon as possible.
Rebener, seeing his dinner a failure, although not quite understanding
the cause, like many a nervous host compelled to face a tableful of
distinguished guests who do not hesitate to show that they are bored,
did the silliest thing possible under the circumstances, and drank
more than he should.
Presently he began to talk in such unrestrained fashion that “Mr.
Karlbeck” looked as if he would faint with apprehension, while His
Royal Highness sought by every possible means to divert Edestone’s
attention from the broad hints and imprudent revelations that were
thrown out.
They were still engaged at this, when suddenly the door was thrown
open, and some one announced in a loud voice, “The King’s Messenger!”
“Karlbeck” and “Lord Denton” sprang to their feet, their faces ashy
pale, as they stood grasping the backs of their chairs. When, a moment
later, Colonel Stewart, the Equerry, appeared on the threshold, they
both crumpled up, and dropped into their chairs, fit subjects for the
starch-pot.
The Colonel stared at them in undisguised surprise, a slow frown
gathering between his eyes.
“Your Royal Highness did not mention to me this afternoon that he was
dining with Mr. Edestone tonight,” he drew himself up stiffly. And it
was in his mind that, on the contrary, His Royal Highness had
inveighed against the American inventor as a fraud and a fakir, and
had loudly urged that no attention be paid to him or his claims.
Neither did Colonel Stewart forget that certain ugly whispers had been
in circulation regarding the loyalty of these two high-born Englishmen
with the Teutonic names. What did it mean, then, when he found them
here in the apartment of a man practically known as a German agent,
and in conference with the possessor of the secret which Germany was
seeking so eagerly to obtain?
Whatever his suspicions, though, he said nothing further at the time,
but turned to Edestone.
“I am sorry to disturb you, Mr. Edestone, but His Majesty, the King,
has ordered that certain messages be delivered to you without delay,
and I should appreciate it, if you would give me a few minutes of your
time.”
Then, when Edestone, after requesting Rebener’s permission, had
withdrawn with him into the salon, he explained that the King had
instructed Sir Egbert Graves to call the following morning at nine
o’clock and to state the decision of the Government in answer to the
inventor’s proposition.
“Will that hour be convenient to you?” asked the Colonel.
“Perfectly,” Edestone assented. Then on an impulse, he added: “I do
not leave for the Continent until eleven.”
The Equerry extended his hand. “In that case, I shall probably not see
you again. Good-bye, Mr. Edestone; I trust you will have a pleasant
journey and good luck when you reach Berlin.”
It was evident that he was not to be detained. He was in no sense a
prisoner, but free to go or stay as he chose. With a smile of
gratification, he responded to Colonel Stewart’s parting salute, and
returned to the dining-room.
There he found the two discomfited members of the nobility just taking
their leave; while Rebener, his earlier ill-humour put aside, was
playing the rather too strenuous host, and with his flushed face and
over-loud manner urging them to stay and “have another.” Wouldn’t they
try one of his wonderful cigars? Just one pony of his marvellous
brandy?
But His Royal Highness, pale as death, was bent on getting away, and
turned a deaf ear to all these hospitable suggestions; and although
“Mr. Karlbeck” did consent to gulp down a large glass of Rebener’s
very fine brandy, he immediately hurried off in the wake of his royal
associate.
Edestone left almost immediately, and his “guard of honour,” to which
he was getting quite accustomed by this time, having been duly
assembled, he was escorted back to the hotel and a sleepy-eyed James.