"The position is a very grave one, Henri," Rigaux explained when, a few
minutes later, they were alone together in a small, circular, book-lined
room, that room below one of the high round towers of the chateau, which
the Baron used as a bureau. "I hesitated to speak very openly before
your wife, because it would cause her undue alarm. There is no doubt--
indeed, there has been abundant proof in these last four days--that
Belgium swarms with German spies. They are everywhere. Our enemies
have been most crafty and cunning in their preparations for our undoing.
They have arrested and shot sixteen German agents in Antwerp alone.
They had carrier-pigeons, secret wireless, code-books, German
ammunition, secret stores of petrol, and other things, which showed,
only too plainly, their intentions. Now your telephone was cut at noon
to-day, was it not, and you are wondering? Well, the truth is that the
Germans occupied Brussels at eleven o'clock this morning?"
"_They are in Brussels_!" gasped the Baron, starting up. "You must be
joking!"
"I am not, I regret to say. To-day, at eleven, Burgomaster Max met the
German commander in the Chausee de Louvain. There was no resistance,
and the enemy marched into the city, doing the goose-step as they passed
the Gare du Nord."
"Impossible?" gasped de Neuville, pale as death.
"But it is the unfortunate truth. The Germans are asking for an
indemnity of eight millions sterling. The Minister of finance has asked
me to negotiate the loan. Will you and your friends take part in it?"
For a moment the Baron de Neuville was silent. He knew the financial
straits of the Government at that moment, and he was reflecting.
At last he said, in a low, earnest voice:
"Arnaud, if I touch it at all, my friends in London and myself will make
the whole loan."
"What, you will bear the eight millions?" asked Rigaux, with some
surprise.
"Yes. I feel it my duty to assist in the present crisis."
"But I only asked for a portion. I can do some myself, and obtain the
remainder in Holland."
"I tell you I will arrange to bear the whole responsibility. I will
send word to Monsieur Max to-night. I can arrange with good substantial
friends in London to assist me."
Rigaux was silent for a few seconds.
"Well," he said enthusiastically at last, "yours is indeed a fine
example of patriotism, Henri, I will let Max know your generous offer.
There is no telegraphic or telephonic communication with Brussels now."
He did not add that in his pocket was a special pass, signed by the
German commander, which allowed him to go through the enemy's lines,
backwards and forwards, at will. If the Baron and his friends paid over
eight millions to the enemy, then his friends in Berlin would be highly
pleased at his clever diplomacy.
"You return to Brussels to-night--eh?"
"Yes, at once. It is a risky business to be on the roads at night
nowadays."
"I shall go to Brussels to-morrow, and make the offer personally," the
Baron said.
"But, if you do so, you will not leave your wife and daughter here. If
I were you I would send them to Ostend, where, if further trouble
occurs, they can easily cross to England. They should not be left here
alone. One never knows what may happen." The Baron did not reply. He
was still reassured by the words of certain highly-placed officials in
Brussels that the Baroness and Aimee would be quite safe at Severac, and
Rigaux, on his part, did not think it worth while to tell him of the
close proximity of the Uhlans.
"I shall see you in Brussels to-morrow," the Baron said briefly.
"Yes. May I tell Max that you will be at the Hotel de Ville at noon--
eh?" asked the secret agent of the Kaiser, "and that you and your
English friends will, if necessary, guarantee the loan to the
municipality of the eight millions demanded?"
"Yes," was his friend's reply.
"Ah, Henri," cried Arnaud Rigaux, "you are a true patriot. You, the
wealthiest man in Belgium, to come forward at such a time," And,
Judas-like, he took the Baron's hand--he who was now secretly acting as
financial agent of the German Government. "Monsieur Max has been made
responsible for the good behaviour of the capital, and they have handed
him back his scarf of office. The surrender was a sad and impressive
scene, I can assure you," he added.
"Ah, yes," replied the Baron very gravely. "I had no idea that the
enemy were already in Brussels."
"Yes. They have taken Liege, Tirlemont, and Louvain, and are now coming
up to bombard Namur."
"So near!" cried the broad-shouldered Baron, amazed.
"Yes. That is why I suggest to you, privately, that the ladies should
be sent at once to the coast."
"Thanks for your hint, my dear Arnaud. I will certainly consider it,"
was the other's reply.
He handed Rigaux the big silver box of cigarettes, and when both had lit
up, the footman brought, in response to his master's summons, two tiny
Bohemian liqueur glasses and filled them with fine old cognac.
They tossed them off, in Belgian fashion, and soon afterwards Rigaux
gripped his friend's hand, saying:
"_Au revoir_, till to-morrow. And all Belgians will thank you, Henri,
for saving their capital from the Kaiser's brigands."
The Baron de Neuville smiled, and shrugged his thickset shoulders.
"It is but my duty as a loyal Belgian. I cannot fight side by side with
our brave men, as I certainly would if I were younger. So I will help
as far as my means permit."
And then Arnaud Rigaux, with those winds in his ears, waved his hand and
descended the winding stairway to the great hall, outside which in the
courtyard his fast, open car was in waiting.
Having put on his holland dust-coat, he flung himself into the
bucket-seat next the driver, and then they moved away cautiously down
the steep hill into the peaceful valley, where the summer twilight was
fast darkening into night.
Many groups of homeless, despairing people, hauling along great packages
and tramping towards an unknown bourne, were upon the road, and now and
then suspicious cars passed without salute or challenge.
Once they met a patrol of Uhlans riding merrily along, big-booted
fellows with lances, who chatted gaily, and who seemed to take no notice
of them, knowing that in that particular area there was no opposition.
Suddenly Rigaux, who had now become very alert, remarked to the driver:
"Be careful. We are getting near Loverai, outside Charleroi."
Before them had suddenly showed points of light from lanterns in the
road, and then, a few hundred yards further on, they heard a gruff
challenge in German, and a stern command to halt.
The driver drew up at once, and the car was instantly surrounded by half
a dozen stalwart German outposts, their fixed bayonets shining in the
headlights, demanding to know the destination of the travellers.
"To Brussels," replied Rigaux, in German. "Here is my official permit
from headquarters, signed by the Commander-in-Chief of the Army of the
Meuse."
The sentry, in his spiked helmet, examined it beneath the flickering
light of a lantern held by one of his comrades, and while doing so a
lieutenant strolled up and also carefully scrutinised it. Yet for the
moment the motorists were under arrest.
"Herr Rigaux--eh?--and chauffeur?" the officer read. "A general secret
service pass from headquarters. You are going to Brussels, I suppose?"
Arnaud Rigaux replied in the affirmative, whereupon the lieutenant gave
an order and the half-dozen men drew up in the dark, clicking their
heels together, and presented arms in salute.
"You are free to pass, Herr Rigaux," said the officer. "Take the
left-hand road, and you will avoid the outposts of Charleroi and get to
Nivelles. Our lines are two miles farther on, but with your pass you
will have no difficulty. I see that you are one of us."
Rigaux remounted into his car, and with a merry good night they swept
along the dark, wide road, which at that point ran between two rows of
high poplars, which were swaying and rustling slightly in the cool night
wind, so refreshing after the broiling day.
Half a dozen times the car had been challenged in as many miles, but on
each occasion the permit to travel was scrutinised closely, and as they
went forward they saw in the sky, on the far-off horizon, the dull, red
glare of the fires of war. They had left Charleroi on their right--the
town of hardware, which the Germans had now surrounded, and intended on
the morrow to reduce--and had now set their faces straight for the
capital.
The pass which that morning Rigaux had received, on application to the
headquarters at the Hotel Cosmopolite, in Brussels, proved an
open-sesame everywhere, for it was one of those cryptic passports which
the German Empire had issued to all its spies, from the lowly to the
wealthy.
That small piece of grey paper, stamped, signed, and countersigned,
rendered its bearer immune from arrest, and provided safe conduct
everywhere. What would his friends the Belgians say, or do, if they had
known he had possessed such a document?
Time after time, on that dark, straight road between Charleroi and
Brussels, the car was held up by men in spiked helmets, who covered both
master and chauffeur threateningly with their rifles. But sight of that
paper was magical. Arnaud Rigaux was bowed to with politeness, and
urged onward with cautionary words to the next post.
Brussels lay thirty miles from Charleroi. They were now within the
enemy's lines, and were passing many burnt-out cottages and villages,
some of the debris of which, strewn in the roadway, still glowed red in
the night. Before them, in the dark, heavy sky, showed the glare of the
lights of Brussels, the gay little city which now lay crushed and
invested by the Teuton invaders.
The reflection of the light was not red, as in the case of a burning
town. The Germans were committing no atrocities there, for the simple
reason that, in the capital, they were beneath the eyes of the
representatives of neutral powers. In the country it mattered not, and
could easily be denied, but in Brussels the Commander-in-Chief had
decreed that all should preserve a correct attitude and present the
quintessence of German "culture."
It was nearly one o'clock in the morning when at last, Rigaux having
pulled his cap over his eyes, they passed the sentries outside the
station of Uccle, and were allowed to proceed down the long, straight
Avenue Brugmann and the Chausee to the end of the Avenue Louise.
Half the street lamps of Brussels were out, and no one was in the
streets save German sentries at the corners, acting as policemen, their
fixed bayonets glinting in the brilliance of the car's headlights.
Brussels, with her Civil Guard disbanded, was in the grip of the
invader, who modestly demanded eight millions as its ransom.
The car turned into the small Place Louise, past the cafe in the corner,
and De Boek's Hotel so long a famous "English house," turned to the
left, and then ran along the tree-lined boulevard to where Rigaux lived.
There was now no secrecy of presence of the fair-haired German naval
wireless operator, for the enemy had occupied the capital. Indeed, as
soon as Arnaud Rigaux arrived home he met him in the hall, and
accompanied him to the room in the roof, in which was that powerful
wireless plant run off the electric-light main.
The young fellow seated himself at once at his table, and, touching a
Morse-key, a long blue spark was emitted and crackled across the big
coil.
"Call up Nauen," Rigaux said, his holland dust-coat not yet removed.
"Give them this message: That the Baron de Neuville has consented, upon
representations I have made, to negotiate the whole of the indemnity of
eight millions levied upon the city of Brussels. Let me know of the
acknowledgment of the receipt of the message by R.X."
"Certainly, m'sieur," was the operator's reply in good French, and he
began to tap out the preliminary "Da-de-Da-de-Da," the call-signal,
followed by the code-letters indicating that he wished to speak with
Nauen.
Then he switched over, and adjusting his headphones to his ears,
listened attentively.
Again he repeated the call, with dexterous rapidity, when, a few seconds
later, he heard the answering ticks of the Telefunken near Potsdam,
after which he reduced to code the significant message which Rigaux had
given him for transmission, and tapped it out.