The Yellow Dove

“Come, sit down. Let’s forget that we are parts of the intricate machinery of State. Here is a cigar. Smoke. It will do you good.”

Von Winden, flattered by this mark of condescension, obeyed.

“You are glad?” von Stromberg asked.

“Yes, Excellenz. I am glad. It is not the kind of thing one wants to be worried about—one’s own flesh and blood. But I knew there must have been a mistake.”

General von Stromberg puffed his smoke toward the ceiling and stretched his long legs upon the floor.

“It is very curious. I am not sure that I understand. Herr Rizzio is a careful man and he has much at stake. Why should your cousin Hammersley have refused to take cognizance of his credentials?”

“He had doubtless good reasons of his own. But since he will soon be here he will answer your questions himself. The fact that he comes at all, Excellenz, should be proof of his loyalty.”

“Yes,” said the General thoughtfully. “That should be true. One doesn’t thrust one’s head into the lion’s mouth for the mere pleasure of examining his teeth. Who sent this message?”

“General von Betzdorf.”

“There were no other wireless communications?”

“None, Excellenz. But Stammer should reach Wilhelmshaven tonight.”

The General smoked silently for a moment, and then:

“Herr Hammersley’s mother was a Prussian?”

“Yes, Excellenz, a sister of my mother–”

“Yes, I remember now. Von Eppingen–” the General muttered, his brows wrinkled. And then, “You saw much of your cousin?”

“For a while he went with me to the gymnasium, then to the University of Heidelberg. He has come over each year and shot with me here at Windenberg.”

“You are fond of him?”

Von Winden shrugged.

“He is my relative. We have always got along. I should not have cared to find that he was a traitor.”

The General smoked silently, his gaze on the fire.

“But his father was an Englishman, Graf von Winden. We can’t forget that. Tell me. You have known him always. What was his attitude at the University? Did he show a real affection for German life and customs? In short was he ever able to forget that half of him was English?”

Udo von Winden pulled at his small blond mustache thoughtfully.

“I can only say that he was quieter than most of us. But he was popular. He was a member of the Saxe-Borussia and represented the Corps on the Mensurboden against Suevia and Guestphalia. A Prussian for all that any of us knew— Prussian of Prussians.”

“His father died when he was quite young, I believe?”

“Yes, Excellenz. But his father, too, had lived much in Germany. He was a diplomat and scholar and enjoyed the friendship of the Iron Chancellor. That was before the ‘Hassgesang,’ Excellenz.”

“Or before the ‘Tag,’” growled the General. “Your loyalty to your cousin is natural, but loyalty to the Vaterland–”

Udo von Winden rose quickly.

“You would not suggest, Excellenz–?”

“Quatsch! Sit down, Captain. I suggest nothing. There are merely some phases of the question which puzzle me. Perhaps when he arrives he can explain them.”

“He will explain. I will stake my honor on it.”

“I trust so. This is hardly a time when my department can afford to make mistakes in the character of those in its employ.”

“But, Excellenz, you surely have no cause to doubt the exactness of the information he has furnished you!”

“It depends upon what you mean by exactness. Our information, as you know, comes from a number of sources. Some of it has proven valuable—some useless. Herr Hammersley’s has been neither the one nor the other.”

“But the British fleet at Cuxhaven–”

“Yes, he gave us that, but they came two days earlier than we expected. It cost us the Blücher.”

“But you knew that the orders were changed—and he sent a wireless–”

“The morning the Blücher was sunk,” said von Stromberg dryly.

“But, Excellenz, he gave us a clear sea for the raid on Falmouth!”

General von Stromberg rose and laid his hand on von Winden’s shoulder.

“You are younger than I, Graf von Winden. The Secret Service makes a maxim to believe everyone guilty until he proves his innocence.”

“But Herr Hammersley?”

“We have reason to believe that the British Government permitted the raid on Falmouth, as a means of increasing the enlistments.” He slowly paced the floor and then said reassuringly, “Oh, I merely question—I merely question–”

His words trailed off and Udo von Winden stood silently until he spoke again. “Oh, very well. We shall see—we shall see.”

A knock at the door and an orderly entered.

“Well?”

“Dispatches, Excellenz.”

Udo von Winden watched his superior officer as he dismissed the man and broke the seal of a large envelope and read, the lamplight playing on his long bony features, giving his sharp nose a peculiarly vulture-like avidity. The importance of the communication was obvious, for the small eyes under the heavy thatch of brows flamed in sudden interest. The General read the paper through quickly and then slipped it between the buttons of his coat.

“That will be all, Herr Hauptmann–” he said, with a return of his military abruptness. “You will go at once to the hangar and await the arrival of Herr Hammersley.” And as the officer moved toward the door: “Also, you will first tell Herr Hauptmann Wentz that I wish to see him at once.”

Von Winden clapped his heels together, saluted and went out while the General paced the floor of the room again tapping the back of his left hand with his right. “It is curious,” he muttered to himself. “A coincidence perhaps, but strange. And yet—possible.”

While he was reading the document again Captain Wentz entered. He was short, thickly set and dark with a blue chin and heavy eyebrows, the type of a man who rises in the service from sheer ability. He waited at the door, immovable, in the presence of the great man until ordered to approach.

“An important message has come from the Wilhelmstrasse, which indicates a mission of peculiar importance.” The General paused a moment, his keen eyes searching Captain Wentz with a terrible tensity, but the face of the younger man remained expressionless. He was merely a piece of machinery—excellent machinery.

“You may have thought it curious, Herr Hauptmann Wentz, that I should have come from the Wilhelmstrasse to Blaufelden. Is it not so?”

“It is not my duty to think, Excellenz, unless ordered to do so,” said the other briefly.

The General smiled. The answer pleased him.

“I wished to see Herr Hammersley, as you know. That is important, and the Yellow Dove cannot go to Berlin.” He stopped and then went on quickly: “Herr Hauptmann, you have been attached to the Secret Service Department three years?”

“Yes, Excellenz.”

“You have performed several important duties and have won promotion. I am now about to commit to your care, a–”

At a gesture of von Stromberg’s thumb the officer went on tiptoe to the door and opened it quickly.

“No one, Excellenz.”

“Good. Now sit. First, you speak French without accent.”

“That was a part of my qualification for this service.”

“Yes. It is in my mind to give you an important mission—one which will require great skill and fortitude.”

Wentz listened attentively, but he made no comment.

“It is unnecessary of course to warn you to hold what I tell you in the strictest confidence.”

“I do not talk, Excellenz.”

“This is a matter of grave importance to the Empire, a matter which concerns one of the enemies of the Vaterland. The safe delivery of certain dispatches which I am to receive may mean a readjustment of the European situation—perhaps the end of the war with Germany victorious and England humiliated.”

The eyes of Captain Wentz grew a little rounder and sparkled ever so slightly, but he said nothing.

“I am telling you this that you may know the importance of the duty I am giving you. It is an honor which I hope you will appreciate, an honor that may lead to greater favors than you have hitherto received.”

“I hope I may deserve them, Excellenz.”

General von Stromberg took the paper from his breast and glanced over it again.

“You will remember,” he continued, “the affair of the Socialist, Gottschalk?”

“I knew nothing of the details, Excellenz. That matter came in the duty of Oberleutnant von Weringrade.”

“This much then, only, I need tell you. Herr Gottschalk, who lived at Schöndorf near here, came into the possession, in a manner which need not be described, of certain important papers. He kept them for some time, not aware of their importance, and then realizing their value and being a good German, though opposed to the war, two weeks ago communicated with the Government. The result of this correspondence was a summons from Berlin and the delivery of these papers into the hands of the Emperor. Do you follow me?”

“Yes, Excellenz.”

“This letter which I have just received by special messenger informs me that His Majesty has decided to act at once, and gives me three days in which to make arrangements to have these papers, which will be forwarded tomorrow, delivered to General Dalmier, commanding at Verdun, to be handed before a certain date, to the President of the French Republic. You are to be the bearer of those letters. They must be delivered personally. You will be provided with the proper passes and facilities, including an armed escort to the French lines. From there you must trust to your own resources. The important matter is that no one, not even Captain von Winden, shall suspect your mission. Perhaps now you will realize the confidence I am reposing.”

“I am honored, Excellenz. These papers will arrive tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow night by automobile at eleven, by the Schöndorf road.”

“And until then–?”

“You will have time to make your arrangements.”

“I shall prepare, Excellenz.”

Captain Wentz rose, but the General halted him.

“One thing more. Herr Hammersley is returning tonight from England with dispatches. He is to be carefully watched tonight and tomorrow, though I shall let him believe that he moves in perfect freedom. You will give the necessary orders. Also I would like you to keep watch outside the door when he is brought to this room, which may be at any moment.”

“Zu befehl, Excellenz.”

“That is all. You may go.”

Left alone, General von Stromberg took a chair facing the fire, and lighted another cigar. For many years he had been engaged in deciphering interesting problems and in preparing problems for other persons to decipher. Therefore it may be truly said that his was the analytical mind, the mind of the chemist, of the mathematician, and the philosopher, with so complete a schooling in the trade of deception that all things and all persons in the cosmic scheme except himself were objects of suspicion. For him the obvious was the negligible and by converse the negligible of prime importance. As he had said to von Winden, every man was guilty until he was proven innocent. He had a rare nose for scenting unsuspected odors, and a fine hand for finding the weak links in the armor of those he used as well as of those who sought to use him. He had a faculty for appearing at places where he was least expected and a prescience almost miraculous in forestalling the moves of his adversaries. He ruled by fear and by admiration and there was not a man in the Empire with a skeleton in his closet, no matter how high his station, who did not live without a terror of von Stromberg in his heart.

But the habit of mind of suspecting everybody, while it had placed him upon the safe side of every equation, had also resulted, through the elimination of the sentimental, in eliminating the more direct contacts with human nature. To judge a man by his possibilities for venality is like judging a rose by the sharpness of its thorn. Something of the weakness of this cynicism had been apparent to the keen intellect of von Stromberg and he had been finding of late a rare pleasure in trifling with his convictions, admitting into the stored cavern of his mind for experimental purposes, an occasional ray of optimism. At the present moment he was analyzing the result of his summons to Herr Hammersley to come to Germany at once and the communication from Herr Rizzio which impugned Herr Hammersley’s loyalty to Germany. Von Stromberg had known Herr Rizzio for years and had done him more than one service in finding ways to cater to his passion for collecting objects of art. It was German social influence secretly exerted that had helped to make easy Rizzio’s rise in favor at the court of St. James. There had been a possibility that some day John Rizzio might be of service to von Stromberg and to Germany. And von Stromberg had long been laying the plans which had made his system of espionage the most perfect in Europe. Von Stromberg had found Rizzio’s weakness and had traded on it, saving his most tempting bait for his greatest service, the betrayal of the home of his adoption. He weighed Rizzio contentedly sure of his own power over him and despising him for having been so easily bought. Rubens’s “Descent from the Cross”! There were fortunately other Rubenses in conquered territory—some very good ones that John Rizzio might like. Von Stromberg had made a list of them. He had learned that it was as necessary to be provided with bribes as with threats. Fortunately Rizzio himself had given him material for the latter. Racially, the great Councilor did not like Latins, and he was quite sure he cared less for Italians now than he did before the proclamation of neutrality. They were not to be trusted by good Germans. If Rizzio had played false to the country of his adoption for the sake of a paltry picture, it was within the bounds of possibility that he could be false to Germany if the necessity arose for an even smaller consideration. Yesterday morning before leaving Berlin for Windenberg, von Stromberg had received a dispatch from Rizzio which told of his departure on his yacht from Scotland for Bremen. This was curious—also interesting. Rizzio was needed in England and was useless in Germany. Why was he coming? Had something been learned of him at Scotland Yard? Or had his departure to do with the case of Herr Hammersley? Whatever the visit meant, it was necessary, very necessary, to have Rizzio and Hammersley together at once, so he had deemed it wise to send orders to Bremen to have Rizzio caught on the wireless and when he reached port sent through at once to Windenberg.

Von Stromberg smiled in self-gratulation. There would be no loose ends about this affair. Merely as a precaution in so important a matter he had set one agent to watch another. Byfield had been watched by Hammersley, who in turn had been watched by Rizzio, who had been watched by Herr Maxwell, an agent long in von Stromberg’s service. Rizzio had been given the power and credentials to use his discretion with Hammersley. Why had not Hammersley relinquished the cigarette papers to Rizzio? Hammersley should have good reasons for his refusal. Was there reason for Hammersley to suspect Rizzio? Herr Maxwell, who had been set to watch Rizzio, was silent. This was puzzling. What had happened to Herr Maxwell?

General von Stromberg threw his finished cigar into the fire and got up, rubbing his hands together. Oh, it was very interesting—very. The situation was rapidly approaching culmination. In a short while all the threads of this pretty tangle would be within reach of his long fingers. And all that he, von Stromberg, had to do was to catch them by the ends and hold. What would Herr Hammersley bring?

General von Stromberg straightened, listening. The sound of voices and men outside. So. He was here already. There had been no sound from the machine. Of course, he had planed down. A knock on the door and von Winden, Wentz and Hammersley entered.

CHAPTER XII

HAMMERSLEY EXPLAINS

At the sight of the tall figure of von Stromberg, Hammersley halted for the fraction of a second and then came forward into the room. He still wore his leather jacket and cap, but the wind burn on his cheeks gave his eyes, which had been protected by goggles, a singular grayness. He had had no sleep and his face was drawn in haggard lines, but his greeting showed no signs of uneasiness.

“Had I known you were awaiting me, Excellenz, I should perhaps have made quicker repairs.”

“It does not matter that you are late,” said von Stromberg quickly. “The thing of main importance is that you are here.” The General turned and made a motion to the door of the room. “I wish to be alone with Herr Hammersley. Herr Hauptmann von Winden, you are relieved from duty for the night. Herr Hauptmann Wentz, you will remain within call.”

The two officers saluted and retired and the General motioned Hammersley to approach.

“You have it?” he asked briefly.

“Yes, Excellenz. Here.”

He produced from an inner pocket a small package wrapped in oiled paper and handed it to von Stromberg.

“Ah!” He went quickly over to the table and tearing off the wrapper of the bundle opened the packet of Riz-la-Croix and found the hidden message which he scanned quickly, with muttered ejaculations of satisfaction and surprise. Hammersley by the fireplace was warming his hands.

“Ganz gut!” said the General, straightening and turning. “You had difficulties?”

“More than usual, Excellenz. Captain Byfield is in prison.”

“Caught!”

Hammersley nodded.

“They found letters at his rooms.”

“Schafskopf! Were there no fires?”

Hammersley shrugged.

“He is to be tried by court-martial. He will be shot.”

Von Stromberg deliberated a moment.

“And were you suspected?”

“Yes. They followed me to Scotland, but fortunately the Yellow Dove is still a mystery—at least it was yesterday morning, and I got safely away.”

Von Stromberg was scrutinizing him keenly.

“H—m. What makes you think that you were followed?”

“I left London by night train but got off at Edinburgh where my motor met me. But the wire was faster, and they had sent word to stop me. They stretched a rope across the road, but I saw it and went around. They fired at me–”

“When was this?”

“Three nights ago.”

“They didn’t hit you–”

“A mere scratch across the arm–”

“Let me see it.”

Hammersley looked into von Stromberg’s face and laughed.

“Really?” he asked.

“Yes.”

Rather stiffly Hammersley took off his leather jacket and sweater and rolled up the sleeve of his flannel shirt. Von Stromberg examined the wound with interest.

“So–” he said. “Put on your coat. And after that?”

“I kept away from Ben-a-Chielt and put up for the night at my cousin’s.”

“Who is that?”

“Lady Heathcote–”

“Oh, yes. It was at her house in London that the message passed to you.”

“Yes, Excellenz.”

Von Stromberg paused a moment and then spoke abruptly.

“Why did you not give the papers to Rizzio?”

Hammersley’s gaze met the General’s squarely.

“They were too important. I could not take the risk.”

“But his orders superseded yours.”

“I saw—but I could not take the risk.”

“Why?”

“Because I had reason to believe that Rizzio was acting for the English Government.”

Von Stromberg’s burning gaze flickered and went out. He took a few paces across the room, his right hand tapping the back of his left. At last he came and stood before Hammersley, his hands behind his back.

“What were your reasons for believing that?”

“Maxwell learned it from Byfield.”

“Maxwell! You saw Maxwell—when?”

“The night I left London.”

“Has anything happened to him?” quickly.

“I do not know.”

The General frowned into the fire.

“It is strange,” he muttered. “Very strange. You did not realize then that I suspected you?”

Hammersley laughed.

“Not at once. I did later. That is your privilege, Excellenz. But I refused to be caught under the circumstances. I preferred to take the risk of failure. After all, you see, I succeeded.”

General von Stromberg was not immune from the frankness of Hammersley’s smile. He turned toward the table and scrutinized the papers with great care.

“These are the very papers you got from Herr Captain Byfield?”

Hammersley’s reply was startling.

“Unfortunately, no. The original papers were burned–”

“Burned!” cried the General, turning in his chair.

“But not before I had made this copy, which I put in a safe place.”

“Explain.”

“I was followed, leaving Lady Heathcote’s dinner party in an automobile, by agents of Scotland Yard. I had the slower machine and they caught me. But not before I had passed the original papers to my companion–”

“Your companion—a woman?”

“Yes, Excellenz, there was nothing else to do. She escaped while they were searching me and kept the papers–”

“Who was this woman?”

“My fiancée.”

“Her name?”

“Doris Mather.”

“English?”

“No, American.”

“And what happened then?”

“Excellenz, she read them. She is devoted to the English cause. I could do nothing. She learned that I was acting for Germany and, rather than let them fall into my hands, she burned them. It makes no difference to you or to the Vaterland, since I have brought the message here, except that my own utility in England is gone.”

“I should be sorry to be obliged to believe you.”

“I am afraid, Excellenz, that there is nothing left for you to do.”

General von Stromberg was again busy examining the cigarette papers. Suddenly he raised his head, his gaze boring into Hammersley’s face.

“You say this is a copy of the original message?”

“Yes, Excellenz.”

“And where did you make it?”

“In the library upstairs at Lady Heathcote’s in Park Lane.”

“When?”

“After my interview with Herr Rizzio. It is written hurriedly, as you will observe.”

“It is written with a pen finer than those usually employed by ladies.”

“I took what offered, Excellenz,” said Hammersley.

“What was your thought when you made the copy?”

“That Rizzio or his agents would attempt to get it away from me. It seems that I was right.”

“Are you sure that he was acting for England and not for me?” asked von Stromberg quickly.

“For you, Excellenz?”

“Did it not occur to you that your failure to accede to his request might have given Herr Rizzio the idea that you were saving this document from him in order that you might deliver it to the War Office?”

“How could such an idea occur to me when I already knew what his object was?”

“Oh! You are convinced that he is for the English cause?”

“Naturally. I can conceive of no reason why Rizzio should be for Germany.”

Von Stromberg smiled. If this were skill in parry, he rejoiced in having met his match. If it were merely ingenuousness, he was equally at a loss. He had often admitted to himself that there were but two kinds of people in the world that he could not cope with—those who never lost their tempers and those who told the truth. He had taken advantage of Hammersley’s physical condition to provoke him into irritation, but the man was quite unruffled. The piercing eye, the threatening tone and the dominant air of authority which von Stromberg had so frequently found effective with others had been of no avail here. Herr Hammersley stood by the fire, erect and unperturbed, calmly awaiting his dismissal. If he had told the truth, then Rizzio–

“Herr Rizzio has advised me that you are disloyal to Germany,” said the General at last. “You inform me that he is loyal to England.”

Hammersley shrugged and laughed.

“If I were disloyal to Germany, surely I had proof enough of your suspicions in your secret summons, to remain at Ben-a-Chielt. It is unnecessary for me to say that I should have come without that summons, because it was dangerous for me to stay.”

“You would, then, have me disregard the message from Herr Rizzio?”

“No. I merely ask that you wait until you hear from Herr Maxwell.”

“And if Herr Maxwell be dead?” asked von Stromberg quietly.

Hammersley’s face became grave.

“In that case, Excellenz, I must rely on your keenness to decide the issue between us.”

Von Stromberg slipped the packet of papers into an inner pocket and rose with a laugh. He covered the distance between himself and Hammersley in three paces with extended hands.

“I was only trying you, Herr Hammersley. It is a habit of mine. It amuses me. You will forgive me, nicht wahr?”