The Great Secret

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"Gently, Courage," he said. "I knew that this must be a shock to you, but
you must not lose your sense of proportion. Think of the men who have
sacrificed their lives for just causes, remember that you and I to-day,
and from to-day onward, can never be sure that each moment is not our
last. Remember that we are working to save our country from ruin, to save
Europe from a war in which not one life, but a hundred thousand might
perish. Remember that you and I alone are struggling to frustrate the
greatest, the most subtle, the most far-reaching plot which the mind of
man ever conceived. That poor fellow who lies out on the Rockies with a
bullet in his heart, is only a tiny link in the great chain: you or I may
share his fate at any moment. Be a man, Courage. We have no time for
sentiment."

"You are right," I answered. "Go on."

"We are now," Guest declared, "in this position. In Hamburg I discovered
the meeting-place of the No. 1 Branch of the Waiters' Union, and the
place itself is now under our control. In that room at the Cafe Suisse
will be woven the final threads of the great scheme. How are we to get
there? How are we to penetrate its secrets?"

"We must see the room first," I remarked.

"And then there is the question of ourselves," Guest continued. "We are
both nominally dead men. But none the less, our friends leave little to
chance. You may not have noticed it, but I knew very well that we were
followed home to-day from the cafe. Every moment of ours will be spied
upon. Is the change in our appearance sufficient?"

I looked at myself in the little gilt mirror over the mantel-piece.
Perhaps because I looked, thinking of myself as I had been in the days
before these strange happenings had come into my life, I answered his
question promptly.

"I cannot believe," I said, "that any one would know me for Hardross
Courage. I am perfectly certain, too, that I should not recognize in you
to-day the Leslie Guest who--died at Saxby."

"I believe that you are right," Guest admitted. "At any rate, it is one
of those matters which we must leave no chance. Only keep your identity
always before you. At the Cafe Suisse we shall be watched every moment of
the day. Remember that you are a German-American of humble birth.
Remember that always."

I nodded.

"I am not an impulsive person," I answered. "I am used to think before I
speak. I shall remember. But there is one thing I am afraid of, Guest. It
must also have occurred to you. Now that the Cafe Suisse is in the hands
of strangers, will not your friends change their meeting-place?"

"I think not," Guest answered slowly. "I know a little already about that
room. It has a hidden exit, by way of the cellar, into a court, every
house of which is occupied by foreigners. A surprise on either side would
be exceedingly difficult. I do not think that our friends will be anxious
to give up the place, unless their suspicions are aroused concerning us.
You see their time is very close at hand now. This, at any rate, is
another of the risks which we must run."

"Very well," I answered, "You see the time?"

Guest nodded.

"I am going to explain to you exactly," he said, "what you have to do."

"Right," I answered.

"The parcel on the sofa there," he said, "contains a second-hand suit of
dress clothes. You will put them on, over them your old black overcoat
which we bought at Hamburg, and your bowler hat. At four o'clock
precisely you will call at the offices of the German Waiters' Union, at
No. 13, Old Compton Street, and ask for Mr. Hirsch. Your name is Paul
Schmidt. You were born in Offenbach, but went to America at the age of
four. You were back in Germany for two years at the age of nineteen,
and you have served your time at Mayence. You have come to England
with an uncle, who has taken a small restaurant in Soho, and who
proposes to engage you as head-waiter. You will be enrolled as a member
of the Waiters' Union, as a matter of course; but when that has been
arranged you write on a slip of paper these words, and pass them to Mr.
Hirsch--'I, too, have a rifle'!"

I was beginning to get interested.

"'I, too, have a rifle,'" I repeated. "Yes! I can remember that; but I
shall be talking like a poll-parrot for I shan't have the least idea what
it means."

"You need not know much," Guest answered. "Those words are your passport
into the No. 1 Branch of the Waiters' Union, whose committee, by the bye
meet at the Cafe Suisse. If you are asked why you wish to join, you need
only say because you are a German!"

"Right," I answered. "I'll get into the clothes."

Guest gave me a few more instructions while I was changing, and by four
o'clock punctually I opened the swing door of No. 13, Old Compton Street.
The place consisted of a waiting-room, very bare and very dirty; a
counter, behind which two or three clerks were very busy writing in
ponderous, well-worn ledgers, and an inner door. I made my way towards
one of the clerks, and inquired in my best German if I could see Mr.
Hirsch.

The clerk--he was as weedy a looking youth as ever I had seen--pointed
with ink-stained finger to the benches which lined the room.

"You wait your turn," he said, and waved me away.

I took my place behind at least a dozen boys and young men, whose
avocation was unmistakable. Most of them were smoking either cigarettes
or a pipe, and most of them were untidy and unhealthy looking. They took
no notice of me, but sat watching the door to the inner room, which
opened and shut with wonderful rapidity. Every time one of their number
came out, another took his place. It came to my turn sooner than I could
have believed possible.

I found myself in a small office, untidy, barely furnished, and thick
with tobacco smoke. Its only occupant was a stout man, with flaxen hair
and beard, and mild blue eyes. He was sitting in his shirt-sleeves, and
smoking a very black cigar.

"Well?" he exclaimed, almost before I had crossed the threshold.

"My name is Paul Schmidt," I said, "and I should like to join the
Waiters' Union."

"Born?"

"Offenbach!"

"Age?"

"Thirty!"

"Working?"

"Cafe Suisse!"

"Come from?"

"America!"

He tossed me a small handbook.

"Half-a-crown," he said; holding out his hand.

I gave it him. I was beginning to understand why I had not been kept very
long waiting.

"Clear out!" he said. "No questions, please. The book tells you
everything!"

I looked him in the face.

"I, too, have a rifle," I said boldly.

I found, then, that those blue eyes were not so mild as they seemed. His
glance seemed to cut me through and through.

"You understand what you are saying?" he asked.

"Yes!" I answered. "I want to join the No. 1 Branch."

"Why?"

"Because I am a German," I answered.

"Who told you about it?"

"A waiter named Hans in the Manhattan Hotel, New York."

I lied with commendable promptitude.

"Have you served?" he asked.

"At Mayence, eleven years ago," I answered.

"Where did you say that you were working?" he asked.

"Cafe Suisse!" I said.

It seemed to me that he had been on the point of entering my name in a
small ledger, which he had produced from one of the drawers by his side,
but my answer apparently electrified him. His eyes literally held mine.
He stared at me steadily for several moments.

"How long have you been there?" he asked. "I do not recognize you."

"I commence to-day," I said. "My uncle has just taken the cafe. He will
make me his head-waiter."

"Has your uncle been in the business before?" he asked.

"He kept a saloon in Brooklyn," I answered.

"Made money at it?"

"Yes!"

"Were you with him?"

"No! I was at the Manhattan Hotel."

"Your uncle will not make a fortune at the Cafe Suisse," he remarked.

"I do not think," I answered, "that he will lose one."

"Does he know what you propose?"

I shook my head.

"The fatherland means little to him," I answered. "He has lived in
America too long."

"You are willing to buy your own rifle?" he asked.

"I would rather not," I answered.

"We sell them for a trifle," he continued. "You would not mind ten
shillings."

"I would rather pay nothing," I answered, "but I will pay ten shillings
if I must."

He nodded.

"I cannot accept you myself," he said. "We know too little about you. You
must attend before the committee to-night."

"Where?" I asked.

"At the Cafe Suisse," he answered. "We shall send for you! Till then!"

"Till then," I echoed, backing out of the room.

CHAPTER XXXI

IN THE ENEMY'S CAMP

That night I gravely perambulated the little cafe in my waiter's clothes,
and endeavored to learn from Karl my new duties. There were a good many
people dining there, but towards ten o'clock the place was almost empty.
Just as the hour was striking, Mr. Kauffman, who had been dining with Mr.
Hirsch, rose from his place, and with a key in his hand made his way
towards the closed door.

He was followed by Mr. Hirsch and seven other men, all of whom had been
dining at the long central table, which easily accommodated a dozen or
more visitors. There was nothing at all remarkable about the nine men who
shambled their way through the room. They did not in the least resemble
conspirators. Hirsch, who was already smoking a huge pipe, touched me on
the shoulder as he passed.

"We shall send for you presently," he declared. "Your case is coming
before the committee."

I rushed towards the front door, and stood there for a few moments to get
some fresh air, for the atmosphere of the room was heavy with the odors
of countless dinners, and thick with tobacco smoke. I smoked half a
cigarette hurriedly, and then returned. There were scarcely half a dozen
guests now in the place. One of them, a stout middle-aged woman, who had
been sitting at the long table, beckoned me to her. She had very dark
eyes and a not unpleasant face; but she wore a hideous black sailor hat,
and her clothes were clumsily designed, and flamboyant.

"Is it true," she asked, "that this restaurant has changed hands?"

"Quite true, madam," I answered.

"Are you the new proprietor?" she asked.

"I am his nephew," I told her. "He is not here this evening."

"Are you going to keep on the eighteen-penny dinner?" she asked.

"We are going to alter nothing," I assured her, "so long as our customers
are satisfied."

She nodded, and eyed me more critically.

"You don't seem cut out for this sort of thing," she remarked.

"I hope I shall learn," I answered.

"Where is the proprietor?" she asked.

"He is not very well this evening," I told her. "He may be round later
on."

"You do not talk like a German," she said, dropping into her own
language.

"I have been in America nearly all my life," I answered in German. "I
speak English more readily, perhaps, but the other soon returns."

"Get me the German papers, please," she said. "I expect my man will keep
me waiting to-night."

I bowed and took the opportunity to escape. I sent the papers by one of
the waiters. Madame was a little too anxious to cross-examine me. I began
checking some counterfoils at the desk, but before I had been there five
minutes the door of the inner room was opened, and Mr. Hirsch appeared
upon the threshold. He caught my eye and beckoned to me solemnly. I
crossed the room, ascended the steps, and found myself in what the
waiters called the club-room. Mr. Hirsch carefully closed the door behind
me.

The first thing that surprised me was, that although I had seen nine men
ascend the three stairs and enter the room, there was now, besides myself
and Hirsch, only one other person present. That other person was sitting
at the head of the table, and he was of distinctly a different class from
Hirsch and his friends. He was a young man, fair and well built, and as
obviously a soldier as though he were wearing his uniform. His clothes
were well cut, his hands shapely and white. Some instinct told me what to
do. I stood to the salute, and I saw a glance of satisfaction pass
between the two men.

"Your name is Paul Schmidt?" the man at the table asked me.

"Yes, sir!" I answered.

"You served at Mayence?"

"Yes, sir!"

"Under?"

"Colonel Hausman, sir, thirteenth regiment."

"You have your papers?"

I passed over the little packet which Guest had given me. My questioner
studied them carefully, glancing up every now and then at me. Then he
folded them up and laid them upon the table.

"You speak German with an English accent," he remarked, looking at me
keenly.

"I have lived nearly all my life in America," I reminded him.

"You are sure," he said, "that you understand the significance of your
request to join the No. 1 Branch of the Waiters' Union?"

"Quite sure, sir," I told him.

"Stand over there for a few minutes," he directed, pointing to the
farthest corner of the room.

I obeyed, and he talked with Hirsch for several moments in an undertone.
Then he turned once more to me.

"We shall accept you, Paul Schmidt," he said gravely. "You will come
before the committee with us now."

I saluted, but said nothing. Hirsch pushed away the table, and, stooping
down, touched what seemed to be a spring in the floor. A slight crack was
instantly disclosed, which gradually widened until it disclosed a ladder.
We descended, and found ourselves in a dry cellar, lit with electric
lights. Seven men were sitting round a small table, in the farthest
corner of the place. Their conversation was suspended as we appeared, and
my interlocutor, leaving Hirsch and myself in the background, at once
plunged into a discussion with them. I, too, should have followed him,
but Hirsch laid his hand upon my arm.

"Wait a little," he whispered. "They will call us up."

"Who is he?" I asked, pointing to the tall military figure bending
stiffly down at the table.

"Call him Captain X," Hirsch answered softly. "He does not care to be
known here!"

"But how did he get into the room upstairs?" I asked. "I never saw him in
the restaurant."

Hirsch smiled placidly.

"It is well," he said, "my young friend, that you do not ask too many
questions!"

The man whom I was to call Captain X turned now and beckoned to me. I
approached and stood at attention.

"I have accepted this man, Paul Schmidt, as a member of the No. 1 Branch
of the Waiters' Union," he announced. "Paul Schmidt, listen attentively,
and you will understand in outline what the responsibilities are that you
have undertaken."

There was a short silence. The men at the table looked at me, and I
looked at them. I was not in any way ill at ease, but I felt a
terrible inclination to laugh. The whole affair seemed to me a little
ludicrous. There was nothing in the appearance of these men or the
surroundings in the least impressive. They had the air of being
unintelligent middle-class tradesmen of peaceable disposition, who had
just dined to their fullest capacity, and were enjoying a comfortable
smoke together. They eyed me amicably, and several of them nodded in a
friendly way. I was forced to say something, or I must have laughed
outright.

"I should like to know," I said, "what is expected of me."

An exceedingly fat man, whom I had noticed as the companion of the lady
upstairs in the sailor hat, beckoned me to stand before him.

"Paul Schmidt," he said, "listen to me! You are a German born?"

"Without doubt," I answered.

"The love of your fatherland is still in your heart?"

"Always!" I answered fervently.

"Also with all of us," he answered. "You have lived in America so long,
that a few words of explanation may be necessary. So!"

Now this man's voice, unimpressive though his appearance was, seemed
somehow to create a new atmosphere in the place. He spoke very slowly,
and he spoke as a man speaks of the things which are sacred to him.

"It is within the last few years," he said, "that all true patriots have
been forced to realize one great and very ugly truth. Our country is
menaced by an unceasing and untiring enmity. Wherever we have turned, we
have met with its influence; whatever schemes for legitimate expansion
our Kaiser and his great counsellors may have framed have been checked,
if not thwarted, by our sleepless and relentless foe. No longer can we,
the great peace-loving nation of the world, conceal from ourselves the
coming peril. England has declared herself our sworn enemy!"

A little murmur of assent came from the other men. I neither spoke nor
moved.

"There is but one end possible," he continued slowly. "It is war! It must
come soon! Its shadow is all the time darkening the land. So we, who have
understood the signs, remind one another that the Power who strikes the
first blow is the one who assures for herself the final success!"

Again he was forced to pause, for his breath was coming quickly. He
lifted his long glass, and solemnly drained its contents. All the time,
over its rim, his eyes held mine.

"So!" he exclaimed, setting it down with a little grunt of satisfaction.
"It must be, then, Germany who strikes, Germany who strikes in
self-defence. My young friend, there are in this country to-day 290,000
young countrymen of yours and mine who have served their time, and who
can shoot. Shall these remain idle at such a time? No! We then have been
at work. Clerks, tradesmen, waiters, and hairdressers each have their
society, each have their work assigned to them. The forts which guard
this great city may be impregnable from without, but from within--well,
that is another matter. Listen! The exact spot where we shall attack is
arranged, and plans of every fort which guard the Thames are in our
hands. The signal will be--the visit of the British fleet to Kiel! Three
days before, you will have your company assigned to you, and every
possible particular. Yours it will be, and those of your comrades, to
take a glorious part in the coming struggle! I drink with you, Paul
Schmidt, and you, my friends, to that day!"

He took a drink, which he seemed sorely to need. If any enthusiasm was
aroused by his speech to me, if that was really what it had been, it was
manifested solely by the unanimity and thoroughness with which all
glasses were drained. A tumbler of hock was passed to me, and I also
emptied it. Captain X then addressed me.

"Paul Schmidt," he said, "you know now to what you are committed. You are
content?"

"Absolutely," I answered. "Is it permitted, though, to ask a question?"

"Certainly, as long as it does not concern the details of our plans.
These do not concern you. You have only to obey."

"I was wondering," I remarked, "about France!"

Captain X twirled his fair moustache.

"It is not for you," he said, "to concern yourself with politics. But
since you have asked the question, I will answer it. The far-reaching
wisdom of our minters has been exerted to secure the neutrality of
England's new ally."

My ponderous friend handed a paper to me across the table.

"See," he said, "it is the order for your rifle, and your ticket of
membership. Hirsch!"

Hirsch nodded and took me by the arm. A moment later I descended the
three steps into the restaurant, which was now almost deserted.

CHAPTER XXXII

SIR GILBERT HAS A SURPRISE

At half-past ten the next morning, I rang the bell at the door of my
cousin's flat and inquired for Sir Gilbert Hardross. It was an excellent
testimonial to my altered appearance, that the man who answered the door,
and whom I had known all my life, declined promptly to admit me.

"Sir Gilbert is just going out," he said. "He is too busy this morning to
see any one."

I kept my foot in the door.

"He told me to come," I declared. "I cannot go away without seeing him."

"Then you can stay where you are," he declared, trying to close the door.
"You can see him as he comes out."

I stepped by him quickly. He was a small man, but he seized me pluckily
by the collar. Just then we heard a door open, and my cousin stepped out
dressed for the street.

"What is the matter, Groves?" he asked sharply.

"This fellow has forced his way in, sir," the man answered. "He says that
you told him to come."

My cousin stood drawing on his gloves, and eyed me superciliously.

"I think," he remarked, "that that is a mistake, isn't it? I am quite
sure that I have never seen you before in my life!"

I felt inclined to smile, but the man was watching us.

"I have some business with you, sir," I said deferenially. "I am not
begging, and I will not keep you longer than two minutes."

My cousin stepped back into the sitting-room. I followed him and took the
liberty of closing the door after me. Then I took off my hat, drew myself
up to my full height, and dropped the foreign accent which I had been at
so much pains to acquire.

"Don't you know me, Gilbert?" I asked.

He started at the sound of my voice, and took a quick step towards me. I
held out my hand.

"God in Heaven, it's Hardross!" he exclaimed.

I laughed as our hands met.

"I shall not bother about my disguise any longer," I remarked. "It is
evidently better even than I had hoped."

He wrung my hand. I was delighted to see that there was nothing in his
face but joy.

"Old chap!" he exclaimed, "I'm delighted. I can't say more. You've
knocked me all of a heap. For Heaven's sake talk! I should like to be
quite sure that I'm awake."

"You're awake all right," I answered, "as sure as I'm alive! How well you
look in black, old man! I suppose it's for me?"

He nodded.

"How on earth," he exclaimed, "could the papers have made such a
mistake?"

"They weren't so much to blame. A man was murdered in the Rockies who
called himself Hardross Courage, and who was travelling with my traps.
Only you see it wasn't I!"

"A man who called himself Hardross Courage," Gilbert repeated,
bewildered. "It's an uncommon name."

"The men who killed him," I answered, "thought that they had killed me.
It's a long story, Gilbert. I've come here to tell you a little of it, if
you can spare the time."

"Time! Of course I can," he declared. "Wait one moment while I go to the
telephone."

I checked him on the way to the door.

"Not a word of this to any one, Gilbert," I said. "Not even to Groves
there!"

He nodded and hurried out of the room. When he returned, he had taken off
his hat and overcoat. He drew up two easy-chairs and produced a box of
cigars.

"Now then!" he exclaimed, "for the mysteries! By Jove, I'm glad to see
you, Hardross! Light one of those--they're the old sort---and go ahead."

"You're not a nervous person, are you, Gilbert?" I asked quietly.

"I don't think so," he answered. "You've given my nerves a pretty good
test just now, I think! Why do you ask?"

"Because I am going to tell you secrets," I answered, "and because there
are men in the world, men in London close to us, who, if they knew, would
kill us both on sight."

"I am not a coward, if that is what you mean," Gilbert answered. "You
ought to know that. Go ahead."

I told him everything. When I had finished he sat staring at me like a
man stupefied.

"I suppose," he said at last, looking from his extinct cigar into my
face, "that I am not by any chance dreaming? It is you, my cousin
Hardross, who has told me this amazing story."

"Every word of which is true," I answered firmly, and I knew at once that
he believed me.

"Well," he said, after a short silence, "where do I come in?"

"You fill a most important place," I answered. "I want you to see Polloch
for us."

He nodded.

"Am. I to tell him everything?"

"Everything," I answered. "We have our Secret Service, I suppose, the
same as other countries. It ought to be easy enough for them to act on
our information."

"Have you seen the papers this morning?" he asked suddenly.

"No!" I answered. "Is there any news?"

"Our Channel Squadron," he said, "has received a very courteous
invitation to visit Kiel during its forthcoming cruise."

"They will go?" I exclaimed.

"They leave in three weeks' time."

"If they enter German waters," I said, "not one of them will ever return.
The bay will be sown with mines. It is part of the Great Plot."

"Yesterday's paper," Gilbert continued, "remarked upon the warm reception
of the Prince of Normandy at the Berlin Court!"

"Ah!" I ejaculated.

"And the _Daily Oracle_," Gilbert went on, "had a leading article upon
the huge scale of the impending German manoeuvres. Three days ago, the
Kaiser made a speech declaring that the white dove of peace was, after
all, more glorious than the eagle of war!"

"That settles it," I declared. "Gilbert, can you see the Prime Minister
this morning?"

"I can and I will," he answered.

"You must convince him," I declared. "All the proofs I can give you are
here. There is an account of the meeting at the summer house of Mrs. Van
Reinberg at Lenox, with the names of all who were present and particulars
of what transpired. There is a copy of my admission into the Waiters'
Union, with some significant notes."

"This is all?" he asked.

"All!" I repeated. "Isn't it sufficient?"

"Polloch is an Englishman," my cousin said slowly, "and you know what
that means. He will need some convincing!"

"Then you must convince him," I declared. "I am risking my life over this
business, Gilbert, and we can none of us tell which way the pendulum will
swing. I know that Polloch is one of the old school of statesmen, and
hates Secret Service work. If it were not for that, such a plot as this
could never have been developed under his very nose. It is absolutely
necessary, Gilbert, that, under some pretext or another, the home fleet
is mobilized within the next fortnight."

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