A moment later they were in a taxi speeding on their way towards Von Salzinger"s hotel.
"What is the--distraction?" enquired Stryj, as the cab swung sharply out of Baker Street. His calmness of manner was in marked contrast to that of his companion, who was still breathing heavily under his emotion. He understood now that a matter, an important mission, was on hand, and every faculty was alert to miss nothing of any detail of it, even the mood of his old friend.
"Distraction?" Von Salzinger laughed. "Yes, it is distraction. But distraction can mean another emotion than pleasure. Hey?"
"Yes." Stryj nodded.
Then Von Salzinger leant over and whispered elaborately into the other"s ear, as the cabby changed his gears with a clatter and the cab began the ascent of the approach to the hotel.
"That man Farlow, as you call him, stole into Borga when I was in command. I am not in command of Borga--now."
Johann Stryj faced his companion with eyes that never seemed to express more than a mild interest. Von Salzinger was lounging in a large armchair smoking a long cigar. They were in the latter"s private sitting-room in the hotel. In spite of his leisured att.i.tude, deep emotion lit the eyes of the late Commandant of Borga, and an undercurrent of excitement kept his cigar glowing in a reckless manner.
Stryj smoked a Turkish cigarette with a composure that was in sharp contrast with his companion"s att.i.tude.
"So you see it was not only friendship that fetched me to your apartment this morning, my good Johann," Von Salzinger finished up, at the conclusion of his story of the visit of Ruxton Farlow to the secret heart of the great Borga a.r.s.enal. "I am here for distraction. Hey?
Distraction, and the unravelling of the plot against the most treasured secret of the Fatherland. I am here for more. I am here to break it up, and, incidentally, if possible, to break up those concerned in it."
The man ill.u.s.trated his purpose viciously, with two clenched fists breaking an imaginary object.
Stryj inhaled deeply of his cigarette.
"And if you fail?"
He was reading deeply into the less astute mind of the other. He had grasped fully his position. He knew, although he asked, what awaited failure for his old comrade, Von Salzinger.
"There will be no failure, I promise you. I have unlimited powers, and I shall use them. Oh, yes, I shall use them."
"What powers?"
The keen eyes of the spy were watchful.
Von Salzinger produced a doc.u.ment from his breast pocket. He opened it.
He glanced over it, and pa.s.sed it across to the other.
"My credentials," he said, with triumph in his accompanying glance.
Johann Stryj took the doc.u.ment and perused it carefully. He closely examined the signatures. When he looked up it was obvious that he was almost startled.
"It has never been done before," he said, almost incredulously. "By this the entire Secret Service is placed at your disposal--absolutely."
Von Salzinger nodded.
"Now do you understand? Now?" he cried violently. "We believe this Englishman has burrowed out the most stupendous secret of our Government. We believe he has tricked us through this traitor, Hertzwohl. Gott! He has caused me to be--degraded."
Stryj pa.s.sed the violence of his companion by. His mind was searching, searching where the less acute soldier could not follow.
"And what of this Hertzwohl? Has he been shot?"
"Not yet. We have to prove this thing--first. That is _our_ work."
"Ah."
Stryj had learned all he wanted to know.
At that moment a waiter entered the room bearing a copy of _Who"s Who_ for the current year. Von Salzinger seized upon it, and, by the time the man had withdrawn and shut the door, he had found the page he sought.
"Ach!" cried Von Salzinger. "Here he is. The luck has served me well.
It is as though the plums were ripe, and ready to drop into my mouth."
Stryj rose and crossed over to his side. He looked down where the stubby finger of the soldier pointed.
"Farlow, Ruxton. Only son of Sir Andrew Farlow, Bart. Member of Parliament for ----. Under Secretary for Foreign Office in 19--. Yes.
Partner in firm of Farlow, Son and Farlow, ship-builders and ship-owners. Dorby. Ha! Dorby, Yorkshire. Residence, Dorby Towers, Yorkshire. So." Salzinger looked up as he concluded reading out disjointed fragments of the information he sought. "They are ripe--ripe, these plums," he cried exultingly. "Johann, my friend," he went on, glancing up into the spy"s clever face, "it is good to see the plums hanging--ripe. We have got to hear all they talk of and contemplate, we have to watch and discover all that is known by Farlow, Son and Farlow. That is your work. You, and those under your control.
You will leave for Dorby at once. While I----"
"Watch that the birds do not eat the ripe plums you would pick. Dorby.
I saw the name in the papers yesterday. Those are the yards some portion of which have been taken over by the British Admiralty. These papers tell me something worth while sometimes."
"The British Navy?" The fierce eyes of the soldier were startled. He ran his fingers through his stubbly hair. "Curse the British Navy."
"Yes."
The mild rejoinder seemed to irritate Von Salzinger.
"Talk! Talk! Ach! Those are your orders, Johann. See to them, and communicate with me here. I must write."
He moved over to a desk while Stryj deliberately adjusted his hat and lit another cigarette. Then he moved towards the door.
"Is there anything else?" he enquired, with his hand upon the handle.
Von Salzinger glanced round.
"Yes, use every means at your command to get the information we need.
Remember, Stryj, if the secrets of Borga have been discovered, if our country has been betrayed, then a harvest of vengeance is going to be reaped."
He turned back to his desk and began a long communication addressed to Prince von Berger, while Johann Stryj pa.s.sed silently out of the room.
CHAPTER XV
THE INERADICABLE STRAIN
Von Salzinger was gross. He looked it. But he had not yet arrived at those years when the outward form loses its atmosphere of virile strength submerged beneath overwhelming adipose and a general bodily inertia. That would come as inevitably as reaction invariably follows upon the heels of excess when vitality pa.s.ses its maximum. Von Salzinger was of original type, and beneath the shallow veneer of the civilizing process, in him was to be found of a certainty the hairy hands of the savage. It is the brand which can never be eradicated from the original Teuton, and particularly from those who are native of Prussia. The anxious insistence of the claims to Kultur, emanating more particularly from Prussian sources, can be taken as something in the nature of an unconscious admission of the depths from which they have only been partially lifted.