A Maker of History by E. Phillips Oppenheim (the lemonade war series TXT) 📕

The driver, who had been of course ludicrously over-paid, settled down in his corner, and announced his intention of seeing through to the end this most extraordinary and Heaven-directed occurrence. The innkeeper and his wife busied themselves with the breakfast, and Guy made remarks every now and then from his phrase book, which were usually incomprehensible, except when they concerned a further supply of beer. With a brave acceptance of the courtesies of the country he had accepted a cigar from the driver, and was already contemplating the awful moment when he would have to light it. Just then an interruption came.

It was something very official, but whether military or of the police Guy could not tell. It strode into the room with clanking of spurs, and the driver and innkeeper alike stood up in respect. It saluted Guy. Guy took off his hat. Then there came words, but Guy was busy with his phrase book.

"I cannot a word of German speak!" he announced at last.

A deadlock ensued. The innkeeper and the driver rushed into the breach. Conversation became furious. Guy took advantage of the moment to slip the cigar into his pocket, and to light a cigarette. Finally, the officer swung himself round, and departed abruptly.

"Dolmetscher," the driver announced to him triumphantly.

"Dolmetscher," the innkeeper repeated.

Guy turned it up in his phrase book, and found that it meant interpreter. He devoted himself then to stimulating the preparations for breakfast.

The meal was ready at last. There were eggs and ham and veal, dark-colored bread, and coffee, sufficient for about a dozen people. The driver constituted himself host, and Guy, with a shout of laughter, sat down where he was, and ate. In the midst of the meal the officer reappeared, ushering in a small wizened-faced individual of unmistakably English appearance. Guy turned round in his chair, and the newcomer touched his forelock.

"Hullo!" Guy exclaimed. "You're English!"

"Yes, sir!" the man answered. "Came over to train polo ponies for the Prince of Haepsburg. Not in any trouble, I hope, sir?"

"Not I," Guy answered cheerily. "Don't mind my going on with my breakfast, do you? What's it all about? Who's the gentleman with the fireman's helmet on, and what's he worrying about?"

"He is an officer of the police, sir, on special service," the man answered. "You have been reported for trespassing on the State railway this morning."

"Trespassing be blowed!" Guy answered. "I've got my ticket for the frontier. We were blocked by signal about half a dozen miles off this place, and I got down to stretch my legs. I understood them to say that we could not go on for half an hour or so. They never tried to stop my getting down, and then off they went without any warning, and left me there."

"I will translate to the officer, sir," the man said.

"Right!" Guy declared. "Go ahead."

There was a brisk colloquy between the two. Then the little man began again.

"He says that your train passed here at midnight, and that you did not arrive until past six."

"Quite right!" Guy admitted. "I went to sleep. I didn't know how far it was to the station, and I was dead tired."

"The officer wishes to know whether many trains passed you in the night?"

"Can't say," Guy answered. "I sleep very soundly, and I never opened my eyes after the first few minutes."

"The officer wishes to know whether you saw anything unusual upon the line?" the little man asked.

"Nothing at all," Guy answered coolly. "Bit inquisitive, isn't he?"

The little man came closer to the table.

"He wishes to see your passport, sir," he announced.

Guy handed it to him, also a letter of credit and several other documents.

"He wants to know why you were going to the frontier, sir!"

"Sort of fancy to say that I'd been in Russia, that's all!" Guy answered. "You tell him I'm a perfectly harmless individual. Never been abroad before."

The officer listened, and took notes in his pocketbook of the passport and letter of credit. Then he departed with a formal salute, and they heard his horse's hoofs ring upon the road outside as he galloped away. The little man came close up to the table.

"You'll excuse me, sir," he said, "but you seem to have upset the officials very much by being upon the line last night. There have been some rumors going about—but perhaps you're best not to know that. May I give you a word of advice, sir?"

"Let me give you one," Guy declared. "Try this beer!"

"I thank you, sir," the man answered. "I will do so with pleasure. But if you are really an ordinary tourist, sir,—as I have no doubt you are,—let this man drive you to Streuen, and take the train for the Austrian frontier. You may save yourself a good deal of unpleasantness."

"I'll do it!" Guy declared. "Vienna was the next place I was going to, anyhow. You tell the fellow where to take me, will you?"

The man spoke rapidly to the driver.

"I think that you will be followed, sir," he added, turning to Guy, "but very likely they won't interfere with you. The railway last night for twenty miles back was held up for State purposes. We none of us know why, and it doesn't do to be too curious over here, but they have an idea that you are either a journalist or a spy."

"Civis Britannicus sum!" the boy answered, with a laugh.

"It doesn't quite mean what it used to, sir," the man answered quietly.

Exactly a week later, at five minutes after midnight, Guy Poynton, in evening dress, entered the Café Montmartre, in Paris. He made his way through the heterogeneous little crowd of men and women who were drinking at the bar, past the scarlet-coated orchestra, into the inner room, where the tables were laid for supper. Monsieur Albert, satisfied with the appearance of his new client, led him at once to a small table, submitted the wine card, and summoned a waiter. With some difficulty, as his French was very little better than his German, he ordered supper, and then lighting a cigarette, leaned back against the wall and looked around to see if he could discover any English or Americans.

The room was only moderately full, for the hour was a little early for this quarter of Paris. Nevertheless, he was quick to appreciate a certain spirit of Bohemianism which pleased him. Every one talked to his neighbor. An American from the further end of the room raised his glass and drank his health. A pretty fair-haired girl leaned over from her table and smiled at him.

"Monsieur like talk with me, eh?"

"English?" he asked.

"No. De Wien!"

He shook his head smilingly.

"We shouldn't get on," he declared. "Can't speak the language."

She raised her eyebrows with a protesting gesture, but he looked away and opened an illustrated paper by his side. He turned over the pages idly enough at first, but suddenly paused. He whistled softly to himself and stared at the two photographs which filled the sheet.

"By Jove!" he said softly to himself.

There was the rustling of skirts close to his table. An unmistakably English voice addressed him.

"Is it anything very interesting? Do show me!"

He looked up. Mademoiselle Flossie, pleased with his appearance, had paused on her way down the room.

"Come and sit down, and I'll show it you!" he said, rising. "You're English, aren't you?"

Mademoiselle Flossie waved a temporary adieu to her friends and accepted the invitation. He poured her out a glass of wine.

"Stay and have supper with me," he begged. "I must be off soon, but I'm tired of being alone. This is my last night, thank goodness."

"All right!" she answered gayly. "I must go back to my friends directly afterwards."

"Order what you like," he begged. "I can't make these chaps understand me."

She laughed, and called the waiter.

"And now show me what you were looking at in that paper," she insisted.

He pointed to the two photographs.

"I saw those two together only a week ago," he said. "Want to hear about it?"

She looked startled for a moment, and a little incredulous.

"Yes, go on!" she said.

He told her the story. She listened with an interest which surprised him. Once or twice when he looked up he fancied that the lady from Vienna was also doing her best to listen. When he had finished their supper had arrived.

"I think," she said, as she helped herself to hors d'œuvre, "that you were very fortunate to get away."

He laughed carelessly.

"The joke of it is," he said, "I've been followed all the way here. One fellow, who pretended he got in at Strasburg, was trying to talk to me all the time, but I saw him sneak in at Vienna, and I wasn't having any. I say, do you come here every evening?"

"Very often," she answered. "I dance at the Comique, and then we generally go to Maxim's to supper, and up here afterwards. I'll introduce you to my friends afterwards, if you like, and we'll all sit together. If you're very good I'll dance to you!"

"Delighted," he answered, "if they speak English. I'm sick of trying to make people understand my rotten French."

She nodded.

"They speak English all right. I wish that horrid Viennese girl wouldn't try to listen to every word we say."

He smiled.

"She wanted me to sit at her table," he remarked.

Mademoiselle Flossie looked at him warningly, and dropped her voice.

"Better be careful!" she whispered. "They say she's a spy!"

"On my track very likely," he declared with a grin.

She threw herself back in her seat and laughed.

"Conceited! Why should any one want to be on your track? Come and see me dance at the Comique to-morrow night."

"Can't," he declared. "My sister's coming over from England."

"Stupid!"

"Oh, I'll come one night," he declared. "Order some coffee, won't you—and what liqueurs?"

"I'll go and fetch my friends," she declared, rising. "We'll all have coffee together."

"Who are they?" he asked.

She pointed to a little group down the room—two men and a woman. The men were French, one middle-aged and one young, dark, immaculate, and with the slightly bored air affected by young Frenchmen of fashion; the woman was strikingly handsome and magnificently dressed. They were quite the most distinguished-looking people in the room.

"If you think they'll come," he remarked doubtfully. "Aren't we rather comfortable as we are?"

She made her way between the tables.

"Oh, they'll come," she declared. "They're pals!"

She floated down the room with a cigarette in her mouth, very graceful in her airy muslin skirts and large hat. Guy followed her admiringly with his eyes. The Viennese lady suddenly tore off a corner of her menu and scribbled something quickly. She passed it over to Guy.

"Read!" she said imperatively.

He nodded, and opened it.

"Prenez garde!" he said slowly. Then he looked at her and shook his head. She was making signs to him to destroy her message, and he at once did so.

"Don't understand!" he said. "Sorry!"

Mademoiselle Flossie was laughing and talking with her friends. Presently they rose, and came across the room with her. Guy stood up and bowed. The introductions were informal, but he felt his insular prejudices a little shattered by the delightful ease with which these two Frenchmen accepted the situation. Their breeding was as obvious as their bonhomie. The table was speedily rearranged to find places for them all.

"Your friends will take coffee with me, Mademoiselle," Guy said. "Do be hostess, please. My attempts at French will only amuse everybody."

The elder of the two Frenchmen, whom the waiter addressed as Monsieur le Baron, and every one else as Louis, held up his hand.

"With pleasure!" he declared, "later on. Just now it is too early. We will celebrate l'entente cordiale. Garçon, a magnum of Pommery, un neu frappé! I know you will forgive the liberty," he said, smiling at Guy. "This bottle is vowed. Flossie