PROLOGUE
In ‘the month of December, 1018,
and on the very day that a British
cavalry division marched into Cologne,
with flags flying and bands playing
as the conquerors of a beaten nation,
the manager of the Hotel Nationale
in Berne received a letter. Its con-
tents appeared to puzzle him gome-
what, for having read it twice he
rang the bell on his desk to summon
his secretary. Almost immediately
the door opened, and a young French
girl came into the room.
“Monsieur rang?”
“Have we ever had staying in the
hotel a man called le Comte de Guy?’
He leaned back in his chair and
Jooked at her through his pince-nez.
The secretary thought for a me-
ment and tien shook her head. “Not
‘as far as I can remember,” she said.
“Do we know anything about him?
Has he ever fed here, or taken & pri-
vate room?" “ap
= #Not that I know of.”
The manager handed her the letter,
and waited in silence until she had
read it. 3
«Jt seems on the face of it a pecu-
liar request from an unknown man,”
he remarked as she laid it down. “A
dinner of four covers; no expense to
be spared. Wines specified and if
not in hotel to be obtained. A private
room at half-past seven sharp. Guests
to ask for room X.”
The secretary nodded in agreement.
«It can hardly be a hoax,” she re-
marked after a short silence.
«No The manager tapped his
teeth with his pen thoughtfully. “But
1 by any chance it was, it would
prove an expensive one for us. I
wish I could think who this Comte de
Guy is.”
He took off his pince-nez and laid
them on the desk In front of him.
“gend the maitre dhotel to me at
. once.”
Whatever may have been the man-
ager’'s misgivings, they were certainly
not shared by the head waiter as he
jeft the office after receiving his in-
structions. War and short rations
had not been conducive to any partic-
ularly lucrative business in his
sphere; and the whole sound of the
proposed entertainment seemed to him
to contain considerable promise.
And so at about twenty minutes
past seven the maitre d’hotel was
hovering around the hall-porter, the
manager was hovering round the
maitre d’hotel, and the secretary Was
hovering around both. At five-and-
twenty minutes past the first guest
arrived. . . .
He was a peculiar-looking man, in
a big fur coat, reminding one irre-
gistibly of a codfish.
«1 wish to be taken to Room xX
The French secretary stiffened invol-
wuntarily as the maitre d’hotel stepped
obsequiously forward. Cosmopolitan
as the hotel was, even now she could
never hear German spoken without an
inward shudder of digust.
«A Boche,” she murmured in disgust.
Almost immediately afterward the
second and third members of the par-
ty arrived. They did not come togeth-
er, and what seemed peculiar to the
manager was that they were evidently
strangers to one another.
The leading one—a tall gaunt man
with a ragged beard and a pair of
piercing eyes—asked in a nasal and by
no means an inaudible tone for Room
%. As he spoke a little fat man who
was standing just behind him started
perceptibly, and shot a birdlike glance
at the speaker.
Then in execrable French he too
asked for Room X.
«He's not French,” said the secre-
tary excitedly to the manager. “That
last one was another Boche.”
The manager thoughtfully twirled
his pince-nez between his fingers.
“Two Germans and an American.”
He looked a little apprehensive. “Let
ug hope the dinner will appease every-
body. Otherwise—"
But whatever fears he might have
entertained with regard to the furni-
ture in Room X, they were not des-
tined to be uttered. Even as he spoke
the door again swung open, and a man
with a thick white scarf around his
neck, so pulled up as almost com-
pletely to cover his face, came in. All
that the manager could swear to as
regards the newcomer’s appearance
was a pair of deep-set, steel-gray eyes
which seemed to bore through him.
“You got my letter this morning?”
«Msieur le Comte de Guy?’ The
manager bowtd deferentially and
rubbed his hands together. “Every-
thing is ready, and three guests have
arrived.”
“Good.
once.”
As he followed his guide his eyes
swept round the lounge. Save for two
or three elderly women of doubtful
pationality, and a man in the Amer}
can Red Cross, the place was desert-
ed; and as he nassed tlirough the
1 will go to the rcom at
The Adventures of A
Demobilized Officer
‘Who Found Peace Dull
Copy
CYRIL MENEILE
"SAPPER"
Y
MYERS
right by Geo H Doran Co
swing doors he turned to the head
walter.
«Business good?” he asked.
No—business decidedly was not
good. The waiter was voluble., Busi-
ness had never been so poor in the
memory of man. But it was to
be hoped that the dinner would be to
Monsieur le Comte’s liking. . .
Also the wines.
“If everything is to my satisfaction
you will not regret it,” said the count
tersely. “But remember one thing.
After the coffee has been brought in, I
do not wish to be disturbed under any
«M’sicur le Comte de Guy?”
“elrcumstances whatever.” The head
waiter paused as he came to a door,
and the count repeated the last few
words. “Under no circumstances
whatever.”
“Mais certainement, Monsieur Ile
Comte, . .
toll... 2
As he spoke he flung open the door
and the count entered. It cannct be
said that the atmosphere of the room
was congenial, The three occupants
were regarding one another in Lostlle
silence, and as the count entered they,
with one accord, transferred their sus-
plieious glances to him.
For a moment he stood motionless,
while he looked at each one in’ urn.
Then he stepped forward. :
“Good evening, gentlemen’-—he st.
spoke in French—*I am honored at
your presence.” He turned to the
head waiter. “Let dinner be served in
five minutes exactly.”
With a bow the man left the room.
and the door closed,
“During that five minutes, gentle-
men, I propose to introduce myself to
you, and you to one another. The
business which I wish to discuss we
will postpone, with your permission,
till after the coffee, when we shall be
| undisturbed.”
| In silence the three guests waited
i until he unwound the thick white muf-
fler; then, with uncisguised curiosity,
' they studied their host. In appearance
he was striking. He had a short dark
beard, and in profile his face was aqui-
line and stern. The eyes, which had
so impressed the manager, seemed
now to be a cold grey-blue; the thick
brown hair, flecked slightly with grey,
was brushed back from a broad fore-
head. To even the most superficial ob-
‘gerver the giver of the feast was a
man of power; a man capable of form-
ing Instant decisions and of carrying
them through. . . .
| And if so much was obvious to the
superficial observer, it was more than
| obvious to the three men who stood by
the fire watching him. Each one of
them, as he watched the host, realized
that he was in the presence of a great
man. It was enough: great men do
not send fool invitations to dinner to
men of international repute. It mat-
tered not what form his greatness took
—there was money in greatness, big
money. And money was their life.
The count advanced first to the Am-
erican.
«Mr. Hocking, 1 belleve,” he re-
marked in English, holding out his
hand. “I am glad you managed to
come,”
The American shook the proffered
hand, while the two Germans looked at
him with sudden interest. As the man
at the head of the great American cot-
ton trust, worth more in millions than
he could count, he was entitled to
their respect. . . .
“That's me, Count,” returned the mil-
lionaire in his nasal twang. “I am in-
terested to know to what I am indebt-
ed for this invitation.”
. 1, personally will see
|
a
“The war was the act of a fool,”
“All in good time, Mr. Hocking.”
smiled the host. “I have hopes that
Jie dinner will fill in that time satis-!
Juctorily.” i
He turned to the taller of the two:
Germans, who without his coat seemed
more like a codfish than ever.
“Herr Steinemann, is it not?” This,
time he spoke in German. :
The man whose interast in German:
coal was hardly less well known than:
Hocking’s in cotton, bowed stiffly. !
“And Herr Von Gratz?’ The Count
turned to the last member of the par-'
ty and shook hands. Though less well;
known than either of the other two in:
the realms of international finance, von
Gratz's name in the steel trade of Cen-
tral Europe was one to conjure with.
“Well, gentlemen,” said the Count,
“hefore we sit down to dinner, I may
perhaps be permitted to say a few
words of introduction. The naticns
of the world have recently been en-
gaged in a performance of unrivalad
stupidity. As far as one can tell that
performance is now over. The last
thing I wish to do is to discuss the
war—except in so far as it concerns
our meeting here tonight. Mr, Hock-
ing is an American, you two gentlemen
are Germans, I"—the Count smiled
glightly—“have no nationality. Or
rather, shall 1 say, I have every na-
tionality. Completely cosmopolitan.
. . Gentlemen, the war was waged hy.
idiots, and when idiots get busy on a
large scale, it is time for clever men to
step in. . That is che raison d’-
etre for this little dinner . . .
claim that we four men are sufficiently
international to be able to disregard
any stupid and petty feelings about
this country and that country, and to
regard the world outlook at the present
moment from one point of view and
one point of view only--our own.”
The gaunt American gave a hoarse
chuckle.
“It will be my object after dinner,”
continued the Count, “to try and prove
to you that we have a common point
of view. Until then—shall we merely
concentrate on a pious hope that the!
Hotel Nationale will not poison ms:
with their food?” :
The next moment the head walter
opened thie door, and the four men sat
down to dine,
It must be admitted that the average’
hostess, desirous of making a dinner a‘
success, would have been filled with|
secret dismay at the general atmos-
here in the room. The American, in]
accumulating his millions. had alsoi
accumulated a digestion of such an ex-|
otic and tender character that dry’
rusks and Vichy water were the limit!
of his capacity. i
Herr Steinemann was of the common;
order of German, to whom food is!
sacred. He ate and drank enormously!
and evidently considered that nothing!
further was required of him. |
Von Gratz did his best to keep bis,
end up, but as he was apparently in a,
-hronic condition of fear that the
gaunt American would assault him!
with violence, he cannot be said to,
qave contributed much to the gaiety of
the meal.
And so to the host must be given
{he credit that the dinner was a sue,
cess. Without appearing to inonopo-
lize the conversation he talked cease-,
lessly and brilliantly. But to even the]
most brilliant of conversationalists the|
strain of talking to a hypochondriacel'
American and two Germans—one
greedy and the other frightened—Is
considerable; and the Count heaved an,
inward sigh of relief when the coffee
pad been handed round and the door,
closed behind the walter. From now.
on the topic was the topic of money—!
the common bond of his three guests.
And yer, as he carefully cut the end
of his cigar, and realized that the eves
of the other three were fixed. on him
expectantly, he knew that ‘thie hardest’
part of the evening: was in front of
himi. Big fnapciérs, in common with-
all othe people, gre fonder of having:
money put into their pockets than of:
taking it out. And that was the very:
thing the Count proposed they should
do—In large quantities. . . .
“Gentlemen,” he remarked, when his’
cigar was going to his satisfaction,’
«we are all men of business. I sald’
before dinner that I considered we:
were sufficiently big to exclude any’
small arbitrary national distinctions:
from our minds. As men whose inter-:
ests are international, such things are
beneath us. I wish now to slightly!
qualify that remark.” He turned to!
the American on his right, who with
eyes half closed was thoughtfully pick-
ing his teeth, “At this stage, I ad-:
dress myself particularly to you.” ‘
“Go right ahead,” drawled Mr.
ing. {
«I do not wish to touch on the war—
or its result; but though the Central.
Powers have been beaten by America
and France and England, I think I can
speak for you two gentlemen"—he
bowed to the two Germans—“when I
say that it is neither France nor Amer-
jep with. whom they desire another
round. England: is Germany's malin
enemy; she always has been, she al-
ways will be. I have reason to be-
lieve, Mr. Hocking, that you personally
do not love the English?”
“1 guess I don’t see what my private
feelings have to do with it. But if it's
of any interest to the company you are
correct in your beliel”
“Good,” The Count nodded his head
as If satisfied. “I take it then that you
would not be averse to seeing England
down and out.”
“wal,” remarked the American,
hvou can assume anything you feel
like. Let's go to the show-down.” :
Once again the Count nodded his
head; then he turned to the two Ger-.
mans. , }
“Now you two gentlemen must ad-
mit that your plans have miscarried;
somewhat, . It was no part of your or-\
iginal programme that a British army!
should occupy Cologne. . « .
a oe het etn rms a emt
Hock-.
—— TA rR ——
snarled Herr Stelnemann, “In a few
years more of peace, we should have
beaten those swine. >
“And now—they have beaten you.”
The Count smiled slightly. “Let us
admit that the war was the act of a
fool, if you like, but as men of busl-
ness we can only deal with the result.
The result, gentlemen, as it
concerns us. Both you gentlemen are
sufficiently patriotic to resent the pres-
ence of that army at Cologne, I have
no doubt. And you, Mr. Hocking, have
no love on personal grounds for the
English. . . . But I am not propos-
ing to appeal to financiers of your rep-
utation on such grounds as those to
support my scheme, 1t is
enough that your personal predilec-
tions run with and not against what I
am about to put before you—the de-
feat of England . . . a defeat more
utter and complete than if she had lost
the war. id
His voice sank a little, and instinct-
ively his three listeners drew closer.
“Don’t think I aa proposing this
through motives of revenge merely. We
are Lusiness men, and revenge is only
worth our while if it pays. This will
pay. There is a force in England
which, if it can be harnessed and led
properly, will result in millions coming
to you. -. . . It is present now in
every nation—fettered, inarticulate,
un-co-ordinated. It is partly the
result of the war—the war that the
idiots have waged. . Harness
that force, gentlemen, co-ordinate it,
and use it for your own ends, . . ..
That is my proposal. Not only will
vou humble that cursed country to the
dirt, bat you will taste of power such
as few men have tasted before. ...”
The Count stood up, his eyes blazing.
“And I—I will do it for you.”
He resumed his seat, and his left
hand, slipping off the table, beat a
tattoo on his knee.
“This is our opportunity—the oppor-
tunity of clever men. I have not got
the money necessary: you have.” . . .
He leaned forward in his chair, and
glanced at the intent faces of his au-
dience. Then he began to speak. . . .
Ten minutes later he pushed back
his chair.
“There is my proposal, gentlemen,
in a nutshell. Unforeseen develop-
ments will doubtless occur; I have
spent my life overcoming the unexpect-
ed. What is your answer?’
He rose and stood with his back
to them by the fire, and for several
minutes no one spoke. Each man was
busy with his own thoughts, and
showed it in his own particular way.
Comte de Guy stared unconcernedly at
the fire, as if indifferent to the result
of their thoughts. In his attitude at
that moment he gave a true expression
to iis attitude on life. Accustomed
to play with great stakes, he had just
dealt the cards for the most gigantic
gamble cf his life. . .. What matter
16 the three men, who were looking at |
the hands he had given them, that only
a master criminal could have con-
ceived such a game? The only, ques-
tion which occupied their minds was
whether he could carry it through.
And on that point they had only their
judgment of his personality to rely on.
Suddenly the American removed the
toothpick from his mouth and
stretched out his legs.
“There is a question which occurs to
me, Count, before I make up my mind
on the matter. Are you disposed to be
a little more communicative about
yourself? If we agree to come in on
“v's hand, it’s going to cost big money.
The handling of that money is with
you. Wal—who are you?”
von Gratz nodded his head in agree-
ment. Steinemann raised his eyes to
the Count’s face as he turned and
faced them. . . .
“A very. fair question, gentlemen,’
and yet one which I regret 1 am unable
to answer. I would not insult your in-
telligence by giving you thé fictitious
address of—a fictitious Count. Enough
that I am a man whose livelihood lies
in other people's pockets. AS you say,
Mr. Hocking, it is going to cost big
#} Will Return in Ten Minutes.
That Time You Will Have Decided
One Way or the Other.”
By
money; out compared to the results
the costs will be a flea-bite. You will
have to trust me, even as I shall have
to trust you. ... You will have to trust
me not to divert the money which you
give me as working expenses into my
swn pocket, . . . I shall have to trust
you to pay me when the job is un
ished, . .
“And that payment will be—how
much?’ Steinemann’s guttural voice
broke the silence,
“Qne million pounds sterling—to be
split up between you in any proportion
you may decide, and to be paid within
one month of completion of my work.
After that the matter will pass into
your hands . . . and may you leave that
cursed country groveling in the dir.
ty ...” His eyes glowed with a fierce,
vindictive fury; and then, as if replac-
ing a mask which had slipped for a
moment, the Count was once again
the suave, courteous host. He had
stated his terms frankly and without
haggling ; stated them as one big man
states them to another of the same kid-
ney, to whom time is money and inde-
cision or beating about the bush ana-
thema.
“Perhaps, Count, you would be good
enough to leave us for a few minutes.”
Von Gratz was speaking. “The deci-
sion is a big one, and . .."”
“Why, certainly, gentlemen.” The
Count moved toward the door. “I will
return in ten minutes. By that time
you will have decided—one way or the
other.”
the result of that ten minutes deliber-
ation, . . And then . . . What then?
... In his imagination he saw him-
self supreme in power, glutted with it
—a king, an autocrst, who had only to
into destruction and annihilation. . .
And when he had done it, and the
would claim his million and enjoy it as
ward. . . . Thus for the space of ten
dream dreams. That the force he pro-
posed to tamper with was a dangerous
force disturbed him not at all: he was
a dangerous man. That this scheme
would bring ruin, perhaps death, to
thousands of innocent men and women
preme egoist.
him was that he had seen the oppor-
tunity that existed, and that he had
the nerve and the brain to turn that
opportunity to his own advantage.
Only the necessary money was lacking
...and. . . With a quick movement
he pulled out his watch. They had
had their ten minutes . . , The matter
was settled, the die was cast. . . .
He rose and walked across the
lounge. For an appreciable moment
the Count paused by the door, and &
, faint smile came to his lips. Then
he opened it, and passed into the room,
{ The American was still chewing his
| toothpick; Steinemann was still
breathing hard. Only von Gratz had
changed his occupation and he was
. sitting at the table smoking a long
i thin cigar. The Count closed the door,
and walked over to the fireplace. . . .
“Well, gentlemen,” he sald quietly,
“what have you decided?”
It was the American who answered.
i «Jt goes. With one amendment.
The money is too big for three of us:
there must be a fourth, That will be
a quarter of a million eac 2
The Count bowed.
“Have you any suggestions as to
whom the fourth should be?”
| “Yep,” sald the American shortly.
wIhese two gentlemen agree with me
that it should be another of my coun-
<rymen—so that we get equal numbers,
The man we have decided on is com-
ing to England in a few weeks—Hiram
C. Potts. If you get him in, you can
count us in, too. If not, the deal’s
off,”
The Count nodded, and if he felt any
annoyance at this unexpected develop- |
hie
sss
ment he showed no sign of it on
face.
quickly. “Your big shipping man, isn't
he? I agree to your reservation.”
“Good,” said the American. “Let's
discuss some details.”
Without a trace of emotion on his
face the Count drew up a chair to the
table. It was only when he sat down
that he started to play a tattoo on his
knee with his left hand. . . .
Half an hour later he entered his
luxurious suite of rooms at the Hotel
Magnificent.
A girl, who had been lying by the
fire reading a French novel, looked up
at the sound of the door. She did not
speak, for the look on his face told her
all she wanted to know.
He crossed to the sofa and smiled
down at her.
“Quccessful . . . on our own terms.
Tomorrow, Irma, the Comte de Guy
dies, and Carl Peterson and his daugh-
ter leave for England. A country gen-
tleman, I think, is Carl Peterson. He
might keep hens, and possibly pigs.”
The girl on the sofa rose, yawning.
“Mon Dieu! what a prospect! Pigs
und hens—and in England! How long
is It going to take?”
The Count looked thoughtfully into
the fire.
“perhaps a year—perhaps six
wonths. . . It is on the lap of the
FOAS, + oa”
CHAPTER |
In Which He Takes Tea at the Carlton
and Is Surprised.
ONE.
Captain Hugh Drummond, D.S.0.,
M. C. late of His Majesty's Royal
Loamshires, was whistling in his morn-
ing bath. Being by nature of a cheerful
disposition, the symptom did not sur-
prise his servant, late private of the
famous regiment, who was laying
breakfast in an adjoining room.
After a while the whistling ceased,
and the musical gurgle of escaping
water apnounced that the concert was
over. 1t was the signel for James
Denny—the square-jawed ex-hatman—
to disappear into the back regions and
Genius that he was in the reading
of men’s minds, he felt that Lie knew
lift his finger to plunge his kingdom
country he hated was in ruins, then he
| a great man should enjoy a great re-
minutes did the Count see visions and |
caused him no qualm: he was a su-
All that appealed to
4] know of Mr. Potts,” he answered
| get from his wife the kidneys and ba-
con which that most excellent woman
i had grilled to a turn. But on this par-
| ticular morning the invariable routine
| was broken. James Denny seemed
i preoccupied, distrait.
Once or twice he scratched his head
i and stared out of the window with a
| puzzled frown.
| “What's you looking for, James Den-
| ny?’ The irate voice of his wife at
i the door made him look round guiltily.
| “Them kidneys is ready and waiting
these five minutes.”
Her eyes fell on the table, and she
advanced into the room wiping her
hands on her apron.
“Did you ever see such a bunch of
letters?” she said.
“Forty-five,” returned her husband,
grimly, “and more to come.” He picked
up the newspaper lying beside the
chair and opened it.
~“Them's the result of that,” he con-
tinued cryptically, indicating a para-
graph with a square finger, and thrust-
ing the paper under his wife's nose,
“Demobilized officer,” she read slow-
ly, “finding peace incredibly tedious,
“pDemobilized Officer,” She Read Slow-
! ly, “Finding Peace Incredibly Tedi-
ous, Would Welcome Diversion.”
would welcome diversion. Legitimate,
if possible; but crime, if of a compara-
tively humorous description, no objec-
tion. Excitement essential. Would be
prepared to consider permanent job if
suitably impressed by applicant for his
services. Reply at once Box X10.”
She put down the paper on a chair
and stared first at her husband and
then at the rows of letters neatly ar-
ranged on the table.
“1 calls it wicked,” she announced at
length. “Fair flying In the face of Pro-
vidence. Crime, Denny—crime. Don’t
you get ’aving notning to do with such
mad pranks, my man, or you and me
will be having words.” She shook an
admonitory finger at him, and retired
slowly to the kitchen.
A moment or two later Hugh Drum-
mond came in. Slightly under six feet
in height, he was broad in’ proportion:
His best friend would not have called
him good-looking, but he was the for-
tunate possessor of that cheerful type
of ugliness which inspires immediate
confidence in its owner.
He paused as he got to the table and
glanced at the rows of letters. “Who
would have thought it, James?’ he re-
marked. “Great Scot! I shall have to
get a partner.”
| With disapproval showing in every
, line of: her: face, Mrs. Denny entered
| the room, carrying the kidneys, and
, Drummond glanced at her with a
: smile,
«Good morning, Mrs. Denny,” he
| said. “Wherefore this worried look
on your face? Has that reprobate
James been misbehaving himself?”
The worthy woman snorted. “He
has not, sir—not yet, leastwise, And
if so be that he does”—her eyes trav-
eled up and down the back of the
hapless Denny, who vas quite unneces-
sarily pulling books off shelves and
putting them back again—*if so be
that he does,” she continued grimly,
“him and me will have words—as I've
told him already this morning.” She
stalked from the room, after staring
pointedly at the letters in Drummond's
hand, and the two men looked at one
another.
“It’s that there reference to crime,
sir, that's torn it,” said Denny in a
hoarse whisper.
“Thinks I'm going to lead you
astray, does she, James?’ He was
opening the first envelope, and sud-
denly he looked up with a twinkle in
his eyes. “Just to set her mind at
rest,” he remarked gravely, “you might
tell her that, as far as I can see at
present, I shall only undertake murder
fn exceptional cases.”
He propped the letter up against
the toast-rack and commenced his
breakfast. “Where Is Pudlington,
James? and one might almost ask—
why is Pudlington? No town has any
right to such an offensive name.” He
glanced through the letter and shook
his head. “Tush! tush! And the wife
of the bank manager too—the bank
manager of Pudlington, James! Can
you conceive of anything so dreadful?
But I'm afraid Mrs. Bank Manager is
a puss—a distinct puss. It's when
they get on the soul-mate stunt that
the furniture begins to fly.”
Drummond tore up the letter and
Gropped the pieces into the basket be-
gide him. ‘Then he turned to his ser-
(Contiued on page 7, Col 1.)