Chapter XXII: The Meeting

Niels and his confederates arrived punctually on the stroke of eight, and were shown into the drawing-room. Yolande and Bertha were not yet present, but Fouchard and Wallace were. The former’s eyes gleamed when they beheld the shaggy-headed Niels, and Niels returned the look with interest. But Walther and Heinrich were bland as usual--even smiling.

“Please sit down,” said Wallace. “Mademoiselle will be here in a few minutes.”

“So we meet again, Mr. Wallace,” said Niels, as he occupied the big armchair which was better suited to Walther’s frame.

“Of course! Did you imagine we should not?” replied Wallace.

“I had certain doubts.”

“You probably overlooked the fact that Englishmen are a bit amphibious.”

“A novel idea--an armistice,” said Walther. “Did it originate with Monsieur Fouchard?”

“You know it didn’t,” said Fouchard. “But women usually get their way with men. Make no mistake, my friends--my heart is not in this table-talk.”

“Nor mine,” said Niels.

Walther waved his big white hand, like the born peacemaker.

“If we start like this, there isn’t much hope of success,” he said. “At least let us keep the spirit of the thing.”

“Hear, hear!” agreed Heinrich. “If m’sieur wants our heads he may have them to-morrow or the next day. I’m sorry your sea voyage was curtailed, Mr. Wallace. I quite envied you.”

“Ah--here is mademoiselle!” said Fouchard.

Yolande entered the room with Bertha. She was attired in a black velvet evening dress which suited her to perfection, and she smiled and nodded at the men.

“Please be seated,” she said. “I am sorry to be late. Bertha, will you sit next your--friends?”

Niels was twisting his thumbs impatiently, and Fouchard looked as if he wanted to get the farce over. But Walther and Heinrich were more resigned. There was something deeply arrestive in the pale majestic figure of Yolande, and their eyes were focused on her all the time.

“There is no need for preliminaries,” she said. “Bertha has told you exactly what has taken place recently. I have not much to say, but I beg you to consider it carefully. In the first place, may I presume that none of you have any animus against me or against my friends?”

“Not in the least,” said Walther. “We were compelled to take--certain steps.”

“Such as kidnapping?” put in Wallace.

“Well--yes.”

“And I am right in assuming that there is something in or about this château which it is your intention to remove?”

“That is so,” replied Niels.

“It is of value to you?”

“Yes.”

“And to me?”

“No,” said Walther.

“Yes,” added Niels firmly.

“Which of you am I to believe?”

There was no reply to this question, but Bertha looked hard at Niels, and Walther moved uneasily.

“Once you have what you require you will trouble me no more--is that so?”

“Absolutely.”

Her eyes grew a little hard, and the white hands on the polished walnut table became clenched.

“And the other party in this mystery--the elusive assassin who murdered my father and Severin--will the removal of what you want cause him to cease troubling us?”

Niels murmured “Yes,” and the others nodded their heads.

“Then he too wants the same thing?”

“Yes,” said Niels.

“Why hasn’t he located it? He has been haunting this place for two years--behaving like a demented creature. Does it mean you have a clue that he does not possess?”

“Yes,” said Walther. “But----”

Niels stopped him with a look. Yolande waited for him to resume, but was met with a stony silence.

“Well,” she said slowly. “Here is my proposal--my offer. I give you whatever lies buried here. You are here--on the spot. Take what you want and leave me in peace.”

“What!” gasped Fouchard.

“I mean it. Remember your promise, Fouchard. They cannot take the château or the land. I have no use for buried treasure, and if it rids this place of that other murderous searcher then I shall be well repaid.”

The visitors were staring at each other curiously. Wallace imagined there would be an immediate acceptance, but he was wrong. Niels’s face was like a mask, and Heinrich looked doubtful. It was Bertha who strove to work for peace.

“Why not, Niels?” she begged. “Mademoiselle is generous. Don’t you think----”

“Wait!” said Niels. “Mademoiselle Fallières, would you permit us to be alone for five minutes--no more?”

“Certainly! Let us go to the terrace, Fouchard. Mr. Wallace, will you get me a wrap from the hall?”

When they had gone, Niels closed the door firmly behind them and came back to the table.

“They know nothing,” he said. “Nothing!”

“But she has given her word, Niels.”

“Would she keep it--in the circumstances?”

“Yes.”

“But would Fouchard? I tell you it is impossible. Walther--Heinrich, are you mad, to think of such a thing? You know Fouchard by now. He is out of sympathy with the whole thing. He might hold his hand to-night, but not to-morrow. There would be no time. No--I will not have it.”

“I think Niels is right,” said Heinrich. “It requires more time. They must be got out of the way. Fouchard is the greatest danger--he hates us, and will never relent.”

“Do you think that, Walther?” asked Bertha.

“I don’t know. I feel almost inclined to take the risk.”

“Risk! There is no question of risk,” rasped Niels. “The outcome would be inevitable. We must work alone I tell you. Besides, our chances are better than ever before. Fouchard will go soon, and we have discovered the other place. It means work--hard work--but there are four of us. In four days we could achieve it, without coming here at all.”

“That is true.”

“Then have done with this parleying. Our interests are so opposed they cannot be harmonised by any display of sentiment. I am finished.”

“Yes. There is no more to be said. Shall I ask them to come inside?”

“Wait!” cried Bertha. “I believe you are all wrong. Delay might be fatal----”

“Call them in,” interrupted Niels. “Bertha, you must leave this in my hands. I am grateful for all you have done, but the risks are greater than you believe.”

Bertha said no more, and Walther opened the door and brought Yolande and the others from the terrace.

“Well?” asked Yolande. “Have you decided?”

“We have,” said Niels. “We appreciate your desire to bring about a peaceful solution, but it cannot be done. We regret we must decline your offer.”

“Good!” said Fouchard, with his eyes sparkling.

“I’m sorry,” said Yolande heavily.

“So much for talk,” scoffed Fouchard. “Now, my friends, we know where we stand. I’ve wasted valuable time, but I’m going to get you before long.”

“Steady, Fouchard!” pleaded Wallace.

“I fear I must bid you good-bye, mademoiselle,” said Bertha. “I can stay no longer.”

“I understand.”

“I will get my belongings.”

As she left the room the telephone bell rang. Fouchard went to the instrument and picked up the receiver.

“Call from London,” he said.

“I expect that is Conrad,” said Wallace. “I had forgotten he could get through here.”

“Hello--hello! Yes, Mr. Wallace is here. This is Fouchard speaking. How are you, Mr. Conrad?”

“Does he want me?” asked Wallace.

“Yes.”

Wallace went to the telephone. Conrad’s voice came through quite clearly. There was about a minute’s conversation and then they were rung off suddenly. Wallace came to Fouchard.

“He had discovered something,” he said. “He is coming over at once. Jove, it must be important, for he has appointed a deputy at the Congress. It has something to do with Steinbech.”

“Steinbech! The name on the paper?”

“So it is. I had forgotten.”

Fouchard swung round to see Niels’s face curiously agitated, and Walther seemed equally disturbed.

“We seemed to have got on the trail by an accident,” mused Fouchard. “Does Steinbech convey anything to you, my friend?”

“Nothing!” snarled Niels.

“Well, it does to me, and it does to Mr. Conrad, or he would not be coming over here. Your decision just now was a trifle premature, it seems. But it is too late to recant. At last we have the key to the mystery.”

Niels laughed scornfully, but it was obvious that the whole trio was startled by this piece of news. When Bertha returned with her bag they drove off, and Fouchard rubbed his hands.

“We’re on the trail. I knew the key lay in that piece of paper. Did you see their expressions?”

“It’s a pity we gave them warning,” said Wallace. “But for the moment I forgot I had heard the name before.”

“But why did they not accept my offer?” asked Yolande.

“They don’t trust us. Obviously the thing they want is of such value they suspect we may change our minds later. Pity Conrad was cut off like that. I want more information. Can I telephone him?”

“He is in the provinces. I doubt if you could get on to him. Besides, he said he was coming at once. If he leaves London to-morrow he may be here by the evening.”

“Well, we must wait for him. Steinbech--Steinbech, and the figures! What the devil do they mean?”

“Conrad evidently knows. It looks as if he has stolen all our thunder. We haven’t been able to see the wood for trees.”

“I wonder if your optimism is justified,” said Yolande. “What did Mr. Conrad say exactly?”

“He said that by a stroke of wonderful luck he had stumbled across what might prove to be the key to the solution of this mystery. He said it all rested with a man named Steinbech, but instead of getting down to brass tacks he started to tell me how he was walking up a street in Manchester when he suddenly saw-- The wretched operator cut me off then.”

“I wonder if he means that he saw this man Steinbech. But he wouldn’t know him if he did,” mused Fouchard. “It’s a pity he didn’t start his story two minutes earlier.”

“I suppose he reckoned there was plenty of time. He is always keen to make a yarn of anything. Anyway we shall be seeing him within forty-eight hours. What will be Niels’s next move, I wonder?”