Part 36 (1/2)
The man shook his head vaguely.
”I know nothing,” he admitted. ”I went out to East Africa some years ago, and I have been a trader in Mozambique in a small way. I supplied outfits for officers and hospitals and sportsmen. Now and then I have to return to Europe to buy fresh stock. Doctor Schmidt knew that, and he came to see me just before I sailed. He first thought of writing a very long letter. Afterwards he changed his mind. He wrote only these few lines I brought, but he told me those other things.”
”You have remembered all that he told you?” Dominey asked.
”I can think of nothing else,” was the reply, after a moment's pause.
”The whole affair has been a great worry to Doctor Schmidt. There are things connected with it which he has never understood, things connected with it which he has always found mysterious.”
”Hence your presence here, Johann Wolff?” Seaman asked, in an altered tone.
The visitor's expression remained unchanged except for the faint surprise which shone out of his blue eyes.
”Johann Wolff,” he repeated. ”That is not my name. I am Ludwig Miller, and I know nothing of this matter beyond what I have told you. I am just a messenger.”
”Once in Vienna and twice in Cracow, my friend, we have met,” Seaman reminded him softly but very insistently.
The other shook his head gently. ”A mistake. I have been in Vienna once many years ago, but Cracow never.”
”You have no idea with whom you are talking?”
”Herr Seaman was the name, I understood.”
”It is a very good name,” Seaman scoffed. ”Look here and think.”
He undid his coat and waistcoat and displayed a plain vest of chamois leather. Attached to the left-hand side of it was a bronze decoration, with lettering and a number. Miller stared at it blankly and shook his head.
”Information Department, Bureau Twelve, pa.s.sword--'The Day is coming,'”
Seaman continued, dropping his voice.
His listener shook his head and smiled with the puzzled ignorance of a child.
”The gentleman mistakes me for some one else,” he replied. ”I know nothing of these things.”
Seaman sat and studied this obstinate visitor for several minutes without speaking, his finger tips pressed together, his eyebrows gently contracted. His vis-a-vis endured this scrutiny without flinching, calm, phlegmatic, the very prototype of the bourgeois German of the tradesman cla.s.s.
”Do you propose,” Dominey enquired, ”to stay in these parts long?”
”One or two days--a week, perhaps,” was the indifferent answer. ”I have a cousin in Norwich who makes toys. I love the English country. I spend my holiday here, perhaps.”
”Just so,” Seaman muttered grimly. ”The English country under a foot of snow! So you have nothing more to say to me, Johann Wolff?”
”I have executed my mission to his Excellency,” was the apologetic reply. ”I am sorry to have caused displeasure to you, Herr Seaman.”
The latter rose to his feet. Dominey had already turned towards the door.
”You will spend the night here, of course, Mr. Miller?” he invited.
”I dare say Mr. Seaman would like to have another talk with you in the morning.”