Part 29 (2/2)
”Hur-r-r!” again through the moustache; but in von Stein's grey eyes appeared an irresistible twinkle and this time he actually grinned. He was not without a sense of humour. He read the _Fliegende Blatter_ every week.
”It agrees with my examination of his papers,” put in the Major, indicating the exhibit on the table. ”One of these letters is from his employer, a big man on the other side,” he added; and Phil, who knew German better than French, understood the remark.
The General took three or four minutes to run his eye over the letters and the diary, grumbling the while, and finally snorting with disgust as he picked them up and handed them to Phil.
”Who brought these charges?” he demanded of the Major. Up to that time he had read only the presentment of the case and the object of his questions had been to trip the accused.
”Lieutenant von Eichborn, sir.”
Now Phil saw what Prussian rage was like; the rage against inefficiency, against disobedience and waste of time.
”Fool! Puppy dog! Pampered jackanapes!” he roared. ”Tell that worthless nephew of mine to come here! I'll deal with him for the last time!”
”He is out, sir. He went to see about a billet for himself,” said the Major very officially, but in his eyes was a satisfied gleam as the General literally choked with rage against not only all the un-Prussian crimes already mentioned, but worse.
”Out! A personal aide out without my permission in time of war!
Billeting away from this chateau! If there are no beds, let him sleep on the floor at my door ready for my call! Out--when we are fighting a battle!”
”Possibly you will find him at Mervaux,” Phil could not help saying, ”engaged in persecuting my cousin--which accounts for my impatience at being here under false charges.”
”Take care, sir!” said von Stein, turning his ferocity on Phil. ”You are a civilian making accusations against a Prussian officer and gentleman!”
”A suggestion only. Am I acquitted? I am in haste to return.”
Von Stein lowered his brows, with a searching look at Phil.
”Of course you think we are Huns,” he said. ”The English have told you so. Huns!” The very word irritated him, yet he seemed to like to repeat it. ”Huns! We bring order wherever we go. We are fighting in our defence in a war that was forced upon us!”
There, Phil let his Southwestern sense of humour eclipse discretion.
”Yes, the English and the French secretly prepared against you! They made thousands of new guns and marched into Belgium and invaded Germany!” he said.
The Commander's eyes blazed. He stammered, Phil thought that he had done for himself; and then that old professional soldier grinned.
”Huns, are we? You go back to your chateau and stay there. Not a thing on the premises will be harmed. You will be as safe as you are at home. Everybody is. If you are not, let me know. And tell your friends in America that we are not Huns.”
For after the orgy of Belgium orders had come from the Most High which had America in mind. Even the Most High realised the moral force of the hundred million people across the water. Even the Most High had found that there was a thing called world public opinion.
”Stood up to it, that young man!” muttered von Stein after Phil had gone. Having been used to ordering inferiors about all his life, he had had a diversion. ”Now!” as another officer came into the room with a report.
He was the cool man of judgment and precision as he went to the map, drew some lines with his pencil, and gave some orders. After this officer had departed he was alone in the big room. Leaders out on the battle line had been told what to do and they must do it on his responsibility. He could give no further orders till he knew the result. Opening the door to the adjoining room he asked:
”How long will it take to run to the chateau of Mervaux?”
”Five minutes, sir!”
”Good! I'll be back in a quarter of an hour and I am to be found there or on the road.”
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