“Now, now, Pat, if you don’t stop that joking of yours I’ll certainly report you to the Wilhelmstrasse.”
“And they said I was to be the first King of dear old Ireland!” as with a broad grin on his face he raised his hand as if drinking. “Der Tag!” he cried, thereby causing several passers-by to laugh at the idea of a London bobby giving the sacred German toast.
Rebener, leaving him, went directly to his rooms at The Britz where he was received with the greatest consideration by everybody about the place. He was shown to the royal suite by the proprietor himself, who after he had carefully closed the door upon them stood as if waiting for orders.
“Call Claridge’s on the ‘phone, and tell Smith who is being shaved,” he smiled at the recollection of Pat’s jest, “to meet me here at once. I do not want him seen in the hotel, so tell him to come in by the servants’ entrance, and you bring him up on the service elevator and in here through my pantry and dining-room.”
The proprietor retired to attend to this, but was soon back, and Rebener continued his instructions.
“Luckily Edestone invited me to dine with him tonight before I had a chance to invite him,” he said, “but I will persuade him to come here and dine with me.”
“So, Mr. Bombiadi,” he turned to the proprietor, “I shall want dinner here for four at 8:30. See to it yourself, will you, that my guests are brought through my private entrance, and one especially—you know who—who will be incognito, must not be recognized. Not that there could be any objection to these men dining with me here—a common rich American, who loves to spend his money on princes and things—but by tonight this man Edestone will be watched by at least twenty men from Scotland Yard, and they suspect anyone of being a German spy, be he prince or pauper.”
Their conversation was interrupted at this point by the arrival of Smith, who came in very much excited. Sniffling and rubbing his nose with the back of his forefinger, like a nervous cocaine fiend, he broke out agitatedly:
“Mr. Rebener, I’m getting sick of this job. When I undertook to find out for you what was going on at the Little Place in the Country, I was working for Germany as against the world, and anything that I can do for her I am glad and proud to do, but that Hottenroth talks like a damn fool. Excuse me, Mr. Rebener, but he don’t want to stop at anything. He says that if he pulls off this thing the Emperor, when he gets to London, will make him Duke of Westminster, or something, and six months from now he will appoint me Governor-General of North America. I tell you, Mr. Rebener, that fellow is plumb nutty.”
“Pardon me, Mr. Rebener,” interposed the proprietor, “it is true that Hottenroth is excitable, but he is faithful to the Fatherland and an humble servant to His Imperial Majesty. He has been in charge of a fixed post in London for fifteen years. He was one of the very first to be sent here, and he was in Paris before that. He would die willingly for the Fatherland, as would I, and if this Schmidt, I mean Smith, thinks there is any sin too great to be committed for the Fatherland, he is not worthy of a place among us, and the sooner we get rid of him the better.” And he looked at the unfortunate Smith in a way that showed he was willing to do this at any moment.