Luigi did not lose a second. He rang the bell, and immediately another page-boy appeared.
“Go at once to the poste restante,” he said, “and ask for a telegram for Syberg. They know you come from me, so there will be no need of a letter. Don’t forget the name—S-y-b-e-r-g. And make haste.” The boy disappeared instantly, and for a quarter of an hour we waited in feverish impatience for his return. When he came back he brought with him the message we wanted. Opening it, I read in French, as follows:
To Syberg, Poste Restante, Lucerne.
“Received good news from London. Meads” (the man in London whose suspicions had been aroused) “is now with us, so business can proceed. Leaving for Lucerne to-night. Shall see T. in Paris to arrange further details and transit of machinery. Thyra” (the Christian name of Madame Bohman) “will meet E.H.” (was this Ernst Halbmayr?) “at Geneva on the 15th.”
This message was unsigned, but it confirmed the impression given us by Aubert’s wire that events were on foot, and at once the three of us plunged with renewed energy into our plan of campaign.
“There can be no doubt,” I said, “that ‘E.H.’ refers to Halbmayr, and probably he is directing the whole of the intricate affair.”
“Very likely,” said Luigi dryly, “but I do not see that we have much more light on what direction against the British the conspirators, if they really are German agents, intend to work.”
“True, but that is just what we have to find out,” I replied. “From what Johnson-Meads states, the plot in some way relates to the British submarines. At present I am just as much in the dark as you are. If Halbmayr is directing operations you may depend upon it that some really serious coup is intended, for Halbmayr never troubles his head about the small affairs. Don’t forget that next to Steinhauer he is the man the Königgrätzer-strasse puts most implicit faith in.”
Events were now moving rapidly. I waited with anxiety for the arrival of the man Thornton, whom I had never seen, for I was particularly anxious to have a look at him. I suspected very strongly that he was one of the German Secret Service men masquerading under an assumed name, and I was therefore particularly anxious for an opportunity of identifying him. I argued with myself that if he was mixed up with anything big enough to call for the co-operation of Halbmayr he must be one of the “big” men himself, and it was quite possible I might be able to identify him, for personally or through photographs I was well acquainted with most of the leaders of German espionage work.
Thornton at length reached the Waldesruhe, where he was greeted by the urbane Luigi with all the evidence of distinguished consideration which made the suave Italian so popular with his many patrons. Thornton would have passed for an Englishman anywhere, both in looks and language. He was perfectly dressed in clothes unmistakably British in cut, and spoke the language to perfection. This, however, was hardly surprising, for, as we learned afterwards, he had lived in London ever since he was fourteen. He had, however, been brought up in circles which were virulently anti-British, and had absorbed to the fullest extent that poisonous hatred of everything English which so frequently displays itself in the Hun who has made England his home of convenience.
He little suspected that the smiling Luigi, who so assiduously attended to his comforts, was one of the secret agents of the Allies; that another, in the person of myself, saw his arrival, or that in the turret of the great hotel there was a small secret room containing a powerful wireless set, which I sometimes operated myself.