Excerpt
CHAPTER I THE LAVA-STREAM
“
For God’s sake, if you are an Englishman, help me!”
That cry of despair, so subdued yet piercing in its intensity, reached Arthur Dalroy as he pressed close on the heels of an all-powerful escort in Lieutenant Karl von Halwig, of the Prussian Imperial Guard, at the ticket-barrier of the Friedrich Strasse Station on the night of Monday, 3rd August 1914.
An officer’s uniform is a passe-partout in Germany; the showy uniform of the Imperial Guard adds awe to authority. It may well be doubted if any other insignia of rank could have passed a companion in civilian attire so easily through the official cordon which barred the chief railway station at Berlin that night to all unauthorised persons.
Von Halwig was in front, impartially cursing and shoving aside the crowd of police and railway men. A gigantic ticket-inspector, catching sight of the Guardsman, bellowed an order to “clear the way;” but a general officer created a momentary diversion by choosing that forbidden exit. Von Halwig’s heels clicked, and his right hand was raised in a salute, so Dalroy was given a few seconds wherein to scrutinise the face of the terrified woman who had addressed him. He saw that she was young, an Englishwoman, and undoubtedly a lady by her speech and garb.
“What can I do for you?” he asked.
“Get me into a train for the Belgian frontier. I have plenty of money, but these idiots will not even allow me to enter the station.”
He had to decide in an instant. He had every reason to believe that a woman friendless and alone, especially a young and good-looking one, was far safer in Berlin—where some thousands of Britons and Americans had been caught in the lava-wave of red war now flowing unrestrained from the Danube to the North Sea—than in the train which would start for Belgium within half-an-hour. But the tearful indignation in the girl’s voice—even her folly in describing as “idiots” the hectoring jacks-in-office, any one of whom might have understood her—led impulse to triumph over saner judgment.
“Come along! quick!” he muttered. “You’re my cousin, Evelyn Fane!”
With a self-control that was highly creditable, the young lady thrust a hand through his arm. In the other hand she carried a reticule. The action surprised Dalroy, though feminine intuition had only displayed common-sense.
“Have you any luggage?” he said.
“Nothing beyond this tiny bag. It was hopeless to think of——”
Von Halwig turned at the barrier to insure his English friend’s safe passage.
“Hallo!” he cried. Evidently he was taken aback by the unexpected addition to the party.
“A fellow-countrywoman in distress,” smiled Dalroy, speaking in German. Then he added, in English, “It’s all right. As it happens, two places are reserved.”
Von Halwig laughed in a way which the Englishman would have resented at any other moment.
“Excellent!” he guffawed. “Beautifully contrived, my friend.—Hi, there, sheep’s-head!”—this to the ticket-inspector—“let that porter with the portmanteau pass!”
Thus did Captain Arthur Dalroy find himself inside the Friedrich Strasse Station on the night when Germany was already at war with Russia and France. With him was the stout leather bag into which he had thrown hurriedly such few articles as were indispensable—an ironic distinction when viewed in the light of subsequent events; with him, too, was a charming and trustful and utterly unknown travelling companion.
Von Halwig was not only vastly amused but intensely curious; his endeavours to scrutinise the face of a girl whom the Englishman had apparently conjured up out of the maelström of Berlin were almost rude. They failed, however, at the outset. Every woman knows exactly how to attract or repel a man’s admiration; this young lady was evidently determined that only the vaguest hint of her features should be vouchsafed to the Guardsman. A fairly large hat and a veil, assisted by the angle at which she held her head, defeated his intent. She still clung to Dalroy’s arm, and relinquished it only when a perspiring platform-inspector, armed with a list, brought the party to a first-class carriage....