The Old Blood Part 29

"Old Frightfulness is going to try to scare me!" he thought.

Having been both in Germany and in the Southwest, he recognised that the tactics of a master hand in the world's greatest military machine might be humanly the same as those of a bandit leader across the Rio Grande.

"So you are the spy!" von Stein growled.

"Not at all, sir!" Phil replied.

"Be careful! You are on oath."

"So I understand."

"Are you English?" demanded von Stein, with an access of roaring emphasis.

From the frequency of this question and its venom Phil gathered that the English could not be popular in German military circles.

"No, American."

"Prove it!"

"As you have all my papers there, may I suggest that you have the proof?"

Von Stein mumbled an e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.n through his moustache, while the corrugations between the bushy brows and the grey line of closely-clipped hair twitched.

"What are you in Europe for?"

"To see Europe--and I'm seeing more of it than I bargained for,"

answered Phil.

"Do not joke! War is war! What do you mean, you a foreigner, an American, you say, by being here when our army came?"

"Your army came so fast that I could not get away from it," said Phil drily, as he might on a hot day in cactus land.

"Hur-r-r!" or something like it, escaped through von Stein's moustache and he wiggled his lips in a way that might have meant an effort to control a grin. "Why are you in that chateau?"

Phil explained quite clearly, even telling how Helen had remained behind and he had returned to look after her and to find that it was impossible to get away before the army came.

"What is your business in America?"

Phil told this, too.

"As you say; but how can we tell that what you say is true?"

"As obviously neither my own statement nor appearance counts, by investigation of my references at home through my government, if my papers and letters are not sufficient."

"Hur-r-r!" again mumbled von Stein. Then he broke out with fearful frightfulness: "Don't you know that we can have you shot as a spy?" he thundered.

As Phil had previously remarked, he had never liked melodrama. It had quite gone out of fas.h.i.+on at home, except in motion pictures of the Southwest as shown in New York and of New York as shown in the Southwest.

"Considering the number of your soldiers, not to mention the number of your guns and that I am unarmed, I should venture, with all respect, to say that that is a safe statement," said Phil, and he was smiling pleasantly.

"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."