The Mammoth Book of New Sherlock Holmes Adventures - Mike Ashley [282]
“If ever a man could be trusted by all sides,” I agreed, “it is Prince Max.”
“With the secret approval of both London and Paris, he has been in covert communication with the President of the United States.”
“At last!” I cried, over a mouthful of fresh roll.
“Contain your jubilation, doctor, for Prince Max sent his inquiry about what would be necessary to end the war without the knowledge of the Kaiser, and his Most Foolish Majesty is now adamantly refusing to accept the necessity. Even more worrying, General Ludendorf has regained his nerve and is urging another attack, in which scheme he has the support of the more fanatical officers.”
“Suicidal!” I exclaimed. “Murderous!”
“All of that, and yet unfortunately still possible. The Kaiser has once more taken to his private train and is busily rattling about well behind the lines, well away from anyone who would press unwelcome truths upon him. And Prince Max has fallen ill: he is now quite incapable of trying to trace and corner Germany’s official leader.”
I groaned. “Is the illness serious?”
“I fear so. Even yesterday, when I last saw him, the prince was … not himself. The trouble is that we have so little time. By now the prince will have received the American president’s reply, a message that must be answered very soon, or the hounds of war will bay once more.”
He was looking at me with a grave significance that I couldn’t pretend not to understand. “The prince will certainly have doctors, Holmes. Surely the best that Germany has to offer, and that is saying much.”
“Medically, no doubt. Politically and militarily, however, they belong to the Kaiser and to General Ludendorf, all determined to chase the chimera of victory yet once more.”
“Even so, Holmes, I doubt that the prince would accept my poor services. Why should he?”
“Because you’re English, doctor, and my friend,” Holmes replied with unanswerable finality.
We arrived in Berlin in the early hours of the morning, and were met by a chauffeured limousine with curtained windows, Several times I peered out, always to see clusters of people, men and women, drifting restlessly around; some soldiers were also on the streets, even a few officers, but they were doing nothing except to mingle with the strangely moving crowds. I glanced often at Holmes, but he neither looked out nor spoke.
At the Chancellory we were escorted directly to Prince Max’s quarters. As we climbed those marble steps and passed through those ornate halls, however, more than one officer turned pointedly away: obviously Holmes had spoken truth and we were not welcome to all here.
As we waited in the anteroom of the prince’s suite, the door to the inner chambers was thrown open by a plain black-clothed figure, with short grey hair and honest peasant face now taut with worry, scowling ferociously at a departing visitor. This was a gentleman of aquiline features, in evening dress, who bowed to Holmes with a deference that was openly mocking.
“Good morning, Mr Holmes,” he said in perfect English. “I fear you will find that the prince is no longer capable of attending to business matters. Good day, Hans, be sure to take good care of your master.” He smiled unctuously as Hans stiffened with fury, and swaggered away.
“Who was that, Holmes?” I asked, puzzled. “I’m sure I’ve never seen him before, yet he seems familiar.”
“No doubt because Count Hoffenstein resembles his cousin, Von Bork, whom you … met, shall we say, some years ago.”
I had indeed, having been with Holmes when he trapped that master spy in his own house on the Dover hills.
“Bad,” Hans’s angry interjection showed both his deep concern and bitter frustration. “I keep all others away, but he, this Count, he come anyway. Bother my master. He … lost, Herr Doktor, lost like child. You help, please, please, Herr Doktor.”
I was already hastening into the inner room, with Holmes close behind me. That poor Hans had cause for worry was obvious from the first glance.