might have been the money.
“Is that all?” asked Canfield as he led Elizabeth Scarlatti toward the car.
He referred to her single briefcase.
“It’s enough,” said the old woman as she followed him downthe path.
“You had a couple of thousand pages, a hundred thousarid figuresl”
“They’re meaningless now.” Elizabeth held the briefcase on her lap as
Canfield shut the car door.
“Suppose they ask you questions?” The field accouxitant inserted the key in
the ignition.
“No doubt they will. And if they do, IT answer.” She didn’t wish to taUL
They drove for twenty minutes and the roads were coming out right. Canfield
was pleased with himsel~ He was a satisfied navigator. Suddenly Elizabeth
spoke.
“There is one thing I haven’t told you, nor have you seen fit to bring it
up. It’s only fair that I mention it now. P,
‘1nat?”
“Ws conceivable that neither of us will emerge from this conference alive.
Have you considered that?”
Canfield had, of course, considered iL He had assumed the risk, if that was
the justifiable word, since the Boothroyd incident. It had escalated to
pronounced danger when he realized that Janet was possibly his for’life. He
became committed when he know what her husband had done to her.
With the bullet through his shoulder, two inches from death, Matthew
Canfield in his own way had become a gladiator in much the same manner as
Elizabeth. His anger was paramount now.
“You worry about your problems, 1711 worry about mine, okay?”
“Okay. . . . May I say that you’ve become quite dear to, me. . . . Oh, stop
that little-boy lookl Save it for the ladiest I’m hardly one of theml Drive
oril”
On Winterthurstrasse, three-tenths of a mile from Falke Haus there is a
stretch of straight road paralleled on
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both sides by towering pine trees. Matthew Canfield pushed the accelerator
down and drove the automobile as fast as it would go. It was five minutes to
nine and he was determined that his passenger meet her appointment on time.
Suddenly in the far-off illumination of the head lamps, a man was
signaling. He waved his hands, crisscrossing above his head, standing in
the middle of the road. He was violently making the universal sign,
stop—emergencY. He did not move from the middle of the road in spite of
Canfield’s speed.
“Hold onl” Canfield riushed on, oblivious to the human being in his path.
As he did so, there were bursts of gunfire from. both sides of the road.
“Get downl” shouted Canfield. He continued to push the gas pedal, ducking
as he did so, bobbing his head, watching the straight road as best he
could. There was a piercing scream-pitched in a death not&-from. the far
side of the road. One. of the ambushers had been caught in the crossfire.
They passed the area, pieces of glass and metal scattered all over the
seats.
‘~You okay?” Canfield had notime for sympathy-
“Yes. rm all right. How much longer?”
“Not much. If we can make it. TheY may have gotten a tire.”
“Even if they did, we can still driver
I’Don% you worryl rm not about to stop and ask for a jacki”
The gates of Falke Hans appeared and Canfield turned sharply into the road.
It was a descending grade leading gently into a huge circle in front of an
enormous flagstone porch with statuary placed every several feet. The front
entrance, a large wooden door, was situated twenty [ad beyond the center
steps. Canfield could not get near it.
For there were at least a dozen long, black limousines lined up around the
circle. Chauffeurs stood near them. idly chatting.
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Canfield checked his revolver, placed it in his righthand pocket, and
ordered Elizabeth out of the car. He insisted that she slide across the
seat and emerge from his side of the automobile.
He walked slightly behind her, nodding to the chauffeurs.
It was one minute after nine when a servant, formally dressed, opened the
large wooden door.
They entered the great hall, a massive tabernacle of architectural
indulgence. A second servant, also formally attired, gestured them toward
another door. He opened it.
Inside was the longest table Matthew Canfield thought possible to build. It
must have been fifty feet from end to end. And a good six to seven feet
wide.
Seated around the massive table were fifteen or twenty men. All ages, from
forty to seventy. All dressed in expensive suits. AU looking toward
Elizabeth Scarlatti. At the head of the table, half a room away, was an
empty chair. It cried out to be fi1led, and Canfield wondered for a moment
whether Elizabeth was to fill it. Then he realized that was not so. Her
chair was at the foot of -the table closest to then-L
Who was to fill the empty chair?
No matter. There was no chair for him. He would stay by the wall and watch.
Elizabeth approached the table.
“Good evening, gentlemen. A number of us have met before. The rest of you
I know by reputation, I can assure you.”
The entire complement around the table rose as one body.
The man to the left of Elizabeth’s chair circled and held it for her.
She sat down, and the men returned to their seats.
“I thank you. . . . But there seems to be one of us missing.” Elizdbeth
stared at the chair fifty feet away directly in front of her eyes.
At that moment a door at the far end of the room opened and a tall man
strutted in. He was dressed mi the crisp, cold uniform of the German
revolutionary. The dark brown shirt, the shining black belt across his
chest and around his waist, the starched tan jodhpurs above the thick,
heavy boots that came just below his knees.
320
7be man’s head was shaven, his face a distorted replica
Of itself. I
‘The chair is now taken. Does that satisfy you?”
‘Not entirely. . . . Since I know, through one means or another, every
person of consequence at this table, I should like to know who you are,
sir.”
‘I(roeger. Heinrich Kroegerl Anything else, Madame Scarlatti?”
“Not a -thing. Not a single thing … Herr Kroeser.”
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CHAPTER 44
“Against my wishes and my better judgment, Madame Scarlatti, my associates
are determined to hear what you have to say.” The grotesque shaven-headed
Heinrich Kroeger spoke. “My position has been made clear to YOIL I trust
your memory serves you well about it.,,
There were whispers around the table. Looks were exchanged. None of the men
were prepared for the news that Heinrich Kroeger had had prior contact with
Eli7abeth Scarlatti.
-My memory serves me very well. Your associates represent an aggregate of
much wisdom and several centuries of experience. I suspect far in excess of
your own on both counts—collectively and individually.”
Most of the men simply lowered their eyes, some pressing their lips in
slight smiles. Elizabeth slowly looked at each face around the table.
“We have an interesting board here, I see. Well represented. Well
diversified. Some of us were enemies in war a few short years ago, but such
memories, by necessity, are shom . . . Let’s see.” Without singling out any
one individual, Elizabeth Scarlatti spoke rapidly, almost in a cadence. “My
own country has lost two members, I’m sad to note. But I doWt believe
prayers are in order for Messrs. Boothroyd and Thornton. If they are, I’m
not the one to deliver them But still, the United States is splendidly
represented by Mr. Gibson and Mr. Landon Between them, they account for
nearly twenty percent of the vast oil interests m the American. Southwest.
To say nothing of a joint expansion in the Canadian North-
322
West Territories. Combined per, _,~a assets~-two hundred and twenty-five
million. . . . Car recent adversary, Germany, brings us Herr von Schnitzler,
Herr Kindorf, and Herr Thyssen. L G. Farben; the baron of Ruhr coal; the
great steel companies. Personal assets? Who can really tell these days in
the Weimar? Perhaps one hundred and seventy-five million, at the outside. .
. . But someone’s missing from this group. I trust he’s successfully being
recruited. I speak of Gustave Krupp. He would raise the ante considerably.
. . . England sends us Messrs. Masterson, Leacock, and Imes-Bowen. As
powerful a triumvirate as can be found in the British Empire, Mr. Masterson
with half of the India imports, also Ceylon now, I understand; Mr. Imacock’s
major portion of the British Stock Exchange; and Mr Innes-Bowen. He owns the
largest single textile industry throughout Scotland and the Hebrides.
Personal assets I place at three hundred million. . . . France has been
generous, too. Monsieur D’Alineida; I now realize that he is the true owner
of the Franco-Italian rail system, partially due to his Italian lineage, rm
sum And Monsieur Daudet. Is there any among us who have not used some part