"I want to ask one or two questions," he said at length. "Do you mind telling me how you come to be in this?"

"I expected that, of course," replied Yvette. "The answer is simple enough. I have been working for a long time for the French Secret Service."

"And why do you want me?" d.i.c.k queried.

Yvette coloured.

"I didn't expect that, d.i.c.k," she answered slowly. "I want you first because I know you thoroughly, and secondly because I must have the Mohawk. If you decide to go we shall go in the Mohawk as motorists touring for pleasure. But if we succeed we shall certainly have to leave Langengrad in a desperate hurry, and we should certainly find all the roads blocked. What chance do you think a motor-car, to say nothing of such a conspicuous oddity as the Mohawk, would have of getting all through Austria-Hungary and Germany, even if it got over the Galdavian frontier, when so many people in Galdavia, Austria, and Germany would have the liveliest interest in stopping it? No, we must fly out of Galdavia. We cannot fly in, because our pa.s.sports must be in order--but we shall have to fly out."

d.i.c.k smiled, but made no comment.

"But remember this," the girl said, "if we arouse the slightest suspicion it is a hundred to one we shall never return. The French Foreign Office cannot appear in the matter under any circ.u.mstances. If we succeed, it means a big reward; if we fall into Ostrovitch's hands--!" and a shrug of Yvette's shapely shoulders ended the sentence.

"Very well, Yvette," exclaimed Manton. "I'll go with you. There's no one to worry about me, anyhow, and I'm fed up with Norfolk. When do we start?"

"The sooner the better. Is the Mohawk ready?"

"Yes," replied d.i.c.k. "I can start half an hour after I get back."

"Then you had better go over by the air express to-morrow morning,"

replied Yvette, "and fly back to-morrow night. I will meet you at the old place ready to start. You can leave all papers to me."

Then Jules took up the story and for a couple of hours d.i.c.k listened carefully to the details of the organisation which Jules and Yvette had set up in Langengrad, and he marvelled greatly at the extent and thoroughness of the work which had been done in so short a time.

A few days later d.i.c.k and Yvette, under the names of Monsieur and Mademoiselle Victor, sister and brother, crossed the German frontier in the Mohawk in the guise of tourists motoring through Germany and Austria-Hungary to Galdavia. Their pa.s.sports, prepared by the French Secret Service and bearing all the necessary _visas_, got them through without the smallest difficulty. Speaking French really well, d.i.c.k had no doubt that, outside France at any rate, he could safely pa.s.s for a young French officer. Jules had remained behind to carry out his share of the campaign.

d.i.c.k drove steadily via Stuttgart and Munich to Salzburg, where he loaded up the Mohawk with all the petrol she could carry for the last stage of the journey. From Salzburg he proposed to fly across the mountains to Klagenfurt, where he hoped to pick up the line of the Drave River and follow it to its confluence with the Danube. From there a brief trip by road would bring them to the borders of Galdavia.

It was a lovely autumn evening when the queer-looking motor-car left the "Bristol Hotel" at Salzburg and slid along the road to Radstadt, the "winter sport" resort. Very soon a sufficiently lonely spot was reached and from a smooth patch of moorland turf the Mohawk rose into the air just as the full moon was rising above the great mountains. The engine was working splendidly and the Mohawk climbing swiftly into the keen air travelled steadily until, just before midnight, d.i.c.k and Yvette sighted simultaneously the lake at Klagenfurt and the silvery line of the Drave stretching away to the eastward.

With nearly three hundred miles to fly d.i.c.k set the Mohawk on a course parallel to the Drave and slightly to the south of it, and for hour after hour they flew on through the brilliant night. Five thousand feet up, they had no fear of detection and gave themselves up to enjoy the beauty of the glorious panorama unfolded below them.

In less than five hours the Danube was sighted and crossed, and just as dawn was breaking, the Mohawk came to earth a few miles from the little town of Neusatz. Quickly the aeroplane was metamorphosed into a motor-car and the "tourists" ran into Neusatz, the little Danube town, for breakfast and rest. A few hours later they were across the borders of Galdavia and heading for Langengrad, the old capital surmounted by a frowning fortress built by the Turks in the Middle Ages.

Twenty-five miles from the city they halted at a wayside inn.

"This is where we shall meet Fedor," Yvette explained.

It was not until after they had had dinner, a homely meal in the true Galdavian fashion, and it grew dark, that they heard from the roadway three sharp blasts on a motor-horn.

"There he is!" exclaimed the shrewd athletic girl. "Get the car out, d.i.c.k!"

The latter hurried to the shed at the rear which served as a garage and when, a few moments later, he drove the Mohawk into the white dusty roadway he found a big touring car drawn up and Yvette talking to a tall, dark-eyed young fellow whom she introduced to d.i.c.k as "Count Fedor Ruffo."

d.i.c.k gazed at him with quick interest, for he had heard much of a wonderful invention of the Count which was expected to play an important part in their quest. Fedor was a young fellow of quiet demeanour, with the long nervous hands of an artist, a delicately cultured voice and soft dreamy eyes. d.i.c.k took him for an Austrian, which he afterwards found to be correct. He had taken a high degree in science at Vienna and had settled in Langengrad as a teacher at the University there.

"Follow the Count's car as closely as possible, d.i.c.k," said Yvette. "We want to slip into Langengrad unnoticed, if possible. The fewer people who see the Mohawk the better."

The Count's car moved away almost noiselessly into the darkness.

Several times Fedor stopped and listened intently, and once they waited an hour at a point where two roads crossed. Nothing happened, however, and about one o'clock in the morning they reached the outskirts of Langengrad. Here the Count left the main road and slipped into a series of crooked by-streets lit only by the light of the moon. Finally, he turned into the courtyard of an old-fashioned house standing in its own grounds and the Mohawk was speedily backed into a large empty shed, and the door locked.

"Now, Mr Manton," said the Count in fair English, "will you drive Miss Pasquet in my car to the Continental and register there? She knows the way. Rooms have been taken for you. You had better use my car while you are here. In the meantime if we meet in public remember we are strangers. Foreigners here are pretty closely watched."

The Hotel Continental at Langengrad is one of those cosmopolitan caravanserais dear to the heart of the tourist. As usual it was crowded, and even at two o'clock in the morning the cafe was humming with activity. Consequently d.i.c.k and Yvette arrived almost unnoticed.

Explaining that they had been delayed by a motor breakdown they were soon in their rooms and were sound asleep.

Next morning Yvette took d.i.c.k out into the gay pleasant city of boulevards and handsome buildings. He was immensely interested in the brilliant scene, but he realised they were on a desperate mission and took care to fix firmly in his mind the roads they would have to use.

It was necessary, of course, to keep up the appearance of being mere gaping sightseers and they went from shop to shop buying a quant.i.ty of souvenirs which neither desired in the smallest degree, and arranging for them to be delivered to their hotel.

In the Balkanskaya, one of the princ.i.p.al streets, Yvette paused at last before a jewellers' window which blazed with gems. A moment later, followed by d.i.c.k, she slipped into a narrow pa.s.sage at the side of the shop and turning into a doorway began to mount a flight of stairs which seemingly led to suites of offices in the upper part of the building.

On the third floor she halted before a dingy door, and knocked softly.

Instantly the door was opened by Fedor who, inviting them within, shut the door and locked it. "Well, Fedor, what luck?" Yvette asked.

"The best," was the reply. "We have been able to find out exactly the people with whom Bausch and Horst are a.s.sociating, and where their meetings are being held. You have arrived in the very nick of time. I fancy--indeed, I am almost sure--the agreement will be signed either to-night or to-morrow night. I have overheard most of their talk."

"But how have you managed that?" d.i.c.k asked eagerly.

"Miss Pasquet's telephone, of course," said Fedor. "Didn't she tell you about it?" Yvette blushed and laughed.

"You didn't know I was an electrician, did you, d.i.c.k?" she said. "Well, you will soon see my little invention at work. But it is nothing to compare with Fedor's."

The good-looking Count talked earnestly for half an hour, acquainting them fully with the work of Yvette's agents in the Galdavian capital, until d.i.c.k became amazed at the perfection of the organisation which the alert young French girl had so swiftly created.

"Ostrovitch's Party," Fedor concluded, "usually meet at the house of General Mestich, who, as you know, is the Commander of the Headquarter Troops in Langengrad. He is a wonderfully able man, but is a confirmed gambler and _bon viveur_, and is head over ears in debt. He plays at the Jockey Club each night. There can be no doubt whatever that he has been bought by Germany. His house in the Dalmatinska for a long time has been notorious for its rowdy parties, and as a result it is quite easy for the conspirators to meet there without attracting undue attention. I am certain the Government does not realise how far things have gone yet. There is not a sc.r.a.p of direct evidence. Mestich is personally very popular, and would in any ordinary matter carry with him a big volume of public opinion. But he dare not, as yet, venture on any direct revolutionary action. His hope is to give his plot some semblance of a popular movement, and he is gradually winning important adherents. If he is given enough time I think he will succeed. But without Bausch and Horst--that is without Germany--the plot must go to pieces. They are finding the money, which is being spent like water."

"This is certainly interesting," d.i.c.k exclaimed. "What are your intentions?"

"Well, immediately opposite Mestich's house is an old building which for many years has been used as a store. It belongs to a loyalist friend of ours, and I can use it as I like. From one of the upper windows it is possible to see right into Mestich's little _salon_, where the meetings are held. We will meet there to-night. You must come separately to the alley at the back; we dare not enter by the front. There is a small doorway there, half overgrown by clematis and apparently never used. I will be inside waiting to open the door when you knock."

For the rest of the day d.i.c.k and Yvette were careful to behave as ordinary tourists "doing the sights" of Langengrad, the Rathaus, the Museum, and the Opera House, and still buying piles of useless souvenirs. But they were soon to realise that a careful watch was kept on all strangers in Langengrad.

Just as they were finishing dinner that night they were approached by an officious little black-moustached man who sent a waiter to call them aside. When they were in a small smoking-room he made a courteous request for their papers. These were, of course, in order, and d.i.c.k had no misgivings on the point. But for some reason the shrewd, sallow-faced official seemed suspicious, and d.i.c.k noticed with anxiety that he spoke faultless French.

Would his own, he wondered, pa.s.s muster?

"Monsieur speaks French like an Englishman," the police officer suddenly rapped out.

Luckily d.i.c.k was prepared.

"Yes," he answered readily, "I was brought up in England. I was at school at Rugby. My friends in our French Air Force nicknamed me `The Englishman.'"

The officer, it appeared, had also been an airman and proceeded to talk interestingly on the subject of aero engines. He was perfectly courteous, but none the less d.i.c.k had an uncomfortable suspicion that he was beneath a human microscope. Fortunately the subject was on one which he could not possibly be "stumped" and try as he would the police official found he had met his match.

d.i.c.k was intensely interested and amused by his skill and courtesy.

None the less the position was most dangerous. He realised fully that-- as was indeed the fact--the officer might be one of Mestich's lieutenants, and unless he could be satisfied their chances of getting away from Langengrad were trifling.

At length he seemed satisfied that d.i.c.k was really what he pretended to be, and finally left them with a courteous farewell, having accepted a gla.s.s of slivovitza--or plum gin--the liqueur of the Galdavians--and chatted for a time on ordinary topics.