# The Yellow Dove/Chapter 12
### CHAPTER XII HAMMERSLEY EXPLAINS

AT the sight of the tall figure of von Stromberg, Hammersley halted for the fraction of a second and then came forward into the room. He still wore his leather jacket and cap, but the wind burn on his cheeks gave his eyes, which had been protected by goggles, a singular grayness. He had had no sleep and his face was drawn in haggard lines, but his greeting showed no signs of uneasiness.
“Had I known you were awaiting me, Excellenz, I should perhaps have made quicker repairs.”
“It does not matter that you are late,” said von Stromberg quickly. “The thing of main importance is that you are here.” The General turned and made a motion to the door of the room. “I wish to be alone with Herr Hammersley. Herr Hauptmann von Winden, you are relieved from duty for the night. Herr Hauptmann Wentz, you will remain within call.”
The two officers saluted and retired and the General motioned Hammersley to approach.
“You have it?” he asked briefly.
“Yes, Excellenz. Here.”
He produced from an inner pocket a small package wrapped in oiled paper and handed it to von Stromberg.
“Ah!” He went quickly over to the table and tearing off the wrapper of the bundle opened the packet of Riz-la-Croix and found the hidden message which he ​scanned quickly, with muttered ejaculations of satisfaction and surprise. Hammersley by the fireplace was warming his hands.
“Ganz gut!” said the General, straightening and turning. “You had difficulties?”
“More than usual, Excellenz. Captain Byfield is in prison.”
“Caught!”
Hammersley nodded.
“They found letters at his rooms.”
“Schafskopf! Were there no fires?”
Hammersley shrugged.
“He is to be tried by court-martial. He will be shot.”
Von Stromberg deliberated a moment.
“And were you suspected?”
“Yes. They followed me to Scotland, but fortunately the Yellow Dove is still a mystery—at least it was yesterday morning, and I got safely away.”
Von Stromberg was scrutinizing him keenly.
“H—m. What makes you think that you were followed?”
“I left London by night train but got off at Edinburgh where my motor met me. But the wire was faster, and they had sent word to stop me. They stretched a rope across the road, but I saw it and went around. They fired at me——”
“When was this?”
“Three nights ago.”
“They didn’t hit you——”
“A mere scratch across the arm——”
“Let me see it.”
Hammersley looked into von Stromberg’s face and laughed.
​“Really?” he asked.
“Yes.”
Rather stiffly Hammersley took off his leather jacket and sweater and rolled up the sleeve of his flannel shirt. Von Stromberg examined the wound with interest.
“So——” he said. “Put on your coat. And after that?”
“I kept away from Ben-a-Chielt and put up for the night at my cousin’s.”
“Who is that?”
“Lady Heathcote——”
“Oh, yes. It was at her house in London that the message passed to you.”
“Yes, Excellenz.”
Von Stromberg paused a moment and then spoke abruptly.
“Why did you not give the papers to Rizzio?”
Hammersley’s gaze met the General’s squarely.
“They were too important. I could not take the risk.”
“But his orders superseded yours.”
“I saw—but I could not take the risk.”
“Why?”
“Because I had reason to believe that Rizzio was acting for the English Government.”
Von Stromberg’s burning gaze flickered and went out. He took a few paces across the room, his right hand tapping the back of his left. At last he came and stood before Hammersley, his hands behind his back.
“What were your reasons for believing that?”
“Maxwell learned it from Byfield.”
“Maxwell! You saw Maxwell—when?”
“The night I left London.”
​“Has anything happened to him?” quickly.
“I do not know.”
The General frowned into the fire.
“It is strange,” he muttered. “Very strange. You did not realize then that I suspected you?”
Hammersley laughed.
“Not at once. I did later. That is your privilege, Excellenz. But I refused to be caught under the circumstances. I preferred to take the risk of failure. After all, you see, I succeeded.”
General von Stromberg was not immune from the frankness of Hammersley’s smile. He turned toward the table and scrutinized the papers with great care.
“These are the very papers you got from Herr Captain Byfield?”
Hammersley’s reply was startling.
“Unfortunately, no. The original papers were burned——”
“Burned!” cried the General, turning in his chair.
“But not before I had made this copy, which I put in a safe place.”
“Explain.”
“I was followed, leaving Lady Heathcote’s dinner party in an automobile, by agents of Scotland Yard. I had the slower machine and they caught me. But not before I had passed the original papers to my companion——”
“Your companion—a woman?”
“Yes, Excellenz, there was nothing else to do. She escaped while they were searching me and kept the papers——”
“Who was this woman?”
“My fiancée.”
“Her name?”
​“Doris Mather.”
“English?”
“No, American.”
“And what happened then?”
“Excellenz, she read them. She is devoted to the English cause. I could do nothing. She learned that I was acting for Germany and, rather than let them fall into my hands, she burned them. It makes no difference to you or to the Vaterland, since I have brought the message here, except that my own utility in England is gone.”
“I should be sorry to be obliged to believe you.”
“I am afraid, Excellenz, that there is nothing left for you to do.”
General von Stromberg was again busy examining the cigarette papers. Suddenly he raised his head, his gaze boring into Hammersley’s face.
“You say this is a copy of the original message?”
“Yes, Excellenz.”
“And where did you make it?”
“In the library upstairs at Lady Heathcote’s in Park Lane.”
“When?”
“After my interview with Herr Rizzio. It is written hurriedly, as you will observe.”
“It is written with a pen finer than those usually employed by ladies.”
“I took what offered, Excellenz,” said Hammersley.
“What was your thought when you made the copy?”
“That Rizzio or his agents would attempt to get it away from me. It seems that I was right.”
“Are you sure that he was acting for England and not for me?” asked von Stromberg quickly.
“For you, Excellenz?”
​“Did it not occur to you that your failure to accede to his request might have given Herr Rizzio the idea that you were saving this document from him in order that you might deliver it to the War Office?”
“How could such an idea occur to me when I already knew what his object was?”
“Oh! You are convinced that he is for the English cause?”
“Naturally. I can conceive of no reason why Rizzio should be for Germany.”
Von Stromberg smiled. If this were skill in parry, he rejoiced in having met his match. If it were merely ingenuousness, he was equally at a loss. He had often admitted to himself that there were but two kinds of people in the world that he could not cope with—those who never lost their tempers and those who told the truth. He had taken advantage of Hammersley’s physical condition to provoke him into irritation, but the man was quite unruffled. The piercing eye, the threatening tone and the dominant air of authority which von Stromberg had so frequently found effective with others had been of no avail here. Herr Hammersley stood by the fire, erect and unperturbed, calmly awaiting his dismissal. If he had told the truth, then Rizzio——
“Herr Rizzio has advised me that you are disloyal to Germany,” said the General at last. “You inform me that he is loyal to England.”
Hammersley shrugged and laughed.
“If I were disloyal to Germany, surely I had proof enough of your suspicions in your secret summons, to remain at Ben-a-Chielt. It is unnecessary for me to say that I should have come without that summons, because it was dangerous for me to stay.”
​“You would, then, have me disregard the message from Herr Rizzio?”
“No. I merely ask that you wait until you hear from Herr Maxwell.”
“And if Herr Maxwell be dead?” asked von Stromberg quietly.
Hammersley’s face became grave.
“In that case, Excellenz, I must rely on your keenness to decide the issue between us.”
Von Stromberg slipped the packet of papers into an inner pocket and rose with a laugh. He covered the distance between himself and Hammersley in three paces with extended hands.
“I was only trying you, Herr Hammersley. It is a habit of mine. It amuses me. You will forgive me, nicht wahr?”
“Willingly, Excellenz, if you will provide me with food and a bed. Failing those, you may have me shot at once.”
“Food you shall have, and a bed is prepared in your room upstairs. As for the shooting, perhaps we may as well postpone that until morning.”
He laughed jovially, showing a very fine set of teeth, and, touching a bell which was answered by Captain Wentz, directed that food and coffee be prepared at once.
“One word more,” he went on, when Wentz went out, “where did you put this copy after leaving Lady Heathcote’s in London?”
“I slipped it down the window sash in my automobile. They did not even search for it. I got away by a ruse.”
“No one saw it?”
“No one. The message is the same.”
​“H—m! You have a good memory?”
“Excellent.”
“Are you sure that the War Office knew of your movements?”
“Positive. I know of no one who would try to kill me——”
“Rizzio?”
“Acting for England, yes.”
“And if he were acting for Germany?”
“Then he is a fool.”
Von Stromberg folded his long arms and gazed at the lamp.
“You do not feel that it would be possible to return at once?”
“Not unless I wished to be shot as a spy.”
“What will you do?”
“Take whatever service you will give me. Failing that I will volunteer for aviation.”
The General, without pursuing the subject further, motioned Hammersley to the door.
“You will find food ready. After eating you had better get to bed. I will talk with you further in the morning.”
As the door closed behind his visitor von Stromberg sank into the chair by the fire and lighted a third cigar, upon which he pulled steadily for some moments, rehearsing by question and reply almost every word of Hammersley’s story. By every rule of the game as he knew it Herr Hammersley should be a liar. And yet his story from first to last held water. There was not a flaw in its texture from beginning to end. If Hammersley had not told the truth he was the most skillful liar in Europe, a man who gave the appearance of truthfulness to the last hair of his head. And yet ​it was much more easy to lie if one knew that there was no man to oppose him. Hammersley did not know that Rizzio was on the way. Tomorrow they would meet. It would be interesting to watch that meeting. For, as to this thing, the mind of the General was clear. One of these men was false to Germany, the other true, but which? Both had come willingly, or was it by necessity? And Herr Maxwell! It was strange that Maxwell should have failed in his report at this crucial moment. And if Maxwell were dead—who had betrayed him? General von Stromberg’s thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the door and the entrance of the orderly.
“A telegram, Excellenz, by motorcycle from Windenberg.”
The General opened the paper. It was in code and he translated it rapidly.
Von Stromberg:
Withhold judgment until my arrival. Will be at Bremen tomorrow early with Miss Mather, who possesses valuable information.
Rizzio.
General von Stromberg sank deeper into his chair, the paper in his fingers, a smile broadening upon his features. The woman! It was almost too good to be true. Miss Doris Mather, the American girl, Hammersley’s fiancée, coming to Germany with Rizzio. And Hammersley obviously did not know it. Intrigue, mystery and now romance. Tomorrow——
The man still stood awaiting orders. Von Stromberg rose with a yawn.
“Is my room prepared?”
“Yes, Excellenz.”
​“Which one?”
“The same as before—next to that of Herr Hammersley.”
“Well, move it into the wing. And when I go up you will set a watch upon my door—also one outside my windows.”
“Zu befehl, Excellenz.”
“In the meanwhile send Herr Hauptmann Wentz to me here.”
The man went out and Captain Wentz entered immediately closing the door behind him.
“What time does the northern express leave Bremen in the morning?”
“At seven.”
General von Stromberg sat and wrote out a message.
“Have this message sent at once.” And then, “That train reaches Windenberg at what hour?”
“Twelve.”
“Good. This mountain air is excellent for the nerves. I shall sleep late tomorrow and do not wish to be called. You will go personally to Windenberg at eleven o’clock with a closed carriage. You will meet Herr Rizzio, whom you will recognize by his tall, distinguished appearance and excellent clothing. He will be accompanied by a young lady. It is my wish that they be brought to this house and given separate rooms on the upper story and placed under guard until I summon them. No one must see them enter this house. To accomplish this purpose, Herr Hammersley must go to the hangar. The means I leave to you. Captain von Winden will be of service. Do you understand?”
“Perfectly.”
​“For the present that is all. I shall go to my room. Good night.”
“Good night, Excellenz.”
Meanwhile, upstairs in his room, Hammersley, after having eaten, was preparing for bed. For a tired man he went about it in a very leisurely way, smoking a cigarette, and wandering about the room stretching his long limbs and yawning between whiles. Then, after a time, he took off his clothes and bathed. It was perhaps an hour before he blew out his candle, and even then he did not get immediately into bed. He sat on the edge of the couch for a while, listening and watching the cold moonlight outside his dormer window, or the dim line of light that came from beneath the door into the hall. Then, apparently satisfied that he was to be quite free from interruption, he straightened and stood up, waiting again. Still no sound. He reached for the table, where he had put his watch and the things from his pockets, and picked up a large pocket-knife, carefully opening the large blade. Then, with quick, noiseless footsteps, he crossed the room to the fireplace and felt with the fingers of one hand carefully along the edge of the chimney breast. His fingers reached a spot where there was an unevenness, and feeling carefully, thrust the knife-blade its full length beneath the paper, slowly withdrawing it. Something protruded which was quickly taken into the palm of his left hand. With great care he smoothed the broken wallpaper back into its place and noiselessly closing the knife got softly into bed.
He lay on his back for a while, his eyes wide open, watching the window and the door and then, pulling ​the heavy blankets up, slipped lower and lower under the covers until he disappeared from view. In the room all was dark, but under the blankets he read by the light of an electric pocket torch some writing in German upon a thin slip of paper.
Papers arrive tomorrow night, eleven—from Berlin—automobile—by Schöndorf road.