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Updated: June 14, 2025
Prince Falkenberg's single exclamation was the death sentence of his agent. Estermen knew it and his knees knocked one against the other.
"He arrived this morning and disappeared. Tonight he sent me orders that I was to search for you." "Where is he now?" Julien asked. "At eight o'clock tonight," Estermen said, "he declared himself to be Herr Carl Freudenberg, dealer in German toys.
I am a discarded minister," dryly. "I may be supposed to have in my possession secrets for which your country would pay. Is it not to those facts that I am indebted for the honor of this visit?" "Not in the least," answered Estermen. "Our own Secret Service keeps us supplied with such information as we desire. My object in seeking you is this.
"Not a document," Estermen was saying, "not a line of writing of any sort in his trunk, his bureau, or anywhere about his room." Herr Freudenberg nodded thoughtfully. "But these Englishmen are the devil to deal with!" he said. "The luncheon is ordered to-day in the private room at the Armenonville?" "Everything has been attended to," Estermen replied.
Herr Freudenberg tore a corner from the programme which lay on the table between them, and wrote a single word upon it. "Study that at your leisure, my friend," he said. "Pay attention to the task I impose upon you. Nothing is more important in my visit to Paris than that I should make the acquaintance of this person. Much depends upon it. I rely upon you, Estermen."
For seventeen hours he had been in his rooms, for the following seventeen hours he would probably have been there, too. For the intervening thirty seconds he happened to be upon the pavement. It was a miracle!" This was the end of all the specious story which Estermen had gone over so often to himself! Yet he had done his cause no harm, for the few sentences he spoke were the truth.
"Dear Madame Christophor," Lady Anne whispered, "you are wonderful!" Madame Christophor was already moving away. "Not really wonderful," she replied. "Only a little human. I must go to my boy." Estermen started up from his chair. In the unlit room the figure of his master seemed to have assumed a portentous, almost a threatening shape. "Who's that?" he cried out.
He held her hand more tightly. "Ah, little friend," he murmured, "you spoil me with your sweet phrases! You set the music playing in my heart the witch music, I think. Come, we must speak to Estermen," he continued, looking resolutely away from her. "We cannot have him sitting there glum, a death's-head at our feast. Estermen, drink, man! Is this a funeral party? Wake up.
He is here, there and everywhere today in Paris, tomorrow in Berlin, next week in Moscow. Yet it is he, as you know well, who shapes the whole destinies of my country. It is he alone in whom the Emperor has blind and absolute confidence. If he holds up his hand, it is war. If he holds it down, it is peace." "What does he do in Paris?" Julien inquired. Estermen shook his head.
He dressed, dined at the Ambassadeurs with Mademoiselle Ixe from the Opera, sent for me, learned that I was at the Maison Leon d'Or, telephoned there, and all for this one thing that I should bring you to him without a moment's delay." "But where is he now?" Julien asked again. Estermen glanced at the clock and at a piece of paper which he took from his pocket.
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