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Updated: June 18, 2025
General Steinberg sat at a table surrounded by several officers of his staff. He looked up as the prisoners entered, and unconsciously Captain Derevaux saluted. General Steinberg jumped to his feet. "So!" he exclaimed. "A soldier, eh? And an officer, besides. I thought so! What rank, and to what command are you attached?" Captain Derevaux drew himself up to his full height.
He had reckoned on having his way made easy for him. Steinberg had actually offered to become his accomplice in crime, and had lured him to disclosure. He could have wished that the floor would open and let him through. He saw that he had already exposed his hand, and began to imagine all manner of consequences resulting from the exposure.
'Suppose you'd nobbled those notes, what should you do with 'em? Perhaps Mr. Steinberg resented the form of this inquiry. But be that as it may, he responded with some tartness, 'Suppose you'd nobbled them? At this chance thrust young Barter turned curiously red and white, and had some ado to recover that open smile of his. 'Hang it, he said, 'you can't suppose I meant it that way.
'Well, yes, said Steinberg tangibly. 'Pretty fair. His very admission of this fact made Barter's case seem hopeless to himself. If he had brow-beaten, or blustered, if he had shown anger or impatience, or had been querulous, there might have seemed to exist some slenderest chance for him. But Steinberg was so unmoved that he seemed immovable.
'Well, said Steinberg, puffing at his eternal cigar, and looking askant at Barter under the light of a street-lamp which they happened to be nearing at the moment, 'what you've got to do, you know, is to find the man who knows Mr. Bommaney. The commotion which assailed Barter at this speech was like an inward earthquake. 'What what do you mean? he panted.
The "some one" proved to be the Prince with a train of gentlemen, nearly all of whom were Germans, and they passed through the anteroom on their way out. "See that tall, light-haired fellow?" said Andrew, as soon as they were alone again. "The German baron?" "Yes, the one in uniform." "Yes. He's the Baron Steinberg, a colonel in the Hanoverian Guards." "That's the man. He came over on Saturday.
At the Steinberg gate, where the chief assault had been prepared, Bax had caused great fires of straw and pitch barrels to be lighted, so that the invaders, instead of finding, as they expected, a profound gloom through the streets, saw themselves approaching a brilliantly illuminated city, fully prepared to give their uninvited guests a warm reception.
They're very worthless, and the game isn't worth the candle. 'Worthless? echoed Barter. 'They're worth eight thousand pounds. 'They're worth eight thousand pounds, responded Steinberg, 'to the man they belong to. They're not worth eight hundred to anybody else. Young Mr. Barter's whole soul seemed to rise in protest against this abominable fallacy.
The Prince had been at him, and the Princess too; but he would hardly listen to them, and the most he would do was It seems that Steinberg is a very old favourite." "Oh, I knew all that long ago! Why do you break off in that tantalising way?" "There is to be no regular court-martial, such as was to have been as soon as the doctor said Sir Robert could bear it." "Yes, yes."
Moses Steinberg, who has assisted me in previous financial transactions before I had the pleasure of meeting my present valued colleague, the Honourable Mr. Morcombe-Lycett and who is now taking care to inform the world that we are living in South America." "And how are we going to account for our boxes of sovereigns? Two mining speculators don't usually carry about heavy sums in gold."
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