Part 30

Wenk telegraphed to the Constance head-office, with special reference to the passport stations. A few hours later the police officials there telegraphed back that a man named Poldringer had notified his arrival there. He gave Bavaria as his native State, and this had struck the registering official as curious, because the man used a dialect that was unmistakably North German. On that account the police kept him under surveillance. They ascertained that he frequented the society of people who were suspected of smuggling goods across the Swiss frontier. He often travelled by the steamer to Lindau. “Expect me to-day in Constance,” telephoned Wenk finally.

Wenk immediately prepared for a journey. He could reach Constance before night if the little monoplane belonging to a friend of his, which was always at his service, were ready for a flight. He telephoned to him and ascertained that it was.

At four o’clock he departed, and in the deepening twilight he descended at the Petershaus aerodrome near Constance. The police described the locality in which these profiteers and smugglers were to be found. He disguised himself as a chauffeur and went to one of their inns to get some supper. He addressed one man whom he thought to be of their party, saying that he could get hold of two cars, and also some sort of export licence, as long as it wasn’t looked at too closely, but if he had the help of one or, better still, of two bold fellows it could be done quite easily. There would be a profit of about ten thousand in it, for the cars were bought in the autumn of 1918 and had been kept hidden ever since. They were first-class cars that had belonged to two generals.

The other did not take long to consider. He would broach the matter to a friend of his, and the three of them would soon pull it off. They went together later to another tavern, which the friend often frequented, but he did not appear.

“What is his name?” asked Wenk. “Perhaps I know him.”

“He is called Ball, but you may have known him under some other name. Most of us find it convenient to have one or two different names here; you know all about that, don’t you?”

“Of course I do,” said Wenk.

Then he grew suddenly pale, for just then a man entered, in whom he thought he recognized the chauffeur who had driven him to Schleissheim in the car filled with poison gas. Everything was at stake. Wenk’s disguise was rather a sketchy one. Supposing this man were the Ball they were expecting! If he came to their table and sat down, he would probably recognize Wenk, and the whole story would come out. He employed all his powers to regain his self-control, and tried to disguise his features by contracting his facial muscles. He had already taken the precaution of seating himself in a dark corner.

But the new-comer sat down at some distance from him at a large table where several young fellows were already sitting. He had his back to Wenk, but the lawyer felt he must not venture any further, and promising a rendezvous for the next evening, he hastily took his leave.

He went to the police-station, stated where he had been, and described the suspected man. The sergeant of police sent for a constable, who said that according to the description the man must be Poldringer.

“Could we be certain of that? I should like the fact established during the night. But I beg of you to proceed cautiously in the matter, for this man is armed at all points!” urged Wenk.

Then he thought it would be better not to go there, said the constable. It was but a small town, and all the police officials, even the plain-clothes men, knew these profiteers. His sudden appearance might give the alarm.

“Well then, I must manage without that. Do you know where he lives?”

“Certainly.”

“Then take me there at once.”

The sergeant took Wenk to a byway where stood a shabby old inn, which was divided into many courtyards at the back. Wenk at once recognized that it would be extremely difficult to carry through any arrest here without a large body of police, and so many constables could not be quickly and easily procured in a small town like this.

Opposite the house was an iron-foundry. Here Wenk spent the next forenoon in company with a constable who knew Poldringer, the two concealing themselves behind a dust-begrimed window.

When, about eleven o’clock, the man whom Wenk knew as the sandy-bearded man’s chauffeur came out of the house, the constable nudged him, saying, “That is Poldringer!”

“That’s my man!” said Wenk.

In the afternoon he had a consultation with the head of the Criminal Investigation Department. Wenk said it was not a case of arresting one man, but of getting rid of the whole gang, for here in Constance, as one might say, there was but one division of the army whose general headquarters was in Munich, and until one could lay hold of the leader it was not worth while to secure a dozen or so of his accomplices. Wenk advised their not making use of the announcement of a reward of five-thousand marks for information (which had been drawn up contrary to his wish), but rather that they should keep a close watch upon what they now knew to be one of the haunts of the gang. That would be the safest way of entrapping their leader, for if they seized the chauffeur now, his master would receive emphatic warning. And this man, Wenk told them, was undoubtedly one of the most daring criminals to be met with in the last ten years. It was not only a money reward, but fame, that might be looked for, and the constables all promised to do what they could.

In the evening Wenk met the young man who was going to help him get rid of the cars at a big profit. His friend had left the town, he said, for things had gone badly of late. Switzerland was overdone with German goods, and the German authorities seemed to be regaining their control of the Lake. They might soon be starving, he said. But he knew what to do. He wasn’t going to starve, and sooner than be driven out of the place by hunger, he would join the Foreign Legion. Then at least he would be safe from the German authorities. He could fill his belly in peace, and if he were shot down it would be as a free man, whereas if he stayed here he was bound to end in quod.

Wenk asked what he had to do to get into the Foreign Legion.

“Oh, that’s easier than ever it was,” answered the man. “Before the war you had to go to Belfort, but now that’s not necessary--you can join up here.”

“Well, that’s a good thing to know. What’s the address of their headquarters?”

“Oh, you only need go to the ‘Black Bull’ and ask for Poldringer, or else come in the evening to the tavern we went to yesterday, for he was sitting there. He had got a lot of them at his table, and I told him I’d think it over. If our honk-honk business comes off, I shan’t need to, though, but we can’t get hold of that d----d Ball; he’d want to stand in with us, but I expect he’s got something good on somewhere else. By the way, Poldringer was asking after you last night. You must belong to his part of the country, eh? He said he thought he knew you, but I told him you were from Basle and wanted to get two cars across, and he said, ‘Oh, then it can’t be the man from Munich,’ but I thought to myself a man might have been in Munich and yet be in Basle now, eh, mate?”

“I’ve never been in Munich,” said Wenk; “he must have mistaken me for someone else.”

“Well, it’s all the same thing, anyhow! We’ll get those cars through, eh? By the way, can you stand me a trifle of ready on the job?”

“A fifty?” asked Wenk.