The Devil's PawOppenheim, E. Phillips (Edward Phillips)
General
The Devil's Paw
Oppenheim, E. Phillips (Edward Phillips)
Detective and mystery stories
“Your bank book,” Julian repeated calmly. “As you only received your
last instalment from Germany this week, you probably have not yet had
time to purchase stocks and shares or property wherever your inclination
leads you. I imagine, therefore, that there would be a balance there of
something like thirty thousand pounds, the last payment made to you by a
German agent now in London.”
Fenn sprang to his feet. He had all the appearance of a man about to
make a vigorous and exhaustive defence. And then suddenly he swayed, his
face became horrible to look upon, his lips were twisted.
“Brandy!” he cried. “Some one give me brandy! I am ill!”
He collapsed in a heap. They carried him on to a seat set against the
wall, and Catherine bent over him. He lay there, moaning. They loosened
his collar and poured restoratives between his teeth. For a time he was
silent. Then the moaning began again. Julian returned to the table.
“Believe me,” he said earnestly, “this is as much a tragedy to me as
to any one present. I believe that every one of you here except--” he
glanced towards the sofa--“except those whom we will not name have gone
into this matter honestly, as I did. We’ve got to chuck it. Tear up your
telegrams. Let me go to see Stenson this minute. I see the truth about
this thing now as I never saw it before. There is no peace for us with
Germany until she is on her knees, until we have taken away all her
power to do further mischief. When that time comes let us be generous.
Let us remember that her working men are of the same flesh and blood as
ours and need to live as you need to live. Let us see that they are
left the means to live. Mercy to all of them--mercy, and all the
possibilities of a free and generous life. But to Hell with every one of
those who are responsible for the poison which has crept throughout all
ranks in Germany, which, starting from the Kaiser and his friends,
has corrupted first the proud aristocracy, then the industrious,
hard-working and worthy middle classes, and has even permeated to some
extent the ranks of the people themselves, destined by their infamous
ruler to carry on their shoulders the burden of an unnatural, ungodly,
and unholy ambition. There is much that I ought to say, but I fancy that
I have said enough. Germany must be broken, and you can do it. Let the
memory of those undispatched telegrams help you. Spend your time amongst
the men you represent. Make them see the truth. Make them understand
that every burden they lift, every time they wield the pickaxe, every
blow they strike in their daily work, helps. I was going to speak about
what we owe to the dead. I won’t. We must beat Germany to her knees. We
can and we will. Then will come the time for generosity.”
Phineas Cross struck the table with the flat of his hand.
“Boys,” he said, “I feel the sweat in every pore of my body. We’ve nigh
done a horrible thing. We are with you, Mr. Orden. But about that little
skunk there? How did you find him out?”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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