Brothers -- Fiction; Mystery fiction; Spy stories; War stories; World War, 1914-1918 -- Secret service -- Fiction
"Herr Doktor," I said, "I don't want your money. I want to be fair with
you. When the ... the person we know of sends for you, we will go
together. You shall tell the large part you have played in this affair.
I only want credit for what I have done, nothing more...."
A knock came at the door. The porter entered.
"A telegram for the Herr Doktor," he said, presenting a salver.
Somewhere near by a band was playing dance music ... one of those
rousing, splendidly accented Viennese waltzes. There seemed to be a ball
on, for through the open door of the room, I heard, mingled with the
strains of the music, the sound of feet and the hum of voices.
Then the door closed, shutting out the outer world again.
"You permit me," said Grundt curtly, as he broke the seal of the
telegram. So as not to seem to observe him, I got up and walked across
to the window, and leaned against the warm radiator.
"Well?" said a voice from the arm-chair.
"Well?" I echoed.
"I have made you my proposal, Herr Doktor: you have made yours. Yours is
quite unacceptable. I have told you with great frankness why it is
necessary that I should have your portion of the document and the sum I
am prepared to pay for it. I set its value at five thousand dollars. I
will pay you the money over in cash, here and now, in good German
bank-notes, in exchange for those slips of paper."
The man's suavity had all but vanished: his voice was harsh and stern.
His eyes glittered under his shaggy brows as he looked at me. Had I been
less agitated, I should have noted this, as a portent of the coming
storm, also his great ape's hands picking nervously at the telegram in
his lap.
"I have already told you," I said firmly, "that I don't want your money.
You know my terms!"
He rose up from his seat and his figure seemed to tower.
"Terms?" he cried in a voice that quivered with suppressed passion,
"terms? Understand that I give orders. I accept terms from no man. We
waste time here talking. Come, take the money and give me the paper."
I shook my head. My brain was clear, but I felt the crisis was coming. I
took a good grip with my hands of the marble slab covering the radiator
behind me to give me confidence. The slab yielded: mechanically I noted
that it was loose.
The man in front of me was shaking with rage.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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