Maxwell Grant
Murder Trail
CHAPTER I
THE STOWAWAY
HEINRICH VON WERNDORFF, captain of the Munchen, was seated at the tiny desk in his cabin aboard the mammoth dirigible. The big airship was resting in its hangar at Friedrichshafen. From the window of the cabin, the captain could see the gloomy ground below, where occasional workmen passed back and forth. This was the night before the air liner’s scheduled voyage.
Captain von Werndorff was nervous. That was quite unusual. A veteran of numerous transatlantic flights, now commander of the newest and most airworthy dirigible that had ever been constructed, there was no apparent reason for Von Werndorff to be apprehensive.
Nevertheless, the captain’s heavy-jowled face wore a serious expression that indicated anxiety.
A rap at the door of the cabin. Von Werndorff swung in his chair. In a low, guttural tone, he ordered the visitor to come in. A young man, trim in uniform, entered and saluted with military procedure. This was Lieutenant Fritz von Salzburg, second in command aboard the Munchen.
Von Werndorff watched while his subordinate closed the door of the cabin. The lieutenant approached and leaned upon the table, to whisper these words close in the commander’s ear:
“The man has arrived, Herr Captain.”
“Where is he?” came Von Werndorff’s tense question. “You are sure that no one has seen him?”
“He has been unobserved, Herr Captain. I met him at the appointed place. I brought him aboard the dirigible. He is waiting in the corridor.”
Von Werndorff gave a relieved sigh. With a kindly commendation that one would not have expected from so stern an individual, he clapped his brawny hand upon the lieutenant’s back, and spoke in a tone that was almost fatherly.
“Excellent, Fritz,” he said, “excellent! You will show the visitor in, and then leave the ship. Wait below, and make sure that no one comes aboard. Above all, Fritz, remember—”
“My lips are closed, Herr Captain.”
A FULL minute passed, while Captain von Werndorff drummed upon the table. Again, the door of the cabin opened, and a short, heavy-set figure entered. This was the visitor — a man whose face could not be seen within the huge collar of the coat which he was wearing.
The visor of a large cap was over the man’s forehead; but when he saw that the captain sat alone, the visitor threw aside the cap and turned down his collar. Von Werndorff, rising, stood with his huge bulk at attention. His stern face was impassive, while his eyes gazed toward the solemn, haughty countenance of the shorter man before him.
A quiet smile appeared upon the visitor’s lips. The man motioned the commander to his chair, and took a seat beside the table.
“All is prepared?” he questioned, in an even voice.
“Yes, your excellency,” responded the captain.
“Good,” said the visitor, in a tone of satisfaction. “I knew that I could rely upon you, Von Werndorff.”
The commander bowed in acknowledgment. He had flown Zeppelins during the period of the War; and this man had been his superior then. Captain von Werndorff was loyalty personified. He had not forgotten.
“Baron Hugo von Tollsburg,” the captain began a low-voiced statement, “I shall always obey your orders—”
The visitor stopped Von Werndorff with an imperious gesture. He smiled wanly, and slowly shook his head as the captain became silent.
“Baron von Tollsburg is no more,” he said quietly. “The old regime is forgotten. Peace, not war, is my mission to-day. I told you that, Von Werndorff, when I visited you months ago, at the time when this great ship was in course of construction.”
“I remember,” nodded the commander.
“You promised then,” resumed the visitor, “to make the arrangements that I requested. I relied upon you — although I was not to see you until this night, the eve of your voyage to America. I am here, captain. I am ready. Let us go; it is unwise to remain in this cabin.”
Von Werndorff sprang to his feet. He opened the door of the cabin, and beckoned to the visitor. Von Tollsburg followed him along the corridor. On each side of the narrow passage were doorways, and here, in the gloom of lights set far apart, the great gondola of the dirigible seemed as cavernous as the interior of an ocean steamship.
With accommodations for more than one hundred persons, the Munchen was an air liner of mammoth dimensions, and Von Tollsburg, here for the first time, appreciated its great size to the full.
Captain von Werndorff stopped as he neared the end of the corridor. He was at a space where two doors on the left stood a full six feet apart. The same was true on the right. This section of the ship bore the appearance of a strengthening bulkhead.
The visitor watched in admiration as Captain von Werndorff drew a picklike instrument and ran it down the crevice at one side of the space between the doors. A muffled click occurred. The metal wall swung outward. The captain stood back and motioned his visitor to enter.
Von Tollsburg walked into a pitch-black room. The commander followed him; a click came, and the two were confined within the bulkhead.
Captain von Werndorff ran his hand along the wall, and a tiny light suddenly gleamed. It illuminated the room in which the two were standing. A small, windowless chamber, this was a secret room aboard the dirigible — a spot that no one would possibly have suspected.
“THIS is the apartment, your excellency,” said Von Werndorff, with a bow. “It is small; but I have spared no pains to make it habitable.”
He probed the farther wall with his pick. A small closet opened. Von Werndorff revealed shelves stocked with canned goods.
“This serves two purposes,” he explained. “It carries your supplies. It is also a ventilating shaft. Up here” — he pointed to an opening at the side of the closet — “is communication with the berth in the wall. Air is always there. Keep the closet door open during your waking hours — when you sleep, there is no need of worry.”
Then, stepping back, Von Werndorff pointed to the wall, and marked a crevice with his fingers.
“Two catches hold the berth,” he explained. “You will find no difficulty in operating it. I promised, your excellency, that you would be comfortable aboard my ship.”
“A stowaway de luxe;” responded Von Tollsburg, with a smile.
“Exactly,” acknowledged the commander.
“And as for America?” the visitor questioned.
“Our destination is Chicago,” declared Von Werndorff. “Weather conditions should be perfect. We shall arrive on schedule. I shall insist upon a thorough inspection of the ship for my own protection. After that, your departure will be easy. I shall arrange all.”
Hugo von Tollsburg extended his hand. The dirigible commander seized it warmly. The two men faced each other as sworn friends.
“Von Werndorff,” said the baron, in a tone that was low, but clear, “you have cooperated with me to perfection. When I visited you months ago, and told you that I wished to travel to America unbeknown, you agreed to my plan without question. You provided this secret place for my passage.
“I am ready for the voyage. I feel confident that all will occur as I have planned. These words are my farewell. I shall not speak again. When we arrive in the United States, come to this cabin and announce when the path is clear.”
“I shall obey,” responded the commander.
“Remember this,” added Von Tollsburg. “No one must ever know that Hugo von Tollsburg was aboard this airship. My mission is tremendously important. It must be preserved a secret. That is your only duty now.
“Whatever may occur in the future is my affair alone. Not one bit of evidence should remain to indicate that I came on board. You understand?”