Kapitanleutnant Dirk Gaede, lean, dark, and ramrod-stiff, deadly earnest in everything, an excellent chief gunnery officer, was next. After him came Oberleutnant Kurt von Witthoeft, slight, happy-go-lucky, good humored, as seemed to be the nature of torpedo officers; Leutnant Oscar Ellenbroek, the stolid, chunky chief marine engineer; Leutnant Anton von Guerard, young, jaunty and Alsatian, the Emden's communications officer; Leutnant Eric Schali, half English, and the youngest of their division officers.
Leutnant Rudolph—"Rudi"—Voss was next to the last, and even though von Mueller saw him many times daily he could not help glancing at him twice. There was something almost fascinating in the man's ugliness. It was bad enough that he was short and square-built, with black beetling brows and hairy hands, but when an almost apelike cast of features was added the effect was startling, indeed. Yet there was not a greater heart in the entire Navy nor an officer better liked by his shipmates.
Still and all, it had come as a considerable surprise to everyone when, during their last official visit to Sydney, Rudi had abruptly married a beautiful musical hall chorine named Gertrude Nickerson. Of course, when von Mueller stopped to think about it, the logic of the sudden mating was clear to him. As a member of the fabulous Krupp family on his mother's side young Voss was almost indecently wealthy, and he must have seemed a rare opportunity to a girl of Trudi's background. No doubt she had long sickened of being pawed in low-grade night clubs, and had simply made up her mind to close her eves to his appearance and accept the brrter with the sweet. Rudi, on the other hand, had always been accustomed to having women shudder and shy away at the very sight of him. To have one—and an undeniably lovely one—even look twice in his direction was all that he needed. The rest, so far as Trudi was concerned, at least, had been simple.
For a time von Mueller had even thought that it might work out. But fudging from recent signs, he suspected the honeymoon was over for Trudi, anyway. Hers was hardly a steadfast character, and time had brought the inevitable revulsion. Fortunately for him. Rudi was still as deeply in love with his bride as ever, and had not yet noticed the all too obvious signs. Von Mueller shuddered to think what would happen when the discovery came. Indeed, he was more than a little worried already, for since the arrival of the Austrian cruiser Kaiserin Elizabeth a few days ago Trudi had been almost blatant in her flirtations with the Austrian officers.
At least, he thought somberly, that would be the bright side of mobilization, or even war, if it came. Either would send them racing to sea and away from Tsingtao, and for a time at least, Rudi's feelings would be spared.
But these were somber thoughts for such an occasion. His eyes moved on to Subleutnant Franz von Hohenzollern, the last in line, and at once he began to feel better. For all his failings, Franz was a cheerful fellow—a little on the lightweight side, perhaps, but nonetheless always good-humored, always gay; a man who could be counted upon to carry almost any social gathering on to success. As his name indicated, he boasted at least a remote connection with the Emperor, and this alone was enough to insure him a welcome wherever he went. Thus it might be said that in more ways than one he kept them all supplied with truffles and caviar, and between him, in his capacity as mess president, and stout Herman Schultz, the line civilian chef whom he had insisted upon engaging for the officers' galley, the Emden had come to enjoy an enviable reputation for the excellence of her entertainment and the quality of her cuisine. Indeed, whenever he was in port the old Admiral, the Count von Spec himself, made no secret of his preference for dining aboard the cruiser rather than in his own cabin, aboard the flagship.
The Captain's musings were cut short abruptly by a final booming crescendo from the organ, followed by complete, almost intense silence. He turned away from the row of stiffly uniformed ushers and looked dutifully to the front, toward the wedding party. The Bishop already stood at the altar rail, facing the young couple, his prayer book open in his hand, looking out over their heads almost forbiddingly, waiting—waiting. When the silence was at last thick and absolute, his voice boomed out:
"Dearly beloved . . . !"
Kapitan Karl von Mueller scarcely considered himself a connoisseur of such matters. To him it seemed that weddings were dull, dreary affairs. Accordingly, he was rather pleasantly surprised when in this case, once the ceremony was actually under way, the thing seemed to run off more rapidly than usual. Almost before he was aware that they had started, the whole thing was done and young Lange was kissing his new bride. The organ was triumphantly striking up the traditional recessional march.
Perhaps, von Mueller thought, it was just that he was so preoccupied with events in Europe that he was not fully aware of the passage of time.
The great reception hall, up the gracefully sweeping circular staircase at Government House, where visiting dignitaries were welcomed and affairs of state were customarily held, had already begun to fill when Karl Von Mueller arrived from the church. The receiving line was in full operation, and many had passed on to the champagne and punch bowl and the long tables of hors d'oeuvres that had been spread to precede the formal banquet.
As he and von Muecke joined the group waiting to pay their formal respects and offer congratulations, he noticed a couple just starting down the receiving line. The man was tall and trim, about his own age, with slightly graying hair, a weather-beaten face, and level gray eyes. He was wearing the uniform of a captain in the merchant service and the ribbon of a reservist. The woman was young and attractive, perhaps some dozen years his junior, with soft brown eyes and dark-honey-colored hair, a wide mouth, and the fresh pink complexion that seemed to stamp her at once as English.
"Ah, good!" von Mueller exclaimed at sight of them. "There's Lauterbach, of the Kratke. I hoped he would be here. If there's to be trouble, I want him with us."
There was no reply, and he looked to see if von Muecke had heard him. To his surprise, the exec was staring with an almost stunned expression at the pair. "Helmuth," he said, "did you—"
"He is with Caroline," von Muecke interrupted, apparently oblivious to all the Captain had said. "She said she was coming alone."
"Well," said von Mueller dryly, you will be able to ask her yourself in a moment, but if I read the signs correctly, I would say that five hundred Marks are as good as won."
Von Muecke flushed and made an effort to curb his impatience, but he did not deny the charge.
When his turn came to move down the line, von Mueller paid his proper and dutiful respects.
To the bride: "You were charming, Use, my dear girl. I was even jealous myself! Come! A kiss, now, if you expect special preference for your husband. That's customary, you know!"
To the groom: "Bunte, my boy! She is a prize, indeed, and you are a lucky man—and I might add, a credit to the ship. Well done!"
And to the bride's mother—^with greater reserve: "It was a beautiful wedding, madame. I am sure they will be most happy together."
The woman simpered, and von Mueller moved on hastily. Viktoria von Meyer-Waldeck was not one of his favorite hostesses. She was taller than her husband, and more than a little on the sturdy side. She was at least as old as von Mueller himself, yet she assumed an air of demure coyness, as if she were scarcely out of her teens. She always blatantly tried to flirt with him, and he was never comfortable in her presence.