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diff --git a/2417-h/2417-h.htm b/2417-h/2417-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..e542ff2 --- /dev/null +++ b/2417-h/2417-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,16501 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" +"http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=utf-8" /> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> +<title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Okewood of the Secret Service, by Valentine Williams</title> + +<style type="text/css"> + +body { margin-left: 20%; + margin-right: 20%; + text-align: justify; } + +h1, h2, h3, h4, h5 {text-align: center; font-style: normal; font-weight: +normal; line-height: 1.5; margin-top: .5em; margin-bottom: .5em;} + +h1 {font-size: 300%; + margin-top: 0.6em; + margin-bottom: 0.6em; + letter-spacing: 0.12em; + word-spacing: 0.2em; + text-indent: 0em;} +h2 {font-size: 150%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 1em;} +h3 {font-size: 130%; margin-top: 1em;} +h4 {font-size: 120%;} +h5 {font-size: 110%;} + +.no-break {page-break-before: avoid;} /* for epubs */ + +div.chapter {page-break-before: always; margin-top: 4em;} + +hr {width: 80%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 2em;} + +p {text-indent: 1em; + margin-top: 0.25em; + margin-bottom: 0.25em; } + +p.letter {text-indent: 0%; + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; } + +p.center {text-align: center; + text-indent: 0em; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; } + +p.right {text-align: right; + margin-right: 10%; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; } + +a:link {color:blue; text-decoration:none} +a:visited {color:blue; text-decoration:none} +a:hover {color:red} + +</style> + +</head> + +<body> + +<div style='text-align:center; font-size:1.2em; font-weight:bold'>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Okewood of the Secret Service, by Valentine Williams</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and +most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions +whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms +of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online +at <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you +are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the +country where you are located before using this eBook. +</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: Okewood of the Secret Service</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Valentine Williams</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Pseudonym: Douglas Valentine</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: December, 2000 [eBook #2417]<br /> +[Most recently updated: August 18, 2021]</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Character set encoding: UTF-8</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Produced by: Polly Stratton. HTML version by Al Haines.</div> +<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK OKEWOOD OF THE SECRET SERVICE ***</div> + +<h1>Okewood of the Secret Service</h1> + +<h2 class="no-break">by Valentine Williams</h2> + +<hr /> + +<h2>Contents</h2> + +<table summary="" style=""> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap01">CHAPTER I. THE DEPUTY TURN</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap02">CHAPTER II. CAPTAIN STRANGWISE ENTERTAINS A GUEST</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap03">CHAPTER III. MR. MACKWAYTE MEETS AN OLD FRIEND</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap04">CHAPTER IV. MAJOR OKEWOOD ENCOUNTERS A NEW TYPE</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap05">CHAPTER V. THE MURDER AT SEVEN KINGS</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap06">CHAPTER VI. “NAME O’BARNEY”</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap07">CHAPTER VII. NUR-EL-DIN</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap08">CHAPTER VIII. THE WHITE PAPER PACKAGE</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap09">CHAPTER IX. METAMORPHOSIS</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap10">CHAPTER X. D. O. R. A. IS BAFFLED</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap11">CHAPTER XI. CREDENTIALS</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap12">CHAPTER XII. AT THE MILL HOUSE</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap13">CHAPTER XIII. WHAT SHAKESPEARE’S COMEDIES REVEALED</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap14">CHAPTER XIV. BARBARA TAKES A HAND</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap15">CHAPTER XV. MR. BELLWARD IS CALLED TO THE TELEPHONE</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap16">CHAPTER XVI. THE STAR OF POLAND</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap17">CHAPTER XVII. MR. BELLWARD ARRANGES A BRIDGE EVENING</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap18">CHAPTER XVIII. THE GATHERING OF THE SPIES</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap19">CHAPTER XIX. THE UNINVITED GUEST</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap20">CHAPTER XX. THE ODD MAN</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap21">CHAPTER XXI. THE BLACK VELVET TOQUE</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap22">CHAPTER XXII. WHAT THE CELLAR REVEALED</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap23">CHAPTER XXIII. MRS. MALPLAQUET GOES DOWN TO THE CELLAR</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap24">CHAPTER XXIV. THE TWO DESERTERS</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap25">CHAPTER XXV. TO MRS. MALPLAQUET’S</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap26">CHAPTER XXVI. THE MAN IN THE SUMMER-HOUSE</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap27">CHAPTER XXVII. THE RED LACQUER ROOM</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap28">CHAPTER XXVIII. AN OFFER FROM STRANGWISE</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap29">CHAPTER XXIX. DOT AND DASH</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap30">CHAPTER XXX. HOHENLINDEN TRENCH</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap31">CHAPTER XXXI. THE £100,000 KIT</a></td> +</tr> + +</table> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap01"></a>CHAPTER I.<br/> +THE DEPUTY TURN</h2> + +<p> +Mr. Arthur Mackwayte slipped noiselessly into the dining-room and took his +place at the table. He always moved quietly, a look of gentle deprecation on +his face as much as to say: “Really, you know, I can’t help being +here: if you will just overlook me this time, by and by you won’t notice +I’m there at all!” That was how he went through life, a shy, +retiring little man, quiet as a mouse, gentle as a dove, modesty personified. +</p> + +<p> +That is, at least, how Mr. Arthur Mackwayte struck his friends in private life. +Once a week, however, he fairly screamed at the public from the advertisement +columns of “The Referee”: “Mackwayte, in his Celebrated +Kerbstone Sketches. Wit! Pathos! Tragedy!!! The Epitome of London Life. +Universally Acclaimed as the Greatest Portrayer of London Characters since the +late Chas. Dickens. In Tremendous Demand for Public Dinners. The Popular +Favorite. A Few Dates still Vacant. 23, Laleham Villas, Seven Kings. +’Phone” and so on. +</p> + +<p> +But only professionally did Mr. Mackwayte thus blow his own trumpet, and then +in print alone. For the rest, he had nothing great about him but his heart. A +long and bitter struggle for existence had left no hardness in his +smooth-shaven flexible face, only wrinkles. His eyes were gray and keen and +honest, his mouth as tender as a woman’s. +</p> + +<p> +His daughter, Barbara, was already at table pouring out the tea—high tea +is still an institution in music-hall circles. Mr. Mackwayte always gazed on +this tall, handsome daughter of his with amazement as the great miracle of his +life. He looked at her now fondly and thought how.... how distinguished, yes, +that was the word, she looked in the trim blue serge suit in which she went +daily to her work at the War Office. +</p> + +<p> +“Rations a bit slender to-night, daddy,” she said, handing him his +cup of tea, “only sardines and bread and butter and cheese. Our meatless +day, eh?” +</p> + +<p> +“It’ll do very well for me, Barbara, my dear,” he answered in +his gentle voice, “there have been times when your old dad was glad +enough to get a cup of tea and a bite of bread and butter for his supper. And +there’s many a one worse off than we are today!” +</p> + +<p> +“Any luck at the agent’s, daddy?” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Mackwayte shook his head. +</p> + +<p> +“These revues are fair killing the trade, my dear, and that’s a +fact. They don’t want art to-day, only rag-time and legs and all that. +Our people are being cruelly hit by it and that’s a fact. Why, who do you +think I ran into at Harris’ this morning? Why, Barney who used to work +with the great Charles, you know, my dear. For years he drew his ten pound a +week regular. Yet there he was, looking for a job the same as the rest of us. +Poor fellow, he <i>was</i> down on his luck!” +</p> + +<p> +Barbara looked up quickly. +</p> + +<p> +“Daddy, you lent him money....” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Mackwayte looked extremely uncomfortable. +</p> + +<p> +“Only a trifle, my dear, just a few shillings.... to take him over the +week-end.... he’s getting something.... he’ll repay me, I feel +sure....” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s too bad of you, daddy,” his daughter said severely. +“I gave you that ten shillings to buy yourself a bottle of whiskey. You +know he won’t pay you back. That Barney’s a bad egg!” +</p> + +<p> +“Things are going bad with the profession,” replied Mr. Mackwayte. +“They don’t seem to want any of us old stagers today, +Barbara!” +</p> + +<p> +“Now, daddy, you know I don’t allow you to talk like that. Why, you +are only just finished working.... the Samuel Circuit, too!” +</p> + +<p> +Barbara looked up at the old man quickly. +</p> + +<p> +“Only, four weeks’ trial, my dear.... they didn’t want me, +else they would have given me the full forty weeks. No, I expect I am getting +past my work. But it’s hard on you child....” +</p> + +<p> +Barbara sprang up and placed her hand across her father’s mouth. +</p> + +<p> +“I won’t have you talk like that, Mac”—that was her pet +name for him—“you’ve worked hard all your life and now +it’s my turn. Men have had it all their own way before this war came +along: now women are going to have a look in. Presently, when I get to be +supervisor of my section and they raise my pay again, you will be able to +refuse all offers of work. You can go down to Harris with a big cigar in your +mouth and patronize him, daddy...” +</p> + +<p> +The telephone standing on the desk in the corner of the cheap little room +tingled out sharply. Barbara rose and went across to the desk. Mr. Mackwayte +thought how singularly graceful she looked as she stood, very slim, looking at +him whimsically across the dinner-table, the receiver in her hand. +</p> + +<p> +Then a strange thing happened. Barbara quickly put the receiver down on the +desk and clasped her hands together, her eyes opened wide in amazement. +</p> + +<p> +“Daddy,” she cried, “it’s the Palaceum... the +manager’s office... they want you urgently! Oh, daddy, I believe it is an +engagement!” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Mackwayte rose to his feet in agitation, a touch of color creeping into his +gray cheeks. +</p> + +<p> +“Nonsense, my dear!” he answered, “at this time of night! +Why, it’s past eight... their first house is just finishing... they +don’t go engaging people at this time of day... they’ve got other +things to think of!” +</p> + +<p> +He went over to the desk and picked up the receiver. +</p> + +<p> +“Mackwayte speaking!” he said, with a touch of stage majesty in his +voice. +</p> + +<p> +Instantly a voice broke in on the other end of the wire, a perfect torrent of +words. +</p> + +<p> +“Mackwayte? Ah! I’m glad I caught you at home. Got your props +there? Good. Hickie of Hickie and Flanagan broke his ankle during their turn at +the first house just now, and I want you to take their place at the second +house. Your turn’s at 9.40: it’s a quarter past eight now: +I’ll have a car for you at your place at ten to nine sharp. Bring your +band parts and lighting directions with you... don’t forget! You get +twenty minutes, on! Right! Goodbye!” +</p> + +<p> +“The Palaceum want me to deputize for Hickie and Flanagan, my +dear,” he said a little tremulously, “9.40... the second house... +it’s... it’s very unexpected!” +</p> + +<p> +Barbara ran up and throwing her arms about his neck, kissed him. +</p> + +<p> +“How splendid!” she exclaimed, “the Palaceum, daddy! +You’ve never had an engagement like this before... the biggest hall in +London...!! +</p> + +<p> +“Only for a night, my dear,” said Mr. Mackwayte modestly. +</p> + +<p> +“But if they like you, daddy, if it goes down... what will you give them, +daddy?” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Mackwayte scratched his chin. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s the biggest theatre in London,” he mused, +“It’ll have to be broad effects... and they’ll want something +slap up modern, my dear, I’m thinking...” +</p> + +<p> +“No, no, daddy” his daughter broke in vehemently “they want +the best. This is a London audience, remember, not a half-baked provincial +house. This is London, Mac, not Wigan! And Londoners love their London! +You’ll give ’em the old London horse bus driver, the sporting +cabby, and I believe you’ll have time to squeeze in the hot potato +man...” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, like your poor dear mother, I expect you know what’s the +best I’ve got” replied Mr. Mackwayte, “but it’ll be a +bit awkward with a strange dresser... I can’t get hold of Potter at this +time, of night... and a stranger is sure to mix up my wigs and things...” +</p> + +<p> +“Why, daddy, I’m going with you to put out your things...” +</p> + +<p> +“But a lady clerk in the War Office, Barbara... a Government official, as +you might say... go behind at a music-hall... it don’t seem proper right, +my dear!” +</p> + +<p> +“Nonsense, Mac. Where’s your theatre trunk? Come along. We’ll +have to try and get a taxi!” +</p> + +<p> +“They’re sending a car at ten to nine, my dear!” +</p> + +<p> +“Good gracious! what swells we are! And it’s half-past eight +already! Who is on the bill with you?” +</p> + +<p> +“My dear, I haven’t an idea... I’m not very well up in the +London programmes, I’m afraid... but it is sure to be a good programme. +The Palaceum is the only house that’s had the courage to break away from +this rotten revue craze!” +</p> + +<p> +Barbara was in the hall now, her arms plunged to the shoulder in a great basket +trunk that smelt faintly of cocoa-butter. Right and left she flung coats and +hats and trousers and band parts, selecting with a sure eye the properties +which Mr. Mackwayte would require for the sketches he would play that evening. +In the middle of it all the throbbing of a car echoed down the quiet road +outside. Then there came a ring at the front door. +</p> + +<hr /> + +<p> +At half-past nine that night, Barbara found herself standing beside her father +in the wings of the vast Palaceum stage. Just at her back was the little +screened-off recess where Mr. Mackwayte was to make the quick changes that came +in the course of his turn. Here, since her arrival in the theatre, Barbara had +been busy laying out coats and hats and rigs and grease-paints on the little +table below the mirror with its two brilliant electric bulbs, whilst Mr. +Mackwayte was in his dressing-room upstairs changing into his first costume. +</p> + +<p> +Now, old Mackwayte stood at her elbow in his rig-out as an old London +bus-driver in the identical, characteristic clothes which he had worn for this +turn for the past 25 years. He was far too old a hand to show any nervousness +he might feel at the ordeal before him. He was chatting in undertones in his +gentle, confidential way to the stage manager. +</p> + +<p> +All around them was that curious preoccupied stillness—the hush of the +power-house—which makes the false world of the stage so singularly unreal +by contrast when watched from the back. The house was packed from floor to +ceiling, for the Palaceum’s policy of breaking away from revue and going +back to Mr. Mackwayte called “straight vaudeville” was triumphantly +justifying itself. +</p> + +<p> +Standing in the wings, Barbara could almost feel the electric current running +between the audience and the comedian who, with the quiet deliberation of the +finished artist, was going through his business on the stage. As he made each +of his carefully studied points, he paused, confident of the vast rustle of +laughter swelling into a hurricane of applause which never failed to come from +the towering tiers of humanity before him, stretching away into the roof where +the limelights blazed and spluttered. Save for the low murmur of voices at her +side, the silence behind the scenes was absolute. No one was idle. Everyone was +at his post, his attention concentrated on that diminutive little figure in the +ridiculous clothes which the spot-lights tracked about the stage. +</p> + +<p> +It was the high-water mark of modern music-hall development. The perfect +smoothness of the organization gave Barbara a great feeling of contentment for +she knew how happy her father must be. Everyone had been so kind to him. +“I shall feel a stranger amongst the top-liners of today, my dear,” +he had said to her in the car on their way to the hall. She had had no answer +ready for she had feared he spoke the truth. +</p> + +<p> +Yet everyone they had met had tried to show them that Arthur Mackwayte was not +forgotten. The stage-door keeper had known him in the days of the old Aquarium +and welcomed him by name. The comedian who preceded Mr. Mackwayte and who was +on the stage at that moment had said, “Hullo, Mac! Come to give us young +’uns some tips?” And even now the stage manager was talking over +old days with her father. +</p> + +<p> +“You had a rough but good schooling, Mac,” he was saying, +“but, by Jove, it gave us finished artists. If you saw the penny reading +line that comes trying to get a job here... and gets it, by Gad!... it’d +make you sick. I tell you I have my work cut out staving them off! It’s a +pretty good show this week, though, and I’ve given you a good place, +Mac... you’re in front of Nur-el-Din!” +</p> + +<p> +“Nur-el-Din?” repeated Mr. Mackwayte, “what is it, Fletcher? +A conjurer?” +</p> + +<p> +“Good Lord, man, where have you been living?” replied Fletcher. +“Nur-el-Din is the greatest vaudeville proposition since Lottie Collins. +Conjurer! That’s what she is, too, by Jove! She’s the newest thing +in Oriental dancers... Spaniard or something... wonderful clothes, what there +is of ’em... and jewelry... wait till you see her!” +</p> + +<p> +“Dear me,” said Mr. Mackwayte, “I’m afraid I’m a +bit behind the times. Has she been appearing here long?” +</p> + +<p> +“First appearance in London, old man, and she’s made good from the +word ‘Go!’ She’s been in Paris and all over the Continent, +and America, too, I believe, but she had to come to me to soar to the top of +the bill. I saw at once where <i>she</i> belonged! She’s a real artiste, +temperament, style and all that sort of thing and a damn good producer into the +bargain! But the worst devil that ever escaped out of hell never had a wickeder +temper! She and I fight all the time! Not a show, but she doesn’t keep +the stage waiting! But I won! I won’t have her prima donna tricks in this +theatre and so I’ve told her! Hullo, Georgie’s finishing...” +</p> + +<p> +The great curtain switched down suddenly, drowning a cascade of applause, and a +bundle of old clothes, twitching nerves, liquid perspiration and grease paint +hopped off the stage into the centre of the group. An electric bell trilled, +the limelights shut off, with a jerk that made the eyes ache, a back-cloth +soared aloft and another glided down into its place, the comedian took two, +three, four calls, then vanished into a horde of dim figures scuttling about in +the gloom. +</p> + +<p> +An electric bell trilled again and deep silence fell once more, broken only by +the hissing of the lights. +</p> + +<p> +“You ought to stop behind after your turn and see her, Mac,” the +stage manager’s voice went on evenly. “All right, Jackson! On you +go, Mac!” +</p> + +<p> +Barbara felt her heart jump. Now for it, daddy! +</p> + +<p> +The great curtain mounted majestically and Arthur Mackwayte, deputy turn, +stumped serenely on to the stage. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap02"></a>CHAPTER II.<br/> +CAPTAIN STRANGWISE ENTERTAINS A GUEST</h2> + +<p> +It was the slack hour at the Nineveh Hotel. The last groups about the +tea-tables in the Palm Court had broken up, the Tzigane orchestra had stacked +its instruments together on its little platform and gone home, and a gentle +calm rested over the great hotel as the forerunner of the coming dinner storm. +</p> + +<p> +The pre-dinner hour is the uncomfortable hour of the modern hotel de luxe. The +rooms seem uncomfortably hot, the evening paper palls, it is too early to dress +for dinner, so one sits yawning over the fire, longing for a fireside of +one’s own. At least that is how it strikes one from the bachelor +standpoint, and that is how it appeared to affect a man who was sitting hunched +up in a big arm-chair in the vestibule of the Nineveh Hotel on this winter +afternoon. +</p> + +<p> +His posture spoke of utter boredom. He sprawled full length in his chair, his +long legs stretched out in front of him, his eyes half-closed, various editions +of evening papers strewn about the ground at his feet. He was a tall, +well-groomed man, and his lithe, athletic figure looked very well in its neat +uniform. +</p> + +<p> +A pretty little woman who sat at one of the writing desks in the vestibule +glanced at him more than once. He was the sort of man that women look at with +interest. He had a long, shrewd, narrow head, the hair dark and close-cropped, +a big, bold, aquiline nose, and a firm masterful chin, dominated by a +determined line of mouth emphasised by a thin line of moustache. He would have +been very handsome but for his eyes, which, the woman decided as she glanced at +him, were set rather too close together. She thought she would prefer him as he +was now, with his eyes glittering in the fire-light through their long lashes. +</p> + +<p> +But what was most apparent was the magnificent physical fitness of the man. His +was the frame of the pioneer, the man of the earth’s open spaces and +uncharted wilds. He looked as hard as nails, and the woman murmured to herself, +as she went on with her note, “On leave from the front.” +</p> + +<p> +Presently, the man stirred, stretched himself and finally sat up. Then he +started, sprang to his feet, and strode easily across the vestibule to the +reception desk. An officer was standing there in a worn uniform, a very shabby +kit-bag by his side, a dirty old Burberry over his arm. +</p> + +<p> +“Okewood!” said the young man and touched the other on the +shoulder, “isn’t it Desmond Okewood? By Jove, I <i>am</i> glad to +see you!” +</p> + +<p> +The new-comer turned quickly. +</p> + +<p> +“Why, hullo,” he said, “if it isn’t Maurice Strangwise! +But, good heavens, man, surely I saw your name in the casualty list... missing, +wasn’t it?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yep!” replied the other smiling, “that’s so! +It’s a long story and it’ll keep! But tell me about yourself... +this,” he kicked the kit-bag with the toe of his boot, “looks like +a little leave! Just in from France?” +</p> + +<p> +He smiled again, baring his firm, white teeth, and looking at him Desmond +suddenly remembered, as one recalls a trifle, his trick of smiling. It was a +frank enough smile but... well, some people smile too much. +</p> + +<p> +“Got in just now by the leave train,” answered Desmond. +</p> + +<p> +“How much leave have you got?” asked Strangwise. +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” said the other, “it’s a funny thing, but I +don’t know!” +</p> + +<p> +“Say, are they giving unlimited leave over there now?” +</p> + +<p> +Desmond laughed. +</p> + +<p> +“Hardly,” he replied. “But the War Office just applied for me +to come over and here I am! What they want me for, whether it’s to advise +the War Council or to act as Quartermaster to the Jewish Battalion I +can’t tell you! I shan’t know until tomorrow morning! In the +meantime I’m going to forget the war for this evening!” +</p> + +<p> +“What are you going to do to-night?” asked Strangwise. +</p> + +<p> +Desmond began to check off on his fingers. +</p> + +<p> +“Firstly, I’m going to fill the biggest bath in this hotel with hot +water, get the biggest piece of Pears’ soap in London, and jump in: Then, +if my tailor hasn’t betrayed me, I’m going to put on dress clothes, +and whilst I am dressing summon Julien (if he’s maitre d’hôtel +here) to a conference, then I’m going to eat the best dinner that this +pub can provide. Then...” +</p> + +<p> +Strangwise interrupted him. +</p> + +<p> +“The bath is on you, if you like,” he said, “but the +dinner’s on me and a show afterwards. I’m at a loose end, old man, +and so are you, so we’ll hit up together! We’ll dine in the +restaurant here at 7.30, and Julien shall come up to your room so that you can +order the dinner. Is it a go?” +</p> + +<p> +“Rather,” laughed Desmond, “I’ll eat your dinner, +Maurice, and you shall tell me how you managed to break out of the casualty +list into the Nineveh Hotel. But what do all these anxious-looking gentry +want?” +</p> + +<p> +The two officers turned to confront a group of four men who were surveying them +closely. One of them, a fat, comfortable looking party with grizzled hair, on +seeing Desmond, walked up to him. +</p> + +<p> +“Hullo!” said Desmond, “it’s Tommy Spencer! How are +you, Spencer? What’s the betting in Fleet Street on the war lasting +another five years? Have you come to interview me?” +</p> + +<p> +The tubby little man beamed and shook hands effusively. +</p> + +<p> +“Glad to see you looking so well, Major,” he said, +“It’s your friend we want...” +</p> + +<p> +“What? Strangwise? Here, Maurice, come meet my friend Tommy Spencer of +the “Daily Record,” whom I haven’t seen since we went on +manoeuvres together down at Aldershot! Captain Strangwise, Tommy Spencer! Now, +then, fire away; Spencer!” +</p> + +<p> +Strangwise smiled and shook his head. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m very pleased to know your friend, Desmond,” he said, +“but, you know, I can’t talk! I had the strictest orders from the +War Office... It’s on account of the other fellows, you know...” +</p> + +<p> +Desmond looked blankly at him. Then he—turned to Spencer. +</p> + +<p> +“You must let me into this, Spencer,” he said, “what’s +old Maurice been up to? Has he been cashiered for wearing shoes or what?” +</p> + +<p> +Spencer’s manner became a trifle formal. +</p> + +<p> +“Captain Strangwise has escaped from a prisoners’ of war camp in +Germany, Major,” he said, “we’ve been trying to get hold of +him for days! He’s the talk of London!” +</p> + +<p> +Desmond turned like a shot. +</p> + +<p> +“Maurice!” he cried, “’pon my soul, I’m going to +have an interesting evening... why, of course, you are just the sort of fellow +to do a thing like that. But, Spencer, you know, it won’t do... fellows +are never allowed to talk to the newspaper men about matters of this kind. And +if you’re a good fellow, Spencer, you won’t even say that you have +seen Strangwise here... you’ll only get him into trouble!” +</p> + +<p> +The little man looked rather rueful. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, of course, Major, if you put it that way,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“... And you’ll use your influence to make those other fellows with +you drop it, will you, Spencer? And then come along to the bar and we’ll +have a drink for old times’ sake!” +</p> + +<p> +Spencer seemed doubtful about the success of his representations to his +colleagues but he obediently trotted away. Apparently, he succeeded in his +mission for presently he joined the two officers alone in the American Bar. +</p> + +<p> +“I haven’t seen Strangwise for six months, Spencer,” said +Desmond over his second cocktail. “Seeing him reminds me how astonishing +it is the way fellows drop apart in war. Old Maurice was attached to the +Brigade of which I am the Brigade Major as gunner officer, and we lived +together for the best part of three months, wasn’t it, Maurice? Then he +goes back to his battery and the next thing I hear of him is that he is +missing. And then I’m damned if he doesn’t turn up here!” +</p> + +<p> +Spencer cocked an eye at Strangwise over his Martini. +</p> + +<p> +“I’d like to hear your story, despite the restrictions,” he +said. +</p> + +<p> +Strangwise looked a trifle embarrassed. +</p> + +<p> +“Maybe I’ll tell you one day,” he replied in his quiet way, +“though, honestly, there’s precious little to tell...” +</p> + +<p> +Desmond marked his confusion and respected him for it. He rushed in to the +rescue. +</p> + +<p> +“Spencer,” he said abruptly, “what’s worth seeing in +London? We are going to a show to-night. I want to be amused, mark you, not +elevated!” +</p> + +<p> +“Nur-el-Din at the Palaceum,” replied the reporter. +</p> + +<p> +“By Jove, we’ll go there,” said Desmond, turning to Maurice. +“Have you ever seen her? I’m told she’s perfectly +marvelous...” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s an extraordinarily artistic turn,” said Spencer, +“and they’re doing wonderful business at the Palaceum. You’d +better go and see the show soon, though, for they tell me the lady is leaving +the programme.” +</p> + +<p> +“<i>No!</i>” exclaimed Strangwise so suddenly that Desmond turned +round and stared at him. “I thought she was there for months +yet...” +</p> + +<p> +“They don’t want her to go,” answered Spencer, +“she’s a perfect gold-mine to them but I gather the lady is +difficult... in fact, to put it bluntly she’s making such a damn nuisance +of herself with her artistic temperament that they can’t get on with her +at all.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you know this lady of the artistic temperament, Maurice?” asked +Desmond. +</p> + +<p> +Strangwise hesitated a moment. +</p> + +<p> +“I met her in Canada a few years ago,” he said slowly, “she +was a very small star then. She’s a very handsome and attractive girl, in +spite of our friend’s unfavorable verdict. There’s something +curiously real about her dancing, too, that you don’t find in this sort +of show as a rule!” +</p> + +<p> +He stopped a moment, then added abruptly: +</p> + +<p> +“We’ll go along to the Palaceum to-night, if you like, +Desmond,” and Desmond joyfully acquiesced. To one who has been living for +weeks in an ill-ventilated pill-box on the Passchendaele Ridge, the lights and +music and color of a music-hall seem as a foretaste of Paradise. +</p> + +<p> +And that was what Desmond Okewood thought as a few hours later he found himself +with Maurice Strangwise in the stalls of the vast Palaceum auditorium. In the +unwonted luxury of evening clothes he felt clean and comfortable, and the cigar +he way smoking was the climax of one of Julien’s most esoteric efforts. +</p> + +<p> +The cards on either side of the proscenium opening bore the words: +“Deputy Turn.” On the stage was a gnarled old man with ruddy cheeks +and a muffler. a seedy top hat on his head, a coaching whip in his hand, the +old horse bus-driver of London in his habit as he had lived. The old fellow +stood there and just talked to the audience of a fine sporting class of men +that petrol has driven from the streets, without exaggerated humor or pathos. +Desmond, himself a born Cockney, at once fell under the actor’s spell and +found all memories of the front slipping away from him as the old London street +characters succeeded one another on the stage. Then the orchestra blared out, +the curtain descended, and the house broke into a great flutter of applause. +</p> + +<p> +Desmond, luxuriating in his comfortable stall puffed at his cigar and fell into +a pleasant reverie. +</p> + +<p> +He was contrasting the ghastly nightmare of mud and horrors from which he had +only just emerged with the scene of elegance, of civilization; around him. +</p> + +<p> +Suddenly, his attention became riveted on the stage. The atmosphere of the +theatre had changed. Always quick at picking up “influences,” +Desmond instantly sensed a new mood in the throngs around him. A presence was +in the theatre, an instinct-awakening, a material influence. The great audience +was strangely hushed. The air was heavy with the scent of incense. The stringed +instruments and oboes in the orchestra were wandering into rhythmic +[Updater’s note: a line appears to be missing from the source here] +dropped. +</p> + +<p> +Maurice touched his elbow. +</p> + +<p> +“There she is!” he said. +</p> + +<p> +Desmond felt inclined to shake him off roughly. The interruption jarred on him. +For he was looking at this strangely beautiful girl with her skin showing very +brown beneath a wonderful silver tiara-like headdress, and in the broad +interstices of a cloth-of-silver robe with short, stiffly wired-out skirt. She +was seated, an idol, on a glittering black throne, at her feet with their +tapering dyed nails a fantastically attired throng of worshipers. +</p> + +<p> +The idol stirred into life, the music of the orchestra died away. Then a +tom-tom began to beat its nervous pulse-stirring throb, the strident notes of a +reed-pipe joined in and the dancer, raised on her toes on the dais, began to +sway languorously to and fro. And so she swayed and swayed with sinuously +curving limbs while the drums throbbed out faster with ever-shortening beats, +with now and then a clash of brazen cymbals that was torture to overwrought +nerves. +</p> + +<p> +The dancer was the perfection of grace. Her figure was lithe and supple as a +boy’s. There was a suggestion of fire and strength and agility about her +that made one think of a panther as she postured there against a background of +barbaric color. The grace of her movements, the exquisite blending of the +colors on the stage, the skillful grouping of the throng of worshipers, made up +a picture which held the audience spellbound and in silence until the curtain +dropped. +</p> + +<p> +Desmond turned to find Strangwise standing up. +</p> + +<p> +“I thought of just running round behind the scenes for a few +minutes,” he said carelessly. +</p> + +<p> +“What, to see Nur-el-Din? By Jove, I’m coming, too!” promptly +exclaimed Desmond. +</p> + +<p> +Strangwise demurred. He didn’t quite know if he could take him: there +might be difficulties: another time... But Desmond got up resolutely. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll be damned if you leave me behind, Maurice,” he laughed, +“of course I’m coming, too! She’s the most delightful +creature I’ve ever set eyes on!” +</p> + +<p> +And so it ended by them going through the pass-door together. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap03"></a>CHAPTER III.<br/> +MR. MACKWAYTE MEETS AN OLD FRIEND</h2> + +<p> +That night Nur-el-Din kept the stage waiting for five minutes. It was a climax +of a long series of similar unpardonable crimes in the music-hall code. The +result was that Mr. Mackwayte, after taking four enthusiastic +“curtains,” stepped off the stage into a perfect pandemonium. +</p> + +<p> +He found Fletcher, the stage manager, livid with rage, surrounded by the +greater part of the large suite with which the dancer traveled. There was +Madame’s maid, a trim Frenchwoman, Madame’s business manager, a +fat, voluble Italian, Madame’s secretary, an olive-skinned South American +youth in an evening coat with velvet collar, and Madame’s principal male +dancer in a scanty Egyptian dress with grotesquely painted face. They were all +talking at the same time, and at intervals Fletcher muttered hotly: “This +time she leaves the bill or I walk out of the theatre!” +</p> + +<p> +Then a clear voice cried: +</p> + +<p> +“<i>Me voila!</i>” and a dainty apparition in an ermine wrap +tripped into the centre of the group, tapped the manager lightly on the +shoulder and said: +</p> + +<p> +“<i>Allons!</i> I am ready!” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Mackwayte’s face creased its mask of paint into a thousand wrinkles. +For, on seeing him, the dancer’s face lighted up, and, running to him +with hands outstretched, she cried: +</p> + +<p> +“<i>Tiens!</i> Monsieur Arthur!” while he ejaculated: +</p> + +<p> +“Why, it’s little Marcelle!” +</p> + +<p> +But now the stage manager interposed. He whisked Madame’s wrap off her +with one hand and with the other, firmly propelled her on to the stage. She let +him have his way with a merry smile, dark eyes and white teeth flashing, but as +she went she said to Mr. Mackwayte: +</p> + +<p> +“My friend, wait for me! <i>Et puis nous causerons!</i> We will +’ave a talk, <i>n’est-ce pas?</i>” +</p> + +<p> +“A very old friend of mine, my dear,” Mr. Mackwayte said to Barbara +when, dressed in his street clothes, he rejoined her in the wings where she +stood watching Nur-el-Din dancing. “She was an acrobat in the Seven +Duponts, a turn that earned big money in the old days. It must be... +let’s see... getting on for twenty years since I last set eyes on her. +She was a pretty kid in those days! God bless my soul! Little Marcelle a big +star! It’s really most amazing!” +</p> + +<p> +Directly she was off the stage, Nur-el-Din came straight to Mr. Mackwayte, +pushing aside her maid who was waiting with her wrap. +</p> + +<p> +“My friend,” she cooed in her pretty broken English, “I am so +glad, so glad to see you. And this is your girl... ah! she ’as your eyes, +Monsieur Arthur, your nice English gray eyes! Such a big girl... ah! but she +make me feel old!” +</p> + +<p> +She laughed, a pretty gurgling laugh, throwing back her head so that the +diamond collar she was wearing heaved and flashed. +</p> + +<p> +“But you will come to my room, <i>hein?</i>” she went on. +“Marie, my wrap!” and she led the way to the lift. +</p> + +<p> +Nur-el-Din’s spacious dressing-room seemed to be full of people and +flowers. All her little court was assembled amid a perfect bower of hot-house +blooms and plants. Head and shoulders above everybody else in the room towered +the figure of an officer in uniform, with him another palpable Englishman in +evening dress. +</p> + +<p> +Desmond Okewood thought he had never seen anything in his life more charming +than the picture the dancer made as she came into the room. Her wrap had fallen +open and beneath the broad bars of her cloth-of-silver dress her bosom yet rose +and fell after the exertions of her dance. A jet black curl had strayed out +from beneath her lofty silver head-dress, and she thrust it back in its place +with one little brown bejeweled hand whilst she extended the other to +Strangwise. +</p> + +<p> +“<i>Tiens, mon capitaine!</i>” she said. Desmond was watching her +closely, fascinated by her beauty, but noticed an unwilling, almost a hostile +tone, in her voice. +</p> + +<p> +Strangwise was speaking in his deep voice. +</p> + +<p> +“Marcelle,” he said, “I’ve brought a friend who is +anxious to meet you. Major Desmond Okewood! He and I soldiered together in +France!” The dancer turned her big black eyes full on Desmond as she held +out her hand to him. +</p> + +<p> +“Old friends, new friends,” she cried, clapping, her hands like a +child, “I love friends. Captaine, here is a very old friend,” she +said to Strangwise as Mr. Mackwayte and Barbara came into the rooms, +“Monsieur Arthur Mackwayte and ’is daughter. I ’ave know +Monsieur Arthur almos’ all my life. And, Mademoiselle, permit me? I +introduce le Captaine Strangwise and ’is friend... what is the name? Ah, +Major Okewood!” +</p> + +<p> +Nur-el-Din sank into a <i>bergère</i> chair beside her great mirror. +</p> + +<p> +“There are too many in this room,” she cried, “there is no +air! Lazarro, Ramiro, all of you, go outside, my friends!” +</p> + +<p> +As Madame’s entourage surged out, Strangwise said: +</p> + +<p> +“I hear you are leaving the Palaceum, Marcelle!” +</p> + +<p> +He spoke so low that Mr. Mackwayte and Barbara, who were talking to Desmond, +did not hear. Marcelle, taking off her heavy head-dress, answered quickly: +</p> + +<p> +“Who told you that?” +</p> + +<p> +“Never mind,” replied Strangwise. “But you never told me you +were going. Why didn’t you?” +</p> + +<p> +His voice was stern and hard now, very different from his usual quiet and +mellow tones. But he was smiling. +</p> + +<p> +Marcelle cast a glance over her shoulder. Barbara was looking round the room +and caught the reflection of the dancer’s face in a mirror hanging on the +wall. To her intense astonishment, she saw a look of despair, almost of terror, +in Nur-el-Din’s dark eyes. It was like the frightened stare of some +hunted beast. Barbara was so much taken aback that she instinctively glanced +over her shoulder at the door, thinking that the dancer had seen something +there to frighten her. But the door was shut. When Barbara looked into the +mirror again, she saw only the reflection of Nur-el-Din’s pretty neck and +shoulders. The dancer was talking again in low tones to Strangwise. +</p> + +<p> +But Barbara swiftly forgot that glimpse of the dancer’s face in the +glass. For she was very happy. Happiness, like high spirits, is eminently +contagious, and the two men at her side were supremely content. +</p> + +<p> +Her father’s eyes were shining with his little success of the evening: on +the way upstairs Fletcher had held out hopes to him of a long engagement at the +Palaceum while as for the other, he was radiant with the excitement of his +first night in town after long months of campaigning. +</p> + +<p> +He was thinking that his leave had started most propitiously. After a man has +been isolated for months amongst muddy masculinity, the homeliest woman will +find favor in his eyes. And to neither of these women, in whose presence he so +unexpectedly found himself within a few hours of landing in England, could the +epithet “homely” be applied. Each represented a distinct type of +beauty in herself, and Desmond, as he chatted with Barbara, was mentally +contrasting the two women. Barbara, tall and slim and very healthy, with her +braided brown hair, creamy complexion and gray eyes, was essentially English. +She was the typical woman of England, of England of the broad green valleys and +rolling downs and snuggling hamlets, of England of the white cliffs gnawed by +the restless ocean. The other was equally essentially a woman of the South. Her +dark eyes, her upper lip just baring her firm white teeth, spoke of hot Latin +or gypsy blood surging in her veins. Hers was the beauty of the East, sensuous, +arresting, conjuring up pictures of warm, perfumed nights, the thrumming of +guitars, a great yellow moon hanging low behind the palms. +</p> + +<p> +“Barbara!” called Nur-el-Din from the dressing table. Mr. Mackwayte +had joined her there and was chatting to Strangwise. +</p> + +<p> +“You will stay and talk to me while I change <i>n’est-ce pas?</i> +Your papa and these gentlemen are going to drink a whiskey-soda with that +animal Fletcher... <i>quel homme terrible</i>... and you shall join them +presently.” +</p> + +<p> +The men went out, leaving Barbara alone with the dancer. Barbara noticed how +tired Nur-el-Din was looking. Her pretty, childish ways seemed to have +evaporated with her high spirits. Her face was heavy and listless. There were +lines round her eyes, and her mouth had a hard, drawn look. +</p> + +<p> +“Child,” she said, “give me, please, my <i>peignoir</i>... it +is behind the door,... and, I will get this paint off my face!” +</p> + +<p> +Barbara fetched the wrapper and sat down beside the dancer. But Nur-el-Din did +not move. She seemed to be thinking. Barbara saw the hunted look she had +already observed in her that evening creeping over her face again. +</p> + +<p> +“It is a hard life; this life of ours, a life of change, <i>ma +petite!</i> A great artiste has no country, no home, no fireside! For the past +five years I have been roaming about the world! Often I think I will settle +down, but the life holds me!” +</p> + +<p> +She took up from her dressing-table a little oblong plain silver box. +</p> + +<p> +“I want to ask you a favor, <i>ma petite</i> Barbara!” she said. +“This little box is a family possession of mine: I have had it for many +years. The world is so disturbed to-day that life is not safe for anybody who +travels as much as I do! You have a home, a safe home with your dear father! He +was telling me about it! Will you take this little box and keep it safely for +me until... until... the war is over... until I ask you for it?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, of course,” said Barbara, “if you wish it, though, what +with these air raids, I don’t know that London is particularly safe, +either.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah! that is good of you,” cried Nur-el-Din, “anyhow, the +little box is safer with you than with me. See, I will wrap it up and seal it, +and then you will take it home with you, <i>n’est-ce pas?</i>” +</p> + +<p> +She opened a drawer and swiftly hunting among its contents produced a sheet of +white paper, and some sealing-wax. She wrapped the box in the paper and sealed +it up, stamping the seals with a camel signet ring she drew off her finger. +Then she handed the package to Barbara. +</p> + +<p> +There was a knock at the door. The maid, noiselessly arranging Madame’s +dresses in the corner opened it. +</p> + +<p> +“You will take care of it well for me,” the dancer said to Barbara, +and her voice vibrated with a surprising eagerness, “you will guard it +preciously until I come for it...” She laughed and added carelessly: +“Because it is a family treasure, a life <i>mascotte</i> of mine, +<i>hein?</i>” +</p> + +<p> +Then they heard Strangwise’s deep voice outside. +</p> + +<p> +Nur-el-Din started. +</p> + +<p> +“Le Captaine is there, Madame,” said the French maid, +“’e say Monsieur Mackwayte ask for Mademoiselle!” +</p> + +<p> +The dancer thrust a little hand from the folds of her silken kimono. +</p> + +<p> +“<i>Au revoir, ma petite</i>,” she said, “we shall meet +again. You will come and see me, <i>n’est-ce pas?</i> And say nothing to +anybody about...” she pointed to Barbara’s bag where the little +package was reposing, “it shall be a secret between us, <i>hein?</i> +Promise me this, <i>mon enfant!</i>” +</p> + +<p> +“Of course, I promise, if you like!” said Barbara, wonderingly. +</p> + +<hr /> + +<p> +At half-past eight the next morning Desmond Okewood found himself in the +ante-room of the Chief of the Secret Service in a cross and puzzled mood. The +telephone at his bedside had roused him at 8 a.m. from the first sleep he had +had in a real bed for two months. In a drowsy voice he had protested that he +had an appointment at the War Office at 10 o’clock, but a curt voice had +bidden him dress himself and come to the Chief forthwith. Here he was, +accordingly, breakfastless, his chin smarting from a hasty shave. What the +devil did the Chief want with him anyhow? <i>He</i> wasn’t in the Secret +Service, though his brother, Francis, was. +</p> + +<p> +A voice broke in upon his angry musing. +</p> + +<p> +“Come in, Okewood!” it said. +</p> + +<p> +The Chief stood at the door of his room, a broad-shouldered figure in a plain +jacket suit. Desmond had met him before. He knew him for a man of many +questions but of few confidences, yet his recollection of him was of a suave, +imperturbable personality. To-day, however, the Chief seemed strangely +preoccupied. There was a deep line between his bushy eyebrows as he bent them +at Desmond, motioning him to a chair. When he spoke, his manner was very curt. +</p> + +<p> +“What time did you part from the Mackwaytes at the theatre last +night?” +</p> + +<p> +Desmond was dumbfounded. How on earth did the Chief know about his visit to the +Palaceum? Still, he was used to the omniscience of the British Intelligence, so +he answered promptly: +</p> + +<p> +“It was latish, sir; about midnight, I think!” +</p> + +<p> +“They went home to Seven Kings alone!” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, sir, in a taxi!” Desmond replied. +</p> + +<p> +The Chief contemplated his blotting-pad gloomily. Desmond knew it for a trick +of his when worried. +</p> + +<p> +“Did you have a good night?” he said to Desmond, suddenly. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” he said, not in the least understanding the drift of the +question. “... though I didn’t mean to get up quite so +early!” +</p> + +<p> +The Chief ignored this sally. +</p> + +<p> +“Nothing out of the ordinary happened during the night, I suppose?” +he asked again. +</p> + +<p> +Desmond shook his head. +</p> + +<p> +“Nothing that I know of, sir,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“Seen Strangwise this morning?” +</p> + +<p> +Desmond gasped for breath. So the Chief knew about him meeting Strangwise, too! +</p> + +<p> +“No, sir!” +</p> + +<p> +A clerk put his head in at the door. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, Matthews!” +</p> + +<p> +“Captain Strangwise will be along very shortly, sir,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +The Chief looked up quickly. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, he’s all right then! Good.” +</p> + +<p> +“And, sir,” Matthews added, “Scotland Yard telephoned to say +that the doctor is with Miss Mackwayte now.” +</p> + +<p> +Desmond started up. +</p> + +<p> +“Is Miss Mackwayte ill?” he exclaimed. +</p> + +<p> +The Chief answered slowly, as Matthews withdrew: “Mr. Mackwayte was found +murdered at his house early this morning!” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap04"></a>CHAPTER IV.<br/> +MAJOR OKEWOOD ENCOUNTERS A NEW TYPE</h2> + +<p> +There is a sinister ring about the word “murder,” which reacts upon +even the most hardened sensibility. Edgar Allan Poe, who was a master of the +suggestive use of words, realized this when he called the greatest detective +story ever written “The Murders in the Rue Morgue.” From the very +beginning of the war, Desmond had seen death in all its forms but that word +“murdered,” spoken with slow emphasis in the quiet room, gave him +an ugly chill feeling round the heart that he had never experienced on the +battlefield. +</p> + +<p> +“Murdered!” Desmond repeated dully and sat down. He felt stunned. +He was not thinking of the gentle old man cruelly done to death or of the +pretty Barbara prostrate with grief. He was overawed by the curious fatality +that had plucked him from the horrors of Flanders only to plunge him into a +tragedy at home. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said the Chief bluntly, “by a burglar +apparently—the house was ransacked!” +</p> + +<p> +“Chief,” he broke out, “you must explain. I’m all at +sea! Why did you send for me? What have you got to do with criminal cases, +anyway? Surely, this is a Scotland Yard matter!” +</p> + +<p> +The Chief shook his head. +</p> + +<p> +“I sent for you in default of your brother, Okewood!” he said. +“You once refused an offer of mine to take you into my service, but this +time I had to have you, so I got the War Office to wire...” +</p> + +<p> +“Then my appointment for ten o’clock to-day was with you?” +Desmond exclaimed in astonishment. +</p> + +<p> +The Chief nodded. +</p> + +<p> +“It was,” he said curtly. +</p> + +<p> +“But,” protested Desmond feebly, “did you know about this +murder beforehand!” +</p> + +<p> +The Chief threw back his head and laughed. +</p> + +<p> +“My dear fellow,” he said; “I’m not quite so deep as +all that. I haven’t second sight, you know!” +</p> + +<p> +“You’ve got something devilish like it, sir!” said Desmond. +“How on earth did you know that I was at the Palaceum last night?” +</p> + +<p> +The Chief smiled grimly. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, that’s very simple,” he said. “Shall I tell you +some more about yourself? You sat...” he glanced down at the desk in +front of him,”... in Stall E 52 and, after Nur-el-Din’s turn, +Strangwise took you round and introduced you to the lady. In her dressing-room +you met Mr. Mackwayte and his daughter. After that...” +</p> + +<p> +“But,” Desmond interrupted quickly, “I must have been +followed by one of your men. Still, I can’t see why my movements should +interest the Secret Service, sir!” +</p> + +<p> +The Chief remained silent for a moment. Then he said: +</p> + +<p> +“Fate often unexpectedly takes a hand in this game of ours, Okewood. I +sent for you to come back from France but old man Destiny wouldn’t leave +it at that. Almost as soon as you landed he switched you straight on to a trail +that I have been patiently following up for months past. That trail +is...” +</p> + +<p> +The telephone on the desk rang sharply. +</p> + +<p> +“Whose trail?” Desmond could not forbear to ask as the Chief took +off the receiver. +</p> + +<p> +“Just a minute,” the Chief said. Then he spoke into the telephone: +</p> + +<p> +“Marigold? Yes. Really? Very well, I’ll come straight along now... +I’ll be with you in twenty minutes. Good-bye!” +</p> + +<p> +He put down the receiver and rose to his feet. +</p> + +<p> +“Okewood,” he cried gaily, “what do you say to a little +detective work? That was Marigold of the Criminal Investigation Department... +he’s down at Seven Kings handling this murder case. I asked him to let me +know when it would be convenient for me to come along and have a look round, +and he wants me to go now. Two heads are better than one. You’d better +come along!” +</p> + +<p> +He pressed a button on the desk. +</p> + +<p> +The swift and silent Matthews appeared. +</p> + +<p> +“Matthews,” he said, “when Captain Strangwise comes, please +tell him I’ve been called away and ask him to call back here at two +o’clock to see me.” +</p> + +<p> +He paused and laid a lean finger reflectively along his nose. +</p> + +<p> +“Are you lunching anywhere, Okewood?” he said. Desmond shook his +head. +</p> + +<p> +“Then you will lunch with me, eh? Right. Come along and we’ll try +to find the way to Seven Kings.” +</p> + +<p> +The two men threaded the busy corridors to the lift which deposited them at the +main entrance. A few minutes later the Chief was dexterously guiding his +Vauxhall car through the crowded traffic of the Strand, Desmond beside him on +the front seat. +</p> + +<p> +Desmond was completely fogged in his mind. He couldn’t see light +anywhere. He asked himself in vain what possible connection could exist between +this murder in an obscure quarter of London and the man at his side who, he +knew, held in his firm hands lines that stretched to the uttermost ends of the +earth? What kind of an affair was this, seemingly so commonplace that could +take the Chief’s attention from the hundred urgent matters of national +security that occupied him? +</p> + +<p> +The Chief seemed absorbed in his driving and Desmond felt it would be useless +to attempt to draw him out. They wended their way through the city and out into +the squalid length of the Mile End Road. Then the Chief began to talk. +</p> + +<p> +“I hate driving through the City,” he exclaimed, “but I +always think it’s good for the nerves. Still, I have a feeling that I +shall smash this old car up some day. That friend of yours, Strangwise, now +he’s a remarkable man! Do you know his story?” +</p> + +<p> +“About his escape from Germany?” asked Desmond. +</p> + +<p> +The Chief nodded. +</p> + +<p> +“He told me something about it at dinner last night,” said Desmond, +“but he’s such a modest chap he doesn’t seem to like talking +about it!” +</p> + +<p> +“He must have a cool nerve,” replied the Chief, “he +doesn’t know a word of German, except a few scraps he picked up in camp. +Yet, after he got free, he made his way alone from somewhere in Hanover clear +to the Dutch frontier. And I tell you he kept his eyes and ears open!” +</p> + +<p> +“Was he able to tell you anything good” asked Desmond. +</p> + +<p> +“The man’s just full of information. He couldn’t take a note +of any kind, of course, but he seems to have a wonderful memory. He was able to +give us the names of almost every unit of troops he came across.” +</p> + +<p> +He stopped to skirt a tram, then added suddenly: +</p> + +<p> +“Do you know him well, Okewood?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, I think I do,” said Desmond. “I lived with him for +about three months in France, and we got on top-hole together. He’s a man +absolutely without fear.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” agreed the Chief. “But what about his judgment? Would +you call him a well-balanced fellow? Or is he one of these harum-scarum soldier +of fortune sort of chaps?” +</p> + +<p> +“I should say he was devilish shrewd,” replied the other. +“Strangwise is a very able fellow and a fine soldier. The Brigadier +thought a lot of him. There’s very little about artillery work that +Strangwise doesn’t know. Our Brigadier’s a good judge, too... he +was a gunner himself once, you know.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m glad to hear you say that,” answered the Chief, +“because there are some things he has told us, about the movements of +troops, particularly, that don’t agree in the least with our own +Intelligence reports. I am an old enough hand at my job to know that very often +one man may be right where fifty independent witnesses are dead wrong. Yet our +reports from Germany have been wonderfully accurate on the whole.” +</p> + +<p> +He stopped. +</p> + +<p> +“Tell me,” he asked suddenly, “is Strangwise a liar, do you +think?” +</p> + +<p> +Desmond laughed. The question was so very unexpected. +</p> + +<p> +“Let me explain what I mean,” said the Chief. “There is a +type of man who is quite incapable of telling the plain, unvarnished truth. +That type of fellow might have the most extraordinary adventure happen to him +and yet be unable to let it stand on its merits. When he narrates it, he trims +it up with all kinds of embroidery. Is Strangwise that type?” +</p> + +<p> +Desmond thought a moment. +</p> + +<p> +“Your silence is very eloquent,” said the Chief drily. +</p> + +<p> +Desmond laughed. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s not the silence of consent,” he said, “but if you +want me to be quite frank about Strangwise, Chief, I don’t mind telling +you I don’t like him overmuch. We were very intimate in France. We were +in some very tight corners together and he never let me down. He showed himself +to be a very fine fellow, indeed. There are points about him I admire +immensely. I love his fine physique, his manliness. I’m sure he’s +got great strength of character, too. It’s because I admire all this +about him that I think perhaps it’s just jealousy on my part when I +feel...” +</p> + +<p> +“What?” said the Chief. +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” said Desmond slowly, “I feel myself trying to like +something below the surface in the man. And then I am balked. There seems to be +something abysmally deep behind the facade, if you know what I mean. If I think +about it much, it seems to me that there is too much surface about Strangwise +and not enough foundation! And he smiles... Well, rather often, doesn’t +he?” +</p> + +<p> +“I know what you mean,” said the Chief. “I always tell my +young men to be wary when a man smiles too much. Smiles are sometimes +camouflage, to cover up something that mustn’t be seen underneath! +Strangwise is a Canadian, isn’t he?” +</p> + +<p> +“I think so,” answered Desmond, “anyhow, he has lived there. +But he got his commission over here. He came over some time in 1915, I believe, +and joined up.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, here we are!” cried the Chief, steering the car down a turning +marked “Laleham Villas.” +</p> + +<p> +Laleham Villas proved to be an immensely long terrace of small two-story +houses, each one exactly like the other, the only difference between them lying +in the color of the front doors and the arrangement of the small strip of +garden in front of each. The houses stretched away on either side in a vista of +smoke-discolored yellow brick. The road was perfectly straight and, in the dull +yellow atmosphere of the winter morning, unspeakably depressing. +</p> + +<p> +The abode of small clerks and employees, Laleham Villas had rendered up, an +hour before, its daily tribute of humanity to the City-bound trains of the +Great Eastern Railway. The Mackwayte’s house was plainly indicated, about +200 yards down on the right-hand side, by a knot of errand boys and bareheaded +women grouped on the side-walk. A large, phlegmatic policeman stood at the +gate. +</p> + +<p> +“You’ll like Marigold,” said the Chief to Desmond as they got +out of the car, “quite a remarkable man and very sound at his +work!” +</p> + +<p> +British officers don’t number detective inspectors among their habitual +acquaintances, and the man that came out of the house to meet them was actually +the first detective that Desmond had ever met. Ever since the Chief had +mentioned his name, Desmond had been wondering whether Mr. Marigold would be +lean and pale and bewildering like Mr. Sherlock Holmes or breezy and wiry like +the detectives in American crook plays. +</p> + +<p> +The man before him did not bear the faintest resemblance to either type. He was +a well-set up, broad-shouldered person of about forty-five, very carefully +dressed in a blue serge suit and black overcoat, with a large, even-tempered +countenance, which sloped into a high forehead. The neatly brushed but thinning +locks carefully arranged across the top of the head testified to the fact that +Mr. Marigold had sacrificed most of his hair to the vicissitudes of his +profession. When it is added that the detective had a small, yellow moustache +and a pleasant, cultivated voice, there remains nothing further to say about +Mr. Marigold’s external appearance. But there was something so patent +about the man, his air of reserve, his careful courtesy, his shrewd eyes, that +Desmond at once recognized him for a type, a cast from a certain specific +mould. All services shape men to their own fashion. There is the type of +Guardsman, the type of airman, the type of naval officer. And Desmond decided +that Mr. Marigold must be the type of detective, though, as I have said, he was +totally unacquainted with the <i>genus</i>. +</p> + +<p> +“Major Okewood, Marigold,” said the Chief, “a friend of +mine!” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Marigold mustered Desmond in one swift, comprehensive look. +</p> + +<p> +“I won’t give you my hand, Major,” the detective said, +looking down at Desmond’s proffered one, “for I’m in a filthy +mess and no error. But won’t you come in, sir?” he said to the +Chief and led the way across the mosaic tile pathway to the front door which +stood open. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t think this is anything in your line, sir,” said Mr. +Marigold to the Chief as the three men entered the house, “it’s +nothing but just a common burglary. The old man evidently heard a noise and +coming down, surprised the burglar who lost his head and killed him. The only +novel thing about the whole case is that the old party was shot with a pistol +and not bludgeoned, as is usually the case in affairs of this kind. And I +shouldn’t have thought that the man who did it was the sort that carries +a gun...” +</p> + +<p> +“Then you know who did it?” asked the Chief quietly. +</p> + +<p> +“I think I can safely say I do, sir,” said Mr. Marigold with the +reluctant air of one who seldom admits anything to be a fact, “I think I +can go as far as that! And we’ve got our man under lock and key!” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s a smart piece of work, Marigold,” said the Chief. +</p> + +<p> +“No, sir,” replied the other, “you could hardly call it that. +He just walked into the arms of a constable over there near Goodmayes Station +with the swag on him. He’s an old hand... we’ve known him for a +receiver for years! +</p> + +<p> +“Who is it?” asked the Chief, “not one of my little friends, +I suppose, eh, Marigold!” +</p> + +<p> +“Dear me, no, sir,” answered Mr. Marigold, chuckling, +“it’s one of old Mackwayte’s music-hall pals, name o’ +Barney!” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap05"></a>CHAPTER V.<br/> +THE MURDER AT SEVEN KINGS</h2> + +<p> +“This is Mrs. Chugg, sir,” said Mr. Marigold, “the charwoman +who found the body!” +</p> + +<p> +The Chief and Desmond stood at the detective’s side in the +Mackwaytes’ little dining-room. The room was in considerable disorder. +There was a litter of paper, empty bottles, overturned cruets and other +<i>débris</i> on the floor, evidence of the thoroughness with which the burglar +had overhauled the cheap fumed oak sideboard which stood against the wall with +doors and drawers open. In the corner, the little roll-top desk showed a great +gash in the wood round the lock where it had been forced. The remains of a meal +still stood on the table. +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Chugg, a diminutive, white-haired, bespectacled woman in a rusty black +cape and skirt, was enthroned in the midst of this scene of desolation. She sat +in an armchair by the fire, her hands in her lap, obviously supremely content +with the position of importance she enjoyed. At the sound of Mr. +Marigold’s voice, she bobbed up and regarded the newcomers with the air +of a tragedy queen. +</p> + +<p> +“Yus mister,” she said with the slow deliberation of one who +thoroughly enjoys repeating an oft-told tale, “I found the pore man and a +horrid turn it give me, too, I declare! I come in early this morning a-purpose +to turn out these two rooms, the dining-room and the droring-room, same as I +always do of a Saturday, along of the lidy’s horders and wishes. I come +in ’ere fust, to pull up the blinds and that, and d’reckly I +switches on the light ‘Burglars!’ I sez to meself, ‘Burglars! +That’s wot it is!’ seeing the nasty mess the place was in. Up I +nips to Miss Mackwayte’s room on the first floor and in I bursts. +‘Miss,’ sez I, ‘Miss, there’s been burglars in the +house!’ and then I sees the pore lamb all tied up there on ’er +blessed bed! Lor, mister, the turn it give me and I ain’t telling you no +lies! She was strapped up that tight with a towel crammed in ’er mouth +she couldn’t ’ardly dror ’er breath! I undid ’er pretty +quick and the fust thing she sez w’en I gets the towl out of her mouth, +the pore dear, is ‘Mrs. Chugg,’ she sez all of a tremble as you +might say, ‘Mrs. Chugg’ sez she, ‘my father! my +father!’ sez she. With that up she jumps but she ’adn’t put +foot to the floor w’en down she drops! It was along of ’er being +tied up orl that time, dyer see, mister! I gets ’er back on the bed. +‘You lie still, Miss,’ says I, ‘and I’ll pop in and +tell your pa to come in to you!’ Well; I went to the old genelmun’s +room. Empty!” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Chugg paused to give her narrative dramatic effect. +</p> + +<p> +“And where did you find Mr. Mackwayte?” asked the Chief in such a +placid voice that Mrs. Chugg cast an indignant glance at him. +</p> + +<p> +“I was jes’ going downstairs to see if ’e was in the kitching +or out at the back,” she continued, unheeding the interruption, +“when there on the landing I sees a foot asticking out from under the +curting. I pulls back the curting and oh, Lor! oh, dear, oh, dear, the pore +genelmun, ’im as never did a bad turn to no one!” +</p> + +<p> +“Come, come, Mrs. Chugg!” said the detective. +</p> + +<p> +The charwoman wiped her eyes and resumed. +</p> + +<p> +“’E was a-lying on his back in ’is dressing-gown, ’is +face all burnt black, like, and a fair smother o’ blood. Under ’is +hed there was a pool o’ blood, mister, yer may believe me or +not...” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Marigold cut in decisively. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you wish to see the body, sir?” the detective asked the Chief, +“they’re upstairs photographing it!” +</p> + +<p> +The Chief nodded. He and Desmond followed the detective upstairs, whilst Mrs. +Chugg resentfully resumed her seat by the fire. On her face was the look of one +who has cast pearls before swine. +</p> + +<p> +“Any finger-prints?” asked the Chief in the hall. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, no,” he said, “Barney’s far too old a hand for +that sort o’ thing!” +</p> + +<p> +The landing proved to be a small space, covered with oilcloth and raised by a +step from the bend made by the staircase leading to the first story. On the +left-hand side was a window looking on a narrow passage separating the +Mackwayte house from its neighbors and leading to the back-door. By the window +stood a small wicker-work table with a plant on it. At the back of the landing +was a partition, glazed half-way up and a door—obviously the bath-room. +</p> + +<p> +The curtain had been looped right over its brass rod. The body lay on its back +at the foot of the table, arms flung outward, one leg doubled up, the other +with the foot just jutting out over the step leading down to the staircase. The +head pointed towards the bath-room door. Over the right eye the skin of the +face was blackened in a great patch and there was a large blue swelling, like a +bruise, in the centre. There was a good deal of blood on the face which +obscured the hole made by the entrance of the bullet. The eyes were +half-closed. A big camera, pointed downwards, was mounted on a high double +ladder straddling the body and was operated by a young man in a bowler hat who +went on with his work without taking the slightest notice of the detective and +his companions. +</p> + +<p> +“Close range,” murmured Desmond, after glancing at the dead +man’s face, “a large calibre automatic pistol, I should +think!” +</p> + +<p> +“Why do you think it was a large calibre pistol, Major?” asked Mr. +Marigold attentively. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve seen plenty of men killed at close range by revolver and +rifle bullets out at the front,” replied Desmond, “but I never saw +a man’s face messed up like this. In a raid once I shot a German at point +blank range with my revolver, the ordinary Army issue pattern, and I looked him +over after. But it wasn’t anything like this. The only thing I’ve +seen approaching it was one of our sergeants who was killed out on patrol by a +Hun officer who put his gun right in our man’s face. That sergeant was +pretty badly marked, but...” +</p> + +<p> +He shook his head. Then he added, addressing the detective: “Let’s +see the gun! Have you got it?” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Marigold shook his head. +</p> + +<p> +“He hadn’t got it on him,” he answered, “he swears he +never had a gun. I expect he chucked it away somewhere. It’ll be our +business to find it for him!” +</p> + +<p> +He smiled rather grimly, then added: +</p> + +<p> +“Perhaps you’d care to have a look at Miss Mackwayte’s room, +sir!” +</p> + +<p> +“Is Miss Mackwayte there” asked the Chief. +</p> + +<p> +“I got her out of this quick,” replied Mr. Marigold, +“she’s had a bad shock, poor girl, though she gave her evidence +clearly enough for all that... as far as it goes and that’s not much. +Some friends near by have taken her in! The doctor has given her some bromide +and says she’s got to be kept quiet...” +</p> + +<p> +“What’s her story!” queried the Chief. +</p> + +<p> +“She can’t throw much light on the business. She and her father +reached home from the theatre about a quarter past twelve, had a bit of supper +in the dining-room and went up to bed before one o’clock. Miss Mackwayte +saw her father go into his room, which is next to hers, and shut the door. The +next thing she knows is that she woke up suddenly with some kind of a loud +noise in her ears... that was the report of the pistol, I’ve no doubt... +she thought for a minute it was an air raid. Then suddenly a hand was pressed +over her mouth, something was crammed into her mouth and she was firmly +strapped down to the bed.” +</p> + +<p> +“Did she see the man?” asked Desmond. +</p> + +<p> +“She didn’t see anything from first to last,” answered the +detective, “as far as she is concerned it might have been a woman or a +black man who trussed her up. It was quite dark in her bedroom and this burglar +fellow, after binding and gagging her, fastened a bandage across her eyes into +the bargain. She says she heard him moving about her room and then creep out +very softly. The next thing she knew was Mrs. Chugg arriving at her bedside +this morning.” +</p> + +<p> +“What time did this attack take place?” asked the Chief. +</p> + +<p> +“She has no idea,” answered the detective. “She +couldn’t see her watch and they haven’t got a striking clock in the +house.” +</p> + +<p> +“But can she make no guess!” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, she says she thinks it was several hours before Mrs. Chugg arrived +in the morning... as much as three hours, she thinks!” +</p> + +<p> +“And what time did Mrs. Chugg arrive!” +</p> + +<p> +“At half-past six!” +</p> + +<p> +“About Mackwayte... how long was he dead when they found him? What does +the doctor say?” +</p> + +<p> +“About three hours approximately, but you know, they can’t always +tell to an hour or so!” +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” said the Chief slowly, “it looks as if one might +figure the murder as having been committed some time between 3 and 3.30 +a.m.” +</p> + +<p> +“My idea exactly,” said Mr. Marigold. “Shall we go +upstairs?” +</p> + +<p> +He conducted the Chief and Desmond up the short flight of stairs to the first +story. He pushed open the first door he came to. +</p> + +<p> +“Mackwayte’s room, on the back,” he said, “bed slept +in, as you see, old gentleman’s clothes on a chair—obviously he was +disturbed by some noise made by the burglar and came out to see what was doing! +And here,” he indicated a door adjoining, “is Miss +Mackwayte’s room, on the front; as you observe. They don’t use the +two rooms on the second floor, except for box-rooms... one’s full of old +Mackwayte’s theatre trunks and stuff. They keep no servant; Mrs. Chugg +comes in each morning and stays all day. She goes away after supper every +evening.” +</p> + +<p> +Desmond found himself looking into a plainly furnished but dainty bedroom with +white furniture and a good deal of chintz about. There were some photographs +and pictures hanging on the walls. The room was spotlessly clean and very tidy. +</p> + +<p> +Desmond remarked on this, asking if the police had put the room straight. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Marigold looked quite shocked. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, no, everything is just as it was when Mrs. Chugg found Miss +Mackwayte this morning. There’s Miss Mackwayte’s gloves and handbag +on the toilet-table just as she left ’em last night. I wouldn’t let +her touch her clothes even. She went over to Mrs. Appleby’s in her +dressing-gown, in a taxi.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then Master Burglar didn’t burgle this room?” asked the +Chief. +</p> + +<p> +“Nothing touched, not even the girl’s money,” replied +Marigold. +</p> + +<p> +“Then why did he come up here at all?” asked Desmond. +</p> + +<p> +“Obviously, the old gentleman disturbed him,” was the +detective’s reply. “Barney got scared and shot the old gentleman, +then came up here to make sure that the daughter would not give him away before +he could make his escape. He must have known the report of the gun would wake +her up.” +</p> + +<p> +“But are there no clues or finger-prints or anything of that kind here, +Marigold?” asked the Chief. +</p> + +<p> +“Not a finger-print anywhere,” responded the other, “men like +Barney are born wise to the fingerprint business, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +He dipped a finger and thumb into his waistcoat pocket. +</p> + +<p> +“Clues? Well, I’ve got one little souvenir here which I daresay a +writer of detective stories would make a good bit of.” +</p> + +<p> +He held in his hand a piece of paper folded flat. He unfolded it and disclosed +a loop of dark hair. +</p> + +<p> +“There!” he said mockingly, straightening out the hair and holding +it up in the light. “That’s calculated to set one’s thoughts +running all over the place, isn’t it? That piece of hair was caught in +the buckle of one of the straps with which Miss Mackwayte was bound to the bed. +Miss Mackwayte, I would point out, has brown hair. <i>Whose hair do you think +that is?</i>” +</p> + +<p> +Desmond looked closely at the strand of hair in the detective’s fingers. +It was long and fine and glossy and jetblack. +</p> + +<p> +The Chief laughed and shook his head. +</p> + +<p> +“Haven’t an idea, Marigold,” he answered, +“Barney’s, I should imagine, that is, if he goes about with black +ringlets falling round his shoulders.” +</p> + +<p> +“Barney?” echoed the detective. “Barney’s as bald as I +am. Besides, if you saw his sheet, you’d realize that he has got into the +habit of wearing his hair short!” +</p> + +<p> +He carefully rolled the strand of hair up, replaced it in its paper and stowed +it in his waistcoat pocket. +</p> + +<p> +“It just shows how easily one is misled in a matter of this kind,” +he went on. “Supposing Barney hadn’t got himself nabbed, supposing +I hadn’t been able to find out from Miss Mackwayte her movements on the +night previous to the murder, that strand of hair might have led me on a fine +wild goose chase!” +</p> + +<p> +“But, damn it, Marigold,” exclaimed the Chief, laughing, “you +haven’t told us whose hair it is?” +</p> + +<p> +“Why, Nur-el-Din’s, of course!” +</p> + +<p> +The smile froze on the Chief’s lips, the laughter died out of his eyes. +Desmond was amazed at the change in the man. The languid interest he had taken +in the different details of the crime vanished. Something seemed to tighten up +suddenly in his face and manner. +</p> + +<p> +“Why Nur-el-Din?” he asked curtly. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Marigold glanced quickly at him. Desmond remarked that the detective was +sensible of the change too. +</p> + +<p> +“Simply because Miss Mackwayte spent some time in the dancer’s +dressing-room last night, sir,” he replied quietly, “she probably +sat at her dressing-table and picked up this hair in hers or in her veil or +something and it dropped on the bed where one of Master Barney’s buckles +caught it up.” +</p> + +<p> +He spoke carelessly but Desmond noticed that he kept a watchful eye on the +other. +</p> + +<p> +The Chief did not answer. He seemed to have relapsed into the preoccupied mood +in which Desmond had found him that morning. +</p> + +<p> +“I was going to suggest, sir,” said Mr. Marigold diffidently, +“if you had the time, you might care to look in at the Yard, and see the +prisoner. I don’t mind telling you that he is swearing by all the tribes +of Judah that he’s innocent of the murder of old Mackwayte. He’s +got an amazing yarn... perhaps you’d like to hear it!” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Marigold suddenly began to interest Desmond. His proposal was put forward +so modestly that one would have thought the last thing he believed possible was +that the Chief should acquiesce in his suggestion. Yet Desmond had the feeling +that the detective was far from being so disinterested as he wished to seem. It +struck Desmond that the case was more complicated than Mr. Marigold admitted +and that the detective knew it. Had Mr. Marigold discovered that the Chief knew +a great deal more about this mysterious affair than the detective knew himself? +And was not his attitude of having already solved the problem of the murder, +his treatment of the Chief as a dilettante criminologist simply an elaborate +pose, to extract from the Chief information which had not been proffered? +</p> + +<p> +The Chief glanced at his watch. +</p> + +<p> +“Right,” he said, “I think I’d like to go along.” +</p> + +<p> +“I have a good deal to do here still,” observed Mr. Marigold, +“so, if you don’t mind, I won’t accompany you. But perhaps, +sir, you would like to see me this afternoon?” +</p> + +<p> +The Chief swung round on his heel and fairly searched Mr. Marigold with a +glance from beneath his bushy eyebrows. The detective returned his gaze with an +expression of supreme innocence. +</p> + +<p> +“Why, Marigold,” answered the Chief, “I believe I should. Six +o’clock suit you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Certainly, sir,” said Mr. Marigold. +</p> + +<p> +Desmond stood by the door, vastly amused by this duel of wits. The Chief and +Mr. Marigold made a move towards the door, Desmond turned to open it and came +face to face with a large framed photograph of the Chief hanging on the wall of +Miss Mackwayte’s bedroom. +</p> + +<p> +“Why, Chief,” he cried, “you never told me you knew Miss +Mackwayte!” +</p> + +<p> +The Chief professed to be very taken aback by this question. “Dear me, +didn’t I, Okewood?” he answered with eyes laughing, +“she’s my secretary!” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap06"></a>CHAPTER VI.<br/> +“NAME O’BARNEY”</h2> + +<p> +“Miss Mackwayte telephoned to ask if I could go and see her,” said +the Chief to Desmond as they motored back to White hall, “Marigold gave +me the message just as we were coming out. She asked if I could come this +afternoon. I’m going to send you in my place, Okewood. I’ve got a +conference with the head of the French Intelligence at three, and the Lord +knows when I shall get away. I’ve a notion that you and Miss Mackwayte +will work very well together.” +</p> + +<p> +“Certainly,” said Desmond, “she struck me as being a very +charming and clever girl. Now I know the source of your information about my +movements last night!” +</p> + +<p> +“That you certainly don’t!” answered the Chief promptly, +“if I thought you did Duff and No.39 should be sacked on the spot!” +</p> + +<p> +“Then it wasn’t Miss Mackwayte who told you?” +</p> + +<p> +“I haven’t seen or heard from Miss Mackwayte since she left my +office yesterday evening. You were followed!” +</p> + +<p> +“But why?” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll tell you all about it at, lunch!” +</p> + +<p> +Bated once more, Desmond retired into his shell. By this he was convinced of +the utter impossibility of making the Chief vouchsafe any information except +voluntarily. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Marigold had evidently announced their coming to Scotland Yard, for a very +urbane and delightful official met them at the entrance and conducted them to a +room where the prisoner was already awaiting them in charge of a plain clothes +man. There the official excused himself and retired, leaving them alone with +the prisoner and his escort. +</p> + +<p> +Barney proved to be a squat, podgy, middle-aged Jew of the familiar East End +Polish or Russian type. He had little black beady eyes, a round fat white face, +and a broad squabby Mongol nose. His clothes were exceedingly seedy, and the +police had confiscated his collar and tie. This absence of neckwear, coupled +with the fact that the lower part of his face was sprouting with a heavy growth +of beard, gave him a peculiarly villainous appearance: +</p> + +<p> +He was seated on a chair, his head sunk on his breast. His eyes were hollow, +and his face overspread with a horrible sickly greenish pallor, the hue of the +last stage of fear. His hands, resting on his knees, twisted and fiddled +continually. Every now and then convulsive shudders shook him. The man was +quite obviously on the verge of a collapse. +</p> + +<p> +As the Chief and Desmond advanced into the room, the Jew looked up in panic. +Then he sprang to his feet with a scream and flung himself on his knees, +crying: +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, no! Don’t take me away! I ain’t done no ’arm, +gentlemen! S’welp me, gentlemen, I ain’t a murderer! I +swear...” +</p> + +<p> +“Get him up!” said the Chief in disgust, “and, look here, +can’t you give him a drink? I want to speak to him. He’s not fit to +talk rationally in this state!” +</p> + +<p> +The detective pushed a bell in the wall, a policeman answered it, and presently +the prisoner was handed a stiff glass of whiskey and water. +</p> + +<p> +After Barney had swallowed it, the Chief said: +</p> + +<p> +“Now, look here, my man, I want you to tell me exactly what happened last +night. No fairy tales, remember! I know what you told the police, and if I +catch you spinning me any yarns on to it, well, it’ll only be the worse +for you. I don’t mind telling you, you’re in a pretty bad +mess!” +</p> + +<p> +The prisoner put down the glass wearily and wiped his forehead with the back of +his hand. Though the room was bitterly cold, the perspiration stood out in +beads on his brow. +</p> + +<p> +“I have told the trewth, sir,” he said hoarsely, “and it goes +against me, don’t it? Hafen’t I not gif myself op to the policeman? +Couldn’t I not haf drop the svag and ron away? For sure! And vy +didn’t I not do it? For vy, because of vot I seen in that house. +I’ve ’ad my bit of trobble mit the police and vy should I tell them +how I vos op to a game last night if I vas not a-telling the trewth, eh! +I’ve been on the crook, gentlemen, I say it, ja, but I ain’t no +murderer, God choke me I ain’t! +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve earned gut monney in my time on the ’alls but life is +very ’ardt, and I’ve been alvays hongry these days. Yesterday I +meet old Mac wot I used to meet about the ’alls I vos workin’ along +o’ my boss... at the agent’s it vos were I vos lookin’ for a +shop! The perfesh always makes a splash about its salaries, gentlemen, and Mac +’e vos telling me vot a lot o’ monney he make on the Samuel Circuit +and ’ow ’e ’ad it at home all ready to put into var savings +certif’kits. I never done a job like this von before, gentlemen, but I +vos hardt pushed for money, s’welp me I vos! +</p> + +<p> +“I left it till late last night because of these air raids... I vanted to +be sure that ole Mac and ’is daughter should be asleep. I god in from the +back of the louse, oi, oi, bot it vos dead easy! through the scollery vindow. I +cleared op a bagful of stuff in the dining-room... there vosn’t, anything +vorth snatching outer the parlor... and sixty-five quid out of an old cigar-box +in the desk. The police ’as got it... I give it all back! I say I haf +stolen, but murder? No!” He paused. +</p> + +<p> +“Go on,” said the Chief. +</p> + +<p> +The prisoner looked about him in a frightened way. +</p> + +<p> +“I vos jus’ thinking I had better be getting avay, he continued in +his hoarse, gutteral voice, ’ven snick.!... I hears a key in the front +door. I vos, standing by the staircase... I had no time to get out by the vay I +had kom so I vent opstairs to the landing vere there vos a curtain. I shlip +behind the curtain and vait! I dare not look out but I listen, I listen.. I +hear some one go into the dining-room and move about. I open the curtain a +little way... so!... because I think I vill shlip downstairs vile the other +party is in the dining-room... and there I sees ole Mac in his dressing-gown +just coming down from the first floor. The same moment I hear a step in the +front hall. +</p> + +<p> +“I see ole Mac start but he does not stop. He kom right downstairs, and I +step back behind the curtain ontil I find a door vich I push. I dare not svitch +on my light but presently I feel the cold edge of a bath with my hands. I stay +there and vait. Oi, oi, oi, how shall you belief vot I tell?” +</p> + +<p> +He broke off trembling. +</p> + +<p> +“Go on, Barney,” said the detective, “can’t you see the +gentlemen are waiting?” +</p> + +<p> +The Jew resumed, his voice sinking almost to a whisper. +</p> + +<p> +“It vos quite dark behind the curtain but from the bathroom, through the +open door, I could just see ole Mac standing with his back to me, a-holding the +curtain. He must haf shlip in there to watch the other who vos komming +opstairs. Then... then... I hear a step on the stair... a little, soft step... +then ole Mac he open the curtain and cry ‘Who are you?’ Bang! +the... the... other on the stairs he fire a shot. I see the red flash and I +smell the... the powder not? The other, he does not vait... he just go on +opstairs and ole Mac is lying there on his back with the blood a-trickling out +on the oil-cloth. And I, vith my bag on my back, I creep downstair and out by +the back again, and I ron and ron and then I valks. Gott! how I haf walked! I +vos so frightened! And then, at last, I go to a policeman and gif ‘myself +op!” +</p> + +<p> +Barney stopped. The tears burst from his eyes and laying his grimy face on his +arm, he sobbed. +</p> + +<p> +The detective patted him on the back. +</p> + +<p> +“Pull yourself together, man!” he said encouragingly. +</p> + +<p> +“This man on the stairs,” queried the Chief, “did you see +him?” +</p> + +<p> +“Ach was!” replied the prisoner, turning a tearstained face towards +him, “I haf seen nothing, except old Mac’s back vich vos right in +vront of me, it vos so dark!” +</p> + +<p> +“But couldn’t you see the other person at all, not even the +outline” persisted the Chief. +</p> + +<p> +The prisoner made a gesture of despair. +</p> + +<p> +“It vos so dark, I say! Nothing haf I seen! I haf heard only his +step!” +</p> + +<p> +“What sort of step? Was it heavy or light or what? Did this person seem +in a hurry?” +</p> + +<p> +“A little light tread... so! won, two! won, two!, and qvick like ’e +think ’e sneak opstairs vithout nobody seeing!” +</p> + +<p> +“Did he make much noise” +</p> + +<p> +“Ach was! hardly at all... the tread, ’e vos so light like a +woman’s...” +</p> + +<p> +“Like a woman’s, eh!”, repeated the Chief, as if talking to +himself, “Why do you think that?” +</p> + +<p> +“Because for vy it vos so gentle! The’ staircase, she haf not +sqveak as she haf sqveak when I haf creep away!” +</p> + +<p> +The Chief turned to the plain clothes man. +</p> + +<p> +“You can take him away now, officer,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +Barney sprang up trembling. +</p> + +<p> +“Not back to the cell,” he cried imploringly, “I cannot be +alone. Oh, gentlemen, you vill speak for me! I haf not had trobble vith the +police this long time! My vife’s cousin, he is an elder of the Shool he +vill tell you ’ow poor ve haf been...” +</p> + +<p> +But the Chief crossed the room to the door and the detective hustled the +prisoner away. +</p> + +<p> +Then the official whom they had seen before came in. +</p> + +<p> +“Glad I caught you,” he said. “I thought you would care to +see the post mortem report. The doctor has just handed it in.” +</p> + +<p> +The chief waved him off. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t think there’s any doubt about the cause of +death,” he replied, “we saw the body ourselves...” +</p> + +<p> +“Quite so,” replied the other, “but there is something +interesting about this report all the same. They were able to extract the +bullet!” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh,” said the Chief, “that ought to tell us +something!” +</p> + +<p> +“It does,” answered the official. “We’ve submitted it +to our small arms expert, and he pronounces it to be a bullet fired by an +automatic pistol of unusually large calibre.” +</p> + +<p> +The Chief looked at Desmond. +</p> + +<p> +“You were right there,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“And,” the official went on, “our man says, further, that, as +far as he knows, there is only one type of automatic pistol that fires a bullet +as big as this one!” +</p> + +<p> +“And that is?” asked the Chief. +</p> + +<p> +“An improved pattern of the German Mauser pistol,” was the +other’s startling reply. +</p> + +<hr /> + +<p> +The Chief tapped a cigarette meditatively on the back of his hand. +</p> + +<p> +“Okewood,” he said, “you are the very model of discretion. I +have put your reticence to a pretty severe test this morning, and you have +stood it very well. But I can see that you are bristling with questions like a +porcupine with quills. Zero hour has arrived. You may fire away!” +</p> + +<p> +They were sitting in the smoking-room of the United Service Club. “The +Senior,” as men call it, is the very parliament of Britain’s +professional navy and army. Even in these days when war has flung wide the +portals of the two services to all-comers, it retains a touch of rigidity. +Famous generals and admirals look down from the lofty walls in silent testimony +of wars that have been. Of the war that is, you will hear in every cluster of +men round the little tables. Every day in the hour after luncheon battles are +fought over again, personalities criticized, and decisions weighed with all the +vigorous freedom of ward-room or the mess ante-room. +</p> + +<p> +And so to-day, as he sat in his padded leather chair, surveying the +Chief’s quizzing face across the little table where their coffee was +steaming, Desmond felt the oddness of the contrast between the direct, +matter-of-fact personalities all around them, and the extraordinary web of +intrigue which seemed to have spun itself round the little house at Seven +Kings. +</p> + +<p> +Before he answered the Chief’s question, he studied him for a moment +under cover of lighting a cigarette. How very little, to be sure, escaped that +swift and silent mind! At luncheon the Chief had scrupulously avoided making, +the slightest allusion to the thoughts with which Desmond’s mind was +seething. Instead he had told, with the gusto of the born raconteur, a string +of extremely droll yarns about “double crosses,” that is, obliging +gentlemen who will spy for both sides simultaneously, he had come into contact +with during his long and varied career. Desmond had played up to him and +repressed the questions which kept rising to his lips. Hence the Chief’s +unexpected tribute to him in the smoking room. +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” said Desmond slowly, “there <i>are</i> one or two +things I should like to know. What am I here for? Why did you have me followed +last night? How did you know, before we ever went to Seven Kings, that Barney +did not murder old Mackwayte? And lastly...” +</p> + +<p> +He paused, fearing to be rash; then he risked it: +</p> + +<p> +“And lastly, Nur-el-Din?” +</p> + +<p> +The Chief leant back in his chair and laughed. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m sure you feel much better now,” he said. Then his face +grew grave and he added: +</p> + +<p> +“Your last question answers all the others!” +</p> + +<p> +“Meaning Nur-el-Din?” asked Desmond. +</p> + +<p> +The Chief nodded. +</p> + +<p> +“Nur-el-Din,” he repeated. “That’s why you’re +here, that’s why I had you followed last night, that’s why +I...” he hesitated for the word, “let’s say, <i>presumed</i> +(one knows for certain so little in our work) that our friend Barney had +nothing to do with the violent death of poor old Mackwayte. Nur-el-Din in the +center, the kernel, the hub of everything!” +</p> + +<p> +The Chief leant across the table and Desmond pulled his chair closer. +</p> + +<p> +“There’s only one other man in the world can handle this job, +except you,” he began, “and that’s your brother Francis. Do +you know where he is, Okewood?” +</p> + +<p> +“He wrote to me last from Athens,” answered Desmond, “but +that must be nearly two months ago.” +</p> + +<p> +The Chief laughed. +</p> + +<p> +“His present address is not Athens,” he said, “if you want to +know, he’s serving on a German Staff somewhere at the back of Jerusalem +the Golden. Frankly, I know you don’t care about our work, and I did my +best to get your brother. He has had his instructions and as soon as he can get +away he will. That was not soon enough for me. It had to be him or you. So I +sent for you.” +</p> + +<p> +He stopped and cleared his throat. Desmond stared at him. He could hardly +believe his eyes. This quiet, deliberate man was actually embarrassed. +</p> + +<p> +“Okewood,” the Chief went on, “you know I like plain +speaking, and therefore you won’t make the mistake of thinking I’m +trying to flatter you.” +</p> + +<p> +Desmond made a gesture. +</p> + +<p> +“Wait a moment and hear me out,” the Chief went on. “What is +required for this job is a man of great courage and steady nerve. Yes, we have +plenty of fellows like that. But the man I am looking for must, in addition to +possessing those qualities, know German and the Germans thoroughly, and when I +say thoroughly I mean to the very core so that, if needs be, he may be a +German, think German, act German. I have men in my service who know German +perfectly and can get themselves up to look the part to the life. But they have +never been put to the real, the searching test. Not one of them has done what +you and your brother successfully accomplished. The first time I came across +you, you had just come out of Germany after fetching your brother away. To have +lived for weeks in Germany in wartime and to have got clear away is a feat +which shows that both you and he can be trusted to make a success of one of the +most difficult and critical missions I have ever had to propose. Francis is not +here. That’s why I want you.” +</p> + +<p> +The Chief paused as if weighing something in his mind. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s not the custom of either service, Okewood,” he said, +“to send a man to certain death. You’re not in this creepy, crawly +business of ours. You’re a pukka soldier and keen on your job. So I want +you to know that you are free to turn down this offer of mine here and now, and +go back to France without my thinking a bit the worse of you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Would you tell me something about it?” asked Desmond. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m sorry I can’t,” replied the other. “There +must be only two men in this secret, myself and the fellow who undertakes the +mission. Of course, it’s not certain death. If you take this thing on, +you’ll have a sporting chance for your life, but that’s all. +It’s going to be a desperate game played against a desperate opponent. +Now do you understand why I didn’t want you to think I was flattering +you? You’ve got your head screwed on right, I know, but I should hate to +feel afterwards, if anything went wrong, that you thought I had buttered you up +in order to entice you into taking the job on!” +</p> + +<p> +Desmond took two or three deep puffs of his cigarette and dropped it into the +ash-tray. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll see you!” he said. +</p> + +<p> +The Chief grinned with delight. +</p> + +<p> +“By Jove!” he exclaimed, “I knew you were my man!” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap07"></a>CHAPTER VII.<br/> +NUR-EL-DIN</h2> + +<p> +The love of romance is merely the nobler form of curiosity. And there was +something in Desmond Okewood’s Anglo-Irish parentage that made him +fiercely inquisitive after adventure. In him two men were constantly warring, +the Irishman, eager for romance yet too indolent to go out in search of it, and +the Englishman, cautious yet intensely vital withal, courting danger for +danger’s sake. +</p> + +<p> +All his ill-humor of the morning at being snatched away from his work in France +had evaporated. In the Chief he now saw only the magician who was about to +unlock to him the realms of Adventure. Desmond’s eyes shone with +excitement as the other, obviously simmering with satisfaction, lit another +cigarette and began to speak. +</p> + +<p> +“The British public, Okewood,” he said, hitching his chair closer, +“would like to see espionage in this country rendered impossible. Such an +ideal state of things is, unfortunately out of the question. Quite on the +contrary, this country of ours is honeycombed with spies. So it will ever be, +as long as we have to work with natural means: at present we have no caps of +invisibility or magician’s carpets available. +</p> + +<p> +“As we cannot hope to kill the danger, we do our best to scotch it. +Personally, my modest ambition is to make espionage as difficult as possible +for the enemy by knowing as many as possible of his agents and their channels +of communication, and by keeping him happy with small results, to prevent him +from finding out the really important things, the disclosure of which would +inevitably compromise our national safety.” +</p> + +<p> +He paused and Desmond nodded. +</p> + +<p> +“The extent of our business,” the Chief resumed, “is so +large, the issues at stake so vital, that we at the top have to ignore the +non-essentials and stick to the essentials. By the nonessentials I mean the +little potty spies, actuated by sheer hunger or mere officiousness, the neutral +busybody who makes a tip-and-run dash into England, the starving waiter, +miserably underpaid by some thieving rogue in a neutral country—or the +frank swindler who sends back to the Fatherland and is duly paid for long +reports about British naval movements which he has concocted without setting +foot outside his Bloomsbury lodgings. +</p> + +<p> +“These folk are dealt with somehow and every now and then one of +’em gets shot, just to show that we aren’t asleep, don’t you +know? But spasmodic reports we can afford to ignore. What we are death on is +anything like a regular news service from this country to Germany; and to keep +up this steady flow of reliable information is the perpetual striving of the +men who run the German Secret Service. +</p> + +<p> +“These fellows, my dear Okewood, move in darkness. Very often we have to +grope after ’em in darkness, too. <i>They</i> don’t get shot, or +hardly ever; they are far too clever for that. Between us and them it is a +never-ending series of move and countermove, check and counter-check. Very +often we only know of their activities by enemy action based on their reports. +Then there is another leak to be caulked, another rat-hole to be nailed up, and +so the game goes on. Hitherto I think I may say we have managed to hold our +own!” +</p> + +<p> +The Chief stopped to light another cigarette. Then he resumed but in a lower +voice. +</p> + +<p> +“During the past month, Okewood,” he said, “a new +organization has cropped up. The objective of every spy operating in this +country is, as you may have surmised, naval matters, the movements of the +Fleet, the military transports, and the food convoys. This new organization has +proved itself more efficient than any of its predecessors. It specializes in +the movement of troops to France, and in the journeys of the hospital ships +across the Channel. Its information is very prompt and extremely accurate, as +we know too well. There have been some very disquieting incidents in which, for +once in a way, luck has been on our side, but as long as this gang can work in +the dark there is the danger of a grave catastrophe. With its thousands of +miles of sea to patrol, the Navy has to take a chance sometimes, you know! +Well, on two occasions lately, when chances were taken, <i>the Hun knew we were +taking a chance</i>, and what is more, <i>when and where we were taking +it!</i>” +</p> + +<p> +The Chief broke off, then looking Desmond squarely in the eyes, said: +</p> + +<p> +“This is the organization that you’re going to beak up!” +</p> + +<p> +Desmond raised his eyebrows. +</p> + +<p> +“Who is at the head of it?” he asked quietly. +</p> + +<p> +The Chief, smiled a little bitterly. +</p> + +<p> +“By George!” he cried, slapping his thigh, “you’ve rung +the bell in one. Okewood, I’m not a rich man, but I would gladly give a +year’s pay to be able to answer that question. To be perfectly frank with +you, I don’t know who is at the back of this crowd, but...” his +mouth set in a grim line, “I’m going to know!” +</p> + +<p> +He added whimsically: +</p> + +<p> +“What’s more, you’re going to find out for me!” +</p> + +<p> +Desmond smiled at the note of assurance in his voice. +</p> + +<p> +“I suppose you’ve got something to go on?” he asked. +“There’s Nur-el-Din, for instance. What about her?” +</p> + +<p> +“That young person,” replied the Chief, “is to be your +particular study. If she is not the center of the whole conspiracy, she is, at +any rate, in the thick of it. It will be part of your job to ascertain the +exact rôle she is playing.” +</p> + +<p> +“But what is there against her?” queried Desmond. +</p> + +<p> +“What is there against her? The bad company she keeps is against her. +‘Tell me who your friends are and I’ll tell you who you are’ +is a maxim that we have to go on in our profession, Okewood. You have met the +lady. Did you see any of her entourage? Her business manager, a fat Italian who +calls himself Lazarro, did you notice him? Would you be surprised to hear that +Lazarro alias Sacchetti alias Le Tardenois is a very notorious international +spy who after working in the Italian Secret Service in the pay of the Germans +was unmasked and kicked out of Italy... that was before the war? This pleasant +gentleman subsequently did five years in the French penal settlements in New +Caledonia for robbery with violence at Aix-les-Bains... oh, we know a whole lot +about him! And this woman’s other friends! Do you know, for instance, +where she often spends the week-end? At the country-place of one Bryan Mowbury, +whose name used to be Bernhard Marburg, a very old hand indeed in the German +Secret Service. She has identified herself right and left with the German +espionage service in this country. One day she lunches with a woman spy, whose +lover was caught and shot by the French. Then she goes out motoring +with...” +</p> + +<p> +“But why in Heaven’s name are all these people allowed to run +loose?” broke in Desmond. “Do you mean to say you can’t +arrest them?” +</p> + +<p> +“Arrest ’em? Arrest ’em? Of course, we can arrest ’em. +But what’s the use? They’re all small fry, and we have to keep out +a few lines baited with minnows to catch the Tritons. None of ’em can do +any harm: we watch ’em much too closely for that. Once you’ve +located your spy, the battle’s won. It’s when he—or it may be +a she—is running loose, that I get peeved!” +</p> + +<p> +The Chief sprang impatiently to his feet and strode across the smoking-room, +which was all but empty by this time, to get a match from a table. He resumed +his seat with a grunt of exasperation. +</p> + +<p> +“I can’t see light, Okewood!” he sighed, shaking his head. +</p> + +<p> +“But is this all you’ve got against Nur-el-Din?” asked +Desmond. +</p> + +<p> +“No,” answered the other slowly, “it isn’t. If it were, +I need not have called you in. We would have interned or deported her. No, +we’ve traced back to her a line leading straight from the only member of +the new organization we have been able to lay by the heels.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then you’ve made an arrest?” +</p> + +<p> +The Chief nodded. +</p> + +<p> +“A fortnight ago... a respectable, retired English business man, by name +of Basil Bellward... taken with the goods on him, as the saying is...” +</p> + +<p> +“An Englishman, by Jove!” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s hardly correct to call him an Englishman, though he’s +posed as an English business man for so long that one is almost justified in +doing so. As a matter of fact, the fellow is a German named Wolfgang Bruhl and +it is my belief that he was planted in this country at least a dozen years ago +solely for the purpose of furnishing him with good, respectable credentials for +an emergency like this.” +</p> + +<p> +“But surely if you found evidence of his connection with this gang of +spies, it should be easy to get a clue to the rest of the crowd?” +</p> + +<p> +“Not so easy as you think,” the Chief replied. “The man who +organized this system of espionage is a master at his craft. He has been +careful to seal both ends of every connection, that is to say, though we found +evidence of Master Bellward-Bruhl being in possession of highly confidential +information relating to the movements of troops, we discovered nothing to show +whence he received it or how or where he was going to forward it. But we did +find a direct thread leading straight back to Nur-el-Din.” +</p> + +<p> +“Really,” said Desmond, “that rather complicates things for +her, doesn’t it?” +</p> + +<p> +“It was in the shape of a letter of introduction, in French, without date +or address, warmly recommending the dancer to our friend, Bellward.” +</p> + +<p> +“Who is this letter from?” +</p> + +<p> +“It is simply signed ‘P.’, but you shall see it for yourself +when you get the other documents in the case.” +</p> + +<p> +“But surely, sir, such a letter might be presented in perfectly good +faith...” +</p> + +<p> +“It might, but not this one. This letter, as an expert has ascertained +beyond all doubt, is written on German manufactured note-paper of a very +superior quality;, the writing is stiff and angular and not French: and lastly, +the French in which it is phrased, while correct, is unusually pompous and +elaborate.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then...” +</p> + +<p> +“The letter was, in all probability, written by a German!” +</p> + +<p> +There was a moment’s silence. Desmond was thinking despairingly of the +seeming hopelessness of untangling this intricate webwork of tangled threads. +</p> + +<p> +“And this murder, sir,” he began. +</p> + +<p> +The Chief shrugged his shoulders. +</p> + +<p> +“The motive, Okewood, I am searching for the motive. I can see none +except the highly improbable one of Miss Mackwayte being my confidential +secretary. In that case why murder the father, a harmless old man who +didn’t even know that his daughter is in my service, why kill him, I ask +you, and spare the girl? On the other hand, I believe the man Barney’s +story, and can see that Marigold does, too. When I first heard the news of the +murder over the telephone this morning, I had a kind of intuition that we +should discover in it a thread leading back to this mesh of espionage. Is it +merely a coincidence that a hair, resembling Nur-el-Din’s, is found +adhering to the straps with which Barbara Mackwayte was bound? I can’t +think so... and yet...” +</p> + +<p> +“But do you believe then, that Nur-el-Din murdered-old Mackwayte? My dear +Chief, the idea is preposterous...” +</p> + +<p> +The Chief rose from his chair with a sigh. +</p> + +<p> +“Nothing is preposterous in our work, Okewood,” he replied. +“But it’s 3.25, and my French colleague hates to be kept +waiting.” +</p> + +<p> +“I thought you were seeing Strangwise, at two?” asked Desmond. +</p> + +<p> +“I put him off until six o’clock,” replied the Chief, +“he knows Nur-el-Din, and he may be able to give Marigold some pointers +about this affair. You’re off to see Miss Mackwayte now, I suppose. You +know where she’s staying? Good. Well, I’ll say good-bye, Okewood. I +shan’t see you again...” +</p> + +<p> +“You won’t see me again? How do you mean, sir?” +</p> + +<p> +“Because you’re going back to France!” +</p> + +<p> +“Going back to France? When?” +</p> + +<p> +“By the leave-boat to-night!” +</p> + +<p> +Desmond smiled resignedly. +</p> + +<p> +“My dear Chief,” he said, “you must be more explicit. What am +I going back to France for?” +</p> + +<p> +“Why, now I come to think of it,” replied the Chief, “I never +told you. You’re going back to France to be killed, of course!” +</p> + +<p> +“To be killed!” +</p> + +<p> +Desmond looked blankly at the other’s blandly smiling face. +</p> + +<p> +“Two or three days from now,” said the Chief, “you will be +killed in action in France. I thought of making it a shell. But we’ll +have it a machine gun bullet if you like. Whichever you prefer; it’s all +the same to me!” +</p> + +<p> +He laughed at the dawn of enlightenment in Desmond’s eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“I see,” said Desmond. +</p> + +<p> +“I hope you don’t mind,” the Chief went on more seriously, +“but I know you have no people to consider except your brother and his +wife. She’s in America, and Francis can’t possibly hear about it. +So you needn’t worry on that score. Or do you?” +</p> + +<p> +Desmond laughed. +</p> + +<p> +“No-o-o!” he said slowly, “but I’m rather young to die. +Is it absolutely necessary for me to disappear?” +</p> + +<p> +“Absolutely!” responded the Chief firmly. +</p> + +<p> +“But how will we manage it?” asked Desmond. +</p> + +<p> +“Catch the leave-boat to-night and don’t worry. You will receive +your instructions in due course.” +</p> + +<p> +“But when shall I see you again?” +</p> + +<p> +The Chief chuckled. +</p> + +<p> +“Depends entirely on yourself, Okewood,” he retorted. “When +you’re through with your job, I expect. In the meantime, Miss Mackwayte +will act between us. On that point also you will be fully instructed. And now I +must fly!” +</p> + +<p> +“But I say, sir,” Desmond interposed hastily. “You +haven’t told me what I am to do. What part am I to play in this business +anyway?” +</p> + +<p> +“To-morrow,” said the Chief, buttoning up his coat, “you +become Mr. Basil Bellward!” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap08"></a>CHAPTER VIII.<br/> +THE WHITE PAPER PACKAGE</h2> + +<p> +A taxi was waiting in Pall Mall outside the club and Desmond hailed it, though +secretly wondering what the driver would think of taking him out to Seven +Kings. Rather to his surprise, the man was quite affable, took the address of +the house where Barbara was staying with her friends and bade Desmond +“hop in.” Presently, for the second time that day, he was heading +for the Mile End Road. +</p> + +<p> +As they zigzagged in and out of the traffic, Desmond’s thoughts were busy +with the extraordinary mission entrusted to him. So he was to sink his own +identity and don that of an Anglo-German business man, his appearance, accent, +habits, everything. The difficulties of the task positively made him cold with +fear. The man must have relations, friends, business acquaintances who would be +sufficiently familiar with his appearance and manner to penetrate, at any rate +in the long run, the most effective disguise. What did Bellward look like? +Where did he live? How was he, Desmond, to disguise himself to resemble him? +And, above all, when this knotty problem of make-up had been settled, how was +he to proceed? What should be his first step to pick out from among all the +millions of London’s teeming populace the one obscure individual who +headed and directed this gang of spies? +</p> + +<p> +Why hadn’t he asked the Chief all these questions? What an annoying man +the Chief was to deal with to be sure! All said and done, what had he actually +told Desmond? That there was a German Secret service organization spying on the +movements of troops to France, that this man, Basil Bellward, who had been +arrested, was one of the gang and that the dancer, Nur-el-Din, was in some way +implicated in the affair! And that was the extent of his confidence! On the top +of all this fog of obscurity rested the dense cloud surrounding the murder of +old Mackwayte with the unexplained, the fantastic, clue of that single hair +pointing back to Nur-el-Din. +</p> + +<p> +Desmond consoled himself finally by saying that he would be able too get some +light on his mission from Barbara Mackwayte, whom he judged to be in the +Chief’s confidence. But here he was doomed to disappointment. Barbara +could tell him practically nothing save what he already knew, that they were to +work together in this affair. Like him, she was waiting for her instructions. +</p> + +<p> +Barbara received him in a neat little suburban drawing-room in the house of her +friends, who lived a few streets away from the Mackwaytes. She was wearing a +plainly-made black crêpe de chine dress which served to accentuate the extreme +pallor of her face, the only outward indication of the great shock she had +sustained. She was perfectly calm and collected, otherwise, and she stopped +Desmond who would have murmured some phrases of condolence. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, no, please,” she said, “I don’t think I can speak +about it yet.” +</p> + +<p> +She pulled a chair over for him and began to talk about the Chief. +</p> + +<p> +“There’s not the least need for you to worry,” she said with +a little woeful smile, like a sun-ray piercing a rain-cloud, “if the +Chief says ‘Go back to France and wait for instructions,’ you may +be sure that everything is arranged, and you will receive your orders in due +course. So shall I. That’s the Chief all over. Until you know him, you +think he loves mystery for mystery’s sake. It isn’t that at all. He +just doesn’t trust us. He trusts nobody!” +</p> + +<p> +“But that hardly seems fair to us...” began Desmond. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s merely a precaution,” replied Barbara, “the Chief +takes no risks. I’ve not the least doubt that he has decided to tell you +nothing whatsoever about your part until you are firmly settled in your new +role. I’m perfectly certain that every detail of your part has already +been worked out.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, that’s not possible,” said Desmond. “Why, he +didn’t know until an hour ago that I was going to take on this +job.” +</p> + +<p> +Barbara laughed. +</p> + +<p> +“The Chief has taught me a lot about judging men by their looks,” +she said: “Personally, if I’d been in the Chief’s places I +should have gone ahead without consulting you, too.” +</p> + +<p> +The girl spoke with such directness that there was not the least suggestion of +a compliment in her remark, but Desmond blushed to the roots of his hair. +Barbara noticed it and added hastily: +</p> + +<p> +“I’m not trying to pay you a compliment: I’m just judging by +your type. I believe I can always tell the man that will take on any job, +however dangerous, and carry it through to the end.” +</p> + +<p> +Desmond blushed more furiously than ever. +</p> + +<p> +He made haste to divert the conversation into a safer channel. +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” he said slowly, “seeing that you and I were intended +to work together, it seems to me to be a most extraordinary coincidence our +meeting like that last night...” +</p> + +<p> +“It was more than a coincidence,” said Barbara, shaking her dark +brown head. “Forty-eight hours ago I’d never heard of you, then the +Chief gave me a telegram to send to your Divisional General summoning you home, +after that he told me that we were to work together, and a few hours later I +run into you in Nur-el-Din’s dressing-room...” +</p> + +<p> +She broke off suddenly, her gray eyes big with fear. She darted across the room +to an ormolu table on which her handbag was lying. With astonishment, Desmond +watched her unceremoniously spill out the contents on to the table and rake +hastily amongst the collection of articles which a pretty girl carries round in +her bag. +</p> + +<p> +Presently she raised herself erect and turning, faced the officer. She was +trembling as though with cold and when she spoke, her voice was low and husky. +</p> + +<p> +“Gone!” she whispered. +</p> + +<p> +“Have you lost anything” Desmond asked anxiously. +</p> + +<p> +“How could I have forgotten it?” she went on as though he had not +spoken, “how could I have forgotten it? Nearly twelve hours wasted, and +it explains everything. What will the Chief think of me!” +</p> + +<p> +Slowly she sank down on the sofa where she had been sitting, then, without any +warning, dropped her head into her hands and burst into tears. +</p> + +<p> +Desmond went over to her. +</p> + +<p> +“Please don’t cry,” he said gently, “you have borne up +so bravely against this terrible blow; you must try and not let it overwhelm +you.” +</p> + +<p> +All her business-like calm had disappeared now she was that most distracting of +all pictures of woman, a pretty girl overwhelmed with grief. She crouched +curled upon the sofa, with shoulders heaving, sobbing as though her heart would +break. +</p> + +<p> +“Perhaps you would like me to leave you?” Desmond asked. “Let +me ring for your friends... I am sure you would rather be alone!” +</p> + +<p> +She raised a tear-stained face to his, her long lashes glittering. +</p> + +<p> +“No, no,” she said, “don’t go, don’t go! I want +your help. This is such a dark and dreadful business, more than I ever +realized. Oh, my poor daddy, my poor daddy!” +</p> + +<p> +Again she hid her face in her hands and cried whilst Desmond stood erect by her +aide, compassionate but very helpless. +</p> + +<p> +After a little, she dabbed her eyes with a tiny square of cambric, and sitting +up, surveyed the other. +</p> + +<p> +“I must go to the Chief at once,” she said, “it is most +urgent. Would you ring and ask the maid to telephone for a taxi?” +</p> + +<p> +“I have one outside,” answered Desmond. “But won’t you +tell me what has happened?” +</p> + +<p> +“Why,” said Barbara, “it has only just dawned on me why our +house was broken into last night and poor daddy so cruelly murdered! Whoever +robbed the house did not come after our poor little bits of silver or +daddy’s savings in the desk in the dining room. They came after something +that I had!” +</p> + +<p> +“And what was that” asked Desmond. +</p> + +<p> +Then Barbara told him of her talk with Nur-el-Din in the dancer’s +dressing-room on the previous evening and of the package which Nur-el-Din had +entrusted to her care. +</p> + +<p> +“This terrible business put it completely out of my head,” said +Barbara. “In the presence of the police this morning, I looked over my +bedroom and even searched my hand-bag which the police sent back to me this +afternoon without finding that the burglars had stolen anything. It was only +just now, when we were talking about our meeting in Nur-el-Din’s room +last night, that her little package suddenly flashed across my mind. And then I +looked through my handbag again and convinced myself that it was not +there.” +</p> + +<p> +“But are you sure the police haven’t taken it?” +</p> + +<p> +“Absolutely certain,” was the reply. “I remember perfectly +what was in my hand-bag this morning when I went through it, and the same +things are on that table over there now.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you know what was in this package!” said Desmond. +</p> + +<p> +“Just a small silver box, oblong and quite plain, about so big,” +she indicated the size with her hands, “about as large as a +cigarette-box. Nur-el-Din said it was a treasured family possession of hers, +and she was afraid of losing it as she traveled about so much. She asked me to +say nothing about it and to keep it until the war was over or until she asked +me for it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then,” said Desmond, “this clears Nur-el-Din!” +</p> + +<p> +“What do you mean,” said Barbara, looking up. +</p> + +<p> +“Simply that she wouldn’t have broken into your place and killed +your father in order to recover her own package...” +</p> + +<p> +“But why on earth should Nur-el-Din be suspected of such a thing?” +</p> + +<p> +“Have you heard nothing about this young lady from the Chief?” +</p> + +<p> +“Nothing. I had not thought anything about her until daddy discovered an +old friend in her last night and introduced me.” +</p> + +<p> +The Chief’s infernal caution again! thought Desmond, secretly admiring +the care with which that remarkable man, in his own phrase, “sealed both +ends of every connection.” +</p> + +<p> +“If I’m to work with this girl,” said Desmond to himself, +“I’m going to have all the cards on the table here and now,” +so forthwith he told her of the Chief’s suspicions of the dancer, the +letter recommending her to Bellward found when the cheese merchant had been +arrested, and lastly of the black hair which had been discovered on the thongs +with which Barbara had been fastened. +</p> + +<p> +“And now,” Desmond concluded, “the very next thing we must do +is to go to the Chief and tell him about this package of Nur-el-Din’s +that is missing.” Barbara interposed quickly. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s no use your coming,” she said. “The Chief +won’t see you. When he has sent a man on his mission, he refuses to see +him again until the work has been done. If he wishes to send for you or +communicate with you, he will. But it’s useless for you to try and see +him yourself. You can drop me at the office!” +</p> + +<p> +Desmond was inclined to agree with her on this point and said so. +</p> + +<p> +“There is one thing especially that puzzles me, Miss Mackwayte,” +Desmond observed as they drove westward again, “and that is, how anyone +could have known about your having this box of Nur-el-Din’s. Was there +anybody else in the room when she gave you the package?” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” said Barbara, “I don’t think so. Wait a minute, +though, Nur-el-Din’s maid must have come in very shortly after for I +remember the opened the door when Captain Strangwise came to tell me daddy was +waiting to take me home.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you remember if Nur-el-Din actually mentioned the package in the +presence of the maid!” +</p> + +<p> +“As far as I can recollect just as the maid opened the door to Captain +Strangwise, Nur-el-Din was impressing on me again to take great care of the +package. I don’t think she actually mentioned the box but I remember her +pointing at my bag where I had put the package.” +</p> + +<p> +“The maid didn’t see Nur-el-Din give you the box?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, I’m sure of that. The room was empty save for us two. It was +only just before Captain Strangwise knocked that I noticed Marie arranging +Nur-el-Din’s dresses. She must have come in afterwards without my seeing +her.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well then, this girl, Marie, didn’t see the dancer give you the +box but she heard her refer to it. Is that right?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, and, of course, Captain Strangwise...” +</p> + +<p> +“What about him?” +</p> + +<p> +“He must have heard what Nur-el-Din was saying, too!” +</p> + +<p> +Desmond rubbed his chin. +</p> + +<p> +“I say, you aren’t going to implicate old Strangwise, too, are +you?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +Barbara did not reflect his smile. +</p> + +<p> +“He seems to know Nur-el-Din pretty well,” she said, “and +I’ll tell you something else, that woman’s afraid of your friend, +the Captain!” +</p> + +<p> +“What do you mean?” asked Desmond. +</p> + +<p> +“I was watching her in the glass last night as he was talking to her +while you and I and daddy were chatting in the corner. I don’t know what +he said to her, but she glanced over her shoulder with a look of terror in her +eyes. I was watching her face in the glass. She looked positively +<i>hunted!</i>” +</p> + +<p> +The taxi stopped. Desmond jumped out and helped his companion to alight. +</p> + +<p> +“<i>Au revoir</i>,” she said to him, “never fear, you and I +will meet very soon again!” +</p> + +<p> +With that she was gone. Desmond looked at his watch. It pointed to a quarter to +six. +</p> + +<p> +“Now I wonder what time the leave-train starts tonight,” he said +aloud, one foot on the sideboard of the taxi. +</p> + +<p> +“At 7.45, sir,” said a voice. +</p> + +<p> +“Desmond glanced round him. Then he saw it was the taxi-driver who had +spoken. +</p> + +<p> +“7.45, eh?” said Desmond. “From Victoria, I suppose?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, sir,” said the taxi-man. +</p> + +<p> +“By Jove, I haven’t much time,” ejaculated the officer +“and there are some things I want to get before I go back across the +Channel. And I shall have to see the Railway Transport Officer about my +pass.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s all right, sir,” said the taxi-man, “I have +your papers here”; he handed Desmond a couple of slips of paper which he +took from his coat-pocket; “those will take you back to France all right, +I think you’ll find!” +</p> + +<p> +Desmond looked at the papers: they were quite in order and correctly filled up +with his name, rank and regiment, and date. +</p> + +<p> +The taxi-man cut short any further question by saying: +</p> + +<p> +“If you’ll get into the cab again, sir, I’ll drive you where +you want to go, and then wait while you have your dinner and take you to the +station. By the way, your dinner’s ordered too!” +</p> + +<p> +“But who the devil are you?” asked Desmond in amazement. +</p> + +<p> +“On special service, the same as you, sir!” said the man with a +grin and Desmond understood. +</p> + +<p> +Really, the Chief was extremely thorough. +</p> + +<p> +They went to the stores in the Haymarket, to Fortnum and Mason’s, and +lastly, to a small, grubby shop at the back of Mayfair where Desmond and his +brother had bought their cigarettes for years past. Desmond purchased a hundred +of their favored brand, the Dionysus, as a reserve for his journey back to +France, and stood chatting over old times with the fat, oily-faced Greek +manager as the latter tied up his cigarettes into a clean white paper parcel, +neatly sealed up with red sealing wax. +</p> + +<p> +Then Desmond drove back to the Nineveh Hotel where he left his taxi-driving +colleague in the courtyard on the understanding that at 7.25 the taxi would be +waiting to drive him to the station. +</p> + +<p> +Desmond went straight upstairs to his room to put his kit together. In the +strong, firmly woven web spread by the Chief, he felt as helpless as a fly +caught in a spider’s mesh. He had no idea of what his plans were. He only +knew that he was going back to France, and that it was his business to get on +the leave-boat that night. +</p> + +<p> +As he passed along the thickly carpeted, silent corridor to his room, he saw +the door of Strangwise’s room standing ajar. He pushed open the door and +walked in unceremoniously. A suitcase stood open on the floor with Strangwise +bending over it. At his elbow was a table crowded with various parcels, a case +of razors, different articles of kit, and some books. Desmond halted at the +door, his box of cigarettes dangling from his finger. +</p> + +<p> +“Hullo, Maurice,” he said, “are you off, too?” +</p> + +<p> +Strangwise spun round sharply. The blood had rushed to his face, staining it +with a dark, angry flush. +</p> + +<p> +“My God, how you startled me!” he exclaimed rather testily. +“I never heard you come in!” +</p> + +<p> +He turned rather abruptly and went on with his packing. He struck Desmond as +being rather annoyed at the intrusion; the latter had never seen him out of +temper before. +</p> + +<p> +“Sorry if I butted in,” said Desmond, sliding his box of cigarettes +off his finger on to the littered table and sitting down on a chair. “I +came in to say good-bye. I’m going back to France to-night!” +</p> + +<p> +Maurice looked round quickly. He appeared to be quite his old self again and +was all smiles now. +</p> + +<p> +“So soon?” he said. “Why, I thought you were getting a job at +the War Office!” +</p> + +<p> +Desmond shook his head. +</p> + +<p> +“Not good enough,” he replied, “it’s back to the +sandbags for mine. But where are you off to?” +</p> + +<p> +“Got a bit of leave; the Intelligence folk seem to be through with me at +last, so they’ve given me six weeks!” +</p> + +<p> +“Going to the country” asked Desmond. +</p> + +<p> +Strangwise nodded. +</p> + +<p> +“Yep,” he said, “down to Essex to see if I can get a few duck +or snipe on the fens. I wish you were coming with me!” +</p> + +<p> +“So do I, old man,” echoed Desmond heartily. Then he added in a +serious voice: +</p> + +<p> +“By the way, I haven’t seen you since last night. What a shocking +affair this is about old Mackwayte, isn’t it? Are there any developments, +do you know?” +</p> + +<p> +Strangwise very deliberately fished a cigarette out of his case which was lying +open on the table and lit it before replying. +</p> + +<p> +“A very dark affair,” he said, blowing out a cloud of smoke and +flicking the match into the grate. “You are discreet, I know, Okewood. +The Intelligence people had me up this morning... to take my evidence...” +</p> + +<p> +Strangwise’s surmise about Desmond’s discretion was perfectly +correct. With Desmond Okewood discretion was second nature, and therefore he +answered with feigned surprise: “Your evidence about what? About our +meeting the Mackwaytes last night?” +</p> + +<p> +After he had spoken he realized he had blundered. Surely, after all, the Chief +would have told Strangwise about their investigations at Seven Kings. Still... +</p> + +<p> +“No,” replied Strangwise, “but about Nur-el-Din!” +</p> + +<p> +The Chief had kept his own counsel about their morning’s work. Desmond +was glad now that he had dissimulated. +</p> + +<p> +“You see, I know her pretty well,” Strangwise continued, +“between ourselves, I got rather struck on the lady when she was touring +in Canada some years ago, and in fact I spent so much more money than I could +afford on her that I had to discontinue the acquaintance. Then I met her here +when I got away from Germany a month ago; she was lonely, so I took her about a +bit. Okewood, I’m afraid I was rather indiscreet.” +</p> + +<p> +“How do you mean?” Desmond asked innocently. +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” said Strangwise slowly, contemplating the end of his +cigarette, “it appears that the lady is involved in certain activities +which considerably interest our Intelligence. But there, I mustn’t say +any more!” +</p> + +<p> +“But how on earth is Nur-el-what’s her name concerned in this +murder, Maurice?” +</p> + +<p> +Strangwise shrugged his shoulders. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, you’d better ask the police. But I tell you she’ll be +getting into trouble if she’s not careful!” +</p> + +<p> +Throughout this conversation Desmond seemed to hear in his ears Barbara’s +words: “That woman’s afraid of your friend!” He divined that +for some reason or other, Strangwise wanted to create a bad impression in his +mind about the dancer. He scanned Maurice’s face narrowly. Its +impenetrability was absolute. There was nothing to be gleaned from those +careless, smiling features. +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” said Desmond, getting up, “<i>nous verrons</i>. I +shall have to make a bolt for it now if I don’t want to miss my train. +Good-bye, Maurice, and I hope you’ll get some birds!” +</p> + +<p> +“Thanks, old man. Au revoir, and take care of yourself. My salaams to the +General!”. +</p> + +<p> +They shook hands warmly, then Desmond grabbed his box of cigarettes in its neat +white wrapper with the bold red seals and hurried off to his room. +</p> + +<p> +Strangwise stood for a moment gazing after him. He was no longer the frank, +smiling companion of a minute before. His mouth was set hard and his chin stuck +out at a defiant angle. +</p> + +<p> +He bent over the table and picked up a white paper package sealed with bold red +seals. He poised it for a moment in his hands while a flicker of a smile stole +into the narrow eyes and played for an instant round the thin lips. Then, with +a quick movement, he thrust the little package into the side pocket of his +tunic and buttoned the flap. +</p> + +<p> +Whistling a little tune, he went on with his packing. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap09"></a>CHAPTER IX.<br/> +METAMORPHOSIS</h2> + +<p> +It was a clear, cold night. A knife-edge icy wind blew from the north-east and +kept the lanyards dismally flapping on the flag-mast over the customs house. +The leave train lay in the station within a biscuit’s throw of the +quayside and the black, blank Channel beyond, a long line of cheerfully +illuminated windows that to those returning from leave seemed as the last link +with home. +</p> + +<p> +The Corporal of Military Police, who stood at the gangway examining the passes, +stopped Desmond Okewood as the latter held out his pass into the rays of the +man’s lantern. +</p> + +<p> +“There was a message for you, sir,” said the Corporal. “The +captain of the Staff boat would h-esteem it a favor, sir, if you would kindly +go to his cabin immediately on h-arriving on board, sir!” +</p> + +<p> +“Very good, Corporal!” answered the officer and passed up the gang +plank, enviously regarded by the press of brass-hats and red-tabs who, for the +most part, had a cramped berth below or cold quarters on deck to look forward +to. +</p> + +<p> +A seaman directed Desmond to the Captain’s cabin. It was built out just +behind the bridge, a snug, cheery room with bright chintz curtains over the +carefully screened portholes, a couple of comfortable benches with leather +seats along the walls, a small bunk, and in the middle of the floor a table set +out with a bottle of whiskey, a siphon and some glasses together with a box of +cigars. +</p> + +<p> +The Captain was sitting there chatting to the pilot, a short, enormously broad +man with a magenta face and prodigious hands which were folded round a smoking +glass of toddy. +</p> + +<p> +“Pick ’em up? Rescue ’em?” the pilot ejaculated, as +Desmond walked in, “I’d let ’em sink, every man Jack o’ +them, the outrageous murderin’ scoundrels. I don’t like to hear you +a-talking of such nonsense, Cap’en!” +</p> + +<p> +On Desmond’s entrance the Captain broke off the conversation. He proved +to be a trimly-built man of about fifty with a grizzled beard, and an air of +quiet efficiency which is not uncommonly found in seamen. The pilot drained his +glass and, scrambling to his feet, nodded to Desmond and stumped out into the +cold night air. +</p> + +<p> +“Jawin’ about the U boats!” said the Captain, with a jerk of +his head towards the cabin door, “I don’t know what the feelings of +your men in the trenches are towards Fritz, Major, but I tell you that no +German will dare set foot in any coast port of the United Kingdom in my +life-time or yours, either! Accommodation’s a bit narrow on board. I +thought maybe you’d care to spend the night up here!” +</p> + +<p> +“Any orders about me?” asked Desmond. +</p> + +<p> +The Captain went a shade deeper mahogany in the face. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh no,” he replied, with an elaborate assumption of innocence. +“But won’t you mix yourself a drink? And try one of my cigars, a +present from a skipper friend of mine who sailed into Tilbury from Manila last +week.” +</p> + +<p> +Desmond sat in the snug cabin, puffing a most excellent cigar and sipping his +whiskey and soda while, amid much shouting of seamen and screaming of +windlasses, the staff boat got clear. Presently they were gliding past long low +moles and black, inhospitable lighthouses, threading their way through the dark +shapes of war craft of all kinds into the open Channel. There was a good deal +of swell, but the sea was calm, and the vessel soon steadied down to regular +rise and fall. +</p> + +<p> +They had been steaming for nearly an hour when, through the open door of the +cabin, Desmond saw a seaman approach the captain on the bridge. He handed the +skipper a folded paper. +</p> + +<p> +“From the wireless operator, sir!” Desmond heard him say. +</p> + +<p> +The skipper scanned it. Then the engine telegraph rang sharply, there was the +sound of churning water, and the vessel slowed down. The next moment the +Captain appeared at the door of the cabin. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m afraid we’re going to lose you, Major,” he said +pleasantly, “a destroyer is coming up to take you off. There was a +wireless from the Admiral about you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Where are they going to take me, do you know?” asked Desmond. +</p> + +<p> +The Captain shook his head. +</p> + +<p> +“I haven’t an idea. I’ve only got to hand you over!” +</p> + +<p> +He grinned and added: +</p> + +<p> +“Where’s your kit?” +</p> + +<p> +“In the hold, I expect!” answered Desmond. “The porter at +Victoria told me not to worry about it, and that I should find it on the other +side. And, oh damn it!—I’ve got a hundred cigarettes in my kit, +too! I bought them specially for the journey!” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, take some of my cigars,” said the skipper hospitably, +“for your traps’ll have to go to France this trip, Major. +There’s no time to get ’em up now. I’ll pass the word to the +Military Landing Officer over there about ’em, if you like. He’ll +take care of ’em for you. Now will you come with me?” +</p> + +<p> +Desmond scrambled into his coat and followed the Captain down the steps to the +deck. A little distance away from the vessel, the long shape of a destroyer was +dimly visible tossing to and fro in the heavy swell. A ladder had been let down +over the side of the steamer, and at its foot a boat, manned by a number of +heavily swathed and muffled forms, was pitching. +</p> + +<p> +A few officers stood by the rail watching the scene with interest. The skipper +adroitly piloted Desmond past them and fairly thrust him out on to the ladder. +</p> + +<p> +Desmond took the hint and with a hasty “Good night” to the friendly +captain, staggered down the swaying ladder and was helped into the boat. The +boat shoved off, the bell of the engine telegraph on the steamer resounded +sharply, and the vessel resumed her interrupted voyage whilst the rowing boat +was headed towards the destroyer. On board the latter vessel an officer met +Desmond at the rail and piloted him to the ward-room. Almost before they got +there, the destroyer was under way. +</p> + +<p> +The officer who had welcomed him proved to be the second in command, a joyous +person who did the honors of the tiny ward-room with the aplomb of a Commander +in a super-Dreadnought. He mixed Desmond a drink and immediately started to +converse about life at the front without giving the other a chance of asking +whither they were bound. +</p> + +<p> +The suspense was not of long duration, however, for in about half an +hour’s time, the destroyer slowed down and Desmond’s host vanished. +When he reappeared, it was to summon Desmond on deck. +</p> + +<p> +They lay aside a mole by some steps cut in the solid concrete. Here +Desmond’s host took leave of him. +</p> + +<p> +“There should be a car waiting for you up there,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +There on top of the mole, exposed to the keen blast of the wind, a large +limousine was standing. A chauffeur, who looked blue with cold, got down from +his seat as Desmond emerged from the stairs and touched his cap. +</p> + +<p> +“Major Okewood?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s my name!” said Desmond. +</p> + +<p> +“If you’ll get in, sir, we’ll start at once!” the man +replied. +</p> + +<p> +Befogged and bewildered, Desmond entered the car, which cautiously proceeded +along the breakwater, with glimpses of black water and an occasional dim light +on either hand. They bumped over the railway-lines and rough cobblestones of a +dockyard, glided through a slumbering town, and so gradually drew out into the +open country where the car gathered speed and fairly raced along the white, +winding road. Desmond had not the faintest idea of their whereabouts or +ultimate destination. He was fairly embarked on the great adventure now, and he +was philosophically content to let Fate have its way with him. He found himself +wondering rather indolently what the future had in store. +</p> + +<p> +The car slowed down and the chauffeur switched the headlights on. Their +blinding glare revealed some white gate-posts at the entrance of a quiet +country station. Desmond looked at his watch. It was half-past one. The car +stopped at the entrance to the booking-office where a man in an overcoat and +bowler was waiting. +</p> + +<p> +“This way, Major, please,” said the man in the bowler, and led the +way into the dark and silent station. At the platform a short train consisting +of an engine, a Pullman car and a brakesman’s van stood, the engine under +steam. By the glare from the furnace Desmond recognized his companion. It was +Matthews, the Chief’s confidential clerk. +</p> + +<p> +Matthews held open the door of the Pullman for Desmond and followed him into +the carriage. A gruff voice in the night shouted: +</p> + +<p> +“All right, Charley!” a light was waved to and fro, and the special +pulled out of the echoing station into the darkness beyond. +</p> + +<p> +In the corner of the Pullman a table was laid for supper. There was a cold +chicken, a salad, and a bottle of claret. On another table was a large tin box +and a mirror with a couple of electric lights before it. At this table was +seated a small man with gray hair studying a large number of photographs. +</p> + +<p> +“If you will have your supper, Major Okewood, sir,” said Matthews, +“Mr. Crook here will get to work. We’ve not got too much +time.” +</p> + +<p> +The sea air had made Desmond ravenously hungry. He sat down promptly and +proceeded to demolish the chicken and make havoc of the salad. Also he did full +justice to the very excellent St. Estephe. +</p> + +<p> +As he ate he studied Matthews, who was one of those undefinable Englishmen one +meets in tubes and ’buses, who might be anything from a rate collector to +a rat catcher. He had sandy hair plastered limply across his forehead, a small +moustache, and a pair of watery blue eyes. Mr. Crook, who continued his study +of his assortment of photographs without taking the slightest notice of +Desmond, was a much more alert looking individual, with a shock of iron gray +hair brushed back and a small pointed beard. +</p> + +<p> +“Matthew’s,” said Desmond as he supped, “would it be +indiscreet to ask where we are?” +</p> + +<p> +“In Kent, Major,” replied Matthews. +</p> + +<p> +“What station was that we started from?” +</p> + +<p> +“Faversham.” +</p> + +<p> +“And where are we going, might I inquire?” +</p> + +<p> +“To Cannon Street, sir!” +</p> + +<p> +“And from there?” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Matthews coughed discreetly. +</p> + +<p> +“I can’t really say, sir, I’m sure! A car will meet you there +and I can go home to bed.” +</p> + +<p> +The ends sealed again! thought Desmond. What a man of caution, the Chief! +</p> + +<p> +“And this gentleman here, Matthews?” asked Desmond, lighting one of +the skipper’s cigars. +</p> + +<p> +“That, sir, is Mr. Crook, who does any little jobs we require in the way +of make-up. Our expert on resemblances, if I may put it that way, sir, for we +really do very little in the way of disguises. Mr. Crook is an observer of what +I may call people’s points, sir, their facial appearance, their little +peculiarities of manner, of speech, of gait. Whenever there is any question of +a disguise, Mr. Crook is called in to advise as to the possibilities of +success. I believe I am correct in saying, Crook, that you have been engaged on +the Major here for some time. Isn’t it so?” +</p> + +<p> +Crook looked up a minute from his table. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s right,” he said shortly, and resumed his occupation +of examining the photographs. +</p> + +<p> +“And what’s your opinion about this disguise of mine?” +Desmond asked him. +</p> + +<p> +“I can make a good job of you, Major,” said the expert, “and +so I reported to the Chief. You’ll want to do your hair a bit different +and let your beard grow, and then, if you pay attention to the lessons I shall +give you, in a week or two, you’ll be this chap here,” and he +tapped the photograph in his hand, “to the life.” +</p> + +<p> +So saying he handed Desmond the photograph. It was the portrait of a man about +forty years of age, of rather a pronounced Continental type, with a short brown +beard, a straight, rather well-shaped nose and gold-rimmed spectacles. His hair +was cut <i>en brosse</i>, and he was rather full about the throat and neck. +Without a word, Desmond stretched out his hand and gathered up a sheaf of other +photos, police photos of Mr. Basil Bellward, front face and profile seen from +right and left, all these poses shown on the same picture, some snapshots and +various camera studies. Desmond shook his head in despair. He was utterly +unable to detect the slightest resemblance between himself and this rather +commonplace looking type of business man. +</p> + +<p> +“Now if you’d just step into the compartment at the end of the +Pullman, Major,” said Crook, “you’ll find some civilian +clothes laid out. Would you mind putting them on? You needn’t trouble +about the collar and tie, or coat and waistcoat for the moment. Then +we’ll get along with the work.” +</p> + +<p> +The train rushed swaying on through the darkness. Desmond was back in the +Pullman car in a few minutes arrayed in a pair of dark gray tweed trousers, a +white shirt and black boots and socks. A cut-away coat and waistcoat of the +same tweed stuff, a black bowler hat of rather an old-fashioned and staid +pattern, and a black overcoat with a velvet collar, he left in the compartment +where he changed. +</p> + +<p> +He found that Crook had opened his tin box and set out a great array of grease +paints, wigs, twists of tow of various colors, and a number of pots and phials +of washes and unguents together with a whole battery of fine paint brushes. In +his hand he held a pair of barber’s clippers and the tips of a comb and a +pair of scissors protruded from his vest pocket. +</p> + +<p> +Crook whisked a barber’s wrap round Desmond and proceeded, with clippers +and scissors, to crop and trim his crisp black hair. +</p> + +<p> +“Tst-tst” he clicked with his tongue. “I didn’t realize +your hair was so dark, Major. It’ll want a dash of henna to lighten +it.” +</p> + +<p> +The man worked with incredible swiftness. His touch was light and sure, and +Desmond, looking at his reflection in the glass, wondered to see what fine; +delicate hands this odd little expert possessed. Matthews sat and smoked in +silence and watched the operation, whilst the special ran on steadily +Londonwards. +</p> + +<p> +When the clipping was done, Crook smeared some stuff on a towel and wrapped it +round Desmond’s head. +</p> + +<p> +“That’ll brighten your hair up a lot, sir. Now for a crepe beard +just to try the effect. We’ve got to deliver you at Cannon Street ready +for the job, Mr. Matthews and me, but you won’t want to worry with this +nasty messy beard once you get indoors. You can grow your own beard, and +I’ll pop in and henna it a bit for you every now and then.” +</p> + +<p> +There was the smart of spirit gum on Desmond’s cheeks and Crook gently +applied a strip of tow to his face. He had taken the mirror away so that +Desmond could no longer see the effect of the gradual metamorphosis. +</p> + +<p> +“A mirror only confuses me,” said the expert, breathing hard as he +delicately adjusted the false beard, “I’ve got this picture firm in +my head, and I want to get it transferred to your face. Somehow a mirror puts +me right off. It’s the reality I want.” +</p> + +<p> +As he grew more absorbed in his work, he ceased to speak altogether. He +finished the beard, trimmed the eyebrows, applied a dash of henna with a brush, +leaning backwards continually to survey the effect. He sketched in a wrinkle or +two round the eyes with a pencil, wiped them out, then put them in again. Then +he fumbled in his tin box, and produced two thin slices of grey rubber. +</p> + +<p> +“Sorry,” he said, “I’m afraid you’ll have to wear +these inside your cheeks to give the effect of roundness. You’ve got an +oval face and the other man has a round one. I can get the fullness of the +throat by giving you a very low collar, rather open and a size too large for +you.” +</p> + +<p> +Desmond obediently slipped the two slices of rubber into his mouth and tucked +them away on either side of his upper row of teeth. They were not particularly +uncomfortable to wear. +</p> + +<p> +“There’s your specs,” said Crook, handing him a spectacle +case, “and there’s the collar. Now if you’ll put on the rest +of the duds, we’ll have a look at you, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +Desmond went out and donned the vest and coat and overcoat, and, thus arrayed, +returned to the Pullman, hat in hand. +</p> + +<p> +Crook called out to him as he entered +</p> + +<p> +“Not so springy in the step, sir, if you please. Remember you’re +forty-three years of age with a Continental upbringing. You’ll have to +walk like a German, toes well turned out and down on the heel every time. So, +that’s better. Now, have a look at yourself!” +</p> + +<p> +He turned and touched a blind. A curtain rolled up with a click, disclosing a +full length mirror immediately opposite Desmond. +</p> + +<p> +Desmond recoiled in astonishment. He could scarcely credit his own eyes. The +glass must be bewitched, he thought for a moment, quite overwhelmed by the +suddenness of the shock. For instead of the young face set on a slight athletic +body that the glass was wont to show him, he saw a square, rather solid man in +ugly, heavy clothes, with a brown silky beard and gold spectacles. The disguise +was baffling in its completeness. The little wizard, who had effected this +change and who now stood by, bashfully twisting his fingers about, had +transformed youth into middle age. And the bewildering thing was that the +success of the disguise did not lie so much in the external adjuncts, the false +beard, the pencilled wrinkles, as in the hideous collar, the thick padded +clothes, in short, in the general appearance. +</p> + +<p> +For the first time since his talk with the Chief at the United Service Club, +Desmond felt his heart grow light within him. If such miracles were possible, +then he could surmount the other difficulties as well. +</p> + +<p> +“Crook,” he said, “I think you’ve done wonders. What do +you say, Matthews?” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve seen a lot of Mr. Crook’s work in my day, sir,” +answered the clerk, “but nothing better than this. It’s a +masterpiece, Crook, that’s what it is.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m fairly well satisfied,” the expert murmured modestly, +“and I must say the Major carries it off very well. But how goes the +enemy, Matthews?” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s half past two,” replied, the latter, “we should +reach Cannon Street by three. She’s running well up to time, I +think.” +</p> + +<p> +“We’ve got time for a bit of a rehearsal,” said Crook. +“Just watch me, will you please, Major, and I’ll try and give you +an impression of our friend. I’ve been studying him at Brixton for the +past twelve days, day and night almost, you might say, and I think I can convey +an idea of his manner and walk. The walk is a very important point. Now, here +is Mr. Bellward meeting one of his friends. Mr. Matthews, you will be the +friend!” +</p> + +<p> +Then followed one of the most extraordinary performances that Desmond had ever +witnessed. By some trick of the actor’s art, the shriveled figure of the +expert seemed to swell out and thicken, while his low, gentle voice deepened +into a full, metallic baritone. Of accent in his speech there was none, but +Desmond’s ear, trained to foreigners’ English, could detect a +slight Continental intonation, a little roll of the “r’s,” an +unfamiliar sound about those open “o’s” of the English +tongue, which are so fatal a trap for foreigners speaking our language. As he +watched Crook, Desmond glanced from time to time at the photograph of Bellward +which he had picked up from the table. He had an intuition that Bellward +behaved and spoke just as the man before him. +</p> + +<p> +Then, at Crook’s suggestion, Desmond assumed the role of Bellward. The +expert interrupted him continually. +</p> + +<p> +“The hands, Major, the hands, you must <i>not</i> keep them down at your +sides. That is military! You must move them when you speak! So and so!” +</p> + +<p> +Or again: +</p> + +<p> +“You speak too fast. Too... too youthfully, if you understand me, sir. +You are a man of middle age. Life has no further secrets for you. You are +poised and getting a trifle ponderous. Now try again!” +</p> + +<p> +But the train was slackening speed. They were running between black masses of +squalid houses. As the special thumped over the bridge across the river, Mr. +Crook gathered up his paints and brushes and photographs and arranged them +neatly in his black tin box. +</p> + +<p> +To Desmond he said: +</p> + +<p> +“I shall be coming along to give you some more lessons very soon, Major. +I wish you could see Bellward for yourself: you are very apt at this game, and +it would save us much time. But I fear that’s impossible.” +</p> + +<p> +Even before the special had drawn up alongside the platform at Cannon Street, +Crook and Matthews swung themselves out and disappeared. When the train +stopped, a young man in a bowler hat presented himself at the door of the +Pullman. +</p> + +<p> +“The car is there, Mr. Bellward, sir!” he said, helping Desmond to +alight. Desmond, preparing to assume his new role, was about to leave the +carriage when a sudden thought struck him. What about his uniform strewn about +the compartment where he had changed? He ran back. The compartment was empty. +Not a trace remained of the remarkable scenes of their night journey. +</p> + +<p> +“This is for you,” said the young man, handing Desmond a note as +they walked down the platform. +</p> + +<p> +Outside the station a motor-car with its noisy throbbing awoke the echoes of +the darkened and empty courtyard. Desmond waited until he was being whirled +over the smooth asphalt of the City streets before he opened the letter. +</p> + +<p> +He found a note and a small key inside the envelope. +</p> + +<p> +“On reaching the house to which you will be conveyed,” the note +said, “you will remain indoors until further orders. You can devote your +time to studying the papers you will find in the desk beside the bed. For the +present you need not fear detection <i>as long as you do not leave the +house</i>.” Then followed a few rough jottings obviously for his +guidance. +</p> + +<p> +“Housekeeper, Martha, half blind, stupid; odd man, John Hill, mostly +invisible, no risk from either. You are confined to house with heavy chill. +<i>Do not go out until you get the word.</i>” +</p> + +<p> +The last sentence was twice underlined. +</p> + +<p> +The night was now pitch-dark. Heavy clouds had come up and obscured the stars +and a drizzle of rain was falling. The car went forward at a good pace and +Desmond, after one or two ineffectual attempts to make out where they were +going, was lulled by the steady motion into a deep sleep. He was dreaming +fitfully of the tossing Channel as he had seen it but a few hours before when +he came to his senses with a start. He felt a cold draught of air on his face +and his feet were dead with cold. +</p> + +<p> +A figure stood at the open door of the car. It was the chauffeur. +</p> + +<p> +“Here we are, sir,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +Desmond stiffly descended to the ground. It was so dark that he could +distinguish nothing, but he felt the grit of gravel under his feet and he heard +the melancholy gurgle of running water. He took a step forward and groped his +way into a little porch smelling horribly of mustiness and damp. As he did so, +he heard a whirr behind him and the car began to glide off. Desmond shouted +after the chauffeur. Now that he stood on the very threshold of his adventure, +he wanted to cling desperately to this last link with his old self. But the +chauffeur did not or would not hear, and presently the sound of the engine died +away, leaving Desmond to the darkness, the sad splashing of distant water and +his own thoughts. +</p> + +<p> +And then, for one brief moment, all his courage seemed to ooze out of him. If +he had followed his instinct, he would have turned and fled into the night, +away from that damp and silent house, away from the ceaseless splashing of +waters, back to the warmth and lights of civilization. But his sense of humor, +which is very often better than courage, came to his rescue. +</p> + +<p> +“I suppose I ought to be in the devil of a rage,” he said to +himself, “being kept waiting like this outside my own house! Where the +deuce is my housekeeper? By Gad, I’ll ring the place down!” +</p> + +<p> +The conceit amused him, and he advanced further into the musty porch hoping to +find a bell. But as he did so his ear caught the distant sound of shuffling +feet. The shuffle of feet drew nearer and presently a beam of light shone out +from under the door. A quavering voice called out: +</p> + +<p> +“Here I am, Mr. Bellward, here I am, sir!” +</p> + +<p> +Then a bolt was drawn back, a key turned, and the door swung slowly back, +revealing an old woman, swathed in a long shawl and holding high in her hand a +lamp as she peered out into the darkness. +</p> + +<p> +“Good evening, Martha,” said Desmond, and stepped into the house. +</p> + +<p> +Save for Martha’s lamp, the lobby was in darkness, but light was +streaming into the hall from the half open door of a room leading off it at the +far end. While Martha, wheezing asthmatically, bolted the front door, Desmond +went towards the room where the light was and walked in. +</p> + +<p> +It was a small sitting-room, lined with bookshelves, illuminated by an oil lamp +which stood on a little table beside a chintz-covered settee which had been +drawn up in front of the dying fire. +</p> + +<p> +On the settee Nur-el-Din was lying asleep. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap10"></a>CHAPTER X.<br/> +D. O. R. A. IS BAFFLED</h2> + +<p> +When Barbara reached the Chief’s ante-room she found it full of people. +Mr. Marigold was there, chatting with Captain Strangwise who seemed to be just +taking his leave; there was a short, fat, Jewish-looking man, very +resplendently dressed with a large diamond pin in his cravat and a small, +insignificant looking gentleman with a gray moustache and the red rosette of +the Legion of Honor in his button-hole. Matthews came out of the Chief’s +room as Barbara entered the outer office. +</p> + +<p> +“Miss Mackwayte,” he said, “we are all so shocked and so +very, sorry...” +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Matthews,” she said hastily in a low voice, “never mind +about that now. I must see the Chief at once. It is most urgent.” +</p> + +<p> +Matthews gesticulated with his arm round the room. +</p> + +<p> +“All these people, excepting the officer there, are waiting to see him, +Miss, and he’s got a dinner engagement at eight...” +</p> + +<p> +“It is urgent, Mr. Matthews, I tell you. If you won’t take my name +in, I shall go in myself!” +</p> + +<p> +“Miss Mackwayte, I daren’t interrupt him now. Do you know +who’s with him...?” +</p> + +<p> +Strangwise crossed the room to where Barbara was standing. +</p> + +<p> +“I can guess what brings you here, Miss Mackwayte,” he said gently. +“I hope you will allow me to express my condolences...?” +</p> + +<p> +The girl shrank back, almost imperceptibly, yet Strangwise, whose eyes were +fixed on her pale face, noticed the spontaneous recoil. The sunshine seemed to +fade out of his debonair countenance, and for a moment Barbara Mackwayte saw +Maurice Strangwise as very few people had ever seen him, stern and cold and +hard, without a vestige of his constant smile. But the shadow lifted as quickly +as it had fallen. His face had resumed its habitually engaging expression as he +murmured: +</p> + +<p> +“Believe me, I am truly sorry for you!” +</p> + +<p> +“Thank you, thank you!” Barbara said hastily and brushed past him. +She walked straight across the room to the door of the Chief’s room, +turned the handle and walked in. +</p> + +<p> +The room was in darkness save for an electric reading lamp on the desk which +threw a beam of light on the faces of two men thrust close together in eager +conversation. One was the Chief, the other a face that Barbara knew well from +the illustrated papers. +</p> + +<p> +At the sound of the door opening, the Chief sprang to his feet. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, it’s Miss Mackwayte,” he said, and added something in a +low voice to the other man who had risen to his feet. “My dear,” he +continued aloud to Barbara, “I will see you immediately; we must not be +disturbed now. Matthews should have told you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Chief,” cried Barbara, her hands clasped convulsively together, +“you must hear me now. What I have to say cannot wait. Oh, you must hear +me!” +</p> + +<p> +The Chief looked as embarrassed as a man usually looks when he is appealed to +in a busy moment by an extremely attractive girl. +</p> + +<p> +“Miss Mackwayte,” he said firmly but with great courtesy, +“you must wait outside. I know how unnerved you are by all that you have +gone through, but I am engaged just now. I shall be free presently.” +</p> + +<p> +“It is about my father, Chief,” Barbara said in a trembling voice, +“I have found out what they came to get!” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah!” said the Chief and the other man simultaneously. +</p> + +<p> +“We had better hear what she has to say!” said the other man, +“but won’t you introduce me first?” +</p> + +<p> +“This is Sir Bristowe Marr, the First Sea Lord,” said the Chief, +bringing up a chair for Barbara, “Miss Mackwayte, my secretary, +Admiral!” +</p> + +<p> +Then in a low impassioned voice Barbara told her tale of the package entrusted +to her by Nur-el-Din and its disappearance from her bedroom on the night of the +murder. As she proceeded a deep furrow appeared between the Chief’s bushy +eyebrows and he stared absently at the blotting-pad in front of him. When the +girl had finished her story, the Chief said: +</p> + +<p> +“Lambelet ought to hear this, sir: he’s the head of the French +Intelligence, you know. He’s outside now. Shall we have him in? Miss +Mackwayte shall tell her story, and you can then hear what Lambelet has to say +about this versatile young dancer.” +</p> + +<p> +Without waiting for further permission, he pressed a bell on the desk and +presently Matthews ushered in the small man with the Legion of Honor whom +Barbara had seen in the ante-room. +</p> + +<p> +The Chief introduced the Frenchman and in a few words explained the situation +to him. Then he turned to Barbara: +</p> + +<p> +“Colonel Lambelet speaks English perfectly,” he said, “so +fire away and don’t be nervous!” +</p> + +<p> +When she had finished, the Chief said, addressing Lambelet: +</p> + +<p> +“What do you make of it, Colonel?” +</p> + +<p> +The little Frenchman made an expressive gesture. +</p> + +<p> +“Madame has become aware of the interest you have been taking in her +movements, <i>mon cher</i>. She seized the opportunity of this meeting with the +daughter of her old friend to get rid of something compromising, a code or +something of the kind, <i>qui sait?</i> Perhaps this robbery and its attendant +murder was only an elaborate device to pass on some particularly important +report of the movements of your ships... <i>qui sait?</i>” +</p> + +<p> +“Then you are convinced in your own mind, Colonel, that this woman is a +spy?” The clear-cut voice of the First Sea Lord rang out of the darkness +of the room outside the circle of light on the desk. +</p> + +<p> +“<i>Mais certainement!</i>” replied the Frenchman quietly. +“Listen and you shall hear! By birth she is a Pole, from Warsaw, of good, +perhaps, even, of noble family. I cannot tell you, for her real name we have +not been able to ascertain... <i>parbleu</i>, it is impossible, with the Boches +at Warsaw, <i>hein?</i> We know, however, that at a very early age, under the +name of <i>la petite Marcelle</i>, she was a member of a troupe of acrobats who +called themselves The Seven Duponts. With this troupe she toured all over +Europe. <i>Bien!</i> About ten years ago, she went out to New York as a singer, +under the name of Marcelle Blondinet, and appeared at various second-class +theatres in the United States and Canada. Then we lose track of her for some +years until 1913, the year before the war, when the famous Oriental dancer, +Nur-el-Din, who has made a <i>grand succès</i> by the splendor of her dresses +in America and Canada, appears at Brussels, scores a triumph and buys a fine +mansion in the outskirts of the capital. She produces herself at Paris, +Bordeaux, Lyons, Marseilles, Madrid, Milan and Rome, but her home in Brussels, +always she returns there, your understand me, hein? <i>La petite Marcelle</i> +of The Seven Duponts, Marcelle Blondinet of the <i>café chantant</i>, has +blossomed out into a star of the first importance.” +</p> + +<p> +The Colonel paused and cleared his throat. +</p> + +<p> +“To buy a mansion in Brussels, to run a large and splendid troupe, +requires money. It is the men who pay for these things, you would say. Quite +right, but listen who were the friends of Madame Nur-el-Din. Bischoffsberg, the +German millionaire of Antwerp, von Wurzburg, of Berne... ah ha! you know that +gentleman, <i>mon cher?</i>” he turned, chuckling, to the Chief who +nodded his acquiescence; “Prince Meddelin of the German Embassy in Paris +and administrator of the German Secret Service funds in France, and so on and +so on. I will not fatigue you with the list. The direct evidence is coming now. +</p> + +<p> +“When the war broke out in August, 1914, Madame, after finishing her +summer season in Brussels, was resting in her Brussels mansion. What becomes of +her? She vanishes.” +</p> + +<p> +“She told Samuel, the fellow who runs the Palaceum, that she escaped from +Brussels!” interposed the Chief. +</p> + +<p> +The Frenchman threw his hands above his head. +</p> + +<p> +“Escaped, escaped? <i>Ah, oui, par exemple</i>, in a German Staff car. As +I have told my colleague here,” he went on, addressing the Admiral, +“she escaped to Metz, the headquarters of the Army Group commanded by +the... the... how do you say? the Prince Imperial?” +</p> + +<p> +“The Crown Prince,” rectified the Chief. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, <i>oui</i>,—the Crown Prince. Messieurs, we have absolute +testimony that this woman lived for nearly two years either in Metz or Berlin, +and further, that at Metz, the Crown Prince was a constant visitor at her +house. She was one of the ladies who nearly precipitated a definite rupture +between the Crown Prince and his wife. <i>Mon Admiral</i>,” he went on, +addressing the First Sea Lord again, “that this woman should be at large +is a direct menace to the security of this country and of mine. It is only this +morning that I at length received from Paris the facts which I have just laid +before you. It is for you to order your action accordingly!” +</p> + +<p> +The little Frenchman folded his arms pompously and gazed at the ceiling. +</p> + +<p> +“How does she explain her movements prior to her coming to this +country” the First Sea Lord asked the Chief. +</p> + +<p> +For an answer the Chief pressed the bell. +</p> + +<p> +“Samuel, who engaged her, is outside. You shall hear her story from +him,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +Samuel entered, exuding business acumen, prosperity, geniality. He nodded +brightly to the Chief and stood expectant. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, Mr. Samuel,” said the Chief, “I wanted to see you about +Nur-el-Din. You remember our former conversation on the subject. Where did she +say she went to when she escaped to Brussels?” +</p> + +<p> +“First to Ostend,” replied the music-hall proprietor, “and +then, when the general exodus took place from there, to her mother’s +country place near Lyons, a village called Sermoise-aux-Roses.” +</p> + +<p> +“And what did she say her mother’s name was?” +</p> + +<p> +“Madame Blondinet, sir!” +</p> + +<p> +The Frenchman rapped smartly on a little pocketbook which he had produced and +now held open in his hand. +</p> + +<p> +“There, is a Madame Blondinet who has a large farm near +Sermoise-aux-Roses,” he said, “and she has a daughter called +Marcelle, who went to America.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why then...?” began the First Sea Lord. +</p> + +<p> +“<i>Attendez un instant!</i>” +</p> + +<p> +The Colonel held up a plump hand. +</p> + +<p> +“Unfortunately for Madame Nur-el-Din, this Marcelle Blondinet spent the +whole of her childhood, in fact, the whole of her life until she was nineteen +years of age, on her mother’s farm at a time when <i>this</i> Marcelle +Blondinet was touring Europe with The Seven Duponts. The evidence is absolute. +Mademoiselle here heard the dancer herself confirm it last night!” +</p> + +<p> +“Thank you, Mr. Samuel,” said the Chief, “we shan’t +require you any more. But I’m afraid your Nur-el-Din will have to break +her contract with you.” +</p> + +<p> +“She’s done that already, sir!” said Samuel ruefully. +</p> + +<p> +The Chief sprang to his feet excitedly. +</p> + +<p> +“Broken it already?” he cried. “What do you mean? Explain +yourself! Don’t stand there staring at me!” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Samuel looked startled out of his life. +</p> + +<p> +“There was a bit of a row between her and the stage manager last night +about her keeping the stage waiting again,” he said; “and after +lunch today she rang up to say she would not appear at the Palaceum to-night or +any more at all! It’s very upsetting for us; and I don’t mind +telling you, gentlemen, that I’ve been to my solicitors about +it...” +</p> + +<p> +“And why the blazes didn’t you come and tell me?” demanded +the Chief furiously. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, sir, I thought it was only a bit of pique on her part, and I hoped +to be able to talk the lady round. I know what these stars are!” +</p> + +<p> +“You’ve seen her then?” the Chief snapped out. +</p> + +<p> +“No, I haven’t!” Mr. Samuel lamented. “I’ve been +twice to the Nineveh—that’s where she’s stopping—and +each time she was out!” +</p> + +<p> +The Chief dismissed him curtly. +</p> + +<p> +When the door had closed behind him, the Chief said to the First Sea Lord: +</p> + +<p> +“This is where D.O.R.A. steps in, I think, sir!” +</p> + +<p> +“Decidedly!” replied the Admiral. “Will you take the +necessary steps?” +</p> + +<p> +The Chief nodded and pressed the bell. Matthews appeared. +</p> + +<p> +“Anything from the Nineveh?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +“The lady has not returned, sir!” +</p> + +<p> +“Anything from Gordon and Duff?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, sir, nothing all day!” +</p> + +<p> +The telephone on the desk whirred. The Chief lifted the receiver. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. Oh, it’s you, Gordon? No, you can say it now: this is a +private line.” +</p> + +<p> +He listened at the receiver for a couple of minutes. The room was very still. +</p> + +<p> +“All right, come to the office at once!” +</p> + +<p> +The Chief hung up the receiver and turned to the Admiral. +</p> + +<p> +“She’s given us the slip for the moment!” he said. +“That was Gordon speaking. He and Duff have been shadowing our lady +friend out of doors for days. She left the hotel on foot after lunch this +afternoon with my two fellows in her wake. There was a bit of a crush on the +pavement near Charing Cross and Duff was pushed into the roadway and run over +by a motor-’bus. In the confusion Gordon lost the trail. He’s +wasted all this time trying to pick it up again instead of reporting to me at +once.” +</p> + +<p> +“<i>Zut!</i>” cried the Frenchman. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap11"></a>CHAPTER XI.<br/> +CREDENTIALS</h2> + +<p> +The sight of Nur-el-Din filled Desmond with alarm. For a moment his mind was +overshadowed by the dread of detection. He had forgotten all about Mr. +Crook’s handiwork in the train, and his immediate fear was that the +dancer would awake and recognize him. But then he caught sight of his face in +the mirror over the mantelpiece. The grave bearded man staring oddly at him out +of the glass gave him a shock until he realized the metamorphosis that had +taken place in his personality. The realization served instantly to still his +apprehension. +</p> + +<p> +Nur-el-Din lay on her side, one hand under her face which was turned away from +the fire. She was wearing a big black musquash coat, and over her feet she had +flung a tweed overcoat, apparently one of Mr. Bellward’s from the +hatstand in the hall. Her hat, a very dainty little affair of plain black +velvet, was skewered with a couple of jewelled hatpins to the upholstery of the +settee. +</p> + +<p> +Desmond watched her for a moment. Her face looked drawn and tired now that her +eyelids, with their long sweeping black lashes, were closed, shutting off the +extraordinary luminosity of her eyes. As he stood silently contemplating her, +she stirred and moaned in her sleep and muttered some word three or four times +to herself. Desmond was conscious of a great feeling of compassion for this +strangely beautiful creature. Knowing as he did of the hundred-eyed monster of +the British Secret Service that was watching her, he found himself thinking how +frail, how helpless, how unprotected she looked, lying there in the flickering +light of the fire. +</p> + +<p> +A step resounded behind him and old Martha shuffled into the room, carefully +shading the lamp she still carried so that its rays should not fall on the face +of the sleeper. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know as I’ve done right, sir,” she mumbled, +“letting the pore lady wait here for you like this, but I couldn’t +hardly help it, sir! She says as how she must see you, and seeing as how your +first tellygram said you was coming at half-past nine, I lets her stop +on!” +</p> + +<p> +“When did she arrive” asked Desmond softly. +</p> + +<p> +“About six o’clock,” answered the old, woman. “Walked +all the way up from Wentfield Station, too, sir, and that cold she was when she +arrived here, fair blue with the cold she was, pore dear. D’reckly she +open her lips, I sees she’s a furrin’ lady, sir. She asks after you +and I tells her as how you are away and won’t be back till this evening. +‘Oh!’ she says, I then I wait!’ And in she comes without so +much as with your leave or by your leave. She told me as how you knew her, sir, +and were expecting to see her, most important, she said it was, so I hots her +up a bit o’ dinner. I hopes as how I didn’t do wrong, Mr. Bellward, +sir!” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, no, Martha, not at all!” Desmond replied—at random. He +was sorely perplexed as to his next move. Obviously the girl could not stay in +the house. What on earth did she want with him? And could he, at any rate, get +at the desk and read the papers of which the note spoke and which, he did not +doubt, were the <i>dossier</i> of the Bellward case, before she awoke? They +might, at least, throw some light on his relations with the dancer. +</p> + +<p> +“She had her dinner here by the fire,” old Martha resumed her +narrative, “and about a quarter past nine comes your second tellygram, +sir, saying as how you could not arrive till five o’clock in the +morning.” +</p> + +<p> +Desmond glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece. The hands pointed to a quarter +past five! He had lost all count of the time in his peregrinations of the +night. +</p> + +<p> +“I comes in here and tells the young lady as how you wouldn’t be +back last night, sir,” the old woman continued, “and she says, +‘Oh,’ she says, ‘then, where shall I go?’ she says. +‘Why don’t you go home, my dear?’ says I, ‘and pop +round and see the master in the morning,’ I says, thinking the pore young +lady lives about here. And then she tells me as how she come all the way from +Lunnon and walked up from the station. As well you know, sir, the last train up +leaves Wentfield Station at five minutes to nine, and so the pore young lady +couldn’t get back that night. So here she had to stop. I got the spare +room ready for her and lit a nice fire and all, but she wouldn’t go to +bed not until she had seen you. I do hope as how I’ve not done wrong, +sir. I says to Mr. Hill, I says...” +</p> + +<p> +Desmond held up his hand to restrain her toothless babble. Nur-el-Din had +stirred and was sitting up, rubbing her eyes. Then she caught sight of Desmond +and scrambled rather unsteadily to her feet. +</p> + +<p> +“Monsieur Bellward?” she said in French, “oh, how glad I am +to see you!” +</p> + +<p> +“All right, Martha,” said Desmond, “see that the spare room +is ready for this lady, and don’t go to bed just yet. I shall want you to +take this lady to her room.” +</p> + +<p> +The old woman hobbled away, leaving the two alone. As soon as the door had +closed behind her, Nur-el-Din exclaimed: +</p> + +<p> +“You know me; <i>hein?</i>” +</p> + +<p> +Desmond bowed in the most correct Continental manner. +</p> + +<p> +“Who does not know the charming Nur-el-Din?” he replied. +</p> + +<p> +“No!” Nur-el-Din commanded with flashing eyes, “no, not that +name! I am Madame Le Bon, you, understand, a Belgian refugee, from +Termonde!” +</p> + +<p> +Rather taken aback by her imperious manner, Desmond bowed again but said +nothing. +</p> + +<p> +“I received your letter,” the dancer resumed, “but I did not +answer it as I did not require your assistance. But now I wish your help. It is +unfortunate that you were absent from home at the very time I counted upon your +aid.” +</p> + +<p> +She flashed a glance at him as though awaiting an apology. +</p> + +<p> +“I am extremely sorry,” said Desmond, “if I had but +known...” +</p> + +<p> +Nur-el-Din nodded carelessly. +</p> + +<p> +“I wish to pass the night here,” she went on, “in fact, I may +be here for several days. They are becoming inconvenient in London, you +understand.” +</p> + +<p> +“But the theatre, your professional engagements?” +</p> + +<p> +“Bah, I have left the theatre. I have had enough of these stupid English +people... they know nothing of art!” +</p> + +<p> +Desmond reflected a moment. Nur-el-Din’s manner was most perplexing. What +on earth could induce her to adopt this tone of condescension towards him? It +nettled him. He resolved to try and find out on what it was based. +</p> + +<p> +“I am only too happy to be of assistance to you,” he said, +“especially in view of the letter of introduction you sent me, but I must +tell you plainly that what you ask is impossible.” +</p> + +<p> +“Impossible?” repeated Nur-el-Din, stamping her feet. +“Impossible? Do you know what you are saying?” +</p> + +<p> +“Perfectly,” replied Desmond negligently. “Obviously, you +must stay here for the rest of the night since you cannot return to London +until the trains start running, but to stay here indefinitely as you propose to +do is out of the question. People would talk!” +</p> + +<p> +“Then it is your business to see that they don’t!” +</p> + +<p> +“Your letter of introduction came from one whom I am always anxious to +oblige,” Desmond went on. “But the service he is authorized to +claim from me does not entitle him to jeopardize my other activities.” +</p> + +<p> +He drew a breath. It was a long shot. Would it draw her? +</p> + +<p> +It did. Nur-el-Din fumbled in her bag, produced a leather pocket-book and from +it produced a slip of paper folded in two. +</p> + +<p> +“Read that!” she cried, “and then you shall apologize!” +</p> + +<p> +Desmond took the paper. It was a sheet torn from a book of German military +field messages. “<i>Meldedienst</i>” (Message Service) was printed +in German at the top and there were blanks to be filled in for the date, hour +and place, and at the bottom a printed form of acknowledgment for the recipient +to sign. +</p> + +<p> +In a large ostentatious, upright German handwriting was written what follows: +</p> + +<p class="letter"> +“To All Whom it May Concern. +</p> + +<p class="letter"> +“The lady who is the bearer of this, whose description is set out +overleaf, is entitled to the full respect and assistance of the German forces +on land and sea and in the air, wherever it may be. Her person and property are +inviolate.<br/> + “Given At Our Headquarters at Metz +</p> + +<p class="right"> +“Friedrich Wilhelm <br/> +“Kronprinz des <br/> +“Deutschen Reiches.” +</p> + +<p> +Across the signature was the impress of a green stamp, lozenge-shaped, +inscribed “Headquarters of the Fifth Army, General Staff, 21st September, +1914.” +</p> + +<p> +On the back of the slip was a detailed description of Nur-el-Din. +</p> + +<p> +Desmond bowed and handed the paper back to its owner. +</p> + +<p> +“Madame must accept my humble excuses,” he murmured, hardly knowing +what he was saying, so great was his surprise, “my house and services are +at Madame’s disposal!” +</p> + +<p> +“The other letter was from Count Plettenbach, the Prince’s A.D.C., +whom I think you know!” added the dancer in a mollified voice as she +replaced the slip of paper in its pocketbook and stowed it away in her +hand-bag. Then, looking up archly at Desmond, she said: +</p> + +<p> +“Am I so distasteful, then, to have in your house?” +</p> + +<p> +She made a charming picture. Her heavy fur coat had fallen open, disclosing her +full round throat, very brown against the V-shaped opening of her white silk +blouse. Her mouth was a perfect cupid’s bow, the upper lip slightly drawn +up over her dazzlingly white teeth. Before Desmond could answer her question, +if answer were needed, her mood had swiftly changed again. She put her hand +out, a little brown hand, and laying it on his shoulder, looked up appealingly +into his eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“You will protect me,” she said in a low voice, “I cannot +bear this hunted life. From this side, from that, they, are closing in on me, +and I am frightened, so very frightened. Promise you will keep me from +harm!” +</p> + +<p> +Desmond gazed down into her warm, expressive eyes helplessly. What she asked +was impossible, he knew, but he was a soldier, not a policeman, he told +himself, and under his breath he cursed the Chief for landing him in such a +predicament. To Nur-el-Din he said gently: +</p> + +<p> +“Tell me what has happened to frighten you. Who is hunting you? Is it the +police?” +</p> + +<p> +She withdrew her hand with a gesture of contempt. +</p> + +<p> +“Bah!” she said bitterly. “I am not afraid of the +police.” +</p> + +<p> +Then she sank into a reverie, her gaze fixed on the dying embers of the fire. +</p> + +<p> +“All my life has been a struggle,” she went on, after a moment, +“first with hunger, then with men, then the police. I am used to a hard +life. No, it is not the police!” +</p> + +<p> +“Who is it, then” asked Desmond, completely nonplused. +</p> + +<p> +Nur-el-Din let her eyes rest on his face for a moment. +</p> + +<p> +“You have honest eyes,” she said, “your eyes are not +German... pardon me, I would not insult your race... I mean they are different +from the rest of you. One day, perhaps, those eyes of yours may persuade me to +answer your question. But I don’t know you well enough yet!” +</p> + +<p> +She broke off abruptly, shaking her head. +</p> + +<p> +“I am tired,” she sighed and all her haughty manner returned, +“let the old woman show me to my room. I will take <i>déjeuner</i> with +you at one o’clock.” +</p> + +<p> +Desmond bowed and stepping out into the hall, called the housekeeper. Old +Martha shuffled off with the girl, leaving Desmond staring with vacant eyes +into the fire. He was conscious of a feeling of exultation, despite his utter +weariness and craving for sleep. This girl, with her queenly ways, her swiftly +changing moods, her broad gusts of passion, interested him enormously. If she +were the quarry, why, then, the chase were worth while! But the end? For a +brief moment, he had a vision of that frail, clinging figure swaying up against +some blank wall before a file of levelled rifles. +</p> + +<p> +Then again he seemed to see old Mackwayte lying dead on the landing of the +house at Seven Kings. Had this frail girl done this unspeakable deed? To send +her to the gallows or before a firing-squad—was this to be the end of his +mission? And the still, small voice of conscience answered: “Yes! that is +what you have come here to do!” +</p> + +<p> +Old Martha came shuffling down the staircase. Desmond called to her, +remembering that he did not yet know where his bedroom was. +</p> + +<p> +“Will you light me up to my room, Martha?” he said, “I want +to be sure that the sheets are not damp!” +</p> + +<p> +So saying he extinguished the lamp on the table and followed the old woman +upstairs. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap12"></a>CHAPTER XII.<br/> +AT THE MILL HOUSE</h2> + +<p> +Clad in a suit of Mr. Basil Bellward’s pyjamas of elaborate blue-flowered +silk, Desmond lay propped up in bed in Mr. Bellward’s luxuriously fitted +bedroom, sipping his morning coffee, and studying with absorbed interest a +sheet of blue foolscap. A number of papers lay strewn about the eiderdown +quilt. At the head of the bed a handsome Sheraton bureau stood open. +</p> + +<p> +As the French say, Mr. Bellward had refused himself nothing. His bedroom was +most tastefully furnished. The furniture was mahogany, every piece carefully +chosen, and the chintz of curtains and upholstery was bright and attractive. A +most elaborate mahogany wardrobe was fitted into the wall, and Desmond, +investigating it, had found it to contain a very large assortment of clothes of +every description, all new or nearly so, and bearing the name of a famous +tailor of Cork Street. Folding doors, resembling a cupboard, disclosed, when +open, a marble basin with hot water laid on, while a curtained door in the +corner of the room gave access to a white tiled bathroom. Mr. Bellward, Desmond +had reflected after his tour of the room on his arrival, evidently laid weight +on his personal comfort; for the contrast between the cheerful comfort of his +bedroom and the musty gloom of the rooms downstairs was very marked. +</p> + +<p> +A bright log fire hissed on the open hearth and the room was pleasantly warm. +Old Martha’s coffee was excellent, and Desmond, very snug in Mr. +Bellward’s comfortable bed, noted with regret that the clock on the +mantel-shelf marked a quarter to twelve. But then he thought of the tête-à-tête +luncheon that awaited him at one o’clock and his face cleared. He +didn’t mind getting up so much after all. +</p> + +<p> +He fell again to the perusal of the documents which he had found, as indicated +in the note from headquarters, in the desk by the bed. They were enclosed in +two envelopes, one large, the other small, both without any superscription. The +large envelope enclosed Mr. Bellward’s dossier which consisted of a +fairly detailed account of his private life, movements, habits and friends, and +an account of his arrest. The small envelope contained Desmond’s eagerly +expected orders. +</p> + +<p> +Desmond examined the papers in the large envelope first. From them he +ascertained that the house in which he found himself was called The Mill House, +and was situated two and a half miles from the station of Wentfield on the +Great Eastern Railway in Essex. Mr. Bellward had taken the place some eight +years before, having moved there from the Surrey hills, but had been wont to +spend not more than two months in the year there. For the rest of the time he +traveled abroad, usually passing the winter months on the Riviera, and the +spring in Switzerland or Italy. The war had brought about a change in his +habits, and Harrogate, Buxton and Bath had taken the place of the Continental +resorts which he had frequented in peace time. +</p> + +<p> +When in residence at The Mill House, Mr. Bellward had gone up to London nearly +every morning, either walking or going by motor-cycle to the station, and not +returning until dinner-time in the evening. Sometimes he passed the night in +London, and on such occasions slept at a small hotel in Jermyn Street. His +dossier included, a long and carefully compiled list of the people he knew in +London, mostly men of the rich business set, stockbrokers, manufacturers, +solicitors, and the like. Against every name was set a note of the exact degree +of intimacy existing between Bellward and the man in question, and any other +information that might serve Bellward’s impersonator in good stead. +Desmond laid this list aside for the moment, intending to study it more closely +at his leisure. +</p> + +<p> +Of intercourse with his neighbors in, the country, Mr. Bellward apparently had +none. The Mill House stood in a lonely part of the country, remote from the +more thickly populated centres of Brentwood and Romford, on the edge of a wide +tract of inhospitable marshland, known as Morstead Fen, intersected by those +wide deep ditches which in this part of the world are known as dykes. At this +stage in the report there was a note to the effect that the rector of Wentfield +had called twice at The Mill House but had not found Mr. Bellward at home, and +that his visits had not been returned. There were also some opinions apparently +culled locally regarding the tenant of the Mill House, set out something in +this wise:— +</p> + +<p class="letter"> +“Landlord of the Red Lion, Wentfield: The gentleman has never been to the +Red Lion, but sometimes orders my Ford car and always pays regularly.<br/> + “The Stationmaster at Wentfield: A gentleman who keeps himself to +himself but very liberal with his money.<br/> + “Sir Marsham Dykes, of The Chase, Stanning: A damned unsociable +churlish fellow.<br/> + “Mr. Tracy Wentfield, of the Channings, Home Green: A very rude man. +He slammed the front door of the house in my face when I went to ask him for a +contribution to our Cottage Hospital. It is not my habit to repeat idle gossip, +but they do say he is a heavy drinker.” +</p> + +<p> +There was a lot more of this sort of thing, and Desmond turned from it with a +smile to take up the account of Bellward’s arrest. It appeared that, +about a fortnight before, on the eve of the departure for France of a very +large draft of troops, a telegram was handed in at the East Strand telegraph +office addressed to Bellward. This telegram ran thus: +</p> + +<p class="letter"> +“Bellward, Bellward Hotel, Jermyn Street.<br/> + “Shipping to you Friday 22,000 please advise correspondents.<br/> +“M<small>ORTIMER</small>.” +</p> + +<p> +The authorities were unable to deliver this telegram as no such an hotel as the +Hotel Bellward was found to exist in Jermyn Street. An examination of the +address showed clearly that the sender had absent mindedly repeated the +addressee’s name in writing the name of the hotel. An advice was +therefore addressed to the sender, Mortimer, at the address he had given on the +back of the form, according to the regulations, to inform him that his telegram +had not been delivered. It was then discovered that the address given by +Mortimer was fictitious. +</p> + +<p> +Suspicion being thus aroused, the telegram was forwarded to the Postal +Censor’s department whence it reached the Intelligence Authorities who +promptly spotted the connection between the wording of the telegram and the +imminent departure of the drafts, more especially as the dates tallied. +Thereupon, Mr. Bellward was hunted up and ultimately traced by his +correspondence to The Mill House. He was not found there, but was eventually +encountered at his London hotel, and requested to appear before the authorities +with a view to throwing some light on Mortimer. Under cross-examination +Bellward flatly denied any knowledge of Mortimer, and declared that a mistake +had been made. He cited various well known city men to speak for his bona-fides +and protested violently against the action of the authorities in doubting his +word. It was ultimately elicited that Bellward was of German birth and had +never been naturalized, and he was detained in custody while a search was made +at The Mill House. +</p> + +<p> +The search was conducted with great discretion, old Martha being got out of the +way before the detectives arrived and a careful watch being kept to avoid any +chance of interruption. The search had the most fruitful results. Hidden in a +secret drawer of the Sheraton desk in Bellward’s bedroom, was found a +most elaborate analysis of the movements of the transports to France, extremely +accurate and right up to date. There was absolutely no indication, however, as +to whence Bellward received his reports, and how or to whom he forwarded them. +It was surmised that Mortimer was his informant, but an exhaustive search of +the post office files of telegrams despatched showed no trace of any other +telegram from Mortimer to Bellward save the one in the possession of the +authorities. As for Mortimer, he remained a complete enigma. +</p> + +<p> +That, summarised, was the gist of the story of Bellward’s arrest. The +report laid great stress on the fact that no one outside half a dozen +Intelligence men had any knowledge (a) of Bellward being an unnaturalized +German, (b) of his arrest. +</p> + +<p> +Desmond’s orders, which he reserved to the last were short and to the +point. They consisted of five numbered clauses. +</p> + +<p> +“1. You will have a free hand. The surveillance of the house was +withdrawn on your arrival and will not be renewed. +</p> + +<p> +“2. You will not leave the house until further orders. +</p> + +<p> +“3. You will keep careful note of any communication that may be made to +you, whether verbal or in writing, of whatever nature it is. When you have +anything to be forwarded, ring up 700 Slanning on the telephone and give +Bellward’s name. You will hand your report to the first person calling at +the house thereafter asking for the letter for Mr. Elias. +</p> + +<p> +“4. If help is urgently required, ring up 700 Stanning and ask for Mr. +Elias. Assistance will be with you within 15 minutes after. This expedient must +only be used in the last extremity. +</p> + +<p> +“5. Memorize these documents and burn the lot before you leave the +house.” +</p> + +<p> +“Handy fellow, Mr. Elias,” was Desmond’s commentary, as he +sprang out of bed and made for the bathroom. At a quarter to one he was ready +dressed, feeling very scratchy and uncomfortable about the beard which he had +not dared to remove owing to Nur-el-Din’s presence in the house. Before +he left the bedroom, he paused a moment at the desk, the documents of the +Bellward case in his hands. He had a singularly retentive memory, and he was +loth to have these compromising papers in the house whilst Nur-el-Din was +there. He took a quick decision and pitched the whole lot into the fire, +retaining only the annotated list of Mr. Bellward’s friends. This he +placed in his pocket-book and, after watching the rest of the papers crumble +away into ashes, went downstairs to lunch. +</p> + +<p> +Nur-el-Din was in the drawing-room, a long room with two high windows which +gave on a neglected looking garden. A foaming, churning brook wound its way +through the garden, among stunted bushes and dripping willows, obviously the +mill-race from which the house took its name. The drawing-room was a bare, +inhospitable room, studded here and there with uncomfortable looking early +Victorian armchairs swathed in dust-proof cloths. A fire was making an +unsuccessful attempt to burn in the open grate. +</p> + +<p> +Nur-el-Din turned as he entered the room. She was wearing a gray cloth +tailor-made with a white silk, blouse and a short skirt showing a pair of very +natty brown boots. By contrast with her ugly surroundings she looked fresh and +dainty. Her eyes were bright and her face as smooth and unwrinkled as a +child’s. +</p> + +<p> +“<i>Bon jour</i>,” she cried gaily, “ah! but I am +’ungry! It is the air of the country! I love so the country!” +</p> + +<p> +“I hope you slept well, Madame!” said Desmond solicitously, looking +admiringly at her trim figure. +</p> + +<p> +“Like a dead man,” she replied with a little laugh, translating the +French idiom. “Shall we make a leetle promenade after the +<i>déjeuner?</i> And you shall show me your pretty English country, +<i>voulez-vous?</i> You see, I am dressed for <i>le footing!</i>” +</p> + +<p> +She lifted a little brown foot. +</p> + +<p> +They had a delightful luncheon together. Old Martha, who proved to be quite a +passable cook, waited on them. There was some excellent Burgundy and a carafe +of old brandy with the coffee. Nur-el-Din was in her most gracious and +captivating mood. She had dropped all her arrogance of their last interview and +seemed to lay herself out to please. She had a keen sense of humor and +entertained Desmond vastly by her anecdotes of her stage career, some not a +little <i>risqué</i>, but narrated with the greatest <i>bonhomie</i>. +</p> + +<p> +But, strongly attracted as he was to the girl, Desmond did not let himself lose +sight of his ultimate object. He let her run on as gaily as she might but +steadily, relentlessly he swung the conversation round to her last engagement +at the Palaceum. He wanted to see if she would make any reference to the murder +at Seven Kings. If he could only bring in old Mackwayte’s name, he knew +that the dancer <i>must</i> allude to the tragedy. +</p> + +<p> +Then the unexpected happened. The girl introduced the old comedian’s name +herself. +</p> + +<p> +“The only pleasant memory I shall preserve of the Palaceum,” she +said in French, “is my meeting with an old comrade of my youth. Imagine, +I had not seen him for nearly twenty years. Monsieur Mackwayte, his name is, we +used to call him Monsieur Arthur in the old days when I was the child acrobat +of the Dupont Troupe. Such a charming fellow; and not a bit changed! He was +doing a deputy turn at the Palaceum on the last night I appeared there! And he +introduced me to his daughter! <i>Une belle Anglaise!</i> I shall hope to see +my old friend again when I go back to London!” +</p> + +<p> +Desmond stared at her. If this were acting, the most hardened criminal could +not have carried it off better. He searched the girl’s face. It was frank +and innocent. She ran on about Mackwayte in the old days, his kindliness to +everyone, his pretty wife, without a shadow of an attempt to avoid an +unpleasant topic. Desmond began to believe that not only did the girl have +nothing to do with the tragedy but that actually she knew nothing about it. +</p> + +<p> +“Did you see the newspapers yesterday?” he asked suddenly. +</p> + +<p> +“My friend,” said Nur-el-Din, shaking her curls at him. “I +never read your English papers. There is nothing but the war in them. And this +war!” +</p> + +<p> +She gave a little shudder and was silent. +</p> + +<p> +At this moment old Martha, who had left them over their coffee and cigarettes, +came into the room. +</p> + +<p> +“There’s a gentleman called to see you, sir!” she said to +Desmond. +</p> + +<p> +Desmond started violently. He was scarcely used to his new rôle as yet. +</p> + +<p> +“Who is it, Martha?” he said, mastering his agitation. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Mortimer!” mumbled the old woman in her tired voice, “at +least that’s what he said his name was. The gentleman hadn’t got a +card!” +</p> + +<p> +Nur-el-Din sprang up from her chair so vehemently that she upset her coffee. +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t let him come in!” she cried in French. +</p> + +<p> +“Did you say I was in?” Desmond asked the old housekeeper, who was +staring at the dancer. +</p> + +<p> +“Why, yes, sir,” the woman answered. +</p> + +<p> +Desmond made a gesture of vexation. +</p> + +<p> +“Where is this Mr. Mortimer?” he asked +</p> + +<p> +“In the library, sir!” +</p> + +<p> +“Tell him I will be with him at once.” +</p> + +<p> +Martha hobbled away and Desmond turned to the girl. +</p> + +<p> +“You heard what my housekeeper said? The man is here. I shall have to see +him.” +</p> + +<p> +Nur-el-Din, white to the lips, stood by the table, nervously twisting a little +handkerchief. +</p> + +<p> +“<i>Non, non</i>,” she said rapidly, “you must not see him. +He has come to find me. Ah! if he should find out what I have done... you will +not give me up to this man?” +</p> + +<p> +“You need not see him,” Desmond expostulated gently, “I will +say you are not here! Who is this Mortimer that he should seek to do you +harm?” +</p> + +<p> +“My friend,” said the dancer sadly, “he is my evil genius. If +I had dreamt that you knew him I would never have sought refuge in your +house.” +</p> + +<p> +“But I’ve never set eyes on the man in my life!” exclaimed +Desmond. +</p> + +<p> +The dancer shook her head mournfully at him. +</p> + +<p> +“Very few of you have, my friend,” she replied, “but you are +all under his orders, <i>n’est-ce pas?</i>” +</p> + +<p> +Desmond’s heart leaped. Was Mortimer’s the guiding hand of this +network of conspiracy? +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve trusted you, Monsieur,” Nur-el-Din continued in a +pleading voice, “you will respect the laws of hospitality, and hide me +from this man. You will not give me up! Promise it, my friend?” +</p> + +<p> +Desmond felt strangely moved. Was this a callous murderess, a hired spy, who, +with her great eyes brimming over with tears, entreated his protection so +simply, so appealingly? +</p> + +<p> +“I promise I will not give you up to him, <i>Mademoiselle!</i>” he +said and hated himself in the same breath for the part he had to play. Then he +left her still standing by the table, lost in thought. +</p> + +<p> +Desmond walked through the hall to the room in which he had found Nur-el-Din +asleep on his arrival. His nerves were strung up tight for the impending +encounter with this Mortimer, whoever, whatever he was. Desmond did not +hesitate on the threshold of the room. He quietly opened the door and walked +in. +</p> + +<p> +A man in a black and white check suit with white gaiters stood on the +hearthrug, his hands tucked behind his back. He had a curiously young-old +appearance, such as is found in professors and scientists of a certain type. +This suggestion was probably heightened by the very strong spectacles he wore, +which magnified his eyes until they looked like large colored marbles. He had a +heavy curling moustache resembling that affected by the late Lord Randolph +Churchill. There was a good deal of mud on his boots, showing that he had come +on foot. +</p> + +<p> +The two men measured one another in a brief but courteous glance. Desmond +wondered what on earth this man’s profession was. He was quite unable to +place him. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Bellward?” said Mortimer, in a pleasant cultivated voice, +“I am pleased to have this opportunity of meeting you personally.” +</p> + +<p> +Desmond bowed and muttered something conventional. Mortimer had put out his +hand but Desmond could not nerve himself to take it. Instead he pushed forward +a chair. +</p> + +<p> +“Thanks,” said Mortimer sitting down heavily, “I’ve had +quite a walk across the fen. It’s pleasant out but damp! I suppose you +didn’t get my letter?” +</p> + +<p> +“Which letter was that” asked Desmond. +</p> + +<p> +“Why the one asking you to let me know when you would be back so that we +might meet at last!” +</p> + +<p> +Desmond shook his head. +</p> + +<p> +“No,” he said, “I didn’t get that one. It must have +gone astray. As a matter of fact,” he added, “I only got back this +morning.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, well then, I am fortunate in my visit,” said Mortimer. +“Did everything go off all right?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, yes,” Desmond hastened to say, not knowing what he was talking +about, “everything went off all right.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t in the least grudge you the holiday,” the other +observed, “one should always be careful to pay the last respects to the +dead. It makes a good impression. That is so important in some +countries!” +</p> + +<p> +He beamed at Desmond through his spectacles. +</p> + +<p> +“Was there anything left in your absence?” he asked, “no, +there would be nothing; I suppose!” +</p> + +<p> +Desmond took a firm resolution. He must know what the man was driving at. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know what you mean,” he said bluntly. +</p> + +<p> +“God bless my soul!” ejaculated Mortimer turning round to stare at +him through his grotesque glasses. And then he said very deliberately in +German: +</p> + +<p> +“<i>War niemand da?</i>” +</p> + +<p> +Desmond stood up promptly. +</p> + +<p> +“What do you want with me?” he asked quietly, “and why do you +speak German in my house?” Mortimer gazed at him blankly. +</p> + +<p> +“Excellence, most excellent,” he gasped. “I love prudence. My +friend, where are your eyes?” +</p> + +<p> +He put a large, firm hand up and touched the upper edge of the left lapel of +his jacket. Desmond followed his gesture with his eyes and saw the +other’s first finger resting on the shiny glass head of a black pin. +Almost instinctively Desmond imitated the gesture. His fingers came into +contact with a glassheaded pin similarly embedded in the upper edge of the +lapel of his own coat. +</p> + +<p> +Then he understood. This must be the distinguishing badge of this confraternity +of spies. It was a clever idea, for the black pin was practically invisible, +unless one looked for it, and even if seen, would give rise to no suspicions. +It had obviously escaped the notice of the Chief and his merry men, and Desmond +made a mental resolve to rub this omission well into his superior on the first +opportunity. He felt he owed the Chief one. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Mortimer cleared his throat, as though to indicate the conclusion of the +episode. Desmond sat down on the settee. +</p> + +<p> +“Nothing came while I was away!” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“Now that you are back,” Mortimer remarked, polishing his glasses +with a bandanna handkerchief, “the service will be resumed. I have come +to see you, Mr. Bellward,” he went on, turning to Desmond, +“contrary to my usual practice, mainly because I wished to confirm by +personal observation the very favorable opinion I had formed of your ability +from our correspondence. You have already demonstrated your discretion to me. +If you continue to show that your prudence is on a level with your zeal, +believe I shall not prove myself ungrateful.” +</p> + +<p> +So saying he settled his glasses on his nose again. +</p> + +<p> +The action woke Desmond from a brown study. During the operation of wiping his +spectacles, Mr. Mortimer had given Desmond a glimpse of his eyes in their +natural state without the protection of those distorting glasses. To his +intense surprise Desmond had seen, instead of the weak, blinking eyes of +extreme myopia, a pair of keen piercing eyes with the clear whites of perfect +health. Those blue eyes, set rather close together, seemed dimly familiar. +Someone, somewhere, had once looked at him like that. +</p> + +<p> +“You are too kind,” murmured Desmond, grappling for the thread of +the conversation. +</p> + +<p> +Mortimer did not apparently notice his absentmindedness. +</p> + +<p> +“Everything has run smoothly,” he resumed, “on the lines on +which we have been working hitherto, but more important work lies before us. I +have found it necessary to select a quiet rendezvous where I might have an +opportunity of conferring in person with my associates. The first of these +conferences will take place very shortly. I count upon your attendance, +Bellward!” +</p> + +<p> +“I shall not fail you,” replied Desmond. “But where is this +rendezvous of yours, might I ask?” +</p> + +<p> +Mortimer shot a quick glance at him. +</p> + +<p> +“You shall know in good time,” he answered drily. Then he added: +</p> + +<p> +“Do you mind if I have a few words with Nur-el-Din before I go!” +</p> + +<p> +The unexpected question caught Desmond off his guard. +</p> + +<p> +“Nur-el-Din?” he stammered feebly. +</p> + +<p> +“She is staying with you, I believe,” said Mortimer pleasantly. +</p> + +<p> +Desmond shook his head. +</p> + +<p> +“There must be some mistake,” he averred stoutly, “of course +I know who you mean, but I have never met the lady. She is not here. What led +you to suppose she was?” +</p> + +<p> +But even as he spoke, his eyes fell on a black object which lay near his arm +stretched out along the back of the settee. It was a little velvet hat, +skewered to the upholstery of the settee by a couple of jewelled hat-pins. A +couple of gaudy cushions lay between it and Mortimer’s range of vision +from the chair in which the latter was sitting. If only Mortimer had not +spotted it already! +</p> + +<p> +Desmond’s presence of mind did not desert him. On the pretext of settling +himself more comfortably he edged up another cushion until it rested upon the +other two, thus effectively screening the hat from Mortimer’s view even +when he should get up. +</p> + +<p> +“I wish she were here,” Desmond added, smiling, “one could +not have a more delightful companion to share one’s solitude, I +imagine.” +</p> + +<p> +“The lady has disappeared from London under rather suspicious +circumstances;” Mortimer said, letting his grotesque eyes rest for a +moment on Desmond’s face, “to be quite frank with you, my dear +fellow, she has been indiscreet, and the police are after her.” +</p> + +<p> +“You don’t say!” cried Desmond. +</p> + +<p> +“Indeed, it is a fact,” replied the other, “I wish she would +take you as her model, my dear Bellward. You are the pattern of prudence, are +you not?” +</p> + +<p> +He paused perceptibly and Desmond held his breath. +</p> + +<p> +“She has very few reputable friends,” Mortimer continued presently, +“under a cloud as she is, she could hardly frequent the company of her +old associates, Mowbury and Lazarro and Mrs. Malplaquet, you doubtless know +whom I mean. I know she has a very strong recommendation to you, so I naturally +thought—well, no matter!” +</p> + +<p> +He rose and extended his hand. +</p> + +<p> +“<i>Au revoir</i>, Bellward,” he said, “you shall hear from +me very soon. You’ve got a snug little place here, I must say, and +everything in charming taste. I like your pretty cushions.” +</p> + +<p> +The blood flew to Desmond’s face and he bent down, on pretense of +examining the cushions, to hide his confusion. +</p> + +<p> +“They aren’t bad,” he said, “I got them at +Harrod’s!” +</p> + +<p> +He accompanied Mortimer to the front door and watched him disappear down the +short drive and turn out of the gate into the road. Then feeling strangely ill +at ease, he went back to join Nur-el-Din in the dining-room. But only the +housekeeper was there, clearing the table. +</p> + +<p> +“If you’re looking for the young lady, sir,” said old Martha, +“she’s gone out!” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh!” said Desmond, with a shade of disappointment in his voice, +“will she be back for tea?” +</p> + +<p> +“She’s not coming back at all,” answered the old woman, +“she told me to tell you she could not stop, sir. And she wouldn’t +let me disturb you, neither, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“But did she leave no note or anything for me?” asked Desmond. +</p> + +<p> +“No, sir,” answered old Martha as she folded up the cloth. +</p> + +<p> +Gone! Desmond stared gloomily out at the sopping garden with an uneasy feeling +that he had failed in his duty. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap13"></a>CHAPTER XIII.<br/> +WHAT SHAKESPEARE’S COMEDIES REVEALED</h2> + +<p> +In a very depressed frame of mind, Desmond turned into the library. As he +crossed the hall, he noticed how cheerless the house was. Again there came to +him that odor of mustiness—of all smells the most eerie and +drear—which he had noticed on his arrival. Somehow, as long as Nur-el-Din +had been there, he had not remarked the appalling loneliness of the place. +</p> + +<p> +A big log fire was blazing cheerfully in the grate, throwing out a bright glow +into the room which, despite the early hour, was already wreathed in shadows. +Wearily Desmond pulled a big armchair up to the blaze and sat down. He told +himself that he must devote every minute of his spare time to going over in his +mind the particulars he had memorized of Mr. Bellward’s habits and +acquaintanceships. He took the list of Bellward’s friends from his +pocket-book. +</p> + +<p> +But this afternoon he found it difficult to concentrate his attention. His gaze +kept wandering back to the fire, in whose glowing depths he fancied he could +see a perfect oval face with pleading eyes and dazzling teeth looking +appealingly at him. +</p> + +<p> +Nur-el-Din! What an entrancing creature she was! What passion lurked in those +black eyes of hers, in her moods, swiftly changing from gusts of fierce +imperiousness to gentle airs of feminine charm! What a frail little thing she +was to have fought her way alone up the ladder from the lowest rung to the very +top! She must have character and grit, Desmond decided, for he was a young man +who adored efficiency: to him efficiency spelled success. +</p> + +<p> +But a spy needs grit, he reflected, and Nur-el-Din had many qualities which +would enable her to win the confidence of men. Hadn’t she half-captivated +him, the would-be spy-catcher, already? +</p> + +<p> +Desmond laughed ruefully to himself. Indeed, he mused, things looked that way. +What would the Chief say if he could see his prize young man, his white-headed +boy, sitting sentimentalizing by the fire over a woman who was, by her own +confession, practically an accredited German agent? Desmond thrust his chin out +and shook himself together. He would put the feminine side of Nur-el-Din out of +his head. He must think of her henceforth only as a member of the band that was +spotting targets for those sneaking, callous brutes of U-boat commanders. +</p> + +<p> +He went back to the study of the list of Mr. Bellward’s friends. But he +found it impossible to focus his mind upon it. Do what he would, he could not +rid himself of the sensation that he had failed at the very outset of his +mission. He was, indeed, he told himself, the veriest tyro at the game. Here he +had had under his hand in turn Nur-el-Din and Mortimer (who, he made no doubt, +was the leader of the gang which was so sorely troubling the Chief), and he had +let both get away without eliciting from either even as much as their address. +By the use of a little tact, he had counted on penetrating something of the +mystery enveloping the dancer and her relationship with the gang; for he +thought he divined that Nur-el-Din was inclined to make him her confidant. With +the information thus procured, he had hoped to get on to the track of the +leader of the band. +</p> + +<p> +But that ugly brute; Mortimer, with his goggle eyes, had spoiled everything. +His appearance had taken Desmond completely by surprise: to tell the truth, it +had thrown our young man rather off his guard. “If only I might have had +a little longer acquaintance with my part,” he reflected bitterly as he +sat by the fire, “I should have been better able to deal with that +pompous ass!” +</p> + +<p> +Afterwards, when thinking over the opening events of this extraordinary episode +of his career, Desmond rather wondered why he had not followed Mortimer out of +the house that afternoon and tracked him down to his hiding place. But, as a +matter of fact, the idea did not occur to him at the time. His orders were +positive not to leave the house, and he never even thought of breaking +them—at any rate, not then. +</p> + +<p> +His orders, also, it is true, were to report to headquarters any communication +that might be made to him; but these instructions, at least as far as +Nur-el-Din’s and Mortimer’s visits were concerned, he resolved to +ignore. +</p> + +<p> +For one thing, he felt angry with the Chief who, he argued rather irrationally, +ought to have foreseen and prevented Mortimer thus taking him by surprise. The +Chief liked secrets—well, for a change, he should be kept in the dark and +the laugh would be on Desmond’s side. For a few minutes after +Mortimer’s departure, Desmond had felt strongly inclined to go to the +telephone which stood on the desk in the library and ring up Mr. Elias, as he +should have done, but he resisted this impulse. Now, thinking things over in +the firelight, he was glad he had refrained. He would ferret out for himself +the exact part that Nur-el-Din and Mortimer were playing in this band of spies. +Nothing definite had come of his interviews with them as yet. It would be time +enough to communicate with Headquarters when he had something positive to +report. +</p> + +<p> +Then Desmond thrust the paper he had been studying back in his pocket-book and +jumped up. He felt that the inaction was stifling him. He determined to go for +a walk round the garden. That, at least, was in the spirit of his orders. +</p> + +<p> +Remembering that he was supposed to be suffering from a chill he donned a heavy +Ulster of Bellward’s which was hanging in the hall and wound a muffler +round his neck. Then cramming a soft cap on his head (he noted with +satisfaction that Bellward’s hats fitted him remarkably well) he opened +the front door and stepped outside. +</p> + +<p> +The rain had stopped, but the whole atmosphere reeked of moisture. +Angry-looking, dirty-brown clouds chased each other across the lowering sky, +and there was a constant sound of water, trickling and gurgling and splashing, +in his ears. +</p> + +<p> +An untidy-looking lawn with a few unkempt and overgrown rhododendron bushes +dotted here and there ran its length in front of the house and terminated in an +iron railing which separated the grounds from a little wood. A badly +water-logged drive, green with grass in places, ran past the lawn in a couple +of short bends to the front gate. On the other side the drive was bordered by +what had once been a kitchen garden but was now a howling wilderness of dead +leaves, mud and gravel with withered bushes and half a dozen black, bare and +dripping apple trees set about at intervals. At the side of the house the +kitchen garden stopped and was joined by a flower garden—at least so +Desmond judged it to have been by a half ruined pergola which he had noticed +from the drawing-room windows. Through the garden ran the mill-race which +poured out of the grounds through a field and under a little bridge spanning +the road outside. +</p> + +<p> +Desmond followed the drive as far as the front gate. The surrounding country +was as flat as a pancake, and in almost every field lay great glistening +patches of water where the land had been flooded by the incessant rain. The +road on which the house was built ran away on the left to the mist-shrouded +horizon without another building of any kind in sight. Desmond surmised that +Morstead Fen lay in the direction in which he was looking. To the right, +Desmond caught a glimpse of a ghostly spire sticking out of some trees and +guessed that this was Wentfield Church. In front of him the distant roar of a +passing train showed where the Great Eastern Railway line lay. +</p> + +<p> +More depressed than ever by the utter desolation of the scene, Desmond turned +to retrace his steps to the house. Noticing a path traversing the kitchen +garden, he followed it. It led to the back of the house, to the door of a kind +of lean-to shed. The latch yielded on being pressed and Desmond entered the +place. +</p> + +<p> +He found himself in a fair-sized shed, very well and solidly built of +pitch-pine, with a glazed window looking out on the garden, a table and a +couple of chairs, and a large cupboard which occupied the whole of one side of +the wall of the house against which the shed was built. In a corner of the shed +stood a very good-looking Douglas motor-cycle, and on a nail on the wall hung a +set of motor-cyclist’s overalls. A few petrol cans, some full, some +empty, stood against the wall. +</p> + +<p> +Desmond examined the machine. It was in excellent condition, beautifully clean, +the tank half full of spirits. A little dry sand on the tires showed that it +had been used fairly recently. +</p> + +<p> +“Old man Bellward’s motor-bike that he goes to the station +on,” Desmond noted mentally. “But what’s in the big cupboard, +I wonder? Tools, I expect!” +</p> + +<p> +Then he caught sight of a deep drawer in the table. It was half-open and he saw +that it contained various tools and spare parts, neatly arranged, each one in +its appointed place. +</p> + +<p> +He went over to the cupboard and tried it. It was locked. Desmond had little +respect for Mr. Bellward’s property so he went over to the tool drawer +and selected a stout chisel with which to burst the lock of the cupboard. But +the cupboard was of oak, very solidly built, and he tried in vain to get a +purchase for his implement. He leant his left hand against the edge of the +cupboard whilst with his right he jabbed valiantly with the chisel. +</p> + +<p> +Then an extraordinary thing happened. The whole cupboard noiselessly swung +outwards while Desmond, falling forward, caught his forehead a resounding bang +against the edge of the recess in which it moved. He picked himself up in a +very savage frame of mind—a severe blow on the head is not the ideal cure +for hypochondria—but the flow of objurgatives froze on his lips. For he +found himself looking into Mr. Bellward’s library. +</p> + +<p> +He stepped into the room to see how the cupboard looked from the other side. He +found that a whole section of bookshelves had swung back with the cupboard, in +other words that the cupboard in the toolshed and the section of bookshelves +were apparently all of one piece. +</p> + +<p> +He carefully examined the walls on either side of the recess in the library to +see how the mechanism worked. The bookshelves were open, made of mahogany, the +sides elaborately carved with leaves and flowers. Desmond ran his hand down the +perpendicular section immediately on the right of the recess. About halfway +down—to be exact, it was in line with the fifth shelf from the +floor—his fingers encountered a little knob which gave under +pressure—the heart of a flower which released the section of bookshelves. +Going back to the shed, Desmond examined the place against which his hand had +rested as he sought to force the lock of the cupboard. As he expected, he found +a similar catch let into the surface of the oak, but so cunningly inlaid that +it could scarce be detected with the naked eye. +</p> + +<p> +Before proceeding further with his investigations, Desmond softly turned the +lock of the library door. He also shot forward a bolt he found on the inside of +the door of the shed. He did not want to be interrupted by the housekeeper or +the odd man. +</p> + +<p> +Then he went back to the library and pulled the cupboard to behind him. It +moved quite easily into place. He wanted to have a look at the bookshelves; for +he was curious to know whether the cupboard was actually all of one piece with +the section of bookshelves as it seemed to be. He was prepared to find that the +books were merely library dummies, but no! He tried half a dozen shelves at +random, and every book he pulled out was real. +</p> + +<p> +Desmond was not easily baffled, and he determined to scrutinize every shelf, of +this particular section in turn. With the aid of one of those step-ladders +folding into a chair which you sometimes see in libraries, he examined the +topmost shelves but without result. He took down in turn Macaulay’s +History of England, a handsome edition of the works of Swift, and a set of +Moliere without getting any nearer the end of his quest. +</p> + +<p> +The fourth shelf from the top was devoted to a library edition of Shakespeare, +large books bound in red morocco. Desmond, who, by this time was getting cramp +in the arms from stretching upwards and had made his hands black with dust, +pulled out a couple of volumes at hazard from the set and found them real books +like the rest. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, damn!” he exclaimed, and had half a mind to abandon the search +and have a go with hammer and chisel at the cupboard in the shed. By this time +it was almost dusk in the library, and Desmond, before abandoning the search, +struck a match to have a final rapid glance over the shelves. The light showed +him a curious flatness about the backs of the last six volumes of Shakespeare. +He dropped the match and laid hold of a volume of the Comedies. It resisted. He +tugged. Still it would not come. Exerting all his strength, he pulled, the +gilt-lettered backs of the last six volumes came away in his hands in one piece +and he crashed off the ladder to the ground. +</p> + +<p> +This time he did not swear. He picked himself up quickly, lit the lamp on the +table by the window, and brought it over to the bookcase. Where +Shakespeare’s Comedies had stood was now a gaping void with a small key +stuck in a lock, above a brass handle. Desmond mounted on the steps again and +eagerly turned the key. Then he grasped the handle and pulled, the section of +bookshelves swung back like a door, and he found himself face to face with a +great stack of petrol cans. They lay in orderly piles stretching from the floor +to the top of the bookshelves near the railing, several tiers deep. At a rough +computation there must have been several hundred cans in the recess. And they +were all full. +</p> + +<p> +In a flash Desmond realized what his discovery signified. The motor-cycle in +the shed without was the connecting link between Bellward and the man with whom +he was co-operating in the organization. Under pretext of reading late in his +library Bellward would send old Martha to bed, and once the house was quiet, +sally forth by his secret exit and meet his confederate. Even when he was +supposed to be sleeping in London he could still use the Mill House for a +rendezvous, entering and leaving by the secret door, and no one a bit the +wiser. In that desolate part of Essex, the roads are practically deserted after +dark. Bellward could come and go much as he pleased on his motor-cycle. Were he +stopped, he always had the excuse ready that he was going to—or returning +from the station. The few petrol cans that Desmond had seen openly displayed in +the shed without seemed to show that Bellward received a small quantity of +spirit from the Petrol Board to take him to and from the railway. +</p> + +<p> +The cache, so elaborately concealed, however, pointed to long journeys. Did +Bellward undertake these trips to fetch news or to transmit it? And who was his +confederate? Whom did he go to meet? Not Mortimer; for he had only corresponded +with Bellward. Nor was it Nur-el-Din; for she had never met Bellward, either. +</p> + +<p> +Who was it, then? +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap14"></a>CHAPTER XIV.<br/> +BARBARA TAKES A HAND</h2> + +<p> +“No luck, Mr. Marigold,” said the Assistant Provost Marshal, +“I’m sorry, but there it is! We’ve made every possible +inquiry about this Private... er...” he glanced at the buff-colored leave +pass in his hand, “... this Gunner Barling, but we can’t trace him +so far. He should have gone back to France the afternoon before the day on +which you found his pass. But he hasn’t rejoined his unit. He’s +been posted as an absentee, and the police have been warned. I’m afraid +we can’t do any more than that!” +</p> + +<p> +The detective looked at the officer with mild reproach in his eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“Dear, dear,” he replied, “and I made sure you’d be +able to trace him with that pass!” +</p> + +<p> +He clicked his tongue against his teeth and shook his head. +</p> + +<p> +“Dear, dear!” he said again. +</p> + +<p> +“What’s the feller been up to?” asked the A.P.M. Detectives +have a horror of leading questions, and Mr. Marigold shrank visibly before the +directness of the other’s inquiry. Before replying, however, he measured +the officer with his calm, shrewd eye. Mr. Marigold was not above breaking his +own rules of etiquette if thereby he might gain a useful ally. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, Captain Beardiston,” he answered slowly, “I’ll +tell you because I think that you may be able to help me a little bit. +It’s part of your work to look after deserters and absentees and those +sort o’ folk, isn’t it?” +</p> + +<p> +The A.P.M. groaned. +</p> + +<p> +“Part of my work?” he repeated, “it seems to be my whole life +ever since I came back from the front.” +</p> + +<p> +“If you want to know what this young fellow has been up to,” said +Mr. Marigold in his even voice, “it’s murder, if I’m not +mistaken!” +</p> + +<p> +“Murder?” echoed the other in surprise. “Why, not the Seven +Kings murder, surely?” +</p> + +<p> +The detective gave a brisk nod. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s it,” he replied, “I’m in charge of that +case, if you follow me. I found that pass in the front garden of the +Mackwayte’s house in Laleham Villas, half trodden into the earth of the +flower-bed by a heavy boot, a service boot, studded with nails. There had been +a lot of rain in the night, and it had washed the mosaic-tiled pathway up to +the front door almost clean. When I was having a look round the garden, I +picked up this pass, and then I spotted the trace of service boots, a bit +faint, on the beds. You know the way the nails are set in the issue +boots?” +</p> + +<p> +The officer nodded: +</p> + +<p> +“I ought to know that foot-print,” he said. “It’s all +over the roads in northern France.” +</p> + +<p> +“We made inquiries through you,” the detective resumed, “and +when I found that this Gunner Barling, the owner of the pass, was missing, +well, you will admit, it looked a bit suspicious.” +</p> + +<p> +“Still, you know,” the A.P.M. objected, “this man appears to +have the most excellent character. He’s got a clean sheet; he’s +never gone absent before. And he’s been out with his battery almost since +the beginning of the war.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m not making any charge against him as yet,” answered the +detective, picking up his hat, “but it would interest me very much, very +much indeed, Captain Beardiston, to have five minutes’ chat with this +gunner. And so I ask you to keep a sharp lookout for a man answering to his +description, and if you come across him, freeze on to him hard, and give me a +ring on the telephone.” +</p> + +<p> +“Right you are,” said the officer, “I’ll hold him for +you, Mr. Marigold. But I hope your suspicions are not well-founded.” +</p> + +<p> +For a brief moment the detective became a human being. +</p> + +<p> +“And so do I, if you want to know,” he said. “One can forgive +those lads who are fighting out there almost anything. I’ve got a boy in +France myself!” +</p> + +<p> +A little sigh escaped him, and then Mr. Marigold remembered “The +Yard.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll bid you good-day!” he added in his most official voice +and took his leave. +</p> + +<p> +He walked down the steps by the Duke of York’s column and through the +Horse Guards into Whitehall, seemingly busy with his own thoughts. A sprucely +dressed gentleman who was engaged in the exciting and lucrative sport of war +profiteering turned color and hastily swerved out towards the Park as he saw +the detective crossing the Horse Guards’ Parade. He was unpleasantly +reminded of making the acquaintance of Mr. Marigold over a bucketshop a few +years ago with the result that he had vanished from the eye of his friends for +eighteen months. He congratulated himself on thinking that Mr. Marigold had not +seen him, but he would have recognized his mistake could he but have caught +sight of the detective’s face. A little smile flitted across Mr. +Marigold’s lips and he murmured to himself: +</p> + +<p> +“Our old friend is looking very prosperous just now. I wonder what +he’s up to?” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Marigold didn’t miss much. +</p> + +<p> +The detective made his way to the Chief’s office. Barbara Mackwayte, in a +simple black frock with white linen collar and cuffs, was at her old place in +the ante-room. A week had elapsed since the murder, and the day before, Mr. +Marigold knew, the mortal remains of poor old Mackwayte had been laid to rest. +He was rather surprised to see the girl back at work so soon. +</p> + +<p> +She did not speak to him as she showed him into the Chief, but there was a +question lurking in her gray eyes. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Marigold looked at her and gravely shook his head. +</p> + +<p> +“Nothing fresh,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +The Chief was unusually exuberant. Mr. Marigold found him surrounded, as was +his wont, by papers, and a fearsome collection of telephone receivers. He +listened in silence to Mr. Marigold’s account of his failure to trace +Barling. +</p> + +<p> +“Marigold,” he said, when the other had finished, “we must +undoubtedly lay hold of this fellow. Let’s see now... ah! I have +it!” +</p> + +<p> +He scribbled a few lines on a writing-pad and tossed it across to the +detective. +</p> + +<p> +“If your friend’s innocent,” he chuckled, +“that’ll fetch him to a dead certainty. If he murdered Mackwayte, +of course he won’t respond. Read it out and let’s hear how it +sounds!” +</p> + +<p> +The Chief leaned back in his chair and lit a cigarette while the detective read +out: +</p> + +<p> +“If Gunner Barling, etcetera, etcetera, will communicate with Messrs. +Blank and Blank, solicitors, he will hear of something to his advantage. +Difficulties with the military can be arranged.” +</p> + +<p> +“But I say, sir,” objected Mr. Marigold, “the military +authorities will hardly stand for that last, will they?” +</p> + +<p> +“Won’t they, by Jove” retorted the Chief grimly. “They +will if I tell ’em to. No official soullessness for me; thank you! And +now, Marigold, just ask Matthews to fill in Barling’s regimental number +and all that and the name and address of the solicitors who do this kind of +thing for us. And tell him we’ll insert the ad. daily until further +notice in the <i>Mail, Chronicle, Daily News, Sketch, Mirror, Evening +News</i>...” +</p> + +<p> +“And <i>Star</i>,” put in Mr. Marigold who had Radical tendencies. +</p> + +<p> +“The <i>Star</i>, too, by all means. That ought to cover the extent of +your pal’s newspaper reading, I fancy, eh, Marigold! Right!” +</p> + +<p> +He held out a hand in farewell. But Mr. Marigold stood his ground. He was +rather a slow mover, and there were a lot of things he wanted to discuss with +the Chief. +</p> + +<p> +“I was very sorry to see poor Major Okewood in the casualty list this +morning, sir,” he said. “I was going to ask you...” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, terrible, terrible!” said the Chief. Then he added: +</p> + +<p> +“Just tell Miss Mackwayte I want her as you go out, will you?” +</p> + +<p> +The detective was used to surprises but the Chief still bowled him out +occasionally. Before he knew what he was doing, Mr. Marigold found himself in +the ante-room doing as he was bid. +</p> + +<p> +As soon as her father’s funeral was over; Barbara had insisted on +returning to work. The whole ghastly business of the murder and the inquest +that followed seemed to her like a bad dream which haunted her day and night. +By tacit consent no one in the office had made any further allusion, to the +tragedy. She had just slipped back into her little niche, prompt, punctual, +efficient as ever. +</p> + +<p> +“No, it’s not for the letters,” the Chief said to her as she +came in with her notebook and pencil. “I’m going to give you a +little trip down to the country this afternoon, Miss Mackwayte... to, Essex... +the Mill House, Wentfield... you know whom it is you are to see, eh? I’m +getting a little restless as we’ve had no reports since he arrived there. +I had hoped, by this, to have been able to put him on the track of Nur-el-Din, +but, for the moment, it looks as if we had lost the scent. But you can tell our +friend all we know about the lady’s antecedents—what we had from my +French colleague the other day, you know? Let him have all the particulars +about this Barling case—you know about that, don’t you? Good, and, +see here, try and find out from our mutual friend what he intends doing. I +don’t want to rush him... don’t let him think that... but I should +rather like to discover whether he has formed any plan. And now you get along. +There’s a good train about three which gets you down to Wentfield in just +under the hour. Take care of yourself! See you in the morning!” +</p> + +<p> +Pressing a bell with one hand and lifting up a telephone receiver with the +other, the Chief immersed himself again in his work. He appeared to have +forgotten Miss Mackwayte’s very existence. +</p> + +<p> +At a quarter to five that evening, Barbara unlatched the front gate of the Mill +House and walked up the drive. She had come on foot from the station and the +exercise had done her good. It had been a deliciously soft balmy afternoon, but +with the fall of dusk a heavy mist had come creeping up from the sodden, +low-lying fields and was spreading out over the neglected garden of Mr. +Bellward’s villa as Barbara entered the avenue. +</p> + +<p> +The damp gloom of the place, however, depressed her not at all. She exulted in +the change of scene and the fresh air; besides, she knew that the presence of +Desmond Okewood would dispel the vague fears that had hung over her incessantly +ever since her father’s murder. She had only met him twice, she told +herself when this thought occurred to her, but there was something bracing and +dependable about him that was just the tonic she wanted. +</p> + +<p> +A porter at the station, who was very intelligent as country porters go, had +told her the way to the Mill House. The way was not easy to find for there were +various turns to make but, with the aid of such landmarks as an occasional inn, +a pond or a barn, given her by the friendly porter, Barbara reached her +destination. Under the porch she pulled the handle of the bell, all dank and +glistening with moisture, and heard it tinkle loudly somewhere within the +house. +</p> + +<p> +How lonely the place was, thought Barbara with a little shiver! The fog was +growing thicker every minute and now seemed suspended like a vast curtain +between her and the drive. Somewhere in the distance she heard the hollow +gurgling of a stream. Otherwise, there was no sound. +</p> + +<p> +She rang the bell again rather nervously and waited. In her bag she had a +little torch-light (for she was a practical young person), and taking it out, +she flashed it on the door. It presented a stolid, impenetrable oaken front. +She stepped out into the fog and scanned the windows which were already almost +lost to view. They were dark and forbidding. +</p> + +<p> +Again she tugged at the bell. Again, with a groaning of wires, responded the +hollow tinkle. Then silence fell once more. Barbara began to get alarmed. What +had happened to Major Okewood? She had understood that there was no question of +his leaving the house until the Chief gave him the word. Where, then, was he? +He was not the man to disobey an order. Rather than believe that, she would +think that something untoward had befallen him. Had there been foul play here, +too? +</p> + +<p> +A sudden panic seized her. She grasped the bell and tugged and tugged until she +could tug no more. The bell jangled and pealed and clattered reverberatingly +from the gloomy house, and then, with a jarring of wires, relapsed into +silence. Barbara beat on the door with her hands, for there was no knocker; but +all remained still within. Only the dank mist swirled in ever denser about her +as she stood beneath the dripping porch. +</p> + +<p> +“This won’t do!” said Barbara, pulling herself together. +“I mustn’t get frightened, whatever I do! Major Okewood is very +well capable of defending himself. What’s happened is that the man has +been called away and the servants have taken advantage of his absence to go +out! Barbara, my dear, you’ll just have to foot it back to the station +without your tea!” +</p> + +<p> +She turned her back on the door and torch in hand, plunged resolutely into the +fog-bank. The mist was bewilderingly thick. Still, by going slow and always +keeping the gravel under her feet, she reached the front gate and turned out on +the road. +</p> + +<p> +Here the mist was worse than ever. She had not taken four paces before she had +lost all sense of her direction. The gate, the railways, were gone. She was +groping in a clinging pall of fog. +</p> + +<p> +Her torch was worse than useless. It only illuminated swirling swathes of mist +and confused her, so she switched it out. In vain she looked about her, trying +to pick up some landmark to guide her. There was no light, no tree, no house +visible, nothing but the dank, ghostly mist. +</p> + +<p> +To some temperaments, Nature has no terrors. Barbara, to whose imagination an +empty house at dusk had suggested all kinds of unimaginable fears, was not in +the least frightened by the fog. She only hoped devoutly that a motor-car or a +trap would not come along behind and run her down for she was obliged to keep +to the road; the hard surface beneath her feet was her only guide. +</p> + +<p> +She smiled over her predicament as she made her way along. She frequently found +herself going off the road, more than once into patches of water, with the +result that in a few minutes her feet were sopping. Still she forged ahead, +with many vain halts to reconnoitre while the fog, instead of lifting, seemed +to thicken with every step she took. +</p> + +<p> +By this time she knew she was completely lost. Coming from the station there +had been, she remembered, a cross-roads with a sign-board set up on a grass +patch, about a quarter of a mile from the Mill House. She expected every minute +to come upon this fork; again and again she swerved out to the left from her +line of march groping for the sign-post with her hands but she never +encountered it. +</p> + +<p> +Few sounds came to break in upon the oppressive silence of the mist. Once or +twice Barbara heard a train roaring along in the distance and, at one of her +halts, her ear caught the high rising note of a motor engine a long way off. +Except for these occasional reminders of the proximity of human beings, she +felt she must be on a desert island instead of less than two score miles from +London. +</p> + +<p> +Her wrist watch showed her that she had walked for an hour when she heard a dog +barking somewhere on the left of the road. Presently, she saw a blurred patch +of radiance apparently on the ground in front of her. So deceptive are lights +seen through a fog that she was quite taken aback suddenly to come upon a long +low house with a great beam of light streaming out of the door. +</p> + +<p> +The house was approached by a little bridge across a broad ditch. By the bridge +stood a tall, massive post upon which a sign squeaked softly as it swayed to +and fro. The inn was built round three sides of a square, the left-hand side +being the house itself, the centre, the kitchen, and the right-hand side a +tumble-down stable and some sheds. +</p> + +<p> +The welcome blaze of light coming from the open door was very welcome to +Barbara after her, long journey through the mist. She dragged her wet and weary +feet across the little bridge and went up to the inn-door. +</p> + +<p> +She stood for a moment at the entrance dazzled by the effect of the light on +her eyes, which were smarting with the fog. She found herself looking into a +long, narrow, taproom, smelling of stale beer and tobacco fumes, and lit by oil +lamps suspended in wire frames from the raftered ceiling. The windows were +curtained in cheerful red rep and the place was pleasantly warmed by a stove in +one corner. By the stove was a small door apparently leading into the bar, for +beside it was a window through which Barbara caught a glimpse of beer-engines +and rows of bottles. Opposite the doorway in which she stood was another door +leading probably to the back of the house. Down the centre of the room ran a +long table. +</p> + +<p> +The tap-room was empty when Barbara entered but as she sat down at the table, +the door opposite opened, and a short, foreign-looking woman came out. She +stepped dead on seeing the girl: Her face seemed familiar to Barbara. +</p> + +<p> +“Good evening” said the latter, “I’ve lost my way in +the fog and I’m very wet. Do you think I could have my shoes and +stockings dried and get some tea? I...” +</p> + +<p> +“A moment! I go to tell Meester Rass,” said the woman with a very +marked foreign accent and in a frightened kind of voice and slipped out by the +way she came. +</p> + +<p> +“Where have I met that woman before?” Barbara asked herself, as she +crossed to tile stove to get warm. The woman’s face seemed to be +connected in her mind with something unpleasant, something she wanted to +forget. Then a light dawned on her. Why, it was... +</p> + +<p> +A shrill cry broke in upon her meditations, a harsh scream of rage. Barbara +turned quickly and saw Nur-el-Din standing in the centre of the room. She was +transfigured with passion. Her whole body quivered, her nostrils were dilated, +her eyes flashed fire, and she pointed an accusing finger at Barbara. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah! <i>misérable!</i>” she cried in a voice strangled with rage, +“ah! <i>misérable! Te voila enfin!</i>” +</p> + +<p> +A cold chill struck at Barbara’s heart. Wherever she went, the hideous +spectre of the tragedy of her father seemed to follow her. And now Nur-el-Din +had come to upbraid her with losing the treasure she had entrusted to her. +</p> + +<p> +“Nur-el-Din,” the girl faltered in a voice broken with tears. +</p> + +<p> +“Where is it? Where is the silver box I gave into your charge? Answer me. +<i>Mais réponds, donc, canaille!</i>” +</p> + +<p> +The dancer stamped furiously with her foot and advanced menacingly on Barbara. +</p> + +<p> +An undersized; yellow-faced man came quickly out of the small door leading from +the bar and stood an instant, a helpless witness of the scene, as men are when +women quarrel. +</p> + +<p> +Nur-el-Din rapped out an order to him in a tongue which was unknown to Barbara. +It sounded something like Russian. The man turned and locked the door of the +bar, then stepped swiftly across the room and bolted the outer door. +</p> + +<p> +Barbara recognized the threat that the action implied and it served to steady +her nerves. She shrank back no longer but drew herself up and waited calmly for +the dancer to reach her. +</p> + +<p> +“The box you gave me,” said Barbara very quietly, “was stolen +from me by the person who... who murdered my father!” +</p> + +<p> +Nur-el-Din burst into a peal of malicious laughter. +</p> + +<p> +“And you?” she cried, “you are ’ere to sell it back to +me, <i>hein</i>, or to get your blood money from your accomplice? Which is +it?” +</p> + +<p> +On this Barbara’s self-control abandoned her. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, how dare you! How dare you!” she exclaimed, bursting into +tears, “when that wretched box you made me take was the means of my +losing the dearest friend I ever had!” +</p> + +<p> +Nur-el-Din thrust her face, distorted with passion, into Barbara’s. She +spoke in rapid French, in a low, menacing voice. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you think this play-acting will deceive me? Do you think I +don’t know the value of the treasure I was fool enough to entrust to your +safe keeping? <i>Grand Dieu!</i> I must have been mad not to have remembered +that no woman could resist the price that they were willing to pay for it! And +to think what I have risked for it! Is all my sacrifice to have been in +vain?” +</p> + +<p> +Her voice rose to a note of pleading and the tears started from her eyes. Her +mood changed. She began to wheedle. +</p> + +<p> +“Come, <i>ma petite</i>, you will help me recover my little box, +<i>n’est-ce pas?</i> You will find me generous. And I am rich, I have +great savings. I can...” +</p> + +<p> +Barbara put up her hands and pushed the dancer away from her. +</p> + +<p> +“After what you have said to me to-night,” she said, “I +wouldn’t give you back your box even if I had it.” +</p> + +<p> +She turned to the man. +</p> + +<p> +“Will you tell me the way to the nearest station” she went on, +“and kindly open that door!” +</p> + +<p> +The man looked interrogatively at Nur-el-Din who spoke a few words rapidly in +the language she had used before. Then she cried to Barbara: +</p> + +<p> +“You stay here until you tell me what you have done with the box!” +</p> + +<p> +Barbara had turned to the dancer when the latter spoke so that she did not +notice that the man had moved stealthily towards her. Before she could struggle +or cry out, a hand as big as a spade was clapped over her mouth, she was seized +in an iron grip and half-dragged, half-carried out of the taproom through the +small door opposite the front entrance. +</p> + +<p> +The door slammed behind them and Barbara found herself in darkness. She was +pushed round a corner and down a flight of stairs into some kind of cellar +which smelt of damp straw. Here the grip on her mouth was released for a second +but before she could utter more than a muffled cry the man thrust a +handkerchief into her mouth and effectually gagged her. Then he tied her hands +and feet together with some narrow ropes that cut her wrists horribly. He +seemed to be able to see in the dark for, though the place was black as pitch, +he worked swiftly and skillfully. Barbara felt herself lifted and deposited on +a bundle of straw. In a little she heard the man’s heavy foot-step on the +stair, there was a crash as of a trap-door falling to, the noise of a bolt. +Then Barbara fainted. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap15"></a>CHAPTER XV.<br/> +MR. BELLWARD IS CALLED TO THE TELEPHONE</h2> + +<p> +A knocking at the door of the library aroused Desmond from his cogitations. He +hastened to replace the volumes of Shakespeare on their shelf and restore all +to its former appearance. Then he went to the door and opened it. Old Martha +stood in the hall. +</p> + +<p> +“If you please, sir,” she wheezed, “the doctor’s +come!” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh,” said Desmond, rather puzzled, “what doctor?” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s not Dr. Haines from the village, Mr. Bellward, sir,” +said the housekeeper, “It’s a genel’man from Lunnon!” +</p> + +<p> +Then Desmond remembered Crook’s promise to look him up and guessed it +must be he. He bade Martha show the doctor in and bring tea for two. +</p> + +<p> +Desmond’s surmise was right. The old woman ushered in Crook, looking the +very pattern of medical respectability, with Harley Street written all over him +from the crown of his glossy top-hat to the neat brown spats on his feet. In +his hand he carried a small black bag. +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” he said, surveying Desmond, “and how do we find +ourselves to-day? These chills are nasty things to shake off, my dear +sir!” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, stow that!” growled Desmond, who was in little mood for +joking. +</p> + +<p> +“Voice inclined to be laryngeal,” said Crook putting down his hat +and bag on a chair, “we shall have to take care of our bronchial tubes! +We are not so young as we were!” +</p> + +<p> +“You can drop all that mumming, Crook!” snapped Desmond irascibly. +</p> + +<p> +“Voice rotten,” replied Crook calmly surveying him through his +pince-nez. “Really, Major—I should say, Mr. Bellward—you must +take more pains than that. You are talking to me exactly as though I were a +British Tommy. Tut, tut, this will never do, sir! You must talk thicker, more +guttural-like, and open the vowels well.” +</p> + +<p> +He had dropped his jesting manner altogether and spoke with the deep +earnestness of the expert airing his pet topic. He was so serious that Desmond +burst out laughing. It must be said, however, that he laughed as much like a +German as he knew how. This appeared to mollify Crook who, nevertheless, read +him a long lecture against ever, for a moment, even when alone, quitting the +role he was playing. Desmond took it in good part; for he knew the soundness of +the other’s advice. +</p> + +<p> +Then old Martha brought tea, and over the cups and saucers Crook gave Desmond a +budget of news. He told of the warrant issued for the arrest of Nur-el-Din and +of the search being made for her. +</p> + +<p> +Desmond heard the news of Nur-el-Din’s disappearance from London with +some consternation. He began to realize that his failure to detain Nur-el-Din +that afternoon might have incalculable consequences. Sunk in thought, he let +Crook run on. He was wondering whether he ought to give him a message for the +Chief, telling him of Nur-el-Din’s visit and of her flight on the arrival +of Mortimer. +</p> + +<p> +Now, Desmond had a good deal of pride, and like most proud people, he was +inclined to be obstinate. To confess to the Chief that he had let both +Nur-el-Din and Mortimer slip through his fingers was more than he could face. +He could not bear to think that the Chief might believe him capable of failure, +and take independent measures to guard against possible mistakes. Also, in his +heart of hearts, Desmond was angry with the Chief. He thought the latter had +acted precipitately in getting out a warrant for Nur-el-Din’s arrest +before he, Desmond, had had time to get into the skin of his part. +</p> + +<p> +So Desmond heard Crook out and made no comment. When the other asked him if he +had anything to tell the Chief, he shook his head. He was not to know then the +consequences which his disobedience of orders was destined to have. If he had +realized what the result of his obstinacy would be, he would not have hesitated +to send a full report by Crook—and this story might never have been +written! +</p> + +<p> +But if youth followed reason instead of impulse, the world would stand still. +Desmond was still at an age at which a man is willing to take on anything and +anybody, and he was confident of bringing his mission to a successful +conclusion without any extraneous aid. So Crook, after changing Desmond’s +make-up and giving him a further rehearsal of his role, packed up his pots and +paints and brushes in his black bag and returned to London with “nothing +to report” as the communiqués say. +</p> + +<p> +He repeated his visit every day for the next four days. Crook’s arrival +each afternoon was the only break in the monotony of a life which was rapidly +becoming unbearable to Desmond’s mercurial temperament. He found himself +looking forward to the wizened little man’s visits and for want of better +employment, he threw himself wholeheartedly into the study of his role under +the expert’s able direction. Desmond’s beard had sprouted +wonderfully, and Crook assured him that, by about the end of the week, the tow +substitute, which Desmond found a most unmitigated nuisance, would be no longer +necessary. He also showed his pupil how to paint in the few deft lines about +the eyes which completed the resemblance between Bellward and his impersonator. +</p> + +<p> +The time hung terribly heavily on Desmond’s hands. He had long since +memorized and destroyed the list of Mr. Bellward’s friends. Every morning +he spent at least an hour before the mirror in his bedroom working up the role. +With every day he felt more confident of himself; with every day he grew more +anxious to go to London, and, taking the bull by the horns, boldly visit one of +Mr. Bellward’s acquaintances and test the effect of his disguise. +</p> + +<p> +But no orders came from Headquarters to release him from his confinement. +Moreover, no word arrived from Nur-el-Din nor did Mortimer send any message or +call again at the Mill House. The silence of the two conspirators made Desmond +uneasy. Suppose Mortimer, who, he felt sure, had caught him out lying about +Nur-el-Din’s presence in the house at the time of his visit, had grown +suspicious! What if Nur-el-Din had succeeded in making good her escape to the +Continent? He had had his chance of laying hold of both suspects and he had +failed. Would that chance come again? +</p> + +<p> +Desmond doubted it. Every morning he awoke long before the dawn and lay awake +until daylight, his mind racked by these apprehensions. He chafed bitterly at +his inaction and he plied Crook with questions as to whether he had any orders +for him. Each time Crook replied in the negative. +</p> + +<p> +In the library Desmond found an Ordnance map of Essex. His military training +had given him a good schooling in the use of maps, and he spent many hours +studying the section of the country about the Mill House, seeking to impress it +upon his mind against future emergencies. +</p> + +<p> +He was surprised to find how remote the Mill House lay from other habitations. +Between it and Wentfield station, once Wentfield village was passed, there were +only a few lonely farms; but to the south there was an absolutely uninhabited +tract of fen traversed by the road running past the front gate of the Mill +House. The Mill House was duly marked on the map; with a little blue line +showing the millrace which Desmond traced to its junction with one of the broad +dykes intersecting Morstead Fen. The only inhabited house to the south of the +Bellward villa appeared to be a lonely public house situated on the far edge of +the fen, a couple of hundred yards away from the road. It was called “The +Dyke Inn.” +</p> + +<p> +One afternoon—it was the fifth day after Desmond’s arrival at +Bellward’s—Mr. Crook announced that this was to be his last visit. +</p> + +<p> +“I go abroad to-night, Mr. Bellward,” he said (he always insisted +on addressing Desmond by his assumed name), “a little job o’ work +in Switzerland; at Berne, to be precise. Urgent, you might call it, and really, +sir, you’ve made so much progress that I think I can safely leave you. +And I was to say that you will be able to go out very soon now.” +</p> + +<p> +“Good!” exclaimed Desmond, rubbing his hands together. “And +you think I’ll do, Crook, eh?” +</p> + +<p> +Crook rubbed his nose meditatively. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll be quite frank with you, Mr. Bellward,” he said: +“With a superficial acquaintance, even with an intimate friend, if +he’s as unobservant as most people are, you’ll pass muster. But I +shouldn’t like to guarantee anything if you were to meet, say, Mrs. +Bellward, if the gentleman has got a wife, or his mother. Keep out of a strong +light; don’t show your profile more than you can help, and remember that +a woman is a heap more observant than a man. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s my advice to you, sir. And now I’ll take my leave! +You won’t want that tow beard any more after to-day.” +</p> + +<p> +That night Desmond slept well and did not awake until the sunshine was +streaming in between the Venetian blinds in his bedroom. He felt keen and +vigorous, and he had an odd feeling that something was going to happen to him +that day. +</p> + +<p> +It was a delicious morning, the air as balmy as spring. As he brushed his hair +in front of the window, Desmond saw the peewits running about in the sunshine +on the fields by the road. He made an excellent breakfast and then, lighting a +pipe, opened the <i>Times</i> which lay folded by his plate. +</p> + +<p> +He turned first, as was his daily habit, to the casualty list. There it was! +Under the names of the “Killed in Action,” he read: “Okewood, +Major D. J. P.,” followed by the name of his regiment. It gave him an odd +little shock, though he had looked for the announcement every day; but the +feeling of surprise was quickly followed by one of relief. That brief line in +the casualty list meant the severing of all the old ties until he had hunted +down his quarry. +</p> + +<p> +Now he was ready to start. +</p> + +<p> +He spent the morning in the garden. Here, for the first time, he met Mr. Hill, +the odd man, who, on seeing him, became intensely busy picking up handfuls of +leaves and conveying them to a fire which was smouldering in a corner. Desmond +essayed to enter into conversation with him but the man was so impenetrably +deaf that Desmond, tiring of bawling, “It’s a fine day!” in +Mr. Hill’s ear, left him and strolled over to the shed where the +motor-cycle was stored. Here he amused himself for more than an hour in taking +the machine to pieces and putting it together again. He satisfied himself that +the bike was in working order and filled up the tank. He had an idea that this +means of conveyance might come in useful. +</p> + +<p> +The day was so mild that he lunched by the open window with the sunshine +casting rainbows on the tablecloth through the wine-glasses. He was just +finishing his coffee when the housekeeper came in and told him he was wanted on +the telephone. +</p> + +<p> +Desmond sprang from his chair with alacrity. His marching orders at last! he +thought, as he hurried across the hall to the library. +</p> + +<p> +“Hullo!” he cried as he picked up the receiver. +</p> + +<p> +“Is that Mr. Bellward?” answered a nasal voice. +</p> + +<p> +“Bellward speaking!” said Desmond, wondering who had called him up. +The voice was a man’s but it was not the abrupt clear tones of the Chief +nor yet Mr. Matthews’ careful accents. +</p> + +<p> +“Madame Le Bon wishes to see you!” +</p> + +<p> +Madame Le Bon? thought Desmond. Why, that was the name that Nur-el-Din had +given him. “I am Madame Le Bon, a Belgian refugee,” she had said. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you know whom I mean?” the voice continued. +</p> + +<p> +“Certainly,” replied Desmond. “You will come alone. +Otherwise, Madame will not see you. You understand? If you do not come alone, +you will waste your time!” +</p> + +<p> +“Where are you speaking from?” Desmond asked. +</p> + +<p> +“If you will turn to the left on leaving your front gate,” the +voice resumed, “and follow the road, a messenger will meet you and take +you to the lady.” +</p> + +<p> +“But...” Desmond began. +</p> + +<p> +“Will you come at once? And alone?” the nasal voice broke in +sharply. +</p> + +<p> +Desmond took a moment’s thought. To go was to disobey orders; not to go +was to risk losing a second chance of meeting Nur-el-Din. To telephone to 700 +Stanning for assistance would bring a hornets’ nest about his ears; yet +he might only see the dancer if he went alone. He lost no time in making up his +mind. The Chief must allow him latitude for meeting emergencies of this kind. +He would go. +</p> + +<p> +“I will come at once,” said Desmond. +</p> + +<p> +“Good,” said the voice and the communication ceased. +</p> + +<p> +Somewhere aloft there sits a sweet little cherub whose especial job is to look +after the headstrong. It was doubtless this emissary of providence that leant +down from his celestial seat and whispered in Desmond’s ear that it would +be delightful to walk out across the fen on this sunny afternoon. Desmond was +in the act of debating whether he would not take the motor-bike, but the +cherub’s winning way clinched it and he plumped for walking. +</p> + +<p> +In the hall he met the housekeeper who told him she wanted to go into Stanning +to do some shopping that afternoon. Desmond told her that he himself was going +out and would not be back for tea. Then, picking a stout blackthorn out of the +hallstand, he strode down the drive and out into the road. +</p> + +<p> +It was still beautifully fine, but already the golden sunshine was waning and +there were little wisps and curls of mist stealing low along the fields. +Desmond turned to the left, on leaving the Mill House, as he was bid and saw +the road running like a khaki ribbon before him into the misty distance. +</p> + +<p> +Swinging his stick, he strode on rapidly. The road was neglected, broken and +flinty and very soft. After he had gone about a mile it narrowed to pursue its +way between two broad ditches lined with pollard willows and brimful of brown +peaty water. By this time he judged, from his recollection of the map, that he +must be on Morstead Fen. An interminable waste of sodden, emerald green fields, +intersected by ditches, stretched away on either hand. +</p> + +<p> +He had walked for half an hour when he made out in the distance a clump of +trees standing apart and seemingly in the middle of the fields. Then in the +foreground he descried a gate. A figure was standing by it. +</p> + +<p> +As he approached the gate he saw it was a small boy. On remarking the stranger, +the urchin opened the gate and without looking to right or left led off down +the road towards the clump of trees: Desmond followed at his leisure. +</p> + +<p> +As they neared the trees, the low red roof of a house detached itself. By this +time the sun was sinking in a smear of red across a delicately tinted sky. Its +dying rays held some glittering object high up on the side of the house. +</p> + +<p> +At first Desmond thought it was a window, but presently the light went out, +kindled again and once more vanished. It was too small for a window, Desmond +decided, and then, turning the matter over in his mind, as observant people are +accustomed to do even with trifles, he suddenly realized that the light he had +seen was the reflection of the sun on a telescope or glasses. +</p> + +<p> +They were now within a few hundred yards of the house. The road had made a +right angle turn to the left, but the diminutive guide had quitted it and +struck out along a very muddy cart track. Shading his eyes, Desmond gazed at +the house and presently got a glimpse of a figure at a window surveying the +road through a pair of field glasses. Even as he looked, the figure bobbed down +and did not reappear. +</p> + +<p> +“They want to be sure I’m alone,” thought Desmond, and +congratulated himself on having had the strength of mind to break his orders. +</p> + +<p> +The cart-track led up to a little bridge over a ditch. By the bridge stood a +tall pole, on the top of which was a blue and gold painted sign-board +inscribed, “The Dyke Inn by J. Rass.” The urchin led him across the +bridge and up to the door of the inn. +</p> + +<p> +An undersized, yellow-faced man, wearing neither collar nor tie, came to the +door as they approached. Although of short stature, he was immensely broad with +singularly long arms. Altogether he had something of the figure of a gorilla, +Desmond thought on looking at him. +</p> + +<p> +The man put a finger up and touched his forelock. +</p> + +<p> +“Madame Le Bon is upstairs waiting for you!” he said in a nasal +voice which Desmond recognized as that he had heard on the telephone. +“Please to follow me!” +</p> + +<p> +He led the way across a long low tap-room through a door and past the open +trap-door of a cellar to a staircase. On the first landing, lit by a window +looking out on a dreary expanse of fen, he halted Desmond. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s her room,” he said, pointing to a door opposite the +head of the staircase, half a dozen steps up, and so saying, the yellow-faced +man walked quickly downstairs and left him. Desmond heard his feet echo on the +staircase and the door of the tap-room slam. +</p> + +<p> +He hesitated a moment. What if this were a trap? Suppose Mortimer, growing +suspicious, had made use of Nur-el-Din to lure him to an ambush in this lonely +place? Why the devil hadn’t he brought a revolver with him? +</p> + +<p> +Then Desmond’s Irish blood came to his rescue. He gave his head a little +shake, took a firm hold of his stick which was a stoutish sort of cudgel and +striding boldly up to the door indicated, tapped. +</p> + +<p> +“<i>Entrez!</i>” said a pretty voice that made Desmond’s +heart flutter. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap16"></a>CHAPTER XVI.<br/> +THE STAR OF POLAND</h2> + +<p> +The room in which Desmond found Nur-el-Din was obviously the parlor of the +house. Everything in it spoke of that dreary period in art, the middle years of +the reign of Victoria the Good. The wall-paper, much mildewed in places, was an +ugly shade of green and there were dusty and faded red curtains at the windows +and draping the fireplace. Down one side of the room ran a hideous mahogany +sideboard, almost as big as a railway station buffet, with a very dirty +tablecloth. The chairs were of mahogany, upholstered in worn black horsehair +and there were two pairs of fly-blown steel engravings of the largest size on +the wall. In the centre of the apartment stood a small round table, covered +with a much stained red tablecloth and there was a door in the corner. +</p> + +<p> +The dainty beauty of Nur-el-Din made a very forlorn picture amid the unmatched +savagery of this English interior. The dancer, who was wearing the same +becoming gray tweed suit in which Desmond had last seen her, was sitting +sorrowfully at the table when Desmond entered. At the sight of him she sprang +up and ran to meet him with outstretched hands. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah!” she cried, “<i>comme je suis heureuse de vous voir!</i> +It is good of you to come!” +</p> + +<p> +And then, without any warning, she burst into tears and putting her hands on +the man’s shoulders, hid her head against his chest and sobbed bitterly. +</p> + +<p> +Desmond took one of her hands, small and soft and warm, and gently disengaged +her. His mind was working clearly and rapidly. He felt sure of himself, sure of +his disguise; if this were an exhibition of woman’s wiles, it would find +him proof; on that he was resolved. Yet, dissolved in tears as she was, with +her long lashes glistening and her mouth twitching pitifully, the dancer seemed +to touch a chord deep down in his heart. +</p> + +<p> +“Come, come,” said Desmond gutturally, with a touch of +<i>bonhomie</i> in his voice in keeping with his ample girth, “you +mustn’t give way like this, my child! What’s amiss? Come, sit down +here and tell me what’s the matter.” +</p> + +<p> +He made her resume her seat by the table and pulled up one of the horsehair +chairs for himself. Nur-el-Din wiped her eyes on a tiny lace handkerchief, but +continued to sob and shudder at intervals. +</p> + +<p> +“Marie, my maid,” she said in French in a broken voice, +“joined me here to-day. She has told me of this dreadful murder!” +</p> + +<p> +Desmond stiffened to attention. His mind swiftly reverted to the last woman he +had seen cry, to Barbara Mackwayte discovering the loss of the package +entrusted to her charge by the woman who sat before him. +</p> + +<p> +“What murder?” he asked, striving to banish any trace of interest +from his voice. He loathed the part he had to play. The dancer’s distress +struck him as genuine. +</p> + +<p> +“The murder of Monsieur Mackwayte,” said Nur-el-Din, and her tears +broke forth anew. +</p> + +<p> +“I have read of this in the newspapers,” said Desmond. “I +remember you told me he was a friend of yours.” +</p> + +<p> +Briefly, with many sobs, the dancer told him of the silver box which she had +entrusted to Barbara Mackwayte’s charge. +</p> + +<p> +“And now,” she sobbed, “it is lost and all my sacrifice, all +my precautions, have been in vain!” +</p> + +<p> +“But how?” asked Desmond. “Why should you think this box +should have been taken? From what I remember reading of this case in the +English newspapers there was a burglary at the house, but the thief has been +arrested and the property restored. You have only to ask this Miss—what +was the name? ah! yes, Mackwayte for your box and she will restore it!” +</p> + +<p> +“No, no!” Nur-el-Din answered wearily, “you don’t +understand. This was no burglary. The man who murdered Monsieur Arthur murdered +him to get my silver box.” +</p> + +<p> +“But,” objected Desmond, “a silver box! What value has a +trifling object like that? My dear young lady, murder is not done for a silver +box!” +</p> + +<p> +“No, no,” Nur-el-Din repeated, “you don’t understand! +You don’t know what that box contained!” +</p> + +<p> +Then she relapsed into silence, plucking idly at the shred of cambric she held +between her fingers. +</p> + +<p> +Already dusk was falling and the room was full of shadows. The golden radiance +of the afternoon had died and eerie wraiths of fog were peering-in at the +window. +</p> + +<p> +Desmond held his peace. He felt he was on the threshold of a confession that +might rend the veil of mystery surrounding the murder at Seven Kings. He stared +fixedly at the ugly red tablecloth, conscious that the big eyes of the girl +were searching his face. +</p> + +<p> +“You have honest eyes,” she said presently. “I told you that +once before... that night we met at your house... do you remember? Your eyes +are English. But you are a German, <i>hein?</i>” +</p> + +<p> +“My mother was Irish,” said Desmond and felt a momentary relief +that, for once, he had been able to speak the truth. +</p> + +<p> +“I want a friend,” the girl resumed wearily, “someone that I +can trust. But I look around and I find no one. You serve the German Empire, do +you not?” +</p> + +<p> +Desmond bowed. +</p> + +<p> +“But not the House of Hohenzollern?” the girl cried, her voice +trembling with passion. +</p> + +<p> +“I am not of the Emperor’s personal service, if that is what you +mean, madame,” Desmond returned coldly. +</p> + +<p> +“Then, since you are not altogether an iron Prussian,” Nur-el-Din +resumed eagerly, “you can differentiate. You can understand that there is +a difference between working for the cause of Germany and for the personal +business of her princes.” +</p> + +<p> +“But certainly,” answered Desmond, “I am not an errand boy +nor yet a detective. I regard myself as a German officer doing his duty on the +front. We have many fronts besides the Western and the Eastern. England is one. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah,” exclaimed the girl, clasping her hands together and looking +at him with enraptured eyes, “I see you understand! My friend, I am much +tempted to make a confidant of you!” +</p> + +<p> +Desmond looked at her but did not speak. Again he felt that silence was now his +only role. He tried hard to fix his mind on his duty; but the man in him was +occupied with the woman who looked so appealingly at him. +</p> + +<p> +“... but if I do,” the girl went on and her voice was hurried and +anxious, “you must swear to me that you will respect my confidence, that +you will not betray me to the others and that you will, if need be, protect +me.” +</p> + +<p> +Seeing that Desmond remained silent, she hastened to add: +</p> + +<p> +“Believe me, what I ask you to do is not in opposition to your duty. My +friend, for all my surroundings, I am not what I seem. Fate has drawn me into +the system of which you form part; but, believe me, I know nothing of the +service to which you and Mortimer and the rest belong!” +</p> + +<p> +She spoke with painful earnestness and in a tone so mournful that Desmond felt +himself profoundly moved. “If only she is not acting!” he thought, +and sought to shake himself free from the spell which this girl seemed able to +cast about him at will. +</p> + +<p> +“Promise me that you will respect my confidence and help me!” she +said and held out her hand. +</p> + +<p> +Desmond’s big hand closed about hers and he felt an odd thrill of +sympathy with her as their hands met. +</p> + +<p> +“I promise!” he said and murmured to himself something very like a +prayer that he might not be called upon to redeem his word. +</p> + +<p> +She let her eyes rest for a moment on his. +</p> + +<p> +“Be careful!” she urged warningly, while the ghost of a smile +flitted across her face. “Very soon I may call upon you to make good your +words!” +</p> + +<p> +“I promise!” he repeated—and his eyes never left hers. +</p> + +<p> +“Then,” she cried passionately, “find out who has stolen for +the Crown Prince the Star of Poland at the price of the life of a harmless old +man!” +</p> + +<p> +“The Star of Poland!” repeated Desmond. “What is the Star of +Poland?” +</p> + +<p> +The girl drew herself up proudly and there was a certain dignity about her +manner as she answered. +</p> + +<p> +“I am a Pole,” she said, “and to us Poles, the Star of Poland +has stood for centuries as a pledge of the restoration of our long-lost +kingdom. It was the principal jewel of the Polish Coronation sword which +vanished many hundreds of years ago—in the thirteenth century, one of my +compatriots once told me—and it was one of the most treasured national +possessions in the Château of our great king, John Sobieski at Villanoff, +outside Warsaw. My friend, I am not religious, and since my childhood I have +renounced the ancient faith of my fathers, but, when I think of the +extraordinary chain of circumstances by which this treasure came into my +possession, I almost believe that God has chosen me to restore this gem to the +King of an independent Poland. +</p> + +<p> +“Four years ago I was in the United States, a very humble dancer in +vaudeville of the third or fourth class. When I was appearing at Columbus, +Ohio, I met a German, a man who had been an officer in the Prussian Guard but +had come to grief and had been forced to emigrate. +</p> + +<p> +“This man’s name was Hans von Schornbeek. Like so many German +officers who go to America, in his time he had been everything—waiter, +lift-man, engine-driver and heaven knows what else, but when I met him he was +apparently well-off. It was only later on that I knew he was one of your +principal secret agents in America. +</p> + +<p> +“He praised my talents highly and offered to furnish the capital to start +me as an Oriental dancer with a large company of my own. There was only one +condition attaching to his offer, a condition, <i>ma foi!</i> which was not +disagreeable to me. It was that, after six months tour in the States and +Canada, I should go to Brussels and settle down there in a house that Herr von +Schornbeek would present me with. +</p> + +<p> +“<i>Mon ami</i>, in those days, I understood nothing at all of diplomacy. +I knew only that I was often hungry and that I had a little talent which, were +it given a chance, might keep me from want. Herr von Schornbeek fulfilled his +promises to me. I had my company, I did my tour of America and Canada with +great success and finally I came to Europe and made my debut at Brussels. +</p> + +<p> +“I knew Brussels already from the old days. As a half-starved, unhappy +child with a troupe of acrobats, I had often appeared there. But now I came to +Brussels as a conqueror. A beautiful villa in the suburb of Laeken was ready to +receive me and I found that a large credit had been opened in my name at one of +the principal banks so that I could keep open house. +</p> + +<p> +“I think I scarcely realized then the rôle that I was destined to fill by +the German Secret Service. In all my life before, I had never been happy, I had +never ceased to struggle for my bare existence, I had never had pretty clothes +to wear, and motor-cars and servants of my own.” +</p> + +<p> +She paused and glanced around her. The room was almost dark; the fog outside +hung like a veil before the window. +</p> + +<p> +“Light the lamp!” she begged, “I do not like the dark!” +</p> + +<p> +Desmond struck a match and kindled an oil lamp, which stood on the sideboard. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah! my friend,” the girl resumed. “I took my fill of life +with both hands. The year was 1913. Now I know that I was one of the German +agents for the penetration of Belgium in preparation of what was coming. My +mission was to make friends among the Belgians and the French and the +cosmopolitan society of Brussels generally, and invite them to my house where +your people were waiting to deal with them. +</p> + +<p> +“My pretty villa became the rendezvous for half the rascals of Europe, +men and women, who used to meet there with all kinds of mysterious Germans. +Sometimes there was a scandal. Once a Belgian Colonel was found shot in the +billiard-room; they said it was suicide and the thing was hushed up, but +<i>dame!</i> now that I know what I know... +</p> + +<p> +“<i>Enfin!</i> I shut my eyes to it all... it was none of my business... +and I revelled in my <i>robes</i>, my dancing, my new life of luxury! +</p> + +<p> +“And then the war came. I was at Laeken, resting after a visit to Rome. +There was a lot of talk about the war amongst the people who came to my house, +but I did not see how it could affect me, an <i>artiste</i>, and I never read +the newspapers. My German friends assured me that, in a little while, the +German army would be at Brussels; that, if I remained quietly at home, all +would be well. They were very elated and confident, these German friends of +mine. And rightly; for within a few weeks the Germans entered the city and a +General quartered himself in my villa. It was he who brought the Crown Prince +to see me. +</p> + +<p> +“<i>Mon cher</i>, you know this young man and his reputation. I am not +excusing myself; but all my life had been spent up to then in the +<i>bas-fonds</i> of society. I had never known what it was to be courted and +admired by one who had the world at his feet. <i>Parbleu!</i> one does not meet +a future Emperor every day! +</p> + +<p> +“<i>Enfin!</i> the Prince carried me with him back to Metz, where he had +his headquarters. He was very <i>épris</i> with me, but you know his +temperament! No woman can hold him for more than a few weeks, vain and weak and +arrogant as he is. But <i>pardon!</i> I was forgetting that you are a good +German. I fear I offend your susceptibilities...” +</p> + +<p> +Desmond laughed drily. +</p> + +<p> +“Madame,” he said, “I hope I have preserved sufficient +liberty of judgment to have formed my own opinion about our future sovereign. +Most Germans have...” +</p> + +<p> +“<i>Alors</i>,” she broke in fiercely, her voice shaking with +passion, “you know what an ignoble <i>canaille</i> is this young man, +without even enough decency of feeling to respect the troops of whom he has +demanded such bloody sacrifices. At Metz we were near enough to the fighting to +realize the blood and tears of this war. But the Prince thought of nothing, but +his own amusement. To live as he did, within sound of the guns, with parties +every night, women and dancing and roulette and champagne suppers—bah! +<i>c’était trop fort!</i> It awakened in me the love of country which +lies dormant in all of us. I wanted to help my country, lest I might sink as +low as he...” +</p> + +<p> +“One day the Prince brought a young officer friend of his to dine with +me. This officer had come from the Eastern front and had been present at the +capture of Warsaw. After dinner he took a leather case out of his pocket and +said to the Prince: ‘I have brought your Imperial Highness a little +souvenir from Poland!’ As he spoke he touched a spring and the case flew +open, displaying an enormous diamond, nearly as big as the great Orloff diamond +which I have seen at Petrograd, surrounded by five other brilliants, the whole +set like a star. +</p> + +<p> +“‘The Star of Poland,’ said the young officer (the Prince +called him ‘Erich;’ I never heard his full name), ‘it comes +from the long-lost Coronation sword of the Polish kings. I took it for your +Imperial Highness from the Château of John Sobieski at Villanoff. +</p> + +<p> +“I could not take my eyes off the gem. As the Prince held it down under +the lamp to study it, it shone like an electric light. I had met many of my +fellow countrymen in America and I had often heard of this jewel, famous in our +unhappy history. +</p> + +<p> +“The Prince, who was gay with champagne, laughed and said: +</p> + +<p> +“‘These lousy Poles will have no further use for this pretty +trinket, thanks to our stout German blows, will they, Erich?’ +</p> + +<p> +“And his friend replied: +</p> + +<p> +“‘We’ll give them a nice new German constitution instead, +your Imperial Highness!’ +</p> + +<p> +“The Prince, as I have said, was very merry that night. He let me take +the jewel from its case and hold it in my hands. Then I fastened it in my hair +before the mirror and turned to show myself to the Prince and his companion. +</p> + +<p> +“‘<i>Donnerwetter!</i> said Willie. ‘It looks wonderful in +your hair, Marcelle!’ +</p> + +<p> +“Then, as if struck by a sudden thought, he cried: +</p> + +<p> +“‘Erich! What do you say, Marcelle is a Pole. She shall have the +Star of Poland and wear it in memory of me!’ +</p> + +<p> +“The other thought this a famous idea, and so the jewel passed into my +hands. That same evening I resolved that it should be a sacred duty on my part +to keep it in safety until I could hand it back to the lawful sovereign of an +independent Poland. +</p> + +<p> +“I was very unhappy at Metz until the Star of Poland came to comfort me. +When I was alone, I used to take it from its case and feast my eyes upon it. I +made many attempts to get away, but the Prince would never let me go, though he +had long since tired of me and I was merely one of his harem of women. +<i>Pfui!</i>” +</p> + +<p> +She gave an exclamation of disgust. +</p> + +<p> +“It was the Crown Princess who eventually came to my rescue,” she +continued. “Long-suffering wife as she is, the stories that came to her +ears from Metz were such that she went to the Emperor and declared that she +would insist upon a divorce. There was a great scandal. The Prince’s +headquarters were moved and at length I got my release. +</p> + +<p> +“I had no money. This was a detail which the Prince overlooked. But I +wanted to resume my stage work, so, with great difficulty, through the +influence of the Prince, I obtained a passport to Holland and from there got +across to England. +</p> + +<p> +“I had hoped to turn my back once and for all on my connection with the +Prince. But your German Secret Service had been warned about me. The Imperial +Authorities were obviously afraid that I might tell tales out of school. +Scarcely had I arrived in London when a man who called himself Bryan Mowbury, +but who looked and spoke like a German, came to see me and said he had been +instructed to ‘look after me.’ What that meant, I was soon to +discover. In a very few days I found that I was under the supervision of your +Secret Service here. In fact, Mowbury gave me to understand that any +indiscretion on my part as to my stay at Metz would result in my immediate +denunciation to the English police as a spy. +</p> + +<p> +“My friend, I had no alternative. I am not German; I am not English; I am +a Pole. I have good friends in Germany, I have good friends in England, and +their quarrels are not mine. I held my peace about the past and submitted to +the incessant watch which Mowbury and his friends kept on my movements. +</p> + +<p> +“And then one day I had a letter. It was from Count Plettenbach, the +Crown Prince’s aide-de-camp, as I knew by the hand-writing, for it was +signed with an assumed name. In this letter the Count, ‘on behalf of a +mutual friend,’ as he put it, requested me to hand back to a certain Mr. +Mortimer, his accredited representative, ‘Erich’s present.’ +There were cogent reasons, it was added, for this unusual request. +</p> + +<p> +“I sent no reply to that letter, although an address in Switzerland was +given to which an answer might be despatched. I was resolved, come what may, +not to part with the Star of Poland. When Mortimer came, five days later, I +told him the jewel was not mine to hand over, that it was part of the regalia +of Poland and that I would never give it up. +</p> + +<p> +“Mortimer replied that the German and Austrian Governments had decided to +restore the independence of Poland, that probably an Austrian Archduke would be +made king and that it was essential that the Star of Poland should be restored +in order to include it in the regalia for the Coronation. But I knew what this +Austro-German kingdom of Poland was to be, a serf state with not a shadow of +that liberty for which every Pole is longing. Since I have been in England, I +have kept in touch with the Polish political organizations in this country. +Rass, as he calls himself, the landlord of this inn, is one of the most +prominent of the Polish leaders in England. +</p> + +<p> +“Mortimer reasoned with me in vain and finally went away empty-handed. +But he did not abandon hope. Four successive attempts were made to get the +jewel away from me. Twice my apartments at the Nineveh Hotel were rifled; once +my dressing-room at the theatre was entered and searched whilst I was on the +stage. But I wore the jewel day and night in a little bag suspended by a chain +from my neck and they never got it from me. +</p> + +<p> +“Two days before I came down to your house—it was the day before +the murder—I was hustled by a group of men as I came out of the theatre. +Fortunately the stage-door keeper came up unexpectedly and the men made off. +But the encounter frightened me, and I resolved to break my contract with the +Palaceum and bury myself down here in the country. +</p> + +<p> +“But somehow Mortimer learnt of my intention. The next night—it was +the night of the murder—he came to the theatre and warned me against +trying to elude his vigilance by flight. I have never forgotten his words. +</p> + +<p> +“‘I can afford to wait,’ he said, ‘for I shall get what +I want: I always do. But you have chosen to set yourself against me and you +will bitterly repent it!” +</p> + +<p> +As though the recollection proved too much for her, Nur-el-Din broke off her +narrative and covered her face with her hands. +</p> + +<p> +“And do you think that Mortimer did this murder?” asked Desmond +gently. +</p> + +<p> +Wearily the girl raised her head. +</p> + +<p> +“Either he or one of his accomplices, of whom this girl is one!” +she answered. +</p> + +<p> +“But why not have put the jewel in a bank or one of the safe deposits? +Surely it was risky to have entrusted it to a girl of whom you knew +nothing?” +</p> + +<p> +“My friend,”, said the dancer, “I was desperate. Mortimer +sees and knows all. This unexpected meeting with the daughter of my old friend +seemed at the moment like a heaven-sent chance to place the jewel, unknown to +him, in safe hands. I felt that as long as I carried it on me, my life was in +constant danger. It was only to-day, when I heard of the murder, that it dawned +on me how indiscreet I had been. I might have guessed, since Miss Mackwayte +knew Mortimer—” +</p> + +<p> +“Miss Mackwayte knows Mortimer?” echoed Desmond in stupefaction. +</p> + +<p> +“But certainly,” replied Nur-el-Din. “Was it not I +myself—” She broke off suddenly with terror in her eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, no!” she whispered. “It is enough. Already I have said +too much...” +</p> + +<p> +Desmond was about to speak when the door opened and a foreign-looking maid, +whom Desmond remembered to have seen in the dancer’s dressing-room, came +in. She went swiftly to her mistress and whispered something in her ear. +</p> + +<p> +The dancer sprang to her feet. +</p> + +<p> +“A little moment... you will excuse me...” she cried to Desmond and +ran from the room. The maid followed her, leaving Desmond alone. +</p> + +<p> +Presently, the sound of Nur-el-Din’s voice raised high in anger struck on +his ears. He stole softly to the door and opened it. Before him lay the +staircase deserted. He tiptoed down the stairs to the first landing and +listened. The murmur of voices reached him indistinctly from the room below. +Then he heard Nur-el-Din crying out again in anger. +</p> + +<p> +He craned his ear over the well of the staircase, turning his face to the +window which stood on the landing. The window gave on a small yard with a gate +over which a lamp was suspended and beyond it the fen now swathed in fog. The +dancer’s maid stood beneath the lamp in earnest conversation with a man +in rough shooting clothes who held a gun under his arm. As Desmond looked the +man turned his head so that the rays of the lamp fell full upon his face. To +his unspeakable consternation and amazement, Desmond recognized Strangwise. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap17"></a>CHAPTER XVII.<br/> +MR. BELLWARD ARRANGES A BRIDGE EVENING</h2> + +<p> +Oblivious of the voices in the room below, Desmond stood with his face pressed +against the glass of the window. Was Strangwise staying at “The Dyke +Inn”? Nothing was more probable; for the latter had told him that he was +going to spend his leave shooting in Essex, and Morstead Fen must abound in +snipe and duck. +</p> + +<p> +But he and Strangwise must not meet. Desmond was chary of submitting his +disguise to the other’s keen, shrewd eyes. Strangwise knew Nur-el-Din: +indeed, the dancer might have come to the inn to be with him. If he recognized +Desmond and imparted his suspicions to the dancer, the game world be up; on the +other hand, Desmond could not take him aside and disclose his identity; for +that would be breaking faith with the Chief. There was nothing for it, he +decided, but flight. +</p> + +<p> +Yet how could he get away unobserved? There was no exit from the staircase by +the door into the tap-room where Nur-el-Din was, and to go through the tap-room +was to risk coming face to face with Strangwise. +</p> + +<p> +So Desmond remained where he was by the window and watched. Presently, the +woman turned and began to cross the yard, Strangwise, carrying his gun, +following her. Desmond waited until he heard a door open somewhere below and +then he acted. +</p> + +<p> +Beside the window ran an old lead water-pipe which drained the roof above his +head. On a level with the sill of the landing below, this pipe took a sharp +turn to the left and ran diagonally down to a tall covered-in water-butt that +stood on the flat roof of an outhouse in the little yard. +</p> + +<p> +Desmond raised the window very gently and tested the pipe with his hand. It +seemed rather insecure and shook under his pressure. With his eye he measured +the distance from the sill to the pipe; it was about four feet. Desmond +reckoned that, if the pipe would hold, by getting out of the window and hanging +on to the sill, he might, by a pendulum-like motion, gain sufficient impulse to +swing his legs across the diagonally-running pipe, then transfer his hands and +so slide down to the outhouse roof. +</p> + +<p> +He wasted no time in debating the chances of the pipe collapsing under his +weight. All his life it had been his practice to take a risk, for such is the +Irish temperament—if the object to be attained in any way justified it; +and he was determined to avoid at all costs the chance of a meeting with +Strangwise. The latter had probably read the name of Okewood in that +morning’s casualty list, but Desmond felt more than ever that he +distrusted the man, and his continued presence in the neighborhood of +Nur-el-Din gravely preoccupied him. +</p> + +<p> +He stood a moment by the open window and listened. The murmur of voices went on +in the taproom, but from another part of the house he heard a deep laugh and +knew it to be Strangwise’s. Trusting to Providence that the roof of the +outhouse would be out of sight of the yard door, Desmond swung his right leg +over the window-sill and followed it with the other, turning his back on the +yard. The next moment he was dangling over the side of the house. +</p> + +<p> +Then from the yard below he heard Strangwise call: +</p> + +<p> +“Rufus! Rufus!” +</p> + +<p> +A heavy footstep sounded on the flags. Desmond remained perfectly still. The +strain on his arms was tremendous. If Strangwise should go as far as the gate, +so as to get clear of the yard, he must infallibly see that figure clinging to +the window-sill. +</p> + +<p> +“Where the devil is that doggy” said Strangwise. Then he whistled, +and called again: +</p> + +<p> +“Rufus! Rufus!” +</p> + +<p> +Desmond made a supreme effort to support the strain on his muscles. The veins +stood out at his temples and he felt the blood singing in his ears. Another +minute and he knew he must drop. He no longer had the power to swing himself up +to the window ledge again. +</p> + +<p> +A bark rang out in the courtyard, followed by the patter of feet. Desmond heard +Strangwise speak to the dog and reenter the house. Then silence fell again. +With a tremendous effort Desmond swung his legs athwart the pipe, gripped it +with his right hand, then his left, and very gently commenced to let himself +down. The pipe quivered beneath his weight, but it held fast and in a minute he +was standing on the roof of the outhouse, cautiously peering through the dank +fog that hung about the yard. +</p> + +<p> +Screening himself from view behind the tall waterbutt, he reconnoitred the back +of the inn. The upper part of the house was shrouded in darkness, but a broad +beam of light from a half-open door and a tall window on the ground floor cleft +the pall of fog. The window showed a snug little bar with Strangwise standing +by the counter, a glass in his hand. As Desmond watched him, he heard a muffled +scream from somewhere within the house. Strangwise heard it too, for Desmond +saw him put his glass down on the bar and raise his head sharply. There +followed a dull crash from the interior of the inn and the next moment the +yellow-faced man, whom Desmond judged to be Rass, stepped into the circle of +light inside the window. He said something to Strangwise with thumb jerked +behind him, whereupon the latter clapped him, as though in approval, on the +shoulder, and both hurried out together. +</p> + +<p> +Puzzled though he was by the scene he had just witnessed, Desmond did not dare +to tarry longer. The roof of the outhouse was only some ten feet from the +ground, an easy drop. He let himself noiselessly down and landing on his feet +without mishap, darted out of the yard gate. As he did so, he heard the inn +door open and Strangwise’s voice cry out: +</p> + +<p> +“Who’s that?” +</p> + +<p> +But Desmond heeded not. He dashed out upon the fen. Before he had gone a dozen +paces the fog had swallowed up inn and all. Out of the white pall behind him he +heard confused shouts as he skirted swiftly round the house and reached the +road. +</p> + +<p> +Once he had gained the freedom of the highway; Desmond breathed again. The +dense fog that enveloped him, the hard road beneath his feet, gave him a sense +of security that he had missed as long as he was in the atmosphere of that +lonely, sinister place. He struck out at a good pace for home, intent upon one +thing, namely, to send an immediate summons for help to surround the Dyke Inn +and all within it. Nur-el-Din, it was clear, whether a spy or no (and Desmond +believed her story), was the only person who could throw any light on the +mysterious circumstances surrounding old Mackwayte’s murder. Besides, her +arrest would safeguard her against further machinations on the part of +Mortimer, though Desmond suspected that the latter, now that he had secured the +jewel, would leave the dancer in peace. As for Strangwise, it would be for him +to explain as best he could his continued association with a woman for whose +arrest a warrant had been issued. +</p> + +<p> +Desmond let himself in with his key. The housekeeper had returned and was +laying the dinner-table. In the library the curtains were drawn and a fire +burned brightly in the grate. The room looked very snug and cosy by contrast +with the raw weather outside. +</p> + +<p> +Desmond shut and locked the door and then went to the telephone at the desk. +“Ring up 700 Stanning”—he repeated his instructions to +himself “and ask for Mr. Elias. Assistance’ll be with you within +fifteen minutes afterwards.” +</p> + +<p> +By the clock on the mantelpiece it was a quarter to seven. If aid arrived +promptly, with a car they could be at the Dyke Inn by a quarter past seven. +</p> + +<p> +The telephone gave no sign of life. Desmond impatiently jerked the receiver +hook up and down. This time, at least, he would not fail, he told himself. +Before he went to bed that night Nur-el-Din, her maid, Rass, and if needs be, +Strangwise (who needed a lesson to teach him discretion), should be in custody. +</p> + +<p> +Still no reply. +</p> + +<p> +“Hullo! Hullo!” cried Desmond, depressing the hook repeatedly. +“Hullo, Exchange!” +</p> + +<p> +But there was no answer. Then it struck Desmond that the line was dead: his ear +detected none of that busy whirr which is heard in the telephone when one is +waiting to get a number. +</p> + +<p> +He spent five minutes in vain attempts to obtain a reply, then abandoned the +endeavor in disgust. +</p> + +<p> +“I shall have to take the motor-bike and go over to Stunning,” he +said to himself, “how I shall find my way there in this fog, the Lord +only knows! And I don’t know whom to apply to when I get there. The +police-station, I suppose!” +</p> + +<p> +He unlocked the door and rang for Martha. +</p> + +<p> +“I have to go over to Stunning, Martha,” he said, “I will try +and be back for dinner at eight!” +</p> + +<p> +He had no intention of accompanying the party to the Dyke Inn. He must preserve +his incognito until Mortimer, the main quarry, had been run down. +</p> + +<p> +He filled his case from the box of cigarettes on the table and thrust a box of +matches into his pocket to light his head-lamp. Then, taking a cap from the +hat-stand, he opened the front door. Even as he did so a big open car slowed +down throbbing outside the porch. A man sprang out and advanced into the light +streaming from the front door into the eddying mist. It was Mortimer. +</p> + +<p> +“Fortune,” thought Desmond, “has broken her rule. She has +given me a second chance!” +</p> + +<p> +“Well met, Bellward!” cried Mortimer, blinking at the other through +his thick glasses. “Tut, tut! What a night! You were never going out, I +swear.” +</p> + +<p> +Already Desmond had decided in his mind the course of action he would pursue. +For the moment he must let the party at the Dyke Inn slide in favor of the +bigger catch. He must slip away later and have another try at the telephone and +if it were still out of order, he must endeavor to overpower Mortimer and then +go for assistance himself. On a night like this it was useless to think of +employing a half-blind old dolt like Martha to take a message. As for the odd +man, he lived at Wakefield, and went away at dusk every evening. +</p> + +<p> +So Desmond muttered some plausible lie about wanting to have a look at the +weather and cordially invited Mortimer in. +</p> + +<p> +“You will stay for dinner” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“Gladly,” replied the other, sinking with a grunt into the settee. +“And I should be glad if we might dine early.” +</p> + +<p> +Desmond raised his eyebrows. +</p> + +<p> +“... Because,” Mortimer resumed, “I have ventured to ask a +few friends round here to... to have an evening at bridge. Doubtless, you have +cards, eh?” +</p> + +<p> +Desmond pointed to a card-table standing in the corner with several packs of +cards and markers. Then he rang and told the housekeeper that they would dine +as soon as possible. +</p> + +<p> +“The coming fortnight,” said Mortimer, tucking his napkin into his +collar as they sat at the dinner table, “is pregnant with great events. +No less than ten divisions are, I understand, to be transferred to the other +side. I have waited to communicate with you until I had confirmation of this +report. But now that the matter has been decided, it only remains for us to +perfect our arrangements for communicating these plans to our friends beyond +the North Sea. Therefore, I thought a friendly bridge evening at the hospitable +home of our dear colleague Bellward would be in place.” +</p> + +<p> +He smiled affably and bent over his soup-plate. +</p> + +<p> +“I shall be delighted to receive our friends,” Desmond replied, +“a glass of sherry?” +</p> + +<p> +“Thank you,” said Mortimer. +</p> + +<p> +“I shall have to provide a few refreshments,” said Desmond. +“May I ask how many guests I may expect?” +</p> + +<p> +Mortimer reckoned on his fingers. +</p> + +<p> +“Let’s see,” he answered, “there’s Max, +that’s one, and Madame Malplaquet, that’s two. No. 13 and Behrend +makes four and myself, five!” +</p> + +<p> +“And Madame Nur-el-Din?” queried Desmond innocently, but inwardly +quaking at his rashness. +</p> + +<p> +Mortimer genially shook a finger at him. +</p> + +<p> +“Sly dog!” he chuckled, “you’re one too many for me in +that quarter, I see! I know all about your tête-à-tête with our charming young +friend this afternoon!” +</p> + +<p> +Desmond felt the blood rush to his face. He thought of Nur-el-Din’s +words: “Mortimer sees and knows all.” He picked up his sherry glass +and drained it to cover his confusion. +</p> + +<p> +“... It was hardly gallant of you to bolt so suddenly and leave the +lady!” Mortimer added. +</p> + +<p> +<i>How much did this uncanny creature know?</i> +</p> + +<p> +Without waiting for him to reply, Mortimer went on. +</p> + +<p> +“I suppose she told you a long story of my persecution, eh, Bellward? You +needn’t shake your head. I taxed her with it and she admitted as +much.” +</p> + +<p> +“I had no idea that you were staying at the Dyke Inn!” said Desmond +at a venture. +</p> + +<p> +“My friend,” replied Mortimer, lowering his voice, “your fair +charmer is showing a decided inclination to make a nuisance of herself. I have +had to keep an eye on her. It’s been a very serious inconvenience to my +plans, I can assure you. But you haven’t answered my question. What sent +you away in such a hurry this afternoon? and in so romantic a fashion? By the +window, was it not?” +</p> + +<p> +Through sheer apprehension, Desmond was now keyed up to a kind of desperate +audacity. The truth is sometimes a very effective weapon in the game of bluff, +and Desmond determined to employ it. +</p> + +<p> +“I saw someone I didn’t want to meet,” he replied. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah!” said Mortimer, “who was that, I wonder? The Dyke Inn +could hardly be described as a frequented resort, I imagine!” +</p> + +<p> +The entry of old Martha to change the plates prevented Desmond from replying. +He used the brief respite to review the situation. He would tell Mortimer the +truth. They were man to man now and he cared nothing even if the other should +discover the fraud that had been practised upon him. Come what might, Mortimer, +dead or alive, should be delivered up to justice that night. +</p> + +<p> +The housekeeper left the room and Desmond spoke. +</p> + +<p> +“I saw an officer I knew in the courtyard,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, Strangwise, I suppose!” said Mortimer carelessly. +“There’s nothing to fear from him, Bellward. He’s of the beef +and beer and no brains stamp of British officer. But how do you know +Strangwise?” +</p> + +<p> +“I met him at the Nineveh Hotel in town one night,” replied +Desmond. “I don’t care about meeting officers, however, and +that’s a fact!” +</p> + +<p> +Mortimer looked at him keenly for a brief instant. “What prudence!” +he cried. “Bellward, you are the very model of what a secret agent should +be! This pheasant is delicious!” +</p> + +<p> +He turned the conversation into a different channel but Desmond could not +forget that brief searching look. His mind was in a turmoil of half-digested +facts, of semi-completed deductions. He wanted to go away somewhere alone and +think out this mystery and disentangle each separate web of this baffling skein +of intrigue. +</p> + +<p> +He must focus his attention on Mortimer and Nur-el-Din. If Mortimer and +Strangwise were both staying at the Dyke Inn, then they were probably +acquainted. Strangwise knew Nur-el-Din, too, knew her well; for Desmond +remembered how familiarly they had conversed together that night in the +dancer’s dressing-room at the Palaceum. Strangwise knew Barbara Mackwayte +also. Nur-el-Din had introduced them, Desmond remembered, on that fateful night +when he had accompanied Strangwise to the Palaceum. Strange, how he was +beginning to encounter the man Strangwise at every turn in this sinister +affair. +</p> + +<p> +And then, with a shock that struck him like a blow in the face, Desmond +recalled Barbara’s parting words to him in the taxi. He remembered how +she had told him of seeing Nur-el-Din’s face in the mirror as the dancer +was talking to Strangwise that night at the Palaceum, and of the look of terror +in the girl’s eyes. Nur-el-Din was terrified of Mortimer; for so much she +had admitted to Desmond that very afternoon; she was terrified of Strangwise, +too, it seemed, of this Strangwise who, like Mortimer, kept appearing at every +stage of this bewildering affair. What confession had been on +Nur-el-Din’s lips when she had broken off that afternoon with the cry: +</p> + +<p> +“Already I have said too much!” +</p> + +<p> +Thereafter Desmond’s eyes were never long absent from Mortimer’s +face, scrutinizing each feature in turn, the eyes, set rather close together, +grotesquely shielded by the thick spectacles, the narrow cheeks, the rather +cynical mouth half hidden by the heavy, drooping moustache, the broad forehead +broken by a long lock of dark hair brushed out flat in a downward direction +from an untidy, unkempt crop. +</p> + +<p> +They talked no more of Strangwise or of Nur-el-Din. The rest of dinner was +passed in conversation of a general order in which Mr. Mortimer showed himself +to great advantage. He appeared to be a widely traveled, well-read man, with a +fund of dry, often rather grim humor. And all the time Desmond watched, +watched, unobtrusively but unceasingly, looking out for something he was +confident of detecting through the suave, immobile mask of this brilliant +conversationalist. +</p> + +<p> +Skillfully, almost imperceptibly, Desmond edged the talk on to the war. In this +domain, too, Mortimer showed himself a man of broad views, of big, +comprehensive ideas. Towards the strategy and tactics of the two sides, he +adopted the attitude of an impartial onlooker, but in his comments he proved +himself to have a thorough grasp of the military situation. He talked freely +and ably of such things as tanks, the limited objective in the attack and the +decentralization of responsibility in the field. +</p> + +<p> +Encouraged by his volubility, for he was a man who delighted in conversation, +Desmond gradually gave the talk a personal turn. But willing as Mortimer showed +himself to discuss the war generally, about his personal share he was as mute +as a fish. Try as he would Desmond could get nothing out of him. Again and +again, he brought the conversation round to personal topics; but every time his +companion contrived to switch it back to general lines. +</p> + +<p> +At last Desmond risked a direct question. By this time a pint of Pommery and +Gréno was tingling in his veins and he felt he didn’t care if the roof +fell in. +</p> + +<p> +“Ever since Nur-el-Din told me you were of the Crown Prince’s +personal service,” he said, “I have been devoured with curiosity to +know what you were doing before you came to England. Were you at Metz with his +Imperial Highness? Did you see the assault at Verdun? Were you present at the +capture of the Fort of Douaumont?” +</p> + +<p> +Mortimer shook his head, laughing, and held up a deprecating hand. +</p> + +<p> +“Professional discretion, my dear fellow, professional discretion!” +he retorted. “You know what it is!” +</p> + +<p> +Then lowering his voice, he added: +</p> + +<p> +“Between ourselves the less said about my connection with Master Willie +the better. Our colleagues are already restless at what they consider my +neglect of my professional work. They attribute it to the wiles of Nur-el-Din. +They may if they like and I don’t propose to disillusion them. You +understand, Bellward?” +</p> + +<p> +His voice was commanding and he bent his brows at Desmond, who hastened to +protest that his discretion in the matter would be absolute. +</p> + +<p> +When they had had their coffee and Mortimer was contentedly puffing one of +Bellward’s excellent double Coronas, Desmond rose from the table. +</p> + +<p> +“If you will excuse me a minute,” he said, “I will just go +across to the library and see if my housekeeper has put all in order for our +guests!” +</p> + +<p> +Instantly Mortimer got up from the table. +</p> + +<p> +“By all means,” he said, and emptied his glass of brandy, +“so, I will come with you!” +</p> + +<p> +Mortimer meant to stick to him, thought Desmond; that was evident. Then an idea +struck him. Why should he not telephone in Mortimer’s presence? To ask +for Mr. Elias was in no way incriminating and if help came promptly, Mortimer +could be secured and the other spies pounced upon in their turn as they +arrived. +</p> + +<p> +Therefore, as soon as they reached the library, Desmond walked over to the desk +and picked up the telephone receiver from its hook. +</p> + +<p> +“Excuse me,” he said to Mortimer, “I had forgotten I had to +ring up Stanning!” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, dear,” said Mortimer from his place on the hearth rug where he +was warming his coat tails in front of the fire, “isn’t that +unfortunate? I wish I had known! Tut, tut, how annoying for you!” +</p> + +<p> +The telephone seemed quite dead. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t understand!” said Desmond to Mortimer. +“What’s annoying?” +</p> + +<p> +“The telephone, my dear Bellward,”—Mortimer spoke in a +pompous voice—“the telephone is the symbol of the age in which we +live, the age of publicity but also of indiscretion. It is almost as indiscreet +to have a telephone in your house as to keep a diary. Therefore, in view of our +little party here this evening, to prevent us from being disturbed in any way, +I took the liberty of... of severing the connection... temporarily, mind you, +only temporarily; it shall be restored as soon as we break up. I have some +small acquaintance with electrical engineering.” +</p> + +<p> +Desmond was silent. Disappointment had deprived him for the moment of the power +of speech. It was to be man to man then, after all. If he was to secure +Mortimer and the rest of the gang that night, he must do it on his own. He +could not hope for aid. The prospect did not affright him. If Mortimer could +have seen the other’s eyes at that moment he might have remarked a light +dancing in them that was not solely of Messrs. Pommery and Gréno’s +manufacture. +</p> + +<p> +“If I had known you wanted to use the instrument, my dear fellow,” +Mortimer continued in his bland voice, “I should certainly have waited +until you had done your business!” +</p> + +<p> +“Pray don’t mention it,” replied Desmond, “you do well +to be prudent, Mr. Mortimer!” +</p> + +<p> +Mortimer shot a sudden glance at him. Desmond met it with a frank, easy smile. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m a devil for prudence myself!” he observed brightly. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap18"></a>CHAPTER XVIII.<br/> +THE GATHERING OF THE SPIES</h2> + +<p> +Action, or the promise of action, always acted on Desmond Okewood like a nerve +tonic. His visit to the inn, followed by the fencing with Mortimer at dinner, +had galvanized his nerves jaded with the inaction of the preceding days. He +averted his eyes from the future, he put the past resolutely away. He bent his +whole attention on the problem immediately before him—how to carry off +the role of Bellward in front of four strangers, one of whom, at least, he +thought, must know the man he was impersonating; how to extract as much +information as possible about the gang and its organization before uncovering +his hand; finally, how to overpower the four men and the one woman when the +moment had come to strike. +</p> + +<p> +Mortimer and he were in the library. By Desmond’s direction old Martha +had put out two bridge tables and cards. A tantalus stand with siphons and +glasses, an assortment of different colored liqueurs in handsome cut-glass +carafes and some plates of sandwiches stood on a side-table. At +Mortimer’s suggestion Desmond had told the housekeeper that, once the +guests had arrived, she might go to bed. +</p> + +<p> +The library was very still. There was no sound except for the solemn ticking of +the clock on the mantelpiece or the occasional rustle of the evening paper in +Mortimer’s hand as he stood in front of the fire. Desmond was sitting on +the settee, tranquilly smoking, studying Mortimer and thinking out the problem +before him. +</p> + +<p> +He measured Mortimer with his eye. The latter was a bigger man than Desmond in +every way and Desmond suspected that he was even stronger than he looked. +Desmond wondered whether he should try and overpower him then and there. The +other was almost certain to carry a revolver, he thought, while he was unarmed. +Failure, he knew, would ruin everything. The gang would disperse to the four +winds of heaven while as for Mr. Bellward—well, he would certainly be +“for it,” as the soldiers say. +</p> + +<p> +No, he must hold his hand until the meeting had taken place. This was the first +conference that Mortimer had summoned, and Desmond intended to see that it +should be the last. But first he meant to find out all there was to know about +the working of the gang. +</p> + +<p> +He resolved to wait and see what the evening would bring forth. The telephone +was “a washout”: the motor-cycle was now his only chance to summon +aid for he knew it was hopeless to think of tackling single-handed odds of four +to one (to say nothing of the lady in the case). It must be his business to +<i>make</i> an opportunity to slip away on the motor-bike to Stanning. Ten +minutes to get there, five minutes to deliver his message at the police station +(if the Chief’s people made their headquarters there), and ten minutes to +get back if they had a car. Could he leave the meeting for 25 minutes without +arousing suspicions? He doubted it; but it must be. There was no other way. And +then with a shock that made him cold with fear he remembered Mortimer’s +motor-car. +</p> + +<p> +If, during his absence, anything occurred to arouse their suspicions, the whole +crowd could pile into the car and be away long before Desmond could be back +with help. The fog had lifted and it was a clear night outside. The car would +have to be got rid of before he left the house, that was all about it. But how? +A means to that end must also be discovered as the evening progressed. By the +way, what had Mortimer done with his car? +</p> + +<p> +A very faint throbbing somewhere outside answered Desmond’s unspoken +question. +</p> + +<p> +Mortimer flung aside his paper. +</p> + +<p> +“Isn’t that a car?” he asked, “that’ll be they. I +sent Max to Wentfield station to meet our friends!” +</p> + +<p> +There was the sound of voices, of bustle in the hall. Then the door opened and +a man came in. Desmond had a brief moment of acute suspense. Was he supposed to +know him? +</p> + +<p> +He was a short, ugly fellow with immensely broad shoulders, a heavy puffy face, +a gross, broad nose, and a tooth-brush moustache. He might have been a butcher +to look at. In the top edge of his coat lapel, he wore a small black pin with a +glass head. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, Max,” said Mortimer. “Have you brought them +all?” +</p> + +<p> +The man was mustering Desmond with a suspicious, unfriendly stare. +</p> + +<p> +“My friend, Bellward!” said Mortimer, clapping Desmond on the +shoulder. “You’ve heard of Bellward, Max!” +</p> + +<p> +And to Desmond’s surprise he made some passes in the air. +</p> + +<p> +The man’s mien underwent a curious change. He became cringing; almost +overawed. +</p> + +<p> +“Reelly,” he grunted, “reelly now! You don’t siy! Glad +to know yer, mister, I’m shore!” +</p> + +<p> +He spoke with a vile snuffing cockney accent, and thrust out his hand to +Desmond. Then he added to Mortimer: +</p> + +<p> +“There’s three on ’em. That’s the count, ain’t +it? I lef’ the car outside on the drive!” +</p> + +<p> +At this moment two more of the guests entered: One was a tall, emaciated +looking man of about fifty who seemed to be in the last stages of consumption; +the other a slightly built young fellow with a shock of black hair brushed back +and an olive complexion. He wore pince-nez and looked like a Russian +revolutionary. They, too, wore the badge of the brotherhood—the black pin +in the coat lapel. +</p> + +<p> +“Goot efening, Mr. Mortimer,” said the tall man in a guttural +voice, “this is Behrend”—he indicated the young man by his +side—“you haft not meet him no?” +</p> + +<p> +Then, leaving Behrend to shake hands with Mortimer, he literally rushed at +Desmond and shook him by the hand exactly as though he were working a pump +handle. +</p> + +<p> +“My tear Pellward,” he cried, “it is a hondred year since I +haf see you, not? And how are the powers!” +</p> + +<p> +He lowered his voice and gazed mysteriously at him. +</p> + +<p> +Desmond, at a loss what to make of this extraordinary individual, answered at +random: +</p> + +<p> +“The powers? Still fighting, I believe!” +</p> + +<p> +The tall man stared open-mouthed at him for a moment. Then, clapping his hands +together, he burst into a high-pitched cackle of laughter. +</p> + +<p> +“A joke,” he yelled, “a mos’ excellent joke! I must +tell this to Minna. My vriend, I haf not mean the great Powers.” +</p> + +<p> +He looked dramatically about him, then whispered: +</p> + +<p> +“I mean, the oggult!” +</p> + +<p> +Desmond, who was now quite out of his depth, wagged his head solemnly at the +other as though to indicate that, his occult powers were something not to be +lightly mentioned. He had no fear of the tall man, at any rate. He placed +<i>him</i> as a very ordinary German, a common type in the Fatherland, +simple-minded, pedantic, inquisitive, and a prodigious bore withal but +dangerous, for of this stuff German discipline kneads militarists. +</p> + +<p> +But the door opened again to admit the last of the guests. A woman entered. +Desmond was immediately struck by the contrast she presented to the others, +Mortimer with his goggle eyes and untidy hair, Max, gross and bestial, Behrend, +Oriental and shifty, and the scarecrow figure of the tall man. +</p> + +<p> +Despite her age, which must have been nearly sixty, she still retained traces +of beauty. Her features were very regular, and she had a pair of piercing black +eyes of undimmed brightness. Her gray hair was tastefully arranged, and she +wore a becoming black velvet gown with a black lace scarf thrown across the +shoulders. A white silk rose was fastened to her bodice by a large black pin +with a glass head. +</p> + +<p> +Directly she appeared, the tall man shouted to her in German. +</p> + +<p> +“Sag’ mal, Minna...” he began. +</p> + +<p> +Mortimer turned on him savagely. +</p> + +<p> +“Hold your tongue, No. 13,” he cried, “are you mad? What the +devil do you mean by it? You know the rules!” +</p> + +<p> +By way of reply, “No. 13” broke into a regular frenzy of coughing +which left him gasping for breath. +</p> + +<p> +“Pardon! I haf’ forgot!” he wheezed out between the spasms. +</p> + +<p> +The woman went over to Mortimer and put out her gloved hand. +</p> + +<p> +“I am Mrs. Malplaquet,” she said in a pleasant voice. “And +you are Mr. Mortimer, I think!” +</p> + +<p> +Mortimer bowed low over her hand. +</p> + +<p> +“Madame, I am charmed to meet one of whom I have heard nothing but +praise,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“Verry pretty!” replied Mrs. Malplaquet smiling. “They tell +me you have a great way with the ladies, my dear sir!” +</p> + +<p> +“But,” she went on, “I am neglecting our host, my dear Mr. +Bellward. How are you, my friend? How well you are looking... so young... so +fresh! I declare you seem to have got five years younger!” +</p> + +<p> +The keen black eyes searched Desmond’s face. He felt horribly +uncomfortable. The woman’s eyes were like gimlets boring right into him. +He suddenly felt that his disguise was a poor one. He remembered Crook’s +warning to be wary of women, and he inwardly quailed. +</p> + +<p> +“I am so glad to meet you again!” he murmured. He didn’t like +Mrs. Malplaquet’s eyes. They assorted strangely with the rest of her +gentle and refined appearance. They were hard and cruel, those black eyes. They +put him in mind of a snake. +</p> + +<p> +“It is so long since I’ve seen you,” she said, “that +positively your voice seems to have changed.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s because I have a cold,” said Desmond. +</p> + +<p> +“Fiddlesticks!” retorted the lady, “the <i>timbre</i> is +quite different! Bellward, I believe you’re in love! Don’t tell me +you’ve been running after that hank of hair that Mortimer is so devoted +to!” She glanced in Mortimer’s direction, but that gentleman was +engaged in earnest conversation with Behrend and the tall man. +</p> + +<p> +“Whom do you meant” asked Desmond. +</p> + +<p> +“Where are your eyes, man?” rapped out Mrs. Malplaquet. “The +dancer woman, of course, Nur-el-what-do-you-call-it. There’s the devil of +a row brewing about the way our friend over there is neglecting us to run after +the minx. They’re getting sharp in this country, +Bellward—I’ve lived here for forty years so I know what I’m +talking about—and we can’t afford to play any tricks. Mortimer will +finish by bringing destruction on every one of us. And I shall tell him so +tonight. And so will No. 13! And so will young Behrend! You ought to hear +Behrend about it!” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Malplaquet began to interest Desmond. She was obviously a woman of +refinement, and he was surprised to find her in this odd company. By dint of +careful questioning, he ascertained the fact that she lived in London, at a +house on Campden Hill. She seemed to know a good many officers, particularly +naval men. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve been keeping my eyes open as I promised, Bellward,” she +said, “and I believe I’ve got hold of a likely subject for +you—a submarine commander he is, and very psychic. When will you come and +meet him at my house?” +</p> + +<p> +Mortimer’s voice, rising above the buzz of conversation, checked his +reply. +</p> + +<p> +“If you will all sit down,” he said, “we’ll get down to +business.” +</p> + +<p> +Despite all distractions, Desmond had been watching for this summons. He had +marked down for himself a chair close to the door. For this he now made, after +escorting Mrs. Malplaquet to the settee where she sat down beside Behrend. Max +took the armchair on the left of the fireplace; while No. 13 perched himself +grotesquely on a high music-stool, his long legs curled round the foot. +Mortimer stood in his former position on the hearth, his back to the fire. +</p> + +<p> +A very odd-looking band! Desmond commented to himself but he thought he could +detect in each of the spies a certain ruthless fanaticism which experience +taught him to respect as highly dangerous. And they all had hard eyes! +</p> + +<p> +When they were seated, Mortimer said: +</p> + +<p> +“About the 14th of this month the British Admiralty will begin the work +of shipping to France ten divisions of American troops now training in this +country. The most extraordinary precautions are being taken to complete this +huge undertaking with success. It seems to me that the moment has come for us +to demonstrate the efficiency of our new organization.” +</p> + +<p> +He looked round at his audience but no one said a word. Desmond felt very +distinctly that there was a hostile atmosphere against Mortimer in that room. +</p> + +<p> +“I asked you to come here to-night,” Mortimer went on, “to +discuss the plans for sending prompt and accurate information regarding the +movements of these transports to the other side. I warn you that this time our +mode of procedure will have to be radically different from the methods we have +pursued on former occasions. To expend our energies in collecting information +at half a dozen different ports of war will be waste of time. The direction of +the whole of this enterprise lies in the hands of one man at the +Admiralty.” +</p> + +<p> +Behrend, who had struck Desmond as a rather taciturn young man, shook his head +dubiously. +</p> + +<p> +“That makes things very difficult,” he remarked. +</p> + +<p> +“Wait,” replied Mortimer. “I agree, it is very difficult, the +more so as I have reason to believe that the authorities have discovered the +existence of our organization.” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Malplaquet and Behrend turned to one another simultaneously. +</p> + +<p> +“What did I say?” said Behrend. +</p> + +<p> +“I told you so,” said the lady. +</p> + +<p> +“Therefore,” Mortimer resumed, “our former activities on the +coast will practically be paralyzed. We shall have to confine our operations to +London while Max and Mr. Behrend here will be entrusted with the task of +getting the news out to our submarines.” +</p> + +<p> +No. 13 broke in excitedly. +</p> + +<p> +“Vork in London, vork in London!” he cried. “It is too +dangerous, my vriend. Vot do I know of London? Portsmouth” (he called it +Portsmouse), “Sout’ampton, the Isle of Vight... good... it is my +province. But, London... it is senseless!” +</p> + +<p> +Mortimer turned his gig-lamps on the interrupter. +</p> + +<p> +“You will take your orders from me as before,” he said quietly. +</p> + +<p> +Behrend adjusted his pince-nez. +</p> + +<p> +“No. 13 is perfectly right,” he remarked, “he knows his +territory, and he should be allowed to work there.” +</p> + +<p> +“You, too,” Mortimer observed in the same calm tone as before, +“will take your orders from me!” +</p> + +<p> +With a quick gesture the young man dashed his long black hair out of his eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“Maybe,” he replied, “but only as long as I feel sure that +your orders are worth following. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you dare...” began Mortimer, shouting. +</p> + +<p> +“... At present,” the other continued, as though Mortimer had not +spoken. “I don’t feel at all sure that they are.” +</p> + +<p> +The atmosphere was getting a trifle heated, thought Desmond. If he judged +Mortimer aright, he was not the man to let himself be dictated to by anybody. +He was wondering how the scene would end when suddenly something caught his eye +that took his mind right away from the events going forward in the room. +</p> + +<p> +Opposite him, across the library, was a French window across which the curtains +had been drawn. One of the curtains, however, had got looped up on a chair so +that there was a gap at the bottom of the window showing the pane. +</p> + +<p> +In this gap was a face pressed up against the glass. To his astonishment +Desmond recognized the weather-beaten features of the odd man, Mr. John Hill. +The face remained there only for a brief instant. The next moment it was gone +and Desmond’s attention was once more claimed by the progress of the +conference. +</p> + +<p> +“Do I understand that you refuse to serve under me any longer?” +Mortimer was saying to Behrend, who had risen from the settee and stood facing +him. +</p> + +<p> +“As long as you continue to behave as you are doing at present,” +replied the other, “you may understand that!” +</p> + +<p> +Mortimer made a quick dive for his pocket. In an instant Max had jumped at him +and caught his arm. +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t be a fool!” he cried, “for Gawd’s sake, +put it away, carn’t yer? D ’you want the ’ole ruddy plice +abart our ears?” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll have no disobedience of orders,” roared Mortimer, +struggling with the other. In his fist he had a big automatic pistol. It was a +prodigious weapon, the largest pistol that Desmond had ever seen. +</p> + +<p> +“He threatened him, he threatened him!” screamed No. 13 jumping +about on his stool. +</p> + +<p> +“Take it away from him, Max, for Heaven’s sake!” cried the +lady. +</p> + +<p> +Everybody was talking at once. The noise was so loud that Desmond wondered +whether old Martha would hear the din. He sat in his chair by the door, a +silent witness of the scene. Then suddenly, at the height of the hubbub, he +heard the faint humming of a motor-car. It lasted for perhaps thirty seconds, +then gradually died away. +</p> + +<p> +“What did it mean?” he asked himself. The only living being he knew +of outside was John Hill, the odd man, whose face he had just seen; the only +car was Mortimer’s. Had the odd man gone off in Mortimer’s car? He +was thankful to note that, in the din, none save him seemed to have heard the +car. +</p> + +<p> +By this time Mortimer had put up his pistol and Mrs. Malplaquet was speaking. +Her remarks were effective and very much to the point. She upbraided Mortimer +with his long and mysterious absences which she attributed to his infatuation +for Nur-el-Din and complained bitterly of the dancer’s imprudence in +consorting openly with notorious folk like Lazarro and Bryan Mowbury. +</p> + +<p> +“I went to the girl myself,” she said, “and begged her to be +more circumspect. But Madame would not listen to advice; Madame was doubtless +sure of her position with our revered leader, and thought she could reject the +friendly counsel of one old enough to be her mother. Behrend and Max and No. 13 +there—all of us—are absolutely agreed that we are not going on with +this sort of thing any longer. If you are to remain in charge of our +organization, Mr. Mortimer, we want to know where you are to be found and how +you spend your time. In short, we want to be sure that you are not playing a +game that most of us have at different times played on subordinate agents... I +mean, that when the crisis comes, we fall into the trap and <i>you</i> walk +away. You had better realize once and for all that we are too old hands for +that sort of trick.” +</p> + +<p> +Here Max took up the thread. “Mrs. Malplaquet had put it very strite, so +she ’ad, and wot he wanted to know was what Mortimer ’ad to +siy?” +</p> + +<p> +Mortimer was very suave in his reply; a bad sign, thought Desmond, for it +indicated that he was not sure of himself. He was rather vague, spoke about a +vitally important mission that he had had to fulfil but which he had now +brought to a successful conclusion, so that he was at length free to devote his +whole attention once more to the great task in hand. +</p> + +<p> +Behrend brought his fist crashing down on the arm of the settee. +</p> + +<p> +“Words, words,” he cried, “it won’t do for me. +Isn’t there a man in the room besides me? You, Bellward, or you, Max, or +you, No.13? Haven’t you got any guts any of you? Are you going to sit +here and listen to the soft soap of a fellow who has probably sent better men +than himself to their death with tripe of this kind? It may do for you, but by +the Lord, it won’t do for me!” +</p> + +<p> +Mortimer cleared his throat uneasily. +</p> + +<p> +“Our host is silent,” said Mrs. Malplaquet, “what does Mr. +Bellward think about it?” +</p> + +<p> +Desmond spoke up promptly. +</p> + +<p> +“I think it would be very interesting to hear something further about +this mission of Mortimer’s,” he observed: +</p> + +<p> +Mortimer cast him a glance of bitter malice. +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” he said, after a pause, “you force my hand. I shall +tell you of this mission of mine and I shall show you the evidence, because it +seems essential in the interests of our organization. But I assure you I shall +not forget this want of confidence you have shown in me; and I shall see that +you don’t forget it, either!” +</p> + +<p> +As he spoke, he glared fiercely at Desmond through his glasses. +</p> + +<p> +“Let’s hear about the precious mission,” jeered Behrend, +“let’s see the evidence. The threats’ll keep!” +</p> + +<p> +Then Mortimer told them of how the Star of Poland came into Nur-el-Din’s +possession, and of the Crown Prince’s embarrassment when the German +authorities claimed it for the regalia of the new Kingdom of Poland. +</p> + +<p> +“The Crown Prince,” he said, “summoned me to him in person +and gave me the order to make my way to England immediately and recover the gem +at all costs and by any means. Did I whine or snivel about being sent to my +death as some of you were doing just now? No! That is not the way of the +Prussian Guard...” +</p> + +<p> +“The Prussian Guard?” cried No. 13 in an awed voice. “Are you +also of the Prussian Guard, comrade?” +</p> + +<p> +He had risen from his seat and there was something almost of majesty about his +thin, ungainly figure as he drew himself to his full height. +</p> + +<p> +“Ay, comrade, I was,” replied Mortimer. +</p> + +<p> +“Then,” cried No. 13, “you are...” +</p> + +<p> +“No names, comrade,” warned Mortimer, “no names, I +beg!” +</p> + +<p> +“No names, no names!” repeated the other and relapsed into his seat +in a reverie. +</p> + +<p> +“How I got to England,” Mortimer continued, “matters nothing; +how I fulfilled my mission is neither here nor there. But I recovered the gem +and the proof...” +</p> + +<p> +He thrust a hand into the inner pocket of his coat and plucked out a white +paper package sealed up with broad red seals. +</p> + +<p> +Desmond held his breath. It was the white paper package, exactly as Barbara had +described. +</p> + +<p> +“Look at it well, Behrend,” said Mortimer, holding it up for the +young man to see, “it cost me a man’s life to get that. If it had +sent twenty men to their death, I should have had it just the same!” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Malplaquet clapped her hands, her eyes shining. +</p> + +<p> +“Bravo, bravo!” she exclaimed, “that’s the spirit! +That’s the way to talk, Mortimer!” +</p> + +<p> +“Cut it out,” snarled Behrend, “and let’s see the +goods!” +</p> + +<p> +All had left their seats and were gathered in a group about Mortimer as he +began to break the gleaming red wag seals. One by one he burst them, the white +paper slipped off and disclosed... a box of cigarettes. +</p> + +<p> +Mortimer stood gazing in stupefaction at the gaudy green and gold lettering of +the box. Then, running his thumb-nail swiftly along the edge of the box, he +broke the paper wrapping, the box burst open and a shower of cigarettes fell to +the ground. +</p> + +<p> +“So that’s your Star of Poland, is it?” cried Behrend in a +mocking voice. +</p> + +<p> +“Wot ’ave yer done wiv’ the sparklers, eh?” demanded +Max, catching Mortimer roughly by the arm. +</p> + +<p> +But Mortimer stood, aimlessly shaking the empty box in front of him, as though +to convince himself that the gem was not there. Behrend fell on his knees and +raked the pile of cigarettes over and over with his fingers. +</p> + +<p> +“Nothing there!” he shouted angrily, springing to his feet. +“It’s all bluff! He’s bluffing to the end! See, he +doesn’t even attempt to find his famous jewel! He knows it isn’t +there!” +</p> + +<p> +But Mortimer paid no heed. He was staring straight in front of him, a strangely +woe-begone figure with his thatch of untidy hair and round goggle eyes. Then +the cigarette box fell to the floor with a crash as Mortimer’s hands +dropped, with, a hopeless gesture, to his sides. +</p> + +<p> +“Barbara Mackwayte!” he whispered in a low voice, not seeming to +realize that he was speaking aloud, “so that’s what she wanted with +Nur-el-Din!” +</p> + +<p> +Desmond was standing at Mortimer’s elbow and caught the whisper. As he +heard Mortimer speak Barbara’s name, he had a sudden premonition that his +own unmasking was imminent, though he understood as little of the purport of +the other’s remark as of the pile of cigarettes lying on the carpet. As +Mortimer turned to look at him, Desmond nerved himself to meet the +latter’s gaze. But Mortimer’s face wore the look of a desperate +man. There was no recognition in his eyes. +</p> + +<p> +Not so with Desmond. Perhaps the bitterness of his disappointment had made +Mortimer careless, perhaps the way in which he had pronounced Barbara’s +name struck a familiar chord in Desmond’s memory. The unkempt hair +brushed down across the forehead, the thick glasses, the heavy moustache still +formed together an impenetrable mask which Desmond’s eyes failed to +pierce. But now he recalled the voice. As Mortimer looked at him, the truth +dawned on Desmond and he knew that the man standing beside him was Maurice +Strangwise, his comrade-in-arms in France. +</p> + +<p> +At that very moment a loud crash rang through the room, a cold blast of damp +air came rushing in and the lamp on the table flared up wildly, flickered an +instant and went out, leaving the room in darkness save for the glow of the +fire. +</p> + +<p> +A deep voice cried: +</p> + +<p> +“May I ask what you are all doing in my house?” +</p> + +<p> +The secret door of the bookshelves had swung back and there, framed in the +gaping void, Desmond saw the dark figure of a man. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap19"></a>CHAPTER XIX.<br/> +THE UNINVITED GUEST</h2> + +<p> +There are moments in life when the need for prompt action is so urgent that +thought, decision and action must be as one operation of the brain. In the +general consternation following on the dramatic appearance of this uninvited +guest, Desmond had a brief respite in which to think over his position. +</p> + +<p> +Should he make a dash for it or stay where he was and await developments? +</p> + +<p> +Without a second’s hesitation; he decided on the latter course. With the +overpowering odds against him it was more than doubtful whether he could ever +reach the library door. Besides, to go was to abandon absolutely all hope of +capturing the gang; for his flight would warn the conspirators that the game +was up. On the other hand, the new-comer might be an ally, perhaps an emissary +of the Chief’s. The strange behavior of the odd man had shown that +something was afoot outside of which those in the library were unaware. Was the +uninvited guest the <i>deus ex machina</i> who was to help him, Desmond, out of +his present perilous fix? +</p> + +<p> +Meanwhile the stranger had stepped into the room, drawing the secret door to +behind him. Desmond heard his heavy step and the dull thud of the partition +swinging into place. The sound seemed to break the spell that hung over the +room. +</p> + +<p> +Mortimer was the first to recover his presence of mind. Crying out to No. 13 to +lock the door leading into the hall, he fumbled for a moment at the table. +Desmond caught the noise of a match being scratched and the next moment the +library was again bathed in the soft radiance of the lamp. +</p> + +<p> +Picking up the light, Mortimer strode across to the stranger. +</p> + +<p> +“What do <i>you</i> want here” he demanded fiercely, “and who +the devil...” +</p> + +<p> +He broke off without completing his sentence, drawing back in amazement. For +the rays of the lamp fell upon the pale face of a stoutish, bearded man, +veering towards middle age standing in front of Mortimer. And the face was the +face of the stoutish, bearded man, veering towards middle age, who stood in the +shadow a few paces <i>behind</i> Mortimer. Each man was a complete replica of +the other, save that the face of the new arrival was thin and haggard with that +yellowish tinge which comes from long confinement. +</p> + +<p> +As Mortimer staggered back, the uninvited guest recoiled in his turn. He was +staring fixedly across the room at his double who met his gaze firmly, erect, +tense, silent. The others looked in sheer stupefaction from one to the other of +the two Mr. Bellwards. For nearly a minute the only sound in the room was the +deep ticking of the clock, counting away the seconds separating him from +eternity, Desmond thought. +</p> + +<p> +It was Mrs. Malplaquet who broke the silence. Suddenly her nerves snapped under +the strain, and she screamed aloud. +</p> + +<p> +“A—ah!” she cried, “look! There are two of them! No, +no, it can’t be!” +</p> + +<p> +And she sank half fainting on the sofa. +</p> + +<p> +Behrend whipped out a pistol from his hip pocket and thrust it in +Mortimer’s face. +</p> + +<p> +“Is this another of your infernal surprise packets?” he demanded +fiercely. +</p> + +<p> +All the spies seemed on a sudden to be armed, Desmond noted, all, that is, save +Mrs. Malplaquet who lay cowering on the settee. Mortimer had pulled out his +super-Mauser; No. 13, who was guarding the door, had a revolver in his hand, +and Behrend, as has been stated, was threatening Mortimer with his Browning. +</p> + +<p> +Now Max advanced threateningly into the room, a long seaman’s knife in +his hand.. +</p> + +<p> +“Put that blarsted shooting-iron awiy!” he snarled at Mortimer, +“and tell us wot’s the little gime, will yer! Come on, +egpline!” +</p> + +<p> +With absolute self-possession Mortimer turned from the stranger to Desmond. +</p> + +<p> +“I think it is up to the twins to explain,” he said almost +nonchalantly, “suppose we hear what this gentleman, who arrived so +surprisingly through the book-shelves, has to say?” +</p> + +<p> +Though threatened with danger from two sides, from the gang and possibly, as +far as he knew, from the stranger, Mortimer was perfectly calm. Desmond never +admired Maurice Strangwise more than in that moment. All eyes now turned +questioningly towards the new arrival. As for Desmond he drew back as far as he +dared into the shadow. He knew he was in the direst peril; but he was not +afraid for himself. He was crushed to the ground by the sickening feeling that +he was going to be beaten, that the gang were going to slip through his fingers +after all... and he was powerless to prevent it. +</p> + +<p> +He guessed at once what had happened. Bellward must have escaped from custody; +for there was no disguise about this pale, flustered creature who had the cowed +look of a hunted man in his eyes. He must have come to the Mill House to get +his motorcycle; for he surely would have known that the villa would be the +first place to which the police would follow him up. +</p> + +<p> +Desmond saw a little ray of hope. If—it was a very big +if—Bellward’s flight were discovered promptly, the police might be +expected to reach the Mill House very soon behind him. Bellward must have come +straight there; for he had not even taken the very elementary precaution of +shaving off his beard. That made Desmond think that he must have escaped some +time that evening after the barbers’ shops were closed. +</p> + +<p> +With thumping heart, with bated breath, he waited for what was to come. In a +very little while, he told himself, the truth must come out. His only chance +was to try and bluff his way out of this appalling dilemma and above all, at +all costs—this was the essential fact which, he told himself, he must +keep steadfastly before his eyes—not to lose sight of Mortimer whatever +happened. +</p> + +<p> +Bellward’s voice—and its tones showed Desmond what an accomplished +mime Crook had been—broke the silence. +</p> + +<p> +“I have nothing to explain,” he said, turning from the sofa where +he had been exchanging a few words in an undertone with Mrs. Malplaquet, +“this is my house. That is sufficient explanation for my presence here, I +imagine. But I confess I am curious to know what this person”—he +indicated Desmond—“is doing in <i>my</i> clothes, if I mistake not, +giving what I take to be a very successful impersonation of myself.” +</p> + +<p> +Then Desmond stepped boldly out of the shadow into the circle of light thrown +by the lamp. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know what you all think,” he said firmly, “but +it seems to me singularly unwise for us to stand here gossiping when there is a +stranger amongst us. I fail to understand the motive of this gentleman in +breaking into <i>my</i> house by <i>my</i> private door, wearing <i>my</i> +clothes, if I am to believe my eyes; but I clearly realize the danger of +admitting strangers to a gathering of this kind.” +</p> + +<p> +“Quite right,” agreed Behrend, nodding his head in assent. +</p> + +<p> +“You have had one singular surprise to-night already,” Desmond +resumed, “in the matter of the jewel which our respected leader was about +to show us: if you recollect, our friend was only prevented from giving us the +explanation which he certainly owed us over his little hoax by the arrival, the +most timely arrival, of his confederate...” +</p> + +<p> +“Confederate?” shouted Mortimer, “what the devil do you mean +by that?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, confederate,” Desmond repeated. “Max, Behrend, Mrs. +Malplaquet, all of you, look at this wretched fellow”—he pointed a +finger of scorn at Bellward—“trembling with fright at the role that +has been thrust upon him, to force his way into our midst, to give his +accomplice the tip to clear out before the police arrive.” +</p> + +<p> +“Stop!” exclaimed Mortimer, raising his pistol. Behrend caught his +hand. +</p> + +<p> +“We’ll hear <i>you</i> in a minute!” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“Let him finish!” said Mrs. Malplaquet, and there was a certain +ominous quietness in her tone that startled Desmond. +</p> + +<p> +As for Bellward, he remained silent, with arms folded, listening very intently. +</p> + +<p> +“Doubtless, this double of mine,” continued Desmond in a mocking +voice, “is the bearer of the Star of Poland, the wonderful jewel which +has required our beloved leader to devote so much of his time to a certain +charming lady. Bah! are you going to let a man like this,” and he pointed +to Mortimer disdainfully with his hand, “a man who puts you in the +fighting line while he amuses himself in the rear, are you going to let this +false friend, this bogus spy, cheat you like this? My friends, my advice to +you, if you don’t want to have another and yet more disagreeable +surprise, is to make sure that this impudent imposter is not here for the +purpose of selling us all!” +</p> + +<p> +He raised his voice until it rang through the room, at the same time looking +round the group at the faces of the spies to see how his harangue had worked +upon their feelings. Max and Behrend, he could see, were on his side; No. 13 +was obviously, undecided; Mortimer and Bellward were, of course, against him; +Mrs. Malplaquet sat with her hands in her lap, her eyes cast down, giving no +sign. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s high time...” Mortimer began violently but Mrs. +Malplaquet put up her hand and checked him. +</p> + +<p> +“Better hear Bellward!” she said softly. +</p> + +<p> +“I know nothing of what has been taking place in my absence,” he +said, “either here or outside. I only know that I escaped from the escort +that was taking me back from Scotland Yard to Brixton Prison this evening and +that the police are hard on my track. I have delayed too long as, it is. Every +one of us in this room, with the exception of the traitor who is amongst +us”—he pointed a finger in denunciation at Desmond—“is +in the most imminent peril as long as we stay here. The rest of you can please +yourselves. I’m off!” +</p> + +<p> +He turned and pressed the spring. The book shelves swung open. Behrend sprang +forward. +</p> + +<p> +“Not so fast,” he cried. “You don’t leave this room +until we know who you are!” +</p> + +<p> +And he covered him with his pistol. +</p> + +<p> +“Fool!” exclaimed Bellward who had stopped on the threshold of the +secret door, “do you want to trap the lot of us! Tell him, Minna,” +he said to Mrs. Malplaquet, “and for Heaven’s sake, let us be +gone!” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Malplaquet stood up. +</p> + +<p> +“This is Basil Bellward,” she said, “see, he’s wearing +the ring I gave him, a gold snake with emerald eyes! And now,” she cried, +raising her voice shrilly, “before we go, kill that man!” +</p> + +<p> +And she pointed at Desmond. +</p> + +<p> +Bellward had seized her by the arm and was dragging her through the opening in +the shed when a shrill whistle resounded from the garden. Without any warning +Mortimer swung round and fired point-blank at Desmond. But Desmond had stooped +to spring at the other and the bullet went over his head. With ears singing +from the deafening report of the pistol in the confined space, with the acrid +smell of cordite in his nostrils, Desmond leapt at Mortimer’s throat, +hoping to bear him to the ground before he could shoot again. As he sprang he +heard the crash of glass and a loud report. Someone cried out sharply +“Oh!” as though in surprise and fell prone between him and his +quarry; then he stumbled and at the same time received a crashing blow on the +head. Without a sound he dropped to the ground across a body that twitched a +little and then lay still. +</p> + +<hr /> + +<p> +Somewhere in the far, far distance Desmond heard a woman crying—long +drawn-out wailing lamentations on a high, quavering note. He had a dull, hard +pain in his head which felt curiously stiff. Drowsily he listened for a time to +the woman’s sobbing, so tired, so curiously faint that he scarcely cared +to wonder what it signified. But at last it grated on him by its insistency and +he opened his eyes to learn the cause of it. +</p> + +<p> +His bewildered gaze fell upon what seemed to him a gigantic, ogre-like face, as +huge, as grotesque, as a pantomime mask. Beside it was a light, a brilliant +light, that hurt his eyes. +</p> + +<p> +Then a voice, as faint as a voice on a long distance telephone, said: +</p> + +<p> +“Well, how are you feeling?” +</p> + +<p> +The voice was so remote that Desmond paid no attention to it. But he was rather +surprised to hear a voice reply, a voice that came from his own lips, curiously +enough: +</p> + +<p> +“Fine!” +</p> + +<p> +So he opened his eyes again to ascertain the meaning of this phenomenon. This +time the ogre-like face came into focus, and Desmond saw a man with a tumbler +in his hand bending over him. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s right,” said the man, looking very intently at him, +“feel a bit better, eh? Got a bit of a crack, what? Just take a mouthful +of brandy... I’ve got it here!” +</p> + +<p> +Desmond obediently swallowed the contents of the glass that the other held to +his lips. He was feeling horribly weak, and very cold. His collar and shirt +were unbuttoned, and his neck and shoulders were sopping wet with water. On his +ears still fell the wailing of the woman. +</p> + +<p> +“Corporal,” said the man bending over him, “just go and tell +that old hag to hold her noise! She’ll have to go out of the house if she +can’t be quiet!” +</p> + +<p> +Desmond opened his eyes again. He was lying on the settee in the library. A +tall figure in khaki, who had been stirring the fire with his boot, turned at +the doctor’s summons and left the room. On the table the lamp was still +burning but its rays were neutralized by the glare of a crimson dawn which +Desmond could see flushing the sky through the shattered panes of the French +window. In the centre of the floor lay a long object covered by a tablecloth, +beside it a table overturned with a litter of broken glass strewn about the +carpet. +</p> + +<p> +The woman’s sobbing ceased. The corporal came back into the room. +</p> + +<p> +“She’ll be quiet now, sir,” he said, “I told her to get +you and the gentlemen a cup o’ tea.” +</p> + +<p> +Then, to Desmond, he said: +</p> + +<p> +“Nasty ding you got, sir! My word, I thought they’d done for you +when I come in at the winder!” +</p> + +<p> +The telephone on the desk tingled sharply. The door opened at the same moment +and a shabby little old man with sandy side whiskers and moleskin trousers came +briskly in. +</p> + +<p> +His appearance had a curious effect on the patient on the settee. Despite the +doctor’s restraining hand, he struggled into a sitting position, staring +in bewilderment at the shabby old man who had gone straight to the telephone +and lifted the receiver. And well might Desmond stare; for here was Mr. John +Hill, the odd man, talking on the telephone. And his voice... +</p> + +<p> +“Well?” said the man at the telephone, curtly. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, speaking. You’ve got her, eh? Good. What’s that? Well, +that’s something. No trace of the others? Damn!” +</p> + +<p> +He slammed down the receiver and turned to face the settee. +</p> + +<p> +“Francis!” cried Desmond. +</p> + +<p> +And then he did a thing highly unbecoming in a field officer. He burst into +tears. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap20"></a>CHAPTER XX.<br/> +THE ODD MAN</h2> + +<p> +Desmond and Francis Okewood sat in the dining-room of the Mill House finishing +an excellent breakfast of ham and eggs and coffee which old Martha had prepared +for them. +</p> + +<p> +Francis was still wearing Mr. John Hill’s greasy jacket and moleskins, +but the removal of the sandy whiskers and a remarkable wig, consisting of a +bald pate with a fringe of reddish hair, had gone far to restore him to the +semblance of his former self. +</p> + +<p> +Desmond was feeling a good deal better. His head had escaped the full force of +the smashing blow dealt at him by Strangwise with the butt of his pistol. He +had instinctively put up his arm to defend his face and the thickly padded +sleeve of Bellward’s jacket had broken the force of the blow. Desmond had +avoided a fractured skull at the price of an appalling bruise on the right +forearm and a nasty laceration of the scalp. +</p> + +<p> +Francis had resolutely declined to enlighten him as to the events of the night +until both had breakfasted. After despatching the corporal of military police +to hurry the housekeeper on with the breakfast, Francis had taken his brother +straight to the dining-room, refusing to let him ask the questions which +thronged his brain until they had eaten and drunk. Only when all the ham and +eggs had disappeared, did Francis, lighting one of Mr. Bellward’s cigars, +consent to satisfy his brother’s curiosity. +</p> + +<p> +“It was only yesterday morning,” he said, “that I landed at +Folkstone from the Continent. How I got the Chief’s message recalling me +and how I made my escape through the Turkish lines to Allenby’s +headquarters is a long story which will keep. The Chief had a car waiting for +me at Folkstone and I reached London in time to lunch with him. We had a long +talk and he gave me carte blanche to jump into this business now, when and +where I thought I could best help you.” +</p> + +<p> +Desmond smiled bitterly. +</p> + +<p> +“The Chief couldn’t trust me to make good on my own, I +suppose,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“The Chief had a very good idea of the character of the people you had to +deal with, Des.,” retorted Francis, “and he was a trifle +apprehensive that the role you were playing might lead to complications, +supposing the gang were to see through your impersonation. He’s a +wonderful man, that, Des., and he was dead right—as he always is.” +</p> + +<p> +“But how?” asked Desmond. “Did the crowd spot me?” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” answered the other; “but it was your disguise which was +responsible for the escape of Strangwise—” +</p> + +<p> +“What?” cried Desmond. “He’s escaped after all!” +</p> + +<p> +Francis nodded. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” he said, “got clear away and left no trace. Wait a +minute and you shall hear! When I have told my story, you shall tell yours and +between us, we’ll piece things together! +</p> + +<p> +“Well, when I left the Chief yesterday, I came down here. The description +of Mr. John Hill, your odd man, rather tickled my fancy. I wanted badly to get +at you for a quiet chat and it seemed to me that if I could borrow Mr. +Hill’s appearance for a few hours now and then I might gain access to you +without rousing any suspicion. You see, I knew that old Hill left here about +dusk every afternoon, so I guessed the coast would be clear. +</p> + +<p> +“Clarkson’s fitted me out with the duds and the make-up and I got +down to Wentfield by half-past six. The fog was so infernally thick that it +took me more than an hour to get here on foot. It must have been close on eight +o’clock when I pushed open your front gate. I thought of going boldly +into the kitchen and asking for you, but, fortunately, I decided to have a +preliminary prowl round the place. Through a chink in the curtains of the +library I saw you and a stranger talking together. The stranger was quite +unknown to me; but one thing about him I spotted right off. I saw that he was +disguised; so I decided to hang about a bit and await developments. +</p> + +<p> +“I loafed around in the fog for about half an hour. Then I heard a car +coming up the drive. I hid myself in the rhododendron bush opposite the front +door and saw two men and a woman get out. They hurried into the house, so that +I didn’t have a chance of seeing their faces. But I got a good, glimpse +of the chauffeur as he bent down to turn out the headlights. And, yes, I knew +him!” +</p> + +<p> +“Max, they called him,” said Desmond. +</p> + +<p> +“His name was Mirsky when last I saw him,” answered Francis, +“and mine was Apfelbaum, if you want to know. He was a German agent in +Russia and as ruthless and unscrupulous a rascal as you’ll find anywhere +in the German service. I must say I never thought he’d have the nerve to +show his face in this country, though I believe he’s a Whitechapel Jew +born and bred. However, there he was and the sight of his ugly mug told me that +something was doing. But like a fool I decided to hang on a bit and watch, +instead of going right off in that car and fetching help from Stanning.” +</p> + +<p> +“It was just as well you waited,” said Desmond, “for if +you’d gone off at once they must have heard the car and the fat would +have been in the fire straight away!” +</p> + +<p> +And he told Francis of the loud dispute among the confederates in the library, +the noise of which had effectually covered the sound of the departing ear. +</p> + +<p> +Francis laughed. +</p> + +<p> +“From my observation post outside,” he said, “I could only +see you, Des, and that blackguard, Mug, as you two were sitting opposite the +window. I couldn’t see more than the feet of the others. But your face +told me the loud voices which reached me even outside meant that a crisis of +some sort was approaching, so I thought it was time to be up and doing. So I +sneaked round to the front of the house, got the engine of the car going and +started off down the drive. +</p> + +<p> +“I had the very devil of a job to get to Stanning. Ever since +you’ve been down here, the Chief has had special men on duty day and +night at the police-station there. I didn’t dare stop to light the +head-lamps and as a result the first thing I did was to charge the front gate +and get the back wheel so thoroughly jammed that it took me the best part of +twenty minutes to get the blooming car clear. When at last I got to the +station, I found that Matthews, the Chief’s man, you know, had just +arrived by car from London with a lot of plain-clothes men and some military +police. He was in the very devil of a stew. He told me that Bellward had +escaped, that the Chief was out of town for the night and ungetatable, and that +he (Matthews) had come down on his own to prevent the gaff being blown on you +and also to recapture Mr. Bellward if he should be mad enough to make for his +old quarters. +</p> + +<p> +“I told Matthews of the situation up at the Mill House. Neither of us was +able to understand why you had not telephoned for assistance—we only +discovered later that the telephone had been disconnected—but I went bail +that you were up against a very stiff proposition. I told Matthews that, by +surrounding the house, we might capture the whole gang. +</p> + +<p> +“Matthews is a cautious cuss and he wanted a good deal of persuading, so +we lost a lot of time. In the end, he wouldn’t take my advice to rush +every available man to the scene, but only consented to take two plainclothes +men and two military police. He was so precious afraid of upsetting your +arrangements. The Chief, it appears, had warned everybody against doing that. +So we all piled into the car and I drove them back to the Mill House. +</p> + +<p> +“This time I left the car at the front gate and we went up to the house +on foot. We had arranged that Matthews and one of the military police, both +armed, should stay and guard the car, while the two plainclothes men and the +other military policeman, the corporal here, should accompany me to the house. +Matthews believed my yarn that we were only going to ‘investigate.’ +What I intended to do in reality was to round up the whole blessed lot. +</p> + +<p> +“I put one of the plain-clothes men on the front door and the other round +at the back of the house. Their orders were to stop anybody who came out and at +the same time to whistle for assistance. The corporal and I went to our old +observation post outside the library window. +</p> + +<p> +“The moment I glanced into the room I knew that matters had reached a +climax. I saw you—looking pretty blue, old man—facing that woman +who seemed to be denouncing you. Max stood beside you with a pistol, and beside +him was our friend, Mortimer, with a regular whopper of an automatic. Before I +had time to move, the plain-clothes man at the back of the house whistled. He +had found the secret door with Bellward and the woman coming out of it. +</p> + +<p> +“Then I saw Mortimer fire point-blank at you. I had my gun out in a +second, but I was afraid of shooting, for fear of hitting you as you went for +the other man. +</p> + +<p> +“But the corporal at my side wasn’t worrying much about you. Just +as you jumped he put up his gun and let fly at Mortimer with a sense of +discrimination which does him infinite credit. He missed Mortimer, but plugged +Max plumb through the forehead and my old friend dropped in his tracks right +between you and the other fellow. On that we hacked our way through the French +window. The corporal found time to have another shot and laid out a tall, +odd-looking man...” +</p> + +<p> +“No. 13,” elucidated Desmond. +</p> + +<p> +“... When we got inside we found him dead across the threshold of the +door leading into the hall. Behrend we caught hiding in a brush cupboard by the +back stairs. As for the others—” +</p> + +<p> +“Gone?” queried Desmond with a sudden sinking at his heart. +</p> + +<p> +Francis nodded. +</p> + +<p> +“We didn’t waste any time getting through that window,” he +said, “but the catch was stiff and the broken glass was deuced +unpleasant. Still, we were too late. You were laid out on the floor; Mortimer, +Bellward and the lady had made their lucky escape. And the secret door showed +us how they had gone...” +</p> + +<p> +“But I thought you had a man posted at the back?” +</p> + +<p> +“Would you believe it? When the shooting began, the infernal idiot must +rush round to our assistance, so, of course, Mortimer and Co., nipping out by +the secret door, got clear away down the drive. But that is not the worst. +Matthews gave them the car!” +</p> + +<p> +“No!” said Desmond incredulously. +</p> + +<p> +“He did, though,” answered Francis. “Mind you, Mortimer had +had the presence of mind to throw off his disguise. He presented himself to +Matthews as Strangwise. Matthews knows Strangwise quite well: he has often seen +him with the Chief. +</p> + +<p> +“‘My God, Captain Strangwise,’ says Matthews, as the trio +appeared, ‘What’s happened?’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘You’re wanted up at the house immediately, Matthews,’ +says Strangwise quite excitedly. ‘We’re to take the car and go for +assistance.’ +</p> + +<p> +“Matthews had a look at Strangwise’s companions, and seeing +Bellward, of course, takes him for you. As for the lady, she had a black lace +muffler wound about her face. +</p> + +<p> +“‘Miss Mackwayte’s coming with us, Matthews,’ +Strangwise says, seeing Matthews look at the lady. That removed the last of any +lurking suspicions that old Matthews might have had. He left the military +policeman at the gate and tore off like mad up the drive while Strangwise and +the others jumped into the car and were away before you could say +‘knife.’ The military policeman actually cranked up the car for +them! +</p> + +<p> +“When Matthews burst into the library with the story of you and +Strangwise and Miss Mackwayte having gone off for help in our only car, I knew +we had been sold. You were there, knocked out of time on the floor, in your +disguise as Bellward, so I knew that the man with Strangwise was the real +Bellward and I consequently deduced that Strangwise was Mortimer and +consequently the very man we had to catch. +</p> + +<p> +“We were done brown. If we had had a little more time to think things +out, we should have found that motor-bike and I would have gone after the trio +myself. But my first idea was to summon aid. I tried to telephone without +success and then we found the wire cut outside. Then I had the idea of pumping +Behrend. I found him quite chatty and furious against Mortimer, whom he accused +of having sold them. He told us that the party would be sure to make for the +Dyke Inn, as Nur-el-Din was there. +</p> + +<p> +“By this time Strangwise and his party had got at least an hour clear +start of us. I had set a man to repair the telephone and in the meantime was +thinking of sending another on foot to Stanning to fetch one of our cars. Then +I found the motor-bike and despatched one of the military policemen on it to +Stanning. +</p> + +<p> +“In about half an hour’s time he was back with a car in which were +Gordon and Harrison and some more military police. I put Matthews in charge of +the party and sent them off to the Dyke Inn, though I felt pretty sure we were +too late to catch the trio. That was really the reason I stayed behind; +besides, I wanted to look after you. I got a turn when I saw you spread out all +over the carpet, old man, I can tell you.” +</p> + +<p> +Desmond, who had listened with the most eager attention, did not speak for a +minute. The sense of failure was strong upon him. How he had bungled it all! +</p> + +<p> +“Look here,” he said presently in a dazed voice, “you said +just now that Matthews mistook Mrs. Malplaquet for Miss Mackwayte. Why should +Matthews think that Miss Mackwayte was down here? Did she come down with +you?” +</p> + +<p> +Francis looked at him quickly. +</p> + +<p> +“That crack on the head makes you forget things,” he said. +“Don’t you remember Miss Mackwayte coming down here to see you +yesterday afternoon? Matthews thought she had stayed on...” +</p> + +<p> +Desmond shook his head. +</p> + +<p> +“She’s not been here,” he replied. “I’m quite +positive about that!” +</p> + +<p> +Francis sprang to his feet. +</p> + +<p> +“Surely you must be mistaken,” he said in tones of concern. +“The Chief sent her down yesterday afternoon on purpose to see you. She +reached Wentfield Station all right; because the porter told Matthews that she +asked him the way to the Mill House.” +</p> + +<p> +An ominous foreboding struck chill at Desmond’s heart. He held his +throbbing head for an instant. Someone had mentioned Barbara that night in the +library but who was it? And what had he said? +</p> + +<p> +Ah! of course, it was Strangwise. “So that’s what she wanted with +Nur-el-Din!” he had said. +</p> + +<p> +Desmond felt it all coming back to him now. Briefly he told Francis of his +absence from the Mill House in response to the summons from Nur-el-Din, of his +interview with the dancer and her story of the Star of Poland, of his hurried +return just in time to meet Mortimer, and of Mortimer’s enigmatical +reference to the dancer in the library that night. +</p> + +<p> +Fancis looked graver and graver as the story proceeded. Desmond noted it and +reproached himself most bitterly with his initial failure to inform the Chief +of the visits of Nur-el-Din and Mortimer to the Mill House. When he had +finished speaking, he did not look at Francis, but gazed mournfully out of the +window into the chilly drizzle of a sad winter’s day. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t like the look of it at all, Des,” said his brother +shaking his head, “but first we must make sure that there has been no +misunderstanding about Miss Mackwayte. You say your housekeeper was already +here when you came back from the Dyke Inn. She may have seen her. Let’s +have old Martha in!” +</p> + +<p> +Between fright, bewilderment and indignation at the invasion of the house, old +Martha was, if anything, deafer and more stupid than usual. After much +interrogation they had to be satisfied with her repeated assertion that +“she ’adn’t seen no young lady” and allowed her to +hobble back to her kitchen. +</p> + +<p> +The two brothers stared at one another blankly. Francis was the first to speak. +His eyes were shining and his manner was rather tense. +</p> + +<p> +“Des,” he asked; “what do you make of it? From what +Strangwise let fall in the library here tonight, it seems probable that Miss +Mackwayte, instead of coming here to see you as she was told—or she may +have called during your absence—went to the Dyke Inn and saw Nur-el-Din. +The muffed cry you heard at the inn suggests foul play to me and that suspicion +is deepened in my mind by the fact that Matthews found Nur-el-Din at the Dyke +Inn, as he reported to me by telephone just now; but he says nothing about Miss +Mackwayte. Des, I fear the worst for that poor girl if she has fallen into the +hands of that gang!” +</p> + +<p> +Desmond remained silent for a moment. He was trying to piece things together as +best as his aching head would allow. Both Nur-el-Din and Strangwise were after +the jewel. Nur-el-Din believed that afternoon that Strangwise had it, while +Strangwise, on discovering his loss, had seemed to suggest that Barbara +Mackwayte had recovered it. +</p> + +<p> +“Either Strangwise or Nur-el-Din, perhaps both of them,” said +Desmond, “must know what has become of Miss Mackwayte.” +</p> + +<p> +And he explained his reasoning to Francis. His brother nodded quickly. +</p> + +<p> +“Then Nur-el-Din shall tell us,” he answered sternly. +</p> + +<p> +“They’ve arrested her?” asked Desmond with a sudden pang. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said Francis curtly. But too late to prevent a crime being +committed. When Matthews and his party arrived, they found Nur-el-Din in the +very act of leaving the inn. The landlord, Rass, was lying dead on the floor of +the tap-room with a bullet through the temple. That looks to me, Des, as though +Nur-el-Din had recovered the jewel!” +</p> + +<p> +“But Rass is a compatriot of hers,” Desmond objected. +</p> + +<p> +“But he was also an inconvenient witness of her dealings with +Strangwise,” retorted Francis. “If either Nur-el-Din or Strangwise +have regained possession of the Star of Poland, Des, I fear the worst for +Barbara Mackwayte. Come in!” +</p> + +<p> +The corporal stood, saluting, at the door. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Matthews on the telephone, sir!” +</p> + +<p> +Francis hurried away, leaving Desmond to his thoughts, which were not of the +most agreeable. Had he been wrong in thinking Nur-el-Din a victim? Was he, +after all, nothing but a credulous fool who had been hoodwinked by a pretty +woman’s play-acting? And had he sacrificed Barbara Mackwayte to his +obstinacy and his credulousness? +</p> + +<p> +Francis burst suddenly into the room. +</p> + +<p> +“Des,” he cried, “they’ve found Miss Mackwayte’s +hat on the floor of the tap-room... it is stained with blood...” +</p> + +<p> +Desmond felt himself growing pale: +</p> + +<p> +“And the girl herself,” he asked thickly, “what of +her?” +</p> + +<p> +Francis shook his head. +</p> + +<p> +“Vanished,” he replied gravely. “Vanished utterly. +Desmond,” he added, “we must go over to the Dyke Inn at +once!” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap21"></a>CHAPTER XXI.<br/> +THE BLACK VELVET TOQUE</h2> + +<p> +Across Morsted Fen the day was breaking red and sullen. The brimming dykes, +fringed with bare pollards, and the long sheets of water spread out across the +lush meadows, threw back the fiery radiance of the sky from their gleaming +surface. The tall poplars about the Dyke Inn stood out hard and clear in the +ruddy light; beyond them the fen, stretched away to the flaming horizon gloomy +and flat and desolate, with nothing higher than the stunted pollards visible +against the lurid background. +</p> + +<p> +Upon the absolute silence of the scene there presently broke the steady humming +of a car. A great light, paled by the dawn, came bobbing and sweeping, along +the road that skirted the fen’s edge. A big open car drew up by the track +and branched, off to the inn. Its four occupants consulted together for an +instant and then alighted. Three of them were in plain clothes; the other was a +soldier. The driver was also in khaki. +</p> + +<p> +“They’re astir, Mr. Matthews,” said one, of the plain clothes +men, pointing towards the house, “see, there’s a light in the +inn!” +</p> + +<p> +They followed the direction of his finger and saw a beam of yellow light +gleaming from among the trees. +</p> + +<p> +“Get your guns out, boys!” said Matthews. “Give them a chance +to put their hands up, and if they don’t obey, shoot!” +</p> + +<p> +Very swiftly but very quietly, the four men picked their way over the miry +track to the little bridge leading to the yard in front of the inn. The light +they had remarked shone from the inn door, a feeble, flickering light as of an +expiring candle. +</p> + +<p> +Matthews, who was leading, halted and listened. Everything was quite still. +Above their head the inn sign groaned uneasily as it was stirred by the fresh +morning breeze. +</p> + +<p> +“You, Gordon,” whispered Matthews to the man behind him—they +had advanced in Indian file—“take Bates and go round to the back. +Harrison will go in by the front with me.” +</p> + +<p> +Even as he spoke a faint noise came from the interior of the house. The four +men stood stock-still and listened. In the absolute stillness of the early +morning, the sound fell distinctly on their ears. It was a step—a light +step—descending the stairs. +</p> + +<p> +Gordon and the soldier detached themselves from the party as Matthews and the +other plain clothes man crossed the bridge swiftly and went up to the inn door. +Hardly had Matthews got his foot on the stone step of the threshold than, a +piercing shriek resounded from the room quite close at hand. The next minute a +flying figure burst out of the door and fell headlong into the arms of Matthews +who was all but overbalanced by the force of the impact. +</p> + +<p> +He closed with the figure and grappled it firmly. His arms encountered a frail, +light body, shaking from head to foot, enveloped in a cloak of some soft, thick +material. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s a woman!” cried Matthews. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s Nur-el-Din!” exclaimed his companion in the same +breath, seizing the woman by the arm. +</p> + +<p> +The dancer made no attempt to escape. She stood with bowed head, trembling +violently, in a cowering, almost a crouching posture. +</p> + +<p> +Harrison, who had the woman by the arm, had turned her head so that he could +see her face. She was deathly pale and her black eyes were wide open, the +pupils dilated. Her teeth were chattering in her head. She seemed incapable of +speech or motion. +</p> + +<p> +“Nur-el-Din?” exclaimed Matthews in accents of triumph. +“Bring her in, Harrison, and let’s have a look at her!” +</p> + +<p> +But the woman recoiled in terror. She arched her body stiff, like a child in a +passion, and strained every muscle to remain where she was cowering by the +inn-door. +</p> + +<p> +“Come on, my girl,” said the man not unkindly, “don’t +you ’ear wot the Guv’nor sez! In you go!” +</p> + +<p> +Then the girl screamed aloud. +</p> + +<p> +“No, no!” she cried, “not in that house! For the love of God, +don’t take me back into that room! Ah! For pity’s sake, let me stay +outside! Take me to prison but not, not into that house again!” +</p> + +<p> +She half fell on her knees in the mire, pleading, entreating, her body shaken +by sobs. +</p> + +<p> +Then Harrison, who was an ex-Guardsman and a six-footer at that, plucked her +off her feet and carried her, still struggling, still imploring with piteous +cries, over the threshold into the house: Matthews followed behind. +</p> + +<p> +The shutters of the tap-room were still closed. Only a strip of the dirty +floor, strewn with sawdust, was illuminated by a bar of reddish light from the +daybreak outside. On the table a candle, burnt down to the socket of its brass +candlestick, flared and puttered in a riot of running wax. Half in the bar of +daylight from outside, half in the darkness beyond the open door, against which +the flickering candlelight struggled feebly, lay the body of a yellow-faced, +undersized man with a bullet wound through the temple. +</p> + +<p> +Without effort Harrison deposited his light burden on her feet by the table. +Instantly, the girl fled, like some frightened animal of the woods, to the +farthest corner of the room. Here she dropped sobbing on her knees, rocking +herself to and fro in a sort of paroxysm of hysteria. Harrison moved quickly +round the table after her; but he was checked by a cry from Matthews who was +kneeling by the body. +</p> + +<p> +“Let her be,” said Matthews, “she’s scared of this and +no wonder! Come here a minute, Harrison, and see if you know, this chap!” +</p> + +<p> +Harrison crossed the room and looked down at the still figure. He whistled +softly. +</p> + +<p> +“My word!” he said, “but he copped it all right, sir! Ay, I +know him well enough! He’s Rass, the landlord of this pub, that’s +who he is, as harmless a sort of chap as ever was! Who did it, d’you +think, sir?” +</p> + +<p> +Matthews, who had been going through the dead man’s pockets, now rose to +his feet. +</p> + +<p> +“Nothing worth writing home about there,” he said half aloud. Then +to Harrison, he added: “That’s what we’ve got to discover... +hullo, who’s this?” +</p> + +<p> +The door leading from the bar to the tap-room was thrust open. Gordon put his +head in. +</p> + +<p> +“I left Bates on guard outside, sir,” he said in answer to an +interrogatory glance from Matthews, “I’ve been all over the ground +floor and there’s not a soul here...” +</p> + +<p> +He checked himself suddenly. +</p> + +<p> +“God bless my soul!” he exclaimed, his eyes on the figure crouching +in the corner, “you don’t mean to say you’ve got her? A +pretty dance she led Dug and myself! Well, sir, it looks to me like a good +night’s work!”. +</p> + +<p> +Matthews smiled a self-satisfied smile. +</p> + +<p> +“I fancy the Chief will be pleased,” he said, “though the +rest of ’em seem to have given us the slip. Gordon, you might take a look +upstairs—that door in the corner leads to the upper rooms, I +fancy—whilst I’m telephoning to Mr. Okewood. He must know about +this without delay. You, Harrison, keep an eye on the girl!” +</p> + +<p> +He went through the door leading into the bar, and they heard him speaking on +the telephone which hung on the wall behind the counter. He returned presently +with a white tablecloth which he threw over the prostrate figure on the floor. +</p> + +<p> +Then he turned to the dancer. +</p> + +<p> +“Stand up,” he said sternly, “I want to speak to you.” +</p> + +<p> +Nur-el-Din cast a frightened glance over her shoulder at the floor beside the +table where Rass lay. On seeing the white pall that hid him from view, she +became somewhat reassured. She rose unsteadily to her feet and stood facing +Matthews. +</p> + +<p> +“In virtue of the powers conferred upon me by the Defence of the Realm +Acts, I arrest you for espionage... Matthews rolled off in glib, official +gabble the formula of arrest ending with the usual caution that anything the +prisoner might say might be used against her at her trial. Then he said to +Harrison: +</p> + +<p> +“Better put them on her, Harrison!” +</p> + +<p> +The plain clothes man took a pace forward and touched the dancer’s +slender wrists, there was a click and she was handcuffed. +</p> + +<p> +“Now take her in there,” said Matthews pointing to the bar. +“There’s no exit except by this room. And don’t take your +eyes off her. You understand? Mr. Okewood will be along presently with a female +searcher.” +</p> + +<p> +“Sir!” said the plain clothes man with military precision and +touched the dancer on the shoulder. Without a word she turned and followed him +into the bar. +</p> + +<p> +Gordon entered by the door at the end of the room. +</p> + +<p> +“I’d like you to have a look upstairs, sir,” he said to +Matthews, “there’s not a soul in the house, but somebody has been +locked up in one of the rooms. The door is still locked but one of the panels +has been forced out. I think you ought to see it!” +</p> + +<p> +The two men passed out of the tap-room together, and mounted the stairs. On the +landing Matthews paused a moment to glance out of the window on to the bleak +and inhospitable fen which was almost obscured from view by a heavy drizzle of +rain. +</p> + +<p> +“Brr!” said Mr. Matthews, “what a horrible place!” +</p> + +<p> +Looking up the staircase from the landing, they could see that one of the +panels of the door facing the head of the stairs had been pressed out and lay +on the ground. They passed up the stairs and Matthews, putting one arm and his +head through the opening, found himself gazing into that selfsame ugly sitting +room where Desmond had talked with Nur-el-Din. +</p> + +<p> +A couple of vigorous heaves burst the fastening of the door. The sitting-room +was in the wildest confusion. The doors of the sideboard stood wide with its +contents scattered higgledy-piggledy on the carpet. A chest of drawers in the +corner had been ransacked, some of the drawers having been taken bodily out and +emptied on the floor. +</p> + +<p> +The door leading to the inner room stood open and showed that a similar search +had been conducted there as well. The inner room proved to be a bare +white-washed place, very plainly furnished as a bedroom. On the floor stood a +small attaché case, and beside it a little heap of miscellaneous articles such +as a woman would take away with her for a weekend, a crêpe-de-chine nightdress, +a dainty pair of bedroom slippers and some silver-mounted toilet fittings. From +these things Matthews judged that this had been Nur-el-Din’s bedroom. +</p> + +<p> +The two men spent a long time going through the litter with which the floor in +the bedroom and sitting room was strewed. But their labors were vain, and they +turned their attention to the remaining rooms, of which there were three. +</p> + +<p> +The first room they visited, adjoining Nur-el-Din’s bedroom, was scarcely +better than an attic. It contained in the way of furniture little else than a +truckle-bed, a washstand, a table and a chair. Women’s clothes were +hanging on hooks behind the door. The place looked like a servant’s +bedroom. +</p> + +<p> +They pursued their search. Across the corridor two rooms stood side by side. +One proved to be Rass’s. His clothes lay about the room, and on a table +in the corner, where writing materials stood, were various letters and bills +made out in his name. +</p> + +<p> +The other room had also been occupied; for the bed was made and turned back for +the night and there were clean towels on the washstand. But there was no clue +as to its occupant save for a double-barreled gun which stood in the corner. It +had evidently been recently used; for fresh earth was adhering to the stock and +the barrel, though otherwise clean, showed traces of freshly-burnt powder. +</p> + +<p> +There being nothing further to glean upstairs, the two men went down to the +tap-room again. As Matthews came through the door leading from the staircase +his eye caught a dark object which lay on the floor under the long table. He +fished it out with his stick. +</p> + +<p> +It was a small black velvet toque with a band of white and black silk flowers +round it. In one part the white flowers were besmeared with a dark brown stain. +</p> + +<p> +Matthews stared at the little hat in his hand with puckered brows. Then he +called to Gordon. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you know that hat?” he asked, holding it up for the man to see. +</p> + +<p> +Gordon shook his head. +</p> + +<p> +“I might have seen it,” he replied, “but I don’t take +much account of such things, Mr. Matthews, being a married man...” +</p> + +<p> +“Tut, tut,” fussed Matthews, “I think you have seen it. Come, +think of the office for a minute!” +</p> + +<p> +“Of the office?” repeated Gordon. Then he exclaimed suddenly: +</p> + +<p> +“Miss Mackwayte!” +</p> + +<p> +“Exactly,” answered Matthews, “it’s her hat, I recall +it perfectly. She wore it very often to the office. Look at the blood on +it!” +</p> + +<p> +He put the hat down on the table and ran into the bar where Nur-el-Din sat +immobile on her chair, wrapped in a big overcoat of some soft blanket cloth in +dark green, her chin sunk on her breast. +</p> + +<p> +Matthews called up the Mill House and asked for Francis Okewood. When he +mentioned the finding of Barbara Mackwayte’s hat, the dancer raised her +head and cast a frightened glance at Matthews. But she said nothing and when +Matthews turned from the telephone to go back to the tap-room she had resumed +her former listless attitude. +</p> + +<p> +Matthews and Gordon made a thorough search of the kitchen and back premises +without finding anything of note. They had just finished when the sound of a +car outside attracted their attention. On the road beyond the little bridge +outside the inn Francis and Desmond Okewood were standing, helping a woman to +alight. Francis was still wearing his scarecrow-like apparel, while Desmond, +with his beard and pale face and bandaged head, looked singularly unlike the +trim Brigade Major who had come home on leave only a week or so before. +</p> + +<p> +Matthews went out to meet them and, addressing the woman—a brisk-looking +person--as Mrs. Butterworth, informed her that it was shocking weather. Then he +led the way into the inn. +</p> + +<p> +The first thing that Desmond saw was the little toque with the brown stain on +its flowered band lying on the table. Francis picked it up, turned it over and +laid it down again. +</p> + +<p> +“Where did you find it?” he asked Matthews. The latter informed him +of the circumstances of the discovery. Then Francis, sending the searcher in to +Nur-el-Din in the bar, pointed to the body on the floor. +</p> + +<p> +“Let’s have a look at that!” he said. +</p> + +<p> +Matthews removed the covering and the three men gazed at the set face of the +dead man. There was a clean bullet wound in the right temple. Matthews showed +the papers he had taken off the body and exchanged a few, words in a low tone +with Francis. There is something about the presence of death which impels +respect whatever the circumstances. +</p> + +<p> +Five minutes later Mrs. Butterworth came out of the bar. In her hands she held +a miscellaneous assortment of articles, a small gold chain purse, a pair of +gloves, a gold cigarette case, a tiny handkerchief, and a long blue envelope. +She put all the articles down on the tables save the envelope which she handed +to Francis. +</p> + +<p> +“This was in the lining of her overcoat, sir,” she said. +</p> + +<p> +Francis took the envelope and broke the seal. He drew out half a dozen sheets +of thin paper, folded lengthwise. Leisurely he unfolded them, but he had hardly +glanced at the topmost sheet than he turned to the next and the next until he +had run through the whole bunch. Desmond, peering over his shoulder, caught a +glimpse of rows of figures, very neatly set out in a round hand and knew that +he was looking at a message in cipher code. +</p> + +<p> +The door at the end of the tap-room was flung open and a soldier came in +quickly. +</p> + +<p> +He stopped irresolute on seeing the group. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, Bates,” said Matthews. +</p> + +<p> +“There’s a woman lying dead in the cellar back yonder,” said +the man, jerking his thumb over his shoulder. +</p> + +<p> +“The cellar?” cried Matthews. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, sir... I think you must ha’ overlooked it.” +</p> + +<p> +Francis, Desmond and Matthews exchanged a brief glance. A name was on the lips +of each one of them but none dared speak it. Then, leaving Harrison and Mrs. +Butterworth with Nur-el-Din, the three men followed the soldier and hurriedly +quitted the room. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap22"></a>CHAPTER XXII.<br/> +WHAT THE CELLAR REVEALED</h2> + +<p> +On opening the door at the farther end of the tap-room they saw before them a +trap-door standing wide with a shallow flight of wooden steps leading to the +darkness below. Bates pointed with his foot to a square of linoleum which lay +on one side. +</p> + +<p> +“That was covering the trap,” he said, “I wouldn’t +ha’ noticed nothing out of the ordinary myself only I slipped, see, and +kicked this bit o’ ilecloth away and there was the ring of the trap +staring me in the face, as you might say. Show us a light here, Gordon!” +</p> + +<p> +Gordon handed him an electric torch. He flashed it down the stair. It fell upon +something like a heap of black clothes huddled up at the foot of the ladder. +</p> + +<p> +“Is it Miss Mackwayte?” whispered Francis to his brother. +“I’ve never seen her, you know!” +</p> + +<p> +“I can’t tell,” Desmond whispered back, “until I see +her face.” +</p> + +<p> +He advanced to descend the ladder but Matthews was before him. Producing an +electric torch from his pocket, Matthews slipped down the stair with Gordon +close behind. There was a pause, so tense that it seemed an eternity to +Desmond, as he waited half-way down the ladder with the musty smell of the +cellar in his nostrils. Then Matthews cried: +</p> + +<p> +“It’s not her!” +</p> + +<p> +“Let me look!” Gordon broke in. Then Desmond heard him exclaim. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s Nur-el-Din’s French maid! It’s Marie... +she’s been stabbed in the back!” +</p> + +<p> +Desmond suddenly felt rather sick. This progress from one deed of violence to +another revolted him. The others crowded into the cellar; but he did not follow +them. He remained at the top of the trap, leaning against the wall, trying to +collect his thoughts. +</p> + +<p> +Barbara Mackwayte was now his sole preoccupation. If anything had happened to +her,—it was through his fault alone; for he began to feel sure she must +have come to the Mill House in his absence. What then had become of her? The +blood-stained toque pointed to foul play. But if they had murdered her, what +had they done with the body? +</p> + +<p> +His thoughts flew back to his interview with Nur-el-Din upstairs on the +previous afternoon. He remembered the entrance of the maid and the +dancer’s hurried exit. Might not Marie have come to tell her that Barbara +Mackwayte was below asking for her? It was very shortly after this interruption +that, crouching on the roof of the shed, he had heard that muffled cry from the +house and seen Rass enter the bar and speak with Strangwise. He had seen, too, +the maid, Marie, in earnest conversation with Strangwise by the back gate on +the fen. Had both Marie and Rass been in league with Strangwise against the +dancer? And had Nur-el-Din discovered their treachery? His mind refused to +follow these deductions to their logical sequence; for, black as things looked +against Nur-el-Din, he could not bring himself to believe her a murderess. +</p> + +<p> +But now there were footsteps on the ladder. They were all coming out of the +cellar again. As soon as Francis saw Desmond’s face, he caught his +brother by the arm and said: +</p> + +<p> +“The open air for you, my boy! You look as if you’d seen a ghost! I +should have remembered all you’ve gone through!” +</p> + +<p> +He walked him quickly through the tap-room and out through the inn door into +the yard. +</p> + +<p> +The rain had ceased and the sun was making a brave attempt to shine through the +clouds. The cold air did Desmond good and after a turn or two in the yard, arm +in arm with Francis, he felt considerably better. +</p> + +<p> +“Where is Miss Mackwayte?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Des,” said his brother, “I don’t know and I +don’t want to cross-examine Nur-el-Din in there until I have reasoned out +some theory which will fit Miss Mackwayte in her place in this horrible affair. +The men have gone to search the outhouses and precincts of the inn to see if +they can find any traces of her body, but I don’t think they will find +anything. I believe that Miss Mackwayte is alive.” +</p> + +<p> +“Alive?” said Desmond. +</p> + +<p> +“The blood on that toque of hers might have been Rass’s. There is a +good deal of blood on the floor. You see, I still think Miss Mackwayte’s +safety depends on that jewel not being recovered by either Strangwise or +Nur-el-Din. Strangwise, we know, has lost the jewel and there is no trace of it +here: moreover, we know that, as late as yesterday afternoon, Nur-el-Din did +not have it. Therefore, she cannot have sent it away! I am inclined to believe, +too, that Strangwise, before going over to the Mill House last night, carried +off Miss Mackwayte somewhere with the aid of Rass and Marie, who were evidently +his accomplices, in order to find out from her where the jewel is +concealed...” +</p> + +<p> +“But Miss Mackwayte cannot know what has become of it,” objected +Desmond. +</p> + +<p> +“Maybe not,” retorted his brother, “but both Strangwise and +Nur-el-Din know that the jewel was originally entrusted to her charge. +Nur-el-Din did not, it is true, tell Miss Mackwayte what the silver box +contained but the latter may have found out, at least the dancer might suppose +so; while Strangwise might think the same. Therefore, both Strangwise and +Nur-el-Din had an interest in detaining Miss Mackwayte, and I think Strangwise +forestalled the dancer. When Nur-el-Din discovered it, both Rass and her maid +paid the penalty of their betrayal.” +</p> + +<p> +They walked once up and down the yard before Desmond replied. +</p> + +<p> +“Francis,” he said, “you remember Nur-el-Din’s +story—I told it to you just as I had it from her.” +</p> + +<p> +“Perfectly,” answered his brother. +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” Desmond went on deliberately, “I think that story +gives us the right measure of Nur-el-Din’s, character. She may be vain, +she may be without morals, she may be weak, she may be an adventuress, but +she’s not a murderess. If anything, she’s a victim!” +</p> + +<p> +Francis laughed shortly. +</p> + +<p> +“Victim be damned!” he cried. “Man alive,” he went on, +“how can you talk such nonsense in face of the evidence, with this +bloody-minded woman’s victims hardly cold yet? But, horrible as these +murders are, the private squabbles of this gang of spies represent neither your +interest nor mine in this case. For us the fact remains that Nur-el-Din, +besides being a monster of iniquity, is the heart and soul and vitals of the +whole conspiracy!” +</p> + +<p> +Jaded and nervous, Desmond felt a quick sting of resentment at his +brother’s tone. Why should Francis thus lay down the law to him about +Nur-el-Din? Francis knew nothing of the girl or her antecedents while he, +Desmond, flattered himself that he had at least located the place she occupied +in this dark conspiracy. And he cried out vehemently: +</p> + +<p> +“You’re talking like a fool! I grant you that Nur-el-Din has been +mixed up with this spy crowd; but she herself stands absolutely apart from the +organization...” +</p> + +<p> +“Half a minute!” put in Francis, “aren’t you forgetting +that blue envelope we took off her just now?” +</p> + +<p> +“What about it?” asked Desmond sharply. +</p> + +<p> +“Merely this; the cipher is in five figure groups, addressed to a four +figure group and signed by a six figure group...” +</p> + +<p> +“Well?” +</p> + +<p> +“That happens to be the current secret code of the German Great General +Staff. If you were to tap a German staff message out in France to-day, ten to +one it would be in that code. Curious coincidence, isn’t it?” +</p> + +<p> +When one is angry, to be baffled in argument does not have a sedative effect as +a rule. If we were all philosophers it might; but being merely human beings, +cold reason acts on the inflamed temperament as a red rag is said to affect a +bull. +</p> + +<p> +Desmond, sick with the sense of failure and his anxiety about Barbara, was in +no mood to listen to reason. The cold logic of his brother infuriated him +mainly because Desmond knew that Francis was right. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t care a damn for the evidence,” vociferated Desmond; +“It may look black against Nur-el-Din; I daresay it does; but I have met +and talked to this girl and I tell you again that she is not a principal in +this affair but a victim!” +</p> + +<p> +“You talk as if you were in love with the woman!” Francis said +mockingly. +</p> + +<p> +Desmond went rather white. +</p> + +<p> +“If pity is a form of love,” he replied in a low voice, “then +I am, for God knows I never pitied any woman as I pity Nur-el-Din! Only you, I +suppose,” he added bitterly, “are too much of the policeman, +Francis, to appreciate anything like that!” Hot tempers run in families +and Francis flared up on the instant. +</p> + +<p> +“I may be a policeman, as you say,” he retorted, “but +I’ve got enough sense of my duty, I hope, not to allow sentimentality to +interfere with my orders!” +</p> + +<p> +It was a shrewd thrust and it caught Desmond on the raw. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m sick of arguing here,” he said hotly, “if +you’re so mighty clever, you’d better shoot Nur-el-Din first and +arrest Strangwise afterwards. Then you’ll find out which of us two is +right!” +</p> + +<p> +He turned on his heel and started for the little bridge leading out onto the +fen. +</p> + +<p> +Francis stood still a moment watching him, then ran after him. He caught up +with Desmond as the latter reached the bridge. +</p> + +<p> +“Desmond!” he said, pleadingly. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, go to hell!” retorted the other savagely, whereupon Francis +turned his back on him and walked back to the inn. +</p> + +<p> +A car had stopped by the bridge and a man was getting out of it as Desmond +moved towards the fen. The next moment he found himself face to face with the +Chief. +</p> + +<p> +The Chief’s face was hard and cold and stern. There was a furrow between +his eyes which deepened when he recognized Desmond. +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” he said curtly, “and where is my secretary?” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know,” Desmond faltered. +</p> + +<p> +“Why are you here, then?” came back in that hard, uncompromising +voice. +</p> + +<p> +Desmond was about to reply; but the other checked him. +</p> + +<p> +“I know all you have to say,” he resumed, “but no excuse you +can offer can explain away the disappearance of Miss Mackwayte. Your orders +were formal to remain at home. You saw fit to disobey them and thereby, maybe, +sent Miss Mackwayte to her death. No!” he added, seeing that Desmond was +about to expostulate, “I want to hear nothing from you. However obscure +the circumstances of Miss Mackwayte’s disappearance may be, one fact is +perfectly clear, namely, that she went to the Mill House, as she was ordered +and you were not there. For no man or woman in my service ever dares to disobey +an order I have given.” +</p> + +<p> +“Chief...” Desmond broke in, but again that inexorable voice +interposed. +</p> + +<p> +“I will hear nothing from you,” said the Chief, “it is a rule +of mine never to interfere with my men in their work or to see them until their +mission has been successfully completed. When you have found Miss Mackwayte I +will hear you but not before!” +</p> + +<p> +Desmond drew himself up. +</p> + +<p> +“In that case, sir,” he said stiffly, “I will bid you good +morning. And I trust you will hear from me very soon again!” +</p> + +<p> +He walked over to one of the cars waiting outside the inn, spoke a word to the +driver and got in. The driver started the engine and presently the car was +bumping slowly along the muddy track to the main road. +</p> + +<p> +The Chief stood looking after him. +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” he murmured to himself. “I soaked it into him pretty +hard; but he took it like a brick. I do believe he’ll find her +yet!” +</p> + +<p> +He shook his head sagely and continued on his way across the yard. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap23"></a>CHAPTER XXIII.<br/> +MRS. MALPLAQUET GOES DOWN TO THE CELLAR</h2> + +<p> +In the age of chivalry woman must have been built of sterner stuff than the +girl of to-day. At least, we read in medieval romance of fair ladies who, after +being knocked down by a masterful suitor and carried off across his saddle bow +thirty or forty miles, are yet able to appear, cold but radiantly beautiful, at +the midnight wedding and the subsequent marriage feast. +</p> + +<p> +But this is a romance of the present day, the age of nerves and high velocity. +Barbara Mackwayte, strong and plucky as she was, after being half throttled and +violently thrown into the cellar of the Dyke Inn, suddenly gave way under the +strain and conveniently evaded facing the difficulties of her position by +fainting clear away. +</p> + +<p> +The precise moment when she came out of her swoon she never knew. The cellar +was dark; but it was nothing compared to the darkness enveloping her mind. She +lay there on the damp and mouldy straw, hardly able, scarcely wanting, to move, +overwhelmed by the extraordinary adventure which had befallen her. Was this to +be the end of the pleasant trip into the country on which she had embarked so +readily only a few hours before? She tried to remember that within twenty miles +of her were policemen and taxis and lights and all the attributes of our +present day civilization; but her thoughts always returned, with increasing +horror, to that undersized yellow-faced man in the room above, to the face of +Nur-el-Din, dark and distorted with passion. +</p> + +<p> +A light shining down the cellar stairs drew her attention to the entrance. The +woman she had already seen and in whom she now recognized Marie, the +dancer’s maid, was descending, a tray in her hand. She placed the tray on +the ground without a word, then went up the stairs again and fetched the lamp. +She put the lamp down by the tray and, stooping, cut the ropes that fastened +Barbara’s hands and feet. +</p> + +<p> +“So, Mademoiselle,” she said, drawing herself erect with a grunt, +“your supper: some tea and meat!” +</p> + +<p> +She pulled a dirty deal box from a corner of the cellar and put the tray upon +it. Then she rose to her feet and sat down. The maid watched Barbara narrowly +while she ate a piece of bread and drank the tea. +</p> + +<p> +“At least,” thought Barbara to herself, “they don’t +mean to starve me!” +</p> + +<p> +The tea was hot and strong; and it did her good. It seemed to clear her +faculties, too; for her brain began to busy itself with the problem of escaping +from her extraordinary situation. +</p> + +<p> +“Mademoiselle was a leetle too clevaire,” said the maid with an +evil leer,—“she would rob Madame, would she? She would play the +<i>espionne, hein? Eh bien, ma petite</i>, you stay ’ere ontil you say +what you lave done wiz ze box of Madame!” +</p> + +<p> +“Why do you say I have stolen the box?” protested Barbara, +“when I tell you I know nothing of it. It was stolen from me by the man +who killed my father. More than that I don’t know. You don’t surely +think I would conspire to kill” her voice trembled—“my +father, to get possession of this silver box that means nothing to me!” +</p> + +<p> +Marie laughed cynically. +</p> + +<p> +“<i>Ma foi</i>,” she cried, “when one is a spy, one will stop +at nothing! But <i>tiens</i>, here is Madame!” +</p> + +<p> +Nur-el-Din picked her way carefully down the steps, the yellow-faced man behind +her. He had a pistol in his hand. The dancer said something in French to her +maid who picked up the tray and departed. +</p> + +<p> +“Now, Mademoiselle,” said Nur-el-Din, “you see this pistol. +Rass here will use it if you make any attempt to escape. You understand me, +<i>hein?</i> I come to give you a las’ chance to say where you ’ave +my box...” +</p> + +<p> +Barbara looked at the dancer defiantly. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve told you already I know nothing about it. You, if any one, +should be better able to say what has become of it...” +</p> + +<p> +“<i>Quoi?</i>” exclaimed Nur-el-Din in genuine surprise, +“<i>comment?</i>” +</p> + +<p> +“Because,” said Barbara, “a long black hair—one of your +hairs—was found adhering to the straps with which I was fastened!” +</p> + +<p> +“<i>Tiens!</i>” said the dancer, her black eyes wide with surprise, +“<i>tiens!</i>” +</p> + +<p> +She was silent for a minute, lost in thought. The man, Rass, suddenly cocked +his ear towards the staircase and said something to Nur-el-Din in the same +foreign tongue which Barbara had heard them employ before. +</p> + +<p> +The dancer made a gesture, bidding him to be silent. +</p> + +<p> +“He was at my dressing-table that night;” she murmured in French, +as though to herself, “then it was he who did it!” +</p> + +<p> +She spoke rapidly to Barbara. +</p> + +<p> +“This man who tied you up... you didn’t see him?” +</p> + +<p> +Barbara shook her head. +</p> + +<p> +“I could see nothing; I don’t even know that it was a man. He +seized me so suddenly that in the dark I could distinguish nothing... it might +have been a woman... yourself, for instance, for all I know!” +</p> + +<p> +Nur-el-Din clasped her hands together. +</p> + +<p> +“It was he, himself, then,” she whispered, “I might have +known. Yet he has not got it here!” +</p> + +<p> +Heavy footsteps resounded in the room above. Rass cried out something swiftly +to the dancer, thrust the pistol into her hands, and dashed up the ladder. The +next moment there was a loud report followed by the thud of a heavy body +falling. Somewhere in the rooms above a woman screamed. +</p> + +<p> +Nur-el-Din’s hands flew to her face and the pistol crashed to the ground. +Two men appeared at the head of the cellar stairs. One was Strangwise, in +uniform, the other was Bellward. +</p> + +<p> +“They’re both here!” said Strangwise over his shoulder to +Bellward. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, thank God, you’ve come!” cried Barbara, running to the +foot of the ladder. +</p> + +<p> +Strangwise brushed past her and caught Nur-el-Din by the arm. +</p> + +<p> +“Run her upstairs,” he said quickly to Bellward who had followed +behind him, “and lock her in her room. I’ve seen to the rest. You, +Miss Mackwayte,” he added to Barbara, “you will come with +us!” +</p> + +<p> +Barbara was staring in fascination at Bellward. She had never believed that any +disguise could be so baffling, so complete; Major Okewood, she thought, looked +like a different man. +</p> + +<p> +But Bellward had grasped the dancer by the two arms and forced her up the +stairs in front of him. Nur-el-Din seemed too overcome with terror to utter a +sound. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, don’t be so rough with her, Major Okewood!” entreated +Barbara, “you’ll hurt her!” +</p> + +<p> +She had her back turned to Strangwise so she missed the very remarkable change +that came over his features at her words. +</p> + +<p> +“Okewood,” he whispered but too low for the girl to distinguish the +words, “Okewood? I might have guessed! I might have guessed!” Then +he touched Barbara lightly on the shoulder. +</p> + +<p> +“Come,” he said, “we must be getting upstairs. We have much +to do!” +</p> + +<p> +He gently impelled her towards the ladder up which Bellward and Nur-el-Din had +already disappeared. At the top, he took the lead and conducted Barbara into +the taproom. A single candle stood on the table, throwing a wan light into the +room. Rass lay on his back in the centre of the floor, one hand doubled up +under him, one knee slightly drawn up. +</p> + +<p> +Barbara started back in horror. +</p> + +<p> +“Is he... is he...” she stammered, pointing at the limp still form. +</p> + +<p> +Strangwise nodded. +</p> + +<p> +“A spy!” he said gravely, “we were well rid of him. Go over +there in the corner where you won’t see it. Stay!” he added, seeing +how pale the girl had become, “you shall have some brandy!” +</p> + +<p> +He produced a flask and measured her out, a portion in the cup. Suddenly, the +door leading from the bar opened and a woman came into the room. Her black +velvet dress, her gray hair and general air of distinction made her a bizarre +figure in that squalid room lit by the guttering candle. +</p> + +<p> +“Time we were off!” she said to Strangwise, “Bellward’s +just coming down!” +</p> + +<p> +“There’s the maid...” began Strangwise, looking meaningly at +Barbara. +</p> + +<p> +The woman in black velvet cast a questioning glance at him. +</p> + +<p> +Strangwise nodded. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll do it,” said the woman promptly, “if you’ll +call her down!” +</p> + +<p> +Strangwise went to the other door of the tap-room and called: +</p> + +<p> +“Marie!” +</p> + +<p> +There was a step outside and the maid came in, pale and trembling. +</p> + +<p> +“Your mistress wants you; she is downstairs in the cellar,” he said +pleasantly. +</p> + +<p> +Marie hesitated an instant and surveyed the group. +</p> + +<p> +“<i>Non, non</i>,” she said nervously, “<i>je n’veux +pas descendre!</i>” +</p> + +<p> +Strangwise smiled, showing his teeth. +</p> + +<p> +“No need to be frightened, <i>ma fille</i>,” he replied. +“Madame here will go down with you!” and he pointed to the woman in +black velvet. +</p> + +<p> +This seemed to reassure the maid and she walked across the room to the door, +the woman following her. As the latter passed Strangwise he whispered a word in +her ear. +</p> + +<p> +“No, no,” answered the other, “I prefer my own way,” +and she showed him something concealed in her hand. +</p> + +<p> +The two women quitted the room together, leaving Strangwise and Barbara alone +with the thing on the floor. Strangwise picked up a military great-coat which +was hanging over the back of a chair and put it on, buttoning it all the way up +the front and turning up the collar about the neck. Then he crammed a cap on +his head and stood listening intently. +</p> + +<p> +A high, gurgling scream, abruptly checked, came through the open door at the +farther end of the room. +</p> + +<p> +Barbara sprang up from the chair into which she had sunk. +</p> + +<p> +“<i>What was that?</i>” she asked, whispering. +</p> + +<p> +Strangwise did not reply. He was still listening, a tall, well set-up figure in +the long khaki great-coat. +</p> + +<p> +“But those two women are alone in the cellar,” exclaimed Barbara, +“they are being murdered! Ah! what was that?” +</p> + +<p> +A gentle thud resounded from below. +</p> + +<p> +A man came in through the door leading from the bar: +</p> + +<p> +He had a fat, smooth-shaven face, heavily jowled. +</p> + +<p> +“All ready, Bellward?” asked Strangwise carelessly. +</p> + +<p> +Barbara stared at the man thus addressed. She saw that he was wearing the same +clothes as the man who had come down into the cellar with Strangwise but the +beard was gone. And the man she saw before her was not Desmond Okewood. +</p> + +<p> +Without waiting to reason out the metamorphosis, she ran towards Bellward. +</p> + +<p> +“They’re murdering those two women down in the cellar,” she +cried, “oh, what has happened? Won’t you go down and see?” +</p> + +<p> +Bellward shook her off roughly. +</p> + +<p> +“Neat work!” said Strangwise. +</p> + +<p> +“She’s a wonder with the knife!” agreed the other. +</p> + +<p> +Barbara stamped her foot. +</p> + +<p> +“If neither of you men have the courage to go down,” she cried, +“then I’ll go alone! As for you, Captain Strangwise, a British +officer...” +</p> + +<p> +She never finished the sentence. Strangwise caught her by the shoulder and +thrust the cold barrel of a pistol in her face. +</p> + +<p> +“Stay where you are!” he commanded. “And if you scream I +shoot!” +</p> + +<p> +Barbara was silent, dumb with horror and bewilderment, rather than with fear. A +light shone through the open door at the end of the tap-room and the woman in +black velvet appeared, carrying a lamp in her hand. She was breathing rather +hard and her carefully arranged gray hair was a little untidy; but she was +quite calm and self-possessed. +</p> + +<p> +“We haven’t a moment to lose!” she said, putting the lamp +down on the table and blowing it out. +</p> + +<p> +“Bellward, give me my cloak!” +</p> + +<p> +Bellward advanced with a fur cloak and wrapped it about her shoulders. +</p> + +<p> +“You are the perfect artiste, Minna,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“Practise makes perfect!” replied Mrs. Malplaquet archly. +</p> + +<p> +Strangwise had flung open the door leading to the front yard. A big limousine +stood outside. +</p> + +<p> +“Come on,” he said impatiently, “don’t stand there +gossiping you two!” +</p> + +<p> +Then Barbara revolted. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll not go!” she exclaimed, “you can do what you like +but I’ll stay where I am! Murderers...” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh,” said Strangwise wearily, “bring her along, +Bellward!” +</p> + +<p> +Bellward and the woman seized the girl one by each arm and dragged her to the +car. Strangwise had the door open and between them they thrust her in. Bellward +and the woman mounted after her while Strangwise, after starting the engine, +sprang into the driving-seat outside. With a low hum the big car glided forth +into the cold, starry night. +</p> + +<p> +From the upper floor of the Dyke Inn came the sound of a woman’s +terrified sobs. Below there reigned the silence of death. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap24"></a>CHAPTER XXIV.<br/> +THE TWO DESERTERS</h2> + +<p> +Desmond drove to Wentfield Station in an angry and defiant mood. He was +incensed against Francis, incensed against the Chief, yet, if the truth were +told, most of all incensed against himself. +</p> + +<p> +Not that he admitted it for a moment. He told himself that he was very hardly +used. He had undergone considerable danger in the course of discharging a +mission which was none of his seeking, and he had met with nothing but taunts +from his brother and abuse from the Chief. +</p> + +<p> +“I wash my hands of the whole thing,” Desmond declared, as he paced +the platform at Wentfield waiting for his train. “As Francis is so +precious cocksure about it all, let him carry on in my place! He’s +welcome to the Chief’s wiggings! The Chief won’t get me to do his +dirty work again in a hurry! That’s flat!” +</p> + +<p> +Yet all the while the little gimlet that men call conscience was patiently +drilling its way through the wall of obduracy behind which Desmond’s +wounded pride had taken cover. Rail as he would against his hard treatment at +the hands of the Chief, he knew perfectly well that he could never wash his +hands of his mission until Barbara Mackwayte had been brought back into safety. +This thought kept thrusting itself forward into the foreground of his mind; and +he had to focus his attention steadfastly on his grievances to push it back +again. +</p> + +<p> +But we puny mortals are all puppets in the hands of Fate. Even as the train was +bearing Desmond, thus rebellious, Londonwards, Destiny was already pulling the +strings which was to force the “quitter” back into the path he had +forsaken. For this purpose Fate had donned the disguise of a dirty-faced man in +a greasy old suit and a spotted handkerchief in lieu of collar... but of him +presently. +</p> + +<p> +On arriving at Liverpool Street, Desmond, painfully conscious of his unkempt +appearance, took a taxi to a Turkish bath in the West End. There his first care +was to submit himself to the hands of the barber who, after a glance at his +client’s bandaged head, muddy clothes and shaggy beard, coughed ominously +and relapsed into a most unbarber-like reserve. +</p> + +<p> +Desmond heard the cough and caught the look of commiseration on the man’s +face. +</p> + +<p> +“I rather think I want a shave!” he said, weakly. “I rather +think you do, sir!” replied the man, busy with his lather. +</p> + +<p> +“... Had a nasty accident,” murmured Desmond, “I fell down +and cut my head...” +</p> + +<p> +“We’re used to that here, sir,” answered the barber, +“but the bath’ll make you as right as, rain. W’y we ’ad +a genel’man in ’ere, only lars’ week it was, as +’adn’t been ’ome for five days and nights and the coat mos +tore off ’is back along with a bit of turn-up ’e’d ’at +one o’ them night clubs. And drunk!... w’y ’e went to bite +the rubber, so they wos tellin’ me! But, bless you, ’e ’ad a +nice shave and a couple of hours in the bath and a bit of a nap; we got him his +clothes as was tore mended up fine for ’im and ’e went ’ome +as sober as a judge and as fresh as a daisy!” +</p> + +<p> +Desmond had it in his mind to protest against this material interpretation of +his disreputable state; but the sight in the mirror of his ignominiously +scrubby and battered appearance silenced him. The barber’s explanation +was as good as any, seeing that he himself could give no satisfactory account +of the circumstances which had reduced him to his sorry pass. So Desmond held +his peace though he felt constrained to reject the barber’s offer of a +pick-me-up. +</p> + +<p> +From the shaving saloon, Desmond sent a messenger out for some clothes, and for +the next three hours amused himself by exhausting the resources of the Turkish +bath. Finally, about the hour of noon, he found himself, considerably +refreshed, swathed in towel, reposing on a couch, a cup of coffee at his elbow +and that morning’s <i>Daily Telegraph</i> spread out before him. +</p> + +<p> +Advertisements, so the experts say, are printed on the front and back of +newspapers in order to catch the eye of the indolent, on the chance that having +exhausted the news, they may glance idly over the front and back of the paper +before laying it aside. So Desmond, before he even troubled to open his paper, +let his gaze wander down the second column of the front page whence issue daily +those anguishing appeals, mysterious messages, heart-rending entreaties and +barefaced begging advertisements which give this column its characteristic +name. +</p> + +<p> +There his eye fell on an advertisement couched in the following terms: +</p> + +<p class="letter"> +“If Gunner Martin Barling, 1820th Battery, R.F.C., will communicate with +Messrs. Mills & Cheyne, solicitors 130 Bedford Row, W. C., he will hear of +something to his advantage. Difficulties with the military can be +arranged.” +</p> + +<p> +Desmond read this advertisement over once and then, starting at the beginning, +read it over again. Gunner Barling... the name conjured up a picture of a +jolly, sun-burned man, always very spick and span, talking the strange lingo of +our professional army gleaned from India, Aden, Malta and the Rock, the type of +British soldier that put the Retreat from Mons into the history books for all +time. +</p> + +<p> +Advertisements like this; Desmond reflected dreamily, meant legacies as a rule; +he was glad of it, for the sake of Barling whom he hadn’t seen since the +far-away days of Aldershot before the war. +</p> + +<p> +“Buzzer” Barling was the brother of one Private Henry Barling who +had been Desmond’s soldier-servant. He derived the nickname of +“Buzzer” from the fact that he was a signaller. As the vicissitudes +of service had separated the two brothers for many years, they had profited by +the accident of finding themselves at the same station to see as much of one +another as possible, and Desmond had frequently come across the gunner at his +quarters in barracks. Henry Barling had gone out to France with Desmond but a +sniper in the wood at Villers Cotterets had deprived Desmond of the best +servant and the truest friend he had ever had. Now here was Henry’s +brother cropping up again. Desmond hoped that “Buzzer” Barling +would see the advertisement, and half asleep, formed a mental resolve to cut +out the notice and send it to the gunner who, he felt glad to think, was still +alive. The rather curiously worded reference to difficulties with the military +must mean, Desmond thought, that leave could be obtained for Martin Barling to +come home and collect his legacy. +</p> + +<p> +At this point the <i>Daily Telegraph</i> fell to the ground and Desmond went +off to sleep. When he awoke, the afternoon hush had fallen upon the bath. He +seemed to be the only occupant of the cubicles. His clothes which had arrived +from the shop during his slumbers, were very neatly laid out on a couch +opposite him. +</p> + +<p> +He dressed himself leisurely. The barber was quite right. The bath had made a +new man of him. Save for a large bump on the back of his head he was none the +worse for Strangwise’s savage blow. The attendant having packed +Bellward’s apparel in the suit-case in which Desmond’s clothes had +come from the club, Desmond left the suit-case in the man’s charge and +strolled out into the soft air of a perfect afternoon. He had discarded his +bandage and in his well fitting blue suit and brown boots he was not +recognizable as the scrubby wretch who had entered the bath six hours before. +</p> + +<p> +Desmond strolled idly along the crowded streets in the sunshine. He was rather +at a loss as to what his next move should be. Now that his mental freshness was +somewhat restored, his thoughts began to busy themselves again with the +disappearance of Barbara Mackwayte. He was conscious of a guilty feeling +towards Barbara. It was not so much the blame he laid upon himself for not +being at the Mill House to meet her when she came as the sense that he had been +unfaithful to the cause of her murdered father. +</p> + +<p> +Now that he was away from Nur-el-Din with her pleading eyes and pretty +gestures, Desmond’s thoughts turned again to Barbara Mackwayte. As he +walked along Piccadilly, he found himself contrasting the two women as he had +contrasted them that night he had met them in Nur-el-Din’s dressing room +at the Palaceum. And, with a sense of shame; he became aware of how much he had +succumbed to the dancer’s purely sensual influence; for away from her he +found he could regain his independence of thought and action. +</p> + +<p> +The thought of Barbara in the hands of that woman with the cruel eyes or a +victim to the ruthlessness of Strangwise made Desmond cold with apprehension. +If they believed the girl knew where the jewel had disappeared to, they would +stop at nothing to force a confession from her; Desmond was convinced of that. +But what had become of the trio? +</p> + +<p> +In vain he cast about him for a clue. As far as he knew, the only London +address that Strangwise had was the Nineveh; and he was as little likely to +return there as Bellward was to make his way to his little hotel in Jermyn +Street. There remained Mrs. Malplaquet who, he remembered, had told him of her +house at Campden Hill. +</p> + +<p> +For the moment, Desmond decided, he must put both Strangwise and Bellward out +of his calculations. The only direction in which he could start his inquiries +after Barbara Mackwayte pointed towards Campden Hill and Mrs. Malplaquet. +</p> + +<p> +The delightful weather suggested to his mind the idea of walking out to Campden +Hill to pursue his investigations on the spot. So he made his way across the +Park into Kensington Gardens heading for the pleasant glades of Notting Hill. +In the Bayswater Road he turned into a postoffice and consulted the London +Directory. He very quickly convinced himself that among the hundreds of +thousands of names compiled by Mr. Kelly’s indefatigable industry Mrs. +Malplaquet’s was not to be found. Neither did the street directory show +her as the tenant of any of the houses on Campden Hill. +</p> + +<p> +I don’t know that there is a more pleasant residential quarter of London +than the quiet streets and gardens that straggle over this airy height. The +very steepness of the slopes leading up from the Kensington High Street on the +one side and from Holland Park Avenue on the other effectually preserves the +atmosphere of old-world languor which envelops this retired spot. The hill, +with its approaches so steep as to suggest to the imaginative the pathway +winding up some rock-bound fastness of the Highlands, successfully defies +organ-grinders and motor-buses and other aspirants to the membership in the +great society for the propagation of street noises. As you near the summit, the +quiet becomes more pronounced until you might fancy yourself a thousand +leagues, instead of as many yards, removed from the busy commerce of Kensington +or the rather strident activity of Notting Hill. +</p> + +<p> +So various in size and condition are the houses that it is as though they had +broken away from the heterogeneous rabble of bricks and mortar that makes up +the Royal Borough of Kensington, and run up in a crowd to the summit of the +hill to look down contemptuously upon their less fortunate brethren in the +plain. On Campden Hill there are houses to suit all purses and all tastes from +the vulgar mansion with its private garden to the little one-story stable that +Art (which flourishes in these parts) and ten shillings worth of paint has +converted into a cottage. +</p> + +<p> +For half an hour Desmond wandered in a desultory fashion along the quiet roads +of natty houses with brightly painted doors and shining brass knockers. He had +no definite objective; but he hoped rather vaguely to pick up some clue that +might lead him to Mrs. Malplaquet’s. He walked slowly along surveying the +houses and scrutinizing the faces of the passers-by who were few and far +between, yet without coming any nearer the end of his search. +</p> + +<p> +It was now growing dusk. Enthroned on the summit of the hill the water-tower +stood out hard and clear against the evening sky. Desmond, who had lost his +bearings somewhat in the course of his wanderings, came to a full stop +irresolutely, where two streets crossed, thinking that he would retrace his +footsteps to the main-road on the chance of picking up a taxi to take him back +to town. He chose one of the streets at random; but it proved to be a crescent +and brought him back practically to the spot he had started from. Thereupon, he +took the other and followed it up, ignoring various side-turnings which he +feared might be pitfalls like the last: But the second road was as bad as the +first. It was a <i>cul de sac</i> and brought Desmond face to face with a blank +wall. +</p> + +<p> +He turned and looked about him for somebody of whom to ask the way. But the +street was entirely deserted. He seemed to be on the very summit of the hill; +for all the roads were a-tilt. Though the evening was falling fast, no light +appeared in any of the houses and the street lamps were yet unlit. Save for the +distant bourdon of the traffic which rose to his ears like the beating of the +surf, the breeze rustling the bushes in the gardens was the only sound. +</p> + +<p> +Desmond started to walk back slowly the way he had come. Presently, his eyes +caught the gleam of a light from above a front door. When he drew level with +it, he saw that a gas-jet was burning in the fanlight over the entrance to a +neat little two-story house which stood by itself in a diminutive garden. As by +this time he was thoroughly sick of wandering aimlessly about, he went up to +the neat little house and rang the bell. +</p> + +<p> +A maid-servant in a cap and apron who seemed to be drawn to the scale of the +house, such an insignificant little person she was, opened the door. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, sir,” she exclaimed when she saw him, “was it about the +rooms?” +</p> + +<p> +And she pointed up at the fan-light where, for the first time, Desmond noticed +a printed card with the inscription-: +</p> + +<p class="center"> +“Furnished Rooms to Let.” +</p> + +<p> +The servant’s unexpected question put an idea into Desmond’s head. +He could not return to the club, he reflected, since he was supposed to be +killed in action. Why not take a room in this house in the heart of the +enemy’s country and spend some days on the watch for Mrs. Malplaquet or +for any clue that might lead him to her? +</p> + +<p> +So Desmond answered, yes, it was about the rooms he had come. +</p> + +<p> +Promising that she would tell “the missus,” the little servant +showed him into a tiny sitting-room, very clean and bright, with blue cretonne +curtains and a blue carpet and an engraving of “King Cophetua and The +Beggar Maid” over the mantelpiece. Directly you came into the room, +everything in it got up and shouted “Tottenham Court Road.” +</p> + +<p> +Then the door opened and, with a great tinkling and rustling, a stoutish, +brisk-looking woman sailed in. The tinkling proceeded from the large amount of +cheap jewelry with which she was adorned; the rustling from a black and shiny +glacé silk dress. With every movement she made the large drops she wore in her +ears chinked and were answered by a melodious chime from the charm bangles she +had on her wrists. +</p> + +<p> +She measured Desmond in a short glance and his appearance seemed to please her +for she smiled as she said in rather a mincing voice: +</p> + +<p> +“My (she pronounced it ‘may’) maid said you wished to see the +rooms!” +</p> + +<p> +Desmond intimated that such was his desire. +</p> + +<p> +“Pray be seated,” said the little woman: “You will +understand, I’m sure, that ay am not in the habit of taking in paying +guests, but may husband being at the front, ay have a bedroom and this +sitting-room free and ay thought...” +</p> + +<p> +She stopped and looked sharply at Desmond. +</p> + +<p> +“You are an officer, I think” she asked. +</p> + +<p> +Desmond bowed. +</p> + +<p> +“May husband is also an officer,” replied the woman, “Captain +Viljohn-Smythe; you may have met him. No? Of course, had you not been of +commissioned rank, ay should not...” +</p> + +<p> +She trailed off vaguely. +</p> + +<p> +Desmond inquired her terms and surprised her somewhat by accepting them on the +spot. +</p> + +<p> +“But you have not seen the bedroom!” protested Mrs. Viljohn-Smythe. +</p> + +<p> +“I will take it on trust,” Desmond replied, “and here,” +he added, pulling out his note-case, “is a week’s rent in advance. +I’ll go along now and fetch my things. By the way,” he went on, +“I know some people here at Campden Hill but very foolishly, I’ve +mislaid the address. Malplaquet... Mrs. Malplaquet. Do you happen to know her +house?” +</p> + +<p> +“Ay know most of the naice people living round about here,” replied +the lady, “but for the moment, ay cannot recollect... was it one of the +larger houses on the hill, do you know?” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m afraid I don’t know,” said Desmond. “You +see, I’ve lost the address!” +</p> + +<p> +“Quayte!” returned Mrs. Viljohn-Smythe. “Ay can’t say +ay know the name!” she added. +</p> + +<p> +However, she consented to consult the handmaiden, who answered to the name of +Gladays, as to Mrs. Malplaquet’s address, but she was as ignorant as her +mistress. +</p> + +<p> +Promising to return in the course of the evening with his things and having +received exact instructions as to the shortest way to Holland Park Avenue, +Desmond took his leave. He felt that he had embarked on a wild goose chase; +for, even if the fugitives had made their way to Mrs. Malplaquet’s (which +was more than doubtful) he imagined they would take care to lie very low so +that his chances of coming across any of them were of the most meager. +</p> + +<p> +Following the directions he had received, he made his way easily back to the +main road. He halted under a street-lamp to catch the eye of any passing taxi +which might happen to be disengaged. A dirty faced man in a greasy old suit and +a spotted handkerchief knotted about his throat came slouching along the +pavement, keeping close to the wall. On catching sight of Desmond’s face +by the light of the lamp, he stopped irresolutely and then advanced slowly +towards him. +</p> + +<p> +“Excuse me, sir!” he said falteringly. +</p> + +<p> +Desmond looked round at the sound of the man’s voice and seeing a typical +street loafer, asked the fellow to get him a taxi. +</p> + +<p> +“It <i>is</i> Captain Okewood,” said the loafer, “you +don’t remember me, sir?” +</p> + +<p> +Desmond looked at the dirty, rather haggard face with its unshaven chin and +shook his head. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t think I do,” he answered, “though you seem to +know <i>my</i> name!” +</p> + +<p> +The vagrant fumbled in his pocket for a minute and extracting a scrap of paper, +unfolded it and held it out to Desmond. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s me, sir!” he said, “and, oh, sir! if you would +kindly help me with a word of good advice, just for old times’ sake, +I’d be very grateful!” +</p> + +<p> +Desmond took the scrap of paper which the man tendered and held it so as to +catch the rays of the lamp. It was a fragment torn from a newspaper. He had +hardly set eyes on the cutting than he stretched out his hand to the vagrant. +</p> + +<p> +“Why, Gunner Barling,” he cried, “I didn’t know you! +How on earth do you come to be in this state?” +</p> + +<p> +The man looked shamefacedly down on the ground. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m a deserter, sir!” he said in a low voice. +</p> + +<p> +“Are you, by George?” replied Desmond, “and now I come to +think of it, so am I!” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap25"></a>CHAPTER XXV.<br/> +TO MRS. MALPLAQUET’S</h2> + +<p> +Clasping Barbara’s wrist in a bony grip, Mrs. Malplaquet sat at the +girl’s side in the back seat of the limousine whilst Bellward placed +himself on the seat opposite. The car was powerfully engined; and, once the +cart track up to the inn was passed and the main road reached, Strangwise +opened her out. +</p> + +<p> +By the track leading to the inn the high road made a right angle turn to the +right. This turn they took, leaving the Mill House away in the distance to the +left of them, and, after skirting the fen for some way and threading a maze of +side roads, presently debouched on a straight, broad road. +</p> + +<p> +Dazed and shaken by her experiences, Barbara lost all count of time, but after +running for some time through the open country in the gray light of dawn, they +reached the edge of those long tentacles of bricks and mortar which London +thrusts out from her on every side. The outer fringes of the metropolis were +still sleeping as the great car roared by. The snug “High Streets,” +the red brick “Parades” and “Broadways,” with their +lines of houses with blinds drawn, seemed to have their eyes shut, so blank, so +somnolent was their aspect. +</p> + +<p> +With their lamps alight, the first trams were gliding out to begin the new day, +as the big car swiftly traversed the eastern suburbs of London. To Barbara, who +had had her home at Seven Kings, there was something familiar about the streets +as they flickered by; but her powers of observation were dulled, so great was +the sense of helplessness that weighed her down. +</p> + +<p> +High-booted scavengers with curious snake-like lengths of hose on little +trolleys were sluicing the asphalt as the limousine snorted past the Mansion +House into Poultney and Cheapside. The light was growing clearer now; the tube +stations were open and from time to time a motor-bus whizzed by. +</p> + +<p> +Barbara stirred restlessly and Mrs. Malplaquet’s grip on her wrist +tightened. +</p> + +<p> +“Where are you taking me?” the girl said. +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Malplaquet spoke a single word. +</p> + +<p> +“Bellward!” she said in a gentle voice; but it was a voice of +command. +</p> + +<p> +Bellward leaned forward. +</p> + +<p> +“Look at me, Miss Mackwayte!” he said. +</p> + +<p> +There was a curious insistence in his voice that made Barbara obey. She +struggled for a moment against the impulse to do his bidding; for some agency +within her told her to resist the summons. But an irresistible force seemed to +draw her eyes to his. Bellward did not move. He simply leaned forward a little, +his hands on his knees, and looked at her. Barbara could not see his eyes, for +the light in the car was still dim, but inch by inch they captured hers. +</p> + +<p> +She looked at the black outline of his head and instantly was conscious of a +wave of magnetic power that transmitted itself from his will to hers. She would +have cried out, have struggled, have sought to break away; but that invisible +dance held her as in a vice. A little gasp broke from her lips; but that was +all. +</p> + +<p> +“So!” said Bellward with the little sigh of a man who has just +accomplished some bodily effort, “so! you will keep quiet now and do as I +tell you. You understand?” +</p> + +<p> +No reply came from the girl. She had thrust her head forward and was gazing +fixedly at the man. Bellward leaned towards the girl until his stubbly hair +actually touched her soft brown curls. He was gazing intently at her eyes. +</p> + +<p> +He was apparently well satisfied with his inspection, for he gave a sigh of +satisfaction and turned to Mrs. Malplaquet. +</p> + +<p> +“She’ll give no more trouble now!” he remarked airily. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah! Bellward,” sighed Mrs. Malplaquet, “you’re +incomparable! What an undefeatable combination you and I would have made if +we’d met twenty years sooner!” +</p> + +<p> +And she threw him a coquettish glance. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, indeed!” returned Bellward pensively. “But a night like +this makes me feel twenty years older, Minna. He’s a daredevil, this +Strangwise. Imagine going back to that infernal inn when the police might have +broken in on us any minute. But he is a determined chap. He doesn’t seem +to know what it is to be beaten. He wanted to make sure that Nur-el-Din had not +recovered the jewel from him, though he declares that it has never left him day +or night since he got possession of it. He fairly made hay of her room back at +the inn there.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” said Mrs. Malplaquet rather spitefully, “he seems to +be beaten this time. He hasn’t found his precious Star of Poland.” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” answered the man reflectively, “but I think he +will!” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Malplaquet laughed shrilly. +</p> + +<p> +“And how, may I ask? From what Strangwise told me himself, the thing has +utterly vanished. And he doesn’t seem to have any clue as to who has +taken it!” +</p> + +<p> +“Perhaps not,” replied Bellward, who appeared to have a high +opinion of Strangwise, “but, like all Germans, our friend is thorough. If +he does not see the direct road, he proceeds by a process of elimination until +he hits upon it. He did not expect to find the jewel in Nur-el-Din’s +room; he told me as much himself, but he searched because he is thorough in +everything. Do you know why he really went back to the Dyke Inn?” +</p> + +<p> +“Why?” asked Mrs. Malplaquet. +</p> + +<p> +“To secure our young friend here,” answered Bellward with a glance +at Barbara. +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Malplaquet made a little grimace to bid him to be prudent in what he said +before the girl. +</p> + +<p> +“Bah!” the man laughed, “you understand nothing of what we +are saying, do you?” he said, addressing Barbara. +</p> + +<p> +The girl moved uneasily. +</p> + +<p> +“I understand nothing of what you are saying,” she replied in a +strained voice. +</p> + +<p> +“This girl was the last person to have the jewel before +Strangwise,” Bellward said, continuing his conversation with Mrs. +Malplaquet, “and she is employed at the Headquarters of the Secret +Service. Strangwise was satisfied that nobody connected him with the theft of +the silver box which Nur-el-Din gave to this girl until our young lady here +appeared at the Dyke Inn yesterday afternoon. Nur-el-Din played his game for +him by detaining the girl. Strangwise believes—and I must say I agree +with him—that probably two persons know where the Star of Poland is. One +is this girl...” +</p> + +<p> +“The other being the late Mr. Bellward?” queried Mrs. Malplaquet. +</p> + +<p> +“Precisely. The late Mr. Bellward or Major Desmond Okewood!” said +Bellward. “Between him and this girl here I think we ought to be able to +recover Strangwise’s lost property for him!” +</p> + +<p> +“But you haven’t got Okewood yet!” observed the lady in a +mocking voice. +</p> + +<p> +The man looked evilly at her, his heavy, fat chin set square. +</p> + +<p> +“But we shall get him, never fear. With a little bird-lime as attractive +as this—” +</p> + +<p> +He broke off and jerked his head in the direction of Barbara. +</p> + +<p> +“... I shall do the rest!” he added. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah!” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Malplaquet drew a deep sigh of admiration. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s a clever idea. He is so <i>rusé</i>, this Strangwise. You +are quite right, Bellward, he never admits himself beaten. And he never is! But +tell me,” she added, “what about Nur-el-Din? They’ll nab her, +eh?” +</p> + +<p> +“Unless our British friends are even more inefficient than I believe them +to be, they most certainly will,” he replied. +</p> + +<p> +“And then?” +</p> + +<p> +Bellward shrugged his shoulders and spread wide his hands. +</p> + +<p> +“A little morning ceremony at the Tower,” he answered, +“unless these idiotic English are too sentimental to execute a +woman...” +</p> + +<p> +The car was running down the long slope to Paddington Station. It drew up at +the entrance to the booking office, and Strangwise, springing from the +driver’s seat, flung open the door. +</p> + +<p> +“Come on!” he cried, “we must look sharp or we’ll miss +our train!” +</p> + +<p> +He dragged a couple of bags off the roof and led the way into the station. In +the booking-hall he inquired of a porter what time the express left for Bath, +then went to the ticket office and took four first-class tickets to that place. +Meanwhile, the car remained standing empty in the carriageway. +</p> + +<p> +Strangwise led his little party up some stairs and across a long bridge, down +some stairs and up some stairs again, emerging, finally, at the Bakerloo Tube +Station. There he despatched Bellward to fetch a taxi. +</p> + +<p> +Taxis are rare in the early hours of the morning in war-time and Bellward was +gone fully twenty minutes. Strangwise fidgeted continually, drawing out his +watch repeatedly and casting many anxious glances this way and that. +</p> + +<p> +His nervous demeanor began to affect Mrs. Malplaquet, who had linked her arm +affectionately in Barbara’s. The girl remained absolutely apathetic. +Indeed, she seemed almost as one in a trance. +</p> + +<p> +“Aren’t we going to Bath?” at length demanded Mrs. Malplaquet +of Strangwise. +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t ask questions!” snapped the latter. +</p> + +<p> +“But the car?” asked the lady. +</p> + +<p> +“Hold your tongue!” commanded the officer; and Mrs. Malplaquet +obeyed. +</p> + +<p> +Then Mr. Bellward returned with the news that he had at last got a taxi. +Strangwise turned to Bellward. +</p> + +<p> +“Can Minna and the girl go to Campden Hill alone?” he asked. +“Or will the girl try and break away, do you think?” +</p> + +<p> +Bellward held up his hand to enjoin silence. +</p> + +<p> +“You will go along with Mrs. Malplaquet,” he said to Barbara in his +low purring voice, “you will stay with her until I come. You +understand?” +</p> + +<p> +“I will go with Mrs. Malplaquet!” the girl replied in the same dull +tone as before. +</p> + +<p> +“Upon my word,” exclaimed Mrs. Malplaquet, “you might have +told me that we were going to my own place...” +</p> + +<p> +But Strangwise shut her up. +</p> + +<p> +“Bellward and I will come on by tube... it is safer,” he said, +“hurry, hurry! We must all be under cover by eight o’clock... we +have no time to lose!” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap26"></a>CHAPTER XXVI.<br/> +THE MAN IN THE SUMMER-HOUSE</h2> + +<p> +The hour of the theatre rush was long since over and its passing had +transformed the taxi-drivers from haughty autocrats to humble suppliants. One +taxi after another crawled slowly past the street corner where Desmond had +stood for over an hour in deep converse with Gunner Barling, but neither +flaunting flag nor appealingly uplifted finger attracted the slightest +attention from the athletic-looking man who was so earnestly engaged in talk +with a tramp. But at last the conversation was over; the two men separated and +the next taxi passing thereafter picked up a fare. +</p> + +<p> +At nine o’clock the next morning Desmond appeared for breakfast in his +sitting-room at Santona Road; for such was the name of the street in which his +new rooms were situated. When he had finished his meal, he summoned Gladys and +informed her that he would be glad to speak to Mrs. Viljohn-Smythe. That lady +having duly answered the summons, Desmond asked whether, in consideration of +terms to be mutually agreed upon, she could accommodate his soldier servant. He +explained that the last-named was of the most exemplary character and threw out +a hint of the value of a batman for such tasks as the cleaning of the family +boots and the polishing of brass or silver. +</p> + +<p> +The landlady made no objections and half an hour later a clean and +respectable-looking man arrived whom Desmond with difficulty recognized as the +wretched vagrant of the previous evening. This was, indeed, the Gunner Barling +he used to know, with his smooth-shaven chin and neat brown moustache waxed at +the ends and characteristic “quiff” decorating his brow. And so +Desmond and his man installed themselves at Santona Road. +</p> + +<p> +The house was clean and comfortable, and Mrs. Viljohn-Smythe, for all her +“refaynement,” as she would have called it, proved herself a +warm-hearted, motherly soul. Desmond had a small but comfortably furnished +bedroom at the top of the house, on the second floor, with a window which +commanded a view of the diminutive garden and the back of a row of large houses +standing on the lower slopes of the hill. So precipitous was the fall of the +ground, indeed, that Desmond could look right into the garden of the house +backing on Mrs. Viljohn-Smythe’s. This garden had a patch of well-kept +green sward in the centre with a plaster nymph in the middle, while in one +corner stood a kind of large summer-house or pavilion built on a slight +eminence, with a window looking into Mrs. Viljohn-Smythe’s’ back +garden. +</p> + +<p> +In accordance with a plan of action he had laid down in his mind, Desmond took +all his meals at his rooms. The rest of the day he devoted to walking about the +streets of Campden Hill and setting on foot discreet inquiries after Mrs. +Malplaquet amongst the local tradespeople. +</p> + +<p> +For three or four days he carried out this arrangement without the slightest +success. He dogged the footsteps of more than one gray-haired lady of +distinguished appearance without lighting upon his quarry. He bestowed largesse +on the constable on point duty, on the milkman and the baker’s young +lady; but none of them had ever heard of Mrs. Malplaquet or recognized her from +Desmond’s description. +</p> + +<p> +On the morning of the fourth day Desmond returned to lunch, dispirited and +heart-sick. He had half a mind to abandon his quest altogether and to go and +make his peace with the Chief and ask to be sent back to France. He ate his +lunch and then, feeling that it would be useless to resume his aimless patrol +of the streets, lit a cigar and strolled out into the little back-garden. +</p> + +<p> +It was a fine, warm afternoon, and already the crocuses were thrusting their +heads out of the neat flower-beds as if to ascertain whether the spring had +really arrived. There was, indeed, a pleasant vernal scent in the air. +</p> + +<p> +“A fine day!” said a voice. +</p> + +<p> +Desmond looked up. At the open window of the summerhouse of the garden backing +on Mrs. Viljohn-Smythe’s, his elbows resting on the pitch-pine frame, was +a middle-aged man. A cigarette was in his mouth and from his hands dangled a +newspaper. He had a smooth-shaven, heavily-jowled face and a large pair of +tortoise-shell spectacles on his nose. +</p> + +<p> +Desmond remembered to have seen the man already looking out of a window +opposite his on one of the upper floors of the house. In reply to a casual +inquiry, Mrs. Viljohn-Smythe had informed him that the house was a nursing home +kept by a Dr. Radcombe, a nerve specialist. +</p> + +<p> +“It is quite like spring!” replied Desmond, wondering if this were +the doctor. Doctors get about a good deal and Dr. Radcombe might be able to +tell him something about Mrs. Malplaquet. +</p> + +<p> +“I think we have seen one another in the mornings sometimes,” said +the heavily-jowled man, “though I have noticed that you are an earlier +riser than I am. But when one is an invalid—” +</p> + +<p> +“You are one of Dr. Radcombe’s patients, then!” said Desmond. +</p> + +<p> +“I am,” returned the other, “a great man, that, my dear sir. +I doubt if there is his equal for diagnosis in the kingdom.” +</p> + +<p> +“He has lived here for some years, I suppose?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh yes!” answered the man, “in fact, he is one of the oldest +and most-respected residents of Kensington, I believe!” +</p> + +<p> +“I am rather anxious to find some friends of mine who live about +here,” Desmond remarked, quick to seize his opportunity, “I wonder +whether your doctor could help me...” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m sure he could,” the man replied, “the doctor knows +everybody...” +</p> + +<p> +“The name—” began Desmond, but the other checked him. +</p> + +<p> +“Please don’t ask me to burden my memory with names,” he +protested. “I am here for a complete rest from over-work, and loss of +memory is one of my symptoms. But look here; why not come over the wall and +step inside the house with me? Dr. Radcombe is there and will, I am sure, be +delighted to give you any assistance in his power!” +</p> + +<p> +Desmond hesitated. +</p> + +<p> +“Really,” he said, “it seems rather unconventional. Perhaps +the doctor would object...” +</p> + +<p> +“Object” said the heavily-jowled man, “tut, tut, not at all. +Come on, I’ll give you a hand up!” +</p> + +<p> +He thrust out a large, white hand. Desmond was about to grasp it when he saw +gleaming on the third finger a gold snake ring with emerald eyes—the ring +that Mrs. Malplaquet had given Bellward. He was about to draw back but the man +was too quick for him. Owing to the slope of the ground the window of the +summer-house was on a level with Desmond’s throat. The man’s two +hands shot out simultaneously. One grasped Desmond’s wrist in a steel +grip whilst the other fastened itself about the young man’s throat, +squeezing the very breath out of his body. It was done so quickly that he had +no time to struggle, no time to shout. As Bellward seized him, another arm was +shot out of the window. Desmond felt himself gripped by the collar and lifted, +by a most amazing effort of strength, bodily over the wall. +</p> + +<p> +His brain swimming with the pressure on his throat, he struggled but feebly to +recover his freedom. However, as Desmond was dropped heavily on to the grass on +the other side of the wall, Bellward’s grip relaxed just for a second and +in that instant Desmond made one desperate bid for liberty. He fell in a +crouching position and, as he felt Bellward loosen his hold for a second with +the jerk of his victim’s fall, Desmond straightened himself up suddenly, +catching his assailant a violent blow with his head on the point of the chin. +</p> + +<p> +Bellward fell back with a crash on to the timber flooring of the pavilion. +Desmond heard his head strike the boards with a thud, heard a muttered curse. +He found himself standing in a narrow lane, less than three feet wide, which +ran between the garden wall and the summer-house; for the pavilion, erected on +a slight knoll surrounded by turf, was not built against the wall as is usually +the case with these structures. +</p> + +<p> +In this narrow space Desmond stood irresolute for the merest fraction of a +second. It was not longer; for, directly after Bellward had crashed backwards, +Desmond heard a light step reverberate within the planks of the summerhouse. +His most obvious course was to scramble back over the wall again into safety, +in all thankfulness at having escaped so violent an attack. But he reflected +that Bellward was here and that surely meant that the others were not far off. +In that instant as he heard the stealthy footstep cross the floor of the +summer-house, Desmond resolved he would not leave the garden until he had +ascertained whether Barbara Mackwayte was there. +</p> + +<p> +Desmond decided that he would stay where he was until he no longer heard that +footstep on the planks within; for then the person inside the summer-house +would have reached the grass at the door. Desmond remembered the arm which had +shot out beside Bellward at the window and swung him so easily off his feet. He +knew only one man capable of achieving that very respectable muscular +performance; for Desmond weighed every ounce of twelve stone. That man was +Maurice Strangwise. +</p> + +<p> +As soon as the creaking of the timbers within ceased, Desmond moved to the left +following the outer wall of the pavilion. On the soft green sward his feet made +no sound. Presently he came to a window which was let in the side of the +summerhouse opposite the window from which Bellward had grappled with him. +Raising his eyes to the level of the sill, Desmond took a cautious peep. He +caught a glimpse of the face of Maurice Strangwise, brows knit, nostrils +dilated, the very picture of venomous, watchful rancor. +</p> + +<p> +Strangwise had halted and was now looking back over the wall into Mrs. +Viljohn-Smythe’s back garden. Was it possible, Desmond wondered, that he +could believe that Desmond had scrambled back over the wall? Strangwise +remained motionless, his back now fully turned to Desmond, peering into the +other garden. +</p> + +<p> +The garden in which the summer-house stood was oblong in shape and more than +twice as broad as it was long. The pavilion was not more than forty yards from +the back entrance of the house. Desmond weighed in his mind the possibility of +being able to dash across those forty yards, the turf deadening the sound of +his feet, before Strangwise turned round again. The entrance to the back of the +house was through a door in the side of the house, to which two or three +wrought-iron steps gave access. Once he had gained the steps Desmond calculated +that the side of the house would shelter him from Strangwise’s view. He +turned these things over in his mind in the twinkling of an eye; for all his +life he had been used to quick decision and quick action. To cover those forty +yards across the open in one bound was, he decided, too much to risk; for he +must at all costs gain access to the house and discover, if possible, whether +Barbara Mackwayte were confined within, before he was caught. +</p> + +<p> +Then his eye fell on the plaster nymph in the middle of the grass. She was a +stoutly-built female, life-size, standing upon a solid-looking pedestal fully +four feet broad. Desmond measured the distance separating him from the nymph. +It was not more than twenty yards at the outside and the pedestal would conceal +him from the eyes of Strangwise if the latter should turn round before he had +made his second bound and reached the steps at the side of the house. +</p> + +<p> +He peeped through the window again. Strangwise stood in his old attitude gazing +over the garden wall. Then Desmond acted. Taking long strides on the points of +his toes, he gained the statue and crouched down behind it. Even as he started, +he heard a loud grunt from the inside of the summerhouse and from his cover +behind the nymph saw Strangwise turn quickly and enter the summerhouse. On that +Desmond sprang to his feet again, heedless of whether he was seen from the +house, ran lightly across the grass and reached the steps at the side of the +house. +</p> + +<p> +The door stood ajar. +</p> + +<p> +He stood still on the top step and listened for a moment. The house was wrapped +in silence. Not a sign of life came from within. +</p> + +<p> +But now he heard voices from the garden and they were the voices of two angry +men, raised in altercation. As he listened, they drew nearer. +</p> + +<p> +Desmond tarried no longer. He preferred the unknown perils which that silent +house portended to the real danger advancing from the garden. He softly pushed +the door open and slipped into the house. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap27"></a>CHAPTER XXVII.<br/> +THE RED LACQUER ROOM</h2> + +<p> +The side-door led into a little white passage with a green baize door at the +end. A staircase, which from its white-washed treads, Desmond judged to be the +back stairs, gave on the passage. Calculating that the men in the garden would +be certain to use the main staircase, Desmond took the back stairs which, on +the first landing, brought him face to face with a green baize door, similar in +every respect to that on the floor below. +</p> + +<p> +He pushed this door open and listened. Hearing nothing he passed on through it. +He found himself in a broad corridor on to which gave the main staircase from +below and its continuation to the upper floors. Three rooms opened on to this +corridor, a large drawing-room, a small study and what was obviously the +doctor’s consulting room, from the operating table and the array of +instruments set out in glass cases. The rooms were empty and Desmond was about +to return to the back stairs and proceed to the next floor when his attention +was caught by a series of framed photographs with which the walls of the +corridor were lined. +</p> + +<p> +These were groups of doctors taken at various medical congresses. You will find +such photographs in many doctors’ houses. Below each group were neatly +printed the names of the persons therein represented. Anxious to see what +manner of man was this Doctor Radcombe in whose house spies were apparently at +liberty to consort with impunity, Desmond looked for his name. +</p> + +<p> +There it was—Dr. A. J. Radcombe. But, on looking at the figure above the +printed line, what was his astonishment to recognize the angular features and +drooping moustache of “No. 13”! +</p> + +<p> +There was no possible mistake about it. The photographs were excellent and +Desmond had no difficulty in identifying the eccentric-looking German in each +of them. So this was Mrs. Malplaquet’s house, was it? A nursing-home run +by “No. 13,” who in addition to being a spy, would seem to have +been a nerve specialist as well. In this guise, no doubt, he had made trips to +the South of England which had gained for him that intimate acquaintance with +Portsmouth and Southsea of which he had boasted at the gathering in the +library. In this capacity, moreover, he had probably met Bellward whose +“oggult” powers, to which “No. 13” had alluded, seem to +point to mesmerism and kindred practices in which German neurasthenic research +has made such immense progress. +</p> + +<p> +Pondering over his surprising discovery, Desmond pursued his way to the floor +above. Here, too, was a green baize door which opened on to a corridor. Desmond +walked quickly along it, glancing in, as he passed, at the open doors of two or +three bedrooms. Just beyond where the staircase crossed the corridor were two +doors, both of which were closed. The one was a white door and might have been +a bathroom; the other was enameled a brilliant, glossy red. +</p> + +<p> +The second floor was as silent and deserted as the corridor below. But just as +Desmond passed the head of the main staircase he heard the sound of voices. He +glanced cautiously down the well of the stairs and saw Strangwise and Bellward +talking together. Bellward was on the stairs while Strangwise stood in the +corridor. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s our last chance,” Strangwise was saying. +</p> + +<p> +“No, no,” Bellward replied heatedly, “I tell you it is +madness. We must not delay a minute. For Heaven’s sake, leave the girl +alone and let’s save ourselves.” +</p> + +<p> +“What?” cried Strangwise, “and abandon Minna!” +</p> + +<p> +“Minna is well able to look after herself,” answered Bellward in a +sulky voice, “it’s a question of <i>sauve qui peut</i> now... every +man for himself!” +</p> + +<p> +“No!” said Strangwise firmly, “we’ll wait for Minna, +Bellward. You exaggerate the danger. I tell you I was at the garden wall within +a few seconds of our friend laying you out, and I saw no sign of him in his +garden. It was a physical impossibility for him to have got over the wall and +back into the house in the time. And in his garden there’s nowhere to +hide. It’s as bare as the Sahara!” +</p> + +<p> +“But, good Heavens!” cried Bellward, throwing his hands excitedly +above his head, “the man can’t dissolve into thin air. He’s +gone back to the house, I tell you, and the police will be here at any minute. +You know he’s not in our garden; for you searched every nook and corner +of it yourself. Okewood may be too clever for you, Strangwise; but he’s +not a magician!” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” said Strangwise sternly, “he is not.” And he +added in a low voice: +</p> + +<p> +“That’s why I am convinced that he is in this house!” +</p> + +<p> +Desmond felt his heart thump against his ribs. +</p> + +<p> +Bellward seemed surprised for he cried quickly: +</p> + +<p> +“What? Here?” +</p> + +<p> +Strangwise nodded. +</p> + +<p> +“You stand here gossiping with that man loose in the house?” +exclaimed Bellward vehemently, “why the next thing we know the fellow +will escape us again!” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, no, he won’t” retorted the other. “Every window on +the ground floor is barred... this is a home for neurasthenics, you know, and +that is sometimes a polite word for a lunatic, my friend... and the doors, both +front and back are locked. The keys are here!” +</p> + +<p> +Desmond heard a jingle as Strangwise slapped his pocket. +</p> + +<p> +“All the same,” the latter went on, “it is as well to be +prepared for a sudden change of quarters. That’s why I want you to finish +off the girl at once. Come along, we’ll start now...” +</p> + +<p> +“No, no!” declared Bellward. “I’m far too upset. You +seem to think you can turn me on and off like you do the gas!” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, as you like,” said Strangwise, “but the sooner we +clear up this thing the better. I’m going to see if our clever young +friend has taken refuge in the servants’ quarters upstairs. He’s +not on this floor, that’s certain!” +</p> + +<p> +Desmond drew back in terror. He heard the green baize door on the floor below +swing back as Strangwise went out to the back stairs and Bellward’s heavy +step ascended the main staircase. There was something so horribly sinister in +that firm, creaking tread as it mounted towards him that for the moment he lost +his head. He looked round wildly for a place of concealment; but the corridor +was bare. Facing him was the red enamel door. Boldly he turned the handle and +walked in, softly closing the door behind him. +</p> + +<p> +It was as though he had stepped into another world. The room in which he found +himself was a study in vivid red emphasized by black. Red and black; these were +the only colors in the room. The curtains, which were of black silk, were +drawn, though it was not yet dark outside, and from the ceiling was suspended a +lamp in the shape of a great scarlet bowl which cast an eerie red light on one +of the most bizarre apartments that Desmond had ever seen. +</p> + +<p> +It was a lacquer room in the Chinese style, popularized by the craze for +barbaric decoration introduced by Bakst and the Russian Ballet into England. +The walls were enameled the same brilliant glossy red as the door and hung at +intervals with panels of magnificent black and gold lacquer work. The table +which ran down the centre of the room was of scarlet and gold lacquer like the +fantastically designed chairs and the rest of the furniture. The heavy carpet +was black. +</p> + +<p> +Desmond did not take in all these details at once; for his attention was +immediately directed to a high-backed armchair covered in black satin which +stood with its back to the door. He stared at this chair; for, peeping out +above the back, making a splash of deep golden brown against the black sheen of +the upholstery, was a mass of curls... Barbara Mackwayte’s hair. +</p> + +<p> +As he advanced towards the girl, she moaned in a high, whimpering voice: +</p> + +<p> +“No, no, not again! Let me sleep! Please, please, leave me alone!” +</p> + +<p> +Desmond sprang to her side. +</p> + +<p> +“Barbara!” he cried and never noticed that he called her by her +Christian name. +</p> + +<p> +Barbara Mackwayte sat in the big black armchair, facing the black-curtained +window. Her face was pale and drawn, and there were black circles under her +eyes. There was a listless yet highly-strung look about her that you see in +people who habitually take drugs. +</p> + +<p> +She heeded not the sound of his voice. It was as though he had not spoken. She +only continued to moan and mutter, moving her body about uneasily as a child +does when its sleep is disturbed by nightmares. Then, to his inexpressible +horror, Desmond saw that her feet were bound with straps to the legs of the +chair. Her arms were similarly tethered to the arms of the chair, but her hands +had been left free. +</p> + +<p> +“Barbara!” said Desmond softly, “you know me! I’m +Desmond Okewood! I’ve come to take you home!” +</p> + +<p> +The word “home” seemed to catch the girl’s attention; for now +she turned her head and looked at the young man. The expression in her eyes, +wide and staring, was horrible; for it was the look of a tortured animal. +</p> + +<p> +Desmond was bending to unbind the straps that fastened Barbara’s arms +when he heard a step outside the door. The curtains in front of the window were +just beside him. They were long and reached to the floor. Without a +second’s hesitation he slipped behind them and found himself in the +recess of a shallow bow window. +</p> + +<p> +The bow window was in three parts and the central part was open wide at the +bottom. It gave on a little balcony which was in reality the roof of a bow +window of one of the rooms on the floor below. Desmond promptly scrambled out +of the window and letting himself drop on to the balcony crouched down below +the sill. +</p> + +<p> +A door opened in the room he had just left. He heard steps moving about and +cupboards opened and shut. Then, there was the sound of curtains being drawn +back and a voice said just above him: +</p> + +<p> +“He’s not here! I tell you the fellow’s not in the house! Now +perhaps you’ll believe me!” +</p> + +<p> +The balcony was fairly deep and it was growing dusk; but Desmond could scarcely +hope to escape detection if Bellward, for he had recognized his voice, should +think of leaning out of the window and looking down upon the balcony. With his +coat collar turned up to hide the treacherous white of his linen, Desmond +pressed himself as close as possible against the side of the house and waited +for the joyful cry that would proclaim that he had been discovered. There was +no possible means of escape; for the balcony stood at an angle of the house +with no windows or water-pipes anywhere within reach, to give him a foothold, +looking out on an inhospitable and gloomy area. +</p> + +<p> +Whether Bellward, who appeared bent only on getting away from the house without +delay, examined the balcony or not, Desmond did not know; but after the agony +of suspense had endured for what seemed to him an hour, he heard Strangwise +say: +</p> + +<p> +“It’s no good, Bellward! I’m not satisfied! And until I +<i>am</i> satisfied that Okewood is not here, I don’t leave this house. +And that’s that!” +</p> + +<p> +Bellward swore savagely. +</p> + +<p> +“We’ve searched the garden and not found him: we’ve ransacked +the house from top to bottom without result. The fellow’s not here; but +by God, he’ll be here presently with a bunch of police, and then +it’ll be too late! For the last time, Strangwise, will you clear +out?” +</p> + +<p> +There was a moment’s pause. Then Desmond heard Strangwise’s clear, +calm voice. +</p> + +<p> +“There’s a balcony there... below the window, I mean.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve looked,” replied Bellward, “and he’s not +there. You can see for yourself!” +</p> + +<p> +The moment of discovery had arrived. To Desmond the strain seemed unbearable +and to alleviate it, he began to count, as one counts to woo sleep. One! two! +three! four! He heard a grating noise as the window was pushed further up. +Five! six! seven! eight! +</p> + +<p> +“Strange!” +</p> + +<p> +Strangwise muttered the word just above Desmond’s head. Then, to his +inexpressible relief, he heard the other add: +</p> + +<p> +“He’s not there!” +</p> + +<p> +And Desmond realized that the depth of the balcony had saved him. Short of +getting out of the window, as he had done, the others could not see him. +</p> + +<p> +The two men returned to the room and silence fell once more. Outside on the +damp balcony in the growing darkness Desmond was fighting down the impulse to +rush in and stake all in one desperate attempt to rescue the girl from her +persecutors. But he was learning caution; and he knew he must bide his time. +</p> + +<p> +Some five minutes elapsed during which Desmond could detect no definite sound +from the red lacquer room except the occasional low murmur of voices. Then, +suddenly, there came a high, quavering cry from the girl. +</p> + +<p> +Desmond raised himself quickly erect, his ear turned so as to catch every sound +from the room. The girl wailed again, a plaintive, tortured cry that seemed to +issue forth unwillingly from her. +</p> + +<p> +“My God!” said Desmond to himself, “I can’t stand +this!” +</p> + +<p> +His head was level with the sill of the window which was fortunately broad. +Getting a good grip on the rough cement with his hands, he hoisted himself up +on to the sill, by the sheer force of his arms alone, sat poised there for an +instant, then very lightly and without any noise, clambered through the window +and into the room. Even as he did so, the girl cried out again. +</p> + +<p> +“I can’t! I can’t!” she wailed. +</p> + +<p> +Every nerve in Desmond’s body was tingling with rage. The blood was hotly +throbbing against his temples and he was literally quivering all over with +fury. But he held himself in check. This time he must not fail. Both those men +were armed, he knew. What chance could he, unarmed as he was, have against +them? He must wait, wait, that they might not escape their punishment. +</p> + +<p> +Steadying the black silk curtains with his hands, he looked through the narrow +chink where the two panels met. And this was what he saw. +</p> + +<p> +Barbara Mackwayte was still in the chair; but they had unfastened her arms +though her feet were still bound. She had half-risen from her seat. Her body +was thrust forward in a strained, unnatural attitude; her eyes were wide open +and staring; and there was a little foam on her lips. There was something +hideously deformed, horribly unlife-like about her. Though her eyes were open, +her look was the look of the blind; and, like the blind, she held her head a +little on one side as though eager not to miss the slightest sound. +</p> + +<p> +Bellward stood beside her, his face turned in profile to Desmond. His eyes were +dilated and the sweat stood out in great beads on his forehead and trickled in +broad lanes of moisture down his heavy cheeks. He was half-facing the girl and +every time he bent towards her, she tugged and strained at her bonds as though +to follow him. +</p> + +<p> +“You say he has been here. Where is he? Where is he? You shall tell me +where he is.” +</p> + +<p> +Bellward was speaking in a strange, vibrating voice. Every question appeared to +be a tremendous nervous effort. Desmond, who was keenly sensitive to matters +psychic, could almost feel the magnetic power radiating from the man. In the +weird red light of the room, he could see the veins standing out like whipcords +on the back of Bellward’s hands. +</p> + +<p> +“Tell me where he is? I command you!” +</p> + +<p> +The girl wailed out again in agony and writhed in her bonds. Her voice rose to +a high, gurgling scream. +</p> + +<p> +“There!” she cried, pointing with eyes staring, lips parted, +straight at the curtains behind which Desmond stood. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap28"></a>CHAPTER XXVIII.<br/> +AN OFFER FROM STRANGWISE</h2> + +<p> +Desmond sprang for the window; but it was too late. Strangwise who had not +missed a syllable of the interrogatory was at the curtains in a flash. As he +plucked the hangings back, Desmond made a rush for him; but Strangwise, wary as +ever, kept his head and, drawing back, jabbed his great automatic almost in the +other’s face. +</p> + +<p> +And then Desmond knew the game was up. +</p> + +<p> +Barbara had collapsed in her chair. Her face was of an ivory pallor and she +seemed to have fallen back into the characteristic hypnotic trance. As for +Bellward, he had dropped on to a sofa, a loose mass, exhausted but missing +nothing of what was going forward, though, for the moment, he seemed too spent +to take any active part in the proceedings. In the meantime Strangwise, his +white, even teeth bared in a quiet smile, was very steadily looking at his +prisoner. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, Desmond,” he said at last, “here’s a pleasant +surprise! I thought you were dead!” +</p> + +<p> +Desmond said nothing. He was not a coward as men go; but he was feeling +horribly afraid just then. The deviltry of the scene he had just witnessed had +fairly unmanned him. The red and black setting of the room had a suggestion of +Oriental cruelty in its very garishness. Desmond looked from Strangwise, cool +and smiling, to Bellward, gross and beastly, and from the two men to Barbara, +wan and still and defenceless. And he was afraid. +</p> + +<p> +Then Bellward scrambled clumsily to his feet, plucking a revolver from his +inside pocket as he did so. +</p> + +<p> +“You sneaking rascal,” he snarled, “we’ll teach you to +play your dirty tricks on us!” +</p> + +<p> +He raised the pistol; but Strangwise stepped between the man and his victim. +</p> + +<p> +“Kill him!” cried Bellward, “and let’s be rid of him +once and for all!” +</p> + +<p> +“What” said Strangwise. “Kill Desmond? Ah, no, my friend, I +don’t think so!” +</p> + +<p> +And he added drily: +</p> + +<p> +“At least not quite yet!” +</p> + +<p> +“But you must be mad,” exclaimed Bellward, toying impatiently with +his weapon, “you let him escape through your fingers before! I know his +type. A man like him is only safe when he’s dead. And if you +won’t...” +</p> + +<p> +“Now, Bellward,” said Strangwise not budging but looking the other +calmly in the eye, “you’re getting excited, you know.” +</p> + +<p> +But Bellward muttered thickly: +</p> + +<p> +“Kill him! That’s all I ask. And let’s get out of here! I +tell you it isn’t safe! Minna can shift for herself!” he added +sulkily. +</p> + +<p> +“As she has always done!” said a voice at the door. Mrs. Malplaquet +stood there, a very distinguished looking figure in black with a handsome set +of furs. +</p> + +<p> +“But who’s this?” she asked, catching sight of Desmond, as +she flashed her beady black eyes round the group. Of Barbara she took not the +slightest notice. Desmond remarked it and her indifference shocked him +profoundly. +</p> + +<p> +“Of course, you don’t recognize him!” said Strangwise. +“This is Major Desmond Okewood, more recently known as Mr. Basil +Bellward!” +</p> + +<p> +The woman evinced no surprise. +</p> + +<p> +“So!” she said, “I thought we’d end by getting him. +Well, Strangwise, what are we waiting for? Is our friend to live for +ever?” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s what I want to know!” bellowed Bellward savagely. +</p> + +<p> +“I have not finished with our friend here!” observed Strangwise. +</p> + +<p> +“No, no,” cried Mrs. Malplaquet quickly, Strangwise, +“you’ve had your lesson. You’ve lost the jewel and +you’re not likely to get it back unless you think that this young man has +come here with it on him. Do you want to lose your life, the lives of all of +us, as well? Come, come, the fellow’s no earthly good to us! And +he’s a menace to us all as long as he’s alive!” +</p> + +<p> +“Minna,” said Strangwise, “you must trust me. +Besides...” he leaned forward and whispered something in her ear. +“Now,” he resumed aloud, “you shall take Bellward downstairs +and leave me to have a little chat with our friend here.” +</p> + +<p> +To Bellward he added: +</p> + +<p> +“Minna will tell you what I said. But first,” he pointed to Barbara +who remained apparently lifeless in her chair, “bring her round. And then +I think she’d better go to bed.” +</p> + +<p> +“But what about the treatment to-night” asked Mrs. Malplaquet. +</p> + +<p> +Strangwise smiled mysteriously. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m not sure that any further treatment will be required,” +he said. +</p> + +<p> +In the meantime, Bellward had leaned over the girl and with a few passes of his +hand had brought her back to consciousness. She sat up, one hand pressed to her +face, and looked about her in a dazed fashion. On recognizing Desmond she gave +a little cry. +</p> + +<p> +“Take her away!” commanded Strangwise. +</p> + +<p> +Bellward had unfastened the ropes binding her feet, and he and Mrs. Malplaquet +between them half-dragged, half-lifted the girl (for she was scarcely able to +walk) from the room. +</p> + +<p> +When the door had closed behind them, Strangwise pointed to a chair and pulled +out his cigarette case. “Sit down, Desmond,” he said, “and +let’s talk. Will you smoke?” +</p> + +<p> +He held out his case. A cigarette was the one thing for which Desmond craved. +He took one and lit it. Strangwise sat down on the other side of a curiously +carved ebony table, his big automatic before him. +</p> + +<p> +“I guess you’re sharp enough to know when you’re beaten, +Desmond,” he said. “You’ve put up a good fight and until this +afternoon you were one up on me. I’ll grant you that. And I don’t +mind admitting that you’ve busted up my little organization—for the +present at any rate. But I’m on top now and you’re in our power, +old man.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” replied Desmond shortly, “what are you going to do +about it?” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m going to utilize my advantage to the best I know how,” +retorted Strangwise, snapping the words, “that’s good strategy, +isn’t it, Desmond? That’s what Hamley and all the military writers +teach, isn’t it? And I’m going to be frank with you. I suppose you +realize that your life hung by a thread in this very room only a minute ago. Do +you know why I intervened to save you?” +</p> + +<p> +Desmond smiled. All his habitual serenity was coming back to him. He found it +hard to realize that this old brother officer of his, blowing rings of +cigarette smoke at him across the table, was an enemy. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t suppose it was because of the love you bear me,” +replied Desmond. +</p> + +<p> +And he rubbed the bump on his head. +</p> + +<p> +Strangwise noted the action and smiled. +</p> + +<p> +“Listen here,” he resumed, planking his hands down on the table and +leaning forward, “I’m ready and anxious to quit this spying +business. It was only a side line with me anyway. My main object in coming to +this country was to recover possession of that diamond star. Once I’ve +got it back, I’m through with England...” +</p> + +<p> +“But not with the army,” Desmond broke in, “thank God, +we’ve got a swift way with traitors in this country!” +</p> + +<p> +“Quite so,” returned the other, “but you see, my friend, the +army hasn’t got me. And I have got you! But let us drop talking +platitudes,” he went on. “I’m no great hand at driving a +bargain, Desmond—few army men are, you know—so I won’t even +attempt to chaffer with you. I shall tell you straight out what I am ready to +offer. You were given the job of breaking up this organization, weren’t +you?” +</p> + +<p> +Desmond was silent. He was beginning to wonder what Strangwise was driving at. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, you needn’t trouble to deny it. I never spotted you, I admit, +even when the real Bellward turned up: that idea of putting your name in the +casualty list as ‘killed’ was a masterstroke; for I never looked to +find you alive and trying to put it across me. But to return to what I was +saying—your job was to smash my little system, and if you pull it off, +it’s a feather in your cap. Well, you’ve killed two of my people +and you’ve arrested the ringleader.” +</p> + +<p> +“Meaning Behrend?” asked Desmond. +</p> + +<p> +“Behrend be hanged! I mean Nur-el-Din!” +</p> + +<p> +“Nur-el-Din was not the ringleader,” said Desmond, “as well +you know, Strangwise!” +</p> + +<p> +“Your employers evidently don’t share your views, Desmond,” +he replied, “all the documents were found on Nur-el-Din!” +</p> + +<p> +“Bah!” retorted Desmond, “and what of it? Mightn’t they +have been planted on her in order to get her arrested to draw the suspicion +away from the real criminal, yourself?” +</p> + +<p> +Strangwise laughed a low, mellow laugh. +</p> + +<p> +“You’re devilish hard to convince,” he remarked. +“Perhaps you’ll change your mind about it when I tell you that +Nur-el-Din was sentenced to death by a general court-martial yesterday +afternoon.” +</p> + +<p> +The blow struck Desmond straight between the eyes. The execution of spies +followed hard on their conviction, he knew. Was he too late? +</p> + +<p> +“Has... has she... has the sentence already been carried out?” he +asked hoarsely. +</p> + +<p> +Strangwise shrugged his shoulders. +</p> + +<p> +“My information didn’t go as far as that!” he replied. +“But I expect so. They don’t waste much time over these matters, +old man! You see, then,” he continued, “you’ve got the +ringleader, and you shall have the other two members of the organization and +save your own life into the bargain if you will be reasonable and treat with +me.” +</p> + +<p> +Desmond looked straight at him; and Strangwise averted his eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“Let me get this right,” said Desmond slowly. “You let me go +free—of course, I take it that my liberty includes the release of Miss +Mackwayte as well—and in addition, you hand over to me your two +accomplices, Bellward and the Malplaquet woman. That is your offer, isn’t +it? Well, what do you want from me in exchange?” +</p> + +<p> +“The Star of Poland!” said Strangwise in a low voice. +</p> + +<p> +“But,” Desmond began. He was going to add “I haven’t +got it,” but checked himself in time. Why should he show his hand? +</p> + +<p> +Strangwise broke in excitedly. +</p> + +<p> +“Man,” he cried, “it was grandly done. When first I +discovered the gem, I opened the package in which the silver box was wrapped +and took the jewel from its case to make sure that it was there. Then I sealed +it up again, silver box and all, with the firm intention that no other hand +should break the seals but the hand of His Imperial Highness the Crown Prince +when I reported to him that I had fulfilled my mission. So you will understand +that I was loth to open it to satisfy those blockheads that evening at the Mill +House. +</p> + +<p> +“I carried the package on me night and day and I could hardly believe my +eyes when I discovered that a box of cigarettes had been substituted for the +silver casket containing the jewel. I then suspected that Barbara Mackwayte, in +collusion with Nur-el-Din, whom she had visited at the Dyke Inn that evening, +had played this trick on me. But before I escaped from the Mill House I picked +up one of the cigarettes which fell from the box when I broke the seals. Ah! +There you made a slip, Desmond. When I looked at the cigarette I found it was a +‘Dionysus’—your own particular brand—why, I have smoked +dozens of them with you in France. The sight of the familiar name reminded me +of you and then I remembered your unexpected visit to me at the Nineveh when I +was packing up to go away on leave the evening you were going back to France. I +remembered that I had put the package with the jewel on my table for a moment +when I was changing my tunic. Your appearance drove it out of my head for the +time, and you utilized the chance to substitute a similar package for mine. It +was clever, Desmond, ’pon my word it was a stroke of genius, a master +coup which in my country would have placed you at the very top of the tree in +the Great General Staff!” +</p> + +<p> +Desmond listened to this story in amazement. He did not attempt to speculate on +the different course events would have taken had he but known that the +mysterious jewel which had cost old Mackwayte his life, had been in his, +Desmond’s, possession from the very day on which he had assumed the guise +and habiliments of Mr. Bellward. He was racking his brains to think what he had +done with the box of cigarettes he had purchased at the Dionysus shop on the +afternoon of the day he had taken the leave train back to France. +</p> + +<p> +He remembered perfectly buying the cigarettes for the journey. But he +didn’t have them on the journey; for the captain of the leave boat had +given him some cigars as Desmond had nothing to smoke. And then with a flash he +remembered. He had packed the cigarettes in his kit—his kit which had +gone over to France in the hold of the leave boat? And to think that there was +a £100,000 jewel in charge of the M.L.O. at a French port! +</p> + +<p> +The idea tickled Desmond’s sense of humor and he smiled. +</p> + +<p> +“Come,” cried Strangwise, “you’ve heard my terms. This +jewel, this Star of Poland, it is nothing to you or your Government. You +restore it to me and I won’t even ask you for a safe conduct back to +Germany. I’ll just slide out and it will be as if I had never been to +England at all. As for my organization, you, Desmond Okewood, have blown it +sky-high!” +</p> + +<p> +He stretched out his hand to Desmond as though he expected the other to produce +the gem from his pocket. But Desmond rose to his feet and struck the hand +contemptuously on one side. The smile had vanished from his face. +</p> + +<p> +“Are you sure that is all you have to say to me?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +Strangwise had stood up as well. +</p> + +<p> +“Why, yes!” he said, “I think so!” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, then,” said Desmond firmly, “just listen to me for a +moment! Here’s my answer. You’ve lost the jewel for good and all, +and you will never get it back. Your offer to betray your accomplices to me in +exchange for the Star of Poland is an empty one; for your accomplices will be +arrested with you. And lastly I give you my word that I shall make it my +personal duty to see that you are not shot by clean-handed British soldiers, +but strung up by the neck by the common hangman—as the murderer that you +are!” +</p> + +<p> +Strangwise’s face underwent an extraordinary change. His suavity +vanished, his easy smile disappeared and he looked balefully across the table +as the other fearlessly confronted him. +</p> + +<p> +“If you are a German, as you seem to be,” Desmond went on, +“then I tell you I shall never have guessed it until this interview +between us. But a man who can murder a defenceless old man and torture a young +girl and then propose to sell his pals to a British officer at the price of +that officer’s honor can only be a Hun! And you seem to be a pretty fine +specimen of your race!” +</p> + +<p> +Strangwise mastered his rising passion by an obvious effort; but his face was +evil as he spoke. +</p> + +<p> +“I put that Malplaquet woman off by appealing to her avarice,” he +said, “I’ve promised her and Bellward a thousand pounds apiece as +their share of my reward for recovering the jewel. I only have to say the word, +Okewood, and your number’s up! And you may as well know that Bellward +will try his hand on you before he kills you. If that girl had known where the +Star of Poland was, Bellward would have had it out of her! Three times a day +he’s put her into the hypnotic sleep. I warn you, you won’t like +the interrogatory!” +</p> + +<p> +The door flew open and Bellward came in. He went eagerly to Strangwise. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, have you got it!” he demanded. +</p> + +<p> +“Have you anything further to say, Desmond?” asked Strangwise. +“Perhaps you would care to reconsider your decisions?” +</p> + +<p> +Desmond shook his head. +</p> + +<p> +“You’ve had my answer!” he said doggedly. +</p> + +<p> +“Then, my friend,” said Strangwise to Bellward, “after dinner +you shall try your hand on this obstinate fool. But first we’ll take him +upstairs.” +</p> + +<p> +He was close beside Desmond and as he finished speaking he suddenly caught him +by the throat and forced him back into the chair to which Barbara had been +tethered. To struggle was useless, and Desmond suffered them to bind his arms +and feet to the arms and legs of the chair. Then the two men picked him up, +chair and all, and bore him from the room upstairs to the third floor. There +they carried him into a dark room where they left him, turning the key in the +lock as they went away. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap29"></a>CHAPTER XXIX.<br/> +DOT AND DASH</h2> + +<p> +For a long time after the retreating footsteps of Strangwise and Bellward had +died away, Desmond sat listless, preoccupied with his thoughts. They were +somber enough. The sinister atmosphere of the house, weighing upon him, seemed +to deepen his depression. +</p> + +<p> +About his own position he was not concerned at all. This is not an example of +unselfishness it is simply an instance of the force of discipline which trains +a man to reckon the cause as everything and himself as naught. And Desmond was +haunted by the awful conviction that he had at length reached the end of his +tether and that nothing could now redeem the ignominious failure he had made of +his mission. +</p> + +<p> +He had sacrificed Barbara Mackwayte; he had sacrificed Nur-el-Din; he had not +even been clever enough to save his own skin. And Strangwise, spy and murderer, +had escaped and was now free to reorganize his band after he had put Barbara +and Desmond out of the way. +</p> + +<p> +The thought was so unbearable that it stung Desmond into action. Strangwise +should not get the better of him, he resolved, and he had yet this brief +interval of being alone in which he might devise some scheme to rescue Barbara +and secure the arrest of Strangwise and his accomplices. But how? +</p> + +<p> +He raised his head and looked round the room. The curtains had not been drawn +and enough light came into the room from the outside to enable him to +distinguish the outlines of the furniture. It was a bedroom, furnished in +rather a massive style, with some kind of thick, soft carpet into which the +feet sank. +</p> + +<p> +Desmond tested his bonds. He was very skillfully tied up. He fancied that with +a little manipulation he might contrive to loosen the rope round his right arm, +for one of the knots had caught in the folds of his coat. The thongs round his +left arm and two legs were, however, so tight that he thought he had but little +chance of ridding himself of them, even should he get his right arm free; for +the knots were tied at the back under the seat of the chair in such a way that +he could not reach them. +</p> + +<p> +He, therefore, resigned himself to conducting operations in the highly +ridiculous posture in which he found himself, that is to say, with a large +arm-chair attached to him, rather like a snail with its house on its back. +After a certain amount of maneuvering he discovered that, by means of a kind of +slow, lumbering crawl, he was able to move across the ground. It might have +proved a noisy business on a parquet floor; but Desmond moved only a foot or +two at a time and the pile carpet deadened the sound. +</p> + +<p> +They had deposited him in his chair in the centre of the room near the big +brass bedstead. After ten minutes’ painful crawling he had reached the +toilet table which stood in front of the window with a couple of electric +candles on either side of the mirror. He moved the toilet table to one side, +then bumped steadily across the carpet until he had reached the window. And +then he gave a little gasp of surprise. +</p> + +<p> +He found himself looking straight at the window of his own bedroom at Mrs. +Viljohn-Smythe’s. There was no mistaking it. The electric light was +burning and the curtains had not yet been drawn. He could see the black and +pink eiderdown on his bed and the black lining of the chintz curtains. Then he +remembered the slope of the hill. He must be in the room from which he had seen +Bellward looking out. +</p> + +<p> +The sight of the natty bedroom across the way moved Desmond strangely. It +seemed to bring home to him for the first time the extraordinary position in +which he found himself, a prisoner in a perfectly respectable suburban house in +a perfectly respectable quarter of London, in imminent danger of a violent +death. +</p> + +<p> +He wouldn’t give in without a struggle. Safety stared him in the face, +separated only by a hundred yards of grass and shrub and wall. He instinctively +gripped the arms of the chair to raise himself to get a better view from the +window, forgetting he was bound. The ropes cut his arms cruelly and brought him +back to earth. +</p> + +<p> +He tested again the thongs fastening his right arm. Yes! they were undoubtedly +looser than the others. He pulled and tugged and writhed and strained. Once in +his struggles he crashed into the toilet table and all but upset one of the +electric candles which slid to the table’s very brink and was saved, as +by a miracle, from falling to the floor. He resumed his efforts, but with less +violence. It was in vain. Though the ropes about his right arm were fairly +loose, the wrist was solidly fastened to the chair, and do what he would, he +could not wrest it free. He clawed desperately with his fingers and thumb, but +all in vain. +</p> + +<p> +In the midst of his struggles he was arrested by the sound of whistling. +Somebody in the distance outside was whistling, clearly and musically, a +quaint, jingling sort of jig that struck familiarly on Desmond’s ear. +Somehow it reminded him of the front. It brought with it dim memory of the +awakening to the early morning chill of a Nissen hut, the smell of damp earth, +the whirr of aircraft soaring through the morning sky, the squeak of flutes, +the roll of drums... why, it was the Grand Reveillé, that ancient military air +which every soldier knows. +</p> + +<p> +He stopped struggling and peered cautiously out into the dusk. The time for +darkening the windows must be at hand, he thought, for in most of the houses +the blinds were already drawn. Here and there, however, an oblong of yellow +light showed up against the dark mass of the houses on the upper slopes of the +hill. The curtains of his bedroom at Mrs. Viljohn-Smythe’s were not yet +drawn and the light still burned brightly above the bed. +</p> + +<p> +The whistling continued with occasional interruptions as though the whistler +were about some work or other. And then suddenly “Buzzer” Barling, +holding something in one hand and rubbing violently with the other, stepped +into the patch of light between the window and the bed in Desmond’s +bedroom. +</p> + +<p> +Desmond’s heart leaped within him. Here was assistance close at hand. +Mechanically he sought to raise his hand to open the window, but an agonising +twinge reminded him of his thongs. He swiftly reviewed in his mind the means of +attracting the attention of the soldier opposite. Whatever he was going to do, +he must do quickly; for the fact that people were beginning to darken their +windows showed that it must be close on half-past six, and about seven +o’clock, Barling, after putting out Desmond’s things, was +accustomed to go out for the evening. +</p> + +<p> +Should he shout? Should he try and break the window? Desmond rejected both +these suggestions. While it was doubtful whether Barling would hear the noise +or, if he heard it, connect it with Desmond, it was certain that Strangwise and +Bellward would do both and be upon Desmond without a moment’s delay. +</p> + +<p> +Then Desmond’s eye fell upon the electric candle which had slid to the +very edge of the table. It was mounted in a heavy brass candle-stick and the +switch was in the pedestal, jutting out over the edge of the table in the +position in which the candle now stood. The candle was clear of the mirror and +there was nothing between it and the window. Desmond’s brain took all +this in at a glance. That glance showed him that Providence was being good to +him. +</p> + +<p> +A couple of jerks of the chair brought him alongside the table. Its edge was +practically level with the arms of the chair so that, by getting into the right +position, he was able to manipulate the switch with his fingers. And then, +thanking God and the Army Council for the recent signalling course he had +attended, he depressed the switch with a quick, snapping movement and jerked it +up again, sending out the dots and dashes of the Morse code. +</p> + +<p> +“B-A-R-L-I-N-G” he spelt out, slowly and laboriously, it is true; +for he was not an expert. +</p> + +<p> +As he worked the switch, he looked across at the illuminated window of the room +in which Barling stood, with bent head, earnestly engaged upon his polishing. +</p> + +<p> +“B-a-r-l-i-n-g-ack-ack-ack-B-a-r-l-i-n-g-ack-ack-ack” +</p> + +<p> +The light flickered up and down in long and short flashes. Still +“Buzzer” Barling trilled away at the “Grand Reveillé” +nor raised his eyes from his work. +</p> + +<p> +Desmond varied the call: +</p> + +<p> +“O-K-E-W-O-O-D T-O B-A-R-L-I-N-G” he flashed. +</p> + +<p> +He repeated the call twice and was spelling it out for the third time when +Desmond saw the “Buzzer” raise his head. +</p> + +<p> +The whistling broke off short. +</p> + +<p> +“O-k-e-w-o-o-d t-o B-a-r-l-i-n-g” flickered the light. +</p> + +<p> +The next moment the bedroom opposite was plunged in darkness. Immediately +afterwards the light began to flash with bewildering rapidity. But Desmond +recognized the call. +</p> + +<p> +“I am ready to take your message,” it said. +</p> + +<p> +“S-t-r-a-n-g-w-i-s-e h-a-s g-o-t m-e ack-ack-ack,” Desmond flashed +back, “f-e-t-c-h h-e-l-p a-t o-n-c-e ack-ack-ack: d-o-n-t r-e-p-l-y; +ack-ack-ack; s-e-n-d o-n-e d-o-t o-n-e d-a-s-h t-o s-h-o-w y-o-u +u-n-d-e-r-s-t-a-n-d ack-ack-ack!” +</p> + +<p> +For he was afraid lest the light flashing from the house opposite might attract +the attention of the men downstairs. +</p> + +<p> +He was very slow and he made many mistakes, so that it was with bated breath +that, after sending his message, he watched the window opposite for the reply. +</p> + +<p> +It came quickly. A short flash and a long one followed at once. After that the +room remained in darkness. With a sigh of relief Desmond, as quietly as +possible, manoeuvred the dressing-table back into place and then jerked the +chair across the carpet to the position where Strangwise and Bellward had left +him in the middle of the floor: +</p> + +<p> +It was here that the two men found him, apparently asleep, when they came up +half-an-hour later. They carried him down to the red lacquer room again. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, Desmond!” said Strangwise, when their burden had been +deposited on the floor under the crimson lamp. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, Maurice?” answered the other. +</p> + +<p> +Strangwise noticed that Desmond had addressed him by his Christian name for the +first time since he had been in the house and his voice was more friendly when +he spoke again. +</p> + +<p> +“I see you’re going to be sensible, old man,” he said. +“Believe me, it’s the only thing for you to do. You’re going +to give up the Star of Poland, aren’t you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, no, Maurice, I’m not,” replied Desmond in a frank, even +voice. “I’ve told you what I’m going to do. I’m going +to hand you over to the people at Pentonville to hang as a murderer. And I +shouldn’t be at all surprised if they didn’t run up old Bellward +there alongside of you!” +</p> + +<p> +Strangwise shook his head at him. +</p> + +<p> +“You are very ill-advised to reject my offer, Desmond,” he said, +“for it simply means that I can do nothing more for you. Our friend +Bellward now assumes the direction of affairs. I don’t think you can +realize what you are letting yourself in for. You appear to have been dabbling +in Intelligence work. Perhaps it would interest you to hear something about +this, our latest German method for extracting accurate information from +reluctant or untruthful witnesses. Bellward, perhaps you would enlighten +him.” +</p> + +<p> +Bellward smiled grimly. +</p> + +<p> +“It is a blend,” he explained glibly, “of that extreme form +of cross-examination which the Americans call ‘the third degree’ +and hypnotic treatment. Many people, as you are doubtless aware, are less +responsive to hypnotic influence than others. An intensified course of the +third degree and lack of sleep renders such refractory natures extraordinarily +susceptible to mesmeric treatment. It prepares the ground as it were!” +</p> + +<p> +Bellward coughed and looked at Desmond over his tortoise-shell spectacles which +he had put on again. +</p> + +<p> +“The method has had its best results when practised on women,” he +resumed. “Our people in Holland have found it very successful in the case +of female spies who come across the Belgian frontier. But some women—Miss +Barbara, for example—seem to have greater powers of resistance than +others. We had to employ a rather drastic form of the third degree for her, +didn’t we, Strangwise?” +</p> + +<p> +He laughed waggishly. +</p> + +<p> +“And you’ll be none too easy either,” he added. +</p> + +<p> +“You beasts,” cried Desmond, “but just you wait, your turn +will come!” +</p> + +<p> +“Yours first, however,” chuckled Bellward. “I rather fancy +you <i>will</i> think us beasts by the time we have done with you, my young +friend!” +</p> + +<p> +Then he turned to Strangwise. +</p> + +<p> +“Where’s Minna?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +“With the girl.” +</p> + +<p> +“Is the girl sleeping?” +</p> + +<p> +Strangwise nodded. +</p> + +<p> +“She wanted it,” he replied, “no sleep for four days... I +tell you it takes some constitution to hold out against that!” +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” said Bellward, rubbing the palms of his hands together, +“as we’re not likely to be disturbed, I think we’ll make a +start!” +</p> + +<p> +He advanced a pace to where Desmond sat trussed up, hand and foot, in his +chair. Bellward’s eyes were large and luminous, and as Desmond glanced +rather nervously at the face of the man approaching him, he was struck by the +compelling power they seemed to emit. +</p> + +<p> +Desmond bent his head to avoid the insistent gaze. But in a couple of quick +strides Bellward was at his side and stooping down, had thrust his face right +into his victim’s. Bellward’s face was so close that Desmond felt +his warm breath on his cheek whilst those burning eyes seemed to stab through +his closed eyelids and steadily, stealthily, draw his gaze. +</p> + +<p> +Resolutely Desmond held his head, averted. All kinds of queer ideas were racing +through his brain, fragments of nursery rhymes, scenes from his regimental life +in India, memories of the front, which he had deliberately summoned up to keep +his attention distracted from those merciless eyes, like twin search-lights +pitilessly playing on his face. +</p> + +<p> +Bellward could easily have taken Desmond by the chin and forced his face up +until his eyes came level with the other’s. But he offered no violence of +any kind. He remained in his stooping position, his face thrust forward, so +perfectly still that Desmond began to be tormented by a desire to risk a rapid +peep just to see what the mesmerist was doing. +</p> + +<p> +He put the temptation aside. He must keep his eyes shut, he told himself. But +the desire increased, intensified by the strong attraction radiating from +Bellward, and finally Desmond succumbed. He opened his eyes to dart a quick +glance at Bellward and found the other’s staring eyes, with pupils +distended, fixed on his. And Desmond felt his resistance ebb. He tried to avert +his gaze; but it was too late. That basilisk glare held him fast. +</p> + +<p> +With every faculty of his mind he fought against the influence which was +slowly, irresistibly, shackling his brain. He laughed, he shouted defiance at +Bellward and Strangwise, he sang snatches of songs. But Bellward never moved a +muscle. He seemed to be in a kind of cataleptic trance, so rigid his body, so +unswerving his stare. +</p> + +<p> +The lights in the room seemed to be growing dim. Bellward’s eyeballs +gleamed redly in the dull crimson light flooding the room. Desmond felt himself +longing for some violent shock that would disturb the hideous stillness of the +house. His own voice was sounding dull and blunted in his ears. What was the +use of struggling further? He might as well give up... +</p> + +<p> +A loud crash, the sound of a door slamming, reechoed through the house. The +room shook. The noise brought Desmond back to his senses and at the same time +the chain binding him to Bellward snapped. For Bellward started and raised his +head and Strangwise sprang to the door. Then Desmond heard the door burst open, +there was the deafening report of a pistol, followed by another, and Bellward +crashed forward on his knees with a sobbing grunt. As Desmond had his back to +the door he could see nothing of what was taking place, but some kind of +violent struggle was going on; for he heard the smash of glass as a piece of +furniture was upset. +</p> + +<p> +Then suddenly the room seemed full of people. The thongs binding his hands and +feet fell to the ground. “Buzzer” Barling stood at his side. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap30"></a>CHAPTER XXX.<br/> +HOHENLINDEN TRENCH</h2> + +<p> +A man broke quickly away from the throng of people pressing into the room. It +was Francis. The Chief and Mr. Marigold were close at his heels. +</p> + +<p> +“Des,” cried Francis, “ah! thank God! you are all +right!” +</p> + +<p> +Desmond looked in a dazed fashion from one to the other. The rapid transition +from the hush of the room to the scene of confusion going on around him had +left him bewildered. His glance traveled from the faces of the men gathered +round his chair to the floor. The sight of Bellward, very still, hunched up +with his face immersed in the thick black carpet, seemed to recall something to +his mind. +</p> + +<p> +“Barbara!” he murmured in a strained voice. +</p> + +<p> +“She’s all right!” replied his brother, “we found her +on the bed in a room on the floor below sleeping the sleep of the just. The +woman’s vanished, though. I’m afraid she got away! But who’s +this?” +</p> + +<p> +He pointed to “Buzzer” Barling who stood stiffly at attention +beside Desmond’s chair. +</p> + +<p> +“Ay, who are you, young fellow” repeated Mr. Marigold coming up +close to the soldier. “Ask him!” said Desmond, raising his arm, +“he knows!” +</p> + +<p> +The group around the door had broken up. Strangwise, his wrists handcuffed +together, his hair dishevelled and his collar torn, stood there between two +plain clothes men. And at him Desmond pointed. +</p> + +<p> +Strangwise was staring at the straight, square figure of the gunner, awkwardly +attired in one of Desmond’s old suits. Berling’s frank, honest eyes +returned the other’s gaze unflinchingly. But Strangwise was obviously +taken aback, though only for the moment. The flush that mounted to his cheek +quickly died down, leaving him as cool and impassive as ever. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you know this man!” the Chief, asked sternly, addressing +Strangwise. +</p> + +<p> +“Certainly,” retorted Strangwise, “it’s Gunner Barling, +one of the Brigade signallers!” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Marigold gave a keen glance at the soldier. +</p> + +<p> +“So you’re Barling, eh?” he muttered as though talking to +himself, “ah! this is getting interesting!” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said Desmond, “this is Gunner Barling. Have a good +look at him, Strangwise. It is he who summoned these gentlemen to my +assistance. It is he who’s going to tell them who and what you +are!” +</p> + +<p> +Turning to the Chief he added with a touch of formality: “May Gunner +Barling tell his story, sir?” +</p> + +<p> +“By all means,” replied the Chief. “I am all attention. But +first let this fellow be removed.” +</p> + +<p> +And beckoning to two of his men; he pointed to the body of Bellward. +</p> + +<p> +“Is he dead” asked Desmond. +</p> + +<p> +The Chief shook his head. +</p> + +<p> +“He drew a bead on one of my men as we came in,” he answered, +“and got a bullet through the chest for his pains. We’ll have to +cure him of this gunshot wound so as to get him ready to receive +another!” +</p> + +<p> +He laughed a grim dry laugh at his little joke. +</p> + +<p> +“Now, Barling,” said Desmond, when Bellward had been borne away, +“I want you to tell these gentlemen the story of the raid on the +Hohenlinden trench.” +</p> + +<p> +Barling glanced rather self-consciously about him. But the look of intense, +almost nervous watchfulness on the face of Maurice Strangwise seemed to +reassure him. And when he spoke, he spoke straight at Strangwise. +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” he said, “Major Okewood here, what I used to know +along of my brother being his servant, says as how you gentlemen’ll make +it all right about my stoppin’ absent if I tells you what I know about +this orficer. Tell it I will and gladly; for it was all along of him that I +spoiled a clean sheet of eighteen years’ service, gentlemen. +</p> + +<p> +“When we was down Arras way a few months ago the infantry was +a-goin’ to do a raid, see? And the Captain here was sent along of the +infantry party to jine up a line back to the ’tillery brigade +headquarters. Well, he took me and another chap, name o’ +Macdonald—Bombardier he was—along with him as signallers. +</p> + +<p> +“This was a daylight raid, d’ye see, gentlemen? Our chaps went over +at four o’clock in the afternoon. They was to enter a sort o’ bulge +in the German front line wot they called Hohenlinden Trench, bomb the Gers. out +o’ that, push on to the support line and clear out that and then come +back. The rocket to fetch ’em home was to go up forty minutes after they +started. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, me and Mac—that’s the Bombardier—went over with +th’ officer here just behind the raiding party. O’ course Fritz +knew we was comin’ for it was broad daylight, and that clear you could +see for miles over the flats. First thing we knew Fritz had put down a +roarin’, tearin’ barrage, and we hadn’t gone not twenty yards +before ole Mac. cops one right on the nut; about took his head off, it did. So +me and the captain we goes on alone and drops all nice and comfortable in the +trench, and I starts getting my line jined up. +</p> + +<p> +“It was a longish job but I got the brigade line goin’ at last. Our +chaps had cleared out the front line and was off down the communication +trenches to the support. What with machine-guns rattlin’ and bombs +a-goin’ off down the trench and Fritz’s barrage all over the shop +the row was that awful we had to buzz every single word. +</p> + +<p> +“There was a bit of a house like, a goodish way in front, X farm, they +called it, and presently the Brigade tells the Captain, who was buzzin’ +to them, to register B battery on to the farm. +</p> + +<p> +“‘I can’t see the farm nohow from here,’ sez the +Captain. I could see it as plain as plain, and I pointed it out to him. But no! +he couldn’t see it. +</p> + +<p> +“‘I’ll crawl out of the trench a bit, gunner,’ sez he +to me, ‘you sit tight,’ he sez, ‘I’ll let you know when +to follow!” +</p> + +<p> +“With that he up and out o’ the trench leavin’ me and the +instruments behind all among the dead Gers., and our lads had killed a tidy +few. It was pretty lonely round about w’ere I was; for our chaps had all +gone on and was bombin’ the Gers., like they was a lot o’ rabbits, +up and down the support line. +</p> + +<p> +“I followed the Captain with me eye, gentlemen, and I’m blessed if +he didn’t walk straight across the open and over the support trench. Then +he drops into a bit of a shell-hole and I lost sight of him. Well, I waited and +waited and no sign of th’ orficer. The rocket goes up and our lads begin +to come back with half a dozen Huns runnin’ in front of them with their +hands up. Some of the chaps as they passed me wanted to know if I was +a-goin’ to stay there all night! And the Brigade buzzin’ like mad +to talk to the Captain. +</p> + +<p> +“I sat in that blessed trench till everybody had cleared out. Then, +seeing as how not even the docket had brought th’ orficer back, I sez to +myself as how he must ha’ stopped one. So I gets out of the trench and +starts crawling across the top towards the place where I see the Captain +disappear. As I got near the support line the ground went up a little and then +dropped, so I got a bit of a view on to the ground ahead. And then I sees the +Captain here!” +</p> + +<p> +Buzzer Barling stopped. All had listened to his story with the deepest +interest, especially Strangwise, who never took his eyes off the gunner’s +brown face. Some men are born story-tellers and there was a rugged +picturesqueness about Barling’s simple narrative which conjured up in the +minds of his hearers the picture of the lonely signaller cowering in the +abandoned trench among the freshly slain, waiting for the officer who never +came back. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s not a nice thing to have to say about an orficer,” the +gunner presently continued, “and so help me God, gentlemen, I kep’ +my mouth shut about it until... until...” +</p> + +<p> +He broke off and looked quickly at Desmond. +</p> + +<p> +“Keep that until the end, Barling,” said Desmond, “finish +about the raid now!” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, as I was sayin’, gentlemen, I was up on a bit of hillock +near Fritz’s support line when I sees the Captain here. He was +settin’ all comfortable in a shell-hole, his glasses in his hand, +chattin’ quite friendly like with two of the Gers. orficers, I reckoned +they was, along o’ the silver lace on their collars. One was +wearin’ one o’ them coal-scuttle helmets, t’other a little +flat cap with a shiny peak. And the Captain here was a-pointin’ at our +lines and a-wavin’ his hand about like he was a-tellin’ the two +Fritzes all about it, and the chap in the coal-scuttle hat was a-writin’ +it all down in a book.” +</p> + +<p> +Barling paused. He was rather flushed and his eyes burned brightly in his +weather-beaten face. +</p> + +<p> +“Eighteen year I done in the Royal Regiment,” he went on, and his +voice trembled a little, “and me father a battery sergeant-major before +me, and I never thought to see one of our orficers go over to the enemy. Fritz +was beginnin’ to come back to his front line: I could see their +coal-scuttle hats a-bobbin’ up and down the communication trenches, so I +crawled back the way I come and made a bolt for our lines. +</p> + +<p> +“I meant to go straight to the B.C. post and report wot I seen to the +Major. But I hadn’t the heart to, gentlemen, when I was up against it. It +was an awful charge to bring against an orficer, d’you see? I told myself +I didn’t know but what the Captain hadn’t been taken prisoner and +was makin’ the best of it, w’en I see him, stuffin’ the +Fritzes up with a lot o’ lies. And so I jes’ reported as how +th’ orficer ’ad crawled out of the trench and never come back. And +then this here murder happened...” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Marigold turned to the Chief. +</p> + +<p> +“If you remember, sir,” he said, “I found this man’s +leave paper in the front garden of the Mackwayte’s house at Laleham +Villas, Seven Kings, the day after the murder. There are one or two questions I +should like to put...” +</p> + +<p> +“No need to arsk any questions,” said Barling. “I’ll +tell you the whole story meself, mister. I was on leave at the time, due to go +back to France the next afternoon. I’d been out spending the +evenin’ at my niece’s wot’s married and livin’ out +Seven Kings way. Me and her man wot works on the line kept it up a bit late +what with yarnin’ about the front an’ that and it must a’ +been nigh on three o’clock w’en I left him to walk back to the +Union Jack Club where I had a bed. +</p> + +<p> +“There’s a corfee-stall near their road and the night bein’ +crool damp I thought as how a nice cup o’ corfee’d warm me up afore +I went back to the Waterloo Bridge Road. I had me cup o’ corfee and was +jes’ a-payin’ the chap what has the pitch w’en a fellow +passes by right in the light o’ the lamp on the stall. It was th’ +orficer here, in plain clothes—shabby-like he was dressed—but I +knew him at once. +</p> + +<p> +“‘Our orficers don’t walk about these parts after midnight +dressed like tramps,’ I sez to meself, and rememberin’ what I seen +at the Hohenlinden Trench I follows him...” +</p> + +<p> +“Just a minute!” +</p> + +<p> +The Chief’s voice broke in upon the narrative. +</p> + +<p> +“Didn’t you know, Barling, hadn’t you heard, about Captain +Strangwise’s escape from a German prisoners of war camp?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, sir!” replied the gunner. +</p> + +<p> +“There was a good deal about it in the papers.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve not got much eddication, sir,” said Barling, +“that’s w’y I never took the stripe and I don’t take +much account of the newspapers an’ that’s a fact!” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, go on!” the Chief bade him. +</p> + +<p> +“It was pretty dark in the streets and I follered him along without his +seeing me into the main-road and then down a turnin’...” +</p> + +<p> +“Laleham Villas,” prompted Mr. Marigold. +</p> + +<p> +“I wasn’t payin’ much attention to were he was leadin’ +me,” said Barling, “what I wanted to find out was what he was up +to! Presently he turned in at a gate. I was closer up than I meant to be, and +he swung in so sudden that I had to drop quick and crouch behind the masonry of +the front garden wall. My leave pass must a’ dropped out o’ my +pocket and through the railin’s into the garden. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, the front door must a’ been on the jar for th’ orficer +here just pushes it open and walks in, goin’ very soft like. I +crep’ in the front gate and got as far as the door w’ich was +a-standin’ half open. I could ’ear the stair creakin’ under +’im and I was just wonderin’ whether I should go into the house +w’en I hears a bang and wi’ that someone comes aflyin’ down +the stairs, dodges through the front hall and out at the back. I see him come +scramblin’ over the back gate and was a-goin’ to stop him +thinkin’ it was th’ orficer here w’en I sees it is a tubby +little chap, not big like the Captain. And then it come over me quite +sudden-like that burglary and murder had been done in the house and wot would I +say if a p’liceman come along? So I slipped off and went as hard as I +could go back to the old Union Jack Club. +</p> + +<p> +“The next mornin’ I found I’d lost me leave paper. I was +afraid to go and report it in case it had been picked up, and they’d run +me in for this murder job. That’s how I come to desert, gentlemen, and +spoilt a eighteen years’ conduct sheet without a entry over this +murderin’ spy here!” +</p> + +<p> +Gunner Barling broke off abruptly as though he had committed himself to a +stronger opinion than discipline would allow. It was the Chief who broke the +silence following the termination of the gunner’s story. +</p> + +<p> +“Strangwise,” he said, “hadn’t you better tell us who +you are?” +</p> + +<p> +“He’s an officer of the Prussian Guard,” Desmond said, +“and he was sent over here by the German secret service organization in +the United States to get a commission in the British Army. When a good man was +wanted to recover the Star of Poland for the Crown Prince, the secret service +people in Berlin sent word to Strangwise (who was then serving with the gunners +in France) to get himself captured. The German military authorities duly +reported him a prisoner of war and then let him ‘escape’ as’ +the easiest and least suspicious means of getting him back to London!” +</p> + +<p> +The Chief smiled genially. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s a dashed clever idea,” he observed shrewdly, +“’pon my word, that’s bright! That’s very bright! I +should like to compliment the man who thought of that!” +</p> + +<p> +“Then you may address your compliments to me, Chief,” said +Strangwise. +</p> + +<p> +The Chief turned and looked at him. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve met many of your people in my time, Strangwise,” he +said, “but I don’t know you! Who are you?” +</p> + +<p> +Strangwise laughed. +</p> + +<p> +“Ask Nur-el-Din,” he said, “that is to say, if you +haven’t shot her yet!” +</p> + +<p> +“And if we have?” asked the Chief. +</p> + +<p> +Desmond sprang up. +</p> + +<p> +“It isn’t possible!” he cried. “Why, the woman’s +a victim, not a principal! Chief...” +</p> + +<p> +“What if we have?” asked the Chief again. +</p> + +<p> +A curious change had come over the prisoner. His jaunty air had left him and +there was an apprehensive look in his eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“I would have saved her if I could have,” Strangwise said, +“but she played me false over the jewel. She imperiled the success of my +mission. You English have no idea of discipline. To us Prussian officers an +order stands above everything else. There is nothing we would not sacrifice to +obey our orders. And my order was to recover the Star of Poland for His +Imperial Highness the Crown Prince, Lieutenant Colonel in the Regiment to which +I have the honor to belong, the First Regiment of Prussian Foot Guards. But +Nur-el-Din plotted with our friend here and with that little fool upstairs to +upset my plans, and I had no mercy on her. I planted those documents in her +dress—or rather Bellward did—to draw suspicion away from me. I +thought you English would be too flabby to execute a woman; but I reckoned on +you putting the girl away for some years to come. I would have shot her as I +shot Rass if...” His voice trembled and he was silent. +</p> + +<p> +“If what?” asked the Chief. +</p> + +<p> +“If she hadn’t been my wife,” said Strangwise. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap31"></a>CHAPTER XXXI.<br/> +THE £100,000 KIT</h2> + +<p> +It was a clear, crisp morning with a sparkle of frost on jetty and breakwater. +The English Channel stretched flashing like a living sheet of glass to the +filmy line marking the coast of France, as serene and beautiful in its calm as +it is savage and cruel in its anger. It was high tide; but only a gentle murmur +came from the little waves that idly beat upon the shore in front of the +bungalow. +</p> + +<p> +A girl lay in a deck chair on the verandah, well wrapped up against the eager +air. But the fresh breeze would not be denied and, foiled by the nurse’s +vigilance of its intents against the patient, it revenged itself by blowing +havoc among the soft brown curls which peeped out from under the girl’s +hat. +</p> + +<p> +She turned to the man at her side. +</p> + +<p> +“Look!” she said, and pointed seawards with her finger. +</p> + +<p> +A convoy of vessels was standing out to sea framed in the smoke-blurs of the +escorting destroyers. Ugly, weatherbeaten craft were the steamers with trails +of smoke blown out in the breeze behind them. They rode the sea’s highway +with confidence, putting their trust in the unseen power that swept the road +clear for them. +</p> + +<p> +“Transports, aren’t they?” asked the man. +</p> + +<p> +But he scarcely looked at the transports. He was watching the gleam of the sun +on the girl’s brown hair and contrasting the deep gray of her eyes with +the ever-changing hues of the sea. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” replied the girl. “It’s the third day +they’ve gone across! By this time next week there’ll be ten fresh +divisions in France. How <i>secure</i> they look steaming along! And to think +they owe it all to you!” +</p> + +<p> +The man laughed and flushed up. +</p> + +<p> +“From the strictly professional standpoint the less said about me the +better,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“What nonsense you talk!” cried the girl. “When the Chief was +down to see me yesterday, he spoke of nothing but you. ‘They beat him, +but he won out!’ he said, ‘they shook him off but he went back and +found ’em!’ He told me it was a case of grit versus +violence—and grit won. In all the time I’ve known the Chief, +I’ve never heard him talk so much about one man before. Do you +know,” Barbara went on, looking up at Desmond, “I think +you’ve made the Chief feel a little bit ashamed of himself. And that I +may tell you is a most extraordinary achievement!” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you think you’re strong enough to hear some news?” asked +Desmond after a pause. +</p> + +<p> +“Of course,” replied the girl. “But I think I can guess it. +It’s about Strangwise, isn’t it?” +</p> + +<p> +Desmond nodded. +</p> + +<p> +“He was shot yesterday morning,” he replied. “I’m glad +they did it in France. I was terrified lest they should want me to go to +it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why?” asked the girl with a suspicion of indignation in her voice, +“he deserved no mercy.” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” replied Desmond slowly, “he was a bad fellow—a +Prussian through and through. He murdered your poor father, he shot Rass, he +instigated the killing of the maid, Marie, he was prepared to sacrifice his own +wife even, to this Prussian God of militarism which takes the very soul out of +a man’s body and puts it into the hands of his superior officer. And yet, +and yet, when one has soldiered with a man, Barbara, and roughed it with him +and been shelled and shot at with him, there seems to be a bond of sympathy +between you and him for ever after. And he was a brave man, Barbara, cruel and +unscrupulous, I admit, but there was no fear in him, and I can’t help +admiring courage. I seem to think of him as two men—the man I soldiered +with and the heartless brute who watched while that beast Bellward...” +</p> + +<p> +He broke off as a spasm of pain crossed the girl’s face. “I shall +remember the one and forget the other,” he concluded simply. +</p> + +<p> +“Tell me,” said the girl suddenly, “who <i>was</i> +Strangwise?” +</p> + +<p> +“After he was arrested and just before they were going to take him +off,” Desmond said, “he asked to be allowed to say a word privately +to the Chief. We were all sent away and he told the Chief his real name. He +thought he was going to be hanged, you see, and while he never shrank from any +crime in the fulfilment of his mission, he was terrified of a shameful death. +He begged the Chief to see that his real name was not revealed for the disgrace +that his execution would bring upon his family. Curiously Prussian attitude of +mind, isn’t it?” +</p> + +<p> +“And what did the Chief say?” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know; but he was mighty short with him, I expect.” +</p> + +<p> +“And what was Strangwise’s real name?” +</p> + +<p> +“When he told us that Nur-el-Din was his wife, I knew at once who he was. +His name is Hans von Schornbeek. He was in the Prussian Foot Guards, was turned +out for some reason or other and went to America where, after a pretty rough +time, he was taken on by the German secret service organization. He was working +for them when he met Nur-el-Din. They were married out there and, realizing the +possibilities of using her as a decoy in the secret service, he sent her to +Brussels where the Huns were very busy getting ready for war. He treated her +abominably; but the girl was fond of him in her way and even when she was in +fear of her life from this man she never revealed to me the fact that he was +Hans von Schornbeek and her husband.” +</p> + +<p> +Barbara sat musing for a while, her eyes on the restless sea. +</p> + +<p> +“How strange it is,” she said, “to think that they are all +dispersed now... and the transports are sailing securely to France. Two were +killed at the Mill House, Behrend committed suicide in prison, Bellward died in +hospital, Mrs. Malplaquet has disappeared, and now Strangwise has gone. There +only remains...” +</p> + +<p> +She cast a quick glance at Desmond but he was gazing seaward at the smoke of +the transports smudging the horizon. +</p> + +<p> +“What are they going to do with Nur-el-Din?” she asked rather +abruptly. +</p> + +<p> +“Didn’t the Chief tell you?” said Desmond. +</p> + +<p> +“He only asked me what I had to say in the matter as I had had to suffer +at her hands. But I told him I left the matter entirely to him. I said I took +your point of view that Nur-el-Din was the victim of her husband...” +</p> + +<p> +“That was generous of you, Barbara,” Desmond said gently. +</p> + +<p> +She sighed. +</p> + +<p> +“Daddy knew her as a little girl,” she answered, “and he was +so pleased to see her again that night. She never had a chance. I hope +she’ll get one now!” +</p> + +<p> +“They’re going to intern her, I believe,” said Desmond, +“until the end of the war; they could do nothing else, you know. But she +will be well looked after, and I think she will be safer in our charge than if +she were allowed to remain at liberty. The German Secret Service has had a bad +knock, you know. Somebody has got to pay for it!” +</p> + +<p> +“I know,” the girl whispered, “and it frightens me.” +</p> + +<p> +“You poor child!” said Desmond, “you’ve had a rough +time. But it’s all over now. And that reminds me, Barney is coming up for +sentence to-day; they charged him with murder originally; but Marigold kept on +getting him remanded until they were able to alter the charge to one of +burglary. He’ll probably get two years’ hard labor, Marigold +says.” +</p> + +<p> +“Poor Barney!” said Barbara, “I wish they would let him go +free. All these weeks the mystery of poor Daddy’s death has so weighed +upon my mind that now it has been cleared up I feel as though one day I might +be happy again. And I want everybody to be happy, too!” +</p> + +<p> +“Barbara,” said Desmond and took her hand. +</p> + +<p> +Barbara calmly withdrew it from his grasp and brushed an imaginary curl out of +her eye. +</p> + +<p> +“Any news of your hundred thousand pound kit?” she asked, by way of +turning the conversation. +</p> + +<p> +“By Jove,” said Desmond, “there was a letter from Cox’s +at the club this morning but I was so rushed to catch my train that I shoved it +in my pocket and forgot all about it. I wrote and asked them weeks ago to get +my kit back from France. Here we are!” +</p> + +<p> +He pulled a letter out of his pocket, slit open the envelope and took out a +printed form. Barbara, propping herself up with one hand on his shoulder, +leaned over him to read the communication. This is what she read. +</p> + +<p> +“We are advised,” the form ran, “that a Wolseley valise +forwarded to you on the 16th inst. from France has been lost by enemy action. +We are enclosing a compensation form which...” +</p> + +<p> +But neither troubled to read further. +</p> + +<p> +“Gone to the bottom, by Jove!” cried Desmond. “But +isn’t it strange,” he went on, “to think of the Star of +Poland lying out there on the bed of the Channel? Well, I’m not so sure +that it isn’t the best place for it. It won’t create any further +trouble in this world at least!” +</p> + +<p> +“Poor Nur-el-Din!” sighed the girl. +</p> + +<p> +They sat awhile in silence together and watched the gulls circling unceasingly +above the receding tide. +</p> + +<p> +“You’re leaving here to-morrow then?” said Desmond presently. +</p> + +<p> +Barbara nodded +</p> + +<p> +“And going back to your work with the Chief?” +</p> + +<p> +Barbara nodded again. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s not good enough,” cried Desmond. “This is no job +for a girl like you, Barbara. The strain is too much; the risks are too great. +Besides, there’s something I wanted to say...” +</p> + +<p> +Barbara stopped him. +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t say it!” she bade him. +</p> + +<p> +“But you don’t know what I was going to say!” he protested. +</p> + +<p> +Barbara smiled a little happy smile. +</p> + +<p> +“Barbara...” Desmond began. +</p> + +<p> +Her hand still rested on his shoulder and he put his hand over hers. For a +brief moment she let him have his way. +</p> + +<p> +Then she withdrew her hand. +</p> + +<p> +“Desmond,” she said, looking at him with kindly eyes, “we +both have work to do...” +</p> + +<p> +“We have,” replied the man somberly, “and mine’s at the +front!” +</p> + +<p> +The girl shook her head. +</p> + +<p> +“No!” she said. “Henceforward it’s where the Chief +sends you!” +</p> + +<p> +Desmond set his jaw obstinately. +</p> + +<p> +“I may have been a Secret Service agent by accident,” he answered, +“but I’m a soldier by trade. My place is in the +fighting-line!” +</p> + +<p> +“The Secret Service has its fighting-line, too,” Barbara replied, +“though the war correspondents don’t write about it. It never gets +a mention in despatches, and Victoria Crosses don’t come its way. The +newspapers don’t publish its casualty list, though you and I know that +it’s a long one. A man slips quietly away and never comes back, and after +a certain lapse of time we just mark him off the books and there’s an end +of it. But it’s a great service; and you’ve made your mark in it. +The Chief wants men like you. You’ll have to stay!” +</p> + +<p> +Desmond was about to speak; but the girl stopped him. “What do you and I +matter,” she asked, “when the whole future of England is at stake! +If you are to give of your best to this silent game of ours, you must be free +with no responsibilities and no ties, with nothing that will ever make you +hesitate to take a supreme risk. And I never met a man that dared more freely +than you!” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, please...” said Desmond and got up. +</p> + +<p> +He stood gazing seawards for a while. +</p> + +<p> +Then he glanced at his watch. +</p> + +<p> +“I must be going back to London,” he said. “I have to see the +Chief at four this afternoon. And you know why!” +</p> + +<p> +The girl nodded. +</p> + +<p> +“What will you tell him?” she asked. “Will you accept his +offer to remain on in the Secret Service?” +</p> + +<p> +Desmond looked at her ruefully. +</p> + +<p> +“You’re so eloquent about it,” he said slowly, “that I +think I must!” +</p> + +<p> +Smiling, she gave him her hand. Desmond held it for an instant in his. +</p> + +<p> +Then, without another word, he turned and strode off towards the winding white +road that led to the station. +</p> + +<p> +Barbara watched him until a turn in the road hid him from her sight. Then she +pulled out her handkerchief. +</p> + +<p> +“Good Heavens, girl!” she said to herself, “I believe +you’re crying!” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK OKEWOOD OF THE SECRET SERVICE ***</div> +<div style='text-align:left'> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will +be renamed. +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, +so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United +States without permission and without paying copyright +royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part +of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project +Gutenberg™ electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG™ +concept and trademark. 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