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+*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 77001 ***
+
+
+
+
+
+ Moon of Madness
+
+ By SAX ROHMER
+
+
+
+
+ GARDEN CITY, NEW YORK
+ DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY
+ 1927
+
+
+
+
+ [COPYRIGHT]
+
+ COPYRIGHT, 1927, BY DOUBLEDAY, PAGE &
+ COMPANY. COPYRIGHT, 1926, 1927, BY LIBERTY
+ WEEKLY, INC. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.
+
+ FIRST EDITION
+
+
+
+
+ CONTENTS
+
+ I. The German Liner
+ II. Rescue
+ III. The Man from the River Plate
+ IV. At the Casino
+ V. “In Five Minutes”
+ VI. The Bungalow in the Hills
+ VII. A Short Note
+ VIII. The Call
+ IX. Moon of Madness
+ X. The “Arundel Castle” Sails
+ XI. The Photographs
+ XII. The Motor Cruiser
+ XIII. The Grass Orphan
+ XIV. The Portfolio
+ XV. Terms with the Enemy
+ XVI. The House on the Cliff
+ XVII. Nanette Is Confidential
+ XVIII. Suspects
+ XIX. Dr. Zimmermann Calls
+ XX. Fog in the Channel
+ XXI. A Missing Picture
+ XXII. Portrait of a Girl Diving
+ XXIII. Fiasco
+ XXIV. Peter Pan
+ XXV. The Second Message
+ XXVI. The Cryptogram
+ XXVII. The Comrades Gather
+ XXVIII. The Raid
+ XXIX. Adolf Zara
+ XXX. Memories Can Save
+ XXXI. Hiatus
+ XXXII. The Heart of Nanette
+
+
+
+
+ MOON OF MADNESS
+
+ CHAPTER I.
+ THE GERMAN LINER
+
+“I should _love_ a long glass of iced German lager,” said Nanette.
+“Besides, I refuse to be deserted for a whole morning.”
+
+Her Japanese parasol lay along the rail of the veranda, her round bare
+elbows rested upon it and she cuddled her obstinate little chin in
+upturned palms. I turned to her with a glance in which I had meant to
+convey rebuke. But the blue eyes danced with mischief and pouting lips
+smiled impudently, a smile half childish and half elfin.
+
+“Young ladies of eighteen do not drink beer,” I answered paternally.
+“It isn’t done.”
+
+Jack Kelton came out as I spoke, saw Nanette, and flushed like a girl.
+When I say “like a girl” I mean like a girl of Victorian literature.
+To-day one should say “like a boy.” I never saw Nanette blush during
+all the time I knew her. I saw her grow deathly pale; but this was
+later.
+
+Jack was good to see in the Madeira sunlight; one of those lean-limbed
+young Oxonians who strip so well and who always look amazingly clean.
+Nanette turned a slim shoulder in his direction, and stared out
+pensively across the bay. I thought that she had the most perfect arms
+imaginable. So did Nanette.
+
+“I want to go out with you two and Mr. Ensleigh to that ship,” she
+said, peering aside at the enraptured Jack. “Please ask Mumsy. She
+likes you--and I love beer.”
+
+Jack and I exchanged glances. We both looked at Nanette; and then
+beyond to where the subject of controversy lay anchored--a big German
+out of Bremen, in from the River Plate.
+
+“I _have_ asked her,” Jack declared. “She’s adamant.”
+
+“So have I,” came a cheery voice--and Ensleigh joined the party. “She
+says that Mr. Kirby is coming to lunch.”
+
+“But I _loathe_ Mr. Kirby!” cried Nanette, turning upon the speaker
+scornfully. “He’s one of the reasons why I want to go!”
+
+“Is that so, Nan?”
+
+From a long, awning-covered chair near the corner of the veranda
+Nanette’s mother arose--a gracefully pretty woman who solved the
+mystery of Nanette’s beauty for those who had met only her father.
+
+“Mumsy! Have you been sitting there all the time?”
+
+“All the time, dear--and I have heard every word! So don’t attempt to
+take one back!”
+
+Ensleigh, the well-groomed, became all attention. He became attentive
+from the crown of his perfectly brushed hair to the soles of his
+spruce white shoes. He placed a chair for Nanette’s pretty mother. He
+focussed his Zeiss glasses to enable her to view the German liner. She
+thanked him with a smile that was very like Nanette’s.
+
+“So you loathe poor Mr. Kirby?” she murmured, raising the glasses.
+
+“Hate him poisonously!”
+
+“And you love beer?”
+
+“Simply worship it, Mum! Lager is my vice!”
+
+Her mother lowered the glasses and fought with rising laughter, for
+Nanette was looking straight at her. Then:
+
+“You little devil!” she said. “I don’t believe a word of it! But your
+father simply won’t hear of you going on board a German ship. Don’t
+ask me why. You know him as well as anybody.”
+
+“I’ll ask him myself!” Nanette said, flashing blue eyes rebelliously.
+“Where is the funny old thing?”
+
+“Nan, dear!”
+
+“Oh, he’s a darling! But he _is_ funny! He’s never forgotten that I
+was once a baby.”
+
+“You are still a baby, Nan--a mere infant.”
+
+Nanette threw back her shapely bobbed head and laughed scornfully.
+Wild canaries were love-making in the palm grove below the balcony,
+and, being poetically inclined, I suppose, I thought that Nanette’s
+soft rippling laughter was music sweet as theirs.
+
+She turned swiftly. She had all her mother’s grace as well as the
+divine abandon of youth. With never another glance at any of us, she
+walked in through the open French window. Jack Kelton’s glance
+followed the slim, straight figure. Her mother looked up at Ensleigh.
+
+“Have you a daughter?” she asked.
+
+“No,” he replied. “I regret----”
+
+“Don’t regret,” she interrupted; but her smile belied the Chinese
+solecism to come: “Pray that you may never have a daughter!”
+
+“Really,” Jack began, in his youthful, diffident way, “I don’t think
+there’s any harm in----”
+
+He was interrupted. Nanette returned, dragging by the hand a very
+bored, gray-haired gentleman who carried a copy of the _Times_ that
+was ten days old. The gentleman, blinking through his glasses, was
+being forced out into the sunshine.
+
+“Now, Pop,” said Nanette firmly, “is there really any reason why I
+shouldn’t go with Mr. Ensleigh, Mr. Decies, and Mr. Kelton to see that
+German liner?”
+
+“Well, dear,” her father replied, in his laboured manner, “I am afraid
+you would be late for lunch, and----”
+
+His glance sought his wife’s. I distinctly detected a negative shake
+of the head from Nanette’s mother.
+
+“And,” he went on, “your mother thinks that this would be rude, as Mr.
+Kirby is expected.”
+
+He smiled almost apologetically, patted Nanette on the head, and,
+_Times_ in hand, returned to his shady lair in the smoke-room. Nanette
+stared reproachfully at her mother.
+
+“Don’t be huffy about it, darling,” said the latter. “Really, you will
+only have time for a swim and a sun bath, if you are to make yourself
+presentable by one o’clock.”
+
+Nanette looked swiftly from face to face. A number of people had now
+begun to come out from late breakfast. She checked speech, withered
+poor Jack with a final, comprehensive look of scorn, and walked
+quickly into the hotel. The last few steps that were visible, as she
+crossed the threshold, almost consisted of stamping her little feet.
+
+Following a moment of silence:
+
+“Look here, you chaps,” said Jack, “it looks rather mean for us all to
+desert Nanette. I know we’ve engaged the launch and all that, but it’s
+beastly tame swimming alone----”
+
+“Don’t worry, Mr. Kelton,” Nanette’s mother broke in. She was smiling.
+“Nanette will not be swimming alone!”
+
+Poor Jack smiled in return, flushed, and then frowned darkly. His
+glance constantly sought the entrance to the hotel. But Ensleigh
+tactfully made the conversation general, and we were discussing the
+feminine modes of Paris as opposed to those of Buenos Aires when a
+slight figure arrayed in a pink bathrobe and shaded by a Japanese
+parasol passed slowly down the path below the terrace; whereupon:
+
+“There goes Nanette!” said Jack, jumping up. “Excuse me. I’ll just run
+and ask her if she would rather I stayed.”
+
+He hurled himself in the direction of the steps and disappeared. A
+moment later he reappeared, running after the girl. We watched.
+
+“Nanette!” he called.
+
+Nanette paused, turned, waved her hand, and went on. She walked under
+a veritable awning of hibiscus, sweeping some of the blossoms off with
+her parasol. Rounding the corner, she came into view again on a lower
+path. Her mother leaned over the balcony rail.
+
+“Go after her, Jack!” she called. “Don’t be afraid of her!”
+
+The words reached Nanette. She looked up through flower-laden
+branches. Her voice came faintly.
+
+“I don’t want him to come after me. I want to be alone.”
+
+Jack Kelton turned and began to walk back up the sloping path. He kept
+his curly head lowered, taking out a briar from his pocket and
+fumbling for his pouch. Nanette’s mother glanced at Ensleigh.
+
+“Poor Jack,” she said. “He is very young!”
+
+
+
+
+ CHAPTER II.
+ RESCUE
+
+We did not take the lift down to the landing-stage. It was busy with
+bathers; therefore we descended by the rambling stairway cut out of
+the rock. At the bend, I paused.
+
+Half across the bay, far beyond the waddling group who hugged the
+bathing pool, where the transparent water showed turquoise blue, I saw
+a flashing of white limbs and glimpsed a pink-covered head lowered to
+the swell. Came a rapturous murmur behind me.
+
+“Nanette! Gad! That girl swims like a fish!”
+
+“They should follow with the boat,” Ensleigh’s voice broke in on
+Jack’s. “There’s a beastly current cuts round the headland.”
+
+“She is safe enough,” said I. “Her fairy godmother was a mermaid--or a
+siren.”
+
+Nevertheless, when we reached the waiting launch, Nanette’s daring had
+attracted attention. I could not see her mother; but there was a buzz
+of excited conversation all around, and the brown-skinned professional
+was making urgent signals to the boatmen.
+
+“She’s right on our course!” cried Jack. “Come on! Hurry up!”
+
+“Don’t worry,” I implored him, tumbling into the launch.
+
+“But she’ll never be able to swim it!” said Ensleigh, jumping in
+behind me. “Hullo! What’s this!”
+
+He had stumbled over a bulky parcel wrapped up in newspaper. I thought
+I recognized the _Times_.
+
+“Please leave alone, sir!” cried the Portuguese in charge. “I aska
+tella you no touch!”
+
+“Oh!”
+
+Ensleigh stared at him suspiciously, and then we were off.
+
+“Pick her up, Decies!” came a shout from someone on shore. “She’s
+overdone it this morning. She can never get back!”
+
+The purr of the motor made it difficult to hear the other shouts that
+followed us. But excitement was growing intense, and I looked out
+ahead uneasily. I could not see Nanette.
+
+“Can you see her, Decies?” said Jack hoarsely.
+
+“No.”
+
+“There she is!”
+
+The cry came from Ensleigh, and:
+
+“Where?” Jack and I yelled together.
+
+Ignoring us:
+
+“Port, easy!” he directed the man at the wheel. “Now--as she is! Hold
+it!”
+
+We raced, all out, in the direction of the rash swimmer. A sort of
+anger claimed me. This crazy performance was a display of girlish
+pique. I felt particularly sorry for Jack Kelton. He was hanging over
+the bow in a perfect anguish of terrified expectation. Presently:
+
+“She’s still swimming strongly!” he gasped; then, almost immediately:
+“My God!”
+
+“What?”
+
+Ensleigh and I were peering ahead over Jack’s shoulder.
+
+“She’s gone down!”
+
+Over the noise of the motor, over the sound of the sea, it reached us
+dimly--a prolonged, horrified cry from the watchers on shore.
+
+What happened during the next few minutes I am unable to record. I
+think Jack was fighting with the boatman because he couldn’t get
+another amp. out of his engine. Ensleigh, I remember, looked
+dishevelled for the first time in my experience of him. I was drenched
+with perspiration--and it was not wholly due to the heat of the sun.
+
+Then, dead ahead, not six lengths away, a white arm was thrown up out
+of the sea.
+
+“Stop her!” I yelled.
+
+Hot on the words came a splash--and Jack was in. He was fully dressed,
+except that he had shed his college jacket. He reached Nanette as she
+came up for the second time.
+
+“Reverse! Starboard!”
+
+We described an untidy crescent; and then--Nanette was being hauled
+aboard. She sank down on the cushions as Jack came clambering over
+looking like a half-drowned Airedale.
+
+“Nanette!” he panted, and dropped on his knees before her.
+
+She opened starry eyes, and looked at him.
+
+“Yes?” she said.
+
+“Back to the landing-stage,” I heard Ensleigh direct the boatman.
+
+“What’s that!” cried Nanette, surprisingly sitting upright. “Not on
+your life, Pedro!”
+
+We were riding the swell, the motor silent, and from the now-distant
+bathing pool I heard a sound of great, prolonged cheering.
+
+Nanette sprang up on the thwart, standing there, poised on tip-toe, a
+slender young goddess. Jack’s coat was in her hand; and she waved it
+furiously, looking back to where moving figures showed upon
+flower-draped terraces.
+
+The cheering was renewed.
+
+“That will relieve Mumsy’s anxiety,” said Nanette, sitting down again.
+“Please go ahead, Pedro--and would somebody pass me my robe?”
+
+“What!” cried Jack.
+
+Ensleigh tore away the pages of the _Times_ from the mysterious
+bundle--and there was Nanette’s pink robe!
+
+“Be careful, please!” she said. “My shoes are wrapped up in it.” She
+turned to Jack, at the same time pulling off her pink bathing cap.
+“I’m so sorry you jumped in,” she added. “You were a darling to do it,
+though.”
+
+He had been positively glowering at her; but, at this, he blushed with
+delight and became a proud and happy man. Nanette shook her tousled
+head distractingly. Stooping, she pulled out from the folded robe a
+pair of high-heeled shoes and proceeded to squeeze five tiny wet toes
+into each of them.
+
+“Nanette!” I said slowly. “Weren’t you drowning?”
+
+She looked up at me.
+
+“Of course I wasn’t drowning!” she returned. “I was swimming under
+water. I was good for another mile!”
+
+“Nanette!” said Ensleigh. “You will come to a bad end, my child.”
+
+“Please pass me my parasol,” Nanette retorted. “It’s in the locker.
+And be careful. My bag is inside it.”
+
+The Japanese parasol was discovered. From it, Nanette took a small
+bag. Surveying herself disdainfully in a square mirror, she combed her
+hair. She delicately applied lip salve and powdered her impudent nose.
+
+“You are all wet!” said Jack, feasting his eyes.
+
+His case was worse than hers, and I marvelled at the altruism of love.
+
+“The sun will dry me. But, oh! how good that lager will taste! Won’t
+someone please give me a cigarette?”
+
+I held out a yellow packet, and:
+
+“Nanette,” I said, “one day a Someone will come who will teach you how
+to behave yourself!”
+
+“Tosh!” said Nanette, taking a Gold Flake. “I’ve outlived that sheikh
+stuff.”
+
+
+
+
+ CHAPTER III.
+ THE MAN FROM THE RIVER PLATE
+
+As we drew alongside the German, it became evident that we were
+objects of much interest to her people. I had a good view of the
+third-class quarters; she had a deck-load of dagoes under her awnings
+that would have frightened a Chicago bootlegger.
+
+We started up the ladder; and I thought it probable that some of the
+spectators would either fall overboard or break their necks, so
+urgently did they crane across the rails.
+
+“They are anxious to see the gallant rescuer,” said Ensleigh.
+
+I knew my dago better. They were anxious to see Nanette’s pretty legs.
+
+On the deck, I turned and looked across to where Funchal climbed the
+hill. The sunlight was dazzling. I could trace the steep cobbled
+street, from point to point, down which one may slide in a wicker
+toboggan; see the square, too, with its powder-blue trees, and imagine
+the morning gathering at the tables outside the Golden Gate. Away over
+the bows I looked, and saw the flower-draped cliffs below Reid’s,
+where, on the lower terrace, over cocktails, Nanette would, I
+surmised, be the sole topic of conversation.
+
+The lady in question, supremely indifferent to the somewhat marked
+curiosity of the passengers, was walking aft with Jack, doubtless in
+quest of the much-desired lager. Jack, his legs encased in sodden
+flannels, was ridiculously happy because Nanette hung on his arm.
+
+“Leave them alone,” said Ensleigh. “God knows he’s earned it.”
+
+We found our way to the smoke-room and ordered drinks. They were good
+and cheap. They served to wipe out one more of the old scores I had
+against our Teutonic friends (_nées_ enemies). It was a distinctly
+mongrel company. Germans predominated, with a big sprinkling of those
+nondescripts and none-such usually invoiced as Argentines but
+sometimes mistaken for Greeks.
+
+One man, who sat alone, puzzled me. He was handsome, in a way. He wore
+his wavy hair rather long and was dressed in a perfectly cut and
+immaculately white drill suit. With the aid of a black-rimmed monocle
+attached to a thick ribbon, he read what looked like an official
+document.
+
+“By Jove!” Ensleigh exclaimed.
+
+Glancing aside, I saw that he, too, was staring at this romantic
+individual.
+
+“Looks like John Barrymore,” said I.
+
+“I know,” Ensleigh replied. “But he didn’t wear his hair like that the
+last time I saw him--coming out of the Salient with what was left of
+the Irish Guards. By Jove!”
+
+He jumped up and crossed the room. I followed.
+
+“O’Shea!” he cried.
+
+The man addressed dropped his monocle and stood up; then:
+
+“Ensleigh!” he exclaimed, and held out his hand. “Can it be Ensleigh!”
+
+“Ensleigh it is!” was the reply; “and I want you to meet”--drawing me
+forward--“Mr. Decies. Decies, this is Major Edmond O’Shea.”
+
+The Major readjusted his monocle and looked me over briefly, as if to
+determine whether he wanted to know me or not. I found myself looking
+into a pair of the coldest gray eyes that had ever examined my hidden
+motives.
+
+But, to tell the truth, I was more than a little flurried. For, as
+Ensleigh spoke, the fact had dawned upon me that I stood in the
+presence not only of an Irishman of ancient family, nor merely in that
+of a distinguished British officer, but in the presence of a mess-room
+tradition; a thing infinitely more wonderful and holy. This was “The
+O’Shea”--a synonym for all that’s fine under the Colours from
+Whitehall to Khatmandu.
+
+He dropped his monocle and grasped my hand warmly.
+
+“I am glad to meet you, Mr. Decies,” he said. We formed a trio, and
+there were some inevitable reminiscences--and more drinks; then:
+
+“What, in the name of wonder, are you doing on this ship?” Ensleigh
+asked.
+
+O’Shea shrugged his shoulders. He had some queerly Gallic mannerisms.
+In fact, if one had not known better, one must have written him off as
+an incurable poseur.
+
+“Peace-time soldiering is a dull business,” he replied. “I take on odd
+jobs to keep me out of mischief.”
+
+He rang for the steward and ordered drinks in what I believe was
+unexceptionable German. Following some aimless chatter:
+
+“Are you for Bremen?” asked Ensleigh.
+
+“I don’t know,” said O’Shea surprisingly. He twirled his glass and
+stared around the smoke-room. “I may come ashore here.”
+
+“You _may_!” I exclaimed and glanced at the clock. “You have twenty
+minutes to decide!”
+
+“Two would be sufficient,” he assured me. “I travel light!”
+
+He smiled--and, in the smile, I met for the first time the real
+O’Shea. The cold gray eyes were cold no longer; they smiled,
+too--whimsically, lovably. The cloak of inscrutability was dropped,
+just for a moment, and the clean, brave soul of the man peeped out. A
+vague dislike vanished as morning mist, and I knew that men would
+follow Edmond O’Shea into the thickest and the hottest, if he needed
+them; women, too, perhaps. A man like that is a man born to suffer.
+But suddenly I understood why the Guards had worshipped him.
+
+“There goes the first shore signal,” said Ensleigh. “We had better
+rescue Nanette from the lager.”
+
+We found her on deck with Jack and another man who had tacked himself
+on to the party. He was a poisonously handsome none-such, and his
+heavy-lidded dark eyes were literally devouring the girl’s dainty
+beauty. He had come across Jack in London; and now Jack was the most
+unhappy man in Madeira. Every time roguish blue eyes met lustful brown
+eyes, he visibly shuddered.
+
+The dark gentleman was presented.
+
+“Ensleigh, Decies--meet Senhor Gabriel da Cunha.”
+
+We met him--reluctantly.
+
+“This,” said Ensleigh, “is Mr. Jack Kelton--Major Edmond O’Shea.
+Doubtless, Senhor da Cunha, you have met already?”
+
+“No,” murmured O’Shea, bowing coldly. “One does not meet everybody on
+board.”
+
+“Nanette!” I called.
+
+She had stepped to the rail with Da Cunha. She turned.
+
+“Yes?”
+
+“I want you to know Major Edmond O’Shea.”
+
+She came forward and I introduced them formally. Nanette gave one
+quick, startled look at O’Shea--and O’Shea, noting her unusual attire,
+smiled. Nanette dropped her lashes, said something meaningless, and
+ran back to Da Cunha.
+
+I heard Jack grind his teeth. When he joined the pair at the rail I
+stood at his elbow.
+
+“We must be saying good-bye, Mr. da Cunha,” he began, but:
+
+“Not good-bye at all!” Da Cunha exclaimed, turning and resting one
+hand on Nanette’s shoulder. “I am undecided until this morning, but
+now--it is settled! Here, in Madeira”--he indicated distant hills--“I
+have a bungalow, so charming. Do you know--” he included us all in the
+conversation--“that in Funchal is what they call a ‘blind spot’ in
+radio? Yes. But in my bungalow, high up, I have the most perfect set
+in the island; and one night--to-night, maybe--” he glanced aside at
+Nanette--“we shall dance to your Savoy band!”
+
+“You are going ashore, then?”
+
+“But certainly! It is settled. Is it not?”
+
+The question was addressed to Nanette, and:
+
+“I should just _hate_ to lose you so soon,” she replied. “Let’s go and
+see if your things are in the boat.”
+
+Side by side with the radiantly smiling Da Cunha, she hurried forward.
+She glanced at Jack, at me, at Ensleigh. O’Shea was watching her, but
+she avoided his gaze. He turned and went in at the saloon entrance.
+
+The last gong sounded. Jack had suddenly disappeared. I stared at
+Ensleigh. He whistled softly.
+
+“Nanette has been bitten at last,” he remarked.
+
+“Yes,” I said, “I think she has.”
+
+Da Cunha’s baggage was loaded into Reid’s launch and we all got
+aboard. We were surrounded by a babbling gang in boats who held up
+Madeira lace and cane chairs and shawls and bedspreads, desperately
+inviting bids from the passengers. It was distracting, so that I
+scarcely noticed a steward coming down the ladder, carrying a suitcase
+and a valise. Jack sat right astern, his hands plunged in the pockets
+of his sodden flannels. Then, suddenly, I realized that someone was
+beside me.
+
+I turned--and met the cold gray eyes of O’Shea!
+
+“Good heavens!” I exclaimed. “Your decision was a sudden one!”
+
+“Yes,” he replied, “it was--very.”
+
+“Hullo, O’Shea!” cried Ensleigh. “This is fine!”
+
+Nanette bent toward Da Cunha, talking animatedly.
+
+
+
+
+ CHAPTER IV.
+ AT THE CASINO
+
+A party of us went down to the Casino that night, consisting of
+Nanette, Nanette’s mother, Ensleigh, and myself. Jack excused himself
+on the plea that he had promised to play somebody five-hundred up.
+Nanette had been put through the hoop well and truly for her escapade,
+but she looked none the worse for this parental correction.
+
+Newly from the seclusion of a French convent, she was learning the
+dangerous truism that beauty governs mankind.
+
+Da Cunha was waiting at the Casino--and Nanette pretended to be
+surprised. Her mother really _was_ surprised, and maternally alarmed.
+She was a woman of the world and she knew her Da Cunhas.
+
+The said Da Cunha wanted to dance. Nanette loved dancing and danced
+divinely. Therefore she decided to play roulette.
+
+“Please, Mumsy,” she pleaded--“until I have lost a pound!”
+
+Her mother consented, silently signalling me to sit beside Nanette at
+the table. Whilst Nanette’s mother danced with Ensleigh, I chaperoned
+Nanette.
+
+The game was dull. Da Cunha constantly urged the superior charms of
+the ballroom. But Nanette played on. Presently:
+
+“Do you think Jack will come along?” she asked.
+
+“I hope so.”
+
+An interval in which Nanette lost five shillings, then:
+
+“Had you met Major O’--what’s his name--before?”
+
+“No. I had heard of him.”
+
+“Really? Is he famous?”
+
+“I suppose he is--in a way.”
+
+“But listen!” Da Cunha exclaimed, “this is _so_ boring! Let us dance.”
+
+“Not until I’ve lost my pound,” said Nanette firmly.
+
+More aimless play, then:
+
+“I saw your Major man when we first went on board, you know,” said
+Nanette, casually staking her all on a number. “Jack and I peeped into
+the smoke-room, and--he was in there.”
+
+“Really. Is that so?”
+
+“Yes. Wasn’t it odd I should meet him, after--seeing him like that?”
+
+“Very odd.”
+
+Nanette’s fortune was swept away by the croupier. She remained
+unperturbed. She kept throwing quick little glances all about the
+room, and now:
+
+“Please take me out on the terrace and get me a long, cool drink,” she
+asked.
+
+We stood up and crossed to the open doors. Da Cunha grabbed Nanette’s
+arm and led her out. As I followed, I glanced aside, and saw Jack
+coming in. He looked very flushed. He was literally glaring after the
+pair in front of me. I waved to him, but he swung around and went out
+again.
+
+It was dark on the terrace and at first I couldn’t see Nanette. Then I
+glimpsed a raised white arm over in a distant corner. She was standing
+with her back to the railing and Da Cunha stood in front of her,
+bending forward, one hand resting beside her and his face very close
+to hers.
+
+“What about that long, cool drink?” said I.
+
+Nanette immediately ran to me.
+
+“Oh, please!” she cried. “I’m simply gasping! Where shall we sit?
+Somewhere by the windows--where we can watch.”
+
+She was excited, and it was clear enough that Da Cunha had been making
+love to her. He turned, and I heard him snap his fingers.
+
+“Why not here?” he suggested. “How beautiful is the view in the
+moonlight, with the dark groves and twinkling lamps.”
+
+“No,” said Nanette, selecting a table near an open window. “I feel
+chilly and I want to watch the dancing.”
+
+“If you are cold, let us dance.”
+
+Nanette shook her head and opened a tiny jewelled cigarette case. She
+bent toward me.
+
+“A match, please,” she begged.
+
+She was quite determined, and so we sat there sipping iced drinks
+until Nanette’s mother and Ensleigh joined us. There were inquiries
+for Jack, but I said nothing--for the boy had been palpably drunk.
+
+Nanette was unable to mask her preoccupation, constantly looking into
+the lighted rooms, then, suddenly, halfway through a Charleston, she
+jumped up.
+
+“Come on,” she said to Da Cunha, and threw her wrap to me--“let’s
+dance!”
+
+He was on his feet in an instant and the two went in. Nanette’s mother
+was playing, and as I stood up I glanced toward the table.
+
+O’Shea was standing watching the play.
+
+Nanette and Da Cunha began to dance. Da Cunha danced perfectly, with
+all the sensuous grace of a none-such; but the look in his dark eyes
+raised my gorge to a hundred and twenty in the shade. Nanette floated
+in his arms like a bit of thistledown; her tiny feet seemed scarcely
+to brush the floor. He talked to her constantly, and sometimes she
+smiled up at him; but, always, she glanced into the roulette room as
+they passed. Ensleigh joined us.
+
+“Yes,” said he, “little Nanette is in the throes of her first
+infatuation.”
+
+As he spoke, she went past in Da Cunha’s arms, and frowned at
+Ensleigh--because he blocked her view of the roulette table.
+
+“She is,” I agreed.
+
+She danced every dance after that with Da Cunha, becoming more and
+more animated as the night wore on. Then her mother moved an
+adjournment. Of course, Nanette objected.
+
+“Mumsy,” she said. “Mr. Da Cunha has invited us all to drive up to his
+bungalow. We can dance to the Savoy band. Think of it!”
+
+But her mother refused to think of it. Da Cunha was not defeated yet,
+however. His car was waiting. He would drive the party to Reid’s. In
+the end this invitation was accepted. Nanette, her mother, Ensleigh,
+and I elected to go.
+
+“How many can you take?” Nanette asked.
+
+“Oh, six easily.”
+
+“I wonder if anyone else is going back?” said Nanette.
+
+Following her glance:
+
+“I might ask Major O’Shea if he is ready,” said I. “Do you mind,
+Senhor da Cunha?”
+
+“But of course not!” he replied, looking like Cæsar Borgia thinking
+out a new prescription.
+
+O’Shea thanked me. He preferred to walk.
+
+“And I dislike Senhor Da Cunha,” he added.
+
+Therefore the five of us packed into a flamingo-red Farman that stood
+before the Casino. I thought that if brass helmets had been served
+out, we should have done credit to any fire brigade. Da Cunha, of
+course, had Nanette beside him in front. I could hear his constant
+murmur over the roar of the engine. He took us up to Reid’s at an
+average of about fifty-five.
+
+Nanette’s mother steered Nanette to bed, and Da Cunha did not stay
+long. I sent a page to look for Jack, but he was not in his room.
+
+At about midnight, O’Shea joined us. We went out on to the terrace,
+pipes going, and sat watching the fairyland of the gardens below, with
+the winking lights of Funchal climbing the slopes beyond. Presently I
+heard a faint movement, and:
+
+“Oh!” said a voice in the darkness.
+
+We all turned--and there was Nanette, distracting in déshabille.
+
+“I can’t sleep, and I left my book out here!” she explained.
+
+“Let me look,” said Ensleigh.
+
+But he looked in vain.
+
+“May I stay awhile and smoke a cigarette with you?” Nanette pleaded;
+“or were you telling funny stories?”
+
+She stayed--seated on the arm of my chair. There was not much
+conversation, but after awhile O’Shea got up and disappeared. Nanette
+began to talk, then, with feverish animation, until presently O’Shea
+came back, carrying a loose coat.
+
+Very gracefully, he placed it around Nanette’s shoulders.
+
+“You must be cold,” he said.
+
+Nanette glanced up at him, then down again--and shivered. But it was
+not because she was cold.
+
+Later, long after Nanette reluctantly had retired to her room, Jack
+was driven up from Funchal. We put him to bed without arousing anyone.
+
+“I’ll kill that slimy Da Cunha,” he declared thickly--and went to
+sleep.
+
+O’Shea surveyed him through the black-rimmed monocle.
+
+“I wonder if cats and pretty girls know how cruel they are?” he
+murmured.
+
+
+
+
+ CHAPTER V.
+ “IN FIVE MINUTES”
+
+The days wore on in that lotus-eaters’ paradise and I became an
+audience of one at a comedy designed to end in drama. There was a
+mystery that intrigued me vastly, and Ensleigh shared my curiosity.
+
+I could not imagine what the O’Shea was doing in Madeira.
+
+Da Cunha, palpably, had broken his journey to pursue Nanette. He
+positively haunted the hotel. I found it hard to believe that any such
+motive had inspired the Major. Ensleigh, with singular density,
+believed that Nanette was desperately infatuated with Da Cunha. I let
+him think so, and studied O’Shea.
+
+This strange man spent a large part of every day seated on his
+balcony, reading and writing. What he read or what he wrote, nobody
+knew. On occasions, he disappeared for hours: and no one knew where he
+went.
+
+It was queer, too, how many times Nanette strolled through the
+unfrequented part of the gardens below this balcony. Sometimes, but
+rarely, she would be alone, sometimes with Jack, more often with Da
+Cunha. But, always, she paused to glance in her mirror and powder her
+nose before she turned the corner. O’Shea, apparently, never noticed
+her.
+
+She would loiter around the bathing pool for hours in the morning and
+then suddenly throw off her robe and plunge into the sea with an easy,
+gliding dive like a young dryad. By this token I would know that
+O’Shea was sauntering down the steps.
+
+As she went in, Da Cunha and Jack would take the water like twin
+ducks. It was a miracle that they never tried to drown each other.
+
+O’Shea was a hard man to know; a lonely man. I was honestly proud of
+the fact that, little by little, he began to unbend to me, to grant me
+something like friendship. Occasionally he would join me on the
+cocktail terrace before lunch; and Nanette would ask him for matches
+and then run back to her mother, Ensleigh, Jack, Da Cunha, and the
+rest of the party who, amongst them, had enough matches to fire the
+building.
+
+Da Cunha was ceaselessly persevering in his endeavours to take her for
+drives, to take her fishing, and to dance with her to the strains of
+the Savoy band. Her mother negatived these plans.
+
+One day a very (apparently) indignant Nanette came across to where I
+was sitting with O’Shea. Jack followed.
+
+“Mr. Decies!” she burst out, “Gabriel wants to drive me out to a
+perfectly wonderful cliff. You lie on the edge and look down I don’t
+know how many hundred feet. Now, do _you_ see any earthly reason why I
+shouldn’t go?”
+
+“I don’t suppose Decies sees any earthly reason why _I_ shouldn’t,”
+said Jack. “But I haven’t been invited.”
+
+“You are always quarrelling with Gabriel,” Nanette retorted, fixing a
+cigarette in her holder. “Please, Major, would you give me a light?”
+
+As she stooped over the match that he struck for her, I could see her
+eyes--looking at every wave in his hair, seeking out the hint of
+powder at his temples, studying his long, sensitive fingers. He threw
+the match away, and:
+
+“You are such a restless little girl,” he said. “Why not spend a few
+peaceful hours in the garden, reading? Let me lend you a book.”
+
+Coming from any other source, this suggestion would have provoked a
+scathing rejoinder, but:
+
+“Thank you,” said Nanette simply, “I will.”
+
+She sat for that entire afternoon in a secluded corner of the garden,
+a comfortable, empty chair drawn up beside her own, reading a Russian
+novel--and waiting for O’Shea to join her.
+
+But he didn’t.
+
+That evening the comedy became drama. I was to learn in a few short
+hours how Nanette’s alluring beauty had averted tragedy from a royal
+house. And this was how it developed:
+
+A rather special dance had been arranged--I forget why; and O’Shea,
+quite the best-dressed man in the hotel, was last to go to his room
+and first down. He could get into black quicker than anyone I have
+ever met. You may know Reid’s green and yellow jazz cocktail bar?
+Well, as I looked in, having changed, there was O’Shea on a tall stool
+studying a dry Martini through his monocle. The way his bow was tied
+excited my envy; it was a poem in white piqué.
+
+We had the bar to ourselves, and presently: “How long do you expect to
+stay in Madeira?” I asked.
+
+He shrugged his shoulders and smiled--that rare and revealing smile.
+
+“In the strictest confidence, Decies,” he replied--and suddenly his
+gray eyes grew steely; he was smiling no longer--“until I have in my
+possession a certain small black dispatch-box.”
+
+“What!” I exclaimed.
+
+“It contains,” he went on, “some unfortunate correspondence
+compromising a royal personage; and if it ever reaches the Communist
+base in London, I hesitate to imagine the consequences.”
+
+“Good heavens!” said I, and formed my lips to convey an unspoken name.
+
+O’Shea nodded.
+
+“Exactly,” he replied. “That was what took me to the Argentine; but
+the Reds’ man--a dangerous and clever agent--doubled on me in Buenos
+Aires, and so you met me on my way back to Europe.”
+
+“Then you have it!” I cried.
+
+“No, damn it! I haven’t!” said he; “or would I be sitting on this
+stool? It’s getting desperate, Decies! There’s a British destroyer
+standing off Funchal waiting my radio that I’m coming on board!”
+
+I said nothing for a few moments. Then I thanked him for his
+confidence.
+
+“I confide in you with a definite purpose,” he replied. “I claim to be
+a judge of men, and I judge you to be one who would stand by in a
+rough house. I may need help, after all. If I do, the facts being as
+we know them, can I call on you?”
+
+We solemnly shook hands--as Nanette came racing in.
+
+She was flushed with excitement, and wearing a new frock. Her blue
+eyes shone like stars when she saw O’Shea. She looked adorable, and
+was well aware of the fact. Her happiness was that of the girl who
+knows herself to be perfectly gowned. It was completed now that Fate
+had ordained O’Shea to be the first man to see her so.
+
+Jumping on to a tall stool:
+
+“Do you like me?” she demanded naïvely.
+
+“You look as though you had come straight from fairyland,” I said.
+“Let me order you something, to prove you are mortal.”
+
+“Oh, no, please!” cried Nanette. “Mumsy would play Hamlet if she
+caught me drinking cocktails! Give me just a sip of yours!”
+
+She drank from my glass, watching me with roguish eyes; then, turning
+to O’Shea:
+
+“Am I smart enough to be honoured with a dance this evening, Major?”
+she asked--but the note of raillery faded as she met his glance, and
+she dropped her bobbed head, looking down at tiny blue and silver
+shoes.
+
+“The honour would be mine, Nanette,” he said, in the gentle way he had
+of addressing all women.
+
+Nanette bit her lip and jumped to the floor, as her mother came to
+look for her.
+
+“Good gracious, Nanette!” she exclaimed. “In the _bar_! And your
+frock, dear! I see, now, why you wouldn’t have me with you to try on!”
+
+“Please _don’t_, Mumsy!” cried Nanette. “Will you _never_ allow me to
+grow up!”
+
+The blue-and-silver frock was certainly daring for a débutante. It
+was pure Paris; but Nanette’s sweet shoulders were worth displaying.
+
+“You are altogether too naked, dear!” her mother declared.
+
+“I wear less when I’m swimming!” argued the reasonable Nanette.
+
+“Never mind. Please wear your wrap, dear, or a scarf--at least during
+dinner.”
+
+And so the famous evening began.
+
+Da Cunha had managed to get himself invited to the dinner party that
+included Nanette, and Jack sat facing him. Ensleigh, O’Shea, and I
+shared a bachelor table.
+
+When the dancing began, I missed O’Shea. Nanette danced with me, but
+very abstractedly, alternately watching the door and the open French
+windows. There are few things more provoking than to dance with a
+pretty girl who wants to dance with someone else.
+
+Da Cunha claimed her quite often and she suffered his public
+love-making in a way that nearly led to an outburst from Jack. The
+storm broke when O’Shea appeared. Nanette had begun dancing with Jack,
+but she did not finish. She dragged him across the floor to O’Shea,
+and:
+
+“Please say you will dance,” she pleaded. She turned to her flushed
+partner. “Then we will finish our fox-trot, Jack,” she added.
+
+“I hate to refuse,” O’Shea replied, and his voice was very gentle;
+“but I came down to beg you to excuse me. I find that I must go
+out--on most urgent business. Don’t be angry. I mean it, Nanette.”
+
+Nanette was not angry--but she was deeply humiliated. Every woman in
+the room had marked her descent upon the aloof O’Shea, confident in
+her radiant young beauty.
+
+“I don’t want to dance any more,” she said petulantly, when the Major
+had gone, “at least, not to this silly band.”
+
+“It’s an excellent band, dear,” her mother replied, watching Nanette
+with a sudden maternal anxiety.
+
+“They play such old stuff,” Nanette declared. “‘Brown Eyes, Why Are
+You Blue?’ is wildly out of date. They are liable to break into ‘Rock
+of Ages’ almost any minute!”
+
+“Then what do you want to do?”
+
+“I want to drive up to Gabriel’s and dance to the Savoy band.”
+
+“Nanette!”--her mother spoke sharply--“I have already told you that I
+absolutely refuse. You heard what your father said?”
+
+“No, Mumsy, I didn’t,” Nanette replied. “_You_ told me. I would like
+to ask Pop.”
+
+But “Pop” had retired with a _Financial News_ and three old copies of
+the _Morning Post_.
+
+“Then I’m going to bed,” Nanette announced. “I have a headache.”
+
+She turned and walked from the ballroom. Da Cunha detained her in the
+doorway, but only for a moment. Then he crossed the floor and went out
+on to the terrace. A few minutes later I strolled up to my room to get
+a pipe. The window was open, and I lingered in the dark for a moment,
+held by the moon-magic of the night. As I stood there, I heard a soft
+call:
+
+“Nanette!”
+
+Nanette’s room was below and to the left of mine. I looked out. I
+could see a slender silvery figure leaning over the balcony.
+
+“Is that you, Gabriel?”
+
+“Yes, dear.”
+
+“In five minutes!”
+
+
+
+
+ CHAPTER VI.
+ THE BUNGALOW IN THE HILLS
+
+Personality is a queer thing. Nobody has quite defined it yet. In my
+wild quest of a plan to save Nanette from herself, without letting her
+mother know and without compromising her, I came straight to what
+looked to me like an inevitable decision--I decided to tell O’Shea.
+
+What I thought he could do that I couldn’t do alone, God knows; but
+the Guards used to feel like that about him.
+
+One fear I had: that he should have started out on whatever mysterious
+business called him. I raced across to his room. It was in darkness. I
+went hareing down to the lounge. Dancing was in full swing; no sign of
+O’Shea. I grabbed the hall porter.
+
+“Has Major O’Shea gone out?”
+
+“No, sir. Not this way.”
+
+I turned, hope reborn--and there stood O’Shea reading a note that a
+chambermaid had just handed to him!
+
+“O’Shea!” I cried.
+
+He glanced up. His face was very stern. His eyes glinted icily.
+
+“Go and get Kelton,” he said. “Bring him here--alone.”
+
+“But Nanette----”
+
+“I know all about Nanette. Bring Kelton to me.”
+
+I ran. I was under orders. But it was a service of love.
+
+Jack was in the bar--quite alone. He looked at me in a lowering way.
+
+“Nanette’s in danger,” I said briefly. He jumped up. “Come quickly.”
+
+When we got to the hall porter’s sanctum, and he saw who was waiting,
+he pulled up with a jerk.
+
+“What the hell has _he_ got to do with it?” he demanded.
+
+“Mr. Kelton!”
+
+O’Shea was watching him.
+
+“Well, what is it?”
+
+“This!” O’Shea handed him the note. “You read it, too, Decies.”
+
+Jack and I read together:
+
+
+ Have gone to Gabriel’s bungalow to dance. If you get this in time,
+ will you join us?
+
+                                               Nanette.
+
+
+Jack crushed the paper into a ball.
+
+“My God! The little fool!” he said. “Why did she send this to _you_?”
+
+O’Shea stared the angry lover down, then:
+
+“Because she is very young,” he answered, without one note of anger.
+“Don’t blame her, Kelton--and don’t blame me. Blame the customs of
+to-day. Leave me out. _You_ are going to save her from Da Cunha.”
+
+“Has she started?”
+
+“I fear so.”
+
+“Then where’s the chance? That swine has a Farman racer!”
+
+“True, but he can’t race at night on those roads. It will take him
+half an hour.”
+
+“We have no car!”
+
+“We don’t need one. I happen to know a route--a mere goat track--by
+which we can climb to the bungalow almost as quickly as he can drive
+there.”
+
+“You mean it?” asked Jack hoarsely.
+
+“As it happens, I was about to take a stroll in that direction when
+this note reached me.”
+
+“Come on!” said Jack.
+
+ * * * * *
+
+I have the haziest recollection of that appalling climb. O’Shea knew
+the way like the palm of his hand. Under a sickle moon that looked so
+near in its white purity one almost felt one could reach up and grasp
+it, we climbed, panting and sweating. From the gardens of the valley
+we broke up through banana plantations where the great bursting pods
+banged our heads as we stooped to follow that tireless guide. We
+scaled a sheer hillside steep as a roof. We crawled along a path less
+than a yard wide, with a gorge yawning hundreds of feet below in which
+the vineyards shrank to a close green carpet.
+
+We came to the red earth of the uplands. Our feet sank in it as in
+moss. Pines barred our way, rank on rank. Away to the left, below,
+beyond, the still sea shone like lapis lazuli.
+
+“Ssh! Quiet!” O’Shea ordered.
+
+We pulled up. I looked at Jack. He might recently have come out of the
+hot-room in a Turkish bath. His collar was a mere farce; a loop of
+exhausted linen. I believe I was no more spruce. I looked at O’Shea.
+That remarkable man appeared to be as well-dressed as usual.
+
+“Single file,” he commanded. “Not a sound.”
+
+We crept on, breathing heavily; and presently, through those sentinel
+pines on the crest, it reached us--the music of the Savoy orchestra,
+playing in a distant Strand!
+
+“Thank God! We are in time!” said O’Shea.
+
+We sighted Da Cunha’s bungalow through the thinning trees. Lights
+shone out from three tall windows fronting on an L-shaped stoop. The
+windows were open, and O’Shea made his dispositions.
+
+“Kelton,” he directed, “take the window on your right front. Keep out
+of sight. Wait your moment. Time it. We shall not interfere.” He held
+out his hand. “This is your chance. Make the most of it.”
+
+Jack grasped the extended hand, and:
+
+“Thank you, sir!” he said.
+
+He went off through the pines, stooping warily.
+
+We gave him time to reach his post; then O’Shea and I made a detour
+and crept up on to the veranda so that we looked into Da Cunha’s
+bungalow from a window opposite to that which concealed Jack.
+
+The room was sparsely furnished. It had a polished floor from which
+the few rugs had been removed. There was champagne in an ice bucket on
+a buffet. There was the most elaborate and costly wireless set I had
+ever beheld. A Moorish lamp hanging from the beamed ceiling gave
+light. I could see two good pictures--both nudes--and a long, deep,
+cushioned divan. At the Savoy, they were playing Jerome Kern’s “Who,”
+and Nanette and Da Cunha were dancing to it.
+
+I have said that the none-such danced perfectly. His dancing on this
+night was inspired--inspired by passion. He did not merely hold
+Nanette, he enveloped her; with his arms, with his ardent, lascivious
+eyes.
+
+She swam into view and out of view like a dream-nymph hypnotized by a
+satyr. Her expression was indefinable as I saw it. A sort of
+exaltation was there, born of adventure and sensuous music. I could
+not know whether she had tasted the wine; but there was a dawning
+doubt, too, a doubt of herself that was not yet fear.
+
+Then the music ceased, and we heard remote applause.
+
+Da Cunha disconnected the set and led Nanette to the divan. He seated
+himself beside her, smiled, and put his arm around her bare shoulders.
+She made a little whimsical grimace, but did not protest. Then she
+glanced at him quickly--and he stooped and kissed her. It was a
+lingering kiss, which she ended by pushing him away.
+
+Their conversation reached us as a mere murmur; but Nanette
+imperatively negatived further advances and pointed in the direction
+of the buffet. Da Cunha shrugged, smiled, and crossed to the ice
+bucket.
+
+I had both fists so tightly clenched that they hurt; but O’Shea’s hand
+held my wrist like a human manacle. Jack’s inaction astounded me.
+Then, under the urge of O’Shea’s iron restraint, I began to think.
+After all, poor Jack held no rights over Nanette, and he was too
+unworldly to grasp the inwardness of this scene. She had suffered Da
+Cunha’s kiss. Jack was still waiting for his cue.
+
+It came shortly after Da Cunha returned with two beaded glasses. I had
+watched Nanette whilst the man had poured out the wine; and I knew
+that, at last, pique, rebellion, having died their natural deaths, she
+realized her position.
+
+He set the glasses on a little coffee table and drew it beside the
+divan. Nanette asked him to connect up with the Savoy again. He shook
+his head and smilingly handed her one of the glasses. She put it down,
+untouched. Da Cunha drained the other, replaced it on the table, and,
+suddenly throwing himself on his knees, clasped the girl in eager arms
+and burst into a torrent of passionate speech.
+
+Nanette shrank back on the divan. Da Cunha followed her. He kissed her
+hands, her arms, her shoulders. He devoured her with his lips.
+
+She writhed in his clasp, uttered a half-stifled cry, and wrenching
+one arm free, tried to thrust him away.
+
+Then Jack came in.
+
+He covered the course in four running strides, stooped, seized Da
+Cunha around the neck, and jerked him on to his feet. Whereon
+followed--catastrophe.
+
+Jack slipped on the polished floor, stumbled, tried to recover--and
+fell.
+
+Da Cunha twisted about and kicked him above the left temple.
+
+He lay prone.
+
+“Jack!” cried Nanette. “Jack!”
+
+O’Shea’s grip on my wrist was like a vise.
+
+“Wait,” he said. “The boy’s down but he’s not out!”
+
+O’Shea was right. Nanette’s voice recalled him. Da Cunha wore only
+light dancing shoes.
+
+Jack rolled over, avoided a second swinging kick, and came to his
+feet, shaking his tawny head like a terrier with a flea in his ear.
+
+“Jack!” cried Nanette again.
+
+She crouched on the divan, wide-eyed. Her shoulder strap had slipped;
+and Nanette will never know how beautiful I know she is. Even as I
+saw, guiltily, she readjusted it--and the fight started.
+
+Blood was trickling into Jack’s eyes. He kept dodging and trying to
+clear his sight. It upset his judgment, beyond a doubt; added to which
+his skull must have been humming like a beehive. Remember, too, the
+climb he had put in.
+
+To my intense annoyance, the none-such proved able to box as well as
+he danced and kicked. He took all a trained fighter’s advantage of
+Jack’s double handicap. Some punishment came his way, but it was not
+heavy--and he kept registering killing body blows on his opponent.
+Jack might have planted a lucky one before it was too late. But
+Nanette defeated him.
+
+“Jack!” she cried, a sob in her voice. “Don’t let him _beat_ you!”
+
+Half-dazed, the boy paused, dropped his hands--and Da Cunha recorded a
+tremendous right well below the belt. Jack went down--to stay.
+
+“The dirty swine!” I exclaimed.
+
+O’Shea slipped a revolver into my hand.
+
+“I don’t think there are any servants about to-night,” he said. “But
+see that I’m not interrupted.”
+
+He stepped in through the open window, twirling his monocle on its
+black ribbon. It was not pose; it was nerves. The man was human. He
+was fighting for composure.
+
+Da Cunha faced him, and:
+
+“_You!_” came, as a sort of rapturous sigh, from the divan.
+
+The two men confronted each other for an electric moment; then:
+
+“You are a very dirty fighter, Da Cunha,” said O’Shea smoothly. “But,
+as you are probably tired, I suggest that you give me the black
+dispatch-box that you have locked in your bedroom--and we will say no
+more about it.”
+
+Da Cunha’s expression became complicated. My own brain was revolving
+like a merry-go-round. This sudden revelation was too much for
+me--that Da Cunha was a Red agent!
+
+“Go to hell!” was the reply. “Who are you?”
+
+“You are very forgetful,” said O’Shea.
+
+As he spoke, he reached out a long, lazy left. It looked effortless,
+but it was perfectly timed, perfectly measured. It started in the ball
+of his suddenly rigid right foot and from there carried every amp. of
+energy in his body to the point of Da Cunha’s jaw.
+
+There was a pleasant snapping sound. Da Cunha went down like a
+poleaxed ox.
+
+Nanette sat silent, a second Niobe.
+
+“Decies!” cried O’Shea. “The revolver! We have no time to waste!”
+
+I ran in, passing the weapon to him.
+
+“Attend to Kelton,” he directed. “We must get him away.”
+
+He crossed to a door right of the divan and went into a room beyond,
+which was dimly lighted.
+
+“Mr. Decies----” Nanette began.
+
+Came the sound of a pistol shot… a second! There followed a
+splintering crash. Nanette leapt to her feet, and turned--as O’Shea
+came out again, carrying a small black dispatch-box. He put it on the
+coffee table.
+
+Jack stirred and groaned. Nanette’s gaze never left O’Shea. And now,
+timidly approaching him:
+
+“I was mad,” she whispered. “Oh, thank you!” She swayed and sank into
+his arms, her perfect lips raised to his in offering. “Can you forgive
+me?”
+
+He held her for a moment, very tenderly, looking into her eyes, then:
+
+“I have nothing to forgive, little girl,” he said. “You have been
+foolish, but I don’t think you will ever be so foolish again.”
+
+Gently, he set her aside, and:
+
+“Decies,” said he, “lend a hand with Kelton. We will borrow the
+Farman.”
+
+
+
+
+ CHAPTER VII.
+ A SHORT NOTE
+
+Wonderful to relate, we managed to keep secret the story of
+Nanette’s indiscretion. Her mother never knew that she had left her
+room. And it was toward dusk of the following day that the first act
+of the tragi-comedy came to a close.
+
+To Ensleigh’s inquiries touching my disappearance from the dance, I
+had returned evasive replies. Jack kept his room, for good and
+sufficient reasons, and O’Shea had gone into the town early and had
+not come back. Nanette remained invisible.
+
+For all the glory of the Madeiran sunshine and the wonder of the
+flowers, black depression sat heavily upon us.
+
+I was lounging on the terrace at about six o’clock wondering what
+Nanette was doing and whether her mother suspected anything, when
+O’Shea suddenly walked out to me.
+
+“Hello!” I cried. “I thought you had gone for good!”
+
+“No,” he answered musingly, “not yet.”
+
+He sank into a chair, as though dog weary.
+
+“Had a hard day?” I asked.
+
+“Fairly,” he replied; “but I’ve done my job. I suspect there are
+harder to come.” He paused, then: “Have you seen Nanette?” he asked.
+
+“No,” I stared at him. “O’Shea, tell me if you resent my
+frankness--but that girl’s madly in love with you.”
+
+“I don’t resent it, Decies,” he answered. “I know she thinks she is.
+But Nanette is very young. There is something you don’t know--that
+nobody else will ever know.”
+
+I looked into the gray eyes. But they were not cold: they were on
+fire! I drew a sharp breath.
+
+“O’Shea----” I began.
+
+He nodded, and gripped my hand hard.
+
+“Yes!” he said simply. “From the first moment I saw her. I daren’t
+trust myself to see her again. You understand? It’s quite impossible.”
+
+“But why?”
+
+“For many reasons. Thank God, _she’s_ young enough to forget.”
+
+There was a short silence, which is more memorable to me than many
+long conversations.
+
+“What shall you do?” I asked.
+
+He pointed across the bay.
+
+Trailing a pennant of smoke in her wake, the greyhound shape of a
+destroyer raced for the harbour.
+
+“I sail in an hour,” he answered. “I can take care of myself, Decies,
+but Nanette is of an age when a--silly attachment might spoil years of
+her life. So”--he took a letter from his pocket--“I have done a cruel
+thing. I have said what isn’t true--God knows it isn’t true! Her pride
+will do the rest. Will you give it to her--after I have gone?”
+
+The promise was made. I thought of Nanette’s fresh young loveliness,
+which this man, who wanted her madly, might have taken as an
+unconditional gift. I thought of certain others I had met. I recalled
+that we moved in the year of freedom, 1927. And I wondered.
+
+I have known some good Irishmen and some bad. But Edmond O’Shea would
+be a mighty fine advertisement for any race on earth.
+
+Nanette came down to dinner, and I can never forget her expression
+when she saw O’Shea’s deserted table.
+
+My task was going to be a hard one.
+
+I took her out to the terrace afterward. Away on the distant horizon I
+could trace a faint wisp of smoke.
+
+“Do you mean,” she said, and her voice had changed strangely, “that
+Major O’Shea--has gone?”
+
+I looked at her, a sweet picture in the moonlight. And little Nanette
+had grown up. She watched me with a woman’s eyes.
+
+I handed the note to her. She ran to the library window, tearing open
+the envelope as she went. I turned away and tried to trace the slender
+smoke trail fading, fading on a distant horizon.
+
+A cry brought me sharply about.
+
+Nanette stood before me, her eyes blazing, her face deathly white.
+
+“Do you know what is in this?” she demanded.
+
+“I do not, Nanette.”
+
+And indeed I shall never know; but I know what it cost him to write
+it.
+
+A moment she stood so, glaring at me. Then, frenziedly she began to
+tear the letter into tiny fragments, and:
+
+“How dare he!” she cried. “Oh, God! how _dare_ he!”
+
+Whereupon she burst into such passionate sobs that it was agony to
+hear them. Dropping into a chair on the deserted terrace, she cried
+until my heart ached.
+
+It was her first love, and a very big one. An O’Shea inspires nothing
+petty. But she had courage, and pride.
+
+She conquered her weakness, and stood up.
+
+“You are very kind, Mr. Decies,” she said. “I am sorry I made a fool
+of myself.”
+
+Then she went in, walking very upright.
+
+I spent a wretched evening, and when I retired to my room, sleep
+simply would not come. I got up, with an idea of smoking a pipe, but,
+first, I crossed to the open window. On a moon-dappled path below the
+terrace I espied a moving figure; and Burns’s words flashed through my
+mind: “The best-laid schemes o’ mice and men…”
+
+Nanette was stealing among the flowers, collecting tiny fragments of
+the torn letter that a light evening breeze had blown from the terrace
+above. It was a hurt, an affront; but it was the only thing of his she
+had.
+
+
+
+
+ CHAPTER VIII.
+ THE CALL
+
+“Telegram, sir!”
+
+I sat up with a start. Morning sunlight flooded the large bare room.
+Wild canaries were singing outside my window. Slowly, facts began to
+assert themselves. I had been dreaming that I was taking tea at
+Stewarts with the Duchess of York and Mr. Tom Mann, when Trebitch
+Lincoln had appeared through a window, holding a bomb in his hand.
+Now, I realized that I had read news of all in a week-old _Daily Mail_
+recently; but that actually I was in bed at Reid’s Hotel, Funchal.
+
+The radio message that the boy had brought up was crisp enough, but it
+effectually banished my drowsiness.
+
+
+ Please call on British consul at once. Vitally urgent. Am holding you
+ to our bargain.
+
+                                                       O’Shea.
+
+
+A bargain based upon the survival of so old an institution as the
+British Empire is not lightly denied: I thought that perhaps my dreams
+had been prophetic. Nor was Edmond O’Shea the man to send such a
+message except under stress extraordinary.
+
+As I hurriedly bathed, shaved, and dressed, I reviewed the position.
+There was O’Shea, homeward bound with a packet of letters whose
+publication would further Red anarchy a number of points. There was
+myself, George Decies, who in a neutral way had helped to secure
+these. There was Gabriel da Cunha, agent of the nightmare called
+Communism, nursing a broken jaw as a result of foregoing transactions.
+And there was Nanette.
+
+Even as her name brought the dainty image to my mind, from under the
+open window came a soft call:
+
+“Coo--oo!”
+
+I crossed, struggling with an intractable tie; and there on the
+balcony below was Nanette.
+
+To know that the most provocatively pretty girl one has ever met is
+madly in love with a better man and to behave sanely in her company is
+an acid test of what I have heard termed “British poise.”
+
+She shaded her eyes with her hands, looking up at me. Her arms were a
+delicate brown colour on their outer curves where the sun had tanned
+them, and by comparison ivory white beneath. With a background of
+flowers against distant sea blue, Nanette made a picture exquisite to
+remember in old age but disturbing to a comparatively young bachelor.
+Temptation is sweet only when there is a chance of falling.
+
+“What a horrid tie,” she said. “Please wear the gray one with silver
+stripes, as it’s our last day in Madeira.”
+
+There was a wistful note in her appeal, and, looking down at little
+Nanette, slowly a memory came: I had worn that gray tie on the day we
+had met O’Shea.
+
+I suppressed a sigh, “admirin’ how the world was made.” At eighteen,
+there are many things that even Miss 1927 doesn’t know. There was one
+that Nanette did not even suspect. There was another that I knew of;
+but this not my own secret. I was unselfish enough to wish I could
+tell her.
+
+“Very well, Nanette,” I replied, and lingered, looking down.
+
+“Are you going to swim this morning--for the last time?”
+
+“No. I have to go into the town.”
+
+“I don’t think I shall swim, then,” said Nanette. “May I come with
+you? Or is it a stag party?”
+
+Before I could reply:
+
+“Please remember your packing!” came a voice from below.
+
+Nanette’s mother stepped out onto the balcony and looked up at me in
+mock severity. Seeing her, beside her daughter, I reflected that the
+lucky man who won Nanette would acquire a bride who would always be
+beautiful. “Consider well the mother of thy beloved,” says an Arab
+poet. “In her behold thy beloved-to-be.”
+
+“Pop is doing his to-night,” Nanette protested.
+
+I visualized “Pop,” sole occupant of the family table in the dining
+room, dealing with a solid English breakfast, regardless of flies,
+temperature, and the indifferent quality of the bacon.
+
+“He has none to do, dear,” was the reply. “I do it for him.”
+
+“But, darling,” Nanette wheedled, bobbed head pressed against her
+mother’s shoulder, “there are hours and hours. Please let me off.”
+
+In the end she had her way, and we set out together along the dusty
+road. There would be disappointment this morning down at the bathing
+pool, I mused, peering aside at the piquant face shaded by a Japanese
+parasol. Nanette wore no hat, and I said to myself that if all the
+women who were bobbed had such shapely heads as Nanette’s, the world
+would be very beautiful.
+
+“Did you tell Jack you were going?” I asked.
+
+“No.” Nanette aroused herself from a reverie. “I forgot.”
+
+Poor Jack! And he would have sold his Blue for a smile from Nanette.
+
+The road to the town is very picturesque; and I might have counted
+George Decies a happy man had I not known that my charming companion
+loved to be with me only because I formed a link with her memories of
+someone else. Down the steep slope we walked, talking but little. An
+old roadmaker doffed his hat, smiled, and bade us good-morning. I
+sensed his kindly, appreciative glance following us. Funchal is famous
+for honeymoons.
+
+Past the gardens of the Casino and the flower-cloaked balconies of
+villas we went. I forced myself to think of my real mission. Common
+sense whispered that I should have driven down in a fast car. Sense of
+duty demanded that I should conceal the nature of my business from
+Nanette.
+
+“Shall you be long with the consul?” she asked.
+
+“I don’t expect to be,” I replied.
+
+“Then I will go along and have a simply perfect shawl I saw sent up to
+Mum,” said Nanette. “She won’t like it. But _I_ love it.”
+
+We were just about to turn into that steep and narrow street that
+leads to the square, when:
+
+“Hi! hi! Hullo there!” we were hailed.
+
+We turned. Bumping along in a sledge behind two sweating patient oxen,
+was Jack.
+
+“Hullo, Jack,” said Nanette. “Mr. Decies has to see the consul and I’m
+going shopping. Want to come along?”
+
+“Rather!” cried Jack. “Jump in.”
+
+We proceeded to the consulate in the bullock cart, escorted by a
+battalion of flies with fixed bayonets.
+
+“Meet you at the Golden Gate,” called Jack.
+
+He was absurdly happy when I left him with Nanette and climbed the
+narrow stairs to the consul’s office.
+
+The British consul was a quiet little official automaton who had
+buried his heart in somebody’s grave and had nothing left to hope for.
+
+“Good-morning, Mr. Decies,” he said, and smiled rather sadly as I
+plumped an ornamental object down on the table.
+
+“Good Lord!” said I.
+
+It was Nanette’s handbag, a frivolous trifle from Paris, which she had
+asked me to take care of as we got into the bullock cart. I had been
+carrying it unconsciously.
+
+“You are early,” the consul went on, “and I have not quite finished
+decoding a dispatch which I am instructed to deliver to you. The main
+point, however, is this: Major O’Shea arrives in Madeira to-morrow
+night, and----”
+
+“Oh!” A faint cry interrupted him. “I’m so sorry----”
+
+We both turned and looked up.
+
+Nanette stood in the doorway, her blue eyes so widely opened as to
+convey an impression of fear.
+
+“I came for my bag,” she said. “I didn’t mean to intrude.”
+
+
+
+
+ CHAPTER IX.
+ MOON OF MADNESS
+
+Fifteen minutes later I was in possession of the facts--and faced
+with a problem.
+
+“This chap Da Cunha,” said the consul, “isn’t Portuguese, in spite of
+his name. He’s some kind of what-not. He has the biggest radio outfit
+in the island up at his summer bungalow.”
+
+“He’s a Communist agent.”
+
+“I know,” the other returned quietly, “but it wasn’t my business to
+mention it first. He crashed in his car the other day and he’s
+dry-docked for repairs in a house he owns down here in the town. I
+know the surgeon who’s attending.”
+
+I did not contradict him, for I was reading once again the body of the
+decoded message:
+
+
+ Arrive Funchal Harbour 2 A.M. Friday morning. Please meet me. Arrange
+ for accommodation privately. No one must know. Letters have all been
+ photographed. See Da Cunha does not slip away. Watch Arundel Castle.
+ Try to learn if any associate of Da C. sails. Prevent if possible. I
+ count on you.
+
+                                                     O’Shea.
+
+
+“Not a ship has cleared for European ports since Major O’Shea left,”
+said the consul. “So there’s a good chance.”
+
+“He’s returning in the destroyer?”
+
+“I don’t think so.” He glanced at a list of shipping. “Although this
+dispatch came from her. My idea is that they intercepted the Yeoward
+boat and put him on board. She’s due here at the time stated.”
+
+“Devilish awkward,” I murmured. “It’s late to cancel my sailing. I’m
+booked in the _Arundel Castle_.”
+
+“I’ll step across to Blandy’s with you,” said the consul, standing up
+and reaching for his hat. “We can get you transferred to a later boat.
+Leave the finding of private accommodation to me, too.”
+
+“Do you know of any one associated with Da Cunha?”
+
+“No. Da Cunha has property in Madeira, but he’s rarely here. Nearly
+all I know about him I have learned officially.”
+
+We settled our business at the Union Castle agent’s, thanks to
+consular aid, and, the morning growing insufferably hot, my friend
+agreed that something icy through a straw was indicated. When we
+arrived at the Golden Gate this theory proved to be popular. A party
+from Reid’s that included Nanette’s mother had arrived, and Jack was
+sharing Nanette with a stranger whose ancestors had known more about
+how the Pyramid was built than you or I can ever hope to learn.
+
+He reminded me of my London stockbroker until he was introduced as
+Macalister. He had a real-estate smile that was not unattractive, and
+my first, natural impression was that he had recently purchased the
+island from the Portuguese and was running his eye over the property.
+Presently, however:
+
+“And how is our friend, Gabriel?” Nanette asked. Then, turning to me:
+“I met Mr. Macalister with Gabriel da Cunha,” she explained.
+
+I forget how Macalister replied, for I was exchanging significant
+glances with the consul. A few moments later that competent official
+took the floor.
+
+“So you are leaving Madeira, Mr. Macalister?” he asked.
+
+“No,” the other replied, sharing an appreciative look between the
+cigar that he had just lighted and Nanette. “I had hoped to sail in
+the _Arundel Castle_, but I have been delayed.”
+
+The consul put several more leading questions to Macalister, in a
+chatty way, but I rather lost track of the conversation. Nanette was
+in a mood of feverish animation, which I knew, from experience, meant
+mischief. The party had been over to Blandy’s apparently, and had
+learned that accommodation in the _Arundel Castle_ was limited.
+Nanette and Jack talked happy nonsense about camping out in boats and
+what not. Then I made an announcement.
+
+“Somebody is lucky,” I said. “My berth will be vacant.”
+
+This statement was received with gratifying consternation.
+
+“You surely can’t mean that you are not coming with us?” Nanette’s
+mother exclaimed.
+
+Two pairs of eyes I particularly noted at this moment--the
+heavy-lidded brown eyes of Mr. Macalister and the wide-open blue eyes
+of Nanette.
+
+“Unhappily, yes,” I replied. “Unfortunate, very; but I must wait for
+the Royal Mail boat.”
+
+There was a sort of farewell dance at Reid’s that night. Quite a
+number of people were leaving in the _Arundel_. Nanette persistently
+avoided me; and I doubled-up with Jack in a scowling competition
+having for target Mr. Julian Macalister, who had dropped in after
+dinner and monopolized Nanette.
+
+Once, pausing near me:
+
+“Do you know what they call the crescent moon here?” she asked.
+
+“No.”
+
+“Moon of Madness.”
+
+She laughed and danced on. Jack scowled. I wondered.
+
+At the cocktail bar, during an interval, things bordered on the
+hectic. I have been honoured in the friendship of some of Mr.
+Macalister’s race who were very courtly gentlemen. Mr. Macalister was
+not as one of these.
+
+“Don’t look so gloomy, my lad,” he said to Jack. “It takes a man of
+experience to please a young girl.”
+
+Jack had boxed for his college and was no mean craftsman. I rapidly
+took in the powerful but fleshy form of Macalister and prepared to
+mourn his passing. He smiled confidently; but one could have got
+roughly about the same odds on a peanut in a monkey-house, when:
+
+“Mr. Decies!” said someone at my elbow.
+
+Jack was just descending in a leisurely way from his tall stool. He
+paused as I turned. The British consul stood behind us.
+
+“A word in private,” said he.
+
+I grabbed Jack’s arm.
+
+“Come along, too,” I urged.
+
+He hesitated, then:
+
+“Perhaps you’re right,” came with manifest reluctance.
+
+We walked out into the lounge; and the consul handed me a scribbled
+note.
+
+“Received in code to-night,” he explained.
+
+
+ Detain Julian Macalister at any cost.
+
+
+Jack had left us, going to look for Nanette, and:
+
+“From O’Shea?” I asked.
+
+“No. From Scotland Yard!”
+
+“But he’s not sailing!”
+
+The consul met my gaze of inquiry.
+
+“That radio set of Da Cunha’s is very well informed,” he said.
+“Macalister knew of this move before _I_ did. He only cancelled
+to-day.”
+
+
+
+
+ CHAPTER X.
+ THE _ARUNDEL CASTLE_ SAILS
+
+I cannot pretend that I was a happy man as I climbed the ladder of
+the _Arundel Castle_ on the following morning. All my friends were
+leaving, and the affection and admiration that I had for Edmond O’Shea
+could not recompense me for their loss. My only consolation lay in the
+knowledge that, unhonoured and unsung though I should be, yet, in a
+modest way, I was doing my job of work toward saving Great Britain
+from the Reds.
+
+An inward-bound liner, by the time she makes Madeira, offers a ripe
+crop of studies to the psychologist. The gay Conrads, who have learned
+the truth of Leonard Merrick’s unmoral dictum, “a man is young as
+often as he falls in love.” The anxious-eyed women who have lost what
+their men have found. A score of flirtations and two or three
+intrigues, followed with interest by the midnight watch and reported
+in routine to the purser. The odd men out, too, are always rather
+pathetic. It was wonderful how many lonely eyes lighted up when
+Nanette stepped on to the deck. Even some of the Conrads prepared to
+change their minds.
+
+Baggage was missing, of course. Nanette’s mother had lost a wardrobe
+trunk, nothing less.
+
+“Don’t worry,” said Nanette’s father, in his imperturbable way. “It
+will turn up.”
+
+“It will be Nan’s turn to worry,” was the reply. “All her things are
+in it!”
+
+Nanette, the irresponsible, had disappeared with Jack in quest of her
+new quarters. She professed to be the victim of a dreadful theory that
+her stable companion was an elderly Boer lady with gout.
+
+Coffee-coloured boys were diving off the boat-deck; vendors of lace
+shouted themselves hoarse from a flotilla of small craft that clung to
+the steamer like wasps to a honey-pot; Portuguese lightermen shrieked
+amiable execrations at one another; nobody could find the missing
+trunk, nobody could find Nanette; Nanette’s father said both would
+turn up--and the Bay of Funchal embraced it all with peaceful beauty.
+
+When the last shore-signal was sounded, I found Jack beside me. He was
+plainly in a panic.
+
+“Here, I say,” he exclaimed. “I thought Nanette was with you!”
+
+“And I thought she was with you!”
+
+“When did you see her last?”
+
+“When she went to look for her cabin.”
+
+“But she came back to fetch _you_!”
+
+“She didn’t arrive.”
+
+“Hurry up, please,” urged the officer on the gangway. “You’re last for
+the shore, sir.”
+
+Jack turned and ran in at the saloon entrance. I could see no one else
+I knew; so there was nothing for it but to tumble down the ladder.
+Reid’s launch had gone, and I took the boat in which some customs
+people, office men, and others were going ashore.
+
+They had turned steam on to the anchor and the ladder was swinging up
+as we drew away. I stood in the boat, searching the decks far above
+me, their rails lined with unfamiliar faces. From the white-capped,
+gold-laced officers on the bridge, I worked down, deck by deck. I
+caught a momentary glimpse of some folks I knew and waved
+automatically; but of Nanette’s party I could see nothing.
+
+Then sounded faintly a bell. Straggling boats seemed to be drawn
+astern of the liner by some powerful current. There was movement in
+the placid water; a swell rocked us. One could see the churning of the
+screw in clear blue sea. Renewed waving--and the _Arundel Castle_ was
+homeward bound for Southampton, with mails, mixed cargo, several
+potential weddings, and a broken heart or so.
+
+As I stepped from the boat on to the stone stairs and went up to the
+jetty, I paused, looking back. I was shortly to meet Edmond O’Shea,
+and the thought was pleasurable, but I would have given much to have
+been aboard the liner now headed for the open sea.
+
+I walked up the tree-lined street, sighing when I passed the shop
+where Nanette had found that wonderful shawl. The square, you may
+recall, is planted with those trees that flourish principally in South
+Africa and bear a light blue blossom. In the sunshine of early morning
+it seemed to me that all the streets were dim with an azure born of
+the flowers.
+
+Only two tables had been placed outside the Golden Gate. At one of
+them a girl was seated, her elbows on the table, her chin propped upon
+clenched hands. She stirred slightly, and I saw the sunlight gleaming
+in her hair.…
+
+I stood stock still. Then I began to run.
+
+Nanette looked up.
+
+She was pale. Her widely opened eyes were the colour of those
+flowers--misty blue. And they said, “I am afraid. I am ashamed. Don’t
+be angry with me.”
+
+“Nanette!” I whispered.
+
+She bit her lip and turned her head aside quickly; then:
+
+“I was mad to do it,” she confessed. “I am sorry--now. Please send a
+message to the ship. They will be frantic.”
+
+“But--your things? You will have to wait for a whole week.”
+
+“They are in the small wardrobe trunk. I bribed Pedro to leave it
+behind. Oh, please, Mr. Decies!” She clutched my arm and I felt how
+she trembled. “Look after me. I am so frightened.”
+
+
+
+
+ CHAPTER XI.
+ THE PHOTOGRAPHS
+
+The S.S. _Aguila_ of Messrs. Yeoward Brothers dropped her anchor on
+to the rocky bottom of Funchal Harbour at fifteen minutes after two
+A.M. under a perfect moon like the crescent of Islam; a true Moon of
+Madness.
+
+They had the ladder down in a trice, and my boat drew alongside. I ran
+up to the deck--and there was Edmond O’Shea in a white drill suit,
+more like John Barrymore than ever with the moonlight gleaming on his
+wavy hair.
+
+We shook hands in silence, whilst his searching gray eyes looked into
+mine and mine told him all that I was helpless to conceal. Then:
+
+“It was good of you, Decies,” he said. “My message has put you out?”
+
+“I had booked in the _Arundel_; but it didn’t matter. My time is my
+own.”
+
+Indeed, already the spell of The O’Shea was on me. There are many
+names honoured in connection with the Grand Parade, but ask one of the
+men who knows what happened on the Retreat when Smith Dorrien sent for
+O’Shea; a company commander then, and only a major now. We all won the
+war, according to our own accounts; the old Irish Guards--what’s left
+of them--would convince you that Edmond O’Shea helped us.
+
+“What has happened?” I asked him.
+
+He gave me the facts, whilst we enjoyed the hospitality of the captain
+who was delighted to have been instrumental in helping so
+distinguished a passenger.
+
+“The original letters are safe in Whitehall, Decies. But I found
+pinholes showing where they had been stuck on a board--obviously to be
+photographed! We sent a radio to Captain McPhee here, and I doubled
+back. The mails will be watched at Southampton; but I don’t fear the
+mails. Some trusted agent will carry the photographs. I wired
+headquarters for likely birds.”
+
+“Scotland Yard replied,” said I. “One, Julian Macalister, is under
+surveillance.”
+
+O’Shea’s cold eyes fixed me.
+
+“Who’s watching him?” he asked.
+
+This brought me to it, and I gulped a quick drink before replying:
+
+“Nanette.”
+
+His expression changed; then:
+
+“So they are still here?” he said.
+
+“_She_ is still here.”
+
+The captain excused himself gracefully, on a plea of duty; and I told
+O’Shea.
+
+“You think she overheard you in the consul’s office?”
+
+“I know she did. She admitted it.”
+
+“And so you told her--the rest?”
+
+“Was I wrong?”
+
+O’Shea stood up and paced the room a couple of times; then:
+
+“I don’t know,” said he. “Let’s go ashore.”
+
+Fate has playfully set me in some queer situations, but I can recall
+none stranger than that in which I found myself now. O’Shea, occupying
+a room in the consul’s house, and engaged in private consultations
+with the military governor and others; Nanette, studiously declining
+to meet him--although his return to Funchal was the reason of her
+being there; Da Cunha, incapacitated, and only able to act through
+Macalister; the latter gentleman dancing attendance on Nanette.
+
+“He doesn’t know that I know anything,” she said to me. “And he
+doesn’t know that Major O’Shea is here.”
+
+We were taking tea on the terrace of Reid’s; the adorably pretty girl
+who had “missed the boat” and my innocent self subjects of much
+inaccurate speculation. Two frantic radios had been brought out to
+Nanette: one from her mother and one from Jack.
+
+“Please answer them for me,” was all she had said.
+
+“Nanette!” I looked into the childish blue eyes, in which, when O’Shea
+was mentioned, I had seen the woman-light shine. “I feel responsible
+for you. In playing with a dangerous man like Macalister you take
+risks which you don’t understand.”
+
+“I’m going to find out where the photographs are!”
+
+“Because of--O’Shea?”
+
+She looked at me bravely.
+
+“No,” she lied--yet did not know she lied. “Because Major O’Shea
+insulted my intelligence. I am going to find out for my own sake.”
+
+I dined with O’Shea in the town that night. He was frantically
+worried. That Macalister was the man to whom the task had been
+assigned of getting the photographs to Red headquarters he could not
+doubt. But where were they? And how did Macalister propose to smuggle
+them through?
+
+“Where is Nanette?” he asked suddenly.
+
+“Dining with Macalister at Reid’s.”
+
+“Damn!” said O’Shea; then: “Go back and look after her,” he begged. “I
+can’t stand it, Decies. You shouldn’t leave her.”
+
+“She dismissed me!”
+
+“Report yourself for duty. ’Phone me here.”
+
+I arrived at the hotel fifteen minutes later. The hall porter handed
+me a note as I ran in. I tore the envelope open in a sort of frenzy.
+This was the message:
+
+
+ Photographs are on board a motor cruiser belonging to Gabriel da
+ Cunha. I can’t find out where it is. But Macalister goes in it
+ to-morrow morning to Las Palmas and from there by steamer to England.
+ Have gone with him to the Casino. Will keep him as long as possible.
+ Can’t do any more.
+
+                                                    Nanette.
+
+
+When I ’phoned to O’Shea, I heard him groan.
+
+“Send someone from the hotel to stand by her,” he said; or, rather, it
+was an order. “I can find out where Da Cunha’s boat lies by using the
+military wires. It’s hell, Decies, but I daren’t take chances. Join me
+here. But make sure she is safe.”
+
+
+
+
+ CHAPTER XII.
+ THE MOTOR CRUISER
+
+The governor’s car, a Cadillac--tribute to the far-flung efficiency
+of American salesmanship--was driven by the chauffeur over what I took
+to be the edge of a sheer precipice. I inhaled noisily. Then we were
+gliding down a cobbled road that, serpentine, embraced a fairy port.
+
+Nestling in a cleft, a volcanic chasm, its terraced roofs silvered by
+the crescent moon, lay a town asleep. Patches of colour, as though a
+Titan artist had thrown uncleaned palettes into the hollow, crowded
+upon and overlay the white walls. Green fronds peeped above pools of
+shadow. A beautiful auditorium, this town looked down upon the eternal
+drama of the sea.
+
+O’Shea spoke to the chauffeur in Portuguese. His command of
+unpronounceable languages was not the least of his acquirements. The
+powerful brakes were applied and our switchback descent ceased.
+
+We proceeded on foot.
+
+Where a low stone wall prevented the traveller from falling through
+the roof of a villa some twenty feet below, O’Shea pulled up, grasped
+my arm, and pointed.
+
+Displaying her graceful, creamy shape like a courtesan stretched upon
+blue velvet, a fine-lined motor boat rode in the tiny harbour. Lights
+shone out from her cabin ports. O’Shea unbuttoned the coat that he
+wore over dinner kit and began to twirl his monocle to and fro upon
+its black ribbon about an extended finger.
+
+“There is Da Cunha’s boat,” said he; “and there, no doubt, is what we
+are after. But it looks----”
+
+“As though Nanette had failed to keep Macalister?”
+
+O’Shea turned to me, and his eyes gleamed very coldly in the
+moonlight.
+
+“Decies,” he said, “you remind me of an unpleasant truth: that if I
+succeed in this matter I shall be indebted to a girl.”
+
+“She will have done a big thing for England.”
+
+“I don’t begrudge her that. It would hurt me to think she had done it
+for me.”
+
+For a moment I hesitated; then:
+
+“I think she knows it,” I ventured, “and wants to hurt you.”
+
+“Why?”
+
+“Because you hurt _her_.”
+
+He stared very fixedly out over the harbour for some moments, but he
+did not seem to have taken offence. At last:
+
+“If I had married very young, Decies,” he said, “and God had been good
+to me, I might have had a daughter like Nanette. Even if there were no
+other reason, shouldn’t I be a blackguard to think of her except as a
+wilful child?”
+
+But I could find no answer. This man’s codes were beyond me. Young
+though he was in the days of the Big Push, he had won a name that had
+outlasted those of a score of general officers and more than one field
+marshal. The fact came home to me and brought with it a great
+humility, that I was not of the stuff that histories are made of.
+
+“Suppose we go and look for a boat,” I said.
+
+O’Shea aroused himself--for he had his dreams even as you and I.
+
+“A boat it is,” said he. “As I have no official status whatever,
+there’s nothing for it but frank piracy. Are you game?”
+
+“Every time.”
+
+We went on down the sloping cobbled street. Presently it led us
+through the heart of the little town, where shuttered windows told of
+citizens asleep and only a zealous dog broke the silence. This until,
+as we were about to come out on the water front, from a high balcony
+stole the strains of a guitar.
+
+O’Shea paused, looking up. A dim light might be discerned. He glanced
+at me, smiled, and we passed on. Love is an art with the Southerners.
+
+I have wondered since, reviewing that journey, during which both our
+minds, I think, were busied with plans for boarding the motor boat and
+securing the incriminating photographs, that no premonition touched
+me. “Nanette had failed to keep Macalister,” I had said, noting the
+lighted cabin. Yet Nanette had dared to slip away from the _Arundel
+Castle_ and to remain alone in Funchal. I should have known my
+Nanette.
+
+Drawn up beside a quay, a red blotch in the moonlight, was a
+long-nosed French car.
+
+“Da Cunha’s Farman,” I exclaimed. “Macalister _is_ on board.”
+
+But O’Shea did not reply. He was starting out in the direction of the
+lighted craft, a thirty-eight-foot motor cruiser, very handy in smooth
+water but a dirty brute, I thought, in a choppy sea. Then:
+
+“I am wondering,” he murmured.
+
+“What?”
+
+“Why he is lying out there and not alongside? There is no boat at the
+stair.”
+
+At first, the full significance of his remark missed me. My concern
+was with the problem of how we were to find transport. Then, something
+in the quality of that fixed stare with which my companion watched the
+lighted ports, his poise, as if listening, prepared me for what was to
+come.
+
+The tones of a coarse voice, raised hilariously, reached my ears,
+coming from the cruiser’s cabin. A trill of laughter followed,
+youthful, musical. My heart missed a beat. I clutched O’Shea’s arm.
+
+“My God!” I said, “he has Nanette with him!”
+
+Involuntarily, my gaze went upward, to where in cold serenity the Moon
+of Madness raised her crescent lamp.
+
+O’Shea from the pocket of his light coat took a revolver. He placed it
+in his soft hat and crammed the hat tightly on his head. He began to
+peel his dinner jacket.
+
+“I’m going for a swim,” said he. “Coming?”
+
+But he was not alone in the idea. Before I could frame any reply came
+sounds of loud laughter, a scuffling of feet--and I saw Nanette run
+out on to the after-deck. She wore a blue-and-silver dance frock. I
+heard Macalister call to her and I heard her laughing answer; but I
+could not distinguish a word.
+
+I saw her raise her arms as though to unfasten the string of beads
+about her neck. She stooped swiftly, stood upright again--and
+Macalister was beside her.
+
+There was a shrill cry--half laughter, half hysteria. Nanette
+disappeared in the shadow of the awning. I heard the man’s voice, his
+heavy tread.…
+
+Nanette reappeared at the bow of the boat.
+
+Heroism is always beautiful, whether it spring from love of country or
+love of man. The dance frock had vanished, shed like the sheath of a
+chrysalis when the moth is born. A silver moon-goddess stood at the
+prow. She stooped, once, twice--I thought to discard her shoes. Then,
+as Macalister came stumbling forward, Nanette dived almost soundlessly
+into the still blue sea.
+
+And Nanette could swim like a seal.
+
+Macalister craned over the side. For one moment I think he
+contemplated following. Then the bobbed head came up two lengths away.
+Behind the swimmer, on a tow-line of beads, floated a flat, square
+portfolio.
+
+I glanced once at O’Shea--and that man of action was stricken to
+stone. Fists clenched, he stood, watching a girl of eighteen doing the
+work he had come to do--and doing it for _him_.
+
+Macalister was hauling in his anchor. The motor started with a roar.
+Then Nanette saw us. She was halfway to the shore.
+
+“Please throw one of the rugs on the steps,” came gaspingly. “And go
+away! Start the car up!”
+
+When, a few minutes later, a very wet Nanette, wrapped in a light top
+coat, confronted O’Shea, I don’t know quite what happened.
+
+“There are your photographs,” I heard her say. “If I never see you
+again, at least think I was not such a fool as you supposed.”
+
+With all her dear bravado, she could not still the trembling of her
+voice. I saw O’Shea’s pale face, and turned aside. That meeting was
+one I can never forget. Yet the details will always be hazy.
+
+Macalister was in the picture somewhere. I think I knocked him down. I
+don’t remember why. But I fancy it was not because of any attempt to
+recover the portfolio but because he grossly misunderstood the
+situation.
+
+Then, I recall, O’Shea stooped, lifted Nanette, and walked up the
+sloping cobbled street under a smiling moon. He had suffered as only
+the few can suffer, to make her forget him. His sacrifice had been
+rejected by the Great Goddess.
+
+Once, Nanette peeped up at him swiftly. I saw her eyes. Then she hid
+her face against his shoulder. I think Nanette was crying. But I know
+Nanette was happy.
+
+
+
+
+ CHAPTER XIII.
+ THE GRASS ORPHAN
+
+“Public men should never indulge in private correspondence,” said
+O’Shea. “Such indiscretions sometimes lead to war. I understand that
+all Napoleon’s social engagements were made by proxy.”
+
+He turned toward me, his arm resting on the rail of the balcony. There
+were times when O’Shea looked extraordinarily handsome. To-day, I
+thought he appeared almost haggard. In his spruce white suit with
+Madeiran sunlight making play in the waves of his hair, he had all
+that curious atmosphere of romance that made him attractive to women
+and unpopular with men who knew no better. But his eyes were
+tragically tired.
+
+I saw him glance at a square portfolio that lay upon the table in the
+shadows of my room.
+
+“Six photographic negatives,” he went on musingly, “and twelve
+prints--as all the letters photographed ran to more than one page.
+It’s odd to reflect, Decies, that these scraps of film and paper might
+light a bonfire big enough to burn up a whole Empire.”
+
+Odd indeed; yet I knew it to be true. For that relentless loom which
+the Arabs call Kismet had drawn me into the pattern of this human
+carpet woven of anarchy, love, sacrifice, and God knows what other
+threads. I knew; therefore:
+
+“Why not destroy them?” said I.
+
+O’Shea shook his head.
+
+“My instructions are to deliver them intact to headquarters,” he
+replied.
+
+“Are you returning in the Royal Mail boat?”
+
+“No. They are sending for me.”
+
+“Lodge them in the bank, then.”
+
+“Contrary to instructions, Decies. They must remain in my charge.”
+
+I met the fixed stare of his cold gray eyes.
+
+“In which respect,” said I, “your instructions resemble mine.”
+
+“And do honour to both of us,” he added.
+
+I lighted a cigarette, smiling perhaps a trifle wryly. When a wayward
+beauty of eighteen deliberately misses the boat home and her parents
+radio an eligible bachelor that they hold him responsible for her
+safety, one sits up and takes notice. Traditional English phlegm is
+called upon to do its best.
+
+On the terrace above the bathing pool, a band was playing jazz. Below
+my windows a multi-coloured cascade of flowers poured down, wave upon
+wave, to meet the deep blue ocean. Sounds of laughter came floating
+up. Little yellow birds darting gaily from palm to palm appeared to
+find life a thing of song. I wondered. Was it Abraham Lincoln who
+confessed that he could mould men but not circumstance?
+
+“It seems absurd,” said O’Shea, breaking a long silence. “But do you
+know what I was thinking?”
+
+“No.”
+
+“That, after all, Madeira is a very lonely island.”
+
+He stared at me fixedly, until:
+
+“What do you mean exactly?” I asked.
+
+“Decies,” he said, “the Reds have had a nasty set-back in England. But
+there’s propaganda there”--he pointed to the portfolio--“for which
+Moscow would pay a substantial fortune. They have forty-eight hours to
+act.”
+
+“But only two agents in the island--one out of the ring.”
+
+“Gabriel da Cunha has a mysterious radio set in his bungalow. He will
+be in touch with his chief--and his chief is a dangerously clever
+man.”
+
+The official records of the Irish Guards afford sufficient credentials
+for the courage of Major Edmond O’Shea. He was watching me with that
+close regard which seemed to concern itself with one’s subconscious
+self, so pointedly did it penetrate; and, rather fatuously:
+
+“You are surely not nervous about your charge?” I queried.
+
+He continued to watch me for a moment, then:
+
+“No,” he replied, and his expression grew abstracted. “Oddly enough, I
+was thinking of yours.”
+
+He turned aside, toying with the black-rimmed monocle that he rarely
+wore unless he were annoyed. At the Guards’ depot in Essex it used to
+be said that the appearance on parade of O’Shea wearing his monocle
+made bayonets rattle.
+
+Precisely what he had in mind I found myself at a loss to imagine, and
+before I had time to ask:
+
+“Please, are you at home?” cried a voice from below.
+
+I crossed to my balcony and looked down.
+
+Nanette stood on the terrace. The sunshine made a glory of her tousled
+head as she laughed up at me. A stout German seated near by in a cane
+lounge-chair found his attention engrossed by the unashamed beauty of
+a pair of slim legs that had suddenly interfered with his view of the
+bay. They were delicately sunburned to the knees, which--the brevity
+of modern frocks and a habit of going stockingless had forced me to
+learn--were dimpled. One suspects that Cleopatra had dimpled knees.
+
+“Yes, Nanette,” said I. “Where have you been?”
+
+“Bathing. You should know that, Mr. Decies. You are sadly neglecting
+your grass orphan!”
+
+She looked very lovely. The German tourist raised envious eyes to my
+balcony, their envy magnified by heavily rimmed goggles.
+
+“Please come down and join the party.”
+
+“Very well, Nanette,” I answered.
+
+But when I turned back and reëntered my room, O’Shea and the
+portfolio were gone. And I knew that little Nanette would be
+disappointed.
+
+Presently, side by side, we walked down a shady path strewn with
+fallen hibiscus blossom. Nanette was very silent. An American training
+ship manned by naval cadets lay in the bay, and, at a bend in the
+path, Nanette paused. She stared out at the little vessel--“a painted
+ship upon a painted sea.”
+
+“One of the boys from the cadet ship is with our party,” she said.
+“He’s nice. I have promised to dance with him to-night. He’s from
+Boston,” she added.
+
+“Has he got late shore leave then?” I asked.
+
+“No,” Nanette answered in a dreamy voice, moving on. “I don’t think
+so. He just wants to stop. They are going to the Azores from here.
+Where is--or are--the Azores?”
+
+“Quite a long way,” I answered vaguely; for Nanette really didn’t want
+to know.
+
+There was small envy in my heart regarding the cadet from Boston. He
+was being used as a diversion by a distractingly pretty girl whose
+heart was not in the game. However, it is the mission of youth to
+learn, and the poor fellow would “learn about women from her.”
+
+I met him in due course. He was being lionized by a group seated
+around a table beneath a gay umbrella that cast pleasing shadows.
+
+Nanette unblushingly monopolized him, and his joy was ghastly to
+behold. He would cheerfully have deserted his ship for her.
+
+The sister of the British consul, who was acting as a sort of official
+chaperone to our grass orphan, kept throwing appealing looks in my
+direction. But I was helpless, and I knew it. A hundred times
+Nanette’s glance sought the steps. And if only O’Shea had joined us,
+the eyes of the infatuated young man from Boston might have been
+opened before he doomed himself to cells for a siren’s smile.
+
+But O’Shea did not join us.
+
+When I drifted down to dinner that evening, I missed him. I waited in
+the cocktail bar in vain. Nanette peeped in, too. At last, there was
+nothing for it but to dine alone. And constantly the blue eyes of
+Nanette, who had been “adopted” by a charming couple from the North
+Country, were turned in my direction. Always she smiled--but only to
+hide her disappointment.
+
+The cadet blew along in due course, flushed with excitement, and was
+greeted by a very composed Nanette. Accompanied by her temporary
+“parents,” she bore the young man away to the Casino.
+
+I made up my mind to walk down later. But I was largely concerned with
+the absence of O’Shea. I hung about until after nine o’clock and was
+prepared to go out, when I saw him crossing the lounge. He beckoned to
+me, and:
+
+“They are not idle, Decies,” he said. “Da Cunha’s radio has been
+busy.”
+
+“Have you picked anything up?”
+
+“No. Conditions in the town are bad. But there’s something afoot.”
+
+“Short of burglary, what can they do?”
+
+He stared at me vacantly; then:
+
+“I don’t know,” he confessed.
+
+But we were to learn--and very soon.
+
+A disturbance in the lobby proclaimed itself.
+
+“What’s the trouble?” said I.
+
+Even as I spoke, the worthy man from Lancashire, whose wife had taken
+Nanette under her wing, came hurrying in. He was pale.
+
+“My God! Decies,” he exclaimed. “Did you send a car to the Casino for
+Nanette?”
+
+“No!” I replied blankly.
+
+“Damn it! I suspected there was something wrong!”
+
+“Quick!” said O’Shea. “What has happened?”
+
+The other spoke very breathlessly.
+
+“Someone brought her a message--from _you_, Mr. Decies. She ran out
+without a word. Young Clayton, the cadet, ran after her.”
+
+“Well?” O’Shea urged.
+
+“When I got to the door, they told me that both had driven off in a
+car that was waiting by the gate.”
+
+“Did anyone actually see this car?” O’Shea demanded.
+
+“No. It stood out in the roadway.”
+
+“Then who brought the message?”
+
+“A boy idling at the gate.”
+
+“You questioned him?”
+
+“Closely,” replied the man from Lancashire. “He did not know the
+chauffeur and only had a glimpse of the car.”
+
+“But I don’t understand,” said I dazedly.
+
+“I followed,” the hoarse voice went on, “but just this side of the
+bridge, where it’s so lonely and dark at night, I nearly ran over
+Clayton! He was insensible. He’s out in the hallway now! Nanette--has
+disappeared!”
+
+Very deliberately, O’Shea adjusted his monocle.
+
+“Decies,” he said coldly, “why, in God’s name, didn’t you stick to
+your post?”
+
+
+
+
+ CHAPTER XIV.
+ THE PORTFOLIO
+
+Born leaders of men do not achieve leadership; men force it upon
+them. Here was a panic-stricken group, soon augmented by the manager
+and a doctor who chanced to be in the hotel. One was for communicating
+with the police; another urged the military; all were anxious to
+enlarge the news.
+
+We were in a room on the right of the entrance, the medical man
+bending over an insensible cadet. O’Shea quietly closed the door. And
+I have since remembered how instinctively we all turned and faced him.
+
+“Doctor,” he said, “how soon will he recover?”
+
+The Portuguese physician shook his head.
+
+“Do not count upon him,” he answered gravely. “A tremendous blow on
+the back of his skull. I cannot examine him properly here. He must be
+taken at once to the hospital.”
+
+“An accident?”
+
+“But certainly, no! Foul play. Some blunt weapon. I suspect a
+sandbag.”
+
+“Shall I telephone the police?” the manager asked.
+
+“No,” said O’Shea. “Get young Clayton away as quickly as possible.
+Gentlemen”--he included us all in a comprehensive glance--“let us keep
+this affair to ourselves.”
+
+“What!” I cried.
+
+But indeed, beyond that one word I could not go. Inertia at such a
+time astounded me.
+
+“There is a well-known policy of war,” O’Shea went on: “Masterly
+inactivity. We have no Service de Sûreté and no Scotland Yard in
+Madeira. A clumsy hue and cry could serve no better purpose than to
+drive the enemy into some more remote hiding place.”
+
+“But, Nanette!” I burst out.
+
+Then I met O’Shea’s glance. I noted the grim set of his jaw. I saw how
+pale he was.
+
+“Your remark was rather unnecessary, Decies,” he said. “I recently
+pointed out to you that Madeira is a very lonely island. If you can
+suggest any plan for locating the whereabouts of Nanette, do so.”
+
+Then I understood. And I think I groaned.
+
+“There are so many roads they might have taken,” the manager
+explained. “And what means have we of tracing the car? There are no
+traffic police in Madeira. Such a thing has never happened here
+before. Certainly not in my time.”
+
+“What villain has done it?” came in agonized North Country dialect.
+“Oh, the poor little lass!”
+
+“Madeiran blood runs very hot,” said the physician.
+
+“No doubt,” O’Shea agreed. “And Nanette is a lovely child. But do you
+believe there is any one amongst her acquaintances mad enough to
+commit such an outrage?”
+
+“Why do you say ‘amongst her acquaintances’?” I asked stupidly.
+
+“Because _your_ name was used to induce her to go,” O’Shea answered.
+“Ultimately, she must be found. Her abductor knows this. Therefore he
+is prepared to make terms.”
+
+Came a rap on the door.
+
+“Yes?” said the manager.
+
+A hall porter appeared. Major O’Shea was wanted on the telephone. As
+he went out:
+
+“Come to my room in five minutes, Decies,” he directed.
+
+The five minutes that followed form a blur in my memory. There were
+hushed voices. There was movement; a still figure being carried
+through the hall to where a car waited out in the scented darkness.
+Someone kept saying, “We must _do_ something. We must _do_ something,”
+over and over again. There was a woman who sobbed with a Lancashire
+accent.
+
+Then I stood in O’Shea’s room. He was seated on the side of the bed.
+
+“I was right,” he said. “It’s a move in the Red game!”
+
+“What!”
+
+My wild, distorted ideas were tumbled over one another by that
+statement. They fought in my brain, seeking fresh formation.
+
+“I knew that if my theory were sound they would waste no time. That
+was Julian Macalister on the ’phone. It’s the photographs they’re
+after, Decies!”
+
+Whereupon: “Thank God!” I exclaimed.
+
+O’Shea raised his eyes to me.
+
+“I forgive you,” he said softly, “for preferring my ruin to
+Nanette’s.”
+
+Certainly the swift tragedy of the last half hour must have numbed my
+brain. O’Shea had watched me, not angrily, for several moments before
+the full meaning of his words gripped my mind.
+
+I dropped into an armchair.
+
+Gabriel da Cunha and Julian Macalister, Communist agents, had
+triumphed at the eleventh hour!
+
+“My special duties as a secret service officer end to-night.” It was
+O’Shea who spoke, but his voice seemed to come hollowly from a great
+distance. “My resignation from the regiment must follow.”
+
+I spoke never a word.
+
+“There is just one thing, Decies, you can do.”
+
+Then I roused myself. I looked eagerly at O’Shea. I think, in that
+dark hour, I would have crawled through the hottest alleyways of hell
+to save him. “Why, in God’s name, didn’t you stick to your post?”
+Those words of his would sound in my ears for many a long day to come.
+
+“You can enable me to resign,” he went on. “It would be preferable to
+being gazetted: ‘The King having no further use for this officer’s
+services.’”
+
+“Anything,” I said. “I will do anything.”
+
+A party of serenaders, playing gently on guitars and singing a
+languorous love-song, passed along the road below. Their voices
+mingled in perfect harmony. A sea breeze bore perfume into the room.
+And I thought that this soft island, set like a jewel above the brow
+of Africa, might once have been the home of Calypso, stealing men’s
+senses.
+
+“It may seem mere splitting of hairs,” O’Shea went on. “But it serves
+my purpose, and so I ask you to do it.”
+
+He took up the precious portfolio, which lay upon the bed beside him.
+
+“I forced the lock last night,” he said, “but had it repaired and
+fitted with a key in the town this morning. I removed the seals intact
+and replaced them. Here is the key.” He held it out upon his open
+palm. “Take it.”
+
+I took it, wondering and waiting.
+
+“Now take the portfolio,” said he. “You will find it is locked. Hide
+it where you please. But its security means everything to me, to
+Nanette, and to England.”
+
+“You mean,” I began, “that I----”
+
+“I mean,” O’Shea took me up, “that _you_ may pay this price to ransom
+her. _I_ cannot. You have sworn no oath of allegiance to the Crown. I
+have.”
+
+“Good God!” I cried. “The decision is to rest with _me_!”
+
+“As a private citizen you can choose between the claims of your
+country, in this very difficult matter, and the claims of a helpless
+girl who has been given into your charge. As an officer, I have no
+choice.”
+
+He spoke in a low, monotonous voice. But I shall remember every word
+of his instructions whilst memory lasts.
+
+“You must not tell me where it is concealed. It should be in some
+place, though, that is quickly accessible.”
+
+“But, O’Shea! Are they sending someone to make terms?”
+
+“They are. At eleven o’clock to-night.”
+
+“Why not have him arrested?”
+
+O’Shea stared at me, and smiled. But it was a cold smile.
+
+“Julian Macalister is coming in person,” he replied. “News of this
+unfortunate occurrence having reached him and our mutual friend,
+Gabriel da Cunha, both are anxious to place their extensive knowledge
+of the island at our disposal. On what charge should you propose to
+arrest Macalister?”
+
+“Directly he declares his real object, upon a triple charge of
+blackmail, abduction, and attempted murder!”
+
+“And then?”
+
+“Well, surely----”
+
+“My dear fellow!” O’Shea stood up and sighed wearily. “Racks and
+boiling oil would never be sanctioned by the civil governor.
+Personally, I should prescribe them.”
+
+I was silenced. O’Shea was right.
+
+“Under Portuguese law the case would take weeks,” he added. “It would
+be adjourned to Lisbon. No. We cannot leave her in unknown hands----”
+
+He turned, the sentence unfinished, and walked across to the balcony.
+
+I knew that if she had never met Edmond O’Shea little Nanette would
+have been safe in England that night. And I knew that he knew.
+
+Taking up the portfolio, I went out, closing the door very quietly.
+
+
+
+
+ CHAPTER XV.
+ TERMS WITH THE ENEMY
+
+I had noted a loose floor board in my room. With the aid of a knife
+blade, I succeeded in lifting it, revealing a dusty cavity. Here I hid
+the portfolio. I replaced the board and slipped the key on to my ring
+with others that I habitually carried.
+
+That I was destined to be present at the interview with Macalister, I
+foresaw clearly enough. How best to prepare myself it was not easy to
+determine. Primarily I had to focus upon keeping my temper. O’Shea
+plainly wanted to be alone.
+
+I looked into the cocktail bar. Two men whom I knew were drinking
+highballs, and:
+
+“Hullo, Decies,” said one, “what’s this crazy rumour about your little
+friend?”
+
+The words offended me. I suppose I was in a mood for it. Since the
+fateful morning that Nanette had missed the boat, many questionable
+glances had been cast upon me.
+
+“It’s what you say,” I answered shortly: “a crazy rumour.”
+
+Then I went out.
+
+I crossed the lobby and stood in the porch for a while, breathing the
+warm perfume of the gardens. A man and a girl were walking down the
+slope toward the terraces. He had his arm about her waist.
+
+The open road called to me. Lighting my pipe, I set out. Drivers of
+bullock carts solicited my patronage, but I ignored them and walked
+on. I had no idea where I was going. I think I was merely running away
+from myself. I could not banish the illusion that Nanette was hiding
+behind some tree; that she would suddenly leap out at me with mock
+reproaches for my neglect of the grass orphan.
+
+Twice I thought I saw her slender figure in the distance.
+
+O’Shea was ruined. This was the idea that ultimately came to the top
+and stayed there. O’Shea was ruined. The blind love of a child-woman
+had wrecked the best man it had ever been my lot to know. She had
+stayed for O’Shea. No one suspected it. But I knew.
+
+This was the sequel.
+
+Lonely in my knowledge of all it might mean--when, willy-nilly, I
+should have surrendered the portfolio--I tramped on. A great, cold
+jewel, the moon lighted my way. By a stagnant cistern, green with
+slime, I pulled up. I had walked half the distance to the Casino.
+
+This cistern was infested by poisonous insects with nasty habits in
+their tails and a social custom of leaving red-hot visiting cards. I
+turned back, scratching viciously.
+
+A party homeward bound to Reid’s in a car offered me a lift.
+
+I thanked them but preferred to walk.
+
+“… Having no further use for this officer’s services.” Yes, I could
+save him from that.
+
+The hall porter said that Major O’Shea was in his room. Therefore,
+having a curiosity respecting Macalister, I took up a strategic
+position on a shadowed bench in that miniature palm grove which
+commands the porch. I told the porter where he could find me.
+
+I had waited but a short time when Macalister arrived, in the pomp and
+circumstance of a glorious Farman. A chauffeur, whose pedigree
+connected with apes more recently than usual, drove the red torpedo in
+at the gate with much skill and even more noise. I stood up to see
+Macalister alight.
+
+He entered Reid’s proprietorially. He was in evening kit, wore a straw
+hat boasting a band of well-known colours, to which he was not
+entitled, and smoked a successful cigar decorated with what looked
+like the Order of the Garter. If he was nervous he showed no sign of
+the fact.
+
+One has heard many jokes aimed at the courage of the Jew. Sometimes
+from members of his own race. In justice to one whom I shall always
+dislike, I wish to say that Julian Macalister, bearing a Scottish
+name, was fearless as any man who ever wore the tartan.
+
+Caliban drove the Farman out into the road again, and I settled down
+with my pipe to await O’Shea’s summons.
+
+It came sooner than I had expected. Mr. Macalister was all of a man of
+business.
+
+“Major O’Shea asks you to step up to his room, sir,” said the hall
+porter.
+
+Knocking out my pipe, I made my way upstairs. On the side of the
+angels though I might be, I found myself not wholly at ease. I rapped
+at O’Shea’s door and walked in.
+
+Macalister was seated in an armchair, a stump of fat cigar between his
+teeth. The band was absent. I presumed that he had smoked it.
+
+O’Shea stood, facing me, by the open window. “I hope I have not
+dragged you from pleasant company. But Mr. Macalister here has
+presumed to question a statement of mine.”
+
+“Cut it out,” said Macalister. “This is business.”
+
+“Mr. Macalister,” O’Shea resumed blandly--and now I noted that he wore
+his monocle--“is not personally responsible for his defects of
+education. Forgive him, Decies. The facts, briefly, are these: You may
+recall that I recently placed in your care a certain portfolio, the
+contents of which you know?”
+
+“You did,” said I.
+
+“My reason,” O’Shea continued, “was that I feared an attempt by Mr.
+Macalister or his friends to recover this portfolio. I mentioned my
+fears to you at the time.”
+
+“You did,” I repeated.
+
+“Mr. Macalister,” O’Shea turned to him, “Mr. Decies, here, has the
+portfolio and a new key which I have had made. The portfolio is
+locked. I don’t know what he has done with it. Therefore your
+proposals are useless.”
+
+Macalister rolled the cigar stump. With a thumb and forefinger he
+removed fragments from his mouth--of what, I cannot say; possibly the
+band. Then:
+
+“I believe you,” he granted. “I never doubted your word. You’re damned
+up-stage but you don’t lie.”
+
+“Thank you,” said O’Shea.
+
+The tone in which he spoke puzzled me at the time. It was so oddly
+sincere.
+
+“But, you see,” Macalister went on, “I know why you’ve done it!”
+
+O’Shea did not exactly start. But his glance, as Macalister spoke, was
+dagger-like in its intensity.
+
+“You’re an officer and a gentleman. The two aren’t always twins, but
+you happen to be both. I’ve got to deal with Mr. Decies? If he lets
+you down, the disgrace is his. You’re just branded a fool, but you
+save your ‘British honour.’ Am I right?”
+
+By heavens! I knew he was right! And, studying the low brow, the
+small, Semitic skull, the gross person of the man, I wondered. If a
+Julian Macalister could read human nature so clearly, small wonder
+that the cream of his race ruled the Rialtos of the world. So I
+reflected.
+
+“Very well, Mr. Decies.” He diverted the cigar stump in my direction.
+“As it’s turned out, I’m not sorry. You’re sweet on the little lady
+who’s disappeared. I don’t blame you. I fancy her, myself. But
+business is business.”
+
+Only O’Shea’s frigid stare held me in my place. I plunged my hands in
+my trouser pockets and clenched them tightly.
+
+“Do not permit Mr. Macalister’s vulgarity to upset your judgment,”
+said O’Shea. “Also, make due allowances for him.”
+
+“I don’t say I know where she is,” Macalister resumed unmoved, “but
+I’m prepared to promise that she’ll be home by midnight if you, Mr.
+Decies, will double on the major and hand over to me that portfolio!”
+
+“One moment!”
+
+O’Shea broke in so violently that he startled me.
+
+“Well?” said Macalister.
+
+“You fully appreciate the value of what the portfolio contains?”
+O’Shea challenged.
+
+“Fully,” I answered.
+
+“You know what is at stake--on both sides?”
+
+“I do.”
+
+“So do I. Therefore I am going to leave you alone with Mr. Macalister.
+Make your terms, Decies. I shall never reproach you. Communism is a
+powerful movement. To-night it conquers.”
+
+He walked quickly to the door and went out.
+
+“Very pretty,” said Macalister. “When he’s fired from the Guards he
+should do well in the movies.”
+
+
+
+
+ CHAPTER XVI.
+ THE HOUSE ON THE CLIFF
+
+I have come to the conclusion that British honour is pretty good
+stock-in-trade. Macalister accepted my word that no rescue by force
+would be attempted. And, if Macalister accepted it, I think my promise
+must be a gilt-edged security.
+
+At twenty minutes before midnight--the time I had arranged to set
+out--Reid’s was moderately excited. The absence of Nanette could no
+longer be concealed in view of the fact that her worthy foster-parents
+had created something of a hubbub following her departure from the
+Casino. Hotel servants had been talking, too.
+
+The arrangement had the charm of simplicity.
+
+In a car containing only a chauffeur and myself, I was to follow the
+Farman. Any support must be not less than five hundred yards in the
+rear.
+
+“But,” I had objected, “although you trust _me_, I don’t trust _you_.
+I might be held up.”
+
+“You can arm yourself if you like,” Macalister had conceded. “And you
+will have the driver. Your friends, too, will be close behind you.”
+
+I had hesitated, until:
+
+“Damn it!” he cried. “I want the goods! This deal is square!”
+
+I agreed when he spoke thus. Slowly, I was learning my man.
+
+O’Shea elected to follow alone.
+
+“They will stick to their bargain, Decies,” he said sadly. “We dare
+not take the risk, I admit; but Nanette is safe enough. They know how
+far they can go.”
+
+Past a curious group clustering around the hotel entrance, we walked
+out--Macalister, O’Shea, and myself. I watched a magnificent cigar
+being lighted in the Farman, wondering how and where Macalister found
+room to carry more than one at a time.
+
+Then we set forth upon our queer journey.
+
+The Farman led through the outskirts of Funchal, around the flank of
+the little town and out to that sea road which scales the frowning
+cliffs.
+
+I am never at my best on roads of this kind. A squat red lozenge in
+the glare of our headlights, the leading car, from time to time, would
+disappear over a precipice. Nothing would obstruct my view of starry
+sky and the still mirror of the ocean far below.
+
+Then, a hairpin turn in the dizzy path being negotiated, there ahead
+again the Farman would appear.
+
+So it went, up and up, around bend after bend, until the bumping and
+jolting told me that we had left the road, such as it was, and were
+digging a road of our own.
+
+We crept over a desolate dome of territory that must have been left
+behind when Atlantis sank. Upon our topping the crown of this blasted
+heath, I looked out ahead. I prayed that the brakes had been recently
+overhauled.
+
+A long, curving, rock-strewn slope swept gracefully down to a sheer
+edge. And perched close to the precipice like a lonely seafowl was a
+little, dirty white dwelling--hundreds of eerie feet above the sea,
+approached by no perceptible path. I exhausted my imagination in
+endeavouring to invent a reason why any human being should live there.
+
+By means of zigzag manœuvring, the Farman was brought to within fifty
+yards or so of the place. My chauffeur gingerly imitated the design.
+Then came the prearranged signal.
+
+Macalister’s arm was protruded. He waved his cigar like a field
+marshal’s baton.
+
+“Stop!” I said--and the word sounded like a gasp of relief.
+
+I got out, turned, and looked back.
+
+O’Shea’s car had been pulled up on the crest. I could see him standing
+beside it, a distant silhouette against the sky.
+
+I walked down to where Macalister waited by the house.
+
+There was a low stone wall round the seaward end of the property,
+enclosing a tiny garden in which bricks were apparently cultivated.
+
+And now I could see over the edge. I gasped. A wooden ladder,
+connecting with a platform that jutted out just below the house,
+described a jazz pattern down the cliff-side. In a miniature cove,
+below, a smart motor cruiser lay, her lighted ports like watching
+eyes.
+
+“Send your car up to the top,” Macalister directed.
+
+I shouted to the man. And, as I watched him painfully tacking back
+against the gradient, I reflected that if O’Shea’s psychology should
+prove to be at fault, mine was a sorry case. I fingered a revolver
+that nestled in my pocket.
+
+The climb accomplished:
+
+“Now,” said Macalister, “you remember the conditions?”
+
+“Perfectly.”
+
+“Halfway between the house and my car.”
+
+I turned and mounted the slope. Macalister whistled shrilly.
+
+Spinning about, I watched. I saw two things happen.
+
+Macalister’s simian chauffeur leapt from his seat, stripping off his
+jacket and discarding his cap. From somewhere on the hither side of
+the building, which appeared to possess no door, three figures came
+into view. Two were men, thick-set nondescripts; the third was a girl.
+
+And the girl was Nanette!
+
+They held her wrists, but the moment she caught sight of me standing
+there in the moonlight:
+
+“Mr. Decies!” she cried. “Don’t do it! don’t do it! I’ll never forgive
+you! They _dare_ not harm me, and you are not to do it!”
+
+I made no answer. I had none to make. And so the men led her on until
+she stood before me.
+
+She was pale, and so slender, between her burly captors, as to look
+ethereal. Her widely open eyes were fixed in a stare of reproach. My
+heart thumped.
+
+“You don’t understand, Nanette,” I said. “There is Major O’Shea--and
+he wishes it.”
+
+One long, lingering glance she cast up to where O’Shea stood watching.
+I saw a flood of colour sweep over her face. Then her obstinate little
+mouth quivered. She lowered her head, and:
+
+“I hate myself,” she whispered.
+
+“Now,” said Macalister, coming forward, “give me the key.”
+
+I did so. He placed it carefully in his waistcoat pocket. Nanette
+never looked up.
+
+“Hand the portfolio to Miguel.”
+
+The chauffeur was indicated. I obeyed, and the man handed the
+portfolio on to Macalister, who narrowly examined the seals.
+
+“Senhor da Cunha,” he said sharply.
+
+Whereupon Miguel ran off, carrying the portfolio, and disappeared over
+the edge where the ladder was. So Gabriel da Cunha was on board the
+cruiser!
+
+Again Macalister spoke rapid Portuguese.
+
+Nanette was released, and the two men turned and went back to the
+house. She stood before me, with lowered head.
+
+Macalister raised his straw hat. The colours of the band looked highly
+effective in the moonlight.
+
+“Miss Nanette and Mr. Decies,” he said, “I bid you good-night.”
+
+He was not without a certain vulgar dignity. He followed his brace of
+ruffians to the dwelling.
+
+“Come, Nanette!” I urged. “It isn’t safe to delay.”
+
+But, as we climbed to the waiting cars, she spoke only twice.
+
+“They told me you had sent for me,” she said, “because Major
+O’Shea--was ill.”
+
+“What happened?”
+
+“Poor Tommy Clayton sat in front, and the man with me, who said he was
+a doctor, reached over and hit him with something. I screamed.”
+
+“Did he put his hand over your mouth to stop you?”
+
+She nodded.
+
+“Have they been unkind to you?”
+
+She shook her head.
+
+O’Shea waited until we gained the crest, then he got into his car and
+drove off. I followed, with an unusually dumb Nanette.
+
+She sneaked into Reid’s by the side entrance and went straight to her
+room. O’Shea was waiting for me in the cocktail bar. I entered very
+gloomily and he ordered me a double whisky and soda.
+
+“They will have some little difficulty in opening the portfolio,
+Decies,” he said, watching the bartender preparing our drinks.
+
+I stared at him. He was smiling!
+
+“What do you mean?” I demanded.
+
+“I mean that I took the precaution of filing one of the wards before I
+gave the key to you.”
+
+But, even then, I didn’t understand, and:
+
+“What for?” I asked.
+
+“Unnecessarily, as it fell out,” he replied. “But my idea was to gain
+time.”
+
+“To gain time!”
+
+“Yes. To enable us to get a good start before they forced the lock.”
+
+He slid a full glass along the counter in my direction, and:
+
+“Do you play poker?” he asked.
+
+“What the devil are you talking about?”
+
+“I was merely wondering if you did. That portfolio which you have been
+treasuring, Decies, contains several pages torn from an old copy of
+the _Sporting Times_. Yet neither you nor I have told a lie about it
+from start to finish! Chin-chin!”
+
+
+
+
+ CHAPTER XVII.
+ NANETTE IS CONFIDENTIAL
+
+“Did you ever hear of Adolf Zara?” said O’Shea.
+
+I shook my head blankly.
+
+“That’s the devil of it,” he murmured. “He works in the dark.”
+
+“Who is he?”
+
+He hesitated for a moment, then:
+
+“He is the immediate chief of those Communist gentlemen,” he replied,
+“whose activities have detained me so long in Madeira. One good thing
+I owe to him. I shall be returning to England with you in the
+morning.”
+
+“What!” I exclaimed gladly. “By the _Union Castle_?”
+
+“Yes.” He turned, staring at me in that coldly penetrating way which
+was so disconcerting and so misleading. “By a sheer coincidence, Mr.
+Zara is on board and I am instructed to look out for him.”
+
+“But the ship is full, O’Shea.”
+
+“There is always room for three more passengers in any British liner,”
+he replied: “a diplomatic agent, a King’s Messenger, and a pretty
+woman.”
+
+“What are you expected to do?” I asked.
+
+“I am expected to prevent him landing!”
+
+“But”--doubtless my expression became more blank than ever--“surely
+the authorities at Southampton----”
+
+“The authorities at Southampton don’t know in what name he is
+travelling. Neither does Capetown, apparently. They merely know that
+he’s on board--with a false passport. He made South Africa too hot to
+hold him. Moscow’s idea seems to be that another Boer war would add to
+the gaiety of nations. The Boers don’t seem to think so.”
+
+He stirred languidly in the cane lounge chair and, raising his
+monocle, surveyed a number of ants performing mysterious evolutions on
+his white drill suit. It was very still and peaceful in the little
+palm grove. A faint breeze carried perfume from the gardens, a sound
+of distant voices and soft laughter. Outside the cool oasis in which
+we sat, shaded, Madeira sunlight blazed on a million gay flowers, and
+the low mossy walls were alive with lizards.
+
+“Have you ever seen this man?” I asked.
+
+“No,” O’Shea turned his head lazily. “I haven’t the slightest idea
+what he looks like. Unless I get some further news by radio, my chance
+of identifying this Red sportsman is a bad hundred to one.”
+
+“But you say he has a false passport?”
+
+“So I understand. Probably issued in Paris or Milan or even New York,
+and in perfect order. Thousands of undesirables travel about the world
+annually with other people’s passports, Decies. The appended
+photograph is the only snag, and you might be surprised to learn how
+easy it is to replace it and duplicate the official stamp.”
+
+Presently I went hunting for Nanette. My guardianship of this dainty,
+wayward ward was soon to cease; and whilst I lacked the courage to
+think about saying good-bye at Southampton, I had learned that for a
+man of my age and temperament the rôle of official uncle to a
+beautiful girl was no sort of job.
+
+Tea was in full swing on the terrace, but Nanette was not there. I
+thought she might be on the tennis courts, and I strolled down the
+steps and along the sloping, flower-gay path sacred to basking
+lizards.
+
+Halfway down there is a sort of abutment, overhanging the lower
+gardens and possessing a stone seat. Here, in a lounge chair, her
+parasol propped against the low wall, I saw Nanette.
+
+Her little feet tucked up on the chair, to protect her bare legs from
+the ants, she sat manicuring her finger nails.
+
+She neither saw nor heard my approach. And I stood still watching her.
+Quite mechanically she was polishing away with a chamois burnisher,
+but her blue eyes were staring, unseeingly, out over the bay.
+
+As I studied the charming, pensive profile, I wondered, as I had
+wondered too often, what fate had in store for little Nanette. My more
+immediate wonder was concerned with the problem of how she had
+contrived to be alone.
+
+Suddenly she turned and saw me.
+
+“Coo-ooh!” she called. “Have you come to take me to tea?”
+
+“Yes,” I replied, walking down to her. “What has become of everybody?”
+
+“I don’t know,” said Nanette. “I wanted to be alone.”
+
+“To think?”
+
+“I suppose so.”
+
+I dropped on to the stone seat beside her.
+
+“Whom did you want to think about, Nanette?”
+
+She lowered her lashes, and polished busily.
+
+“Oh--Pop and Mum--and folks.”
+
+I lighted a cigarette, and presently she looked up. Her clear eyes
+regarded me wistfully for a moment, and:
+
+“You know,” she said. “Don’t you?”
+
+“I am afraid I do, Nanette,” I confessed.
+
+“Isn’t it strange,” she went on, staring away over the sea, “that I
+should be so crazy about someone who avoids me?”
+
+“Very strange,” I answered dully.
+
+When a girl thus makes a confidant of a man she has never kissed, if
+he knows the rules of the game he retires hurt. Then:
+
+“I suppose I shall get over it,” she said, and smilingly packed up the
+manicure implements. “We have to be on board at a fiendishly early
+hour to-morrow. I don’t know whether to go to bed at nine o’clock or
+sit up all night. Let’s have tea.”
+
+As I helped her out of the cushioned chair:
+
+“I have some news for you, Nanette,” I said. “Major O’Shea is coming
+with us.”
+
+Her eyes opened very widely; and she stared at me in a frightened way
+that I always associated with any sudden reference to O’Shea. Then she
+turned swiftly, taking up her parasol.
+
+“Really,” she said. “How often he changes his mind.”
+
+But as we walked up the long path to the terrace she talked
+animatedly. And glancing aside at her flushed face, I realized with
+almost a shock of surprise how very young she was--and how sweetly
+incapable of hiding the excitement that my news had created.
+
+
+
+
+ CHAPTER XVIII.
+ SUSPECTS
+
+That run home to Southampton did not begin auspiciously for Nanette.
+Her happiness at being on the same ship with O’Shea was distinctly
+blunted by the presence of an official chaperone.
+
+Her father had some sort of pull with the line, and by dint of
+industrious cabling, he had contrived to get in touch with a lady he
+knew who was returning from South Africa: One Mrs. Porter, a really
+formidable matron, deep-chested, heavy-jowled, and contemplating a
+sinful world through spectacles of an unnecessarily unpleasant
+pattern.
+
+“Pop is mad!” said Nanette. “This woman must die.”
+
+Excluding O’Shea and myself, Nanette had come on board with a male
+escort of three devoted dancing partners. Lacking the society of
+Nanette, these were three very lonely young men, divided by a mutual
+distrust but united in their dislike of O’Shea.
+
+Unreciprocated passion renders its victims clairvoyant; and each one
+of these three knew what the rest of the crowd at Reid’s Hotel had
+never suspected: that Nanette only emerged from a land of dreams when
+O’Shea was with her. Now, to crown a troublous situation, Mrs. Porter
+presented a protégé--Captain Slattery. She made it pointedly clear
+that no other follower would be tolerated.
+
+I resigned my staff of office with a sigh, and settled down to be
+sorry for Nanette--and Slattery.
+
+O’Shea and I stood at the door of the smoke-room watching the coast of
+Madeira melt into a blue distance. Nanette, in a short, sleeveless
+frock, came along the deck, linked between two men, one of whom was
+Slattery. She pretended not to see us. But right in front of the door
+she pulled up insistently, leaning on the rail and pointing out
+something to her companions. Nanette knew she had very beautiful arms.
+But she wanted O’Shea to know.
+
+He smiled at me, sadly, and turning, went into the smoke-room. The
+girl’s dainty naïveté was hopelessly disarming. We sat down facing
+one another across a table, and:
+
+“There is something I want you to do for me,” said O’Shea.
+
+“About--Nanette?”
+
+“No.” He shook his head, and that tragically hungry look came into his
+eyes that I had seen there before. “Don’t let us talk about her,
+Decies. I have a valuable portfolio in my stateroom.”
+
+“Surely you will hand it over to the purser?”
+
+“Impossible. Contrary to the rules of the game. The ship might sink.
+But a certain Adolf Zara is on board. Therefore----”
+
+He paused, staring at me significantly.
+
+“You want _me_ to take charge of it?”
+
+“Yes. Lock it in your trunk. I don’t expect any move on this
+gentleman’s part. He is stalking bigger game and therefore anxious to
+avoid publicity. But he _might_ take it into his head to pay me an
+unofficial visit. I have a room to myself. You are sharing a cabin
+with a representative of the _Cape Times_ whom, luckily, you chance to
+have met before.”
+
+“Very well,” said I. “Of course, this man, Zara, will know you are on
+board?”
+
+“Naturally,” O’Shea returned. “His associates in Madeira will have
+advised him--although absolutely nothing to afford a clue to his
+assumed identity happened at Funchal. He is a dangerously clever man.”
+
+“Have you taken a look around?”
+
+“Yes. Have you?”
+
+“I have. But no likely candidate for the honour of being Adolf Zara
+has presented himself.”
+
+“I agree,” said O’Shea quietly. “But I have an appointment with the
+purser in an hour’s time. I am going carefully through the declaration
+sheets.”
+
+When O’Shea left me, I was joined by the journalist, my
+stable-companion; a substantial Scot whom I had met in London two
+years before. He proposed a promenade. And just as we started the
+faithful three came into the smoke-room, together, and ordered drinks.
+Their aspects were mournful.
+
+Then, in a shady corner outside, we discovered the explanation.
+Nanette was coiled up in a deck chair, her charming head turned in the
+direction of her neighbour on the right--Slattery. In a chair on her
+left, enveloped in an unnecessary rug, Mrs. Porter slumbered
+soundly--and almost noiselessly.
+
+Nanette beckoned to me. As I paused, she threw a venom-laden glance at
+the unconscious chaperone, and:
+
+“I do not like you, Mrs. P.,” she murmured. “The reason why is plain
+to see--and hear.”
+
+Slattery, his gaze fixed upon her, smiled admiringly. He had very even
+white teeth. Then he looked up at me.
+
+“I hear that your friend is the famous O’Shea,” he said. “I thought he
+was a movie actor.”
+
+The words told me plainly that this was another victim of the
+distracting Nanette. Therefore I forgave him.
+
+“His appearance is certainly deceptive,” I admitted.
+
+“We were on their right at the time he was recommended for the V.C.,”
+Slattery went on. “I was only a pup, but _we_ saw some dirty work,
+too. The crack regiments always get the limelight, though.”
+
+Nanette glanced at him under suddenly lowered lashes, and:
+
+“Please, Mr. Decies, lead me to a cool drink with lemon in it,” she
+said.
+
+She was on her feet in one graceful movement. Her ability to
+disentangle herself from complicated poses resembled that of an
+antelope. Grasping my right arm and the left of my startled Scottish
+companion, she moved away.
+
+“Captain Slattery is so good-looking that he bores me,” she whispered
+in my ear.
+
+O’Shea found me some little time later.
+
+“I have ventured to have you put at a table among strangers,” he said.
+“Your immediate neighbour is a certain Dr. Zimmermann.”
+
+He stared at me.
+
+“I’ll do my best, O’Shea,” said I. “Where are _you_?”
+
+“At the purser’s table,” he replied, “facing one John Edward
+Wainwright, of Halifax, Nova Scotia. These two birds may prove to be
+black swans, but there isn’t another query in the passenger list.”
+
+I experienced Dr. Zimmermann at lunch and later at dinner. Apart from
+his audible enjoyment of the soup, I found his table manners genial.
+He had been studying the neolithic fauna of South Africa on behalf of
+some learned Munich institution blessed with a name that only Dr.
+Zimmermann could pronounce and that I shall never attempt to spell.
+
+My report to O’Shea was unsatisfactory.
+
+“He seems fairly true to type,” I said. “If he is not what he
+professes to be, he carries it well. How about your man?”
+
+O’Shea shrugged in his curious way.
+
+“He obviously knows Halifax,” was the reply. “His line appears to be
+steam trawlers. Having unaccountably neglected the subject of steam
+trawlers, I am rather at a disadvantage here.”
+
+“I am equally rusty,” I confessed, “upon the neolithic fauna of South
+Africa.”
+
+There was dancing on deck that night. Nanette danced with the faithful
+three in turn and with Slattery. Slattery secured more than his fair
+share because of the powerful backing of “Mrs. P.”
+
+Nanette was dancing with me, in a curiously abstracted way, when
+suddenly she grew animated. Her eyes sparkled. She floated in my arms
+lightly as a feather.
+
+Following her glance, I saw O’Shea watching us.
+
+When I had deposited Nanette with the guardian Mrs. Porter, I returned
+to find O’Shea; for he had signalled to me. He was standing just
+inside the smoke-room door.
+
+“Adolf Zara is active,” he said in a cautious voice.
+
+“What do you mean?”
+
+He glanced around the smoke-room warningly. I took the cue and looked
+about me. Dr. Zimmermann sat in a corner, fast asleep. Wainwright, the
+other suspect, formed one of a bridge party.
+
+“Two dispatch-cases have been forced open,” O’Shea went on, “by
+someone who entered my cabin to-night!”
+
+
+
+
+ CHAPTER XIX.
+ DR. ZIMMERMANN CALLS
+
+“You have my authority to take any steps you may think fit, Major
+O’Shea,” said the Captain. “I have received the usual instructions and
+of course I shall do nothing without consulting you.”
+
+We came down to the nearly deserted promenade deck. Three young men
+were doing a midnight route march there--and Nanette, coiled up,
+squirrel-like, in a furry cloak, occupied one of two chairs. The other
+accommodated Slattery. “Mrs. P.,” leaving her charge in selected
+company, had presumably retired.
+
+Slattery was obviously elated. The chairs were set very near to the
+foot of the ladder communicating with the bridge and the commander’s
+quarters. Slattery didn’t know that Nanette had seen O’Shea go up and
+that she was patiently waiting to see him come down.
+
+We crossed to the rail, and leaned there, watching the clear water and
+the strange phosphorescent shapes glittering in its depths. And
+presently a slim bare arm was slipped under mine. I turned,
+startled--to find Nanette beside me.
+
+“Please may I stay for five minutes?” she said. “Or do you want to go
+to the smoke-room?”
+
+She stayed, and for longer than five minutes. Slattery had
+disappeared; and the threesome had terminated around a table decorated
+with tall glasses. We began to pace up and down, Nanette clinging to
+my arm.
+
+Presently, as we turned, very timidly she slipped her other arm under
+O’Shea’s.
+
+“Is it true,” she asked, “that there was nearly a mutiny at a
+reinforcement camp where you were toward the end of the war? And that
+a company sergeant-major called Meakin was courtmartialled?”
+
+O’Shea looked down at her in his gravely gentle way.
+
+“It is not true, Nanette,” he answered. “Where did you hear the
+story?”
+
+“I didn’t believe it,” she answered indignantly, “but someone told
+me.”
+
+O’Shea caught my side glance and smiled--the happy, revealing smile
+that had grown so rare. But after Nanette had retired, over a final
+pipe in O’Shea’s room:
+
+“Queer thing,” he murmured. “That that story should have leaked out.”
+
+“What story?” said I.
+
+“The trouble with a group of N.C.O’s at that camp, which rumour would
+seem to have expanded to a mutiny.” He stared at me coldly. “It was
+the long arm of hidden Moscow,” he added. “We had agents of theirs in
+our ranks. Did you ever hear of it?”
+
+“Vaguely, now that you remind me.”
+
+“The ringleaders managed to slip away. But it’s odd Nanette should
+have got hold of the thing. Well!” He lay back on the sofa berth and
+regarded me with raised brows. “There is nothing more to be done
+to-night.”
+
+“Are you satisfied about Zimmermann and Wainwright?”
+
+“About Wainwright, yes. He had been playing since dinner time.
+Zimmermann nobody seems to have noticed. How long he had been in the
+smoke-room I can’t discover. We may safely count steam trawlers out,
+Decies. Focus on the neolithic fauna of South Africa.”
+
+“Shall you turn in now?”
+
+“No,” said O’Shea, reaching up to the rack above his head for a pipe
+and tobacco pouch that lay there. “I am going to spend an hour with
+the young gentleman from the Marconi Company. Radio operators are
+sometimes inspiring.”
+
+To reach my cabin I had to pass the smoke-room door, and, just as I
+came to it:
+
+“Either of them is old enough to be her father!” I heard.
+
+I stepped in. The faithful three alone kept a resentful steward from
+his bed.
+
+“Whose father?” said I.
+
+“Hullo, Decies!” the speaker hailed me. “Sit down and let’s have a
+doch-an’-dorris. We were talking about Nanette.”
+
+“Oh!” I remarked, dropping into a chair. “What seems to be the
+difficulty?”
+
+“Well,” another explained, “she has fallen flat for that chap
+Slattery; and we were saying that he’s old enough to be her father.”
+
+“He is about thirty-five,” I hazarded--“a dangerous age for a girl of
+eighteen.”
+
+“Piffle!” was the retort. “Why, when she was only thirty he would be
+nearly fifty!”
+
+“Have you pointed this out to her?”
+
+“Rather not! Suppose _you_ have a shot. You are well in with her
+ladyship.”
+
+“I should prefer to be excused,” said I.
+
+The profound slumbers of my Scottish friend proclaimed themselves to
+the ear as I walked along the alleyway leading to our stateroom. A
+sleeping partner who snores is difficult. When he snores in Gaelic he
+is nearly insupportable.
+
+I undressed to a ceaseless accompaniment that I found the reverse of
+soothing. Slipping on a dressing gown, I lighted my pipe, determined
+to go out on the deserted deck; for the night was hot as Sahara; the
+sea a burnished mirror.
+
+Off I went, and met not a soul. For half an hour or so I wandered
+aimlessly. When, at last, my pipe burned out, feeling sleepy enough to
+face the snore barrage, I retraced my steps.
+
+Rounding the corner of the alleyway, I pulled up short.
+
+Dr. Zimmermann had just come out of my room and was quietly closing
+the door behind him!
+
+I stepped back swiftly. But I was too late. He turned and saw me.
+
+He wore an appalling red gown and a really incredible nightcap.
+Through the thick pebbles of his spectacles he beamed apologetically,
+and:
+
+“Mr. Decies--my _dear_ sir!” he said, coming forward. “I can never
+forgive myselves--never!” He held up a huge pipe. “I did not know that
+you had a companion. I knock. I think I hear you sleeping. And I
+venture to come in. I am restless. The smoke-room steward is retired.
+I know you are a pipe lover, and”--he indicated the yawning bowl--“I
+have not tobacco, so, I venture.”
+
+I stared him fully in the eyes for a moment, then:
+
+“Don’t apologize,” I said. “You are welcome to a pipe.”
+
+Opening the door, I stood aside for him to enter. My pouch lay,
+conspicuous, on the bed cover, but:
+
+“I see it there,” Zimmermann whispered, stuffing about an ounce of
+expensive mixture into his incinerator. “But you are not here.”
+
+Thanking me profusely in a thick undertone, he presently took his
+departure. I listened to his receding footsteps, then I stooped,
+pulled out my trunk, and examined the lock.
+
+It was fast. Nor could I find a scrap of evidence to show that
+anything else in the cabin had been tampered with.
+
+What was I to believe? Could Dr. Zimmermann really be the formidable
+agent, Adolf Zara? If it were so, he had cool courage enough to
+justify the faith of his employers. In any event, I determined that
+O’Shea must be informed without delay of this suspicious occurrence.
+Sleep was not for me.
+
+
+
+
+ CHAPTER XX.
+ FOG IN THE CHANNEL
+
+Toward dusk on the following day--our last evening afloat--things
+began to move to that strange revelation which solved the Zara
+mystery.
+
+O’Shea had been missing quite often. Several times I saw him coming
+out of the radio cabin, and he had had two long interviews with the
+commander, at the second of which the purser had attended. Then,
+having got into dinner kit, I was making for the smoke-room when I met
+him.
+
+“Hello!” I called. “Any news?”
+
+He took me aside, and:
+
+“No reply yet,” he answered.
+
+“Perhaps the authorities in Munich don’t realize the urgency of your
+message.”
+
+“Perhaps not,” he said absently. “Let’s explore a cocktail.”
+
+In the smoke-room we found Slattery and my Scottish piper; so we
+formed a quartette.
+
+Slattery’s attitude toward O’Shea was not friendly. I excused much of
+it, feeling the real cause to be, not professional jealousy, but
+Nanette. However, O’Shea was senior and Slattery never allowed himself
+to be openly rude.
+
+I was seated with my back to the door, when suddenly I saw a change of
+expression on three faces. I turned.
+
+Nanette was peeping in at us. She looked adorable in a dainty lace
+frock and I saw Slattery glance aside at O’Shea in a way that was twin
+brother to murderous.
+
+For it was to O’Shea that Nanette was appealing.
+
+“Would it be perfectly horrible of me to come in?” she asked.
+
+“It would be perfectly delightful, Nanette,” said I.
+
+She came in, to the marked perturbation of the smoke-room. She sat
+between O’Shea and myself. The three musketeers, who had been talking
+loudly in a neighbouring corner, grew suddenly silent.
+
+“If you see Mrs. P.,” said Nanette, taking a sip from my glass,
+“please hide me until I get under the table.”
+
+Dinner that night was something of an ordeal for me. Dr. Zimmermann
+talked continuously about fossils, took two servings of every course,
+and generally seemed to be in high good humour. I think my own share
+in the conversation was not marked by any unusual brilliancy.
+
+O’Shea’s mood rather defeated me. He was by habit a lonely man, with a
+way of sinking into himself. To-night, this phase of his temperament,
+which had expressed itself in his evasive talk, for some reason I
+found irritating.
+
+On the morrow we should dock. The identity of Zara remained a mystery.
+The result of O’Shea’s radio message was unknown to me. And O’Shea had
+become a sphinx.
+
+A group having for its nucleus the faithful trio had got up an
+extempore dance on deck. A victrola belonging to Slattery provided the
+music. Mrs. Porter presided over the instrument, and Slattery and
+Nanette did most of the dancing. A few others joined for a time and
+then retired, presumably to cope with the important job of packing.
+
+I discovered myself to be the victim of a rising excitement. Something
+was afoot. I determined to find O’Shea.
+
+It was a longish quest, but I found him at last, He was pacing up and
+down the deserted boat-deck. As I came up the ladder he stopped and
+stared at me, then:
+
+“Hullo, Decies,” he said. “Forgive my odd behaviour. But it’s a race
+against time, and time looks like winning.”
+
+“What do you mean?” I asked blankly. “Have you had no reply?”
+
+“That’s it,” said he, “and I can’t afford to make a mistake. They
+expect fog, though. It may save the situation.”
+
+I was not at all clear on this point, but O’Shea immediately resumed
+his promenade and I perforce fell into step beside him.
+
+“Zimmermann is in his cabin,” I said.
+
+“Good,” O’Shea murmured. “Where is Nanette?”
+
+The question surprised me. Very rarely indeed did O’Shea speak of
+Nanette.
+
+“I left her with Mrs. Porter and Slattery,” I replied.
+
+He nodded, but made no comment. Presently:
+
+“If this dangerously clever devil slips through my fingers,” he
+declared, “Whitehall will disown me!”
+
+And suddenly, as he spoke, an explanation of his recent behaviour
+presented itself. To the world he remained the aloof O’Shea; something
+of a poseur; a man unmoved by the trivial accidents of life. With me
+he felt that he could be real. He had treated the matter lightly
+enough, hitherto. But now, England all but in sight, and the enigma of
+Zara unsolved, he showed himself a desperately worried man.
+
+“If I get him,” he began abruptly, after long and taciturn
+promenading, “do you know to whom the credit will belong?”
+
+“No,” I returned, puzzled.
+
+“To Nanette,” said O’Shea.
+
+This silenced me effectually. For what Nanette had to do with the
+matter was about as clear as pea soup.
+
+I left him, toward one o’clock, promising to return. I had abandoned
+the idea of sleeping; and I wanted to change. No message for O’Shea
+had come up to the time of my departure from the boat-deck. The
+wireless operator on duty was unable to conceal his intense
+excitement. Just before I came down, leaning over the half-door of his
+room:
+
+“Fog in the Channel, sir!” he announced gleefully.
+
+“Good!” said O’Shea. “Go and change, Decies.”
+
+I managed to effect a change of costume without arousing my Scottish
+friend. He snored harmoniously and uninterruptedly. When I returned to
+the deck, no trace of mist was visible. The sea looked like oil and
+the heat was oppressive. I lingered at the rail for a moment, staring
+forward to where the Cornish coast lay veiled in distance.
+
+Right ahead, I discerned a faintly moving white speck. Then I became
+aware of someone beside me.
+
+I turned. The Captain stood at my elbow.
+
+“No rest for me to-night, Mr. Decies,” he said. “The Channel is a mass
+of soup.”
+
+“So I have heard,” I replied. “What’s that ahead?”
+
+“I have been wondering,” he murmured. “It looks like a motor boat--and
+right on our course. Excuse me. I might as well go up.”
+
+A few minutes later, as I rejoined O’Shea, the ship bellowed her
+warning to the small craft ahead.
+
+O’Shea was in the operator’s room.
+
+“What’s that?” he asked. “Not fog already?”
+
+“No,” said I. “There’s some kind of boat in our way.”
+
+“Oh,” said he. “Fisherman?”
+
+“No. It looks like a pleasure cruiser.”
+
+He stared for a moment. I had never seen him look so ill groomed. His
+wavy hair, since he had gone hatless all night, was wildly disordered.
+Then the instrument began its mysterious coughing.
+
+O’Shea placed his monocle carefully in position and lighted a
+cigarette. The operator adjusted the headpiece.
+
+“Here it is, sir!” he said. “At last!”
+
+“Excellent,” said O’Shea calmly.
+
+And, whilst this long-awaited message came through, the horn began its
+disturbing solo--and mist crept, damply, into the cabin. We had struck
+the outer fringe of the Channel fog.
+
+At this moment I saw Nanette. She stood at the door, wide-eyed,
+wrapped in a furry coat. I ran out to her.
+
+“Oh!” she exclaimed, and clutched me--“where is--Major O’Shea?”
+
+She was trembling.
+
+“Nanette!” I said. “What is it? He is there--in the operator’s room.”
+
+“Thank God!” I heard her whisper. Then: “I have been so frightened!”
+she went on, clinging to me. “Mrs. Porter sleeps like a log--and
+Captain Slattery came to our room a few minutes ago and knocked. I
+opened the door, not realizing who it was.”
+
+“Yes?” I said, clenching my hands tightly.
+
+“He was--insane. He said--he was going to kill Major O’Shea----”
+
+“What’s that?” came in a cool voice.
+
+O’Shea stepped out on the deck. He held a slip of paper in his hand.
+The mist had closed down, now, like a blanket. Even the deep note of
+the fog-horn was muted.
+
+“I’ve got him, Decies!” said O’Shea.
+
+“What!”
+
+“He sent off two code messages before my eyes were opened; and he
+received one reply. I don’t know the code.”
+
+Dimly, through the fog, a queer, high siren note reached us.
+
+“Major O’Shea!” Nanette released her grip and grasped O’Shea’s arm.
+“Are you talking about Captain Slattery?”
+
+The Marconi operator joined our party as:
+
+“Yes,” O’Shea replied, “thanks to you, Nanette! Only the Bolsheviks
+knew so much about our trouble in that camp as Slattery confided to
+you!” He turned to me. “I acted on that slender clue, Decies. The name
+of a company sergeant-major--and I was right! The _real_ Captain
+Slattery is in hospital at Ladysmith!”
+
+“Good God!” said I. “Then this man----”
+
+“Is Adolf Zara! I told you he was dangerously clever!”
+
+Then, muffled, ghostly, it reached our ears on the boat-deck--that
+most thrilling of all sea cries:
+
+“Man overboard!”
+
+Already the ship’s engines were running dead slow. Now they were rung
+off.
+
+Helter-skelter we went hounding after O’Shea--to Slattery’s stateroom.
+It was empty. One of the lifebelts was missing. Out in the fog, that
+queer high siren note persisted. I thought of the white motor
+boat--and of Slattery’s radio message.
+
+O’Shea fixed his monocle in place. The sleeping ship was awakening to
+a growing pandemonium.
+
+“Have you a cigarette, Decies?” he said. “I have smoked all mine. It
+needs a brave man to do what Adolf Zara has done to-night. If ever I
+have the pleasure of meeting Captain Slattery again, I shall tell him
+so.”
+
+
+
+
+ CHAPTER XXI.
+ A MISSING PICTURE
+
+“Oh, I say!” cried Jack. “This is topping!”
+
+His admiring gaze was set upon a photograph in my portfolio of Madeira
+snapshots. It represented a slender girl, arms raised, poised in the
+act of diving from a rock into the clear water below. In justice to
+the beauty of the model and not out of any desire to fan my artistic
+vanity, I agreed with Jack.
+
+The original of the study, seated on the edge of a table, slim legs
+swinging restlessly, surveyed the work with less enthusiasm.
+
+“I look painfully bare,” said Nanette severely.
+
+“Can I have a copy, Decies?” Jack asked.
+
+“Please say no,” came promptly from Nanette. “If you want a
+photograph, Jack, I had several good ones taken in Switzerland.”
+
+We examined other items of my collection.
+
+“Hallo!” said Jack. “Who is the sportsman with the toothy smile?”
+
+He was frowning at a snapshot of Nanette coiled up in a deck chair.
+Seated very near to her, in smiling tête-à-tête, was a man whose
+white sun helmet cast a dark shadow upon his features.
+
+“Captain Slattery,” Nanette replied. “You don’t know him, Jack.”
+
+She turned over the print, giving me a swift glance. Its full
+significance rather missed me at the time. I merely supposed that this
+picture of the man we had known as “Captain Slattery” conjured up
+memories of O’Shea. And memories of O’Shea almost invariably brought
+about sudden changes of mood in little Nanette.
+
+Later, however, having induced Jack to telephone to somebody about
+something or another, she drew me aside.
+
+“Captain Slattery is in London!” she said, speaking with suppressed
+excitement. “This was what I really came to tell you.”
+
+“What!” I exclaimed.
+
+In the days that had lapsed since the disappearance of the notorious
+Adolf Zara, alias Captain Slattery, I had begun to share O’Shea’s view
+that this greatly daring man had perished at sea.
+
+“I received this note from him last night,” Nanette went on. “And I
+don’t know what to do.”
+
+Opening the envelope which she handed to me, I drew out a single sheet
+of unheaded, undated paper having a cutting pinned to it. The note
+read as follows:
+
+
+ I learn from the appended picture that you are in London. If you can
+ forgive me for my behaviour and will consent to see me for a moment
+ before I leave England, put a message in the Personal Column of the
+ _Daily Planet_ and I will arrange the rest. I can never forget you--so
+ try to be kind.
+
+                                                 J. Slattery.
+
+
+The picture referred to was cut from the _Daily Planet_, and showed
+Nanette as one of a group at a dance party--I forget where.
+
+“How did he learn your address?” I asked.
+
+“He didn’t,” said Nanette. “Look at the envelope. It was forwarded
+from the office of the _Planet_.”
+
+She watched me almost pathetically, and I divined the nature of the
+problem that was disturbing Nanette’s mind.
+
+“I simply couldn’t do it!” she burst out. “It isn’t as though he were
+really a criminal. He _is_ a criminal, I suppose, in a way. But
+political crimes leave me rather cold. And, you see--he trusts me.”
+
+“Do you mean, Nanette,” I asked, “that you don’t want me to tell Major
+O’Shea?”
+
+Nanette shook her head.
+
+“Of course I don’t,” she replied. “I shouldn’t have mentioned it if I
+had meant that. What I mean is--that I am not going to do what he
+asks.”
+
+“Yet he begs you to be kind,” said I, feasting my eyes on Nanette’s
+charming face which, now, wore an adorably wistful expression.
+
+“I _am_ being kind,” she retorted; then: “Oh!” she exclaimed, and,
+suddenly silent, watched the open door.
+
+Jack’s voice might be heard. He was returning from the telephone
+downstairs and had evidently admitted visitors. A moment later they
+came in--O’Shea and an inspector of the Special Branch whom I had met
+before. He was a burly man with a rat-trap jaw, and I thought it
+probable that he could trace an unbroken descent from the first Bow
+Street runner in criminal history.
+
+Nanette greeted O’Shea with disarming nonchalance. But the only person
+in the room who believed that she had not expected to meet him there
+was Jack. The detective, a peculiarly efficient man-hunter, as events
+were to show, smiled grimly and stared out of the window.
+
+O’Shea held Nanette’s hand for a moment, and then turned aside,
+twirling his monocle string around an extended forefinger.
+
+“Come along, Jack!” cried Nanette gaily. “Mumsy will be tearing the
+Berkeley down!”
+
+Jack was only too ready to depart. His admiration of O’Shea was
+something he could not hide, and, whilst he was no psychologist, this
+very hero worship inspired distrust--where Nanette was concerned. In
+other words, he was not clever enough to know that Nanette loved
+O’Shea, but he was modest enough to wonder how any girl could spare
+him an odd glance whilst O’Shea was present.
+
+Nanette’s vivacity became feverish. She literally danced down the
+stairs, calling farewells to everybody. But, finally, from a long way
+down:
+
+“Good-bye, Major O’Shea!” she cried.
+
+“Good-bye, Nanette,” he said, and shook Jack’s cordially extended
+hand. “Look after her, Kelton. She is well worth it.”
+
+“You’re right, sir!” Jack replied with enthusiasm--and was gone.
+
+“Now,” said O’Shea, and fixed one of his coldest stares upon me--“are
+the snapshots developed?”
+
+“Yes,” I replied, almost startled by his abrupt change of manner. “The
+prints came in this morning.”
+
+“And are there any of Adolf Zara, sir?” asked the inspector.
+
+“There is one. Unfortunately, his features are in shadow.”
+
+“Let me see,” said O’Shea.
+
+Once more my portfolio of snapshots was produced.
+
+“This could be enlarged,” said the inspector eagerly. “It is quite
+sharp.”
+
+“Does the face seem familiar?” O’Shea asked.
+
+“Vaguely. I think I have seen him somewhere. But it’s very much a case
+of a needle in a haystack. Of course, he’s far too clever to go to any
+of the known centres--always supposing he’s alive, and, being alive,
+that he’s in London.”
+
+“He is alive, and he is in London,” said I.
+
+“What!” O’Shea rapped out the word in a parade-ground voice. “How the
+devil do you know that, Decies?”
+
+In a very few sentences I told him.
+
+“That settles it,” said the inspector. “The rest is routine. Find the
+woman and your case is won.”
+
+O’Shea adjusted his monocle. It was a danger signal, but the Scotland
+Yard man was ignorant of this fact.
+
+“Explain yourself, inspector,” he directed, with ominous calm.
+
+“Well--it’s clear enough,” was the reply. “I shall insert a paragraph
+in the _Planet_, and when Mr. Zara turns up, he will be met by someone
+he’s not expecting.”
+
+“You will do nothing of the kind,” said O’Shea coldly. “The assistance
+of the Special Branch has been asked for because of the facilities
+that you possess in cases of this kind. But on no account must the
+name of any friend of mine be dragged into the matter.”
+
+The atmosphere grew oppressively electrical for a moment; then:
+
+“As you wish, sir,” returned the inspector. “But you are going to lose
+him.”
+
+“I trust not. But even so, I decline to use this lady’s name as a bait
+to trap Zara.”
+
+No doubt the man from Scotland Yard thought the speaker mad. No doubt
+he wondered why cases of this sort were placed in charge of
+distinguished soldiers handicapped by such preposterous scruples. But
+he did not know how Fate had intertwined Nanette in this affair so
+that at every turn success or failure seemed to lie cupped in her
+little hands. He took it like a good sportsman, however.
+
+“Might I look over the other photographs?” he asked.
+
+“Certainly,” said I, and spread them before him. “The negatives are in
+the wallet. You will want the one of Zara.”
+
+But when, later, I found myself alone, and began to arrange my
+photographic gallery, I missed not one negative, but _two_. Search
+availed me nothing. The negative of Zara was gone, but so also was
+that of Nanette in the act of diving from a rock.
+
+“Jack!” I exclaimed. “Jack must have taken it!”
+
+But I was wrong.
+
+
+
+
+ CHAPTER XXII.
+ PORTRAIT OF A GIRL DIVING
+
+On the following morning Nanette’s mother called. One great
+disadvantage of this era of freedom is that it has taken all the kick
+out of life. Without prohibitions there can be no thrills. If a pretty
+married woman had called upon my father in his bachelor days he would
+have immediately consulted his solicitor.
+
+She looked more like Nanette than ever. Her shapely arms were
+sunburned, and (I thought) were very beautiful so. But, as Nanette had
+done, she declared that she was ashamed of her gipsy appearance. But
+she had come with some more definite purpose than merely to chat, and
+presently the truth popped out.
+
+“Really, you know, Mr. Decies,” she said, “I don’t think it was quite
+playing the game.”
+
+I suppose I stared like an idiot.
+
+“You know quite well what I mean,” she added, and smiled in that way
+which was so like Nanette’s.
+
+“On the contrary,” I assured her earnestly. “I really haven’t the
+faintest idea to what you refer.”
+
+She stared at me very unblinkingly, then nodded.
+
+“I can see you haven’t,” she confessed. “Perhaps you didn’t think
+there was any harm in it--and, of course, I admit the excellence of
+the charity. But I’m afraid it will get her talked about. At least,
+you might have consulted me.”
+
+“Please--please!” I entreated. “Take pity upon me. You are clearly
+referring to something of which I have no knowledge whatever----”
+
+“Mr. Decies,” she interrupted--and held out a newspaper which she
+carried--“I am referring to the picture in the _Daily Planet_.”
+
+“But what have I to do with the pictures in the _Daily Planet_?” I
+asked blankly.
+
+“Since you took the picture in question, the connection in this case
+is obvious.”
+
+Dazedly, I opened the copy of the _Planet_ which she handed to me--and
+there, prominently featured, was a large reproduction of my snapshot
+of Nanette diving! The caption read:
+
+
+ A charming study of a charming diver. No wonder Madeira grows more
+ popular every season. The original photograph is on view in the Modern
+ Gallery, Bond Street, amongst a collection offered for sale in aid of
+ St. Dunstan’s Institute for Blinded Soldiers.
+
+
+To say that I was staggered is to convey but a feeble idea of my frame
+of mind. I stared at the picture until I seemed to see it dimly
+through a haze. When, at last, I looked up and met the reproachful
+gaze of Nanette’s mother, I was temporarily past comment.
+
+My innocence must have proclaimed itself, for:
+
+“Mr. Decies,” she said, and I saw her expression change, “I must
+apologize. You evidently are as surprised as I was. But this only
+deepens the mystery. Did you develop this film yourself?”
+
+“No,” I answered. “It was on one of several spools which I brought
+back. The Kodak people developed it. But----”
+
+I stopped short. The truth had presented itself to me. One of four
+people had taken this unaccountable liberty with the photograph. Jack,
+the inspector, O’Shea, or Nanette herself. For I had no evidence to
+show which of these four had removed the negative from the wallet.
+
+“Yes?” Nanette’s mother prompted.
+
+“The firm in question certainly knows nothing of the matter,” I went
+on. “You see, I missed this negative yesterday.”
+
+“You mean that someone stole it?”
+
+“Stole it or borrowed it.”
+
+“But with what object?”
+
+“Presumably a philanthropic one,” said I, very blankly. “Nobody
+profits--except the charity.”
+
+“It resembles the work of an enemy--if one can imagine Nan having an
+enemy. Unfortunately, it is a perfect likeness. In fact, it was
+brought to my notice by someone. Personally, I don’t read the
+_Planet_.”
+
+“What does Nanette think about it?”
+
+“She doesn’t know. That is, she had already gone out when the paper
+was shown to me. She may know by now. I am afraid it will earn her a
+rather unenviable notoriety.”
+
+I promised that I would thresh the matter out, but as I had a luncheon
+appointment all I could hope to do immediately was to ring up the
+_Planet_ and speak to the department responsible.
+
+This led to nowhere.
+
+The art editor was out, and apparently no other member of the staff
+knew anything whatever about the photograph--or about anything else.
+
+I lunched that day at the Savoy Grill. So did nearly everybody who had
+been in Funchal whilst Nanette was there. The room appeared to be
+decorated with copies of the _Planet_, and my reception would have
+gratified Gene Tunney and overwhelmed Douglas Fairbanks. I grew
+stickily embarrassed.
+
+Finally, I made my escape--and in the lobby ran into Jack.
+
+“I say, Decies,” he exclaimed, “it’s hardly good enough. Nanette
+kicked at the picture from the first. Now you go and publish it!”
+
+“Stop!” I said sharply. “This is the last time I shall explain the
+fact to anyone. But I did not send Nanette’s photograph to the
+_Planet_. Except that someone stole the negative from the portfolio at
+my rooms yesterday, I know nothing whatever about the matter.”
+
+“_Stole_ it!”
+
+“Exactly.”
+
+“But when?”
+
+“I missed it just after you had gone. In fact, Jack, I thought at the
+time you had borrowed it to have a copy made.”
+
+“Good heavens, no! She didn’t want me to have it.”
+
+“Then the mystery remains a mystery.”
+
+“It’s so objectless!” cried Jack. “A photograph like that is just good
+fun amongst friends, but one doesn’t want the million readers of the
+_Planet_ to see it. This defeats me! Have you rung up the office?”
+
+“Yes. I could get no satisfaction. I am going along to the Modern
+Gallery now.”
+
+“I’ll come with you!” said Jack.
+
+
+
+
+ CHAPTER XXIII.
+ FIASCO
+
+A curious episode marked our arrival at the gallery. On the opposite
+side of Bond Street, you may recall that there is a block of offices
+and showrooms, occupied by beauty specialists, modistes, and others.
+Well, at the entrance to the gallery, where an announcement stated
+that an exhibition of modern drawings and art photographs was being
+held in aid of, etc., we bumped into one of Nanette’s Madeira
+conquests.
+
+“Hallo, Milton!” said I.
+
+The young man, who had been leaning against the doorway and staring
+abstractedly across the street, became galvanized into sudden action.
+He gave a swift look at me, a second look at Jack, and then:
+
+“Hallo, Decies,” he returned in an oddly guilty way.
+
+Immediately he stared across the street again. At which moment came a
+cry from Jack.
+
+“Gad! There’s Nanette!”
+
+“Where?” I asked.
+
+“In that window, on the first floor there. She has seen us, I think.”
+
+I followed the direction of his gaze. The window indicated belonged to
+an expert organizer of female hair. An attractive wax bust was visible
+but no Nanette. I turned to Milton.
+
+“_Is_ Nanette there?” I asked.
+
+“I couldn’t say,” he replied evasively.
+
+Jack gave him a venomous glance and started across the street.
+
+“We can see for ourselves,” he snapped.
+
+I looked inquiringly at the young man in the doorway, but he returned
+my regard with so high a challenge that I wondered, checked the words
+on my tongue, and followed Jack.
+
+We mounted the stairway to the first landing, and Jack threw open a
+door bearing the simple legend “Pierre” with quite unnecessary
+violence. We found ourselves in a discreet waiting room delicately
+perfumed. A stout French gentleman, whose wavy gleaming locks were a
+credit to his professional acquirements, greeted us. He bowed.
+
+“I have called for a lady who is here,” said Jack. “Please tell her
+Mr. Decies and Mr. Kelton.”
+
+“But there is some mistake,” Pierre replied--assuming that this was
+none other than the maestro in person. “No one is here at the
+moment--unless you mean Mlle. Justine, my assistant.” He raised his
+voice. “Justine!”
+
+A trim figure in white appeared at the door of an inner sanctuary
+sacred to hair.
+
+“M’sieur?” said Justine, and bestowed upon us a swift glance of
+roguish dark eyes.
+
+“You are alone?”
+
+“Yes, m’sieur. I am waiting for Lady Rickaby whose appointment is at
+three.”
+
+She bit her lip, suppressing a smile, and disappeared.
+
+“You see?” M. Pierre extended apologetic palms. “There is no one.”
+
+“What’s afoot?” Jack asked as we regained Bond Street. “That fat bird
+was lying. The girl gave it away. Nanette is hiding from us.”
+
+We stared at each other, badly puzzled. Then we looked across to where
+Milton lounged in the entrance to the Modern Gallery, seemingly
+oblivious of our existence.
+
+“Come on!” said Jack savagely.
+
+We joined the waiting Milton.
+
+“Have you seen the famous picture?” I asked.
+
+“No,” he replied, “I haven’t.”
+
+Jack made a snorting noise, then, paying a shilling each, we went into
+the exhibition. We found it to be far from crowded, and, indeed, the
+artistic donations were not of outstanding merit. Quite the most
+interesting exhibit was the lady in charge of the sales department.
+And, at the end of a ten minutes’ quest, we sought her aid.
+
+“Perhaps you could tell me,” said I, “where the picture is that was
+reproduced in to-day’s _Planet_--a portrait of a girl diving.”
+
+Whereupon the lady addressed began to laugh!
+
+Jack’s expression was worthy of study. In the eyes of poor Jack,
+anything touching Nanette was sacred, and this was the second time in
+one afternoon that inquiries concerning her had provoked merriment.
+
+“I wish I could!” was the reply. “Really, it’s most absurd. But all
+the same the publicity has done the exhibition a lot of good. Forgive
+my laughter, but, you see, we know nothing whatever about this
+picture!”
+
+“What!”
+
+Jack’s exclamation was not merely rude; it was explosive.
+
+“It has never been here,” she went on. “Dozens of people have asked
+about it. But _we_ have never seen it. The secretary ’phoned the
+_Planet_ this morning and was told that they had used the photograph
+in good faith.”
+
+“But who sent it to them?” I asked.
+
+“I am afraid I can’t tell you,” was the answer. “All we could learn
+was that it had been sent in by a responsible agency. Personally, of
+course, we are rather grateful.”
+
+In silence Jack and I departed. Milton was standing in Bond Street
+just outside the doorway.
+
+“Good-bye, Milton,” I said. “Let’s hope it keeps fine.”
+
+“Good-bye, Decies,” said he, jauntily imperturbable.
+
+Jack glanced sharply up at M. Pierre’s windows; but only the wax bust
+rewarded his scrutiny.
+
+“I am beginning to hate your friend Milton,” he confided.
+
+“He is not so popular with _me_,” I confessed.
+
+“Come round to the club,” Jack suggested. “This thing calls for cool
+reflection.”
+
+I left him at four o’clock. We had telephoned Nanette’s mother, only
+to learn that Nanette had not returned. The whole thing was
+provokingly mysterious. It had entirely diverted my thoughts from the
+more serious problem of the capture of Adolf Zara. In fact, I could
+not shake my mind free of it.
+
+That Nanette had been hiding in the establishment of M. Pierre, I no
+longer doubted. And that Milton had some part in the comedy was clear
+enough. Poor fellow, I regarded him in a more charitable spirit than
+Jack had at command. Nanette had been using him--for what purpose I
+could not imagine--and his reward would be small.
+
+Some association between Nanette, at M. Pierre’s, and Milton, in the
+entrance of the Modern Gallery, seemed to be established. But since
+Nanette’s photograph was not in the gallery, why this association--and
+conveying what?
+
+Nothing--in so far as my bewildered brain served me.
+
+So I mused, as I drifted along Pall Mall. I determined to hunt up
+O’Shea, when, suddenly, I saw something which called me to prompt
+action.
+
+A taxi turned a corner at the very moment I was about to cross. In it
+sat Nanette--and Adolf Zara!
+
+It is in such moments of stress as this that vacant cabs magically
+disappear from the streets. No fewer than five taximen had solicited
+my patronage during the few minutes that had elapsed since I had left
+Jack.
+
+Now, with a dangerous agitator wanted by the British Government
+disappearing in the distance, from end to end of Pall Mall not a taxi
+was in sight!
+
+When at last one crept into view, pursuit was out of the question.
+
+If I had been perplexed before, perplexity now gave place to
+consternation. The comedy of Bond Street had been no more than a gay
+curtain draped before a stage set for drama. I tried in vain to allot
+the actors their proper rôles. What part did the missing photograph
+play? How came Zara in the cast? What of Milton? And what of Nanette?
+
+It was not far to my chambers, and I hurried back, with the intention
+of ’phoning O’Shea.
+
+I met him at the door.
+
+Those who enjoyed the privilege of seeing Edmond O’Shea in action
+relate that when things were going hopelessly wrong he would fix his
+monocle immovably in his eye and retain it there, contrary to
+regulations, throughout the hottest fighting. He was wearing it now.
+
+“Hallo, O’Shea!” I called. “This is lucky! I want to see you badly.”
+
+“I came to see _you_, Decies,” said he. “There is something I wish you
+to know.”
+
+Having opened the door and hurried him upstairs:
+
+“Don’t jump to conclusions,” I began. “But Nanette met Zara this
+afternoon.”
+
+O’Shea stared at me incredulously.
+
+“Where?” he demanded.
+
+“I don’t know where. But I saw them together not ten minutes ago.”
+
+He hesitated for a moment; then:
+
+“Tell me all about it,” he said calmly.
+
+In as few words as possible I outlined the events of the day,
+terminating with my glimpse of Nanette and Adolf Zara together in Pall
+Mall.
+
+“It is a blank mystery to me, O’Shea,” I said. “I simply cannot
+understand what it’s all about.”
+
+“To me,” he replied, “it is equally, but painfully, clear.”
+
+“What do you mean?”
+
+“In the first place,” said he, “our friend the inspector borrowed your
+negative of Nanette.”
+
+“The inspector! In heaven’s name, what for?”
+
+“Because he happens to be a clever man at his trade. I declined to
+allow him to insert a paragraph in Nanette’s name. But he was by no
+means defeated. He employed certain official channels and secured the
+publication of her photograph.”
+
+“With what object?”
+
+“You recall the words that appeared under the picture?”
+
+“Clearly. But the original was _not_ in Bond Street.”
+
+“Quite unnecessary that it should be, Decies. Our friend the inspector
+was in Bond Street, however.”
+
+I think I was gaping like an imbecile.
+
+“You are simply confusing me, O’Shea,” I managed to say.
+
+“Yes,” he admitted. “No doubt the scheme is difficult to grasp. You
+see--the inspector banked on Zara’s infatuation for Nanette. He judged
+it, no doubt, by the risk that Zara ran in communicating with her.”
+
+“Good heavens!” I cried. “I see it all! He hoped in this way to lure
+Zara to the gallery?”
+
+“Certainly. He thought that Zara would probably come, first, to secure
+the picture, and, second, possibly to obtain a glimpse of Nanette in
+person.”
+
+“And you say the inspector was there? I didn’t see him.”
+
+“I did!” said O’Shea grimly. “He was in an office at the end of the
+gallery--with the door ajar. The girl in charge knew he was there on
+some police business, but she did not know that it had any connection
+with the missing print. I gave him a crisp five minutes. But,
+officially, he was within his rights--and he knew it, dash him!”
+
+“O’Shea,” I said, “I can’t fit Nanette and young Milton into the
+picture.”
+
+O’Shea’s expression changed, softened.
+
+“I wonder?” he murmured. “She has a high spirit, and, I am beginning
+to think, a keen brain. Decies!”--he suddenly grasped my
+shoulder--“how happy some man is going to be, some day!”
+
+He turned aside abruptly, and walked into the inner room where my
+modest library formed a haven of refuge. Vaguely, as we had talked, I
+had grown aware of voices below. My man was one of the speakers; the
+other voice had been inaudible throughout.
+
+Then I heard the door open behind me. I looked. And there was Nanette!
+
+But, even as I was about to greet her, I checked the words. I had seen
+Nanette merry; I had seen her sad. I knew her moods of coquetry and of
+contrition. But, always, save once, I had thought of her as a child. I
+did not know her as I saw her now.
+
+“I thought you were my friend,” she said. “I thought I could trust
+you. If I had had one little doubt I would never have told you----”
+
+“Nanette,” I began----
+
+But she checked me with a sad, angry gesture.
+
+“You are no better than _he_ is,” she went on bitterly; “for you
+helped him. Heavens, what a fool I have been! And he only thinks of me
+as a _bait_ for his traps!”
+
+“Stop!” I cried. “For heaven’s sake, stop, Nanette!”
+
+“He was right,” she pursued, stonily ignoring me, and looking
+unseeingly, miserably, before her as she spoke. “Captain Slattery
+came. But I had arranged to warn him.”
+
+I remembered Milton and his watch upon the window of M. Pierre. Then,
+abruptly, her mood changed. The blue eyes, which were so sweetly
+childish, blazed at me.
+
+“No man, however bad he is, shall ever be lured to ruin by _me_. Tell
+Major O’Shea that Captain Slattery is laughing at him!”
+
+“He is entitled to laugh, Nanette,” said a grave voice.
+
+O’Shea came out from the recess and stood watching her.
+
+A moment she confronted him, then:
+
+“Good-bye!” she said.
+
+Turning, Nanette ran from the room. I heard the street door slam.
+
+“O’Shea!” I cried. “Why didn’t you tell her?”
+
+“It is better she should think as she does,” he replied. “Fate has
+done what I failed to do. Now she will forget.”
+
+I have often wondered, since, if he believed it would be so. I have
+tried, knowing the man’s honesty of soul, to conceive that he hoped it
+would be so. What _I_ believed or what I hoped I cannot pretend to
+record. But, at some hour past midnight, I learned that Nanette was
+unwilling to ignore the promptings of her heart.
+
+Dejectedly, I sat smoking a lonely pipe, when the ’phone bell rang. I
+took up the receiver. I think I knew who had called me, even before I
+heard her voice.
+
+“Is that you, Mr. Decies?”
+
+“Yes, Nanette.”
+
+“I am so miserable, because----”
+
+She hesitated.
+
+“Because of what?” I prompted gently.
+
+“Because I never gave you a chance to explain. Oh, Mr. Decies! Tell
+me--_is_ there something I don’t know?”
+
+“Why, yes--there is,” I replied. “You don’t know that Major O’Shea and
+I were totally ignorant of the plot to trap the man you call Captain
+Slattery.”
+
+“Oh!” came, as a sort of sigh, broken by a sob. “And I told him----
+Mr. Decies, do you think you can ever forgive me?”
+
+“I _do_ forgive you, Nanette.”
+
+“And do you think---- Good-night!”
+
+“Nanette!” I called. “Nanette!” But there was no answer.
+
+
+
+
+ CHAPTER XXIV.
+ PETER PAN
+
+A delicious haze hung over the Serpentine, by which token I knew
+that a warm day might be expected. Votaries of Peter Pan were few, for
+the morning was young as yet, but I sat watching him in his green
+temple and I thought how puzzled some archæologist of the future was
+going to be.
+
+Strange to reflect that a Scotsman should add to the ranks of the
+gods; stranger still that his immortal child should find himself so
+completely at home upon Olympus. More and more strange the reflection
+that none of the older gods were jealous.
+
+Children of course came to pay tribute, and I think it was this
+morning I learned for the first time that there are many juvenile
+citizens whose day is incomplete unless they have made offering--a
+laugh, a pointed finger, a fleeting glance--to the god of that dear
+world which is hidden from most of us behind the gates of innocence.
+To many an exile under palm and pine, the coming of spring means
+dreams of crocuses and Peter Pan in Kensington Gardens.
+
+I was suffering from a fit of physical and mental restlessness. I
+could not clear my mind of the idea that some imminent peril
+threatened O’Shea. That Nanette was involved, I feared, but tried hard
+not to believe. Experience of that Red organization known as the S
+Group had shown its members to be frankly unscrupulous; and Nanette
+had blindly involved herself with one of them. I knew why she had done
+it, but the man, Adolf Zara, could not know. For Nanette, Zara had
+ceased to exist. I doubted that the reverse was true.
+
+The peace of the morning and the beauty of the lake mocked me. In the
+long encounter between O’Shea and the S Group, honours had gone to the
+enemy. But the battle was not yet over. Instinct and common sense
+alike told me that the worst was yet to come.
+
+My ceaseless meditations along these lines had earned me a sleepless
+night, and I think I had sought out this spot beside the Serpentine
+with some vague idea of finding peace.
+
+Now, coming out of a brown study and looking up, I observed a figure
+approaching along the path. It was that of a girl very simply dressed
+in a gray walking suit, and wearing a tight-fitting hat, which I
+should have described as claret-coloured but for which the fashion
+journals no doubt have a better name. Her fingers listlessly
+interlocked, she came slowly along, looking down at the path and
+sometimes kicking a pebble aside. Never once did she look up, not even
+when she arrived before Peter Pan, until:
+
+“Good-morning, Nanette!” said I.
+
+Then she stopped as suddenly as though a physical obstacle had checked
+her.
+
+“Good heavens!” she replied, tore herself from a land of dreams and
+stared at me, smiling. But her smile was not exactly a happy one.
+“It’s like a musical comedy, isn’t it?”
+
+“Why?” I asked.
+
+“Well, everybody turning up at the same place for no reason!”
+
+“Not everybody,” said I.
+
+“Well--no.” Nanette hesitated, and then sat down beside me on the
+bench. “Not everybody.”
+
+“Curiously enough,” I went on, “I was thinking about you.”
+
+Nanette stared at the point of her shoe.
+
+“Must be telepathy,” she murmured.
+
+“Why? Were you thinking about me?”
+
+“Yes.” She nodded. “I shall never forgive myself for what I have
+done.”
+
+“You mean--about Adolf Zara?”
+
+“About Captain Slattery, yes.” She turned to me. “You see, I always
+think of him as ‘Slattery.’”
+
+“Does that make you like him any better, Nanette?”
+
+“No,” she admitted; “I have never liked him. But, well--you know how I
+felt about him? Does Major O’Shea know that I know?”
+
+“You mean,” I suggested, “does he know that you no longer suspect him
+of using you as a lure?”
+
+Nanette nodded without looking up.
+
+“I have had no opportunity of telling him,” said I. “But I expect to
+see him to-day.” I rested my hand upon hers, which lay listlessly on
+the seat beside her. “May I talk to you quite honestly?”
+
+“Of course,” said Nanette, but still did not look up.
+
+“I want to tell you,” I went on, “that the man you call Captain
+Slattery, but whose real name is Adolf Zara, is not as civilized as he
+appears to be. He is a member of a very dangerous organization. I hope
+you will make a point of avoiding him.”
+
+“I am never going to see him again,” Nanette declared.
+
+She spoke abstractedly, and it dawned upon me that her interest was
+centred less upon this matter of her perilous acquaintance with a
+member of the S Group than upon the passers-by. I attached little
+significance to the fact at the time, and:
+
+“I am only anxious about your personal safety,” I said. “Anything you
+care to tell me, I shall keep to myself. Are you sure that Captain
+Slattery does not mean to see _you_ again?”
+
+Nanette looked aside at me.
+
+I thought that, since Adolf Zara was human, my question had been
+rather superfluous. O’Shea, who was no alarmist, had admitted that the
+secret organization of these people was extensive and efficient. Wild
+ideas assailed my mind, but:
+
+“Of course, we are no longer in the lonely island of Madeira,” I went
+on, “but in the capital of a civilized country. All the same, Nanette,
+I should be glad to know that Zara was no longer in England.”
+
+“So should I,” she admitted, and looked away again.
+
+The words were simple enough, but, from what I knew of Nanette, I
+detected an unfamiliar note in her voice. I was not sorry to hear it,
+although it was a note of fear. It told me that my warning had been
+unnecessary. Nanette knew that Zara was a dangerous man.
+
+“I have been wondering what I should do,” she began suddenly. “But now
+I have made up my mind.”
+
+She opened her handbag and took out a twisted scrap of paper.
+Smoothing it carefully, she passed it to me, and:
+
+“Captain Slattery dropped this yesterday,” she said, “while he was
+with me in a taxi. I think, perhaps----”
+
+She hesitated.
+
+“Yes?” said I, glancing at what was written on the paper.
+
+“It’s so odd that I think, perhaps, you should show it to--your
+friend.”
+
+Watching her as she spoke, I wondered at the scheme of things;
+wondered whether she would outlive a romance born in a jewelled
+island, or whether, despite her youth, it was real, for good or ill,
+this love of hers for O’Shea.
+
+I suppressed a sigh, and bent over the writing. This was what I read:
+
+
+ Book from Charing Cross to the British Museum. From the Mansion House
+ also it is no distance to the British Museum. Hyde Park there is a
+ station. Change at Charing Cross for Piccadilly. Bond Street is merely
+ Bond Street, and two London Bridges are better than one Bond Street.
+ But the Mansion House and the British Museum are national
+ institutions, and Berkeley Square pulled down or Berkeley Square blown
+ up would only lead to the Old Bailey. Residents at the Crystal Palace
+ rarely moved to Berkeley Square, and the Tower Bridge is new whilst
+ London Bridge is old. Meet you in Bond Street.
+
+
+I raised my eyes. Nanette was stifling laughter. Now she stifled it no
+longer. And Nanette’s laughter was very sweet music.
+
+“Of course,” she confessed, “I know it _seems_ perfectly idiotic! But
+one never knows. It may mean a general strike or something. But
+whatever it means, I shall have to be pushing along. I am meeting
+Mumsy at Marshall’s.”
+
+She stood up, looking sharply to right and left, and I wondered what
+this might portend. However, we took the path to the Gate, walking
+very slowly, and from there proceeded in a taxi.
+
+I dropped Nanette at her destination and was standing outside the shop
+wondering whether to walk over to the Club or to hunt up O’Shea, when
+an explanation of this chance meeting presented itself.
+
+O’Shea, I recalled, had once said, in Nanette’s presence, that when he
+had a difficult problem upon his mind, he varied the ordinary routine
+of a London morning. Other duties permitting, he walked as far as
+Peter Pan, and in the presence of the little god not infrequently
+discovered a solution of his difficulties.
+
+Nanette had been unfortunate. This morning O’Shea had not come.
+
+I reëntered the taxi which I had kept waiting, and:
+
+“Lancaster Gate,” I directed.
+
+Why I did so I have no idea; but experience has taught me that the
+motives which prompt many far-reaching actions are so obscure as to
+defy subsequent research.
+
+Discharging the man, I set out along that path beside the Serpentine.
+The hour was now approaching noon, and platoons of white-capped
+nursemaids promenaded with the younger generation. I found myself
+surrounded by future society beauties; statesmen who would be making
+laws when I was an old man; great soldiers destined to save the
+British Empire from enemies yet unborn; actresses whose reputations
+might overshadow the memory of Sarah Bernhardt; princesses, dukes,
+vagabonds, thieves; some in perambulators, others in miniature
+automobiles, some toddling; a fascinating crowd.
+
+Then I awakened from my day dream. Standing squarely in front of Peter
+Pan, and watching that youthful deity with a fixed stare, was O’Shea!
+He remained unaware of my presence until I touched him on the
+shoulder.
+
+He turned swiftly. And I saw a far-away look in his gray eyes
+instantly change to one of close scrutiny; then:
+
+“Decies,” he said, “I am glad to see you. I learned something last
+night.”
+
+“What?” I said.
+
+“I learned why Adolf Zara has come to England! The president of the S
+Group--a person with the mentality of a Tomsky and the morals of a
+baboon--is one Schmidt.”
+
+“Well?” said I.
+
+“Schmidt is in London!”
+
+
+
+
+ CHAPTER XXV.
+ THE SECOND MESSAGE
+
+“Of course,” I said, “it may mean nothing.”
+
+O’Shea raised his eyes from the extraordinary communication that I had
+handed to him, and:
+
+“Or it may mean everything!” he added.
+
+We sat on that bench by the water’s edge where I had met Nanette.
+O’Shea continued his scrutiny of the message, and, looking over his
+shoulder, I read it again for perhaps the twentieth time. Its
+absurdity fogged me. Passers-by ceased to exist, and I forgot Peter
+Pan.
+
+“Perhaps,” said I, “it is some kind of code.”
+
+“Since it is otherwise meaningless,” O’Shea murmured, without raising
+his eyes, “your suggestion is excellent. You will have noticed that
+there are three references to the British Museum and that the
+expression ‘Two London Bridges’ occurs?”
+
+“I had not particularly noticed this,” I admitted.
+
+“Two London Bridges,” O’Shea went on musingly. “Very interesting--very
+interesting. You see where I mean?”
+
+He indicated the passage with the rim of his monocle.
+
+“Quite,” said I eagerly. “But Charing Cross, Berkeley Square, and Bond
+Street also occur several times.”
+
+“But only Bond Street and Berkeley Square crop up in pairs,” he
+replied, “if we exclude the brace of London Bridges.”
+
+And now, as we sat there pondering over this nonsensical piece of
+writing, came a strange interruption.
+
+“Have you seen Comrade Zara?” said a guttural voice.
+
+I looked up sharply. A stout German obstructed my view of Kensington
+Gardens. His ample face was draped in a pleasant smile, and he
+surveyed O’Shea and myself through a pair of spectacles that resembled
+portholes. No doubt I was gaping like an imbecile but O’Shea rose to
+the situation lightly.
+
+“He is here,” he replied calmly. “Are you from Comrade Schmidt?”
+
+“I am,” said the German. His smile disappeared. Relieved of it, his
+face was frankly sinister. “Have you seen Comrade Wilson?”
+
+Perhaps it is unnecessary to state that emerging from a perusal of the
+letter about Hyde Park, Bond Street, and Berkeley Square, and finding
+myself plunged into this apparently inane conversation, I began to
+doubt my own sanity; but:
+
+“_This_ is Comrade Wilson,” said O’Shea gravely, and waved his hand in
+my direction!
+
+The German nodded in a very brusque way.
+
+“Show me the order,” he demanded.
+
+O’Shea held up the demented document we had been reading; whereupon:
+
+“Good,” said our eccentric acquaintance. “Quick! The order for
+to-night!” He passed an envelope to O’Shea. “I am followed.
+Good-morning.”
+
+He moved off hurriedly, and I was still staring in speechless
+astonishment when a thick-set man wearing a blue suit and a soft hat,
+and who, without resembling a straggler from the Row, might have been
+a Colonial visitor, came along the path. One keen side-glance he gave
+us, and then disappeared in the wake of our Teutonic acquaintance.
+
+“O’Shea----” I began; but:
+
+“After all,” he interrupted me, “one must admit that the Scotland Yard
+people are efficient. That was a detective-inspector of the Special
+Branch.”
+
+“Do you mean he is following the German?”
+
+“Undoubtedly.”
+
+“But why should he follow him? Who was the German?”
+
+“I haven’t the faintest idea!” O’Shea replied.
+
+“But he mentioned Zara! And you seemed to know him.”
+
+O’Shea adjusted his monocle and looked me over in a way that I didn’t
+like.
+
+“Really, Decies,” he replied, “considering the admirable assistance
+which you have given me in this matter--for which I shall always be
+grateful--there are times when you defeat me. Why our German friend
+reposed his confidence in us I have no more idea than the Man in the
+Moon, nor why he confided this letter to my keeping. But his reference
+to Zara brands him a member of the S Group, without the significant
+fact that he is being followed by an officer of the Special Branch,
+whom I chance to know but who does not know me. The weary arm of
+coincidence is not long enough to embrace all these happenings,
+Decies. There is some other explanation. Let us see if it is here.”
+
+He tore open the envelope and withdrew a single sheet of paper. I bent
+forward eagerly, and over his shoulder read the following:
+
+
+ Charing Cross, London Bridge, Hyde Park, and the Strand are all worthy
+ of a visit. Kingsway is modern, but the British Museum, Tower Bridge,
+ the Mansion House, especially the British Museum, must not be
+ neglected. Hyde Park merits several visits. The Mansion House, or the
+ British Museum, can be done in one day, but Hyde Park is the only Hyde
+ Park, whilst Piccadilly and the Strand are merely thoroughfares. The
+ British Museum exhibit 365A is not in the National Gallery. The
+ Crystal Palace does not resemble Buckingham Palace and Bond Street is
+ not the Station for the Crystal Palace. Shepherd’s Market is a
+ survival. But book at Kingsway. Meet you at the Mansion House.
+
+
+“And now,” said O’Shea, “you know as much as I do!”
+
+I stared at him blankly, and, as I stared, heard clocks, near and
+remote, strike the hour of noon. O’Shea suddenly thrust the second
+letter into his pocket and began to study that which Nanette had given
+to me.
+
+He looked up, staring intently at the figure of Peter Pan, then:
+
+“Twelve o’clock,” he muttered. “Does the fact that it is twelve
+o’clock convey anything to you, Decies?”
+
+“Nothing,” I confessed, “except that I feel thirsty.”
+
+But it had conveyed something more to O’Shea. A distinguished officer
+is not relieved of his ordinary duties and dispatched to the Argentine
+upon the toss of a coin. He is selected for his special
+qualifications. That O’Shea’s qualifications were extensive I had
+already learned; that they were also peculiar was beginning to dawn
+upon me.
+
+
+
+
+ CHAPTER XXVI.
+ THE CRYPTOGRAM
+
+Nanette was with a party at the Hippodrome that night, and I had
+promised to look in during the interval. The curtain had just fallen
+and the orchestra was playing as I entered with O’Shea. The manager
+met us at the top of the steps.
+
+No doubt you remember him. He is unforgettable, being the best-dressed
+manager in Europe. He was delighted to meet O’Shea and much happier in
+greeting an officer of the Household troops who had come in for a
+drink than in endorsing a plebeian check for the use of the Royal box.
+
+Nanette came running out ahead of her party and stopped dead on seeing
+O’Shea. He bowed in his grave, courtly fashion. She glanced at me
+swiftly, and then:
+
+“Oh, Major O’Shea,” she said, “I want to ask you to forgive me!”
+
+“And I want to thank you,” said he.
+
+“To thank me?”
+
+Nanette looked up at him and then down again very swiftly. She began
+tapping her foot upon the rubber-coated floor.
+
+“To thank you,” he repeated, “once more. It seems to be my happy fate,
+Nanette, to be always thanking you.”
+
+“But what have you to thank me for?” she asked, industriously studying
+the point of her shoe.
+
+“For giving me an opportunity of redeeming my many failures.”
+
+Nanette looked up--she was quite calm again--and met his eyes bravely.
+
+“Some of them,” she said, “have been my fault.”
+
+“You are wrong,” O’Shea assured her. “The fault has been mine from the
+very beginning.”
+
+“What do you mean?” she asked; and I turned aside, joining some
+friends who had just come out from the stalls.
+
+In spite of my determination about Nanette, it still hurt a little bit
+to see that light in her eyes.
+
+“I mean,” I heard O’Shea reply, “that I have tried to do something
+that is impossible.”
+
+I heard no more, nor did I want to.
+
+That bell which indicates the rise of the curtain releases from the
+bars of a London theatre certain characteristic types. The wet man
+returning guiltily with guarded breath to his dry wife in the stalls,
+having stepped out to “smoke a cigarette.” The bored man, who is
+present under protest, and who goes to his seat like a martyr to the
+stake. The victim of jazzitis who dances with his girl friend in the
+lobby, and post-mortem examination of whose skull reveals the presence
+of several perfectly formed saxophones but nothing else.
+
+The curtain was about to rise and practically everybody was seated
+when I learned that Nanette had straggled. She stood with O’Shea in
+the opening at the back of the stalls. And I thought that I had never
+before seen her so animated in his company.
+
+Envied model of her girl friends, Nanette was a paragon of
+self-possession in the company of all men, or had been until she had
+met O’Shea. Never, hitherto, had I seen her at her ease with him. But
+to-night she was--realized that she was--and her happy excitement will
+be good to remember when I am ten years older.
+
+One hand resting upon his arm, she looked up, talking gaily. He, too,
+had relaxed, as any man must have done finding himself in the company
+of an adorably pretty and spirited girl who loved him so much that she
+didn’t care who knew. He was laughing like a schoolboy.
+
+The curtain was up before Nanette tore herself away. She was very
+flushed, and I know her heart was beating wildly. I pitied her escort,
+foreseeing that she would be abstracted throughout the remainder of
+the evening.
+
+O’Shea turned to me, and his eyes were still glistening happily.
+
+“Well, Decies,” said he, “what are you thinking?”
+
+“I am thinking,” I replied honestly, “that we are about of an age.
+That if Nanette had looked at me as I saw her looking at you, I should
+have asked her to marry me before I let her go back to her seat.”
+
+He stared very hard, his expression changing from second to second;
+then:
+
+“Being Celtic,” he said, “I suppose I am superstitious. At every turn
+since I have met her Nanette has intruded in my life. I am beginning
+to wonder.”
+
+“About what are you thinking in particular?” I asked.
+
+“About the letter that Zara dropped in the cab and that Nanette gave
+to you.”
+
+“Have you fathomed it?” I asked excitedly--“and the other?”
+
+“Both are in the same code. But without the first I doubt that I
+should have been able to read the second.”
+
+“Then you _have_ read them?”
+
+“I have,” O’Shea replied; “and this time Nanette has dealt me a full
+hand.”
+
+His suppressed excitement communicated itself to me.
+
+“What have you learned?” I said eagerly. “Can I be of any assistance?”
+
+“Your assistance is indispensable!” he returned. “Are you game?”
+
+“Every time!”
+
+“Good enough. Let us go along to your rooms, and I will explain what
+to-night has in store for us.”
+
+As the taxi that we presently hailed threaded its way through the
+traffic of Cranbourne Street, and on through that of Piccadilly, I
+glanced aside several times at my silent companion. I wondered if his
+abstraction might be ascribed to the problem of the S Group, or to
+that of Nanette. Not being an O’Shea, I hesitated to judge. But my
+vote was for Nanette.
+
+Arrived at my rooms and having sampled the whisky and soda:
+
+“Now,” O’Shea began, “the mantle of Edgar Allan Poe not having fallen
+upon my shoulders, I doubt that I should have solved this cipher but
+for the happy coincidence of meeting our German friend in the very
+shadow of Peter Pan. You will recall, too, that at the moment of his
+departure, the clocks were chiming the hour of noon.”
+
+“I remember,” said I.
+
+“I turned it over in my mind, considering the thing from every
+conceivable angle. Before I tackled the cipher--for of course the
+messages were palpably written in some kind of cipher--one fact was
+plain enough to me.”
+
+“What was that?”
+
+“The fact that Zara, an important member of the S Group, was not known
+by sight to the member who spoke to us! He mistook _me_ for Zara, and
+he mistook _you_ for one Comrade Wilson, of whom I had never heard,
+and respecting whom I have no instructions.”
+
+“So far I agree,” said I, “but what I simply cannot make out is why
+this deranged German should walk up to two perfect strangers seated in
+Kensington Gardens and take it for granted that they were the people
+he was looking for.”
+
+“His opening remark was non-committal,” O’Shea reminded me,
+reflectively sipping his whisky and soda.
+
+“Certainly it was; but am I to assume that the man was walking about
+London addressing the inquiry, ‘Have you seen Comrade Zara?’ to every
+male citizen he met on his travels?”
+
+“The very point that led me to a solution of the problem,” O’Shea
+returned. “I realized, of course, that the routine which you indicate
+would have been insane, and I do not look for insanity of this kind
+from members of the S Group. I recalled that we had been sitting by
+the statue of Peter Pan, and that I had drawn your attention to the
+presence of ‘Two London Bridges’ in the message. I noted that the
+double bridges were preceded by a reference to Bond Street--or,
+rather, by two references to Bond Street--and followed by another. I
+remembered that the hour was noon.
+
+“Treating the message as a cipher, I assumed, as a basis of
+investigation, that the various well-known spots mentioned represented
+letters and that all intervening words might be neglected. Now, I had
+two almost certain clues to work upon.
+
+“First, that our German friend clearly expected to meet Zara and
+someone called Wilson by the statue of Peter Pan. Second, that he
+expected to meet them there at noon. Think for a moment, and you will
+realize that this must have been the case.”
+
+“It is clear enough,” said I, “now that you point it out to me.”
+
+“His handing me a second message in the same cipher,” O’Shea went on,
+“suggested that the first related to the appointment which we, by
+bounty of the gods, had accidentally kept. I therefore assumed that
+the first message conveyed something of this sort: ‘Be at the statue
+of Peter Pan at midday.’
+
+“I began to examine it with this idea in mind. Particularly, I was
+looking for a sequence to fit the name, Peter Pan. As you can see--”
+he spread the original messages on my table before me--“it appears
+unmistakably at the very beginning. Charing Cross is the first point
+mentioned; four other London landmarks occur, and then Charing Cross
+again. I assumed as a working theory that Charing Cross stood for the
+letter P.
+
+“This suggested that British Museum was E as it occurs next, is
+followed by Mansion House, and then occurs again.
+
+“Assuming Mansion House to be T, we get P-e-t-e. Calling Hyde Park R,
+we get Peter. Charing Cross then crops up in its correct place.
+Reading Piccadilly as A and Bond Street as N gives Peter Pan.”
+
+He laid his cigarette in an ash-tray and bent over the writing
+enthusiastically.
+
+“This enabled me to cross-check, for Bond Street occurs again
+immediately, with the two London Bridges which first attracted my
+attention, followed by another Bond Street.
+
+“Bond Street being N, it was reasonable to assume that London Bridge
+was O, making--Peter Pan, Noon.”
+
+“By gad!” I exclaimed. “It’s wonderful!”
+
+“On the contrary,” O’Shea assured me, “it is elementary. To continue:
+we now have Mansion House again, or T, followed by British Museum--E,
+and two Berkeley Squares, hitherto unmentioned. Old Bailey and Crystal
+Palace crop up next--very defeating--followed by a third Berkeley
+Square. Then Tower Bridge. This is followed by London Bridge, O, and
+Bond Street, N. Remembering the name of the Comrade for whom you were
+mistaken, Decies, I very quickly determined that Berkeley Square stood
+for L and the word following ‘Noon’ was ‘Tell.’ This gave me a pair of
+blanks, then L, another blank, and o-n. Wilson was clearly indicated,
+and I had my complete message. ‘Peter Pan noon, tell Wilson.’”
+
+O’Shea replaced his cigarette between his lips and turned to me,
+smiling.
+
+“You mean,” said I, “that you have read the second message?”
+
+“Naturally,” he replied. “It is childishly easy, once having got the
+idea of the nature of the cipher. Without bothering you with details,
+such as the letters implied by Buckingham Palace, Shepherd’s Market,
+and Kingsway--places that don’t occur in the first message--I may say
+that it reads as follows: ‘Porchester Terrace 365A--which I assume to
+be the number of a house--midnight.’”
+
+“Good heavens!” I glanced at the clock. “And he said the order was for
+to-night!”
+
+“To-night,” O’Shea returned, glancing up. “We have two hours.”
+
+“We have two hours?”
+
+“Precisely,” said he, and his gray eyes surveyed me unblinkingly.
+“There are certain chances, but there is no game without chances, and
+we shall be covered by a raid squad from Scotland Yard. Whether
+Comrade Schmidt is more familiar with the appearance of Comrades Zara
+and Wilson than his emissary seems to be, I cannot say. But to-night
+at twelve o’clock I suggest that you and I present ourselves at number
+365A Porchester Terrace, as Comrades Zara and Wilson! It is asking a
+lot, Decies, but are you game?”
+
+“Good God!” I said, hesitated for one electric moment, and then held
+out my hand.
+
+O’Shea grasped it.
+
+
+
+
+ CHAPTER XXVII.
+ THE COMRADES GATHER
+
+“Nanette has gone on somewhere to dance,” said O’Shea.
+
+“I know.” I stared out of the window of the taxi. “I take it that she
+doesn’t know where _we_ have gone on to?”
+
+“No.”
+
+O’Shea’s reply was little more than a whisper, but it told me that
+which made me at once glad and sorry. For good or for ill, Nanette was
+winning.
+
+“Two things are rather worrying me,” O’Shea confessed. “It is obvious
+enough that Zara is afraid to visit any of the known centres of the S
+Group, hence the appointment at Peter Pan. He probably received the
+letter--or ‘Order’--at some post office, under an assumed name. But if
+he had read it and decoded it before he dropped it in the taxi, where
+was he at noon to-day?”
+
+“Unable to approach Peter Pan,” I replied promptly, “because we were
+there, not to mention the man from Scotland Yard who was following the
+German.”
+
+“Yes,” O’Shea mused. “Zara’s reaction to this check is one of the
+points I am wondering about. It may prove to be a snag. The second
+snag----”
+
+But as our taxi had turned into Porchester Terrace and was now pulling
+up, I did not learn what the second snag might be.
+
+We alighted, and I looked up and down the street. Save for O’Shea’s
+assurance, there was nothing to show that our movements were covered
+by the squad from Scotland Yard. Porchester Terrace proclaimed itself
+empty from end to end, or for as far as I could see.
+
+Number 365A was a prosperous-looking mansion set back beyond a patch
+of shrubbery and approached through a sort of arcade guarded by
+handsome double doors. What appeared to be a large room on the first
+floor was brilliantly lighted, but otherwise the house was in
+darkness.
+
+“Pull over to the other side of the street,” O’Shea directed the taxi
+driver, “and wait. We shall not be long.”
+
+“Very good, sir.”
+
+As the man turned his cab:
+
+“Now,” said O’Shea, “we are going over the top! Are you fit?”
+
+“All ready,” said I.
+
+O’Shea pressed the bell button.
+
+In the interval that elapsed between the ringing of the bell and the
+opening of the door, I conjured up a picture of Nanette dancing with
+somebody or another somewhere, perpetually glancing abstractedly about
+the room, as I had seen her do so often, in hope of catching a glimpse
+of O’Shea.
+
+It was hard to believe that this doorway before which we waited
+represented a frontier which, once crossed, shut us off from the life
+of empty gaiety which the name of London conveys to so many; difficult
+to regard it as the porch of a grim and real underworld, controlled by
+enemies of established society, remorseless, almost inhuman in their
+bloodthirsty fanaticism.
+
+A saturnine foreign butler admitted us. We had shed our dinner kit and
+were wearing tweeds.
+
+“Comrade Zara and Comrade Wilson,” said O’Shea with composure.
+
+The man nodded and stood aside. We entered the arcade, which was
+bordered by plants in pots, and saw ahead of us some carpeted steps,
+lighted by a hanging lantern.
+
+As the double doors closed behind us, I experienced one of those
+indescribable moments compounded of panic and exhilaration. Then
+somewhere, very dimly, I heard a clock striking midnight. We were
+going upstairs.
+
+“Comrade Zara and Comrade Wilson.”
+
+I found myself in a large room, very simply furnished in library
+fashion, and in the presence of six or seven rather unsavoury human
+specimens, some of whom bowed curtly, and some of whom did not bow at
+all.
+
+Our Peter Pan acquaintance was present; and a short thick-set man, who
+had incredibly long arms, and who generally resembled a red baboon,
+came forward to greet us. He had incomplete teeth, and those that
+survived badly needed scaling. His accent opened up wide
+possibilities.
+
+“Greeting, Comrades,” said he. “You are welcome. My name is Schmidt.”
+
+And as he spoke, fixing his piercing glance first upon O’Shea and then
+upon myself, I recognized beneath that uncouth exterior the primitive,
+formidable force of the man.
+
+He presented the other comrades, by names which are not to be found in
+Debrett, and I reflected that impudence is indispensable to success in
+this sort of game.
+
+It became evident that, from Comrade Schmidt downward, nobody in the
+room was familiar with the appearance of either Zara or Wilson!
+
+An appalling-looking bearded creature attached itself to O’Shea.
+
+“We are anxious, Comrade,” it said, “to hear your personal account of
+the state of the work in South Africa.”
+
+“I am not too hopeful,” O’Shea replied gloomily, and glanced aside at
+me.
+
+“But,” said Schmidt, turning his dreadful little eyes in my direction,
+“Comrade Wilson brings us news from the United States which will be
+like new blood in our veins.”
+
+Somehow or another, O’Shea managed to shake off the Missing Link, and
+to secure a word aside with me.
+
+“Very full bag,” he murmured. “If we make no mistakes, we shall purge
+England and America of some unsavoury elements. But the second snag
+which I had foreseen rests on the fact that another steamer from
+Madeira has reached Southampton since we returned. There is one member
+of the S Group whom we left behind. He knows us both. He might quite
+conceivably have been in that steamer! His appearance here would raise
+the temperature considerably. And----”
+
+He was interrupted. The door of the room was thrown open and the
+foreign butler entered.
+
+“Comrade Macalister,” he announced.
+
+“The snag to which I referred!” said O’Shea.
+
+
+
+
+ CHAPTER XXVIII.
+ THE RAID
+
+I suppose that at some time during his life every man who has
+anything of the boy left in him has thought that he would like to take
+a fling at the great adventure of Secret Service. I feel called upon
+to assure these aspirants that a comfortable armchair is the better
+choice.
+
+Accident, or that Higher Power which the Arabs call Kismet, had cast
+me into the path of Edmond O’Shea. He had honoured me with his
+friendship, but had quite failed to recognize that I was a man of
+lesser stature than his own. Whilst granting every honour to marshal
+and statesman, personally I am disposed to believe that it was men
+such as O’Shea who steered the Allies to victory; and perhaps,
+hitherto, I had been inclined to look upon the Secret Service as a job
+for highbrows rather than for soldiers.
+
+This error was to be corrected.
+
+Conceive a large room filled with enemies of established order;
+fanatics, whose collected scruples would have left a thimble empty.
+Conceive that I and O’Shea, posing as members of their bloodthirsty
+organization, were amongst them as spies, pledged to bring about their
+ruin.
+
+Now, conceive that a “Comrade,” who knows us and has fared ill at our
+hands, is suddenly announced.
+
+Perhaps I shall be forgiven when I say that I remembered with
+gratitude how Edmond O’Shea had rallied a company of the Guards during
+the great retreat, how his presence of mind and consummate
+self-possession had helped historians to chronicle Cambrai with pride
+rather than with humility.
+
+He edged up beside me. I saw him fumbling for his monocle and saw his
+change of expression when he realized that he had left it behind;
+then:
+
+“Get near the door,” he murmured. “My fault, Decies, to have let you
+in for this. But I had hoped to learn things that police examination
+can never bring out.”
+
+Macalister came in.
+
+He was in dinner kit and he smoked a cigar which, to my disordered
+vision, appeared to be decorated with two bands. His superb
+self-possession was worthy of Tom Mix. He did not merely own the room;
+he possessed the property.
+
+“Take the left,” said O’Shea.
+
+Unerringly, instinctively, Macalister’s glance settled upon us at the
+moment of his entrance. He had advanced no more than one pace beyond
+the butler, and his mouth was agape for excited utterance, when
+O’Shea’s revolver had him covered.
+
+Overwhelmed with a sense of utter unreality, I covered the group of
+four on my left which included the formidable Schmidt.
+
+Glibly, as though born of long familiarity, the words leapt to my
+tongue:
+
+“Hands up!”
+
+The command was obeyed. And I have since thought, paradoxical though
+it may appear, that violent men, in these matters, are more tractable
+than men of peace. Assessing human life lightly, they credit the brain
+behind the gun with compunction no greater than their own.
+
+“By God!” I heard Macalister say--and I hope I shall always find time
+to take off my hat to a good loser--“I had you wrong all along,
+Major!”
+
+Schmidt looked dangerously ugly for a moment; then:
+
+“Line up,” said O’Shea sharply. “Jump to it. Fall in on the left of
+Schmidt.”
+
+Came inarticulate mutterings, but without other audible protest the
+group obeyed, forming a line having Schmidt at one end and the
+saturnine butler at the other.
+
+“Now,” O’Shea continued, “if any man lowers his hands, I shall not
+argue with him. Decies, will you go down to the street door and
+whistle? Pass behind me. Keep a sharp look-out. I don’t know who is in
+the house.”
+
+I obeyed, the sense of unreality prevailing. But I know I shall always
+remember that row of sullen-faced men with raised hands, who watched
+as I crossed behind O’Shea.
+
+There was no one on the stairs, and no one in the long, glazed passage
+that led to the street. This gained, I ran the length of it, and
+throwing open the double doors beheld a seemingly deserted Porchester
+Terrace.
+
+I whistled shrilly. The result was magical.
+
+Springing from what hiding places I know not, men appeared running
+from right and left! This was the raid squad from Scotland Yard, and I
+realized that I was helping to mould history.
+
+Our taximan, who was waiting on the other side of the street, and who
+had been peacefully smoking a cigarette, jumped down from his seat and
+watched the proceedings with an expression of stupefaction that was
+comic in its intensity.
+
+Everything was carried out in a most orderly manner. The members of
+the Group were arrested without unnecessary fuss. The whole thing
+might have been “produced” by David Belasco. A six-seater car appeared
+from somewhere or another, in which the gang was canned as neatly as
+tinned sardines.
+
+The police handled the job with such discretion that chance passers-by
+never dreamed that anything unusual was going forward. They do these
+raids much better on the screen.
+
+Macalister was the last to come down from above, his cigar still held
+firmly between his teeth. He was unperturbed. Deportation was the
+worst he had to fear, and he knew it quite well. He was smiling slyly.
+He paused, looking hard at O’Shea and at myself.
+
+“Listen,” he said, “you two boys have doubled on me pretty badly, but
+I don’t bear no malice.” His grammar at times revealed the influence
+of the Cubist school. “Zara is different, and he’s still loose. Take
+my tip and watch out for Zara. If he’s seeing red, don’t try to pet
+him. Good-night!”
+
+He entered the car, urged by two detectives.
+
+“Good-night,” murmured O’Shea thoughtfully, and turned to me.
+
+“You know, Decies,” he went on, “if that man had had our advantages,
+he would have made a damned good sportsman.”
+
+There were certain formalities to be attended to, and I suppose it was
+close upon two o’clock when O’Shea and I found ourselves outside my
+rooms. I suggested a doch-an’-dorris.
+
+“If I were superstitious,” O’Shea declared, “I should refuse.”
+
+He smiled, glancing up at the tall ladder beneath which we must walk
+to reach my door.
+
+“Oh!” said I, “they are mending the roof, or something.”
+
+“I suppose we might risk it,” he replied; and we went in.
+
+The incident stuck in my mind, not so much because of any
+superstitious significance that I attached to it as because of what
+actually happened later.
+
+O’Shea dropped on to the settee in my big room and sighed rather
+wearily as he watched me preparing drinks.
+
+“You know, Decies,” said he, “I am both glad and sorry that this job
+is over. I have blundered through by sheer good luck. Without your
+aid, and the aid of someone else, I should have crashed badly.”
+
+“Perhaps not,” I returned. “If you had not succeeded in one way, you
+might quite easily have found another.”
+
+“Or I might not,” said he. “No. I am a poor policeman, and peace-time
+soldiering is no sort of game.”
+
+“What do you mean, O’Shea?”
+
+“I mean,” he replied, holding up to the light a glass that I had
+handed to him, “that I am infernally restless.”
+
+I sighed as loudly as he had done and stooped over the syphon. Then:
+
+“Decies,” said O’Shea, “we live in a generation that grows up very
+early.”
+
+“We do,” I agreed.
+
+“I should like to talk to you seriously. There are many men I have
+known longer, but none I could sooner trust. Yet in this matter
+somehow I don’t feel…”
+
+“Yes?” I prompted.
+
+“Well, I don’t feel quite at liberty to discuss it with you.”
+
+There was a silence that might have been awkward. O’Shea was watching
+me almost pathetically; and:
+
+“I know what you want to talk about,” I said. “Nanette is a witch. But
+there is only one man in the world for her now. It might be fair,
+though, to give her a year to think it over.”
+
+“You don’t doubt _my_ attitude in the matter,” O’Shea murmured.
+
+“No,” I replied, “I know it.”
+
+He looked at me very fixedly, when:
+
+“Coo-ooh!” I heard.
+
+O’Shea’s expression changed; and, turning, I crossed to an open
+window, looking down into the street.
+
+Standing just in front of the ladder which disfigured the front of the
+premises, was Nanette, staring upward. A two-seater with several
+people in it stood at the curb.
+
+“Hello, Nanette,” I called.
+
+“Saw your light,” she shouted, “as we were passing. May we come up, or
+are you going to bed?”
+
+“No,” I replied, and hesitated to tell her what I knew she hoped.
+“Come right up and bring your friends. I have only just got in.”
+
+“Right-oh!” she cried.
+
+
+
+
+ CHAPTER XXIX.
+ ADOLPH ZARA
+
+The party that presently invaded us proved to consist of Nanette and
+a brunette girl friend whom I had not seen before. They were escorted
+by a young medical officer on leave from Mesopotamia--a very charming
+type of Scotsman--and Milton, one of Nanette’s Madeira conquests,
+whom, you may recall, I had met again recently under rather odd
+circumstances. I thought that this evening was probably his reward for
+the weary job of scouting that he had performed on that occasion.
+
+He was not a happy man. The fact was beginning to dawn upon him that
+at the Savoy, the Hippodrome, and wherever else they had gone, he had
+been wasting his fragrance on the desert air. I pictured him driving
+to my apartment as one consciously heading for his doom.
+
+The poor fellow was rather pathetically young, and, regarding every
+acquaintance of Nanette’s as a serious rival, he had awakened to the
+fact that he had three score or so of deadly enemies in London.
+Presently:
+
+“Whisky and soda?” said I; “or have you reached the Bass stage?”
+
+“Neither, thanks,” he returned, and glared around my modest bachelor
+apartment as one who finds himself in the chamber of Bluebeard.
+
+Nanette had sped to O’Shea like an arrow to its target. As I turned
+aside from the peevish Milton, “I hadn’t dared to hope I should see
+you again to-night,” I heard her say.
+
+The other man and the pretty brunette were jointly occupying my most
+comfortable armchair, therefore, conquering a perfectly stupid pique
+which Milton had inspired:
+
+“Well,” said I, holding out my cigarette case, “we seem to have no
+alternative but to--look on, Milton.”
+
+He rejected the olive-branch, and, rudely ignoring my proffered case,
+crossed to the settee where Nanette and O’Shea sat side by side.
+
+“I say, Nanette,” he exclaimed, “what about going on to Chelsea?”
+
+Nanette barely glanced up as she replied:
+
+“No, I don’t want to dance any more to-night, Jim.”
+
+“Why not dance here?” cried her friend, pointing in the direction of
+the piano. “Do you play, Mr. Decies?”
+
+“Not dance music,” I confessed gladly.
+
+“But Jim does,” she went on. “Go on, Jim! Just one.”
+
+“Jim” crossed to the piano, offering an excellent imitation of an ox
+approaching Chicago. He crashed into a piece of syncopation that put
+years on the instrument. I had never heard the item before and trust
+that I shall never hear it again. I saw O’Shea smilingly shake his
+head; then Nanette ran across to me, and off we went around the
+furniture, I wondering which would burst first, a wire in my reeling
+piano or a blood-vessel in the empurpled skull of the player.
+
+Nanette danced because she was too happy to keep still, even with
+O’Shea beside her. I danced because I had no choice in the matter. It
+was an odd business, pointedly illustrating the part that Terpsichore
+plays in this modern civilization of ours.
+
+Nanette was dancing with me, but she wanted to dance with O’Shea. The
+other pair didn’t want to dance at all. They just wanted to be alone
+together. And Milton didn’t want to be the band. In fact, the whole
+thing was a sort of neutral territory, or sanctuary, in which the
+various protagonists found temporary refuge.
+
+I don’t know what momentous decision Nanette’s girl friend was
+shirking, but when Milton threatened to weaken:
+
+“Go on, Jim! Please go on!” she cried, avoiding the ardent gaze of her
+partner.
+
+Milton, the most ferociously reluctant musician I have ever seen at
+work, made a renewed assault upon the keyboard. He was watching
+Nanette, who rarely took her eyes off O’Shea; and a vein rose
+unpleasantly upon his forehead. He perpetrated some discords that set
+my teeth on edge.
+
+How long this might have continued I hesitate to guess. Milton’s gorge
+was rising tropically. I doubt that his destruction of my piano would
+have ceased while life remained in the instrument, but an interruption
+came.
+
+Nanette and I had navigated an awkward channel behind the armchair and
+were beating up toward the settee and O’Shea. The man from Mesopotamia
+had ingeniously steered his partner into a little book-lined recess at
+the farther end of the room. I had my back to the open window and
+Nanette was facing it. Suddenly she grew rigid.
+
+Her face became transfigured with an expression of horror that I can
+never forget. She pulled up dead--staring, staring past me, into the
+darkness of the street beyond.
+
+“What is it, Nanette?” I began, when the music ceased with a crash and
+I saw Milton bound to his feet.
+
+Unconsciously, I had gripped Nanette hard. But, in the next instant,
+she wrenched herself free from my grasp, turned, and with a queer sort
+of smothered cry threw herself upon O’Shea!
+
+I twisted about.
+
+Not two feet behind me an arm protruded into the room! The hand
+grasped a strange-looking pistol--for at that time I had never seen a
+Maxim Silencer. I heard a muffled thud. Something came whizzing
+through the air in my direction. (I learned later, when clarity came,
+that it was a valuable Ming vase that had stood upon the piano.)
+
+“Hold him, Decies!” yelled Milton.
+
+It was Milton who had hurled this costly projectile at the dimly seen
+arm in the window. The vase went crashing out into the street. I heard
+a second thud. Milton fell forward across the instrument--and then
+slid down on to the carpet. The hand clutching the pistol had
+vanished.
+
+A sort of vague red mist was dancing before my eyes. Came a rush of
+footsteps. Nanette was slipping from O’Shea’s arms. His face as he
+looked down into hers was a mask of tragedy. I heard her utter a
+little moan and I saw a streak of blood upon one white shoulder.
+
+Then followed chaos.
+
+A very weak voice, which vaguely I recognized as that of Milton, said:
+
+“Don’t worry about me, Doc. Look after Nanette.”
+
+I saw O’Shea stoop and lift Nanette. I saw her pale face. When,
+cutting through the tumult like a ray from a beacon:
+
+“The window, Decies! Watch which way he goes!”
+
+Automatically, I obeyed O’Shea. I strained out, looking to right and
+to left of the ladder. It was boarded over, but I realized that a
+desperate man, given sufficient agility, could have climbed the rungs
+from underneath, as evidently the assassin had done.
+
+At first, the street seemed to be empty from end to end; then I saw
+the figure of a man emerge from shadow into a patch of light cast by a
+street lamp--one who walked swiftly in the direction of Berkeley
+Square. I withdrew my head and stared, only half believing, about the
+room.
+
+Milton, looking deathly, lay propped up against the piano. He met my
+glance, and:
+
+“Seen him?” he demanded.
+
+I turned, as the military surgeon who had been bending over Nanette
+looked up at her friend, who stood beside him.
+
+“Know anything about nursing?” he jerked.
+
+The girl was very pale, but:
+
+“Yes,” she answered bravely, meeting his eyes, “a little. Tell me what
+to do, and I will do it.”
+
+He nodded, smiling, whereat I was reassured, and then:
+
+“Have you a manservant in the house, Mr. Decies?” he asked.
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“Dig him out. I can manage. You fellows are in the way. Get after the
+swine who did this.”
+
+But O’Shea had already started for the door. His expression was one I
+had rather not have seen. There is a savage hidden in every Celt, if
+one digs deep through.
+
+The other members of the group by this time were safely housed in
+cells. I thought that if we were destined to overtake Adolf Zara, he
+was likely to enjoy the distinction of spending the night in a morgue.
+
+
+
+
+ CHAPTER XXX.
+ MEMORIES CAN SAVE
+
+As Milton’s car, driven by O’Shea, raced around the corner into the
+square, all question of the fugitive’s identity was settled.
+
+Just vaulting into a two-seater that had been parked over by the
+railings was the man whose retreating figure I had seen as I leaned
+from the window! I prayed that he might be unable to start. But my
+prayer was not answered. Off he went, heading for Piccadilly.
+
+One swift glance back he gave over his shoulder. And in the light of
+the street lamp by which the car had stood, I saw the face of Zara!
+
+I glanced at O’Shea beside me. His pale features were set like a mask.
+I looked to right and to left; but not a soul was in sight. Berkeley
+Square was apparently deserted. Often enough I had wondered how
+certain notorious burglaries had been accomplished with all the
+resources of civilization at beck and call of justice. This was the
+answer.
+
+We had no means of arranging for Zara’s interception--although a
+constable was on duty at the corner of Bruton Street! We could only
+hope to keep him in sight or else overtake him. The merest hitch, or
+slightest traffic delay, would deliver him into our hands. But the
+betting was equal. Such an accident might as well befall us as him;
+and, the quarry once out of sight, our chances fell below zero.
+
+O’Shea spoke never a word. His mind held but one single purpose. That
+purpose, I firmly believe, was to wreak justice upon Zara with his own
+hands.
+
+Momentarily, I wondered about Milton. Of Nanette I dared not think.
+But a cold fury was growing within me, and I fingered the pistol that
+had been in my pocket since the raid upon the house in Porchester
+Terrace.
+
+Zara whirled round into St. James’s Street. The traffic in Piccadilly
+was not great but there were a number of pedestrians about. I even saw
+policemen in the distance. It all seemed utterly grotesque. Then, hot
+upon the fugitive, we, too, were dropping down the slope. Far ahead I
+could see the clock above St. James’s Palace. The hour was a quarter
+past two.
+
+Our speed was outrageous. We crossed Pall Mall at about thirty-five,
+and came out into the Mall, heading for Buckingham Palace in
+Brooklands fashion. We were gaining slightly. We crept from forty-five
+to fifty. Broad thoroughfares, brightly lighted, offered no
+obstruction; and we flew around the sharp bend by the Victoria
+Memorial and headed east.
+
+“Westminster Bridge!” I muttered.
+
+O’Shea did not speak. Past the barracks we sped, and, undeterred by a
+certain amount of traffic in Parliament Square, shot on to the
+approach to the Bridge. We were now three lengths behind Zara, and on
+the gradient began to improve upon it. Zara drove on the inside of the
+car lines, hugging the pavement. And at about the centre of the Bridge
+we passed outside him. I heard someone shouting.
+
+“Cover him, Decies!” said O’Shea grimly. “Shoot if he doesn’t pull
+up!”
+
+I turned and gave a loud cry. Zara had slowed down and was already
+twenty yards behind us!
+
+“Stop, O’Shea!” I cried--“stop!”
+
+He obeyed so suddenly that I nearly dived through the windshield. Then
+we jumped, one on either side, and started to run back.
+
+Zara had already dismounted, and I saw him peeling his coat. A picture
+arose out of the recent past: a foggy night off Ushant: and I seemed
+to hear again that eerie cry, “Man overboard!”
+
+So it was that Zara had eluded us once before. Undoubtedly he was
+going to do so again; and for all the cold hatred in my heart, I could
+not entirely withhold admiration as I saw him bound upon the parapet,
+raise his arms, and take that appalling dive into the Thames far
+below.
+
+I knew now, however, what I had not known formerly: that Adolf Zara’s
+courage was the courage of madness. His was that disease of fanaticism
+which, when it does not cough up a Tomsky, floods the criminal lunatic
+asylums.
+
+As we both craned over the parapet, peering down at the uneasy water,
+I heard the sound of a runner and then the flat note of a police
+whistle.
+
+“There he is!” said O’Shea.
+
+I stared but could see nothing, when:
+
+“Hello, there! What’s the game! Who was it that went over?” cried a
+loud voice.
+
+We turned, as a breathless constable came doubling up.
+
+“A very dangerous criminal,” O’Shea replied, “and we were chasing him.
+Quick, officer! on which side of the Bridge shall we find a boat?”
+
+The manner of one accustomed to give orders is unmistakable, and:
+
+“West, sir,” the constable answered promptly. “There’s a boat at the
+pier.”
+
+“Good,” said O’Shea, and started to run to the car. I followed.
+
+As we jumped in, turned, and headed back to where Big Ben recorded the
+fact that only seven minutes had elapsed since we had passed St.
+James’s Palace, I saw the constable coming after us. But, leaving the
+car by the foot of the clock tower, O’Shea raced across to the gate at
+the head of those steps that lead down to the pier. It was locked; and
+here I thought that the chase ended. But I had counted without O’Shea.
+
+London, unlike New York, normally is a very empty city at two o’clock
+in the morning; but now, as if conjured up by a magic talisman, a
+group began to assemble. I looked to my right--from which the
+constable was bearing down upon us. Even as he ran, his bearing was
+ominous. It occurred to me that he regarded O’Shea and myself with
+justifiable suspicion, and I foresaw complications.
+
+It was odd, I reflected, that we stood almost in the shadow of
+Scotland Yard--representing Law and Order, the forces of Empire
+against those of disruption--but that the very powers that should have
+backed us were likely now to aid and abet a dangerous conspirator and
+assassin in escaping the meshes of justice.
+
+The constable rather windily began to blow his whistle again.
+
+A resolute-looking man, clean-shaven, and of a very hard-bitten
+countenance, suddenly appeared at my elbow.
+
+“What’s the trouble?” he inquired--and challenged me with keen eyes.
+
+An official note in his voice was recognizable. O’Shea turned quickly.
+The ever-increasing group drew more closely around us. A second
+constable was making his way across from Parliament Square.
+
+“The trouble is,” said O’Shea, “that this gate is locked, and I want
+to get on to the pier.”
+
+The man, whose face seemed to have been chiselled out of seasoned
+teak, stared in a curious way. Then the breathless constable burst
+upon us.
+
+“Just a minute!” he began. “I want to know some more about this
+business!”
+
+He became uneasily aware of the presence of our weatherbeaten
+acquaintance. He stopped in the act of laying his hand upon O’Shea’s
+arm. O’Shea, watching the man who had accosted us, spoke, and:
+
+“Sergeant Donoghue!” he said.
+
+The expression on the grim face changed. The man so addressed drew
+himself smartly to attention. It was automatic--second nature; but his
+smile was good to see.
+
+“Thank you, sir,” said he, “for remembering me.”
+
+O’Shea held out his hand.
+
+“Stand easy, Sergeant,” he replied. “I gather that you have left the
+Army and rejoined the Police.”
+
+Donoghue’s eyes were glistening as he grasped the proffered hand.
+
+“I have that, sir,” he said, “and without loss of rank. I am a
+detective-sergeant now.”
+
+He glanced at the two constables--for the Parliament Square
+reinforcement had come up.
+
+“Carry on,” he directed, “there’s a man drowning. Leave this to me.”
+
+“Donoghue,” said O’Shea, “do you hate the Reds?”
+
+“I do, sir!”
+
+“Well, one of them has just jumped off the Bridge. He is a powerful
+swimmer. I want to get on to the pier and into a boat.”
+
+“You are in luck, sir,” Donoghue returned enthusiastically, “for
+to-night I happen to have the key.”
+
+When, a minute later, we pushed out into the stream, watched by an
+ever-increasing group of idlers, I thought how proud a man must feel
+to see a light like that which had crossed Donoghue’s face as he had
+recognized the officer he had served under. One such silent tribute is
+worth more than a thousand cheers.
+
+“Do you remember the night behind the farm, sir?” Donoghue asked.
+
+And O’Shea in reply merely laid his hand upon his shoulder and gripped
+hard for a moment. But this apparently simple question had a
+far-reaching result, as I was presently to learn.
+
+A fairly strong current was running, which, together with O’Shea’s
+recollection of the swimmer’s position as seen from the Bridge,
+sufficiently indicated where we should lay our course.
+
+Certain official steps had automatically been taken, and we were not
+alone in our quest. Apparently, even at two o’clock in the morning, it
+is contrary to County Council regulations for anyone to bathe from
+Westminster Bridge.
+
+Looking up from that unfamiliar viewpoint at certain London landmarks
+outlined against the clear sky, I wondered why Fate always seems to
+put a brake upon our joy-rides.
+
+Untrammelled by an intense anxiety on account of Nanette that obsessed
+me to-night, this queer adventure must have been definitely enjoyable.
+But, like so many human experiences, it was less exciting in the doing
+than it is in the telling. For exploration of unfamiliar by-paths, as
+I have already mentioned, there is no vehicle like a cosy armchair.
+
+That Zara would head for the nearest landing place, it was fairly
+reasonable to suppose. Therefore we pulled hard across in the
+direction of the County Hall, eagerly watching the surface of the
+water. Suddenly:
+
+“There he goes!” cried Donoghue.
+
+But, even as he spoke, I had seen the swimmer--close in, under the
+right bank, heading powerfully for the stairs. We raced for him and
+made land almost simultaneously.
+
+In the act of landing Zara stumbled and slipped back into the river.
+
+He came up by the stern of the boat. O’Shea’s hand shot out, grasped
+him by a soddened collar-band, and hauled him in against the side.
+Dimly, I could see O’Shea’s face as he looked down at the upcast eyes
+of Zara. I think I knew what was in his mind, and in those upturned
+eyes was recognition of it--and acceptance.
+
+Still grasping the helpless man, O’Shea glanced quickly at Donoghue.
+
+“Yes, Donoghue,” he said coldly, “I remember the night behind the
+farm. You have reminded me that I once had decent instincts. Sergeant,
+here’s your prisoner.”
+
+
+
+
+ CHAPTER XXXI.
+ HIATUS
+
+I find that my memory holds no proper record of the hour that
+elapsed between this time and our return to Nanette. There were
+certain unavoidable formalities to be gone through; but within ten
+minutes of the arrest of Zara, I was on the telephone to my rooms. My
+man answered; and his replies, whilst reticent, were reassuring.
+
+“Mr. Milton has been removed to hospital, sir. A very narrow escape, I
+understand. It will be a long job, but he is in no danger. Yes, sir,
+the lady is”--pause--“still here.”
+
+“Why?” I asked uneasily, and glanced at O’Shea, who was standing at my
+elbow throughout this conversation.
+
+“They--didn’t like to move her, sir. I ’phoned to Sir Frank Leslie, in
+Harley Street, sir, by request. He is here.”
+
+“But where is--the lady?”
+
+“Sorry, sir, but she is--in your room. Her mother is with her, sir.”
+
+“Is she dangerously ill?”
+
+“I don’t really know, sir. Both the medical men are with her now.”
+
+As I replaced the receiver, I stared at O’Shea. He had moved away from
+me and was pacing restlessly up and down the bleakly furnished room in
+New Scotland Yard from which we had been speaking.
+
+“You understand?” I said. “She is--rather badly hurt.”
+
+“I understand.” He nodded grimly. “She saved my life, Decies, perhaps
+at the price of her own. I can’t bear to think of it.”
+
+He turned abruptly and stared out of the window at a vista of empty
+Embankment below, lighted by many twinkling lamps.
+
+“I have been a self-reliant man all my life, Decies; it may be
+aggressively so. Perhaps this is poetic justice. Since the moment that
+I set foot in Madeira, up to this very hour, she has done my work for
+me, step by step. You admit it, Decies? You admit it?”
+
+“I do,” said I. “It’s true, but no discredit to you.”
+
+He shook his head and resumed the restless pacing. I saw him groping
+for his monocle, which he had left at his rooms prior to setting out
+for the raid on the S Group, and I saw him snap his fingers irritably
+as he realized how enslaved he was to this habit.
+
+“I have placed independence above every other virtue in man,” he went
+on. “I have fought for it and suffered for it. I suppose she has been
+sent to teach me that independence and loneliness are inseparable. Do
+you know,” he turned and looked fully into my eyes, with an expression
+almost of humility, “I don’t think I could bear that lonely path any
+longer, Decies. And if--” he paused and squared his jaw for a
+moment--“and if I have to follow it, there won’t be very much left.”
+
+“Shut up!” I said. “You are talking nonsense. If you elect to be
+lonely in future, the choice is yours.”
+
+“Unless…” he smiled wryly.
+
+“Don’t think of that!” I replied. “She is young and full of stamina.
+Besides, she wants to live.”
+
+“And I want her to live,” he added softly. “Yet, even now, I can’t
+believe it--and I can’t quite condone it.”
+
+“Condone what?” I demanded.
+
+“The acceptance, by a man of my age, world-worn, a little
+disappointed, more than a little cynical, of such a sacrifice, from a
+girl with all the world to choose from. I can find no justification.”
+
+“I see,” I murmured. “And can you find any for leaving her, now that
+you know? Because you can’t shut your eyes to the fact that this is
+not a schoolgirl’s infatuation, but the real thing. Can you condone
+that?”
+
+My voice was not quite steady.
+
+“She was ready to die for you, O’Shea,” I said. “It would break her
+heart to lose you. Damn it!” I pulled out my cigarette case, “I am
+talking like your sentimental aunt.”
+
+O’Shea smiled, this time more happily, and grasped my shoulder in
+characteristic fashion.
+
+“I believe we are both behaving rather idiotically,” he admitted.
+“Let’s hope for the best.”
+
+“I don’t believe you would recognize it if it came to you,” I
+returned.
+
+He shrugged his shoulders and we went up to a room on the floor above,
+where some sort of superior official was waiting. Throughout the
+interview that followed O’Shea became again the steely-eyed,
+square-jawed soldier whom I knew so well; the traditional O’Shea,
+whose name had been a tonic to many a man during those black days when
+the shadow of Prussia lay over Europe.
+
+
+
+
+ CHAPTER XXXII.
+ THE HEART OF NANETTE
+
+I seemed to detect an ominous air of hush as I opened the door for
+O’Shea and myself to go up to my apartments. Nanette’s mother met us.
+I could scarcely bear to look at her. Almost immediately, she fixed
+her eyes upon O’Shea.
+
+“Major O’Shea,” she began bravely, “I have known for a long time how
+Nanette felt about you.…”
+
+“And I suppose you have reproached me,” said he.
+
+“I have not,” she returned. “I have had many opportunities of
+watching, and I know that your behaviour has been admirable, if…” she
+hesitated.
+
+“Yes?” O’Shea urged gently.
+
+“If she has really meant anything to you. Be frank with me, Major
+O’Shea. Has she?”
+
+“She has,” he replied gravely. “I didn’t know, but I know now.”
+
+“It is frightfully hard to say,” she went on, “but…” she turned to me
+impulsively. “Can you help me, Mr. Decies?”
+
+“I think I can,” said I. “There is no reason why my friend, Major
+O’Shea, should not marry Nanette, unless there is any on your side.
+Personally, he thinks he is too old for her!” This last remark I added
+in what was meant to be a facetious manner, for the situation was
+difficult to cope with. “But please tell us--how is she?”
+
+“She will recover,” was the reply, “thanks to the speedy attention
+that she received. Failing this, it might have been--otherwise. I am
+afraid she cannot be moved for some time, Mr. Decies. It will be a
+dreadful inconvenience for you.…”
+
+“And a great honour,” I added. “Is it possible to see her?”
+
+“I don’t know if it is advisable. But she is asking to see”--glancing
+at O’Shea--“someone.”
+
+O’Shea bit his lip--the nearest approach to a display of emotion that
+I had ever observed in him--and turned quickly aside.
+
+Then followed a period of waiting. Nanette’s girl friend came down,
+having been relieved by a professional nurse. She smiled at O’Shea,
+and blushed furiously; an unusual accomplishment in a girl of her type
+and age. But the smile and the blush told me more of the state of
+Nanette’s heart than a long dissertation could have revealed.
+
+The young medical officer appeared at last, and his expression was
+reassuring.
+
+“Can we go up?” I asked.
+
+“Yes,” he replied; “I have Sir Frank’s permission to admit you for
+three minutes, but no more than three minutes.”
+
+He stared significantly at O’Shea.
+
+In a queerly furtive fashion I began to mount the stairs of my own
+house, treading softly as upon holy ground and going with bated
+breath. O’Shea moved equally silently. I cannot say what his feelings
+were at this moment, for I did not even look at him. But when we came
+to the door of the sick room that had been my bedroom, it was opened
+by a white-capped nurse, and we entered, catlike as burglars.
+
+Nanette lay propped up in my bed, with closed eyes. She was pale, but,
+in that hour, more adorable than ever. Her mother sat over by an open
+window, watching, and Sir Frank Leslie stood beside the bed. We crept
+forward, abashed as detected criminals. But Nanette did not stir,
+until:
+
+“Someone has come to say good-night to you, dear,” said her mother.
+
+Then the drooping lids quivered, and she raised her blue eyes. I
+cannot say if she saw O’Shea, or merely pretended that she did not see
+him; but admittedly he was standing behind me. She laid her hand in
+mine, and:
+
+“Thank you, Mr. Decies,” she murmured, in a pathetically weak voice.
+“I am going to be a frightful nuisance to you. In future, I shall try
+to arrange to be shot in my own bedroom.”
+
+She closed her eyes again, wearily, and dropped her hand upon the
+coverlet. Sir Frank beckoned to me to step aside. I did so.
+
+O’Shea drew nearer.
+
+“I have come to thank you, Nanette,” he said.
+
+He sat on the chair beside her, bending forward. Slowly, she turned
+her head, raised weary lids again, and looked at him. She stayed so
+for what seemed a very long time; just looking--looking--and
+questioning. He stooped nearer and nearer, until suddenly, but very
+weakly, a white arm crept around his neck and little trembling fingers
+were plunged into his hair.
+
+Nanette drew his head down upon the pillow beside her, sighed, and
+closed her eyes again happily.
+
+I turned away, staring at her mother. Then I caught Sir Frank’s
+glance. He began to tiptoe toward the door, nodded significantly to
+the nurse--and shepherded us out of the sick room!
+
+The last to leave, I looked back, guiltily, for one moment. Nanette
+was fast asleep, for they had given her an opiate. And she lay with
+her head nestling upon O’Shea’s shoulder.
+
+I shall always remember her smile.
+
+ THE END
+
+
+
+
+ TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES
+
+Minor spelling inconsistencies (e.g. lounge-chair/lounge chair,
+shore-signal/shore signal, etc.) have been preserved.
+
+Alterations to the text:
+
+Abandon the use of drop-caps.
+
+Punctuation: fix a few quotation mark pairings/nestings.
+
+[Chapter IV]
+
+Change (“Please, _mumsy_,” she pleaded--“until I have) to _Mumsy_.
+
+[Chapter XXIV]
+
+“He is a member of a very _dangerout_ organization” to _dangerous_.
+
+[Chapter XXVIII]
+
+“There was no one on the stairs, and no one. in the long, glazed”
+delete the period.
+
+ [End of text]
+
+
+
+
+
+
+*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 77001 ***
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+ <meta charset="UTF-8">
+ <title>
+  Moon of madness | Project Gutenberg
+ </title>
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+<body>
+<div style='text-align:center'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 77001 ***</div>
+
+<h1>
+Moon of Madness
+</h1>
+
+<p class="center">
+By SAX ROHMER
+</p>
+
+<p class="center mt6">
+<span class="font70">GARDEN CITY, NEW YORK</span><br>
+DOUBLEDAY, PAGE &amp; COMPANY<br>
+<span class="font70">1927</span>
+</p>
+
+
+<h2>
+[COPYRIGHT]
+</h2>
+
+<p class="center">
+COPYRIGHT, 1927, BY DOUBLEDAY, PAGE &amp;<br>
+COMPANY. COPYRIGHT, 1926, 1927, BY LIBERTY<br>
+WEEKLY, INC. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.
+</p>
+
+<p class="center mt1">
+FIRST EDITION
+</p>
+
+
+<h2>
+CONTENTS
+</h2>
+
+<p class="toc_l">
+<a href="#ch01">I. The German Liner</a>
+</p>
+
+<p class="toc_l">
+<a href="#ch02">II. Rescue</a>
+</p>
+
+<p class="toc_l">
+<a href="#ch03">III. The Man from the River Plate</a>
+</p>
+
+<p class="toc_l">
+<a href="#ch04">IV. At the Casino</a>
+</p>
+
+<p class="toc_l">
+<a href="#ch05">V. “In Five Minutes”</a>
+</p>
+
+<p class="toc_l">
+<a href="#ch06">VI. The Bungalow in the Hills</a>
+</p>
+
+<p class="toc_l">
+<a href="#ch07">VII. A Short Note</a>
+</p>
+
+<p class="toc_l">
+<a href="#ch08">VIII. The Call</a>
+</p>
+
+<p class="toc_l">
+<a href="#ch09">IX. Moon of Madness</a>
+</p>
+
+<p class="toc_l">
+<a href="#ch10">X. The “Arundel Castle” Sails</a>
+</p>
+
+<p class="toc_l">
+<a href="#ch11">XI. The Photographs</a>
+</p>
+
+<p class="toc_l">
+<a href="#ch12">XII. The Motor Cruiser</a>
+</p>
+
+<p class="toc_l">
+<a href="#ch13">XIII. The Grass Orphan</a>
+</p>
+
+<p class="toc_l">
+<a href="#ch14">XIV. The Portfolio</a>
+</p>
+
+<p class="toc_l">
+<a href="#ch15">XV. Terms with the Enemy</a>
+</p>
+
+<p class="toc_l">
+<a href="#ch16">XVI. The House on the Cliff</a>
+</p>
+
+<p class="toc_l">
+<a href="#ch17">XVII. Nanette Is Confidential</a>
+</p>
+
+<p class="toc_l">
+<a href="#ch18">XVIII. Suspects</a>
+</p>
+
+<p class="toc_l">
+<a href="#ch19">XIX. Dr. Zimmermann Calls</a>
+</p>
+
+<p class="toc_l">
+<a href="#ch20">XX. Fog in the Channel</a>
+</p>
+
+<p class="toc_l">
+<a href="#ch21">XXI. A Missing Picture</a>
+</p>
+
+<p class="toc_l">
+<a href="#ch22">XXII. Portrait of a Girl Diving</a>
+</p>
+
+<p class="toc_l">
+<a href="#ch23">XXIII. Fiasco</a>
+</p>
+
+<p class="toc_l">
+<a href="#ch24">XXIV. Peter Pan</a>
+</p>
+
+<p class="toc_l">
+<a href="#ch25">XXV. The Second Message</a>
+</p>
+
+<p class="toc_l">
+<a href="#ch26">XXVI. The Cryptogram</a>
+</p>
+
+<p class="toc_l">
+<a href="#ch27">XXVII. The Comrades Gather</a>
+</p>
+
+<p class="toc_l">
+<a href="#ch28">XXVIII. The Raid</a>
+</p>
+
+<p class="toc_l">
+<a href="#ch29">XXIX. Adolf Zara</a>
+</p>
+
+<p class="toc_l">
+<a href="#ch30">XXX. Memories Can Save</a>
+</p>
+
+<p class="toc_l">
+<a href="#ch31">XXXI. Hiatus</a>
+</p>
+
+<p class="toc_l">
+<a href="#ch32">XXXII. The Heart of Nanette</a>
+</p>
+
+
+<h2>
+MOON OF MADNESS
+</h2>
+
+<h3 class="nobreak" id="ch01">
+CHAPTER I.<br>
+<span class="chap_sub">THE GERMAN LINER</span>
+</h3>
+
+<p class="noindent">
+“<span class="sc">I should</span> <i>love</i> a long glass of iced German lager,” said Nanette.
+“Besides, I refuse to be deserted for a whole morning.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Her Japanese parasol lay along the rail of the veranda, her round bare
+elbows rested upon it and she cuddled her obstinate little chin in
+upturned palms. I turned to her with a glance in which I had meant to
+convey rebuke. But the blue eyes danced with mischief and pouting lips
+smiled impudently, a smile half childish and half elfin.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Young ladies of eighteen do not drink beer,” I answered paternally.
+“It isn’t done.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Jack Kelton came out as I spoke, saw Nanette, and flushed like a girl.
+When I say “like a girl” I mean like a girl of Victorian literature.
+To-day one should say “like a boy.” I never saw Nanette blush during
+all the time I knew her. I saw her grow deathly pale; but this was
+later.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Jack was good to see in the Madeira sunlight; one of those lean-limbed
+young Oxonians who strip so well and who always look amazingly clean.
+Nanette turned a slim shoulder in his direction, and stared out
+pensively across the bay. I thought that she had the most perfect arms
+imaginable. So did Nanette.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“I want to go out with you two and Mr. Ensleigh to that ship,” she
+said, peering aside at the enraptured Jack. “Please ask Mumsy. She
+likes you&mdash;and I love beer.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Jack and I exchanged glances. We both looked at Nanette; and then
+beyond to where the subject of controversy lay anchored&mdash;a big German
+out of Bremen, in from the River Plate.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“I <i>have</i> asked her,” Jack declared. “She’s adamant.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“So have I,” came a cheery voice&mdash;and Ensleigh joined the party. “She
+says that Mr. Kirby is coming to lunch.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“But I <i>loathe</i> Mr. Kirby!” cried Nanette, turning upon the speaker
+scornfully. “He’s one of the reasons why I want to go!”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Is that so, Nan?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+From a long, awning-covered chair near the corner of the veranda
+Nanette’s mother arose&mdash;a gracefully pretty woman who solved the
+mystery of Nanette’s beauty for those who had met only her father.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Mumsy! Have you been sitting there all the time?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“All the time, dear&mdash;and I have heard every word! So don’t attempt to
+take one back!”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Ensleigh, the well-groomed, became all attention. He became attentive
+from the crown of his perfectly brushed hair to the soles of his
+spruce white shoes. He placed a chair for Nanette’s pretty mother. He
+focussed his Zeiss glasses to enable her to view the German liner. She
+thanked him with a smile that was very like Nanette’s.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“So you loathe poor Mr. Kirby?” she murmured, raising the glasses.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Hate him poisonously!”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“And you love beer?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Simply worship it, Mum! Lager is my vice!”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Her mother lowered the glasses and fought with rising laughter, for
+Nanette was looking straight at her. Then:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“You little devil!” she said. “I don’t believe a word of it! But your
+father simply won’t hear of you going on board a German ship. Don’t
+ask me why. You know him as well as anybody.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“I’ll ask him myself!” Nanette said, flashing blue eyes rebelliously.
+“Where is the funny old thing?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Nan, dear!”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Oh, he’s a darling! But he <i>is</i> funny! He’s never forgotten that I
+was once a baby.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“You are still a baby, Nan&mdash;a mere infant.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Nanette threw back her shapely bobbed head and laughed scornfully.
+Wild canaries were love-making in the palm grove below the balcony,
+and, being poetically inclined, I suppose, I thought that Nanette’s
+soft rippling laughter was music sweet as theirs.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She turned swiftly. She had all her mother’s grace as well as the
+divine abandon of youth. With never another glance at any of us, she
+walked in through the open French window. Jack Kelton’s glance
+followed the slim, straight figure. Her mother looked up at Ensleigh.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Have you a daughter?” she asked.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“No,” he replied. “I regret&mdash;&mdash;”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Don’t regret,” she interrupted; but her smile belied the Chinese
+solecism to come: “Pray that you may never have a daughter!”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Really,” Jack began, in his youthful, diffident way, “I don’t think
+there’s any harm in&mdash;&mdash;”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He was interrupted. Nanette returned, dragging by the hand a very
+bored, gray-haired gentleman who carried a copy of the <i>Times</i> that
+was ten days old. The gentleman, blinking through his glasses, was
+being forced out into the sunshine.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Now, Pop,” said Nanette firmly, “is there really any reason why I
+shouldn’t go with Mr. Ensleigh, Mr. Decies, and Mr. Kelton to see that
+German liner?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Well, dear,” her father replied, in his laboured manner, “I am afraid
+you would be late for lunch, and&mdash;&mdash;”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+His glance sought his wife’s. I distinctly detected a negative shake
+of the head from Nanette’s mother.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“And,” he went on, “your mother thinks that this would be rude, as Mr.
+Kirby is expected.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He smiled almost apologetically, patted Nanette on the head, and,
+<i>Times</i> in hand, returned to his shady lair in the smoke-room. Nanette
+stared reproachfully at her mother.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Don’t be huffy about it, darling,” said the latter. “Really, you will
+only have time for a swim and a sun bath, if you are to make yourself
+presentable by one o’clock.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Nanette looked swiftly from face to face. A number of people had now
+begun to come out from late breakfast. She checked speech, withered
+poor Jack with a final, comprehensive look of scorn, and walked
+quickly into the hotel. The last few steps that were visible, as she
+crossed the threshold, almost consisted of stamping her little feet.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Following a moment of silence:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Look here, you chaps,” said Jack, “it looks rather mean for us all to
+desert Nanette. I know we’ve engaged the launch and all that, but it’s
+beastly tame swimming alone&mdash;&mdash;”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Don’t worry, Mr. Kelton,” Nanette’s mother broke in. She was smiling.
+“Nanette will not be swimming alone!”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Poor Jack smiled in return, flushed, and then frowned darkly. His
+glance constantly sought the entrance to the hotel. But Ensleigh
+tactfully made the conversation general, and we were discussing the
+feminine modes of Paris as opposed to those of Buenos Aires when a
+slight figure arrayed in a pink bathrobe and shaded by a Japanese
+parasol passed slowly down the path below the terrace; whereupon:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“There goes Nanette!” said Jack, jumping up. “Excuse me. I’ll just run
+and ask her if she would rather I stayed.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He hurled himself in the direction of the steps and disappeared. A
+moment later he reappeared, running after the girl. We watched.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Nanette!” he called.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Nanette paused, turned, waved her hand, and went on. She walked under
+a veritable awning of hibiscus, sweeping some of the blossoms off with
+her parasol. Rounding the corner, she came into view again on a lower
+path. Her mother leaned over the balcony rail.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Go after her, Jack!” she called. “Don’t be afraid of her!”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The words reached Nanette. She looked up through flower-laden
+branches. Her voice came faintly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“I don’t want him to come after me. I want to be alone.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Jack Kelton turned and began to walk back up the sloping path. He kept
+his curly head lowered, taking out a briar from his pocket and
+fumbling for his pouch. Nanette’s mother glanced at Ensleigh.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Poor Jack,” she said. “He is very young!”
+</p>
+
+
+<h3 id="ch02">
+CHAPTER II.<br>
+<span class="chap_sub">RESCUE</span>
+</h3>
+
+<p class="noindent">
+<span class="sc">We did</span> not take the lift down to the landing-stage. It was busy with
+bathers; therefore we descended by the rambling stairway cut out of
+the rock. At the bend, I paused.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Half across the bay, far beyond the waddling group who hugged the
+bathing pool, where the transparent water showed turquoise blue, I saw
+a flashing of white limbs and glimpsed a pink-covered head lowered to
+the swell. Came a rapturous murmur behind me.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Nanette! Gad! That girl swims like a fish!”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“They should follow with the boat,” Ensleigh’s voice broke in on
+Jack’s. “There’s a beastly current cuts round the headland.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“She is safe enough,” said I. “Her fairy godmother was a mermaid&mdash;or a
+siren.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Nevertheless, when we reached the waiting launch, Nanette’s daring had
+attracted attention. I could not see her mother; but there was a buzz
+of excited conversation all around, and the brown-skinned professional
+was making urgent signals to the boatmen.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“She’s right on our course!” cried Jack. “Come on! Hurry up!”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Don’t worry,” I implored him, tumbling into the launch.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“But she’ll never be able to swim it!” said Ensleigh, jumping in
+behind me. “Hullo! What’s this!”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He had stumbled over a bulky parcel wrapped up in newspaper. I thought
+I recognized the <i>Times</i>.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Please leave alone, sir!” cried the Portuguese in charge. “I aska
+tella you no touch!”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Oh!”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Ensleigh stared at him suspiciously, and then we were off.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Pick her up, Decies!” came a shout from someone on shore. “She’s
+overdone it this morning. She can never get back!”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The purr of the motor made it difficult to hear the other shouts that
+followed us. But excitement was growing intense, and I looked out
+ahead uneasily. I could not see Nanette.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Can you see her, Decies?” said Jack hoarsely.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“No.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“There she is!”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The cry came from Ensleigh, and:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Where?” Jack and I yelled together.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Ignoring us:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Port, easy!” he directed the man at the wheel. “Now&mdash;as she is! Hold
+it!”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+We raced, all out, in the direction of the rash swimmer. A sort of
+anger claimed me. This crazy performance was a display of girlish
+pique. I felt particularly sorry for Jack Kelton. He was hanging over
+the bow in a perfect anguish of terrified expectation. Presently:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“She’s still swimming strongly!” he gasped; then, almost immediately:
+“My God!”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“What?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Ensleigh and I were peering ahead over Jack’s shoulder.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“She’s gone down!”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Over the noise of the motor, over the sound of the sea, it reached us
+dimly&mdash;a prolonged, horrified cry from the watchers on shore.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+What happened during the next few minutes I am unable to record. I
+think Jack was fighting with the boatman because he couldn’t get
+another amp. out of his engine. Ensleigh, I remember, looked
+dishevelled for the first time in my experience of him. I was drenched
+with perspiration&mdash;and it was not wholly due to the heat of the sun.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Then, dead ahead, not six lengths away, a white arm was thrown up out
+of the sea.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Stop her!” I yelled.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Hot on the words came a splash&mdash;and Jack was in. He was fully dressed,
+except that he had shed his college jacket. He reached Nanette as she
+came up for the second time.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Reverse! Starboard!”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+We described an untidy crescent; and then&mdash;Nanette was being hauled
+aboard. She sank down on the cushions as Jack came clambering over
+looking like a half-drowned Airedale.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Nanette!” he panted, and dropped on his knees before her.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She opened starry eyes, and looked at him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Yes?” she said.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Back to the landing-stage,” I heard Ensleigh direct the boatman.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“What’s that!” cried Nanette, surprisingly sitting upright. “Not on
+your life, Pedro!”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+We were riding the swell, the motor silent, and from the now-distant
+bathing pool I heard a sound of great, prolonged cheering.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Nanette sprang up on the thwart, standing there, poised on tip-toe, a
+slender young goddess. Jack’s coat was in her hand; and she waved it
+furiously, looking back to where moving figures showed upon
+flower-draped terraces.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The cheering was renewed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“That will relieve Mumsy’s anxiety,” said Nanette, sitting down again.
+“Please go ahead, Pedro&mdash;and would somebody pass me my robe?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“What!” cried Jack.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Ensleigh tore away the pages of the <i>Times</i> from the mysterious
+bundle&mdash;and there was Nanette’s pink robe!
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Be careful, please!” she said. “My shoes are wrapped up in it.” She
+turned to Jack, at the same time pulling off her pink bathing cap.
+“I’m so sorry you jumped in,” she added. “You were a darling to do it,
+though.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He had been positively glowering at her; but, at this, he blushed with
+delight and became a proud and happy man. Nanette shook her tousled
+head distractingly. Stooping, she pulled out from the folded robe a
+pair of high-heeled shoes and proceeded to squeeze five tiny wet toes
+into each of them.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Nanette!” I said slowly. “Weren’t you drowning?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She looked up at me.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Of course I wasn’t drowning!” she returned. “I was swimming under
+water. I was good for another mile!”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Nanette!” said Ensleigh. “You will come to a bad end, my child.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Please pass me my parasol,” Nanette retorted. “It’s in the locker.
+And be careful. My bag is inside it.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The Japanese parasol was discovered. From it, Nanette took a small
+bag. Surveying herself disdainfully in a square mirror, she combed her
+hair. She delicately applied lip salve and powdered her impudent nose.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“You are all wet!” said Jack, feasting his eyes.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+His case was worse than hers, and I marvelled at the altruism of love.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“The sun will dry me. But, oh! how good that lager will taste! Won’t
+someone please give me a cigarette?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I held out a yellow packet, and:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Nanette,” I said, “one day a Someone will come who will teach you how
+to behave yourself!”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Tosh!” said Nanette, taking a Gold Flake. “I’ve outlived that sheikh
+stuff.”
+</p>
+
+
+<h3 id="ch03">
+CHAPTER III.<br>
+<span class="chap_sub">THE MAN FROM THE RIVER PLATE</span>
+</h3>
+
+<p class="noindent">
+<span class="sc">As we</span> drew alongside the German, it became evident that we were
+objects of much interest to her people. I had a good view of the
+third-class quarters; she had a deck-load of dagoes under her awnings
+that would have frightened a Chicago bootlegger.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+We started up the ladder; and I thought it probable that some of the
+spectators would either fall overboard or break their necks, so
+urgently did they crane across the rails.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“They are anxious to see the gallant rescuer,” said Ensleigh.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I knew my dago better. They were anxious to see Nanette’s pretty legs.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+On the deck, I turned and looked across to where Funchal climbed the
+hill. The sunlight was dazzling. I could trace the steep cobbled
+street, from point to point, down which one may slide in a wicker
+toboggan; see the square, too, with its powder-blue trees, and imagine
+the morning gathering at the tables outside the Golden Gate. Away over
+the bows I looked, and saw the flower-draped cliffs below Reid’s,
+where, on the lower terrace, over cocktails, Nanette would, I
+surmised, be the sole topic of conversation.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The lady in question, supremely indifferent to the somewhat marked
+curiosity of the passengers, was walking aft with Jack, doubtless in
+quest of the much-desired lager. Jack, his legs encased in sodden
+flannels, was ridiculously happy because Nanette hung on his arm.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Leave them alone,” said Ensleigh. “God knows he’s earned it.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+We found our way to the smoke-room and ordered drinks. They were good
+and cheap. They served to wipe out one more of the old scores I had
+against our Teutonic friends (<i>nées</i> enemies). It was a distinctly
+mongrel company. Germans predominated, with a big sprinkling of those
+nondescripts and none-such usually invoiced as Argentines but
+sometimes mistaken for Greeks.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+One man, who sat alone, puzzled me. He was handsome, in a way. He wore
+his wavy hair rather long and was dressed in a perfectly cut and
+immaculately white drill suit. With the aid of a black-rimmed monocle
+attached to a thick ribbon, he read what looked like an official
+document.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“By Jove!” Ensleigh exclaimed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Glancing aside, I saw that he, too, was staring at this romantic
+individual.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Looks like John Barrymore,” said I.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“I know,” Ensleigh replied. “But he didn’t wear his hair like that the
+last time I saw him&mdash;coming out of the Salient with what was left of
+the Irish Guards. By Jove!”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He jumped up and crossed the room. I followed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“O’Shea!” he cried.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The man addressed dropped his monocle and stood up; then:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Ensleigh!” he exclaimed, and held out his hand. “Can it be Ensleigh!”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Ensleigh it is!” was the reply; “and I want you to meet”&mdash;drawing me
+forward&mdash;“Mr. Decies. Decies, this is Major Edmond O’Shea.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The Major readjusted his monocle and looked me over briefly, as if to
+determine whether he wanted to know me or not. I found myself looking
+into a pair of the coldest gray eyes that had ever examined my hidden
+motives.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But, to tell the truth, I was more than a little flurried. For, as
+Ensleigh spoke, the fact had dawned upon me that I stood in the
+presence not only of an Irishman of ancient family, nor merely in that
+of a distinguished British officer, but in the presence of a mess-room
+tradition; a thing infinitely more wonderful and holy. This was “The
+O’Shea”&mdash;a synonym for all that’s fine under the Colours from
+Whitehall to Khatmandu.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He dropped his monocle and grasped my hand warmly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“I am glad to meet you, Mr. Decies,” he said. We formed a trio, and
+there were some inevitable reminiscences&mdash;and more drinks; then:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“What, in the name of wonder, are you doing on this ship?” Ensleigh
+asked.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+O’Shea shrugged his shoulders. He had some queerly Gallic mannerisms.
+In fact, if one had not known better, one must have written him off as
+an incurable poseur.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Peace-time soldiering is a dull business,” he replied. “I take on odd
+jobs to keep me out of mischief.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He rang for the steward and ordered drinks in what I believe was
+unexceptionable German. Following some aimless chatter:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Are you for Bremen?” asked Ensleigh.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“I don’t know,” said O’Shea surprisingly. He twirled his glass and
+stared around the smoke-room. “I may come ashore here.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“You <i>may</i>!” I exclaimed and glanced at the clock. “You have twenty
+minutes to decide!”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Two would be sufficient,” he assured me. “I travel light!”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He smiled&mdash;and, in the smile, I met for the first time the real
+O’Shea. The cold gray eyes were cold no longer; they smiled,
+too&mdash;whimsically, lovably. The cloak of inscrutability was dropped,
+just for a moment, and the clean, brave soul of the man peeped out. A
+vague dislike vanished as morning mist, and I knew that men would
+follow Edmond O’Shea into the thickest and the hottest, if he needed
+them; women, too, perhaps. A man like that is a man born to suffer.
+But suddenly I understood why the Guards had worshipped him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“There goes the first shore signal,” said Ensleigh. “We had better
+rescue Nanette from the lager.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+We found her on deck with Jack and another man who had tacked himself
+on to the party. He was a poisonously handsome none-such, and his
+heavy-lidded dark eyes were literally devouring the girl’s dainty
+beauty. He had come across Jack in London; and now Jack was the most
+unhappy man in Madeira. Every time roguish blue eyes met lustful brown
+eyes, he visibly shuddered.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The dark gentleman was presented.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Ensleigh, Decies&mdash;meet Senhor Gabriel da Cunha.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+We met him&mdash;reluctantly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“This,” said Ensleigh, “is Mr. Jack Kelton&mdash;Major Edmond O’Shea.
+Doubtless, Senhor da Cunha, you have met already?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“No,” murmured O’Shea, bowing coldly. “One does not meet everybody on
+board.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Nanette!” I called.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She had stepped to the rail with Da Cunha. She turned.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Yes?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“I want you to know Major Edmond O’Shea.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She came forward and I introduced them formally. Nanette gave one
+quick, startled look at O’Shea&mdash;and O’Shea, noting her unusual attire,
+smiled. Nanette dropped her lashes, said something meaningless, and
+ran back to Da Cunha.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I heard Jack grind his teeth. When he joined the pair at the rail I
+stood at his elbow.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“We must be saying good-bye, Mr. da Cunha,” he began, but:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Not good-bye at all!” Da Cunha exclaimed, turning and resting one
+hand on Nanette’s shoulder. “I am undecided until this morning, but
+now&mdash;it is settled! Here, in Madeira”&mdash;he indicated distant hills&mdash;“I
+have a bungalow, so charming. Do you know&mdash;” he included us all in the
+conversation&mdash;“that in Funchal is what they call a ‘blind spot’ in
+radio? Yes. But in my bungalow, high up, I have the most perfect set
+in the island; and one night&mdash;to-night, maybe&mdash;” he glanced aside at
+Nanette&mdash;“we shall dance to your Savoy band!”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“You are going ashore, then?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“But certainly! It is settled. Is it not?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The question was addressed to Nanette, and:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“I should just <i>hate</i> to lose you so soon,” she replied. “Let’s go and
+see if your things are in the boat.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Side by side with the radiantly smiling Da Cunha, she hurried forward.
+She glanced at Jack, at me, at Ensleigh. O’Shea was watching her, but
+she avoided his gaze. He turned and went in at the saloon entrance.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The last gong sounded. Jack had suddenly disappeared. I stared at
+Ensleigh. He whistled softly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Nanette has been bitten at last,” he remarked.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Yes,” I said, “I think she has.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Da Cunha’s baggage was loaded into Reid’s launch and we all got
+aboard. We were surrounded by a babbling gang in boats who held up
+Madeira lace and cane chairs and shawls and bedspreads, desperately
+inviting bids from the passengers. It was distracting, so that I
+scarcely noticed a steward coming down the ladder, carrying a suitcase
+and a valise. Jack sat right astern, his hands plunged in the pockets
+of his sodden flannels. Then, suddenly, I realized that someone was
+beside me.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I turned&mdash;and met the cold gray eyes of O’Shea!
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Good heavens!” I exclaimed. “Your decision was a sudden one!”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Yes,” he replied, “it was&mdash;very.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Hullo, O’Shea!” cried Ensleigh. “This is fine!”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Nanette bent toward Da Cunha, talking animatedly.
+</p>
+
+
+<h3 id="ch04">
+CHAPTER IV.<br>
+<span class="chap_sub">AT THE CASINO</span>
+</h3>
+
+<p class="noindent">
+<span class="sc">A party</span> of us went down to the Casino that night, consisting of
+Nanette, Nanette’s mother, Ensleigh, and myself. Jack excused himself
+on the plea that he had promised to play somebody five-hundred up.
+Nanette had been put through the hoop well and truly for her escapade,
+but she looked none the worse for this parental correction.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Newly from the seclusion of a French convent, she was learning the
+dangerous truism that beauty governs mankind.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Da Cunha was waiting at the Casino&mdash;and Nanette pretended to be
+surprised. Her mother really <i>was</i> surprised, and maternally alarmed.
+She was a woman of the world and she knew her Da Cunhas.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The said Da Cunha wanted to dance. Nanette loved dancing and danced
+divinely. Therefore she decided to play roulette.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Please, Mumsy,” she pleaded&mdash;“until I have lost a pound!”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Her mother consented, silently signalling me to sit beside Nanette at
+the table. Whilst Nanette’s mother danced with Ensleigh, I chaperoned
+Nanette.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The game was dull. Da Cunha constantly urged the superior charms of
+the ballroom. But Nanette played on. Presently:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Do you think Jack will come along?” she asked.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“I hope so.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+An interval in which Nanette lost five shillings, then:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Had you met Major O’&mdash;what’s his name&mdash;before?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“No. I had heard of him.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Really? Is he famous?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“I suppose he is&mdash;in a way.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“But listen!” Da Cunha exclaimed, “this is <i>so</i> boring! Let us dance.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Not until I’ve lost my pound,” said Nanette firmly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+More aimless play, then:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“I saw your Major man when we first went on board, you know,” said
+Nanette, casually staking her all on a number. “Jack and I peeped into
+the smoke-room, and&mdash;he was in there.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Really. Is that so?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Yes. Wasn’t it odd I should meet him, after&mdash;seeing him like that?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Very odd.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Nanette’s fortune was swept away by the croupier. She remained
+unperturbed. She kept throwing quick little glances all about the
+room, and now:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Please take me out on the terrace and get me a long, cool drink,” she
+asked.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+We stood up and crossed to the open doors. Da Cunha grabbed Nanette’s
+arm and led her out. As I followed, I glanced aside, and saw Jack
+coming in. He looked very flushed. He was literally glaring after the
+pair in front of me. I waved to him, but he swung around and went out
+again.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It was dark on the terrace and at first I couldn’t see Nanette. Then I
+glimpsed a raised white arm over in a distant corner. She was standing
+with her back to the railing and Da Cunha stood in front of her,
+bending forward, one hand resting beside her and his face very close
+to hers.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“What about that long, cool drink?” said I.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Nanette immediately ran to me.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Oh, please!” she cried. “I’m simply gasping! Where shall we sit?
+Somewhere by the windows&mdash;where we can watch.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She was excited, and it was clear enough that Da Cunha had been making
+love to her. He turned, and I heard him snap his fingers.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Why not here?” he suggested. “How beautiful is the view in the
+moonlight, with the dark groves and twinkling lamps.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“No,” said Nanette, selecting a table near an open window. “I feel
+chilly and I want to watch the dancing.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“If you are cold, let us dance.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Nanette shook her head and opened a tiny jewelled cigarette case. She
+bent toward me.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“A match, please,” she begged.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She was quite determined, and so we sat there sipping iced drinks
+until Nanette’s mother and Ensleigh joined us. There were inquiries
+for Jack, but I said nothing&mdash;for the boy had been palpably drunk.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Nanette was unable to mask her preoccupation, constantly looking into
+the lighted rooms, then, suddenly, halfway through a Charleston, she
+jumped up.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Come on,” she said to Da Cunha, and threw her wrap to me&mdash;“let’s
+dance!”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He was on his feet in an instant and the two went in. Nanette’s mother
+was playing, and as I stood up I glanced toward the table.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+O’Shea was standing watching the play.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Nanette and Da Cunha began to dance. Da Cunha danced perfectly, with
+all the sensuous grace of a none-such; but the look in his dark eyes
+raised my gorge to a hundred and twenty in the shade. Nanette floated
+in his arms like a bit of thistledown; her tiny feet seemed scarcely
+to brush the floor. He talked to her constantly, and sometimes she
+smiled up at him; but, always, she glanced into the roulette room as
+they passed. Ensleigh joined us.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Yes,” said he, “little Nanette is in the throes of her first
+infatuation.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+As he spoke, she went past in Da Cunha’s arms, and frowned at
+Ensleigh&mdash;because he blocked her view of the roulette table.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“She is,” I agreed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She danced every dance after that with Da Cunha, becoming more and
+more animated as the night wore on. Then her mother moved an
+adjournment. Of course, Nanette objected.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Mumsy,” she said. “Mr. Da Cunha has invited us all to drive up to his
+bungalow. We can dance to the Savoy band. Think of it!”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But her mother refused to think of it. Da Cunha was not defeated yet,
+however. His car was waiting. He would drive the party to Reid’s. In
+the end this invitation was accepted. Nanette, her mother, Ensleigh,
+and I elected to go.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“How many can you take?” Nanette asked.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Oh, six easily.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“I wonder if anyone else is going back?” said Nanette.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Following her glance:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“I might ask Major O’Shea if he is ready,” said I. “Do you mind,
+Senhor da Cunha?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“But of course not!” he replied, looking like Cæsar Borgia thinking
+out a new prescription.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+O’Shea thanked me. He preferred to walk.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“And I dislike Senhor Da Cunha,” he added.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Therefore the five of us packed into a flamingo-red Farman that stood
+before the Casino. I thought that if brass helmets had been served
+out, we should have done credit to any fire brigade. Da Cunha, of
+course, had Nanette beside him in front. I could hear his constant
+murmur over the roar of the engine. He took us up to Reid’s at an
+average of about fifty-five.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Nanette’s mother steered Nanette to bed, and Da Cunha did not stay
+long. I sent a page to look for Jack, but he was not in his room.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At about midnight, O’Shea joined us. We went out on to the terrace,
+pipes going, and sat watching the fairyland of the gardens below, with
+the winking lights of Funchal climbing the slopes beyond. Presently I
+heard a faint movement, and:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Oh!” said a voice in the darkness.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+We all turned&mdash;and there was Nanette, distracting in déshabille.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“I can’t sleep, and I left my book out here!” she explained.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Let me look,” said Ensleigh.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But he looked in vain.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“May I stay awhile and smoke a cigarette with you?” Nanette pleaded;
+“or were you telling funny stories?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She stayed&mdash;seated on the arm of my chair. There was not much
+conversation, but after awhile O’Shea got up and disappeared. Nanette
+began to talk, then, with feverish animation, until presently O’Shea
+came back, carrying a loose coat.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Very gracefully, he placed it around Nanette’s shoulders.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“You must be cold,” he said.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Nanette glanced up at him, then down again&mdash;and shivered. But it was
+not because she was cold.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Later, long after Nanette reluctantly had retired to her room, Jack
+was driven up from Funchal. We put him to bed without arousing anyone.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“I’ll kill that slimy Da Cunha,” he declared thickly&mdash;and went to
+sleep.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+O’Shea surveyed him through the black-rimmed monocle.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“I wonder if cats and pretty girls know how cruel they are?” he
+murmured.
+</p>
+
+
+<h3 id="ch05">
+CHAPTER V.<br>
+<span class="chap_sub">“IN FIVE MINUTES”</span>
+</h3>
+
+<p class="noindent">
+<span class="sc">The</span> days wore on in that lotus-eaters’ paradise and I became an
+audience of one at a comedy designed to end in drama. There was a
+mystery that intrigued me vastly, and Ensleigh shared my curiosity.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I could not imagine what the O’Shea was doing in Madeira.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Da Cunha, palpably, had broken his journey to pursue Nanette. He
+positively haunted the hotel. I found it hard to believe that any such
+motive had inspired the Major. Ensleigh, with singular density,
+believed that Nanette was desperately infatuated with Da Cunha. I let
+him think so, and studied O’Shea.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+This strange man spent a large part of every day seated on his
+balcony, reading and writing. What he read or what he wrote, nobody
+knew. On occasions, he disappeared for hours: and no one knew where he
+went.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It was queer, too, how many times Nanette strolled through the
+unfrequented part of the gardens below this balcony. Sometimes, but
+rarely, she would be alone, sometimes with Jack, more often with Da
+Cunha. But, always, she paused to glance in her mirror and powder her
+nose before she turned the corner. O’Shea, apparently, never noticed
+her.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She would loiter around the bathing pool for hours in the morning and
+then suddenly throw off her robe and plunge into the sea with an easy,
+gliding dive like a young dryad. By this token I would know that
+O’Shea was sauntering down the steps.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+As she went in, Da Cunha and Jack would take the water like twin
+ducks. It was a miracle that they never tried to drown each other.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+O’Shea was a hard man to know; a lonely man. I was honestly proud of
+the fact that, little by little, he began to unbend to me, to grant me
+something like friendship. Occasionally he would join me on the
+cocktail terrace before lunch; and Nanette would ask him for matches
+and then run back to her mother, Ensleigh, Jack, Da Cunha, and the
+rest of the party who, amongst them, had enough matches to fire the
+building.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Da Cunha was ceaselessly persevering in his endeavours to take her for
+drives, to take her fishing, and to dance with her to the strains of
+the Savoy band. Her mother negatived these plans.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+One day a very (apparently) indignant Nanette came across to where I
+was sitting with O’Shea. Jack followed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Mr. Decies!” she burst out, “Gabriel wants to drive me out to a
+perfectly wonderful cliff. You lie on the edge and look down I don’t
+know how many hundred feet. Now, do <i>you</i> see any earthly reason why I
+shouldn’t go?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“I don’t suppose Decies sees any earthly reason why <i>I</i> shouldn’t,”
+said Jack. “But I haven’t been invited.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“You are always quarrelling with Gabriel,” Nanette retorted, fixing a
+cigarette in her holder. “Please, Major, would you give me a light?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+As she stooped over the match that he struck for her, I could see her
+eyes&mdash;looking at every wave in his hair, seeking out the hint of
+powder at his temples, studying his long, sensitive fingers. He threw
+the match away, and:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“You are such a restless little girl,” he said. “Why not spend a few
+peaceful hours in the garden, reading? Let me lend you a book.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Coming from any other source, this suggestion would have provoked a
+scathing rejoinder, but:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Thank you,” said Nanette simply, “I will.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She sat for that entire afternoon in a secluded corner of the garden,
+a comfortable, empty chair drawn up beside her own, reading a Russian
+novel&mdash;and waiting for O’Shea to join her.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But he didn’t.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+That evening the comedy became drama. I was to learn in a few short
+hours how Nanette’s alluring beauty had averted tragedy from a royal
+house. And this was how it developed:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A rather special dance had been arranged&mdash;I forget why; and O’Shea,
+quite the best-dressed man in the hotel, was last to go to his room
+and first down. He could get into black quicker than anyone I have
+ever met. You may know Reid’s green and yellow jazz cocktail bar?
+Well, as I looked in, having changed, there was O’Shea on a tall stool
+studying a dry Martini through his monocle. The way his bow was tied
+excited my envy; it was a poem in white piqué.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+We had the bar to ourselves, and presently: “How long do you expect to
+stay in Madeira?” I asked.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He shrugged his shoulders and smiled&mdash;that rare and revealing smile.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“In the strictest confidence, Decies,” he replied&mdash;and suddenly his
+gray eyes grew steely; he was smiling no longer&mdash;“until I have in my
+possession a certain small black dispatch-box.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“What!” I exclaimed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“It contains,” he went on, “some unfortunate correspondence
+compromising a royal personage; and if it ever reaches the Communist
+base in London, I hesitate to imagine the consequences.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Good heavens!” said I, and formed my lips to convey an unspoken name.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+O’Shea nodded.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Exactly,” he replied. “That was what took me to the Argentine; but
+the Reds’ man&mdash;a dangerous and clever agent&mdash;doubled on me in Buenos
+Aires, and so you met me on my way back to Europe.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Then you have it!” I cried.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“No, damn it! I haven’t!” said he; “or would I be sitting on this
+stool? It’s getting desperate, Decies! There’s a British destroyer
+standing off Funchal waiting my radio that I’m coming on board!”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I said nothing for a few moments. Then I thanked him for his
+confidence.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“I confide in you with a definite purpose,” he replied. “I claim to be
+a judge of men, and I judge you to be one who would stand by in a
+rough house. I may need help, after all. If I do, the facts being as
+we know them, can I call on you?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+We solemnly shook hands&mdash;as Nanette came racing in.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She was flushed with excitement, and wearing a new frock. Her blue
+eyes shone like stars when she saw O’Shea. She looked adorable, and
+was well aware of the fact. Her happiness was that of the girl who
+knows herself to be perfectly gowned. It was completed now that Fate
+had ordained O’Shea to be the first man to see her so.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Jumping on to a tall stool:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Do you like me?” she demanded naïvely.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“You look as though you had come straight from fairyland,” I said.
+“Let me order you something, to prove you are mortal.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Oh, no, please!” cried Nanette. “Mumsy would play Hamlet if she
+caught me drinking cocktails! Give me just a sip of yours!”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She drank from my glass, watching me with roguish eyes; then, turning
+to O’Shea:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Am I smart enough to be honoured with a dance this evening, Major?”
+she asked&mdash;but the note of raillery faded as she met his glance, and
+she dropped her bobbed head, looking down at tiny blue and silver
+shoes.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“The honour would be mine, Nanette,” he said, in the gentle way he had
+of addressing all women.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Nanette bit her lip and jumped to the floor, as her mother came to
+look for her.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Good gracious, Nanette!” she exclaimed. “In the <i>bar</i>! And your
+frock, dear! I see, now, why you wouldn’t have me with you to try on!”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Please <i>don’t</i>, Mumsy!” cried Nanette. “Will you <i>never</i> allow me to
+grow up!”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The blue-and-silver frock was certainly daring for a débutante. It
+was pure Paris; but Nanette’s sweet shoulders were worth displaying.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“You are altogether too naked, dear!” her mother declared.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“I wear less when I’m swimming!” argued the reasonable Nanette.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Never mind. Please wear your wrap, dear, or a scarf&mdash;at least during
+dinner.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And so the famous evening began.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Da Cunha had managed to get himself invited to the dinner party that
+included Nanette, and Jack sat facing him. Ensleigh, O’Shea, and I
+shared a bachelor table.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+When the dancing began, I missed O’Shea. Nanette danced with me, but
+very abstractedly, alternately watching the door and the open French
+windows. There are few things more provoking than to dance with a
+pretty girl who wants to dance with someone else.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Da Cunha claimed her quite often and she suffered his public
+love-making in a way that nearly led to an outburst from Jack. The
+storm broke when O’Shea appeared. Nanette had begun dancing with Jack,
+but she did not finish. She dragged him across the floor to O’Shea,
+and:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Please say you will dance,” she pleaded. She turned to her flushed
+partner. “Then we will finish our fox-trot, Jack,” she added.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“I hate to refuse,” O’Shea replied, and his voice was very gentle;
+“but I came down to beg you to excuse me. I find that I must go
+out&mdash;on most urgent business. Don’t be angry. I mean it, Nanette.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Nanette was not angry&mdash;but she was deeply humiliated. Every woman in
+the room had marked her descent upon the aloof O’Shea, confident in
+her radiant young beauty.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“I don’t want to dance any more,” she said petulantly, when the Major
+had gone, “at least, not to this silly band.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“It’s an excellent band, dear,” her mother replied, watching Nanette
+with a sudden maternal anxiety.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“They play such old stuff,” Nanette declared. “&hairsp;‘Brown Eyes, Why Are
+You Blue?’ is wildly out of date. They are liable to break into ‘Rock
+of Ages’ almost any minute!”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Then what do you want to do?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“I want to drive up to Gabriel’s and dance to the Savoy band.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Nanette!”&mdash;her mother spoke sharply&mdash;“I have already told you that I
+absolutely refuse. You heard what your father said?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“No, Mumsy, I didn’t,” Nanette replied. “<i>You</i> told me. I would like
+to ask Pop.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But “Pop” had retired with a <i>Financial News</i> and three old copies of
+the <i>Morning Post</i>.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Then I’m going to bed,” Nanette announced. “I have a headache.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She turned and walked from the ballroom. Da Cunha detained her in the
+doorway, but only for a moment. Then he crossed the floor and went out
+on to the terrace. A few minutes later I strolled up to my room to get
+a pipe. The window was open, and I lingered in the dark for a moment,
+held by the moon-magic of the night. As I stood there, I heard a soft
+call:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Nanette!”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Nanette’s room was below and to the left of mine. I looked out. I
+could see a slender silvery figure leaning over the balcony.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Is that you, Gabriel?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Yes, dear.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“In five minutes!”
+</p>
+
+
+<h3 id="ch06">
+CHAPTER VI.<br>
+<span class="chap_sub">THE BUNGALOW IN THE HILLS</span>
+</h3>
+
+<p class="noindent">
+<span class="sc">Personality</span> is a queer thing. Nobody has quite defined it yet. In my
+wild quest of a plan to save Nanette from herself, without letting her
+mother know and without compromising her, I came straight to what
+looked to me like an inevitable decision&mdash;I decided to tell O’Shea.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+What I thought he could do that I couldn’t do alone, God knows; but
+the Guards used to feel like that about him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+One fear I had: that he should have started out on whatever mysterious
+business called him. I raced across to his room. It was in darkness. I
+went hareing down to the lounge. Dancing was in full swing; no sign of
+O’Shea. I grabbed the hall porter.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Has Major O’Shea gone out?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“No, sir. Not this way.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I turned, hope reborn&mdash;and there stood O’Shea reading a note that a
+chambermaid had just handed to him!
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“O’Shea!” I cried.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He glanced up. His face was very stern. His eyes glinted icily.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Go and get Kelton,” he said. “Bring him here&mdash;alone.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“But Nanette&mdash;&mdash;”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“I know all about Nanette. Bring Kelton to me.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I ran. I was under orders. But it was a service of love.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Jack was in the bar&mdash;quite alone. He looked at me in a lowering way.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Nanette’s in danger,” I said briefly. He jumped up. “Come quickly.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+When we got to the hall porter’s sanctum, and he saw who was waiting,
+he pulled up with a jerk.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“What the hell has <i>he</i> got to do with it?” he demanded.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Mr. Kelton!”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+O’Shea was watching him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Well, what is it?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“This!” O’Shea handed him the note. “You read it, too, Decies.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Jack and I read together:
+</p>
+
+<blockquote>
+
+<p>
+Have gone to Gabriel’s bungalow to dance. If you get this in time,
+will you join us?
+</p>
+
+<p class="rt1">
+<span class="sc">Nanette</span>.
+</p>
+
+</blockquote>
+
+<p>
+Jack crushed the paper into a ball.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“My God! The little fool!” he said. “Why did she send this to <i>you</i>?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+O’Shea stared the angry lover down, then:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Because she is very young,” he answered, without one note of anger.
+“Don’t blame her, Kelton&mdash;and don’t blame me. Blame the customs of
+to-day. Leave me out. <i>You</i> are going to save her from Da Cunha.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Has she started?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“I fear so.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Then where’s the chance? That swine has a Farman racer!”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“True, but he can’t race at night on those roads. It will take him
+half an hour.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“We have no car!”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“We don’t need one. I happen to know a route&mdash;a mere goat track&mdash;by
+which we can climb to the bungalow almost as quickly as he can drive
+there.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“You mean it?” asked Jack hoarsely.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“As it happens, I was about to take a stroll in that direction when
+this note reached me.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Come on!” said Jack.
+</p>
+
+<p class="spacer">
+* * * * *
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I have the haziest recollection of that appalling climb. O’Shea knew
+the way like the palm of his hand. Under a sickle moon that looked so
+near in its white purity one almost felt one could reach up and grasp
+it, we climbed, panting and sweating. From the gardens of the valley
+we broke up through banana plantations where the great bursting pods
+banged our heads as we stooped to follow that tireless guide. We
+scaled a sheer hillside steep as a roof. We crawled along a path less
+than a yard wide, with a gorge yawning hundreds of feet below in which
+the vineyards shrank to a close green carpet.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+We came to the red earth of the uplands. Our feet sank in it as in
+moss. Pines barred our way, rank on rank. Away to the left, below,
+beyond, the still sea shone like lapis lazuli.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Ssh! Quiet!” O’Shea ordered.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+We pulled up. I looked at Jack. He might recently have come out of the
+hot-room in a Turkish bath. His collar was a mere farce; a loop of
+exhausted linen. I believe I was no more spruce. I looked at O’Shea.
+That remarkable man appeared to be as well-dressed as usual.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Single file,” he commanded. “Not a sound.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+We crept on, breathing heavily; and presently, through those sentinel
+pines on the crest, it reached us&mdash;the music of the Savoy orchestra,
+playing in a distant Strand!
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Thank God! We are in time!” said O’Shea.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+We sighted Da Cunha’s bungalow through the thinning trees. Lights
+shone out from three tall windows fronting on an L-shaped stoop. The
+windows were open, and O’Shea made his dispositions.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Kelton,” he directed, “take the window on your right front. Keep out
+of sight. Wait your moment. Time it. We shall not interfere.” He held
+out his hand. “This is your chance. Make the most of it.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Jack grasped the extended hand, and:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Thank you, sir!” he said.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He went off through the pines, stooping warily.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+We gave him time to reach his post; then O’Shea and I made a detour
+and crept up on to the veranda so that we looked into Da Cunha’s
+bungalow from a window opposite to that which concealed Jack.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The room was sparsely furnished. It had a polished floor from which
+the few rugs had been removed. There was champagne in an ice bucket on
+a buffet. There was the most elaborate and costly wireless set I had
+ever beheld. A Moorish lamp hanging from the beamed ceiling gave
+light. I could see two good pictures&mdash;both nudes&mdash;and a long, deep,
+cushioned divan. At the Savoy, they were playing Jerome Kern’s “Who,”
+and Nanette and Da Cunha were dancing to it.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I have said that the none-such danced perfectly. His dancing on this
+night was inspired&mdash;inspired by passion. He did not merely hold
+Nanette, he enveloped her; with his arms, with his ardent, lascivious
+eyes.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She swam into view and out of view like a dream-nymph hypnotized by a
+satyr. Her expression was indefinable as I saw it. A sort of
+exaltation was there, born of adventure and sensuous music. I could
+not know whether she had tasted the wine; but there was a dawning
+doubt, too, a doubt of herself that was not yet fear.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Then the music ceased, and we heard remote applause.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Da Cunha disconnected the set and led Nanette to the divan. He seated
+himself beside her, smiled, and put his arm around her bare shoulders.
+She made a little whimsical grimace, but did not protest. Then she
+glanced at him quickly&mdash;and he stooped and kissed her. It was a
+lingering kiss, which she ended by pushing him away.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Their conversation reached us as a mere murmur; but Nanette
+imperatively negatived further advances and pointed in the direction
+of the buffet. Da Cunha shrugged, smiled, and crossed to the ice
+bucket.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I had both fists so tightly clenched that they hurt; but O’Shea’s hand
+held my wrist like a human manacle. Jack’s inaction astounded me.
+Then, under the urge of O’Shea’s iron restraint, I began to think.
+After all, poor Jack held no rights over Nanette, and he was too
+unworldly to grasp the inwardness of this scene. She had suffered Da
+Cunha’s kiss. Jack was still waiting for his cue.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It came shortly after Da Cunha returned with two beaded glasses. I had
+watched Nanette whilst the man had poured out the wine; and I knew
+that, at last, pique, rebellion, having died their natural deaths, she
+realized her position.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He set the glasses on a little coffee table and drew it beside the
+divan. Nanette asked him to connect up with the Savoy again. He shook
+his head and smilingly handed her one of the glasses. She put it down,
+untouched. Da Cunha drained the other, replaced it on the table, and,
+suddenly throwing himself on his knees, clasped the girl in eager arms
+and burst into a torrent of passionate speech.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Nanette shrank back on the divan. Da Cunha followed her. He kissed her
+hands, her arms, her shoulders. He devoured her with his lips.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She writhed in his clasp, uttered a half-stifled cry, and wrenching
+one arm free, tried to thrust him away.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Then Jack came in.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He covered the course in four running strides, stooped, seized Da
+Cunha around the neck, and jerked him on to his feet. Whereon
+followed&mdash;catastrophe.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Jack slipped on the polished floor, stumbled, tried to recover&mdash;and
+fell.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Da Cunha twisted about and kicked him above the left temple.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He lay prone.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Jack!” cried Nanette. “Jack!”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+O’Shea’s grip on my wrist was like a vise.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Wait,” he said. “The boy’s down but he’s not out!”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+O’Shea was right. Nanette’s voice recalled him. Da Cunha wore only
+light dancing shoes.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Jack rolled over, avoided a second swinging kick, and came to his
+feet, shaking his tawny head like a terrier with a flea in his ear.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Jack!” cried Nanette again.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She crouched on the divan, wide-eyed. Her shoulder strap had slipped;
+and Nanette will never know how beautiful I know she is. Even as I
+saw, guiltily, she readjusted it&mdash;and the fight started.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Blood was trickling into Jack’s eyes. He kept dodging and trying to
+clear his sight. It upset his judgment, beyond a doubt; added to which
+his skull must have been humming like a beehive. Remember, too, the
+climb he had put in.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+To my intense annoyance, the none-such proved able to box as well as
+he danced and kicked. He took all a trained fighter’s advantage of
+Jack’s double handicap. Some punishment came his way, but it was not
+heavy&mdash;and he kept registering killing body blows on his opponent.
+Jack might have planted a lucky one before it was too late. But
+Nanette defeated him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Jack!” she cried, a sob in her voice. “Don’t let him <i>beat</i> you!”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Half-dazed, the boy paused, dropped his hands&mdash;and Da Cunha recorded a
+tremendous right well below the belt. Jack went down&mdash;to stay.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“The dirty swine!” I exclaimed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+O’Shea slipped a revolver into my hand.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“I don’t think there are any servants about to-night,” he said. “But
+see that I’m not interrupted.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He stepped in through the open window, twirling his monocle on its
+black ribbon. It was not pose; it was nerves. The man was human. He
+was fighting for composure.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Da Cunha faced him, and:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“<i>You!</i>” came, as a sort of rapturous sigh, from the divan.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The two men confronted each other for an electric moment; then:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“You are a very dirty fighter, Da Cunha,” said O’Shea smoothly. “But,
+as you are probably tired, I suggest that you give me the black
+dispatch-box that you have locked in your bedroom&mdash;and we will say no
+more about it.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Da Cunha’s expression became complicated. My own brain was revolving
+like a merry-go-round. This sudden revelation was too much for
+me&mdash;that Da Cunha was a Red agent!
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Go to hell!” was the reply. “Who are you?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“You are very forgetful,” said O’Shea.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+As he spoke, he reached out a long, lazy left. It looked effortless,
+but it was perfectly timed, perfectly measured. It started in the ball
+of his suddenly rigid right foot and from there carried every amp. of
+energy in his body to the point of Da Cunha’s jaw.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+There was a pleasant snapping sound. Da Cunha went down like a
+poleaxed ox.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Nanette sat silent, a second Niobe.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Decies!” cried O’Shea. “The revolver! We have no time to waste!”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I ran in, passing the weapon to him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Attend to Kelton,” he directed. “We must get him away.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He crossed to a door right of the divan and went into a room beyond,
+which was dimly lighted.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Mr. Decies&mdash;&mdash;” Nanette began.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Came the sound of a pistol shot… a second! There followed a
+splintering crash. Nanette leapt to her feet, and turned&mdash;as O’Shea
+came out again, carrying a small black dispatch-box. He put it on the
+coffee table.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Jack stirred and groaned. Nanette’s gaze never left O’Shea. And now,
+timidly approaching him:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“I was mad,” she whispered. “Oh, thank you!” She swayed and sank into
+his arms, her perfect lips raised to his in offering. “Can you forgive
+me?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He held her for a moment, very tenderly, looking into her eyes, then:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“I have nothing to forgive, little girl,” he said. “You have been
+foolish, but I don’t think you will ever be so foolish again.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Gently, he set her aside, and:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Decies,” said he, “lend a hand with Kelton. We will borrow the
+Farman.”
+</p>
+
+
+<h3 id="ch07">
+CHAPTER VII.<br>
+<span class="chap_sub">A SHORT NOTE</span>
+</h3>
+
+<p class="noindent">
+<span class="sc">Wonderful</span> to relate, we managed to keep secret the story of
+Nanette’s indiscretion. Her mother never knew that she had left her
+room. And it was toward dusk of the following day that the first act
+of the tragi-comedy came to a close.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+To Ensleigh’s inquiries touching my disappearance from the dance, I
+had returned evasive replies. Jack kept his room, for good and
+sufficient reasons, and O’Shea had gone into the town early and had
+not come back. Nanette remained invisible.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+For all the glory of the Madeiran sunshine and the wonder of the
+flowers, black depression sat heavily upon us.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I was lounging on the terrace at about six o’clock wondering what
+Nanette was doing and whether her mother suspected anything, when
+O’Shea suddenly walked out to me.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Hello!” I cried. “I thought you had gone for good!”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“No,” he answered musingly, “not yet.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He sank into a chair, as though dog weary.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Had a hard day?” I asked.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Fairly,” he replied; “but I’ve done my job. I suspect there are
+harder to come.” He paused, then: “Have you seen Nanette?” he asked.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“No,” I stared at him. “O’Shea, tell me if you resent my
+frankness&mdash;but that girl’s madly in love with you.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“I don’t resent it, Decies,” he answered. “I know she thinks she is.
+But Nanette is very young. There is something you don’t know&mdash;that
+nobody else will ever know.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I looked into the gray eyes. But they were not cold: they were on
+fire! I drew a sharp breath.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“O’Shea&mdash;&mdash;” I began.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He nodded, and gripped my hand hard.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Yes!” he said simply. “From the first moment I saw her. I daren’t
+trust myself to see her again. You understand? It’s quite impossible.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“But why?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“For many reasons. Thank God, <i>she’s</i> young enough to forget.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+There was a short silence, which is more memorable to me than many
+long conversations.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“What shall you do?” I asked.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He pointed across the bay.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Trailing a pennant of smoke in her wake, the greyhound shape of a
+destroyer raced for the harbour.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“I sail in an hour,” he answered. “I can take care of myself, Decies,
+but Nanette is of an age when a&mdash;silly attachment might spoil years of
+her life. So”&mdash;he took a letter from his pocket&mdash;“I have done a cruel
+thing. I have said what isn’t true&mdash;God knows it isn’t true! Her pride
+will do the rest. Will you give it to her&mdash;after I have gone?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The promise was made. I thought of Nanette’s fresh young loveliness,
+which this man, who wanted her madly, might have taken as an
+unconditional gift. I thought of certain others I had met. I recalled
+that we moved in the year of freedom, 1927. And I wondered.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I have known some good Irishmen and some bad. But Edmond O’Shea would
+be a mighty fine advertisement for any race on earth.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Nanette came down to dinner, and I can never forget her expression
+when she saw O’Shea’s deserted table.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+My task was going to be a hard one.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I took her out to the terrace afterward. Away on the distant horizon I
+could trace a faint wisp of smoke.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Do you mean,” she said, and her voice had changed strangely, “that
+Major O’Shea&mdash;has gone?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I looked at her, a sweet picture in the moonlight. And little Nanette
+had grown up. She watched me with a woman’s eyes.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I handed the note to her. She ran to the library window, tearing open
+the envelope as she went. I turned away and tried to trace the slender
+smoke trail fading, fading on a distant horizon.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A cry brought me sharply about.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Nanette stood before me, her eyes blazing, her face deathly white.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Do you know what is in this?” she demanded.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“I do not, Nanette.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And indeed I shall never know; but I know what it cost him to write
+it.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A moment she stood so, glaring at me. Then, frenziedly she began to
+tear the letter into tiny fragments, and:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“How dare he!” she cried. “Oh, God! how <i>dare</i> he!”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Whereupon she burst into such passionate sobs that it was agony to
+hear them. Dropping into a chair on the deserted terrace, she cried
+until my heart ached.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It was her first love, and a very big one. An O’Shea inspires nothing
+petty. But she had courage, and pride.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She conquered her weakness, and stood up.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“You are very kind, Mr. Decies,” she said. “I am sorry I made a fool
+of myself.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Then she went in, walking very upright.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I spent a wretched evening, and when I retired to my room, sleep
+simply would not come. I got up, with an idea of smoking a pipe, but,
+first, I crossed to the open window. On a moon-dappled path below the
+terrace I espied a moving figure; and Burns’s words flashed through my
+mind: “The best-laid schemes o’ mice and men…”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Nanette was stealing among the flowers, collecting tiny fragments of
+the torn letter that a light evening breeze had blown from the terrace
+above. It was a hurt, an affront; but it was the only thing of his she
+had.
+</p>
+
+
+<h3 id="ch08">
+CHAPTER VIII.<br>
+<span class="chap_sub">THE CALL</span>
+</h3>
+
+<p class="noindent">
+“<span class="sc">Telegram</span>, sir!”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I sat up with a start. Morning sunlight flooded the large bare room.
+Wild canaries were singing outside my window. Slowly, facts began to
+assert themselves. I had been dreaming that I was taking tea at
+Stewarts with the Duchess of York and Mr. Tom Mann, when Trebitch
+Lincoln had appeared through a window, holding a bomb in his hand.
+Now, I realized that I had read news of all in a week-old <i>Daily Mail</i>
+recently; but that actually I was in bed at Reid’s Hotel, Funchal.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The radio message that the boy had brought up was crisp enough, but it
+effectually banished my drowsiness.
+</p>
+
+<blockquote>
+
+<p>
+Please call on British consul at once. Vitally urgent. Am holding you
+to our bargain.
+</p>
+
+<p class="rt1">
+<span class="sc">O’Shea</span>.
+</p>
+
+</blockquote>
+
+<p>
+A bargain based upon the survival of so old an institution as the
+British Empire is not lightly denied: I thought that perhaps my dreams
+had been prophetic. Nor was Edmond O’Shea the man to send such a
+message except under stress extraordinary.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+As I hurriedly bathed, shaved, and dressed, I reviewed the position.
+There was O’Shea, homeward bound with a packet of letters whose
+publication would further Red anarchy a number of points. There was
+myself, George Decies, who in a neutral way had helped to secure
+these. There was Gabriel da Cunha, agent of the nightmare called
+Communism, nursing a broken jaw as a result of foregoing transactions.
+And there was Nanette.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Even as her name brought the dainty image to my mind, from under the
+open window came a soft call:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Coo&mdash;oo!”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I crossed, struggling with an intractable tie; and there on the
+balcony below was Nanette.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+To know that the most provocatively pretty girl one has ever met is
+madly in love with a better man and to behave sanely in her company is
+an acid test of what I have heard termed “British poise.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She shaded her eyes with her hands, looking up at me. Her arms were a
+delicate brown colour on their outer curves where the sun had tanned
+them, and by comparison ivory white beneath. With a background of
+flowers against distant sea blue, Nanette made a picture exquisite to
+remember in old age but disturbing to a comparatively young bachelor.
+Temptation is sweet only when there is a chance of falling.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“What a horrid tie,” she said. “Please wear the gray one with silver
+stripes, as it’s our last day in Madeira.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+There was a wistful note in her appeal, and, looking down at little
+Nanette, slowly a memory came: I had worn that gray tie on the day we
+had met O’Shea.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I suppressed a sigh, “admirin’ how the world was made.” At eighteen,
+there are many things that even Miss 1927 doesn’t know. There was one
+that Nanette did not even suspect. There was another that I knew of;
+but this not my own secret. I was unselfish enough to wish I could
+tell her.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Very well, Nanette,” I replied, and lingered, looking down.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Are you going to swim this morning&mdash;for the last time?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“No. I have to go into the town.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“I don’t think I shall swim, then,” said Nanette. “May I come with
+you? Or is it a stag party?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Before I could reply:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Please remember your packing!” came a voice from below.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Nanette’s mother stepped out onto the balcony and looked up at me in
+mock severity. Seeing her, beside her daughter, I reflected that the
+lucky man who won Nanette would acquire a bride who would always be
+beautiful. “Consider well the mother of thy beloved,” says an Arab
+poet. “In her behold thy beloved-to-be.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Pop is doing his to-night,” Nanette protested.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I visualized “Pop,” sole occupant of the family table in the dining
+room, dealing with a solid English breakfast, regardless of flies,
+temperature, and the indifferent quality of the bacon.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“He has none to do, dear,” was the reply. “I do it for him.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“But, darling,” Nanette wheedled, bobbed head pressed against her
+mother’s shoulder, “there are hours and hours. Please let me off.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+In the end she had her way, and we set out together along the dusty
+road. There would be disappointment this morning down at the bathing
+pool, I mused, peering aside at the piquant face shaded by a Japanese
+parasol. Nanette wore no hat, and I said to myself that if all the
+women who were bobbed had such shapely heads as Nanette’s, the world
+would be very beautiful.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Did you tell Jack you were going?” I asked.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“No.” Nanette aroused herself from a reverie. “I forgot.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Poor Jack! And he would have sold his Blue for a smile from Nanette.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The road to the town is very picturesque; and I might have counted
+George Decies a happy man had I not known that my charming companion
+loved to be with me only because I formed a link with her memories of
+someone else. Down the steep slope we walked, talking but little. An
+old roadmaker doffed his hat, smiled, and bade us good-morning. I
+sensed his kindly, appreciative glance following us. Funchal is famous
+for honeymoons.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Past the gardens of the Casino and the flower-cloaked balconies of
+villas we went. I forced myself to think of my real mission. Common
+sense whispered that I should have driven down in a fast car. Sense of
+duty demanded that I should conceal the nature of my business from
+Nanette.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Shall you be long with the consul?” she asked.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“I don’t expect to be,” I replied.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Then I will go along and have a simply perfect shawl I saw sent up to
+Mum,” said Nanette. “She won’t like it. But <i>I</i> love it.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+We were just about to turn into that steep and narrow street that
+leads to the square, when:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Hi! hi! Hullo there!” we were hailed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+We turned. Bumping along in a sledge behind two sweating patient oxen,
+was Jack.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Hullo, Jack,” said Nanette. “Mr. Decies has to see the consul and I’m
+going shopping. Want to come along?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Rather!” cried Jack. “Jump in.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+We proceeded to the consulate in the bullock cart, escorted by a
+battalion of flies with fixed bayonets.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Meet you at the Golden Gate,” called Jack.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He was absurdly happy when I left him with Nanette and climbed the
+narrow stairs to the consul’s office.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The British consul was a quiet little official automaton who had
+buried his heart in somebody’s grave and had nothing left to hope for.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Good-morning, Mr. Decies,” he said, and smiled rather sadly as I
+plumped an ornamental object down on the table.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Good Lord!” said I.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It was Nanette’s handbag, a frivolous trifle from Paris, which she had
+asked me to take care of as we got into the bullock cart. I had been
+carrying it unconsciously.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“You are early,” the consul went on, “and I have not quite finished
+decoding a dispatch which I am instructed to deliver to you. The main
+point, however, is this: Major O’Shea arrives in Madeira to-morrow
+night, and&mdash;&mdash;”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Oh!” A faint cry interrupted him. “I’m so sorry&mdash;&mdash;”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+We both turned and looked up.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Nanette stood in the doorway, her blue eyes so widely opened as to
+convey an impression of fear.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“I came for my bag,” she said. “I didn’t mean to intrude.”
+</p>
+
+
+<h3 id="ch09">
+CHAPTER IX.<br>
+<span class="chap_sub">MOON OF MADNESS</span>
+</h3>
+
+<p class="noindent">
+<span class="sc">Fifteen</span> minutes later I was in possession of the facts&mdash;and faced
+with a problem.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“This chap Da Cunha,” said the consul, “isn’t Portuguese, in spite of
+his name. He’s some kind of what-not. He has the biggest radio outfit
+in the island up at his summer bungalow.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“He’s a Communist agent.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“I know,” the other returned quietly, “but it wasn’t my business to
+mention it first. He crashed in his car the other day and he’s
+dry-docked for repairs in a house he owns down here in the town. I
+know the surgeon who’s attending.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I did not contradict him, for I was reading once again the body of the
+decoded message:
+</p>
+
+<blockquote>
+
+<p>
+Arrive Funchal Harbour 2 A.M. Friday morning. Please meet me. Arrange
+for accommodation privately. No one must know. Letters have all been
+photographed. See Da Cunha does not slip away. Watch Arundel Castle.
+Try to learn if any associate of Da C. sails. Prevent if possible. I
+count on you.
+</p>
+
+<p class="rt1">
+<span class="sc">O’Shea</span>.
+</p>
+
+</blockquote>
+
+<p>
+“Not a ship has cleared for European ports since Major O’Shea left,”
+said the consul. “So there’s a good chance.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“He’s returning in the destroyer?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“I don’t think so.” He glanced at a list of shipping. “Although this
+dispatch came from her. My idea is that they intercepted the Yeoward
+boat and put him on board. She’s due here at the time stated.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Devilish awkward,” I murmured. “It’s late to cancel my sailing. I’m
+booked in the <i>Arundel Castle</i>.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“I’ll step across to Blandy’s with you,” said the consul, standing up
+and reaching for his hat. “We can get you transferred to a later boat.
+Leave the finding of private accommodation to me, too.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Do you know of any one associated with Da Cunha?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“No. Da Cunha has property in Madeira, but he’s rarely here. Nearly
+all I know about him I have learned officially.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+We settled our business at the Union Castle agent’s, thanks to
+consular aid, and, the morning growing insufferably hot, my friend
+agreed that something icy through a straw was indicated. When we
+arrived at the Golden Gate this theory proved to be popular. A party
+from Reid’s that included Nanette’s mother had arrived, and Jack was
+sharing Nanette with a stranger whose ancestors had known more about
+how the Pyramid was built than you or I can ever hope to learn.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He reminded me of my London stockbroker until he was introduced as
+Macalister. He had a real-estate smile that was not unattractive, and
+my first, natural impression was that he had recently purchased the
+island from the Portuguese and was running his eye over the property.
+Presently, however:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“And how is our friend, Gabriel?” Nanette asked. Then, turning to me:
+“I met Mr. Macalister with Gabriel da Cunha,” she explained.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I forget how Macalister replied, for I was exchanging significant
+glances with the consul. A few moments later that competent official
+took the floor.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“So you are leaving Madeira, Mr. Macalister?” he asked.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“No,” the other replied, sharing an appreciative look between the
+cigar that he had just lighted and Nanette. “I had hoped to sail in
+the <i>Arundel Castle</i>, but I have been delayed.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The consul put several more leading questions to Macalister, in a
+chatty way, but I rather lost track of the conversation. Nanette was
+in a mood of feverish animation, which I knew, from experience, meant
+mischief. The party had been over to Blandy’s apparently, and had
+learned that accommodation in the <i>Arundel Castle</i> was limited.
+Nanette and Jack talked happy nonsense about camping out in boats and
+what not. Then I made an announcement.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Somebody is lucky,” I said. “My berth will be vacant.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+This statement was received with gratifying consternation.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“You surely can’t mean that you are not coming with us?” Nanette’s
+mother exclaimed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Two pairs of eyes I particularly noted at this moment&mdash;the
+heavy-lidded brown eyes of Mr. Macalister and the wide-open blue eyes
+of Nanette.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Unhappily, yes,” I replied. “Unfortunate, very; but I must wait for
+the Royal Mail boat.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+There was a sort of farewell dance at Reid’s that night. Quite a
+number of people were leaving in the <i>Arundel</i>. Nanette persistently
+avoided me; and I doubled-up with Jack in a scowling competition
+having for target Mr. Julian Macalister, who had dropped in after
+dinner and monopolized Nanette.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Once, pausing near me:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Do you know what they call the crescent moon here?” she asked.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“No.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Moon of Madness.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She laughed and danced on. Jack scowled. I wondered.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At the cocktail bar, during an interval, things bordered on the
+hectic. I have been honoured in the friendship of some of Mr.
+Macalister’s race who were very courtly gentlemen. Mr. Macalister was
+not as one of these.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Don’t look so gloomy, my lad,” he said to Jack. “It takes a man of
+experience to please a young girl.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Jack had boxed for his college and was no mean craftsman. I rapidly
+took in the powerful but fleshy form of Macalister and prepared to
+mourn his passing. He smiled confidently; but one could have got
+roughly about the same odds on a peanut in a monkey-house, when:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Mr. Decies!” said someone at my elbow.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Jack was just descending in a leisurely way from his tall stool. He
+paused as I turned. The British consul stood behind us.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“A word in private,” said he.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I grabbed Jack’s arm.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Come along, too,” I urged.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He hesitated, then:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Perhaps you’re right,” came with manifest reluctance.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+We walked out into the lounge; and the consul handed me a scribbled
+note.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Received in code to-night,” he explained.
+</p>
+
+<blockquote>
+
+<p>
+Detain Julian Macalister at any cost.
+</p>
+
+</blockquote>
+
+<p>
+Jack had left us, going to look for Nanette, and:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“From O’Shea?” I asked.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“No. From Scotland Yard!”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“But he’s not sailing!”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The consul met my gaze of inquiry.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“That radio set of Da Cunha’s is very well informed,” he said.
+“Macalister knew of this move before <i>I</i> did. He only cancelled
+to-day.”
+</p>
+
+
+<h3 id="ch10">
+CHAPTER X.<br>
+<span class="chap_sub">THE <i>ARUNDEL CASTLE</i> SAILS</span>
+</h3>
+
+<p class="noindent">
+<span class="sc">I cannot</span> pretend that I was a happy man as I climbed the ladder of
+the <i>Arundel Castle</i> on the following morning. All my friends were
+leaving, and the affection and admiration that I had for Edmond O’Shea
+could not recompense me for their loss. My only consolation lay in the
+knowledge that, unhonoured and unsung though I should be, yet, in a
+modest way, I was doing my job of work toward saving Great Britain
+from the Reds.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+An inward-bound liner, by the time she makes Madeira, offers a ripe
+crop of studies to the psychologist. The gay Conrads, who have learned
+the truth of Leonard Merrick’s unmoral dictum, “a man is young as
+often as he falls in love.” The anxious-eyed women who have lost what
+their men have found. A score of flirtations and two or three
+intrigues, followed with interest by the midnight watch and reported
+in routine to the purser. The odd men out, too, are always rather
+pathetic. It was wonderful how many lonely eyes lighted up when
+Nanette stepped on to the deck. Even some of the Conrads prepared to
+change their minds.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Baggage was missing, of course. Nanette’s mother had lost a wardrobe
+trunk, nothing less.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Don’t worry,” said Nanette’s father, in his imperturbable way. “It
+will turn up.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“It will be Nan’s turn to worry,” was the reply. “All her things are
+in it!”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Nanette, the irresponsible, had disappeared with Jack in quest of her
+new quarters. She professed to be the victim of a dreadful theory that
+her stable companion was an elderly Boer lady with gout.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Coffee-coloured boys were diving off the boat-deck; vendors of lace
+shouted themselves hoarse from a flotilla of small craft that clung to
+the steamer like wasps to a honey-pot; Portuguese lightermen shrieked
+amiable execrations at one another; nobody could find the missing
+trunk, nobody could find Nanette; Nanette’s father said both would
+turn up&mdash;and the Bay of Funchal embraced it all with peaceful beauty.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+When the last shore-signal was sounded, I found Jack beside me. He was
+plainly in a panic.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Here, I say,” he exclaimed. “I thought Nanette was with you!”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“And I thought she was with you!”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“When did you see her last?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“When she went to look for her cabin.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“But she came back to fetch <i>you</i>!”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“She didn’t arrive.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Hurry up, please,” urged the officer on the gangway. “You’re last for
+the shore, sir.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Jack turned and ran in at the saloon entrance. I could see no one else
+I knew; so there was nothing for it but to tumble down the ladder.
+Reid’s launch had gone, and I took the boat in which some customs
+people, office men, and others were going ashore.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+They had turned steam on to the anchor and the ladder was swinging up
+as we drew away. I stood in the boat, searching the decks far above
+me, their rails lined with unfamiliar faces. From the white-capped,
+gold-laced officers on the bridge, I worked down, deck by deck. I
+caught a momentary glimpse of some folks I knew and waved
+automatically; but of Nanette’s party I could see nothing.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Then sounded faintly a bell. Straggling boats seemed to be drawn
+astern of the liner by some powerful current. There was movement in
+the placid water; a swell rocked us. One could see the churning of the
+screw in clear blue sea. Renewed waving&mdash;and the <i>Arundel Castle</i> was
+homeward bound for Southampton, with mails, mixed cargo, several
+potential weddings, and a broken heart or so.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+As I stepped from the boat on to the stone stairs and went up to the
+jetty, I paused, looking back. I was shortly to meet Edmond O’Shea,
+and the thought was pleasurable, but I would have given much to have
+been aboard the liner now headed for the open sea.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I walked up the tree-lined street, sighing when I passed the shop
+where Nanette had found that wonderful shawl. The square, you may
+recall, is planted with those trees that flourish principally in South
+Africa and bear a light blue blossom. In the sunshine of early morning
+it seemed to me that all the streets were dim with an azure born of
+the flowers.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Only two tables had been placed outside the Golden Gate. At one of
+them a girl was seated, her elbows on the table, her chin propped upon
+clenched hands. She stirred slightly, and I saw the sunlight gleaming
+in her hair.…
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I stood stock still. Then I began to run.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Nanette looked up.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She was pale. Her widely opened eyes were the colour of those
+flowers&mdash;misty blue. And they said, “I am afraid. I am ashamed. Don’t
+be angry with me.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Nanette!” I whispered.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She bit her lip and turned her head aside quickly; then:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“I was mad to do it,” she confessed. “I am sorry&mdash;now. Please send a
+message to the ship. They will be frantic.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“But&mdash;your things? You will have to wait for a whole week.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“They are in the small wardrobe trunk. I bribed Pedro to leave it
+behind. Oh, please, Mr. Decies!” She clutched my arm and I felt how
+she trembled. “Look after me. I am so frightened.”
+</p>
+
+
+<h3 id="ch11">
+CHAPTER XI.<br>
+<span class="chap_sub">THE PHOTOGRAPHS</span>
+</h3>
+
+<p class="noindent">
+<span class="sc">The</span> S.S. <i>Aguila</i> of Messrs. Yeoward Brothers dropped her anchor on
+to the rocky bottom of Funchal Harbour at fifteen minutes after two
+A.M. under a perfect moon like the crescent of Islam; a true Moon of
+Madness.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+They had the ladder down in a trice, and my boat drew alongside. I ran
+up to the deck&mdash;and there was Edmond O’Shea in a white drill suit,
+more like John Barrymore than ever with the moonlight gleaming on his
+wavy hair.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+We shook hands in silence, whilst his searching gray eyes looked into
+mine and mine told him all that I was helpless to conceal. Then:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“It was good of you, Decies,” he said. “My message has put you out?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“I had booked in the <i>Arundel</i>; but it didn’t matter. My time is my
+own.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Indeed, already the spell of The O’Shea was on me. There are many
+names honoured in connection with the Grand Parade, but ask one of the
+men who knows what happened on the Retreat when Smith Dorrien sent for
+O’Shea; a company commander then, and only a major now. We all won the
+war, according to our own accounts; the old Irish Guards&mdash;what’s left
+of them&mdash;would convince you that Edmond O’Shea helped us.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“What has happened?” I asked him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He gave me the facts, whilst we enjoyed the hospitality of the captain
+who was delighted to have been instrumental in helping so
+distinguished a passenger.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“The original letters are safe in Whitehall, Decies. But I found
+pinholes showing where they had been stuck on a board&mdash;obviously to be
+photographed! We sent a radio to Captain McPhee here, and I doubled
+back. The mails will be watched at Southampton; but I don’t fear the
+mails. Some trusted agent will carry the photographs. I wired
+headquarters for likely birds.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Scotland Yard replied,” said I. “One, Julian Macalister, is under
+surveillance.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+O’Shea’s cold eyes fixed me.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Who’s watching him?” he asked.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+This brought me to it, and I gulped a quick drink before replying:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Nanette.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+His expression changed; then:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“So they are still here?” he said.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“<i>She</i> is still here.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The captain excused himself gracefully, on a plea of duty; and I told
+O’Shea.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“You think she overheard you in the consul’s office?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“I know she did. She admitted it.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“And so you told her&mdash;the rest?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Was I wrong?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+O’Shea stood up and paced the room a couple of times; then:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“I don’t know,” said he. “Let’s go ashore.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Fate has playfully set me in some queer situations, but I can recall
+none stranger than that in which I found myself now. O’Shea, occupying
+a room in the consul’s house, and engaged in private consultations
+with the military governor and others; Nanette, studiously declining
+to meet him&mdash;although his return to Funchal was the reason of her
+being there; Da Cunha, incapacitated, and only able to act through
+Macalister; the latter gentleman dancing attendance on Nanette.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“He doesn’t know that I know anything,” she said to me. “And he
+doesn’t know that Major O’Shea is here.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+We were taking tea on the terrace of Reid’s; the adorably pretty girl
+who had “missed the boat” and my innocent self subjects of much
+inaccurate speculation. Two frantic radios had been brought out to
+Nanette: one from her mother and one from Jack.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Please answer them for me,” was all she had said.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Nanette!” I looked into the childish blue eyes, in which, when O’Shea
+was mentioned, I had seen the woman-light shine. “I feel responsible
+for you. In playing with a dangerous man like Macalister you take
+risks which you don’t understand.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“I’m going to find out where the photographs are!”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Because of&mdash;O’Shea?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She looked at me bravely.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“No,” she lied&mdash;yet did not know she lied. “Because Major O’Shea
+insulted my intelligence. I am going to find out for my own sake.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I dined with O’Shea in the town that night. He was frantically
+worried. That Macalister was the man to whom the task had been
+assigned of getting the photographs to Red headquarters he could not
+doubt. But where were they? And how did Macalister propose to smuggle
+them through?
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Where is Nanette?” he asked suddenly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Dining with Macalister at Reid’s.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Damn!” said O’Shea; then: “Go back and look after her,” he begged. “I
+can’t stand it, Decies. You shouldn’t leave her.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“She dismissed me!”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Report yourself for duty. ’Phone me here.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I arrived at the hotel fifteen minutes later. The hall porter handed
+me a note as I ran in. I tore the envelope open in a sort of frenzy.
+This was the message:
+</p>
+
+<blockquote>
+
+<p>
+Photographs are on board a motor cruiser belonging to Gabriel da
+Cunha. I can’t find out where it is. But Macalister goes in it
+to-morrow morning to Las Palmas and from there by steamer to England.
+Have gone with him to the Casino. Will keep him as long as possible.
+Can’t do any more.
+</p>
+
+<p class="rt1">
+<span class="sc">Nanette</span>.
+</p>
+
+</blockquote>
+
+<p>
+When I ’phoned to O’Shea, I heard him groan.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Send someone from the hotel to stand by her,” he said; or, rather, it
+was an order. “I can find out where Da Cunha’s boat lies by using the
+military wires. It’s hell, Decies, but I daren’t take chances. Join me
+here. But make sure she is safe.”
+</p>
+
+
+<h3 id="ch12">
+CHAPTER XII.<br>
+<span class="chap_sub">THE MOTOR CRUISER</span>
+</h3>
+
+<p class="noindent">
+<span class="sc">The</span> governor’s car, a Cadillac&mdash;tribute to the far-flung efficiency
+of American salesmanship&mdash;was driven by the chauffeur over what I took
+to be the edge of a sheer precipice. I inhaled noisily. Then we were
+gliding down a cobbled road that, serpentine, embraced a fairy port.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Nestling in a cleft, a volcanic chasm, its terraced roofs silvered by
+the crescent moon, lay a town asleep. Patches of colour, as though a
+Titan artist had thrown uncleaned palettes into the hollow, crowded
+upon and overlay the white walls. Green fronds peeped above pools of
+shadow. A beautiful auditorium, this town looked down upon the eternal
+drama of the sea.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+O’Shea spoke to the chauffeur in Portuguese. His command of
+unpronounceable languages was not the least of his acquirements. The
+powerful brakes were applied and our switchback descent ceased.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+We proceeded on foot.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Where a low stone wall prevented the traveller from falling through
+the roof of a villa some twenty feet below, O’Shea pulled up, grasped
+my arm, and pointed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Displaying her graceful, creamy shape like a courtesan stretched upon
+blue velvet, a fine-lined motor boat rode in the tiny harbour. Lights
+shone out from her cabin ports. O’Shea unbuttoned the coat that he
+wore over dinner kit and began to twirl his monocle to and fro upon
+its black ribbon about an extended finger.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“There is Da Cunha’s boat,” said he; “and there, no doubt, is what we
+are after. But it looks&mdash;&mdash;”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“As though Nanette had failed to keep Macalister?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+O’Shea turned to me, and his eyes gleamed very coldly in the
+moonlight.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Decies,” he said, “you remind me of an unpleasant truth: that if I
+succeed in this matter I shall be indebted to a girl.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“She will have done a big thing for England.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“I don’t begrudge her that. It would hurt me to think she had done it
+for me.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+For a moment I hesitated; then:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“I think she knows it,” I ventured, “and wants to hurt you.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Why?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Because you hurt <i>her</i>.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He stared very fixedly out over the harbour for some moments, but he
+did not seem to have taken offence. At last:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“If I had married very young, Decies,” he said, “and God had been good
+to me, I might have had a daughter like Nanette. Even if there were no
+other reason, shouldn’t I be a blackguard to think of her except as a
+wilful child?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But I could find no answer. This man’s codes were beyond me. Young
+though he was in the days of the Big Push, he had won a name that had
+outlasted those of a score of general officers and more than one field
+marshal. The fact came home to me and brought with it a great
+humility, that I was not of the stuff that histories are made of.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Suppose we go and look for a boat,” I said.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+O’Shea aroused himself&mdash;for he had his dreams even as you and I.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“A boat it is,” said he. “As I have no official status whatever,
+there’s nothing for it but frank piracy. Are you game?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Every time.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+We went on down the sloping cobbled street. Presently it led us
+through the heart of the little town, where shuttered windows told of
+citizens asleep and only a zealous dog broke the silence. This until,
+as we were about to come out on the water front, from a high balcony
+stole the strains of a guitar.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+O’Shea paused, looking up. A dim light might be discerned. He glanced
+at me, smiled, and we passed on. Love is an art with the Southerners.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I have wondered since, reviewing that journey, during which both our
+minds, I think, were busied with plans for boarding the motor boat and
+securing the incriminating photographs, that no premonition touched
+me. “Nanette had failed to keep Macalister,” I had said, noting the
+lighted cabin. Yet Nanette had dared to slip away from the <i>Arundel
+Castle</i> and to remain alone in Funchal. I should have known my
+Nanette.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Drawn up beside a quay, a red blotch in the moonlight, was a
+long-nosed French car.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Da Cunha’s Farman,” I exclaimed. “Macalister <i>is</i> on board.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But O’Shea did not reply. He was starting out in the direction of the
+lighted craft, a thirty-eight-foot motor cruiser, very handy in smooth
+water but a dirty brute, I thought, in a choppy sea. Then:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“I am wondering,” he murmured.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“What?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Why he is lying out there and not alongside? There is no boat at the
+stair.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At first, the full significance of his remark missed me. My concern
+was with the problem of how we were to find transport. Then, something
+in the quality of that fixed stare with which my companion watched the
+lighted ports, his poise, as if listening, prepared me for what was to
+come.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The tones of a coarse voice, raised hilariously, reached my ears,
+coming from the cruiser’s cabin. A trill of laughter followed,
+youthful, musical. My heart missed a beat. I clutched O’Shea’s arm.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“My God!” I said, “he has Nanette with him!”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Involuntarily, my gaze went upward, to where in cold serenity the Moon
+of Madness raised her crescent lamp.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+O’Shea from the pocket of his light coat took a revolver. He placed it
+in his soft hat and crammed the hat tightly on his head. He began to
+peel his dinner jacket.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“I’m going for a swim,” said he. “Coming?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But he was not alone in the idea. Before I could frame any reply came
+sounds of loud laughter, a scuffling of feet&mdash;and I saw Nanette run
+out on to the after-deck. She wore a blue-and-silver dance frock. I
+heard Macalister call to her and I heard her laughing answer; but I
+could not distinguish a word.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I saw her raise her arms as though to unfasten the string of beads
+about her neck. She stooped swiftly, stood upright again&mdash;and
+Macalister was beside her.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+There was a shrill cry&mdash;half laughter, half hysteria. Nanette
+disappeared in the shadow of the awning. I heard the man’s voice, his
+heavy tread.…
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Nanette reappeared at the bow of the boat.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Heroism is always beautiful, whether it spring from love of country or
+love of man. The dance frock had vanished, shed like the sheath of a
+chrysalis when the moth is born. A silver moon-goddess stood at the
+prow. She stooped, once, twice&mdash;I thought to discard her shoes. Then,
+as Macalister came stumbling forward, Nanette dived almost soundlessly
+into the still blue sea.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And Nanette could swim like a seal.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Macalister craned over the side. For one moment I think he
+contemplated following. Then the bobbed head came up two lengths away.
+Behind the swimmer, on a tow-line of beads, floated a flat, square
+portfolio.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I glanced once at O’Shea&mdash;and that man of action was stricken to
+stone. Fists clenched, he stood, watching a girl of eighteen doing the
+work he had come to do&mdash;and doing it for <i>him</i>.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Macalister was hauling in his anchor. The motor started with a roar.
+Then Nanette saw us. She was halfway to the shore.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Please throw one of the rugs on the steps,” came gaspingly. “And go
+away! Start the car up!”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+When, a few minutes later, a very wet Nanette, wrapped in a light top
+coat, confronted O’Shea, I don’t know quite what happened.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“There are your photographs,” I heard her say. “If I never see you
+again, at least think I was not such a fool as you supposed.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+With all her dear bravado, she could not still the trembling of her
+voice. I saw O’Shea’s pale face, and turned aside. That meeting was
+one I can never forget. Yet the details will always be hazy.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Macalister was in the picture somewhere. I think I knocked him down. I
+don’t remember why. But I fancy it was not because of any attempt to
+recover the portfolio but because he grossly misunderstood the
+situation.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Then, I recall, O’Shea stooped, lifted Nanette, and walked up the
+sloping cobbled street under a smiling moon. He had suffered as only
+the few can suffer, to make her forget him. His sacrifice had been
+rejected by the Great Goddess.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Once, Nanette peeped up at him swiftly. I saw her eyes. Then she hid
+her face against his shoulder. I think Nanette was crying. But I know
+Nanette was happy.
+</p>
+
+
+<h3 id="ch13">
+CHAPTER XIII.<br>
+<span class="chap_sub">THE GRASS ORPHAN</span>
+</h3>
+
+<p class="noindent">
+“<span class="sc">Public</span> men should never indulge in private correspondence,” said
+O’Shea. “Such indiscretions sometimes lead to war. I understand that
+all Napoleon’s social engagements were made by proxy.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He turned toward me, his arm resting on the rail of the balcony. There
+were times when O’Shea looked extraordinarily handsome. To-day, I
+thought he appeared almost haggard. In his spruce white suit with
+Madeiran sunlight making play in the waves of his hair, he had all
+that curious atmosphere of romance that made him attractive to women
+and unpopular with men who knew no better. But his eyes were
+tragically tired.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I saw him glance at a square portfolio that lay upon the table in the
+shadows of my room.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Six photographic negatives,” he went on musingly, “and twelve
+prints&mdash;as all the letters photographed ran to more than one page.
+It’s odd to reflect, Decies, that these scraps of film and paper might
+light a bonfire big enough to burn up a whole Empire.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Odd indeed; yet I knew it to be true. For that relentless loom which
+the Arabs call Kismet had drawn me into the pattern of this human
+carpet woven of anarchy, love, sacrifice, and God knows what other
+threads. I knew; therefore:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Why not destroy them?” said I.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+O’Shea shook his head.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“My instructions are to deliver them intact to headquarters,” he
+replied.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Are you returning in the Royal Mail boat?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“No. They are sending for me.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Lodge them in the bank, then.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Contrary to instructions, Decies. They must remain in my charge.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I met the fixed stare of his cold gray eyes.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“In which respect,” said I, “your instructions resemble mine.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“And do honour to both of us,” he added.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I lighted a cigarette, smiling perhaps a trifle wryly. When a wayward
+beauty of eighteen deliberately misses the boat home and her parents
+radio an eligible bachelor that they hold him responsible for her
+safety, one sits up and takes notice. Traditional English phlegm is
+called upon to do its best.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+On the terrace above the bathing pool, a band was playing jazz. Below
+my windows a multi-coloured cascade of flowers poured down, wave upon
+wave, to meet the deep blue ocean. Sounds of laughter came floating
+up. Little yellow birds darting gaily from palm to palm appeared to
+find life a thing of song. I wondered. Was it Abraham Lincoln who
+confessed that he could mould men but not circumstance?
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“It seems absurd,” said O’Shea, breaking a long silence. “But do you
+know what I was thinking?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“No.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“That, after all, Madeira is a very lonely island.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He stared at me fixedly, until:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“What do you mean exactly?” I asked.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Decies,” he said, “the Reds have had a nasty set-back in England. But
+there’s propaganda there”&mdash;he pointed to the portfolio&mdash;“for which
+Moscow would pay a substantial fortune. They have forty-eight hours to
+act.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“But only two agents in the island&mdash;one out of the ring.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Gabriel da Cunha has a mysterious radio set in his bungalow. He will
+be in touch with his chief&mdash;and his chief is a dangerously clever
+man.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The official records of the Irish Guards afford sufficient credentials
+for the courage of Major Edmond O’Shea. He was watching me with that
+close regard which seemed to concern itself with one’s subconscious
+self, so pointedly did it penetrate; and, rather fatuously:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“You are surely not nervous about your charge?” I queried.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He continued to watch me for a moment, then:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“No,” he replied, and his expression grew abstracted. “Oddly enough, I
+was thinking of yours.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He turned aside, toying with the black-rimmed monocle that he rarely
+wore unless he were annoyed. At the Guards’ depot in Essex it used to
+be said that the appearance on parade of O’Shea wearing his monocle
+made bayonets rattle.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Precisely what he had in mind I found myself at a loss to imagine, and
+before I had time to ask:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Please, are you at home?” cried a voice from below.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I crossed to my balcony and looked down.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Nanette stood on the terrace. The sunshine made a glory of her tousled
+head as she laughed up at me. A stout German seated near by in a cane
+lounge-chair found his attention engrossed by the unashamed beauty of
+a pair of slim legs that had suddenly interfered with his view of the
+bay. They were delicately sunburned to the knees, which&mdash;the brevity
+of modern frocks and a habit of going stockingless had forced me to
+learn&mdash;were dimpled. One suspects that Cleopatra had dimpled knees.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Yes, Nanette,” said I. “Where have you been?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Bathing. You should know that, Mr. Decies. You are sadly neglecting
+your grass orphan!”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She looked very lovely. The German tourist raised envious eyes to my
+balcony, their envy magnified by heavily rimmed goggles.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Please come down and join the party.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Very well, Nanette,” I answered.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But when I turned back and reëntered my room, O’Shea and the
+portfolio were gone. And I knew that little Nanette would be
+disappointed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Presently, side by side, we walked down a shady path strewn with
+fallen hibiscus blossom. Nanette was very silent. An American training
+ship manned by naval cadets lay in the bay, and, at a bend in the
+path, Nanette paused. She stared out at the little vessel&mdash;“a painted
+ship upon a painted sea.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“One of the boys from the cadet ship is with our party,” she said.
+“He’s nice. I have promised to dance with him to-night. He’s from
+Boston,” she added.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Has he got late shore leave then?” I asked.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“No,” Nanette answered in a dreamy voice, moving on. “I don’t think
+so. He just wants to stop. They are going to the Azores from here.
+Where is&mdash;or are&mdash;the Azores?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Quite a long way,” I answered vaguely; for Nanette really didn’t want
+to know.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+There was small envy in my heart regarding the cadet from Boston. He
+was being used as a diversion by a distractingly pretty girl whose
+heart was not in the game. However, it is the mission of youth to
+learn, and the poor fellow would “learn about women from her.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I met him in due course. He was being lionized by a group seated
+around a table beneath a gay umbrella that cast pleasing shadows.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Nanette unblushingly monopolized him, and his joy was ghastly to
+behold. He would cheerfully have deserted his ship for her.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The sister of the British consul, who was acting as a sort of official
+chaperone to our grass orphan, kept throwing appealing looks in my
+direction. But I was helpless, and I knew it. A hundred times
+Nanette’s glance sought the steps. And if only O’Shea had joined us,
+the eyes of the infatuated young man from Boston might have been
+opened before he doomed himself to cells for a siren’s smile.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But O’Shea did not join us.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+When I drifted down to dinner that evening, I missed him. I waited in
+the cocktail bar in vain. Nanette peeped in, too. At last, there was
+nothing for it but to dine alone. And constantly the blue eyes of
+Nanette, who had been “adopted” by a charming couple from the North
+Country, were turned in my direction. Always she smiled&mdash;but only to
+hide her disappointment.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The cadet blew along in due course, flushed with excitement, and was
+greeted by a very composed Nanette. Accompanied by her temporary
+“parents,” she bore the young man away to the Casino.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I made up my mind to walk down later. But I was largely concerned with
+the absence of O’Shea. I hung about until after nine o’clock and was
+prepared to go out, when I saw him crossing the lounge. He beckoned to
+me, and:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“They are not idle, Decies,” he said. “Da Cunha’s radio has been
+busy.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Have you picked anything up?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“No. Conditions in the town are bad. But there’s something afoot.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Short of burglary, what can they do?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He stared at me vacantly; then:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“I don’t know,” he confessed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But we were to learn&mdash;and very soon.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A disturbance in the lobby proclaimed itself.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“What’s the trouble?” said I.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Even as I spoke, the worthy man from Lancashire, whose wife had taken
+Nanette under her wing, came hurrying in. He was pale.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“My God! Decies,” he exclaimed. “Did you send a car to the Casino for
+Nanette?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“No!” I replied blankly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Damn it! I suspected there was something wrong!”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Quick!” said O’Shea. “What has happened?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The other spoke very breathlessly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Someone brought her a message&mdash;from <i>you</i>, Mr. Decies. She ran out
+without a word. Young Clayton, the cadet, ran after her.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Well?” O’Shea urged.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“When I got to the door, they told me that both had driven off in a
+car that was waiting by the gate.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Did anyone actually see this car?” O’Shea demanded.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“No. It stood out in the roadway.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Then who brought the message?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“A boy idling at the gate.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“You questioned him?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Closely,” replied the man from Lancashire. “He did not know the
+chauffeur and only had a glimpse of the car.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“But I don’t understand,” said I dazedly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“I followed,” the hoarse voice went on, “but just this side of the
+bridge, where it’s so lonely and dark at night, I nearly ran over
+Clayton! He was insensible. He’s out in the hallway now! Nanette&mdash;has
+disappeared!”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Very deliberately, O’Shea adjusted his monocle.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Decies,” he said coldly, “why, in God’s name, didn’t you stick to
+your post?”
+</p>
+
+
+<h3 id="ch14">
+CHAPTER XIV.<br>
+<span class="chap_sub">THE PORTFOLIO</span>
+</h3>
+
+<p class="noindent">
+<span class="sc">Born</span> leaders of men do not achieve leadership; men force it upon
+them. Here was a panic-stricken group, soon augmented by the manager
+and a doctor who chanced to be in the hotel. One was for communicating
+with the police; another urged the military; all were anxious to
+enlarge the news.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+We were in a room on the right of the entrance, the medical man
+bending over an insensible cadet. O’Shea quietly closed the door. And
+I have since remembered how instinctively we all turned and faced him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Doctor,” he said, “how soon will he recover?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The Portuguese physician shook his head.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Do not count upon him,” he answered gravely. “A tremendous blow on
+the back of his skull. I cannot examine him properly here. He must be
+taken at once to the hospital.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“An accident?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“But certainly, no! Foul play. Some blunt weapon. I suspect a
+sandbag.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Shall I telephone the police?” the manager asked.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“No,” said O’Shea. “Get young Clayton away as quickly as possible.
+Gentlemen”&mdash;he included us all in a comprehensive glance&mdash;“let us keep
+this affair to ourselves.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“What!” I cried.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But indeed, beyond that one word I could not go. Inertia at such a
+time astounded me.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“There is a well-known policy of war,” O’Shea went on: “Masterly
+inactivity. We have no Service de Sûreté and no Scotland Yard in
+Madeira. A clumsy hue and cry could serve no better purpose than to
+drive the enemy into some more remote hiding place.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“But, Nanette!” I burst out.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Then I met O’Shea’s glance. I noted the grim set of his jaw. I saw how
+pale he was.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Your remark was rather unnecessary, Decies,” he said. “I recently
+pointed out to you that Madeira is a very lonely island. If you can
+suggest any plan for locating the whereabouts of Nanette, do so.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Then I understood. And I think I groaned.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“There are so many roads they might have taken,” the manager
+explained. “And what means have we of tracing the car? There are no
+traffic police in Madeira. Such a thing has never happened here
+before. Certainly not in my time.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“What villain has done it?” came in agonized North Country dialect.
+“Oh, the poor little lass!”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Madeiran blood runs very hot,” said the physician.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“No doubt,” O’Shea agreed. “And Nanette is a lovely child. But do you
+believe there is any one amongst her acquaintances mad enough to
+commit such an outrage?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Why do you say ‘amongst her acquaintances’?” I asked stupidly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Because <i>your</i> name was used to induce her to go,” O’Shea answered.
+“Ultimately, she must be found. Her abductor knows this. Therefore he
+is prepared to make terms.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Came a rap on the door.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Yes?” said the manager.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A hall porter appeared. Major O’Shea was wanted on the telephone. As
+he went out:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Come to my room in five minutes, Decies,” he directed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The five minutes that followed form a blur in my memory. There were
+hushed voices. There was movement; a still figure being carried
+through the hall to where a car waited out in the scented darkness.
+Someone kept saying, “We must <i>do</i> something. We must <i>do</i> something,”
+over and over again. There was a woman who sobbed with a Lancashire
+accent.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Then I stood in O’Shea’s room. He was seated on the side of the bed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“I was right,” he said. “It’s a move in the Red game!”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“What!”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+My wild, distorted ideas were tumbled over one another by that
+statement. They fought in my brain, seeking fresh formation.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“I knew that if my theory were sound they would waste no time. That
+was Julian Macalister on the ’phone. It’s the photographs they’re
+after, Decies!”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Whereupon: “Thank God!” I exclaimed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+O’Shea raised his eyes to me.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“I forgive you,” he said softly, “for preferring my ruin to
+Nanette’s.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Certainly the swift tragedy of the last half hour must have numbed my
+brain. O’Shea had watched me, not angrily, for several moments before
+the full meaning of his words gripped my mind.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I dropped into an armchair.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Gabriel da Cunha and Julian Macalister, Communist agents, had
+triumphed at the eleventh hour!
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“My special duties as a secret service officer end to-night.” It was
+O’Shea who spoke, but his voice seemed to come hollowly from a great
+distance. “My resignation from the regiment must follow.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I spoke never a word.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“There is just one thing, Decies, you can do.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Then I roused myself. I looked eagerly at O’Shea. I think, in that
+dark hour, I would have crawled through the hottest alleyways of hell
+to save him. “Why, in God’s name, didn’t you stick to your post?”
+Those words of his would sound in my ears for many a long day to come.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“You can enable me to resign,” he went on. “It would be preferable to
+being gazetted: ‘The King having no further use for this officer’s
+services.’&hairsp;”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Anything,” I said. “I will do anything.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A party of serenaders, playing gently on guitars and singing a
+languorous love-song, passed along the road below. Their voices
+mingled in perfect harmony. A sea breeze bore perfume into the room.
+And I thought that this soft island, set like a jewel above the brow
+of Africa, might once have been the home of Calypso, stealing men’s
+senses.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“It may seem mere splitting of hairs,” O’Shea went on. “But it serves
+my purpose, and so I ask you to do it.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He took up the precious portfolio, which lay upon the bed beside him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“I forced the lock last night,” he said, “but had it repaired and
+fitted with a key in the town this morning. I removed the seals intact
+and replaced them. Here is the key.” He held it out upon his open
+palm. “Take it.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I took it, wondering and waiting.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Now take the portfolio,” said he. “You will find it is locked. Hide
+it where you please. But its security means everything to me, to
+Nanette, and to England.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“You mean,” I began, “that I&mdash;&mdash;”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“I mean,” O’Shea took me up, “that <i>you</i> may pay this price to ransom
+her. <i>I</i> cannot. You have sworn no oath of allegiance to the Crown. I
+have.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Good God!” I cried. “The decision is to rest with <i>me</i>!”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“As a private citizen you can choose between the claims of your
+country, in this very difficult matter, and the claims of a helpless
+girl who has been given into your charge. As an officer, I have no
+choice.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He spoke in a low, monotonous voice. But I shall remember every word
+of his instructions whilst memory lasts.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“You must not tell me where it is concealed. It should be in some
+place, though, that is quickly accessible.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“But, O’Shea! Are they sending someone to make terms?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“They are. At eleven o’clock to-night.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Why not have him arrested?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+O’Shea stared at me, and smiled. But it was a cold smile.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Julian Macalister is coming in person,” he replied. “News of this
+unfortunate occurrence having reached him and our mutual friend,
+Gabriel da Cunha, both are anxious to place their extensive knowledge
+of the island at our disposal. On what charge should you propose to
+arrest Macalister?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Directly he declares his real object, upon a triple charge of
+blackmail, abduction, and attempted murder!”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“And then?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Well, surely&mdash;&mdash;”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“My dear fellow!” O’Shea stood up and sighed wearily. “Racks and
+boiling oil would never be sanctioned by the civil governor.
+Personally, I should prescribe them.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I was silenced. O’Shea was right.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Under Portuguese law the case would take weeks,” he added. “It would
+be adjourned to Lisbon. No. We cannot leave her in unknown hands&mdash;&mdash;”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He turned, the sentence unfinished, and walked across to the balcony.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I knew that if she had never met Edmond O’Shea little Nanette would
+have been safe in England that night. And I knew that he knew.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Taking up the portfolio, I went out, closing the door very quietly.
+</p>
+
+
+<h3 id="ch15">
+CHAPTER XV.<br>
+<span class="chap_sub">TERMS WITH THE ENEMY</span>
+</h3>
+
+<p class="noindent">
+<span class="sc">I had</span> noted a loose floor board in my room. With the aid of a knife
+blade, I succeeded in lifting it, revealing a dusty cavity. Here I hid
+the portfolio. I replaced the board and slipped the key on to my ring
+with others that I habitually carried.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+That I was destined to be present at the interview with Macalister, I
+foresaw clearly enough. How best to prepare myself it was not easy to
+determine. Primarily I had to focus upon keeping my temper. O’Shea
+plainly wanted to be alone.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I looked into the cocktail bar. Two men whom I knew were drinking
+highballs, and:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Hullo, Decies,” said one, “what’s this crazy rumour about your little
+friend?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The words offended me. I suppose I was in a mood for it. Since the
+fateful morning that Nanette had missed the boat, many questionable
+glances had been cast upon me.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“It’s what you say,” I answered shortly: “a crazy rumour.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Then I went out.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I crossed the lobby and stood in the porch for a while, breathing the
+warm perfume of the gardens. A man and a girl were walking down the
+slope toward the terraces. He had his arm about her waist.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The open road called to me. Lighting my pipe, I set out. Drivers of
+bullock carts solicited my patronage, but I ignored them and walked
+on. I had no idea where I was going. I think I was merely running away
+from myself. I could not banish the illusion that Nanette was hiding
+behind some tree; that she would suddenly leap out at me with mock
+reproaches for my neglect of the grass orphan.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Twice I thought I saw her slender figure in the distance.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+O’Shea was ruined. This was the idea that ultimately came to the top
+and stayed there. O’Shea was ruined. The blind love of a child-woman
+had wrecked the best man it had ever been my lot to know. She had
+stayed for O’Shea. No one suspected it. But I knew.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+This was the sequel.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Lonely in my knowledge of all it might mean&mdash;when, willy-nilly, I
+should have surrendered the portfolio&mdash;I tramped on. A great, cold
+jewel, the moon lighted my way. By a stagnant cistern, green with
+slime, I pulled up. I had walked half the distance to the Casino.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+This cistern was infested by poisonous insects with nasty habits in
+their tails and a social custom of leaving red-hot visiting cards. I
+turned back, scratching viciously.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A party homeward bound to Reid’s in a car offered me a lift.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I thanked them but preferred to walk.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“… Having no further use for this officer’s services.” Yes, I could
+save him from that.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The hall porter said that Major O’Shea was in his room. Therefore,
+having a curiosity respecting Macalister, I took up a strategic
+position on a shadowed bench in that miniature palm grove which
+commands the porch. I told the porter where he could find me.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I had waited but a short time when Macalister arrived, in the pomp and
+circumstance of a glorious Farman. A chauffeur, whose pedigree
+connected with apes more recently than usual, drove the red torpedo in
+at the gate with much skill and even more noise. I stood up to see
+Macalister alight.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He entered Reid’s proprietorially. He was in evening kit, wore a straw
+hat boasting a band of well-known colours, to which he was not
+entitled, and smoked a successful cigar decorated with what looked
+like the Order of the Garter. If he was nervous he showed no sign of
+the fact.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+One has heard many jokes aimed at the courage of the Jew. Sometimes
+from members of his own race. In justice to one whom I shall always
+dislike, I wish to say that Julian Macalister, bearing a Scottish
+name, was fearless as any man who ever wore the tartan.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Caliban drove the Farman out into the road again, and I settled down
+with my pipe to await O’Shea’s summons.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It came sooner than I had expected. Mr. Macalister was all of a man of
+business.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Major O’Shea asks you to step up to his room, sir,” said the hall
+porter.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Knocking out my pipe, I made my way upstairs. On the side of the
+angels though I might be, I found myself not wholly at ease. I rapped
+at O’Shea’s door and walked in.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Macalister was seated in an armchair, a stump of fat cigar between his
+teeth. The band was absent. I presumed that he had smoked it.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+O’Shea stood, facing me, by the open window. “I hope I have not
+dragged you from pleasant company. But Mr. Macalister here has
+presumed to question a statement of mine.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Cut it out,” said Macalister. “This is business.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Mr. Macalister,” O’Shea resumed blandly&mdash;and now I noted that he wore
+his monocle&mdash;“is not personally responsible for his defects of
+education. Forgive him, Decies. The facts, briefly, are these: You may
+recall that I recently placed in your care a certain portfolio, the
+contents of which you know?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“You did,” said I.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“My reason,” O’Shea continued, “was that I feared an attempt by Mr.
+Macalister or his friends to recover this portfolio. I mentioned my
+fears to you at the time.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“You did,” I repeated.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Mr. Macalister,” O’Shea turned to him, “Mr. Decies, here, has the
+portfolio and a new key which I have had made. The portfolio is
+locked. I don’t know what he has done with it. Therefore your
+proposals are useless.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Macalister rolled the cigar stump. With a thumb and forefinger he
+removed fragments from his mouth&mdash;of what, I cannot say; possibly the
+band. Then:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“I believe you,” he granted. “I never doubted your word. You’re damned
+up-stage but you don’t lie.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Thank you,” said O’Shea.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The tone in which he spoke puzzled me at the time. It was so oddly
+sincere.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“But, you see,” Macalister went on, “I know why you’ve done it!”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+O’Shea did not exactly start. But his glance, as Macalister spoke, was
+dagger-like in its intensity.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“You’re an officer and a gentleman. The two aren’t always twins, but
+you happen to be both. I’ve got to deal with Mr. Decies? If he lets
+you down, the disgrace is his. You’re just branded a fool, but you
+save your ‘British honour.’ Am I right?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+By heavens! I knew he was right! And, studying the low brow, the
+small, Semitic skull, the gross person of the man, I wondered. If a
+Julian Macalister could read human nature so clearly, small wonder
+that the cream of his race ruled the Rialtos of the world. So I
+reflected.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Very well, Mr. Decies.” He diverted the cigar stump in my direction.
+“As it’s turned out, I’m not sorry. You’re sweet on the little lady
+who’s disappeared. I don’t blame you. I fancy her, myself. But
+business is business.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Only O’Shea’s frigid stare held me in my place. I plunged my hands in
+my trouser pockets and clenched them tightly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Do not permit Mr. Macalister’s vulgarity to upset your judgment,”
+said O’Shea. “Also, make due allowances for him.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“I don’t say I know where she is,” Macalister resumed unmoved, “but
+I’m prepared to promise that she’ll be home by midnight if you, Mr.
+Decies, will double on the major and hand over to me that portfolio!”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“One moment!”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+O’Shea broke in so violently that he startled me.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Well?” said Macalister.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“You fully appreciate the value of what the portfolio contains?”
+O’Shea challenged.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Fully,” I answered.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“You know what is at stake&mdash;on both sides?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“I do.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“So do I. Therefore I am going to leave you alone with Mr. Macalister.
+Make your terms, Decies. I shall never reproach you. Communism is a
+powerful movement. To-night it conquers.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He walked quickly to the door and went out.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Very pretty,” said Macalister. “When he’s fired from the Guards he
+should do well in the movies.”
+</p>
+
+
+<h3 id="ch16">
+CHAPTER XVI.<br>
+<span class="chap_sub">THE HOUSE ON THE CLIFF</span>
+</h3>
+
+<p class="noindent">
+<span class="sc">I have</span> come to the conclusion that British honour is pretty good
+stock-in-trade. Macalister accepted my word that no rescue by force
+would be attempted. And, if Macalister accepted it, I think my promise
+must be a gilt-edged security.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At twenty minutes before midnight&mdash;the time I had arranged to set
+out&mdash;Reid’s was moderately excited. The absence of Nanette could no
+longer be concealed in view of the fact that her worthy foster-parents
+had created something of a hubbub following her departure from the
+Casino. Hotel servants had been talking, too.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The arrangement had the charm of simplicity.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+In a car containing only a chauffeur and myself, I was to follow the
+Farman. Any support must be not less than five hundred yards in the
+rear.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“But,” I had objected, “although you trust <i>me</i>, I don’t trust <i>you</i>.
+I might be held up.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“You can arm yourself if you like,” Macalister had conceded. “And you
+will have the driver. Your friends, too, will be close behind you.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I had hesitated, until:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Damn it!” he cried. “I want the goods! This deal is square!”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I agreed when he spoke thus. Slowly, I was learning my man.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+O’Shea elected to follow alone.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“They will stick to their bargain, Decies,” he said sadly. “We dare
+not take the risk, I admit; but Nanette is safe enough. They know how
+far they can go.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Past a curious group clustering around the hotel entrance, we walked
+out&mdash;Macalister, O’Shea, and myself. I watched a magnificent cigar
+being lighted in the Farman, wondering how and where Macalister found
+room to carry more than one at a time.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Then we set forth upon our queer journey.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The Farman led through the outskirts of Funchal, around the flank of
+the little town and out to that sea road which scales the frowning
+cliffs.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I am never at my best on roads of this kind. A squat red lozenge in
+the glare of our headlights, the leading car, from time to time, would
+disappear over a precipice. Nothing would obstruct my view of starry
+sky and the still mirror of the ocean far below.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Then, a hairpin turn in the dizzy path being negotiated, there ahead
+again the Farman would appear.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+So it went, up and up, around bend after bend, until the bumping and
+jolting told me that we had left the road, such as it was, and were
+digging a road of our own.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+We crept over a desolate dome of territory that must have been left
+behind when Atlantis sank. Upon our topping the crown of this blasted
+heath, I looked out ahead. I prayed that the brakes had been recently
+overhauled.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A long, curving, rock-strewn slope swept gracefully down to a sheer
+edge. And perched close to the precipice like a lonely seafowl was a
+little, dirty white dwelling&mdash;hundreds of eerie feet above the sea,
+approached by no perceptible path. I exhausted my imagination in
+endeavouring to invent a reason why any human being should live there.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+By means of zigzag manœuvring, the Farman was brought to within fifty
+yards or so of the place. My chauffeur gingerly imitated the design.
+Then came the prearranged signal.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Macalister’s arm was protruded. He waved his cigar like a field
+marshal’s baton.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Stop!” I said&mdash;and the word sounded like a gasp of relief.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I got out, turned, and looked back.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+O’Shea’s car had been pulled up on the crest. I could see him standing
+beside it, a distant silhouette against the sky.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I walked down to where Macalister waited by the house.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+There was a low stone wall round the seaward end of the property,
+enclosing a tiny garden in which bricks were apparently cultivated.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And now I could see over the edge. I gasped. A wooden ladder,
+connecting with a platform that jutted out just below the house,
+described a jazz pattern down the cliff-side. In a miniature cove,
+below, a smart motor cruiser lay, her lighted ports like watching
+eyes.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Send your car up to the top,” Macalister directed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I shouted to the man. And, as I watched him painfully tacking back
+against the gradient, I reflected that if O’Shea’s psychology should
+prove to be at fault, mine was a sorry case. I fingered a revolver
+that nestled in my pocket.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The climb accomplished:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Now,” said Macalister, “you remember the conditions?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Perfectly.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Halfway between the house and my car.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I turned and mounted the slope. Macalister whistled shrilly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Spinning about, I watched. I saw two things happen.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Macalister’s simian chauffeur leapt from his seat, stripping off his
+jacket and discarding his cap. From somewhere on the hither side of
+the building, which appeared to possess no door, three figures came
+into view. Two were men, thick-set nondescripts; the third was a girl.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And the girl was Nanette!
+</p>
+
+<p>
+They held her wrists, but the moment she caught sight of me standing
+there in the moonlight:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Mr. Decies!” she cried. “Don’t do it! don’t do it! I’ll never forgive
+you! They <i>dare</i> not harm me, and you are not to do it!”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I made no answer. I had none to make. And so the men led her on until
+she stood before me.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She was pale, and so slender, between her burly captors, as to look
+ethereal. Her widely open eyes were fixed in a stare of reproach. My
+heart thumped.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“You don’t understand, Nanette,” I said. “There is Major O’Shea&mdash;and
+he wishes it.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+One long, lingering glance she cast up to where O’Shea stood watching.
+I saw a flood of colour sweep over her face. Then her obstinate little
+mouth quivered. She lowered her head, and:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“I hate myself,” she whispered.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Now,” said Macalister, coming forward, “give me the key.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I did so. He placed it carefully in his waistcoat pocket. Nanette
+never looked up.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Hand the portfolio to Miguel.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The chauffeur was indicated. I obeyed, and the man handed the
+portfolio on to Macalister, who narrowly examined the seals.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Senhor da Cunha,” he said sharply.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Whereupon Miguel ran off, carrying the portfolio, and disappeared over
+the edge where the ladder was. So Gabriel da Cunha was on board the
+cruiser!
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Again Macalister spoke rapid Portuguese.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Nanette was released, and the two men turned and went back to the
+house. She stood before me, with lowered head.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Macalister raised his straw hat. The colours of the band looked highly
+effective in the moonlight.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Miss Nanette and Mr. Decies,” he said, “I bid you good-night.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He was not without a certain vulgar dignity. He followed his brace of
+ruffians to the dwelling.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Come, Nanette!” I urged. “It isn’t safe to delay.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But, as we climbed to the waiting cars, she spoke only twice.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“They told me you had sent for me,” she said, “because Major
+O’Shea&mdash;was ill.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“What happened?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Poor Tommy Clayton sat in front, and the man with me, who said he was
+a doctor, reached over and hit him with something. I screamed.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Did he put his hand over your mouth to stop you?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She nodded.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Have they been unkind to you?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She shook her head.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+O’Shea waited until we gained the crest, then he got into his car and
+drove off. I followed, with an unusually dumb Nanette.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She sneaked into Reid’s by the side entrance and went straight to her
+room. O’Shea was waiting for me in the cocktail bar. I entered very
+gloomily and he ordered me a double whisky and soda.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“They will have some little difficulty in opening the portfolio,
+Decies,” he said, watching the bartender preparing our drinks.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I stared at him. He was smiling!
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“What do you mean?” I demanded.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“I mean that I took the precaution of filing one of the wards before I
+gave the key to you.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But, even then, I didn’t understand, and:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“What for?” I asked.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Unnecessarily, as it fell out,” he replied. “But my idea was to gain
+time.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“To gain time!”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Yes. To enable us to get a good start before they forced the lock.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He slid a full glass along the counter in my direction, and:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Do you play poker?” he asked.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“What the devil are you talking about?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“I was merely wondering if you did. That portfolio which you have been
+treasuring, Decies, contains several pages torn from an old copy of
+the <i>Sporting Times</i>. Yet neither you nor I have told a lie about it
+from start to finish! Chin-chin!”
+</p>
+
+
+<h3 id="ch17">
+CHAPTER XVII.<br>
+<span class="chap_sub">NANETTE IS CONFIDENTIAL</span>
+</h3>
+
+<p class="noindent">
+“<span class="sc">Did</span> you ever hear of Adolf Zara?” said O’Shea.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I shook my head blankly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“That’s the devil of it,” he murmured. “He works in the dark.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Who is he?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He hesitated for a moment, then:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“He is the immediate chief of those Communist gentlemen,” he replied,
+“whose activities have detained me so long in Madeira. One good thing
+I owe to him. I shall be returning to England with you in the
+morning.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“What!” I exclaimed gladly. “By the <i>Union Castle</i>?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Yes.” He turned, staring at me in that coldly penetrating way which
+was so disconcerting and so misleading. “By a sheer coincidence, Mr.
+Zara is on board and I am instructed to look out for him.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“But the ship is full, O’Shea.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“There is always room for three more passengers in any British liner,”
+he replied: “a diplomatic agent, a King’s Messenger, and a pretty
+woman.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“What are you expected to do?” I asked.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“I am expected to prevent him landing!”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“But”&mdash;doubtless my expression became more blank than ever&mdash;“surely
+the authorities at Southampton&mdash;&mdash;”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“The authorities at Southampton don’t know in what name he is
+travelling. Neither does Capetown, apparently. They merely know that
+he’s on board&mdash;with a false passport. He made South Africa too hot to
+hold him. Moscow’s idea seems to be that another Boer war would add to
+the gaiety of nations. The Boers don’t seem to think so.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He stirred languidly in the cane lounge chair and, raising his
+monocle, surveyed a number of ants performing mysterious evolutions on
+his white drill suit. It was very still and peaceful in the little
+palm grove. A faint breeze carried perfume from the gardens, a sound
+of distant voices and soft laughter. Outside the cool oasis in which
+we sat, shaded, Madeira sunlight blazed on a million gay flowers, and
+the low mossy walls were alive with lizards.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Have you ever seen this man?” I asked.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“No,” O’Shea turned his head lazily. “I haven’t the slightest idea
+what he looks like. Unless I get some further news by radio, my chance
+of identifying this Red sportsman is a bad hundred to one.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“But you say he has a false passport?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“So I understand. Probably issued in Paris or Milan or even New York,
+and in perfect order. Thousands of undesirables travel about the world
+annually with other people’s passports, Decies. The appended
+photograph is the only snag, and you might be surprised to learn how
+easy it is to replace it and duplicate the official stamp.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Presently I went hunting for Nanette. My guardianship of this dainty,
+wayward ward was soon to cease; and whilst I lacked the courage to
+think about saying good-bye at Southampton, I had learned that for a
+man of my age and temperament the rôle of official uncle to a
+beautiful girl was no sort of job.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Tea was in full swing on the terrace, but Nanette was not there. I
+thought she might be on the tennis courts, and I strolled down the
+steps and along the sloping, flower-gay path sacred to basking
+lizards.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Halfway down there is a sort of abutment, overhanging the lower
+gardens and possessing a stone seat. Here, in a lounge chair, her
+parasol propped against the low wall, I saw Nanette.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Her little feet tucked up on the chair, to protect her bare legs from
+the ants, she sat manicuring her finger nails.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She neither saw nor heard my approach. And I stood still watching her.
+Quite mechanically she was polishing away with a chamois burnisher,
+but her blue eyes were staring, unseeingly, out over the bay.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+As I studied the charming, pensive profile, I wondered, as I had
+wondered too often, what fate had in store for little Nanette. My more
+immediate wonder was concerned with the problem of how she had
+contrived to be alone.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Suddenly she turned and saw me.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Coo-ooh!” she called. “Have you come to take me to tea?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Yes,” I replied, walking down to her. “What has become of everybody?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“I don’t know,” said Nanette. “I wanted to be alone.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“To think?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“I suppose so.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I dropped on to the stone seat beside her.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Whom did you want to think about, Nanette?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She lowered her lashes, and polished busily.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Oh&mdash;Pop and Mum&mdash;and folks.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I lighted a cigarette, and presently she looked up. Her clear eyes
+regarded me wistfully for a moment, and:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“You know,” she said. “Don’t you?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“I am afraid I do, Nanette,” I confessed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Isn’t it strange,” she went on, staring away over the sea, “that I
+should be so crazy about someone who avoids me?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Very strange,” I answered dully.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+When a girl thus makes a confidant of a man she has never kissed, if
+he knows the rules of the game he retires hurt. Then:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“I suppose I shall get over it,” she said, and smilingly packed up the
+manicure implements. “We have to be on board at a fiendishly early
+hour to-morrow. I don’t know whether to go to bed at nine o’clock or
+sit up all night. Let’s have tea.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+As I helped her out of the cushioned chair:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“I have some news for you, Nanette,” I said. “Major O’Shea is coming
+with us.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Her eyes opened very widely; and she stared at me in a frightened way
+that I always associated with any sudden reference to O’Shea. Then she
+turned swiftly, taking up her parasol.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Really,” she said. “How often he changes his mind.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But as we walked up the long path to the terrace she talked
+animatedly. And glancing aside at her flushed face, I realized with
+almost a shock of surprise how very young she was&mdash;and how sweetly
+incapable of hiding the excitement that my news had created.
+</p>
+
+
+<h3 id="ch18">
+CHAPTER XVIII.<br>
+<span class="chap_sub">SUSPECTS</span>
+</h3>
+
+<p class="noindent">
+<span class="sc">That</span> run home to Southampton did not begin auspiciously for Nanette.
+Her happiness at being on the same ship with O’Shea was distinctly
+blunted by the presence of an official chaperone.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Her father had some sort of pull with the line, and by dint of
+industrious cabling, he had contrived to get in touch with a lady he
+knew who was returning from South Africa: One Mrs. Porter, a really
+formidable matron, deep-chested, heavy-jowled, and contemplating a
+sinful world through spectacles of an unnecessarily unpleasant
+pattern.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Pop is mad!” said Nanette. “This woman must die.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Excluding O’Shea and myself, Nanette had come on board with a male
+escort of three devoted dancing partners. Lacking the society of
+Nanette, these were three very lonely young men, divided by a mutual
+distrust but united in their dislike of O’Shea.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Unreciprocated passion renders its victims clairvoyant; and each one
+of these three knew what the rest of the crowd at Reid’s Hotel had
+never suspected: that Nanette only emerged from a land of dreams when
+O’Shea was with her. Now, to crown a troublous situation, Mrs. Porter
+presented a protégé&mdash;Captain Slattery. She made it pointedly clear
+that no other follower would be tolerated.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I resigned my staff of office with a sigh, and settled down to be
+sorry for Nanette&mdash;and Slattery.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+O’Shea and I stood at the door of the smoke-room watching the coast of
+Madeira melt into a blue distance. Nanette, in a short, sleeveless
+frock, came along the deck, linked between two men, one of whom was
+Slattery. She pretended not to see us. But right in front of the door
+she pulled up insistently, leaning on the rail and pointing out
+something to her companions. Nanette knew she had very beautiful arms.
+But she wanted O’Shea to know.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He smiled at me, sadly, and turning, went into the smoke-room. The
+girl’s dainty naïveté was hopelessly disarming. We sat down facing
+one another across a table, and:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“There is something I want you to do for me,” said O’Shea.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“About&mdash;Nanette?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“No.” He shook his head, and that tragically hungry look came into his
+eyes that I had seen there before. “Don’t let us talk about her,
+Decies. I have a valuable portfolio in my stateroom.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Surely you will hand it over to the purser?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Impossible. Contrary to the rules of the game. The ship might sink.
+But a certain Adolf Zara is on board. Therefore&mdash;&mdash;”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He paused, staring at me significantly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“You want <i>me</i> to take charge of it?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Yes. Lock it in your trunk. I don’t expect any move on this
+gentleman’s part. He is stalking bigger game and therefore anxious to
+avoid publicity. But he <i>might</i> take it into his head to pay me an
+unofficial visit. I have a room to myself. You are sharing a cabin
+with a representative of the <i>Cape Times</i> whom, luckily, you chance to
+have met before.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Very well,” said I. “Of course, this man, Zara, will know you are on
+board?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Naturally,” O’Shea returned. “His associates in Madeira will have
+advised him&mdash;although absolutely nothing to afford a clue to his
+assumed identity happened at Funchal. He is a dangerously clever man.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Have you taken a look around?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Yes. Have you?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“I have. But no likely candidate for the honour of being Adolf Zara
+has presented himself.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“I agree,” said O’Shea quietly. “But I have an appointment with the
+purser in an hour’s time. I am going carefully through the declaration
+sheets.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+When O’Shea left me, I was joined by the journalist, my
+stable-companion; a substantial Scot whom I had met in London two
+years before. He proposed a promenade. And just as we started the
+faithful three came into the smoke-room, together, and ordered drinks.
+Their aspects were mournful.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Then, in a shady corner outside, we discovered the explanation.
+Nanette was coiled up in a deck chair, her charming head turned in the
+direction of her neighbour on the right&mdash;Slattery. In a chair on her
+left, enveloped in an unnecessary rug, Mrs. Porter slumbered
+soundly&mdash;and almost noiselessly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Nanette beckoned to me. As I paused, she threw a venom-laden glance at
+the unconscious chaperone, and:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“I do not like you, Mrs. P.,” she murmured. “The reason why is plain
+to see&mdash;and hear.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Slattery, his gaze fixed upon her, smiled admiringly. He had very even
+white teeth. Then he looked up at me.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“I hear that your friend is the famous O’Shea,” he said. “I thought he
+was a movie actor.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The words told me plainly that this was another victim of the
+distracting Nanette. Therefore I forgave him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“His appearance is certainly deceptive,” I admitted.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“We were on their right at the time he was recommended for the V.C.,”
+Slattery went on. “I was only a pup, but <i>we</i> saw some dirty work,
+too. The crack regiments always get the limelight, though.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Nanette glanced at him under suddenly lowered lashes, and:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Please, Mr. Decies, lead me to a cool drink with lemon in it,” she
+said.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She was on her feet in one graceful movement. Her ability to
+disentangle herself from complicated poses resembled that of an
+antelope. Grasping my right arm and the left of my startled Scottish
+companion, she moved away.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Captain Slattery is so good-looking that he bores me,” she whispered
+in my ear.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+O’Shea found me some little time later.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“I have ventured to have you put at a table among strangers,” he said.
+“Your immediate neighbour is a certain Dr. Zimmermann.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He stared at me.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“I’ll do my best, O’Shea,” said I. “Where are <i>you</i>?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“At the purser’s table,” he replied, “facing one John Edward
+Wainwright, of Halifax, Nova Scotia. These two birds may prove to be
+black swans, but there isn’t another query in the passenger list.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I experienced Dr. Zimmermann at lunch and later at dinner. Apart from
+his audible enjoyment of the soup, I found his table manners genial.
+He had been studying the neolithic fauna of South Africa on behalf of
+some learned Munich institution blessed with a name that only Dr.
+Zimmermann could pronounce and that I shall never attempt to spell.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+My report to O’Shea was unsatisfactory.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“He seems fairly true to type,” I said. “If he is not what he
+professes to be, he carries it well. How about your man?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+O’Shea shrugged in his curious way.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“He obviously knows Halifax,” was the reply. “His line appears to be
+steam trawlers. Having unaccountably neglected the subject of steam
+trawlers, I am rather at a disadvantage here.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“I am equally rusty,” I confessed, “upon the neolithic fauna of South
+Africa.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+There was dancing on deck that night. Nanette danced with the faithful
+three in turn and with Slattery. Slattery secured more than his fair
+share because of the powerful backing of “Mrs. P.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Nanette was dancing with me, in a curiously abstracted way, when
+suddenly she grew animated. Her eyes sparkled. She floated in my arms
+lightly as a feather.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Following her glance, I saw O’Shea watching us.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+When I had deposited Nanette with the guardian Mrs. Porter, I returned
+to find O’Shea; for he had signalled to me. He was standing just
+inside the smoke-room door.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Adolf Zara is active,” he said in a cautious voice.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“What do you mean?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He glanced around the smoke-room warningly. I took the cue and looked
+about me. Dr. Zimmermann sat in a corner, fast asleep. Wainwright, the
+other suspect, formed one of a bridge party.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Two dispatch-cases have been forced open,” O’Shea went on, “by
+someone who entered my cabin to-night!”
+</p>
+
+
+<h3 id="ch19">
+CHAPTER XIX.<br>
+<span class="chap_sub">DR. ZIMMERMANN CALLS</span>
+</h3>
+
+<p class="noindent">
+“<span class="sc">You</span> have my authority to take any steps you may think fit, Major
+O’Shea,” said the Captain. “I have received the usual instructions and
+of course I shall do nothing without consulting you.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+We came down to the nearly deserted promenade deck. Three young men
+were doing a midnight route march there&mdash;and Nanette, coiled up,
+squirrel-like, in a furry cloak, occupied one of two chairs. The other
+accommodated Slattery. “Mrs. P.,” leaving her charge in selected
+company, had presumably retired.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Slattery was obviously elated. The chairs were set very near to the
+foot of the ladder communicating with the bridge and the commander’s
+quarters. Slattery didn’t know that Nanette had seen O’Shea go up and
+that she was patiently waiting to see him come down.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+We crossed to the rail, and leaned there, watching the clear water and
+the strange phosphorescent shapes glittering in its depths. And
+presently a slim bare arm was slipped under mine. I turned,
+startled&mdash;to find Nanette beside me.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Please may I stay for five minutes?” she said. “Or do you want to go
+to the smoke-room?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She stayed, and for longer than five minutes. Slattery had
+disappeared; and the threesome had terminated around a table decorated
+with tall glasses. We began to pace up and down, Nanette clinging to
+my arm.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Presently, as we turned, very timidly she slipped her other arm under
+O’Shea’s.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Is it true,” she asked, “that there was nearly a mutiny at a
+reinforcement camp where you were toward the end of the war? And that
+a company sergeant-major called Meakin was courtmartialled?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+O’Shea looked down at her in his gravely gentle way.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“It is not true, Nanette,” he answered. “Where did you hear the
+story?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“I didn’t believe it,” she answered indignantly, “but someone told
+me.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+O’Shea caught my side glance and smiled&mdash;the happy, revealing smile
+that had grown so rare. But after Nanette had retired, over a final
+pipe in O’Shea’s room:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Queer thing,” he murmured. “That that story should have leaked out.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“What story?” said I.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“The trouble with a group of N.C.O’s at that camp, which rumour would
+seem to have expanded to a mutiny.” He stared at me coldly. “It was
+the long arm of hidden Moscow,” he added. “We had agents of theirs in
+our ranks. Did you ever hear of it?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Vaguely, now that you remind me.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“The ringleaders managed to slip away. But it’s odd Nanette should
+have got hold of the thing. Well!” He lay back on the sofa berth and
+regarded me with raised brows. “There is nothing more to be done
+to-night.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Are you satisfied about Zimmermann and Wainwright?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“About Wainwright, yes. He had been playing since dinner time.
+Zimmermann nobody seems to have noticed. How long he had been in the
+smoke-room I can’t discover. We may safely count steam trawlers out,
+Decies. Focus on the neolithic fauna of South Africa.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Shall you turn in now?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“No,” said O’Shea, reaching up to the rack above his head for a pipe
+and tobacco pouch that lay there. “I am going to spend an hour with
+the young gentleman from the Marconi Company. Radio operators are
+sometimes inspiring.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+To reach my cabin I had to pass the smoke-room door, and, just as I
+came to it:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Either of them is old enough to be her father!” I heard.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I stepped in. The faithful three alone kept a resentful steward from
+his bed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Whose father?” said I.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Hullo, Decies!” the speaker hailed me. “Sit down and let’s have a
+doch-an’-dorris. We were talking about Nanette.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Oh!” I remarked, dropping into a chair. “What seems to be the
+difficulty?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Well,” another explained, “she has fallen flat for that chap
+Slattery; and we were saying that he’s old enough to be her father.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“He is about thirty-five,” I hazarded&mdash;“a dangerous age for a girl of
+eighteen.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Piffle!” was the retort. “Why, when she was only thirty he would be
+nearly fifty!”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Have you pointed this out to her?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Rather not! Suppose <i>you</i> have a shot. You are well in with her
+ladyship.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“I should prefer to be excused,” said I.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The profound slumbers of my Scottish friend proclaimed themselves to
+the ear as I walked along the alleyway leading to our stateroom. A
+sleeping partner who snores is difficult. When he snores in Gaelic he
+is nearly insupportable.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I undressed to a ceaseless accompaniment that I found the reverse of
+soothing. Slipping on a dressing gown, I lighted my pipe, determined
+to go out on the deserted deck; for the night was hot as Sahara; the
+sea a burnished mirror.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Off I went, and met not a soul. For half an hour or so I wandered
+aimlessly. When, at last, my pipe burned out, feeling sleepy enough to
+face the snore barrage, I retraced my steps.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Rounding the corner of the alleyway, I pulled up short.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Dr. Zimmermann had just come out of my room and was quietly closing
+the door behind him!
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I stepped back swiftly. But I was too late. He turned and saw me.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He wore an appalling red gown and a really incredible nightcap.
+Through the thick pebbles of his spectacles he beamed apologetically,
+and:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Mr. Decies&mdash;my <i>dear</i> sir!” he said, coming forward. “I can never
+forgive myselves&mdash;never!” He held up a huge pipe. “I did not know that
+you had a companion. I knock. I think I hear you sleeping. And I
+venture to come in. I am restless. The smoke-room steward is retired.
+I know you are a pipe lover, and”&mdash;he indicated the yawning bowl&mdash;“I
+have not tobacco, so, I venture.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I stared him fully in the eyes for a moment, then:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Don’t apologize,” I said. “You are welcome to a pipe.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Opening the door, I stood aside for him to enter. My pouch lay,
+conspicuous, on the bed cover, but:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“I see it there,” Zimmermann whispered, stuffing about an ounce of
+expensive mixture into his incinerator. “But you are not here.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Thanking me profusely in a thick undertone, he presently took his
+departure. I listened to his receding footsteps, then I stooped,
+pulled out my trunk, and examined the lock.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It was fast. Nor could I find a scrap of evidence to show that
+anything else in the cabin had been tampered with.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+What was I to believe? Could Dr. Zimmermann really be the formidable
+agent, Adolf Zara? If it were so, he had cool courage enough to
+justify the faith of his employers. In any event, I determined that
+O’Shea must be informed without delay of this suspicious occurrence.
+Sleep was not for me.
+</p>
+
+
+<h3 id="ch20">
+CHAPTER XX.<br>
+<span class="chap_sub">FOG IN THE CHANNEL</span>
+</h3>
+
+<p class="noindent">
+<span class="sc">Toward</span> dusk on the following day&mdash;our last evening afloat&mdash;things
+began to move to that strange revelation which solved the Zara
+mystery.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+O’Shea had been missing quite often. Several times I saw him coming
+out of the radio cabin, and he had had two long interviews with the
+commander, at the second of which the purser had attended. Then,
+having got into dinner kit, I was making for the smoke-room when I met
+him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Hello!” I called. “Any news?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He took me aside, and:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“No reply yet,” he answered.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Perhaps the authorities in Munich don’t realize the urgency of your
+message.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Perhaps not,” he said absently. “Let’s explore a cocktail.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+In the smoke-room we found Slattery and my Scottish piper; so we
+formed a quartette.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Slattery’s attitude toward O’Shea was not friendly. I excused much of
+it, feeling the real cause to be, not professional jealousy, but
+Nanette. However, O’Shea was senior and Slattery never allowed himself
+to be openly rude.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I was seated with my back to the door, when suddenly I saw a change of
+expression on three faces. I turned.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Nanette was peeping in at us. She looked adorable in a dainty lace
+frock and I saw Slattery glance aside at O’Shea in a way that was twin
+brother to murderous.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+For it was to O’Shea that Nanette was appealing.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Would it be perfectly horrible of me to come in?” she asked.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“It would be perfectly delightful, Nanette,” said I.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She came in, to the marked perturbation of the smoke-room. She sat
+between O’Shea and myself. The three musketeers, who had been talking
+loudly in a neighbouring corner, grew suddenly silent.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“If you see Mrs. P.,” said Nanette, taking a sip from my glass,
+“please hide me until I get under the table.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Dinner that night was something of an ordeal for me. Dr. Zimmermann
+talked continuously about fossils, took two servings of every course,
+and generally seemed to be in high good humour. I think my own share
+in the conversation was not marked by any unusual brilliancy.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+O’Shea’s mood rather defeated me. He was by habit a lonely man, with a
+way of sinking into himself. To-night, this phase of his temperament,
+which had expressed itself in his evasive talk, for some reason I
+found irritating.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+On the morrow we should dock. The identity of Zara remained a mystery.
+The result of O’Shea’s radio message was unknown to me. And O’Shea had
+become a sphinx.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A group having for its nucleus the faithful trio had got up an
+extempore dance on deck. A victrola belonging to Slattery provided the
+music. Mrs. Porter presided over the instrument, and Slattery and
+Nanette did most of the dancing. A few others joined for a time and
+then retired, presumably to cope with the important job of packing.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I discovered myself to be the victim of a rising excitement. Something
+was afoot. I determined to find O’Shea.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It was a longish quest, but I found him at last, He was pacing up and
+down the deserted boat-deck. As I came up the ladder he stopped and
+stared at me, then:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Hullo, Decies,” he said. “Forgive my odd behaviour. But it’s a race
+against time, and time looks like winning.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“What do you mean?” I asked blankly. “Have you had no reply?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“That’s it,” said he, “and I can’t afford to make a mistake. They
+expect fog, though. It may save the situation.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I was not at all clear on this point, but O’Shea immediately resumed
+his promenade and I perforce fell into step beside him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Zimmermann is in his cabin,” I said.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Good,” O’Shea murmured. “Where is Nanette?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The question surprised me. Very rarely indeed did O’Shea speak of
+Nanette.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“I left her with Mrs. Porter and Slattery,” I replied.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He nodded, but made no comment. Presently:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“If this dangerously clever devil slips through my fingers,” he
+declared, “Whitehall will disown me!”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And suddenly, as he spoke, an explanation of his recent behaviour
+presented itself. To the world he remained the aloof O’Shea; something
+of a poseur; a man unmoved by the trivial accidents of life. With me
+he felt that he could be real. He had treated the matter lightly
+enough, hitherto. But now, England all but in sight, and the enigma of
+Zara unsolved, he showed himself a desperately worried man.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“If I get him,” he began abruptly, after long and taciturn
+promenading, “do you know to whom the credit will belong?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“No,” I returned, puzzled.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“To Nanette,” said O’Shea.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+This silenced me effectually. For what Nanette had to do with the
+matter was about as clear as pea soup.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I left him, toward one o’clock, promising to return. I had abandoned
+the idea of sleeping; and I wanted to change. No message for O’Shea
+had come up to the time of my departure from the boat-deck. The
+wireless operator on duty was unable to conceal his intense
+excitement. Just before I came down, leaning over the half-door of his
+room:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Fog in the Channel, sir!” he announced gleefully.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Good!” said O’Shea. “Go and change, Decies.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I managed to effect a change of costume without arousing my Scottish
+friend. He snored harmoniously and uninterruptedly. When I returned to
+the deck, no trace of mist was visible. The sea looked like oil and
+the heat was oppressive. I lingered at the rail for a moment, staring
+forward to where the Cornish coast lay veiled in distance.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Right ahead, I discerned a faintly moving white speck. Then I became
+aware of someone beside me.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I turned. The Captain stood at my elbow.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“No rest for me to-night, Mr. Decies,” he said. “The Channel is a mass
+of soup.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“So I have heard,” I replied. “What’s that ahead?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“I have been wondering,” he murmured. “It looks like a motor boat&mdash;and
+right on our course. Excuse me. I might as well go up.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A few minutes later, as I rejoined O’Shea, the ship bellowed her
+warning to the small craft ahead.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+O’Shea was in the operator’s room.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“What’s that?” he asked. “Not fog already?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“No,” said I. “There’s some kind of boat in our way.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Oh,” said he. “Fisherman?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“No. It looks like a pleasure cruiser.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He stared for a moment. I had never seen him look so ill groomed. His
+wavy hair, since he had gone hatless all night, was wildly disordered.
+Then the instrument began its mysterious coughing.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+O’Shea placed his monocle carefully in position and lighted a
+cigarette. The operator adjusted the headpiece.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Here it is, sir!” he said. “At last!”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Excellent,” said O’Shea calmly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And, whilst this long-awaited message came through, the horn began its
+disturbing solo&mdash;and mist crept, damply, into the cabin. We had struck
+the outer fringe of the Channel fog.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At this moment I saw Nanette. She stood at the door, wide-eyed,
+wrapped in a furry coat. I ran out to her.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Oh!” she exclaimed, and clutched me&mdash;“where is&mdash;Major O’Shea?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She was trembling.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Nanette!” I said. “What is it? He is there&mdash;in the operator’s room.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Thank God!” I heard her whisper. Then: “I have been so frightened!”
+she went on, clinging to me. “Mrs. Porter sleeps like a log&mdash;and
+Captain Slattery came to our room a few minutes ago and knocked. I
+opened the door, not realizing who it was.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Yes?” I said, clenching my hands tightly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“He was&mdash;insane. He said&mdash;he was going to kill Major O’Shea&mdash;&mdash;”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“What’s that?” came in a cool voice.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+O’Shea stepped out on the deck. He held a slip of paper in his hand.
+The mist had closed down, now, like a blanket. Even the deep note of
+the fog-horn was muted.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“I’ve got him, Decies!” said O’Shea.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“What!”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“He sent off two code messages before my eyes were opened; and he
+received one reply. I don’t know the code.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Dimly, through the fog, a queer, high siren note reached us.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Major O’Shea!” Nanette released her grip and grasped O’Shea’s arm.
+“Are you talking about Captain Slattery?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The Marconi operator joined our party as:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Yes,” O’Shea replied, “thanks to you, Nanette! Only the Bolsheviks
+knew so much about our trouble in that camp as Slattery confided to
+you!” He turned to me. “I acted on that slender clue, Decies. The name
+of a company sergeant-major&mdash;and I was right! The <i>real</i> Captain
+Slattery is in hospital at Ladysmith!”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Good God!” said I. “Then this man&mdash;&mdash;”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Is Adolf Zara! I told you he was dangerously clever!”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Then, muffled, ghostly, it reached our ears on the boat-deck&mdash;that
+most thrilling of all sea cries:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Man overboard!”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Already the ship’s engines were running dead slow. Now they were rung
+off.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Helter-skelter we went hounding after O’Shea&mdash;to Slattery’s stateroom.
+It was empty. One of the lifebelts was missing. Out in the fog, that
+queer high siren note persisted. I thought of the white motor
+boat&mdash;and of Slattery’s radio message.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+O’Shea fixed his monocle in place. The sleeping ship was awakening to
+a growing pandemonium.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Have you a cigarette, Decies?” he said. “I have smoked all mine. It
+needs a brave man to do what Adolf Zara has done to-night. If ever I
+have the pleasure of meeting Captain Slattery again, I shall tell him
+so.”
+</p>
+
+
+<h3 id="ch21">
+CHAPTER XXI.<br>
+<span class="chap_sub">A MISSING PICTURE</span>
+</h3>
+
+<p class="noindent">
+“<span class="sc">Oh</span>, I say!” cried Jack. “This is topping!”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+His admiring gaze was set upon a photograph in my portfolio of Madeira
+snapshots. It represented a slender girl, arms raised, poised in the
+act of diving from a rock into the clear water below. In justice to
+the beauty of the model and not out of any desire to fan my artistic
+vanity, I agreed with Jack.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The original of the study, seated on the edge of a table, slim legs
+swinging restlessly, surveyed the work with less enthusiasm.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“I look painfully bare,” said Nanette severely.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Can I have a copy, Decies?” Jack asked.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Please say no,” came promptly from Nanette. “If you want a
+photograph, Jack, I had several good ones taken in Switzerland.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+We examined other items of my collection.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Hallo!” said Jack. “Who is the sportsman with the toothy smile?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He was frowning at a snapshot of Nanette coiled up in a deck chair.
+Seated very near to her, in smiling tête-à-tête, was a man whose
+white sun helmet cast a dark shadow upon his features.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Captain Slattery,” Nanette replied. “You don’t know him, Jack.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She turned over the print, giving me a swift glance. Its full
+significance rather missed me at the time. I merely supposed that this
+picture of the man we had known as “Captain Slattery” conjured up
+memories of O’Shea. And memories of O’Shea almost invariably brought
+about sudden changes of mood in little Nanette.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Later, however, having induced Jack to telephone to somebody about
+something or another, she drew me aside.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Captain Slattery is in London!” she said, speaking with suppressed
+excitement. “This was what I really came to tell you.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“What!” I exclaimed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+In the days that had lapsed since the disappearance of the notorious
+Adolf Zara, alias Captain Slattery, I had begun to share O’Shea’s view
+that this greatly daring man had perished at sea.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“I received this note from him last night,” Nanette went on. “And I
+don’t know what to do.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Opening the envelope which she handed to me, I drew out a single sheet
+of unheaded, undated paper having a cutting pinned to it. The note
+read as follows:
+</p>
+
+<blockquote>
+
+<p>
+I learn from the appended picture that you are in London. If you can
+forgive me for my behaviour and will consent to see me for a moment
+before I leave England, put a message in the Personal Column of the
+<i>Daily Planet</i> and I will arrange the rest. I can never forget you&mdash;so
+try to be kind.
+</p>
+
+<p class="rt1">
+<span class="sc">J. Slattery</span>.
+</p>
+
+</blockquote>
+
+<p>
+The picture referred to was cut from the <i>Daily Planet</i>, and showed
+Nanette as one of a group at a dance party&mdash;I forget where.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“How did he learn your address?” I asked.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“He didn’t,” said Nanette. “Look at the envelope. It was forwarded
+from the office of the <i>Planet</i>.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She watched me almost pathetically, and I divined the nature of the
+problem that was disturbing Nanette’s mind.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“I simply couldn’t do it!” she burst out. “It isn’t as though he were
+really a criminal. He <i>is</i> a criminal, I suppose, in a way. But
+political crimes leave me rather cold. And, you see&mdash;he trusts me.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Do you mean, Nanette,” I asked, “that you don’t want me to tell Major
+O’Shea?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Nanette shook her head.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Of course I don’t,” she replied. “I shouldn’t have mentioned it if I
+had meant that. What I mean is&mdash;that I am not going to do what he
+asks.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Yet he begs you to be kind,” said I, feasting my eyes on Nanette’s
+charming face which, now, wore an adorably wistful expression.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“I <i>am</i> being kind,” she retorted; then: “Oh!” she exclaimed, and,
+suddenly silent, watched the open door.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Jack’s voice might be heard. He was returning from the telephone
+downstairs and had evidently admitted visitors. A moment later they
+came in&mdash;O’Shea and an inspector of the Special Branch whom I had met
+before. He was a burly man with a rat-trap jaw, and I thought it
+probable that he could trace an unbroken descent from the first Bow
+Street runner in criminal history.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Nanette greeted O’Shea with disarming nonchalance. But the only person
+in the room who believed that she had not expected to meet him there
+was Jack. The detective, a peculiarly efficient man-hunter, as events
+were to show, smiled grimly and stared out of the window.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+O’Shea held Nanette’s hand for a moment, and then turned aside,
+twirling his monocle string around an extended forefinger.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Come along, Jack!” cried Nanette gaily. “Mumsy will be tearing the
+Berkeley down!”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Jack was only too ready to depart. His admiration of O’Shea was
+something he could not hide, and, whilst he was no psychologist, this
+very hero worship inspired distrust&mdash;where Nanette was concerned. In
+other words, he was not clever enough to know that Nanette loved
+O’Shea, but he was modest enough to wonder how any girl could spare
+him an odd glance whilst O’Shea was present.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Nanette’s vivacity became feverish. She literally danced down the
+stairs, calling farewells to everybody. But, finally, from a long way
+down:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Good-bye, Major O’Shea!” she cried.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Good-bye, Nanette,” he said, and shook Jack’s cordially extended
+hand. “Look after her, Kelton. She is well worth it.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“You’re right, sir!” Jack replied with enthusiasm&mdash;and was gone.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Now,” said O’Shea, and fixed one of his coldest stares upon me&mdash;“are
+the snapshots developed?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Yes,” I replied, almost startled by his abrupt change of manner. “The
+prints came in this morning.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“And are there any of Adolf Zara, sir?” asked the inspector.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“There is one. Unfortunately, his features are in shadow.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Let me see,” said O’Shea.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Once more my portfolio of snapshots was produced.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“This could be enlarged,” said the inspector eagerly. “It is quite
+sharp.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Does the face seem familiar?” O’Shea asked.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Vaguely. I think I have seen him somewhere. But it’s very much a case
+of a needle in a haystack. Of course, he’s far too clever to go to any
+of the known centres&mdash;always supposing he’s alive, and, being alive,
+that he’s in London.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“He is alive, and he is in London,” said I.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“What!” O’Shea rapped out the word in a parade-ground voice. “How the
+devil do you know that, Decies?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+In a very few sentences I told him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“That settles it,” said the inspector. “The rest is routine. Find the
+woman and your case is won.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+O’Shea adjusted his monocle. It was a danger signal, but the Scotland
+Yard man was ignorant of this fact.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Explain yourself, inspector,” he directed, with ominous calm.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Well&mdash;it’s clear enough,” was the reply. “I shall insert a paragraph
+in the <i>Planet</i>, and when Mr. Zara turns up, he will be met by someone
+he’s not expecting.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“You will do nothing of the kind,” said O’Shea coldly. “The assistance
+of the Special Branch has been asked for because of the facilities
+that you possess in cases of this kind. But on no account must the
+name of any friend of mine be dragged into the matter.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The atmosphere grew oppressively electrical for a moment; then:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“As you wish, sir,” returned the inspector. “But you are going to lose
+him.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“I trust not. But even so, I decline to use this lady’s name as a bait
+to trap Zara.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+No doubt the man from Scotland Yard thought the speaker mad. No doubt
+he wondered why cases of this sort were placed in charge of
+distinguished soldiers handicapped by such preposterous scruples. But
+he did not know how Fate had intertwined Nanette in this affair so
+that at every turn success or failure seemed to lie cupped in her
+little hands. He took it like a good sportsman, however.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Might I look over the other photographs?” he asked.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Certainly,” said I, and spread them before him. “The negatives are in
+the wallet. You will want the one of Zara.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But when, later, I found myself alone, and began to arrange my
+photographic gallery, I missed not one negative, but <i>two</i>. Search
+availed me nothing. The negative of Zara was gone, but so also was
+that of Nanette in the act of diving from a rock.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Jack!” I exclaimed. “Jack must have taken it!”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But I was wrong.
+</p>
+
+
+<h3 id="ch22">
+CHAPTER XXII.<br>
+<span class="chap_sub">PORTRAIT OF A GIRL DIVING</span>
+</h3>
+
+<p class="noindent">
+<span class="sc">On the</span> following morning Nanette’s mother called. One great
+disadvantage of this era of freedom is that it has taken all the kick
+out of life. Without prohibitions there can be no thrills. If a pretty
+married woman had called upon my father in his bachelor days he would
+have immediately consulted his solicitor.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She looked more like Nanette than ever. Her shapely arms were
+sunburned, and (I thought) were very beautiful so. But, as Nanette had
+done, she declared that she was ashamed of her gipsy appearance. But
+she had come with some more definite purpose than merely to chat, and
+presently the truth popped out.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Really, you know, Mr. Decies,” she said, “I don’t think it was quite
+playing the game.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I suppose I stared like an idiot.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“You know quite well what I mean,” she added, and smiled in that way
+which was so like Nanette’s.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“On the contrary,” I assured her earnestly. “I really haven’t the
+faintest idea to what you refer.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She stared at me very unblinkingly, then nodded.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“I can see you haven’t,” she confessed. “Perhaps you didn’t think
+there was any harm in it&mdash;and, of course, I admit the excellence of
+the charity. But I’m afraid it will get her talked about. At least,
+you might have consulted me.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Please&mdash;please!” I entreated. “Take pity upon me. You are clearly
+referring to something of which I have no knowledge whatever&mdash;&mdash;”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Mr. Decies,” she interrupted&mdash;and held out a newspaper which she
+carried&mdash;“I am referring to the picture in the <i>Daily Planet</i>.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“But what have I to do with the pictures in the <i>Daily Planet</i>?” I
+asked blankly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Since you took the picture in question, the connection in this case
+is obvious.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Dazedly, I opened the copy of the <i>Planet</i> which she handed to me&mdash;and
+there, prominently featured, was a large reproduction of my snapshot
+of Nanette diving! The caption read:
+</p>
+
+<blockquote>
+
+<p>
+A charming study of a charming diver. No wonder Madeira grows more
+popular every season. The original photograph is on view in the Modern
+Gallery, Bond Street, amongst a collection offered for sale in aid of
+St. Dunstan’s Institute for Blinded Soldiers.
+</p>
+
+</blockquote>
+
+<p>
+To say that I was staggered is to convey but a feeble idea of my frame
+of mind. I stared at the picture until I seemed to see it dimly
+through a haze. When, at last, I looked up and met the reproachful
+gaze of Nanette’s mother, I was temporarily past comment.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+My innocence must have proclaimed itself, for:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Mr. Decies,” she said, and I saw her expression change, “I must
+apologize. You evidently are as surprised as I was. But this only
+deepens the mystery. Did you develop this film yourself?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“No,” I answered. “It was on one of several spools which I brought
+back. The Kodak people developed it. But&mdash;&mdash;”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I stopped short. The truth had presented itself to me. One of four
+people had taken this unaccountable liberty with the photograph. Jack,
+the inspector, O’Shea, or Nanette herself. For I had no evidence to
+show which of these four had removed the negative from the wallet.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Yes?” Nanette’s mother prompted.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“The firm in question certainly knows nothing of the matter,” I went
+on. “You see, I missed this negative yesterday.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“You mean that someone stole it?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Stole it or borrowed it.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“But with what object?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Presumably a philanthropic one,” said I, very blankly. “Nobody
+profits&mdash;except the charity.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“It resembles the work of an enemy&mdash;if one can imagine Nan having an
+enemy. Unfortunately, it is a perfect likeness. In fact, it was
+brought to my notice by someone. Personally, I don’t read the
+<i>Planet</i>.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“What does Nanette think about it?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“She doesn’t know. That is, she had already gone out when the paper
+was shown to me. She may know by now. I am afraid it will earn her a
+rather unenviable notoriety.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I promised that I would thresh the matter out, but as I had a luncheon
+appointment all I could hope to do immediately was to ring up the
+<i>Planet</i> and speak to the department responsible.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+This led to nowhere.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The art editor was out, and apparently no other member of the staff
+knew anything whatever about the photograph&mdash;or about anything else.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I lunched that day at the Savoy Grill. So did nearly everybody who had
+been in Funchal whilst Nanette was there. The room appeared to be
+decorated with copies of the <i>Planet</i>, and my reception would have
+gratified Gene Tunney and overwhelmed Douglas Fairbanks. I grew
+stickily embarrassed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Finally, I made my escape&mdash;and in the lobby ran into Jack.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“I say, Decies,” he exclaimed, “it’s hardly good enough. Nanette
+kicked at the picture from the first. Now you go and publish it!”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Stop!” I said sharply. “This is the last time I shall explain the
+fact to anyone. But I did not send Nanette’s photograph to the
+<i>Planet</i>. Except that someone stole the negative from the portfolio at
+my rooms yesterday, I know nothing whatever about the matter.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“<i>Stole</i> it!”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Exactly.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“But when?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“I missed it just after you had gone. In fact, Jack, I thought at the
+time you had borrowed it to have a copy made.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Good heavens, no! She didn’t want me to have it.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Then the mystery remains a mystery.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“It’s so objectless!” cried Jack. “A photograph like that is just good
+fun amongst friends, but one doesn’t want the million readers of the
+<i>Planet</i> to see it. This defeats me! Have you rung up the office?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Yes. I could get no satisfaction. I am going along to the Modern
+Gallery now.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“I’ll come with you!” said Jack.
+</p>
+
+
+<h3 id="ch23">
+CHAPTER XXIII.<br>
+<span class="chap_sub">FIASCO</span>
+</h3>
+
+<p class="noindent">
+<span class="sc">A curious</span> episode marked our arrival at the gallery. On the opposite
+side of Bond Street, you may recall that there is a block of offices
+and showrooms, occupied by beauty specialists, modistes, and others.
+Well, at the entrance to the gallery, where an announcement stated
+that an exhibition of modern drawings and art photographs was being
+held in aid of, etc., we bumped into one of Nanette’s Madeira
+conquests.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Hallo, Milton!” said I.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The young man, who had been leaning against the doorway and staring
+abstractedly across the street, became galvanized into sudden action.
+He gave a swift look at me, a second look at Jack, and then:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Hallo, Decies,” he returned in an oddly guilty way.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Immediately he stared across the street again. At which moment came a
+cry from Jack.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Gad! There’s Nanette!”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Where?” I asked.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“In that window, on the first floor there. She has seen us, I think.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I followed the direction of his gaze. The window indicated belonged to
+an expert organizer of female hair. An attractive wax bust was visible
+but no Nanette. I turned to Milton.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“<i>Is</i> Nanette there?” I asked.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“I couldn’t say,” he replied evasively.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Jack gave him a venomous glance and started across the street.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“We can see for ourselves,” he snapped.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I looked inquiringly at the young man in the doorway, but he returned
+my regard with so high a challenge that I wondered, checked the words
+on my tongue, and followed Jack.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+We mounted the stairway to the first landing, and Jack threw open a
+door bearing the simple legend “Pierre” with quite unnecessary
+violence. We found ourselves in a discreet waiting room delicately
+perfumed. A stout French gentleman, whose wavy gleaming locks were a
+credit to his professional acquirements, greeted us. He bowed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“I have called for a lady who is here,” said Jack. “Please tell her
+Mr. Decies and Mr. Kelton.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“But there is some mistake,” Pierre replied&mdash;assuming that this was
+none other than the maestro in person. “No one is here at the
+moment&mdash;unless you mean Mlle. Justine, my assistant.” He raised his
+voice. “Justine!”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A trim figure in white appeared at the door of an inner sanctuary
+sacred to hair.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“M’sieur?” said Justine, and bestowed upon us a swift glance of
+roguish dark eyes.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“You are alone?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Yes, m’sieur. I am waiting for Lady Rickaby whose appointment is at
+three.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She bit her lip, suppressing a smile, and disappeared.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“You see?” M. Pierre extended apologetic palms. “There is no one.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“What’s afoot?” Jack asked as we regained Bond Street. “That fat bird
+was lying. The girl gave it away. Nanette is hiding from us.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+We stared at each other, badly puzzled. Then we looked across to where
+Milton lounged in the entrance to the Modern Gallery, seemingly
+oblivious of our existence.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Come on!” said Jack savagely.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+We joined the waiting Milton.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Have you seen the famous picture?” I asked.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“No,” he replied, “I haven’t.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Jack made a snorting noise, then, paying a shilling each, we went into
+the exhibition. We found it to be far from crowded, and, indeed, the
+artistic donations were not of outstanding merit. Quite the most
+interesting exhibit was the lady in charge of the sales department.
+And, at the end of a ten minutes’ quest, we sought her aid.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Perhaps you could tell me,” said I, “where the picture is that was
+reproduced in to-day’s <i>Planet</i>&mdash;a portrait of a girl diving.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Whereupon the lady addressed began to laugh!
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Jack’s expression was worthy of study. In the eyes of poor Jack,
+anything touching Nanette was sacred, and this was the second time in
+one afternoon that inquiries concerning her had provoked merriment.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“I wish I could!” was the reply. “Really, it’s most absurd. But all
+the same the publicity has done the exhibition a lot of good. Forgive
+my laughter, but, you see, we know nothing whatever about this
+picture!”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“What!”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Jack’s exclamation was not merely rude; it was explosive.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“It has never been here,” she went on. “Dozens of people have asked
+about it. But <i>we</i> have never seen it. The secretary ’phoned the
+<i>Planet</i> this morning and was told that they had used the photograph
+in good faith.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“But who sent it to them?” I asked.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“I am afraid I can’t tell you,” was the answer. “All we could learn
+was that it had been sent in by a responsible agency. Personally, of
+course, we are rather grateful.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+In silence Jack and I departed. Milton was standing in Bond Street
+just outside the doorway.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Good-bye, Milton,” I said. “Let’s hope it keeps fine.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Good-bye, Decies,” said he, jauntily imperturbable.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Jack glanced sharply up at M. Pierre’s windows; but only the wax bust
+rewarded his scrutiny.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“I am beginning to hate your friend Milton,” he confided.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“He is not so popular with <i>me</i>,” I confessed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Come round to the club,” Jack suggested. “This thing calls for cool
+reflection.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I left him at four o’clock. We had telephoned Nanette’s mother, only
+to learn that Nanette had not returned. The whole thing was
+provokingly mysterious. It had entirely diverted my thoughts from the
+more serious problem of the capture of Adolf Zara. In fact, I could
+not shake my mind free of it.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+That Nanette had been hiding in the establishment of M. Pierre, I no
+longer doubted. And that Milton had some part in the comedy was clear
+enough. Poor fellow, I regarded him in a more charitable spirit than
+Jack had at command. Nanette had been using him&mdash;for what purpose I
+could not imagine&mdash;and his reward would be small.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Some association between Nanette, at M. Pierre’s, and Milton, in the
+entrance of the Modern Gallery, seemed to be established. But since
+Nanette’s photograph was not in the gallery, why this association&mdash;and
+conveying what?
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Nothing&mdash;in so far as my bewildered brain served me.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+So I mused, as I drifted along Pall Mall. I determined to hunt up
+O’Shea, when, suddenly, I saw something which called me to prompt
+action.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A taxi turned a corner at the very moment I was about to cross. In it
+sat Nanette&mdash;and Adolf Zara!
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It is in such moments of stress as this that vacant cabs magically
+disappear from the streets. No fewer than five taximen had solicited
+my patronage during the few minutes that had elapsed since I had left
+Jack.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Now, with a dangerous agitator wanted by the British Government
+disappearing in the distance, from end to end of Pall Mall not a taxi
+was in sight!
+</p>
+
+<p>
+When at last one crept into view, pursuit was out of the question.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+If I had been perplexed before, perplexity now gave place to
+consternation. The comedy of Bond Street had been no more than a gay
+curtain draped before a stage set for drama. I tried in vain to allot
+the actors their proper rôles. What part did the missing photograph
+play? How came Zara in the cast? What of Milton? And what of Nanette?
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It was not far to my chambers, and I hurried back, with the intention
+of ’phoning O’Shea.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I met him at the door.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Those who enjoyed the privilege of seeing Edmond O’Shea in action
+relate that when things were going hopelessly wrong he would fix his
+monocle immovably in his eye and retain it there, contrary to
+regulations, throughout the hottest fighting. He was wearing it now.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Hallo, O’Shea!” I called. “This is lucky! I want to see you badly.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“I came to see <i>you</i>, Decies,” said he. “There is something I wish you
+to know.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Having opened the door and hurried him upstairs:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Don’t jump to conclusions,” I began. “But Nanette met Zara this
+afternoon.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+O’Shea stared at me incredulously.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Where?” he demanded.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“I don’t know where. But I saw them together not ten minutes ago.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He hesitated for a moment; then:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Tell me all about it,” he said calmly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+In as few words as possible I outlined the events of the day,
+terminating with my glimpse of Nanette and Adolf Zara together in Pall
+Mall.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“It is a blank mystery to me, O’Shea,” I said. “I simply cannot
+understand what it’s all about.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“To me,” he replied, “it is equally, but painfully, clear.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“What do you mean?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“In the first place,” said he, “our friend the inspector borrowed your
+negative of Nanette.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“The inspector! In heaven’s name, what for?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Because he happens to be a clever man at his trade. I declined to
+allow him to insert a paragraph in Nanette’s name. But he was by no
+means defeated. He employed certain official channels and secured the
+publication of her photograph.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“With what object?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“You recall the words that appeared under the picture?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Clearly. But the original was <i>not</i> in Bond Street.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Quite unnecessary that it should be, Decies. Our friend the inspector
+was in Bond Street, however.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I think I was gaping like an imbecile.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“You are simply confusing me, O’Shea,” I managed to say.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Yes,” he admitted. “No doubt the scheme is difficult to grasp. You
+see&mdash;the inspector banked on Zara’s infatuation for Nanette. He judged
+it, no doubt, by the risk that Zara ran in communicating with her.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Good heavens!” I cried. “I see it all! He hoped in this way to lure
+Zara to the gallery?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Certainly. He thought that Zara would probably come, first, to secure
+the picture, and, second, possibly to obtain a glimpse of Nanette in
+person.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“And you say the inspector was there? I didn’t see him.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“I did!” said O’Shea grimly. “He was in an office at the end of the
+gallery&mdash;with the door ajar. The girl in charge knew he was there on
+some police business, but she did not know that it had any connection
+with the missing print. I gave him a crisp five minutes. But,
+officially, he was within his rights&mdash;and he knew it, dash him!”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“O’Shea,” I said, “I can’t fit Nanette and young Milton into the
+picture.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+O’Shea’s expression changed, softened.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“I wonder?” he murmured. “She has a high spirit, and, I am beginning
+to think, a keen brain. Decies!”&mdash;he suddenly grasped my
+shoulder&mdash;“how happy some man is going to be, some day!”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He turned aside abruptly, and walked into the inner room where my
+modest library formed a haven of refuge. Vaguely, as we had talked, I
+had grown aware of voices below. My man was one of the speakers; the
+other voice had been inaudible throughout.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Then I heard the door open behind me. I looked. And there was Nanette!
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But, even as I was about to greet her, I checked the words. I had seen
+Nanette merry; I had seen her sad. I knew her moods of coquetry and of
+contrition. But, always, save once, I had thought of her as a child. I
+did not know her as I saw her now.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“I thought you were my friend,” she said. “I thought I could trust
+you. If I had had one little doubt I would never have told you&mdash;&mdash;”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Nanette,” I began&mdash;&mdash;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But she checked me with a sad, angry gesture.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“You are no better than <i>he</i> is,” she went on bitterly; “for you
+helped him. Heavens, what a fool I have been! And he only thinks of me
+as a <i>bait</i> for his traps!”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Stop!” I cried. “For heaven’s sake, stop, Nanette!”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“He was right,” she pursued, stonily ignoring me, and looking
+unseeingly, miserably, before her as she spoke. “Captain Slattery
+came. But I had arranged to warn him.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I remembered Milton and his watch upon the window of M. Pierre. Then,
+abruptly, her mood changed. The blue eyes, which were so sweetly
+childish, blazed at me.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“No man, however bad he is, shall ever be lured to ruin by <i>me</i>. Tell
+Major O’Shea that Captain Slattery is laughing at him!”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“He is entitled to laugh, Nanette,” said a grave voice.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+O’Shea came out from the recess and stood watching her.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A moment she confronted him, then:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Good-bye!” she said.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Turning, Nanette ran from the room. I heard the street door slam.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“O’Shea!” I cried. “Why didn’t you tell her?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“It is better she should think as she does,” he replied. “Fate has
+done what I failed to do. Now she will forget.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I have often wondered, since, if he believed it would be so. I have
+tried, knowing the man’s honesty of soul, to conceive that he hoped it
+would be so. What <i>I</i> believed or what I hoped I cannot pretend to
+record. But, at some hour past midnight, I learned that Nanette was
+unwilling to ignore the promptings of her heart.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Dejectedly, I sat smoking a lonely pipe, when the ’phone bell rang. I
+took up the receiver. I think I knew who had called me, even before I
+heard her voice.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Is that you, Mr. Decies?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Yes, Nanette.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“I am so miserable, because&mdash;&mdash;”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She hesitated.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Because of what?” I prompted gently.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Because I never gave you a chance to explain. Oh, Mr. Decies! Tell
+me&mdash;<i>is</i> there something I don’t know?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Why, yes&mdash;there is,” I replied. “You don’t know that Major O’Shea and
+I were totally ignorant of the plot to trap the man you call Captain
+Slattery.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Oh!” came, as a sort of sigh, broken by a sob. “And I told him&mdash;&mdash;
+Mr. Decies, do you think you can ever forgive me?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“I <i>do</i> forgive you, Nanette.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“And do you think&mdash;&mdash; Good-night!”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Nanette!” I called. “Nanette!” But there was no answer.
+</p>
+
+
+<h3 id="ch24">
+CHAPTER XXIV.<br>
+<span class="chap_sub">PETER PAN</span>
+</h3>
+
+<p class="noindent">
+<span class="sc">A delicious</span> haze hung over the Serpentine, by which token I knew
+that a warm day might be expected. Votaries of Peter Pan were few, for
+the morning was young as yet, but I sat watching him in his green
+temple and I thought how puzzled some archæologist of the future was
+going to be.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Strange to reflect that a Scotsman should add to the ranks of the
+gods; stranger still that his immortal child should find himself so
+completely at home upon Olympus. More and more strange the reflection
+that none of the older gods were jealous.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Children of course came to pay tribute, and I think it was this
+morning I learned for the first time that there are many juvenile
+citizens whose day is incomplete unless they have made offering&mdash;a
+laugh, a pointed finger, a fleeting glance&mdash;to the god of that dear
+world which is hidden from most of us behind the gates of innocence.
+To many an exile under palm and pine, the coming of spring means
+dreams of crocuses and Peter Pan in Kensington Gardens.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I was suffering from a fit of physical and mental restlessness. I
+could not clear my mind of the idea that some imminent peril
+threatened O’Shea. That Nanette was involved, I feared, but tried hard
+not to believe. Experience of that Red organization known as the S
+Group had shown its members to be frankly unscrupulous; and Nanette
+had blindly involved herself with one of them. I knew why she had done
+it, but the man, Adolf Zara, could not know. For Nanette, Zara had
+ceased to exist. I doubted that the reverse was true.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The peace of the morning and the beauty of the lake mocked me. In the
+long encounter between O’Shea and the S Group, honours had gone to the
+enemy. But the battle was not yet over. Instinct and common sense
+alike told me that the worst was yet to come.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+My ceaseless meditations along these lines had earned me a sleepless
+night, and I think I had sought out this spot beside the Serpentine
+with some vague idea of finding peace.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Now, coming out of a brown study and looking up, I observed a figure
+approaching along the path. It was that of a girl very simply dressed
+in a gray walking suit, and wearing a tight-fitting hat, which I
+should have described as claret-coloured but for which the fashion
+journals no doubt have a better name. Her fingers listlessly
+interlocked, she came slowly along, looking down at the path and
+sometimes kicking a pebble aside. Never once did she look up, not even
+when she arrived before Peter Pan, until:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Good-morning, Nanette!” said I.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Then she stopped as suddenly as though a physical obstacle had checked
+her.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Good heavens!” she replied, tore herself from a land of dreams and
+stared at me, smiling. But her smile was not exactly a happy one.
+“It’s like a musical comedy, isn’t it?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Why?” I asked.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Well, everybody turning up at the same place for no reason!”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Not everybody,” said I.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Well&mdash;no.” Nanette hesitated, and then sat down beside me on the
+bench. “Not everybody.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Curiously enough,” I went on, “I was thinking about you.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Nanette stared at the point of her shoe.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Must be telepathy,” she murmured.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Why? Were you thinking about me?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Yes.” She nodded. “I shall never forgive myself for what I have
+done.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“You mean&mdash;about Adolf Zara?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“About Captain Slattery, yes.” She turned to me. “You see, I always
+think of him as ‘Slattery.’&hairsp;”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Does that make you like him any better, Nanette?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“No,” she admitted; “I have never liked him. But, well&mdash;you know how I
+felt about him? Does Major O’Shea know that I know?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“You mean,” I suggested, “does he know that you no longer suspect him
+of using you as a lure?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Nanette nodded without looking up.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“I have had no opportunity of telling him,” said I. “But I expect to
+see him to-day.” I rested my hand upon hers, which lay listlessly on
+the seat beside her. “May I talk to you quite honestly?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Of course,” said Nanette, but still did not look up.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“I want to tell you,” I went on, “that the man you call Captain
+Slattery, but whose real name is Adolf Zara, is not as civilized as he
+appears to be. He is a member of a very dangerous organization. I hope
+you will make a point of avoiding him.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“I am never going to see him again,” Nanette declared.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She spoke abstractedly, and it dawned upon me that her interest was
+centred less upon this matter of her perilous acquaintance with a
+member of the S Group than upon the passers-by. I attached little
+significance to the fact at the time, and:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“I am only anxious about your personal safety,” I said. “Anything you
+care to tell me, I shall keep to myself. Are you sure that Captain
+Slattery does not mean to see <i>you</i> again?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Nanette looked aside at me.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I thought that, since Adolf Zara was human, my question had been
+rather superfluous. O’Shea, who was no alarmist, had admitted that the
+secret organization of these people was extensive and efficient. Wild
+ideas assailed my mind, but:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Of course, we are no longer in the lonely island of Madeira,” I went
+on, “but in the capital of a civilized country. All the same, Nanette,
+I should be glad to know that Zara was no longer in England.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“So should I,” she admitted, and looked away again.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The words were simple enough, but, from what I knew of Nanette, I
+detected an unfamiliar note in her voice. I was not sorry to hear it,
+although it was a note of fear. It told me that my warning had been
+unnecessary. Nanette knew that Zara was a dangerous man.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“I have been wondering what I should do,” she began suddenly. “But now
+I have made up my mind.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She opened her handbag and took out a twisted scrap of paper.
+Smoothing it carefully, she passed it to me, and:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Captain Slattery dropped this yesterday,” she said, “while he was
+with me in a taxi. I think, perhaps&mdash;&mdash;”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She hesitated.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Yes?” said I, glancing at what was written on the paper.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“It’s so odd that I think, perhaps, you should show it to&mdash;your
+friend.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Watching her as she spoke, I wondered at the scheme of things;
+wondered whether she would outlive a romance born in a jewelled
+island, or whether, despite her youth, it was real, for good or ill,
+this love of hers for O’Shea.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I suppressed a sigh, and bent over the writing. This was what I read:
+</p>
+
+<blockquote>
+
+<p>
+Book from Charing Cross to the British Museum. From the Mansion House
+also it is no distance to the British Museum. Hyde Park there is a
+station. Change at Charing Cross for Piccadilly. Bond Street is merely
+Bond Street, and two London Bridges are better than one Bond Street.
+But the Mansion House and the British Museum are national
+institutions, and Berkeley Square pulled down or Berkeley Square blown
+up would only lead to the Old Bailey. Residents at the Crystal Palace
+rarely moved to Berkeley Square, and the Tower Bridge is new whilst
+London Bridge is old. Meet you in Bond Street.
+</p>
+
+</blockquote>
+
+<p>
+I raised my eyes. Nanette was stifling laughter. Now she stifled it no
+longer. And Nanette’s laughter was very sweet music.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Of course,” she confessed, “I know it <i>seems</i> perfectly idiotic! But
+one never knows. It may mean a general strike or something. But
+whatever it means, I shall have to be pushing along. I am meeting
+Mumsy at Marshall’s.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She stood up, looking sharply to right and left, and I wondered what
+this might portend. However, we took the path to the Gate, walking
+very slowly, and from there proceeded in a taxi.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I dropped Nanette at her destination and was standing outside the shop
+wondering whether to walk over to the Club or to hunt up O’Shea, when
+an explanation of this chance meeting presented itself.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+O’Shea, I recalled, had once said, in Nanette’s presence, that when he
+had a difficult problem upon his mind, he varied the ordinary routine
+of a London morning. Other duties permitting, he walked as far as
+Peter Pan, and in the presence of the little god not infrequently
+discovered a solution of his difficulties.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Nanette had been unfortunate. This morning O’Shea had not come.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I reëntered the taxi which I had kept waiting, and:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Lancaster Gate,” I directed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Why I did so I have no idea; but experience has taught me that the
+motives which prompt many far-reaching actions are so obscure as to
+defy subsequent research.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Discharging the man, I set out along that path beside the Serpentine.
+The hour was now approaching noon, and platoons of white-capped
+nursemaids promenaded with the younger generation. I found myself
+surrounded by future society beauties; statesmen who would be making
+laws when I was an old man; great soldiers destined to save the
+British Empire from enemies yet unborn; actresses whose reputations
+might overshadow the memory of Sarah Bernhardt; princesses, dukes,
+vagabonds, thieves; some in perambulators, others in miniature
+automobiles, some toddling; a fascinating crowd.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Then I awakened from my day dream. Standing squarely in front of Peter
+Pan, and watching that youthful deity with a fixed stare, was O’Shea!
+He remained unaware of my presence until I touched him on the
+shoulder.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He turned swiftly. And I saw a far-away look in his gray eyes
+instantly change to one of close scrutiny; then:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Decies,” he said, “I am glad to see you. I learned something last
+night.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“What?” I said.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“I learned why Adolf Zara has come to England! The president of the S
+Group&mdash;a person with the mentality of a Tomsky and the morals of a
+baboon&mdash;is one Schmidt.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Well?” said I.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Schmidt is in London!”
+</p>
+
+<h3 id="ch25">
+CHAPTER XXV.<br>
+<span class="chap_sub">THE SECOND MESSAGE</span>
+</h3>
+
+<p class="noindent">
+“<span class="sc">Of course</span>,” I said, “it may mean nothing.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+O’Shea raised his eyes from the extraordinary communication that I had
+handed to him, and:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Or it may mean everything!” he added.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+We sat on that bench by the water’s edge where I had met Nanette.
+O’Shea continued his scrutiny of the message, and, looking over his
+shoulder, I read it again for perhaps the twentieth time. Its
+absurdity fogged me. Passers-by ceased to exist, and I forgot Peter
+Pan.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Perhaps,” said I, “it is some kind of code.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Since it is otherwise meaningless,” O’Shea murmured, without raising
+his eyes, “your suggestion is excellent. You will have noticed that
+there are three references to the British Museum and that the
+expression ‘Two London Bridges’ occurs?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“I had not particularly noticed this,” I admitted.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Two London Bridges,” O’Shea went on musingly. “Very interesting&mdash;very
+interesting. You see where I mean?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He indicated the passage with the rim of his monocle.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Quite,” said I eagerly. “But Charing Cross, Berkeley Square, and Bond
+Street also occur several times.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“But only Bond Street and Berkeley Square crop up in pairs,” he
+replied, “if we exclude the brace of London Bridges.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And now, as we sat there pondering over this nonsensical piece of
+writing, came a strange interruption.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Have you seen Comrade Zara?” said a guttural voice.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I looked up sharply. A stout German obstructed my view of Kensington
+Gardens. His ample face was draped in a pleasant smile, and he
+surveyed O’Shea and myself through a pair of spectacles that resembled
+portholes. No doubt I was gaping like an imbecile but O’Shea rose to
+the situation lightly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“He is here,” he replied calmly. “Are you from Comrade Schmidt?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“I am,” said the German. His smile disappeared. Relieved of it, his
+face was frankly sinister. “Have you seen Comrade Wilson?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Perhaps it is unnecessary to state that emerging from a perusal of the
+letter about Hyde Park, Bond Street, and Berkeley Square, and finding
+myself plunged into this apparently inane conversation, I began to
+doubt my own sanity; but:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“<i>This</i> is Comrade Wilson,” said O’Shea gravely, and waved his hand in
+my direction!
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The German nodded in a very brusque way.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Show me the order,” he demanded.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+O’Shea held up the demented document we had been reading; whereupon:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Good,” said our eccentric acquaintance. “Quick! The order for
+to-night!” He passed an envelope to O’Shea. “I am followed.
+Good-morning.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He moved off hurriedly, and I was still staring in speechless
+astonishment when a thick-set man wearing a blue suit and a soft hat,
+and who, without resembling a straggler from the Row, might have been
+a Colonial visitor, came along the path. One keen side-glance he gave
+us, and then disappeared in the wake of our Teutonic acquaintance.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“O’Shea&mdash;&mdash;” I began; but:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“After all,” he interrupted me, “one must admit that the Scotland Yard
+people are efficient. That was a detective-inspector of the Special
+Branch.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Do you mean he is following the German?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Undoubtedly.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“But why should he follow him? Who was the German?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“I haven’t the faintest idea!” O’Shea replied.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“But he mentioned Zara! And you seemed to know him.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+O’Shea adjusted his monocle and looked me over in a way that I didn’t
+like.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Really, Decies,” he replied, “considering the admirable assistance
+which you have given me in this matter&mdash;for which I shall always be
+grateful&mdash;there are times when you defeat me. Why our German friend
+reposed his confidence in us I have no more idea than the Man in the
+Moon, nor why he confided this letter to my keeping. But his reference
+to Zara brands him a member of the S Group, without the significant
+fact that he is being followed by an officer of the Special Branch,
+whom I chance to know but who does not know me. The weary arm of
+coincidence is not long enough to embrace all these happenings,
+Decies. There is some other explanation. Let us see if it is here.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He tore open the envelope and withdrew a single sheet of paper. I bent
+forward eagerly, and over his shoulder read the following:
+</p>
+
+<blockquote>
+
+<p>
+Charing Cross, London Bridge, Hyde Park, and the Strand are all worthy
+of a visit. Kingsway is modern, but the British Museum, Tower Bridge,
+the Mansion House, especially the British Museum, must not be
+neglected. Hyde Park merits several visits. The Mansion House, or the
+British Museum, can be done in one day, but Hyde Park is the only Hyde
+Park, whilst Piccadilly and the Strand are merely thoroughfares. The
+British Museum exhibit 365A is not in the National Gallery. The
+Crystal Palace does not resemble Buckingham Palace and Bond Street is
+not the Station for the Crystal Palace. Shepherd’s Market is a
+survival. But book at Kingsway. Meet you at the Mansion House.
+</p>
+
+</blockquote>
+
+<p>
+“And now,” said O’Shea, “you know as much as I do!”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I stared at him blankly, and, as I stared, heard clocks, near and
+remote, strike the hour of noon. O’Shea suddenly thrust the second
+letter into his pocket and began to study that which Nanette had given
+to me.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He looked up, staring intently at the figure of Peter Pan, then:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Twelve o’clock,” he muttered. “Does the fact that it is twelve
+o’clock convey anything to you, Decies?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Nothing,” I confessed, “except that I feel thirsty.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But it had conveyed something more to O’Shea. A distinguished officer
+is not relieved of his ordinary duties and dispatched to the Argentine
+upon the toss of a coin. He is selected for his special
+qualifications. That O’Shea’s qualifications were extensive I had
+already learned; that they were also peculiar was beginning to dawn
+upon me.
+</p>
+
+
+<h3 id="ch26">
+CHAPTER XXVI.<br>
+<span class="chap_sub">THE CRYPTOGRAM</span>
+</h3>
+
+<p class="noindent">
+<span class="sc">Nanette</span> was with a party at the Hippodrome that night, and I had
+promised to look in during the interval. The curtain had just fallen
+and the orchestra was playing as I entered with O’Shea. The manager
+met us at the top of the steps.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+No doubt you remember him. He is unforgettable, being the best-dressed
+manager in Europe. He was delighted to meet O’Shea and much happier in
+greeting an officer of the Household troops who had come in for a
+drink than in endorsing a plebeian check for the use of the Royal box.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Nanette came running out ahead of her party and stopped dead on seeing
+O’Shea. He bowed in his grave, courtly fashion. She glanced at me
+swiftly, and then:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Oh, Major O’Shea,” she said, “I want to ask you to forgive me!”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“And I want to thank you,” said he.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“To thank me?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Nanette looked up at him and then down again very swiftly. She began
+tapping her foot upon the rubber-coated floor.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“To thank you,” he repeated, “once more. It seems to be my happy fate,
+Nanette, to be always thanking you.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“But what have you to thank me for?” she asked, industriously studying
+the point of her shoe.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“For giving me an opportunity of redeeming my many failures.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Nanette looked up&mdash;she was quite calm again&mdash;and met his eyes bravely.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Some of them,” she said, “have been my fault.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“You are wrong,” O’Shea assured her. “The fault has been mine from the
+very beginning.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“What do you mean?” she asked; and I turned aside, joining some
+friends who had just come out from the stalls.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+In spite of my determination about Nanette, it still hurt a little bit
+to see that light in her eyes.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“I mean,” I heard O’Shea reply, “that I have tried to do something
+that is impossible.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I heard no more, nor did I want to.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+That bell which indicates the rise of the curtain releases from the
+bars of a London theatre certain characteristic types. The wet man
+returning guiltily with guarded breath to his dry wife in the stalls,
+having stepped out to “smoke a cigarette.” The bored man, who is
+present under protest, and who goes to his seat like a martyr to the
+stake. The victim of jazzitis who dances with his girl friend in the
+lobby, and post-mortem examination of whose skull reveals the presence
+of several perfectly formed saxophones but nothing else.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The curtain was about to rise and practically everybody was seated
+when I learned that Nanette had straggled. She stood with O’Shea in
+the opening at the back of the stalls. And I thought that I had never
+before seen her so animated in his company.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Envied model of her girl friends, Nanette was a paragon of
+self-possession in the company of all men, or had been until she had
+met O’Shea. Never, hitherto, had I seen her at her ease with him. But
+to-night she was&mdash;realized that she was&mdash;and her happy excitement will
+be good to remember when I am ten years older.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+One hand resting upon his arm, she looked up, talking gaily. He, too,
+had relaxed, as any man must have done finding himself in the company
+of an adorably pretty and spirited girl who loved him so much that she
+didn’t care who knew. He was laughing like a schoolboy.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The curtain was up before Nanette tore herself away. She was very
+flushed, and I know her heart was beating wildly. I pitied her escort,
+foreseeing that she would be abstracted throughout the remainder of
+the evening.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+O’Shea turned to me, and his eyes were still glistening happily.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Well, Decies,” said he, “what are you thinking?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“I am thinking,” I replied honestly, “that we are about of an age.
+That if Nanette had looked at me as I saw her looking at you, I should
+have asked her to marry me before I let her go back to her seat.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He stared very hard, his expression changing from second to second;
+then:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Being Celtic,” he said, “I suppose I am superstitious. At every turn
+since I have met her Nanette has intruded in my life. I am beginning
+to wonder.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“About what are you thinking in particular?” I asked.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“About the letter that Zara dropped in the cab and that Nanette gave
+to you.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Have you fathomed it?” I asked excitedly&mdash;“and the other?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Both are in the same code. But without the first I doubt that I
+should have been able to read the second.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Then you <i>have</i> read them?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“I have,” O’Shea replied; “and this time Nanette has dealt me a full
+hand.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+His suppressed excitement communicated itself to me.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“What have you learned?” I said eagerly. “Can I be of any assistance?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Your assistance is indispensable!” he returned. “Are you game?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Every time!”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Good enough. Let us go along to your rooms, and I will explain what
+to-night has in store for us.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+As the taxi that we presently hailed threaded its way through the
+traffic of Cranbourne Street, and on through that of Piccadilly, I
+glanced aside several times at my silent companion. I wondered if his
+abstraction might be ascribed to the problem of the S Group, or to
+that of Nanette. Not being an O’Shea, I hesitated to judge. But my
+vote was for Nanette.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Arrived at my rooms and having sampled the whisky and soda:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Now,” O’Shea began, “the mantle of Edgar Allan Poe not having fallen
+upon my shoulders, I doubt that I should have solved this cipher but
+for the happy coincidence of meeting our German friend in the very
+shadow of Peter Pan. You will recall, too, that at the moment of his
+departure, the clocks were chiming the hour of noon.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“I remember,” said I.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“I turned it over in my mind, considering the thing from every
+conceivable angle. Before I tackled the cipher&mdash;for of course the
+messages were palpably written in some kind of cipher&mdash;one fact was
+plain enough to me.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“What was that?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“The fact that Zara, an important member of the S Group, was not known
+by sight to the member who spoke to us! He mistook <i>me</i> for Zara, and
+he mistook <i>you</i> for one Comrade Wilson, of whom I had never heard,
+and respecting whom I have no instructions.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“So far I agree,” said I, “but what I simply cannot make out is why
+this deranged German should walk up to two perfect strangers seated in
+Kensington Gardens and take it for granted that they were the people
+he was looking for.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“His opening remark was non-committal,” O’Shea reminded me,
+reflectively sipping his whisky and soda.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Certainly it was; but am I to assume that the man was walking about
+London addressing the inquiry, ‘Have you seen Comrade Zara?’ to every
+male citizen he met on his travels?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“The very point that led me to a solution of the problem,” O’Shea
+returned. “I realized, of course, that the routine which you indicate
+would have been insane, and I do not look for insanity of this kind
+from members of the S Group. I recalled that we had been sitting by
+the statue of Peter Pan, and that I had drawn your attention to the
+presence of ‘Two London Bridges’ in the message. I noted that the
+double bridges were preceded by a reference to Bond Street&mdash;or,
+rather, by two references to Bond Street&mdash;and followed by another. I
+remembered that the hour was noon.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Treating the message as a cipher, I assumed, as a basis of
+investigation, that the various well-known spots mentioned represented
+letters and that all intervening words might be neglected. Now, I had
+two almost certain clues to work upon.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“First, that our German friend clearly expected to meet Zara and
+someone called Wilson by the statue of Peter Pan. Second, that he
+expected to meet them there at noon. Think for a moment, and you will
+realize that this must have been the case.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“It is clear enough,” said I, “now that you point it out to me.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“His handing me a second message in the same cipher,” O’Shea went on,
+“suggested that the first related to the appointment which we, by
+bounty of the gods, had accidentally kept. I therefore assumed that
+the first message conveyed something of this sort: ‘Be at the statue
+of Peter Pan at midday.’
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“I began to examine it with this idea in mind. Particularly, I was
+looking for a sequence to fit the name, Peter Pan. As you can see&mdash;”
+he spread the original messages on my table before me&mdash;“it appears
+unmistakably at the very beginning. Charing Cross is the first point
+mentioned; four other London landmarks occur, and then Charing Cross
+again. I assumed as a working theory that Charing Cross stood for the
+letter P.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“This suggested that British Museum was E as it occurs next, is
+followed by Mansion House, and then occurs again.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Assuming Mansion House to be T, we get P-e-t-e. Calling Hyde Park R,
+we get Peter. Charing Cross then crops up in its correct place.
+Reading Piccadilly as A and Bond Street as N gives Peter Pan.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He laid his cigarette in an ash-tray and bent over the writing
+enthusiastically.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“This enabled me to cross-check, for Bond Street occurs again
+immediately, with the two London Bridges which first attracted my
+attention, followed by another Bond Street.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Bond Street being N, it was reasonable to assume that London Bridge
+was O, making&mdash;Peter Pan, Noon.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“By gad!” I exclaimed. “It’s wonderful!”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“On the contrary,” O’Shea assured me, “it is elementary. To continue:
+we now have Mansion House again, or T, followed by British Museum&mdash;E,
+and two Berkeley Squares, hitherto unmentioned. Old Bailey and Crystal
+Palace crop up next&mdash;very defeating&mdash;followed by a third Berkeley
+Square. Then Tower Bridge. This is followed by London Bridge, O, and
+Bond Street, N. Remembering the name of the Comrade for whom you were
+mistaken, Decies, I very quickly determined that Berkeley Square stood
+for L and the word following ‘Noon’ was ‘Tell.’ This gave me a pair of
+blanks, then L, another blank, and o-n. Wilson was clearly indicated,
+and I had my complete message. ‘Peter Pan noon, tell Wilson.’&hairsp;”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+O’Shea replaced his cigarette between his lips and turned to me,
+smiling.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“You mean,” said I, “that you have read the second message?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Naturally,” he replied. “It is childishly easy, once having got the
+idea of the nature of the cipher. Without bothering you with details,
+such as the letters implied by Buckingham Palace, Shepherd’s Market,
+and Kingsway&mdash;places that don’t occur in the first message&mdash;I may say
+that it reads as follows: ‘Porchester Terrace 365A&mdash;which I assume to
+be the number of a house&mdash;midnight.’&hairsp;”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Good heavens!” I glanced at the clock. “And he said the order was for
+to-night!”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“To-night,” O’Shea returned, glancing up. “We have two hours.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“We have two hours?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Precisely,” said he, and his gray eyes surveyed me unblinkingly.
+“There are certain chances, but there is no game without chances, and
+we shall be covered by a raid squad from Scotland Yard. Whether
+Comrade Schmidt is more familiar with the appearance of Comrades Zara
+and Wilson than his emissary seems to be, I cannot say. But to-night
+at twelve o’clock I suggest that you and I present ourselves at number
+365A Porchester Terrace, as Comrades Zara and Wilson! It is asking a
+lot, Decies, but are you game?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Good God!” I said, hesitated for one electric moment, and then held
+out my hand.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+O’Shea grasped it.
+</p>
+
+
+<h3 id="ch27">
+CHAPTER XXVII.<br>
+<span class="chap_sub">THE COMRADES GATHER</span>
+</h3>
+
+<p class="noindent">
+“<span class="sc">Nanette</span> has gone on somewhere to dance,” said O’Shea.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“I know.” I stared out of the window of the taxi. “I take it that she
+doesn’t know where <i>we</i> have gone on to?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“No.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+O’Shea’s reply was little more than a whisper, but it told me that
+which made me at once glad and sorry. For good or for ill, Nanette was
+winning.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Two things are rather worrying me,” O’Shea confessed. “It is obvious
+enough that Zara is afraid to visit any of the known centres of the S
+Group, hence the appointment at Peter Pan. He probably received the
+letter&mdash;or ‘Order’&mdash;at some post office, under an assumed name. But if
+he had read it and decoded it before he dropped it in the taxi, where
+was he at noon to-day?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Unable to approach Peter Pan,” I replied promptly, “because we were
+there, not to mention the man from Scotland Yard who was following the
+German.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Yes,” O’Shea mused. “Zara’s reaction to this check is one of the
+points I am wondering about. It may prove to be a snag. The second
+snag&mdash;&mdash;”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But as our taxi had turned into Porchester Terrace and was now pulling
+up, I did not learn what the second snag might be.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+We alighted, and I looked up and down the street. Save for O’Shea’s
+assurance, there was nothing to show that our movements were covered
+by the squad from Scotland Yard. Porchester Terrace proclaimed itself
+empty from end to end, or for as far as I could see.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Number 365A was a prosperous-looking mansion set back beyond a patch
+of shrubbery and approached through a sort of arcade guarded by
+handsome double doors. What appeared to be a large room on the first
+floor was brilliantly lighted, but otherwise the house was in
+darkness.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Pull over to the other side of the street,” O’Shea directed the taxi
+driver, “and wait. We shall not be long.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Very good, sir.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+As the man turned his cab:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Now,” said O’Shea, “we are going over the top! Are you fit?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“All ready,” said I.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+O’Shea pressed the bell button.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+In the interval that elapsed between the ringing of the bell and the
+opening of the door, I conjured up a picture of Nanette dancing with
+somebody or another somewhere, perpetually glancing abstractedly about
+the room, as I had seen her do so often, in hope of catching a glimpse
+of O’Shea.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It was hard to believe that this doorway before which we waited
+represented a frontier which, once crossed, shut us off from the life
+of empty gaiety which the name of London conveys to so many; difficult
+to regard it as the porch of a grim and real underworld, controlled by
+enemies of established society, remorseless, almost inhuman in their
+bloodthirsty fanaticism.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A saturnine foreign butler admitted us. We had shed our dinner kit and
+were wearing tweeds.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Comrade Zara and Comrade Wilson,” said O’Shea with composure.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The man nodded and stood aside. We entered the arcade, which was
+bordered by plants in pots, and saw ahead of us some carpeted steps,
+lighted by a hanging lantern.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+As the double doors closed behind us, I experienced one of those
+indescribable moments compounded of panic and exhilaration. Then
+somewhere, very dimly, I heard a clock striking midnight. We were
+going upstairs.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Comrade Zara and Comrade Wilson.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I found myself in a large room, very simply furnished in library
+fashion, and in the presence of six or seven rather unsavoury human
+specimens, some of whom bowed curtly, and some of whom did not bow at
+all.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Our Peter Pan acquaintance was present; and a short thick-set man, who
+had incredibly long arms, and who generally resembled a red baboon,
+came forward to greet us. He had incomplete teeth, and those that
+survived badly needed scaling. His accent opened up wide
+possibilities.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Greeting, Comrades,” said he. “You are welcome. My name is Schmidt.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And as he spoke, fixing his piercing glance first upon O’Shea and then
+upon myself, I recognized beneath that uncouth exterior the primitive,
+formidable force of the man.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He presented the other comrades, by names which are not to be found in
+Debrett, and I reflected that impudence is indispensable to success in
+this sort of game.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It became evident that, from Comrade Schmidt downward, nobody in the
+room was familiar with the appearance of either Zara or Wilson!
+</p>
+
+<p>
+An appalling-looking bearded creature attached itself to O’Shea.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“We are anxious, Comrade,” it said, “to hear your personal account of
+the state of the work in South Africa.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“I am not too hopeful,” O’Shea replied gloomily, and glanced aside at
+me.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“But,” said Schmidt, turning his dreadful little eyes in my direction,
+“Comrade Wilson brings us news from the United States which will be
+like new blood in our veins.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Somehow or another, O’Shea managed to shake off the Missing Link, and
+to secure a word aside with me.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Very full bag,” he murmured. “If we make no mistakes, we shall purge
+England and America of some unsavoury elements. But the second snag
+which I had foreseen rests on the fact that another steamer from
+Madeira has reached Southampton since we returned. There is one member
+of the S Group whom we left behind. He knows us both. He might quite
+conceivably have been in that steamer! His appearance here would raise
+the temperature considerably. And&mdash;&mdash;”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He was interrupted. The door of the room was thrown open and the
+foreign butler entered.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Comrade Macalister,” he announced.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“The snag to which I referred!” said O’Shea.
+</p>
+
+
+<h3 id="ch28">
+CHAPTER XXVIII.<br>
+<span class="chap_sub">THE RAID</span>
+</h3>
+
+<p class="noindent">
+<span class="sc">I suppose</span> that at some time during his life every man who has
+anything of the boy left in him has thought that he would like to take
+a fling at the great adventure of Secret Service. I feel called upon
+to assure these aspirants that a comfortable armchair is the better
+choice.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Accident, or that Higher Power which the Arabs call Kismet, had cast
+me into the path of Edmond O’Shea. He had honoured me with his
+friendship, but had quite failed to recognize that I was a man of
+lesser stature than his own. Whilst granting every honour to marshal
+and statesman, personally I am disposed to believe that it was men
+such as O’Shea who steered the Allies to victory; and perhaps,
+hitherto, I had been inclined to look upon the Secret Service as a job
+for highbrows rather than for soldiers.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+This error was to be corrected.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Conceive a large room filled with enemies of established order;
+fanatics, whose collected scruples would have left a thimble empty.
+Conceive that I and O’Shea, posing as members of their bloodthirsty
+organization, were amongst them as spies, pledged to bring about their
+ruin.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Now, conceive that a “Comrade,” who knows us and has fared ill at our
+hands, is suddenly announced.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Perhaps I shall be forgiven when I say that I remembered with
+gratitude how Edmond O’Shea had rallied a company of the Guards during
+the great retreat, how his presence of mind and consummate
+self-possession had helped historians to chronicle Cambrai with pride
+rather than with humility.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He edged up beside me. I saw him fumbling for his monocle and saw his
+change of expression when he realized that he had left it behind;
+then:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Get near the door,” he murmured. “My fault, Decies, to have let you
+in for this. But I had hoped to learn things that police examination
+can never bring out.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Macalister came in.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He was in dinner kit and he smoked a cigar which, to my disordered
+vision, appeared to be decorated with two bands. His superb
+self-possession was worthy of Tom Mix. He did not merely own the room;
+he possessed the property.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Take the left,” said O’Shea.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Unerringly, instinctively, Macalister’s glance settled upon us at the
+moment of his entrance. He had advanced no more than one pace beyond
+the butler, and his mouth was agape for excited utterance, when
+O’Shea’s revolver had him covered.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Overwhelmed with a sense of utter unreality, I covered the group of
+four on my left which included the formidable Schmidt.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Glibly, as though born of long familiarity, the words leapt to my
+tongue:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Hands up!”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The command was obeyed. And I have since thought, paradoxical though
+it may appear, that violent men, in these matters, are more tractable
+than men of peace. Assessing human life lightly, they credit the brain
+behind the gun with compunction no greater than their own.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“By God!” I heard Macalister say&mdash;and I hope I shall always find time
+to take off my hat to a good loser&mdash;“I had you wrong all along,
+Major!”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Schmidt looked dangerously ugly for a moment; then:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Line up,” said O’Shea sharply. “Jump to it. Fall in on the left of
+Schmidt.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Came inarticulate mutterings, but without other audible protest the
+group obeyed, forming a line having Schmidt at one end and the
+saturnine butler at the other.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Now,” O’Shea continued, “if any man lowers his hands, I shall not
+argue with him. Decies, will you go down to the street door and
+whistle? Pass behind me. Keep a sharp look-out. I don’t know who is in
+the house.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I obeyed, the sense of unreality prevailing. But I know I shall always
+remember that row of sullen-faced men with raised hands, who watched
+as I crossed behind O’Shea.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+There was no one on the stairs, and no one in the long, glazed passage
+that led to the street. This gained, I ran the length of it, and
+throwing open the double doors beheld a seemingly deserted Porchester
+Terrace.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I whistled shrilly. The result was magical.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Springing from what hiding places I know not, men appeared running
+from right and left! This was the raid squad from Scotland Yard, and I
+realized that I was helping to mould history.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Our taximan, who was waiting on the other side of the street, and who
+had been peacefully smoking a cigarette, jumped down from his seat and
+watched the proceedings with an expression of stupefaction that was
+comic in its intensity.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Everything was carried out in a most orderly manner. The members of
+the Group were arrested without unnecessary fuss. The whole thing
+might have been “produced” by David Belasco. A six-seater car appeared
+from somewhere or another, in which the gang was canned as neatly as
+tinned sardines.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The police handled the job with such discretion that chance passers-by
+never dreamed that anything unusual was going forward. They do these
+raids much better on the screen.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Macalister was the last to come down from above, his cigar still held
+firmly between his teeth. He was unperturbed. Deportation was the
+worst he had to fear, and he knew it quite well. He was smiling slyly.
+He paused, looking hard at O’Shea and at myself.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Listen,” he said, “you two boys have doubled on me pretty badly, but
+I don’t bear no malice.” His grammar at times revealed the influence
+of the Cubist school. “Zara is different, and he’s still loose. Take
+my tip and watch out for Zara. If he’s seeing red, don’t try to pet
+him. Good-night!”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He entered the car, urged by two detectives.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Good-night,” murmured O’Shea thoughtfully, and turned to me.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“You know, Decies,” he went on, “if that man had had our advantages,
+he would have made a damned good sportsman.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+There were certain formalities to be attended to, and I suppose it was
+close upon two o’clock when O’Shea and I found ourselves outside my
+rooms. I suggested a doch-an’-dorris.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“If I were superstitious,” O’Shea declared, “I should refuse.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He smiled, glancing up at the tall ladder beneath which we must walk
+to reach my door.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Oh!” said I, “they are mending the roof, or something.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“I suppose we might risk it,” he replied; and we went in.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The incident stuck in my mind, not so much because of any
+superstitious significance that I attached to it as because of what
+actually happened later.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+O’Shea dropped on to the settee in my big room and sighed rather
+wearily as he watched me preparing drinks.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“You know, Decies,” said he, “I am both glad and sorry that this job
+is over. I have blundered through by sheer good luck. Without your
+aid, and the aid of someone else, I should have crashed badly.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Perhaps not,” I returned. “If you had not succeeded in one way, you
+might quite easily have found another.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Or I might not,” said he. “No. I am a poor policeman, and peace-time
+soldiering is no sort of game.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“What do you mean, O’Shea?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“I mean,” he replied, holding up to the light a glass that I had
+handed to him, “that I am infernally restless.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I sighed as loudly as he had done and stooped over the syphon. Then:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Decies,” said O’Shea, “we live in a generation that grows up very
+early.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“We do,” I agreed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“I should like to talk to you seriously. There are many men I have
+known longer, but none I could sooner trust. Yet in this matter
+somehow I don’t feel…”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Yes?” I prompted.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Well, I don’t feel quite at liberty to discuss it with you.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+There was a silence that might have been awkward. O’Shea was watching
+me almost pathetically; and:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“I know what you want to talk about,” I said. “Nanette is a witch. But
+there is only one man in the world for her now. It might be fair,
+though, to give her a year to think it over.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“You don’t doubt <i>my</i> attitude in the matter,” O’Shea murmured.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“No,” I replied, “I know it.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He looked at me very fixedly, when:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Coo-ooh!” I heard.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+O’Shea’s expression changed; and, turning, I crossed to an open
+window, looking down into the street.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Standing just in front of the ladder which disfigured the front of the
+premises, was Nanette, staring upward. A two-seater with several
+people in it stood at the curb.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Hello, Nanette,” I called.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Saw your light,” she shouted, “as we were passing. May we come up, or
+are you going to bed?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“No,” I replied, and hesitated to tell her what I knew she hoped.
+“Come right up and bring your friends. I have only just got in.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Right-oh!” she cried.
+</p>
+
+
+<h3 id="ch29">
+CHAPTER XXIX.<br>
+<span class="chap_sub">ADOLPH ZARA</span>
+</h3>
+
+<p class="noindent">
+<span class="sc">The</span> party that presently invaded us proved to consist of Nanette and
+a brunette girl friend whom I had not seen before. They were escorted
+by a young medical officer on leave from Mesopotamia&mdash;a very charming
+type of Scotsman&mdash;and Milton, one of Nanette’s Madeira conquests,
+whom, you may recall, I had met again recently under rather odd
+circumstances. I thought that this evening was probably his reward for
+the weary job of scouting that he had performed on that occasion.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He was not a happy man. The fact was beginning to dawn upon him that
+at the Savoy, the Hippodrome, and wherever else they had gone, he had
+been wasting his fragrance on the desert air. I pictured him driving
+to my apartment as one consciously heading for his doom.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The poor fellow was rather pathetically young, and, regarding every
+acquaintance of Nanette’s as a serious rival, he had awakened to the
+fact that he had three score or so of deadly enemies in London.
+Presently:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Whisky and soda?” said I; “or have you reached the Bass stage?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Neither, thanks,” he returned, and glared around my modest bachelor
+apartment as one who finds himself in the chamber of Bluebeard.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Nanette had sped to O’Shea like an arrow to its target. As I turned
+aside from the peevish Milton, “I hadn’t dared to hope I should see
+you again to-night,” I heard her say.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The other man and the pretty brunette were jointly occupying my most
+comfortable armchair, therefore, conquering a perfectly stupid pique
+which Milton had inspired:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Well,” said I, holding out my cigarette case, “we seem to have no
+alternative but to&mdash;look on, Milton.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He rejected the olive-branch, and, rudely ignoring my proffered case,
+crossed to the settee where Nanette and O’Shea sat side by side.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“I say, Nanette,” he exclaimed, “what about going on to Chelsea?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Nanette barely glanced up as she replied:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“No, I don’t want to dance any more to-night, Jim.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Why not dance here?” cried her friend, pointing in the direction of
+the piano. “Do you play, Mr. Decies?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Not dance music,” I confessed gladly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“But Jim does,” she went on. “Go on, Jim! Just one.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Jim” crossed to the piano, offering an excellent imitation of an ox
+approaching Chicago. He crashed into a piece of syncopation that put
+years on the instrument. I had never heard the item before and trust
+that I shall never hear it again. I saw O’Shea smilingly shake his
+head; then Nanette ran across to me, and off we went around the
+furniture, I wondering which would burst first, a wire in my reeling
+piano or a blood-vessel in the empurpled skull of the player.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Nanette danced because she was too happy to keep still, even with
+O’Shea beside her. I danced because I had no choice in the matter. It
+was an odd business, pointedly illustrating the part that Terpsichore
+plays in this modern civilization of ours.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Nanette was dancing with me, but she wanted to dance with O’Shea. The
+other pair didn’t want to dance at all. They just wanted to be alone
+together. And Milton didn’t want to be the band. In fact, the whole
+thing was a sort of neutral territory, or sanctuary, in which the
+various protagonists found temporary refuge.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I don’t know what momentous decision Nanette’s girl friend was
+shirking, but when Milton threatened to weaken:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Go on, Jim! Please go on!” she cried, avoiding the ardent gaze of her
+partner.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Milton, the most ferociously reluctant musician I have ever seen at
+work, made a renewed assault upon the keyboard. He was watching
+Nanette, who rarely took her eyes off O’Shea; and a vein rose
+unpleasantly upon his forehead. He perpetrated some discords that set
+my teeth on edge.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+How long this might have continued I hesitate to guess. Milton’s gorge
+was rising tropically. I doubt that his destruction of my piano would
+have ceased while life remained in the instrument, but an interruption
+came.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Nanette and I had navigated an awkward channel behind the armchair and
+were beating up toward the settee and O’Shea. The man from Mesopotamia
+had ingeniously steered his partner into a little book-lined recess at
+the farther end of the room. I had my back to the open window and
+Nanette was facing it. Suddenly she grew rigid.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Her face became transfigured with an expression of horror that I can
+never forget. She pulled up dead&mdash;staring, staring past me, into the
+darkness of the street beyond.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“What is it, Nanette?” I began, when the music ceased with a crash and
+I saw Milton bound to his feet.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Unconsciously, I had gripped Nanette hard. But, in the next instant,
+she wrenched herself free from my grasp, turned, and with a queer sort
+of smothered cry threw herself upon O’Shea!
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I twisted about.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Not two feet behind me an arm protruded into the room! The hand
+grasped a strange-looking pistol&mdash;for at that time I had never seen a
+Maxim Silencer. I heard a muffled thud. Something came whizzing
+through the air in my direction. (I learned later, when clarity came,
+that it was a valuable Ming vase that had stood upon the piano.)
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Hold him, Decies!” yelled Milton.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It was Milton who had hurled this costly projectile at the dimly seen
+arm in the window. The vase went crashing out into the street. I heard
+a second thud. Milton fell forward across the instrument&mdash;and then
+slid down on to the carpet. The hand clutching the pistol had
+vanished.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A sort of vague red mist was dancing before my eyes. Came a rush of
+footsteps. Nanette was slipping from O’Shea’s arms. His face as he
+looked down into hers was a mask of tragedy. I heard her utter a
+little moan and I saw a streak of blood upon one white shoulder.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Then followed chaos.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A very weak voice, which vaguely I recognized as that of Milton, said:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Don’t worry about me, Doc. Look after Nanette.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I saw O’Shea stoop and lift Nanette. I saw her pale face. When,
+cutting through the tumult like a ray from a beacon:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“The window, Decies! Watch which way he goes!”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Automatically, I obeyed O’Shea. I strained out, looking to right and
+to left of the ladder. It was boarded over, but I realized that a
+desperate man, given sufficient agility, could have climbed the rungs
+from underneath, as evidently the assassin had done.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At first, the street seemed to be empty from end to end; then I saw
+the figure of a man emerge from shadow into a patch of light cast by a
+street lamp&mdash;one who walked swiftly in the direction of Berkeley
+Square. I withdrew my head and stared, only half believing, about the
+room.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Milton, looking deathly, lay propped up against the piano. He met my
+glance, and:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Seen him?” he demanded.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I turned, as the military surgeon who had been bending over Nanette
+looked up at her friend, who stood beside him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Know anything about nursing?” he jerked.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The girl was very pale, but:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Yes,” she answered bravely, meeting his eyes, “a little. Tell me what
+to do, and I will do it.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He nodded, smiling, whereat I was reassured, and then:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Have you a manservant in the house, Mr. Decies?” he asked.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Yes.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Dig him out. I can manage. You fellows are in the way. Get after the
+swine who did this.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But O’Shea had already started for the door. His expression was one I
+had rather not have seen. There is a savage hidden in every Celt, if
+one digs deep through.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The other members of the group by this time were safely housed in
+cells. I thought that if we were destined to overtake Adolf Zara, he
+was likely to enjoy the distinction of spending the night in a morgue.
+</p>
+
+
+<h3 id="ch30">
+CHAPTER XXX.<br>
+<span class="chap_sub">MEMORIES CAN SAVE</span>
+</h3>
+
+<p class="noindent">
+<span class="sc">As Milton’s</span> car, driven by O’Shea, raced around the corner into the
+square, all question of the fugitive’s identity was settled.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Just vaulting into a two-seater that had been parked over by the
+railings was the man whose retreating figure I had seen as I leaned
+from the window! I prayed that he might be unable to start. But my
+prayer was not answered. Off he went, heading for Piccadilly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+One swift glance back he gave over his shoulder. And in the light of
+the street lamp by which the car had stood, I saw the face of Zara!
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I glanced at O’Shea beside me. His pale features were set like a mask.
+I looked to right and to left; but not a soul was in sight. Berkeley
+Square was apparently deserted. Often enough I had wondered how
+certain notorious burglaries had been accomplished with all the
+resources of civilization at beck and call of justice. This was the
+answer.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+We had no means of arranging for Zara’s interception&mdash;although a
+constable was on duty at the corner of Bruton Street! We could only
+hope to keep him in sight or else overtake him. The merest hitch, or
+slightest traffic delay, would deliver him into our hands. But the
+betting was equal. Such an accident might as well befall us as him;
+and, the quarry once out of sight, our chances fell below zero.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+O’Shea spoke never a word. His mind held but one single purpose. That
+purpose, I firmly believe, was to wreak justice upon Zara with his own
+hands.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Momentarily, I wondered about Milton. Of Nanette I dared not think.
+But a cold fury was growing within me, and I fingered the pistol that
+had been in my pocket since the raid upon the house in Porchester
+Terrace.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Zara whirled round into St. James’s Street. The traffic in Piccadilly
+was not great but there were a number of pedestrians about. I even saw
+policemen in the distance. It all seemed utterly grotesque. Then, hot
+upon the fugitive, we, too, were dropping down the slope. Far ahead I
+could see the clock above St. James’s Palace. The hour was a quarter
+past two.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Our speed was outrageous. We crossed Pall Mall at about thirty-five,
+and came out into the Mall, heading for Buckingham Palace in
+Brooklands fashion. We were gaining slightly. We crept from forty-five
+to fifty. Broad thoroughfares, brightly lighted, offered no
+obstruction; and we flew around the sharp bend by the Victoria
+Memorial and headed east.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Westminster Bridge!” I muttered.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+O’Shea did not speak. Past the barracks we sped, and, undeterred by a
+certain amount of traffic in Parliament Square, shot on to the
+approach to the Bridge. We were now three lengths behind Zara, and on
+the gradient began to improve upon it. Zara drove on the inside of the
+car lines, hugging the pavement. And at about the centre of the Bridge
+we passed outside him. I heard someone shouting.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Cover him, Decies!” said O’Shea grimly. “Shoot if he doesn’t pull
+up!”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I turned and gave a loud cry. Zara had slowed down and was already
+twenty yards behind us!
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Stop, O’Shea!” I cried&mdash;“stop!”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He obeyed so suddenly that I nearly dived through the windshield. Then
+we jumped, one on either side, and started to run back.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Zara had already dismounted, and I saw him peeling his coat. A picture
+arose out of the recent past: a foggy night off Ushant: and I seemed
+to hear again that eerie cry, “Man overboard!”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+So it was that Zara had eluded us once before. Undoubtedly he was
+going to do so again; and for all the cold hatred in my heart, I could
+not entirely withhold admiration as I saw him bound upon the parapet,
+raise his arms, and take that appalling dive into the Thames far
+below.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I knew now, however, what I had not known formerly: that Adolf Zara’s
+courage was the courage of madness. His was that disease of fanaticism
+which, when it does not cough up a Tomsky, floods the criminal lunatic
+asylums.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+As we both craned over the parapet, peering down at the uneasy water,
+I heard the sound of a runner and then the flat note of a police
+whistle.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“There he is!” said O’Shea.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I stared but could see nothing, when:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Hello, there! What’s the game! Who was it that went over?” cried a
+loud voice.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+We turned, as a breathless constable came doubling up.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“A very dangerous criminal,” O’Shea replied, “and we were chasing him.
+Quick, officer! on which side of the Bridge shall we find a boat?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The manner of one accustomed to give orders is unmistakable, and:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“West, sir,” the constable answered promptly. “There’s a boat at the
+pier.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Good,” said O’Shea, and started to run to the car. I followed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+As we jumped in, turned, and headed back to where Big Ben recorded the
+fact that only seven minutes had elapsed since we had passed St.
+James’s Palace, I saw the constable coming after us. But, leaving the
+car by the foot of the clock tower, O’Shea raced across to the gate at
+the head of those steps that lead down to the pier. It was locked; and
+here I thought that the chase ended. But I had counted without O’Shea.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+London, unlike New York, normally is a very empty city at two o’clock
+in the morning; but now, as if conjured up by a magic talisman, a
+group began to assemble. I looked to my right&mdash;from which the
+constable was bearing down upon us. Even as he ran, his bearing was
+ominous. It occurred to me that he regarded O’Shea and myself with
+justifiable suspicion, and I foresaw complications.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It was odd, I reflected, that we stood almost in the shadow of
+Scotland Yard&mdash;representing Law and Order, the forces of Empire
+against those of disruption&mdash;but that the very powers that should have
+backed us were likely now to aid and abet a dangerous conspirator and
+assassin in escaping the meshes of justice.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The constable rather windily began to blow his whistle again.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A resolute-looking man, clean-shaven, and of a very hard-bitten
+countenance, suddenly appeared at my elbow.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“What’s the trouble?” he inquired&mdash;and challenged me with keen eyes.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+An official note in his voice was recognizable. O’Shea turned quickly.
+The ever-increasing group drew more closely around us. A second
+constable was making his way across from Parliament Square.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“The trouble is,” said O’Shea, “that this gate is locked, and I want
+to get on to the pier.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The man, whose face seemed to have been chiselled out of seasoned
+teak, stared in a curious way. Then the breathless constable burst
+upon us.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Just a minute!” he began. “I want to know some more about this
+business!”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He became uneasily aware of the presence of our weatherbeaten
+acquaintance. He stopped in the act of laying his hand upon O’Shea’s
+arm. O’Shea, watching the man who had accosted us, spoke, and:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Sergeant Donoghue!” he said.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The expression on the grim face changed. The man so addressed drew
+himself smartly to attention. It was automatic&mdash;second nature; but his
+smile was good to see.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Thank you, sir,” said he, “for remembering me.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+O’Shea held out his hand.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Stand easy, Sergeant,” he replied. “I gather that you have left the
+Army and rejoined the Police.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Donoghue’s eyes were glistening as he grasped the proffered hand.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“I have that, sir,” he said, “and without loss of rank. I am a
+detective-sergeant now.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He glanced at the two constables&mdash;for the Parliament Square
+reinforcement had come up.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Carry on,” he directed, “there’s a man drowning. Leave this to me.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Donoghue,” said O’Shea, “do you hate the Reds?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“I do, sir!”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Well, one of them has just jumped off the Bridge. He is a powerful
+swimmer. I want to get on to the pier and into a boat.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“You are in luck, sir,” Donoghue returned enthusiastically, “for
+to-night I happen to have the key.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+When, a minute later, we pushed out into the stream, watched by an
+ever-increasing group of idlers, I thought how proud a man must feel
+to see a light like that which had crossed Donoghue’s face as he had
+recognized the officer he had served under. One such silent tribute is
+worth more than a thousand cheers.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Do you remember the night behind the farm, sir?” Donoghue asked.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And O’Shea in reply merely laid his hand upon his shoulder and gripped
+hard for a moment. But this apparently simple question had a
+far-reaching result, as I was presently to learn.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A fairly strong current was running, which, together with O’Shea’s
+recollection of the swimmer’s position as seen from the Bridge,
+sufficiently indicated where we should lay our course.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Certain official steps had automatically been taken, and we were not
+alone in our quest. Apparently, even at two o’clock in the morning, it
+is contrary to County Council regulations for anyone to bathe from
+Westminster Bridge.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Looking up from that unfamiliar viewpoint at certain London landmarks
+outlined against the clear sky, I wondered why Fate always seems to
+put a brake upon our joy-rides.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Untrammelled by an intense anxiety on account of Nanette that obsessed
+me to-night, this queer adventure must have been definitely enjoyable.
+But, like so many human experiences, it was less exciting in the doing
+than it is in the telling. For exploration of unfamiliar by-paths, as
+I have already mentioned, there is no vehicle like a cosy armchair.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+That Zara would head for the nearest landing place, it was fairly
+reasonable to suppose. Therefore we pulled hard across in the
+direction of the County Hall, eagerly watching the surface of the
+water. Suddenly:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“There he goes!” cried Donoghue.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But, even as he spoke, I had seen the swimmer&mdash;close in, under the
+right bank, heading powerfully for the stairs. We raced for him and
+made land almost simultaneously.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+In the act of landing Zara stumbled and slipped back into the river.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He came up by the stern of the boat. O’Shea’s hand shot out, grasped
+him by a soddened collar-band, and hauled him in against the side.
+Dimly, I could see O’Shea’s face as he looked down at the upcast eyes
+of Zara. I think I knew what was in his mind, and in those upturned
+eyes was recognition of it&mdash;and acceptance.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Still grasping the helpless man, O’Shea glanced quickly at Donoghue.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Yes, Donoghue,” he said coldly, “I remember the night behind the
+farm. You have reminded me that I once had decent instincts. Sergeant,
+here’s your prisoner.”
+</p>
+
+
+<h3 id="ch31">
+CHAPTER XXXI.<br>
+<span class="chap_sub">HIATUS</span>
+</h3>
+
+<p class="noindent">
+<span class="sc">I find</span> that my memory holds no proper record of the hour that
+elapsed between this time and our return to Nanette. There were
+certain unavoidable formalities to be gone through; but within ten
+minutes of the arrest of Zara, I was on the telephone to my rooms. My
+man answered; and his replies, whilst reticent, were reassuring.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Mr. Milton has been removed to hospital, sir. A very narrow escape, I
+understand. It will be a long job, but he is in no danger. Yes, sir,
+the lady is”&mdash;pause&mdash;“still here.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Why?” I asked uneasily, and glanced at O’Shea, who was standing at my
+elbow throughout this conversation.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“They&mdash;didn’t like to move her, sir. I ’phoned to Sir Frank Leslie, in
+Harley Street, sir, by request. He is here.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“But where is&mdash;the lady?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Sorry, sir, but she is&mdash;in your room. Her mother is with her, sir.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Is she dangerously ill?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“I don’t really know, sir. Both the medical men are with her now.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+As I replaced the receiver, I stared at O’Shea. He had moved away from
+me and was pacing restlessly up and down the bleakly furnished room in
+New Scotland Yard from which we had been speaking.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“You understand?” I said. “She is&mdash;rather badly hurt.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“I understand.” He nodded grimly. “She saved my life, Decies, perhaps
+at the price of her own. I can’t bear to think of it.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He turned abruptly and stared out of the window at a vista of empty
+Embankment below, lighted by many twinkling lamps.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“I have been a self-reliant man all my life, Decies; it may be
+aggressively so. Perhaps this is poetic justice. Since the moment that
+I set foot in Madeira, up to this very hour, she has done my work for
+me, step by step. You admit it, Decies? You admit it?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“I do,” said I. “It’s true, but no discredit to you.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He shook his head and resumed the restless pacing. I saw him groping
+for his monocle, which he had left at his rooms prior to setting out
+for the raid on the S Group, and I saw him snap his fingers irritably
+as he realized how enslaved he was to this habit.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“I have placed independence above every other virtue in man,” he went
+on. “I have fought for it and suffered for it. I suppose she has been
+sent to teach me that independence and loneliness are inseparable. Do
+you know,” he turned and looked fully into my eyes, with an expression
+almost of humility, “I don’t think I could bear that lonely path any
+longer, Decies. And if&mdash;” he paused and squared his jaw for a
+moment&mdash;“and if I have to follow it, there won’t be very much left.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Shut up!” I said. “You are talking nonsense. If you elect to be
+lonely in future, the choice is yours.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Unless…” he smiled wryly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Don’t think of that!” I replied. “She is young and full of stamina.
+Besides, she wants to live.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“And I want her to live,” he added softly. “Yet, even now, I can’t
+believe it&mdash;and I can’t quite condone it.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Condone what?” I demanded.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“The acceptance, by a man of my age, world-worn, a little
+disappointed, more than a little cynical, of such a sacrifice, from a
+girl with all the world to choose from. I can find no justification.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“I see,” I murmured. “And can you find any for leaving her, now that
+you know? Because you can’t shut your eyes to the fact that this is
+not a schoolgirl’s infatuation, but the real thing. Can you condone
+that?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+My voice was not quite steady.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“She was ready to die for you, O’Shea,” I said. “It would break her
+heart to lose you. Damn it!” I pulled out my cigarette case, “I am
+talking like your sentimental aunt.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+O’Shea smiled, this time more happily, and grasped my shoulder in
+characteristic fashion.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“I believe we are both behaving rather idiotically,” he admitted.
+“Let’s hope for the best.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“I don’t believe you would recognize it if it came to you,” I
+returned.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He shrugged his shoulders and we went up to a room on the floor above,
+where some sort of superior official was waiting. Throughout the
+interview that followed O’Shea became again the steely-eyed,
+square-jawed soldier whom I knew so well; the traditional O’Shea,
+whose name had been a tonic to many a man during those black days when
+the shadow of Prussia lay over Europe.
+</p>
+
+
+<h3 id="ch32">
+CHAPTER XXXII.<br>
+<span class="chap_sub">THE HEART OF NANETTE</span>
+</h3>
+
+<p class="noindent">
+<span class="sc">I seemed</span> to detect an ominous air of hush as I opened the door for
+O’Shea and myself to go up to my apartments. Nanette’s mother met us.
+I could scarcely bear to look at her. Almost immediately, she fixed
+her eyes upon O’Shea.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Major O’Shea,” she began bravely, “I have known for a long time how
+Nanette felt about you.…”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“And I suppose you have reproached me,” said he.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“I have not,” she returned. “I have had many opportunities of
+watching, and I know that your behaviour has been admirable, if…” she
+hesitated.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Yes?” O’Shea urged gently.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“If she has really meant anything to you. Be frank with me, Major
+O’Shea. Has she?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“She has,” he replied gravely. “I didn’t know, but I know now.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“It is frightfully hard to say,” she went on, “but…” she turned to me
+impulsively. “Can you help me, Mr. Decies?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“I think I can,” said I. “There is no reason why my friend, Major
+O’Shea, should not marry Nanette, unless there is any on your side.
+Personally, he thinks he is too old for her!” This last remark I added
+in what was meant to be a facetious manner, for the situation was
+difficult to cope with. “But please tell us&mdash;how is she?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“She will recover,” was the reply, “thanks to the speedy attention
+that she received. Failing this, it might have been&mdash;otherwise. I am
+afraid she cannot be moved for some time, Mr. Decies. It will be a
+dreadful inconvenience for you.…”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“And a great honour,” I added. “Is it possible to see her?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“I don’t know if it is advisable. But she is asking to see”&mdash;glancing
+at O’Shea&mdash;“someone.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+O’Shea bit his lip&mdash;the nearest approach to a display of emotion that
+I had ever observed in him&mdash;and turned quickly aside.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Then followed a period of waiting. Nanette’s girl friend came down,
+having been relieved by a professional nurse. She smiled at O’Shea,
+and blushed furiously; an unusual accomplishment in a girl of her type
+and age. But the smile and the blush told me more of the state of
+Nanette’s heart than a long dissertation could have revealed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The young medical officer appeared at last, and his expression was
+reassuring.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Can we go up?” I asked.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Yes,” he replied; “I have Sir Frank’s permission to admit you for
+three minutes, but no more than three minutes.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He stared significantly at O’Shea.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+In a queerly furtive fashion I began to mount the stairs of my own
+house, treading softly as upon holy ground and going with bated
+breath. O’Shea moved equally silently. I cannot say what his feelings
+were at this moment, for I did not even look at him. But when we came
+to the door of the sick room that had been my bedroom, it was opened
+by a white-capped nurse, and we entered, catlike as burglars.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Nanette lay propped up in my bed, with closed eyes. She was pale, but,
+in that hour, more adorable than ever. Her mother sat over by an open
+window, watching, and Sir Frank Leslie stood beside the bed. We crept
+forward, abashed as detected criminals. But Nanette did not stir,
+until:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Someone has come to say good-night to you, dear,” said her mother.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Then the drooping lids quivered, and she raised her blue eyes. I
+cannot say if she saw O’Shea, or merely pretended that she did not see
+him; but admittedly he was standing behind me. She laid her hand in
+mine, and:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Thank you, Mr. Decies,” she murmured, in a pathetically weak voice.
+“I am going to be a frightful nuisance to you. In future, I shall try
+to arrange to be shot in my own bedroom.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She closed her eyes again, wearily, and dropped her hand upon the
+coverlet. Sir Frank beckoned to me to step aside. I did so.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+O’Shea drew nearer.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“I have come to thank you, Nanette,” he said.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He sat on the chair beside her, bending forward. Slowly, she turned
+her head, raised weary lids again, and looked at him. She stayed so
+for what seemed a very long time; just looking&mdash;looking&mdash;and
+questioning. He stooped nearer and nearer, until suddenly, but very
+weakly, a white arm crept around his neck and little trembling fingers
+were plunged into his hair.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Nanette drew his head down upon the pillow beside her, sighed, and
+closed her eyes again happily.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I turned away, staring at her mother. Then I caught Sir Frank’s
+glance. He began to tiptoe toward the door, nodded significantly to
+the nurse&mdash;and shepherded us out of the sick room!
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The last to leave, I looked back, guiltily, for one moment. Nanette
+was fast asleep, for they had given her an opiate. And she lay with
+her head nestling upon O’Shea’s shoulder.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I shall always remember her smile.
+</p>
+
+<p class="center mt1">
+THE END
+</p>
+
+
+<h2>
+TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES
+</h2>
+
+<p>
+Minor spelling inconsistencies (e.g. lounge-chair/lounge chair,
+shore-signal/shore signal, etc.) have been preserved.
+</p>
+
+<p class="noindent mt1">
+<b>Alterations to the text</b>:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Abandon the use of drop-caps.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Punctuation: fix a few quotation mark pairings/nestings.
+</p>
+
+<p class="noindent">
+[Chapter IV]
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Change (“Please, <i>mumsy</i>,” she pleaded&mdash;“until I have) to <i>Mumsy</i>.
+</p>
+
+<p class="noindent">
+[Chapter XXIV]
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“He is a member of a very <i>dangerout</i> organization” to <i>dangerous</i>.
+</p>
+
+<p class="noindent">
+[Chapter XXVIII]
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“There was no one on the stairs, and no one. in the long, glazed”
+delete the period.
+</p>
+
+<p class="center mt1">
+[End of text]
+</p>
+
+<div style='text-align:center'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 77001 ***</div>
+</body>
+</html>
+
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+Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for book #77001
+(https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/77001)