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+The Project Gutenberg eBook of Okewood of the Secret Service, by Valentine Williams
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and
+most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions
+whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms
+of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at
+www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you
+will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before
+using this eBook.
+
+Title: Okewood of the Secret Service
+
+Author: Valentine Williams
+
+Pseudonym: Douglas Valentine
+
+Release Date: December, 2000 [eBook #2417]
+[Most recently updated: August 18, 2021]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: UTF-8
+
+Produced by: Polly Stratton. HTML version by Al Haines.
+
+*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK OKEWOOD OF THE SECRET SERVICE ***
+
+
+
+
+Okewood of the Secret Service
+
+by Valentine Williams
+
+
+Contents
+
+ CHAPTER I. THE DEPUTY TURN
+ CHAPTER II. CAPTAIN STRANGWISE ENTERTAINS A GUEST
+ CHAPTER III. MR. MACKWAYTE MEETS AN OLD FRIEND
+ CHAPTER IV. MAJOR OKEWOOD ENCOUNTERS A NEW TYPE
+ CHAPTER V. THE MURDER AT SEVEN KINGS
+ CHAPTER VI. “NAME O’BARNEY”
+ CHAPTER VII. NUR-EL-DIN
+ CHAPTER VIII. THE WHITE PAPER PACKAGE
+ CHAPTER IX. METAMORPHOSIS
+ CHAPTER X. D. O. R. A. IS BAFFLED
+ CHAPTER XI. CREDENTIALS
+ CHAPTER XII. AT THE MILL HOUSE
+ CHAPTER XIII. WHAT SHAKESPEARE’S COMEDIES REVEALED
+ CHAPTER XIV. BARBARA TAKES A HAND
+ CHAPTER XV. MR. BELLWARD IS CALLED TO THE TELEPHONE
+ CHAPTER XVI. THE STAR OF POLAND
+ CHAPTER XVII. MR. BELLWARD ARRANGES A BRIDGE EVENING
+ CHAPTER XVIII. THE GATHERING OF THE SPIES
+ CHAPTER XIX. THE UNINVITED GUEST
+ CHAPTER XX. THE ODD MAN
+ CHAPTER XXI. THE BLACK VELVET TOQUE
+ CHAPTER XXII. WHAT THE CELLAR REVEALED
+ CHAPTER XXIII. MRS. MALPLAQUET GOES DOWN TO THE CELLAR
+ CHAPTER XXIV. THE TWO DESERTERS
+ CHAPTER XXV. TO MRS. MALPLAQUET’S
+ CHAPTER XXVI. THE MAN IN THE SUMMER-HOUSE
+ CHAPTER XXVII. THE RED LACQUER ROOM
+ CHAPTER XXVIII. AN OFFER FROM STRANGWISE
+ CHAPTER XXIX. DOT AND DASH
+ CHAPTER XXX. HOHENLINDEN TRENCH
+ CHAPTER XXXI. THE £100,000 KIT
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I.
+THE DEPUTY TURN
+
+
+Mr. Arthur Mackwayte slipped noiselessly into the dining-room and took
+his place at the table. He always moved quietly, a look of gentle
+deprecation on his face as much as to say: “Really, you know, I can’t
+help being here: if you will just overlook me this time, by and by you
+won’t notice I’m there at all!” That was how he went through life, a
+shy, retiring little man, quiet as a mouse, gentle as a dove, modesty
+personified.
+
+That is, at least, how Mr. Arthur Mackwayte struck his friends in
+private life. Once a week, however, he fairly screamed at the public
+from the advertisement columns of “The Referee”: “Mackwayte, in his
+Celebrated Kerbstone Sketches. Wit! Pathos! Tragedy!!! The Epitome of
+London Life. Universally Acclaimed as the Greatest Portrayer of London
+Characters since the late Chas. Dickens. In Tremendous Demand for
+Public Dinners. The Popular Favorite. A Few Dates still Vacant. 23,
+Laleham Villas, Seven Kings. ’Phone” and so on.
+
+But only professionally did Mr. Mackwayte thus blow his own trumpet,
+and then in print alone. For the rest, he had nothing great about him
+but his heart. A long and bitter struggle for existence had left no
+hardness in his smooth-shaven flexible face, only wrinkles. His eyes
+were gray and keen and honest, his mouth as tender as a woman’s.
+
+His daughter, Barbara, was already at table pouring out the tea—high
+tea is still an institution in music-hall circles. Mr. Mackwayte always
+gazed on this tall, handsome daughter of his with amazement as the
+great miracle of his life. He looked at her now fondly and thought
+how.... how distinguished, yes, that was the word, she looked in the
+trim blue serge suit in which she went daily to her work at the War
+Office.
+
+“Rations a bit slender to-night, daddy,” she said, handing him his cup
+of tea, “only sardines and bread and butter and cheese. Our meatless
+day, eh?”
+
+“It’ll do very well for me, Barbara, my dear,” he answered in his
+gentle voice, “there have been times when your old dad was glad enough
+to get a cup of tea and a bite of bread and butter for his supper. And
+there’s many a one worse off than we are today!”
+
+“Any luck at the agent’s, daddy?”
+
+Mr. Mackwayte shook his head.
+
+“These revues are fair killing the trade, my dear, and that’s a fact.
+They don’t want art to-day, only rag-time and legs and all that. Our
+people are being cruelly hit by it and that’s a fact. Why, who do you
+think I ran into at Harris’ this morning? Why, Barney who used to work
+with the great Charles, you know, my dear. For years he drew his ten
+pound a week regular. Yet there he was, looking for a job the same as
+the rest of us. Poor fellow, he _was_ down on his luck!”
+
+Barbara looked up quickly.
+
+“Daddy, you lent him money....”
+
+Mr. Mackwayte looked extremely uncomfortable.
+
+“Only a trifle, my dear, just a few shillings.... to take him over the
+week-end.... he’s getting something.... he’ll repay me, I feel
+sure....”
+
+“It’s too bad of you, daddy,” his daughter said severely. “I gave you
+that ten shillings to buy yourself a bottle of whiskey. You know he
+won’t pay you back. That Barney’s a bad egg!”
+
+“Things are going bad with the profession,” replied Mr. Mackwayte.
+“They don’t seem to want any of us old stagers today, Barbara!”
+
+“Now, daddy, you know I don’t allow you to talk like that. Why, you are
+only just finished working.... the Samuel Circuit, too!”
+
+Barbara looked up at the old man quickly.
+
+“Only, four weeks’ trial, my dear.... they didn’t want me, else they
+would have given me the full forty weeks. No, I expect I am getting
+past my work. But it’s hard on you child....”
+
+Barbara sprang up and placed her hand across her father’s mouth.
+
+“I won’t have you talk like that, Mac”—that was her pet name for
+him—“you’ve worked hard all your life and now it’s my turn. Men have
+had it all their own way before this war came along: now women are
+going to have a look in. Presently, when I get to be supervisor of my
+section and they raise my pay again, you will be able to refuse all
+offers of work. You can go down to Harris with a big cigar in your
+mouth and patronize him, daddy...”
+
+The telephone standing on the desk in the corner of the cheap little
+room tingled out sharply. Barbara rose and went across to the desk. Mr.
+Mackwayte thought how singularly graceful she looked as she stood, very
+slim, looking at him whimsically across the dinner-table, the receiver
+in her hand.
+
+Then a strange thing happened. Barbara quickly put the receiver down on
+the desk and clasped her hands together, her eyes opened wide in
+amazement.
+
+“Daddy,” she cried, “it’s the Palaceum... the manager’s office... they
+want you urgently! Oh, daddy, I believe it is an engagement!”
+
+Mr. Mackwayte rose to his feet in agitation, a touch of color creeping
+into his gray cheeks.
+
+“Nonsense, my dear!” he answered, “at this time of night! Why, it’s
+past eight... their first house is just finishing... they don’t go
+engaging people at this time of day... they’ve got other things to
+think of!”
+
+He went over to the desk and picked up the receiver.
+
+“Mackwayte speaking!” he said, with a touch of stage majesty in his
+voice.
+
+Instantly a voice broke in on the other end of the wire, a perfect
+torrent of words.
+
+“Mackwayte? Ah! I’m glad I caught you at home. Got your props there?
+Good. Hickie of Hickie and Flanagan broke his ankle during their turn
+at the first house just now, and I want you to take their place at the
+second house. Your turn’s at 9.40: it’s a quarter past eight now: I’ll
+have a car for you at your place at ten to nine sharp. Bring your band
+parts and lighting directions with you... don’t forget! You get twenty
+minutes, on! Right! Goodbye!”
+
+“The Palaceum want me to deputize for Hickie and Flanagan, my dear,” he
+said a little tremulously, “9.40... the second house... it’s... it’s
+very unexpected!”
+
+Barbara ran up and throwing her arms about his neck, kissed him.
+
+“How splendid!” she exclaimed, “the Palaceum, daddy! You’ve never had
+an engagement like this before... the biggest hall in London...!!
+
+“Only for a night, my dear,” said Mr. Mackwayte modestly.
+
+“But if they like you, daddy, if it goes down... what will you give
+them, daddy?”
+
+Mr. Mackwayte scratched his chin.
+
+“It’s the biggest theatre in London,” he mused, “It’ll have to be broad
+effects... and they’ll want something slap up modern, my dear, I’m
+thinking...”
+
+“No, no, daddy” his daughter broke in vehemently “they want the best.
+This is a London audience, remember, not a half-baked provincial house.
+This is London, Mac, not Wigan! And Londoners love their London! You’ll
+give ’em the old London horse bus driver, the sporting cabby, and I
+believe you’ll have time to squeeze in the hot potato man...”
+
+“Well, like your poor dear mother, I expect you know what’s the best
+I’ve got” replied Mr. Mackwayte, “but it’ll be a bit awkward with a
+strange dresser... I can’t get hold of Potter at this time, of night...
+and a stranger is sure to mix up my wigs and things...”
+
+“Why, daddy, I’m going with you to put out your things...”
+
+“But a lady clerk in the War Office, Barbara... a Government official,
+as you might say... go behind at a music-hall... it don’t seem proper
+right, my dear!”
+
+“Nonsense, Mac. Where’s your theatre trunk? Come along. We’ll have to
+try and get a taxi!”
+
+“They’re sending a car at ten to nine, my dear!”
+
+“Good gracious! what swells we are! And it’s half-past eight already!
+Who is on the bill with you?”
+
+“My dear, I haven’t an idea... I’m not very well up in the London
+programmes, I’m afraid... but it is sure to be a good programme. The
+Palaceum is the only house that’s had the courage to break away from
+this rotten revue craze!”
+
+Barbara was in the hall now, her arms plunged to the shoulder in a
+great basket trunk that smelt faintly of cocoa-butter. Right and left
+she flung coats and hats and trousers and band parts, selecting with a
+sure eye the properties which Mr. Mackwayte would require for the
+sketches he would play that evening. In the middle of it all the
+throbbing of a car echoed down the quiet road outside. Then there came
+a ring at the front door.
+
+
+At half-past nine that night, Barbara found herself standing beside her
+father in the wings of the vast Palaceum stage. Just at her back was
+the little screened-off recess where Mr. Mackwayte was to make the
+quick changes that came in the course of his turn. Here, since her
+arrival in the theatre, Barbara had been busy laying out coats and hats
+and rigs and grease-paints on the little table below the mirror with
+its two brilliant electric bulbs, whilst Mr. Mackwayte was in his
+dressing-room upstairs changing into his first costume.
+
+Now, old Mackwayte stood at her elbow in his rig-out as an old London
+bus-driver in the identical, characteristic clothes which he had worn
+for this turn for the past 25 years. He was far too old a hand to show
+any nervousness he might feel at the ordeal before him. He was chatting
+in undertones in his gentle, confidential way to the stage manager.
+
+All around them was that curious preoccupied stillness—the hush of the
+power-house—which makes the false world of the stage so singularly
+unreal by contrast when watched from the back. The house was packed
+from floor to ceiling, for the Palaceum’s policy of breaking away from
+revue and going back to Mr. Mackwayte called “straight vaudeville” was
+triumphantly justifying itself.
+
+Standing in the wings, Barbara could almost feel the electric current
+running between the audience and the comedian who, with the quiet
+deliberation of the finished artist, was going through his business on
+the stage. As he made each of his carefully studied points, he paused,
+confident of the vast rustle of laughter swelling into a hurricane of
+applause which never failed to come from the towering tiers of humanity
+before him, stretching away into the roof where the limelights blazed
+and spluttered. Save for the low murmur of voices at her side, the
+silence behind the scenes was absolute. No one was idle. Everyone was
+at his post, his attention concentrated on that diminutive little
+figure in the ridiculous clothes which the spot-lights tracked about
+the stage.
+
+It was the high-water mark of modern music-hall development. The
+perfect smoothness of the organization gave Barbara a great feeling of
+contentment for she knew how happy her father must be. Everyone had
+been so kind to him. “I shall feel a stranger amongst the top-liners of
+today, my dear,” he had said to her in the car on their way to the
+hall. She had had no answer ready for she had feared he spoke the
+truth.
+
+Yet everyone they had met had tried to show them that Arthur Mackwayte
+was not forgotten. The stage-door keeper had known him in the days of
+the old Aquarium and welcomed him by name. The comedian who preceded
+Mr. Mackwayte and who was on the stage at that moment had said, “Hullo,
+Mac! Come to give us young ’uns some tips?” And even now the stage
+manager was talking over old days with her father.
+
+“You had a rough but good schooling, Mac,” he was saying, “but, by
+Jove, it gave us finished artists. If you saw the penny reading line
+that comes trying to get a job here... and gets it, by Gad!... it’d
+make you sick. I tell you I have my work cut out staving them off! It’s
+a pretty good show this week, though, and I’ve given you a good place,
+Mac... you’re in front of Nur-el-Din!”
+
+“Nur-el-Din?” repeated Mr. Mackwayte, “what is it, Fletcher? A
+conjurer?”
+
+“Good Lord, man, where have you been living?” replied Fletcher.
+“Nur-el-Din is the greatest vaudeville proposition since Lottie
+Collins. Conjurer! That’s what she is, too, by Jove! She’s the newest
+thing in Oriental dancers... Spaniard or something... wonderful
+clothes, what there is of ’em... and jewelry... wait till you see her!”
+
+“Dear me,” said Mr. Mackwayte, “I’m afraid I’m a bit behind the times.
+Has she been appearing here long?”
+
+“First appearance in London, old man, and she’s made good from the word
+‘Go!’ She’s been in Paris and all over the Continent, and America, too,
+I believe, but she had to come to me to soar to the top of the bill. I
+saw at once where _she_ belonged! She’s a real artiste, temperament,
+style and all that sort of thing and a damn good producer into the
+bargain! But the worst devil that ever escaped out of hell never had a
+wickeder temper! She and I fight all the time! Not a show, but she
+doesn’t keep the stage waiting! But I won! I won’t have her prima donna
+tricks in this theatre and so I’ve told her! Hullo, Georgie’s
+finishing...”
+
+The great curtain switched down suddenly, drowning a cascade of
+applause, and a bundle of old clothes, twitching nerves, liquid
+perspiration and grease paint hopped off the stage into the centre of
+the group. An electric bell trilled, the limelights shut off, with a
+jerk that made the eyes ache, a back-cloth soared aloft and another
+glided down into its place, the comedian took two, three, four calls,
+then vanished into a horde of dim figures scuttling about in the gloom.
+
+An electric bell trilled again and deep silence fell once more, broken
+only by the hissing of the lights.
+
+“You ought to stop behind after your turn and see her, Mac,” the stage
+manager’s voice went on evenly. “All right, Jackson! On you go, Mac!”
+
+Barbara felt her heart jump. Now for it, daddy!
+
+The great curtain mounted majestically and Arthur Mackwayte, deputy
+turn, stumped serenely on to the stage.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II.
+CAPTAIN STRANGWISE ENTERTAINS A GUEST
+
+
+It was the slack hour at the Nineveh Hotel. The last groups about the
+tea-tables in the Palm Court had broken up, the Tzigane orchestra had
+stacked its instruments together on its little platform and gone home,
+and a gentle calm rested over the great hotel as the forerunner of the
+coming dinner storm.
+
+The pre-dinner hour is the uncomfortable hour of the modern hotel de
+luxe. The rooms seem uncomfortably hot, the evening paper palls, it is
+too early to dress for dinner, so one sits yawning over the fire,
+longing for a fireside of one’s own. At least that is how it strikes
+one from the bachelor standpoint, and that is how it appeared to affect
+a man who was sitting hunched up in a big arm-chair in the vestibule of
+the Nineveh Hotel on this winter afternoon.
+
+His posture spoke of utter boredom. He sprawled full length in his
+chair, his long legs stretched out in front of him, his eyes
+half-closed, various editions of evening papers strewn about the ground
+at his feet. He was a tall, well-groomed man, and his lithe, athletic
+figure looked very well in its neat uniform.
+
+A pretty little woman who sat at one of the writing desks in the
+vestibule glanced at him more than once. He was the sort of man that
+women look at with interest. He had a long, shrewd, narrow head, the
+hair dark and close-cropped, a big, bold, aquiline nose, and a firm
+masterful chin, dominated by a determined line of mouth emphasised by a
+thin line of moustache. He would have been very handsome but for his
+eyes, which, the woman decided as she glanced at him, were set rather
+too close together. She thought she would prefer him as he was now,
+with his eyes glittering in the fire-light through their long lashes.
+
+But what was most apparent was the magnificent physical fitness of the
+man. His was the frame of the pioneer, the man of the earth’s open
+spaces and uncharted wilds. He looked as hard as nails, and the woman
+murmured to herself, as she went on with her note, “On leave from the
+front.”
+
+Presently, the man stirred, stretched himself and finally sat up. Then
+he started, sprang to his feet, and strode easily across the vestibule
+to the reception desk. An officer was standing there in a worn uniform,
+a very shabby kit-bag by his side, a dirty old Burberry over his arm.
+
+“Okewood!” said the young man and touched the other on the shoulder,
+“isn’t it Desmond Okewood? By Jove, I _am_ glad to see you!”
+
+The new-comer turned quickly.
+
+“Why, hullo,” he said, “if it isn’t Maurice Strangwise! But, good
+heavens, man, surely I saw your name in the casualty list... missing,
+wasn’t it?”
+
+“Yep!” replied the other smiling, “that’s so! It’s a long story and
+it’ll keep! But tell me about yourself... this,” he kicked the kit-bag
+with the toe of his boot, “looks like a little leave! Just in from
+France?”
+
+He smiled again, baring his firm, white teeth, and looking at him
+Desmond suddenly remembered, as one recalls a trifle, his trick of
+smiling. It was a frank enough smile but... well, some people smile too
+much.
+
+“Got in just now by the leave train,” answered Desmond.
+
+“How much leave have you got?” asked Strangwise.
+
+“Well,” said the other, “it’s a funny thing, but I don’t know!”
+
+“Say, are they giving unlimited leave over there now?”
+
+Desmond laughed.
+
+“Hardly,” he replied. “But the War Office just applied for me to come
+over and here I am! What they want me for, whether it’s to advise the
+War Council or to act as Quartermaster to the Jewish Battalion I can’t
+tell you! I shan’t know until tomorrow morning! In the meantime I’m
+going to forget the war for this evening!”
+
+“What are you going to do to-night?” asked Strangwise.
+
+Desmond began to check off on his fingers.
+
+“Firstly, I’m going to fill the biggest bath in this hotel with hot
+water, get the biggest piece of Pears’ soap in London, and jump in:
+Then, if my tailor hasn’t betrayed me, I’m going to put on dress
+clothes, and whilst I am dressing summon Julien (if he’s maitre d’hôtel
+here) to a conference, then I’m going to eat the best dinner that this
+pub can provide. Then...”
+
+Strangwise interrupted him.
+
+“The bath is on you, if you like,” he said, “but the dinner’s on me and
+a show afterwards. I’m at a loose end, old man, and so are you, so
+we’ll hit up together! We’ll dine in the restaurant here at 7.30, and
+Julien shall come up to your room so that you can order the dinner. Is
+it a go?”
+
+“Rather,” laughed Desmond, “I’ll eat your dinner, Maurice, and you
+shall tell me how you managed to break out of the casualty list into
+the Nineveh Hotel. But what do all these anxious-looking gentry want?”
+
+The two officers turned to confront a group of four men who were
+surveying them closely. One of them, a fat, comfortable looking party
+with grizzled hair, on seeing Desmond, walked up to him.
+
+“Hullo!” said Desmond, “it’s Tommy Spencer! How are you, Spencer?
+What’s the betting in Fleet Street on the war lasting another five
+years? Have you come to interview me?”
+
+The tubby little man beamed and shook hands effusively.
+
+“Glad to see you looking so well, Major,” he said, “It’s your friend we
+want...”
+
+“What? Strangwise? Here, Maurice, come meet my friend Tommy Spencer of
+the “Daily Record,” whom I haven’t seen since we went on manoeuvres
+together down at Aldershot! Captain Strangwise, Tommy Spencer! Now,
+then, fire away; Spencer!”
+
+Strangwise smiled and shook his head.
+
+“I’m very pleased to know your friend, Desmond,” he said, “but, you
+know, I can’t talk! I had the strictest orders from the War Office...
+It’s on account of the other fellows, you know...”
+
+Desmond looked blankly at him. Then he—turned to Spencer.
+
+“You must let me into this, Spencer,” he said, “what’s old Maurice been
+up to? Has he been cashiered for wearing shoes or what?”
+
+Spencer’s manner became a trifle formal.
+
+“Captain Strangwise has escaped from a prisoners’ of war camp in
+Germany, Major,” he said, “we’ve been trying to get hold of him for
+days! He’s the talk of London!”
+
+Desmond turned like a shot.
+
+“Maurice!” he cried, “’pon my soul, I’m going to have an interesting
+evening... why, of course, you are just the sort of fellow to do a
+thing like that. But, Spencer, you know, it won’t do... fellows are
+never allowed to talk to the newspaper men about matters of this kind.
+And if you’re a good fellow, Spencer, you won’t even say that you have
+seen Strangwise here... you’ll only get him into trouble!”
+
+The little man looked rather rueful.
+
+“Oh, of course, Major, if you put it that way,” he said.
+
+“... And you’ll use your influence to make those other fellows with you
+drop it, will you, Spencer? And then come along to the bar and we’ll
+have a drink for old times’ sake!”
+
+Spencer seemed doubtful about the success of his representations to his
+colleagues but he obediently trotted away. Apparently, he succeeded in
+his mission for presently he joined the two officers alone in the
+American Bar.
+
+“I haven’t seen Strangwise for six months, Spencer,” said Desmond over
+his second cocktail. “Seeing him reminds me how astonishing it is the
+way fellows drop apart in war. Old Maurice was attached to the Brigade
+of which I am the Brigade Major as gunner officer, and we lived
+together for the best part of three months, wasn’t it, Maurice? Then he
+goes back to his battery and the next thing I hear of him is that he is
+missing. And then I’m damned if he doesn’t turn up here!”
+
+Spencer cocked an eye at Strangwise over his Martini.
+
+“I’d like to hear your story, despite the restrictions,” he said.
+
+Strangwise looked a trifle embarrassed.
+
+“Maybe I’ll tell you one day,” he replied in his quiet way, “though,
+honestly, there’s precious little to tell...”
+
+Desmond marked his confusion and respected him for it. He rushed in to
+the rescue.
+
+“Spencer,” he said abruptly, “what’s worth seeing in London? We are
+going to a show to-night. I want to be amused, mark you, not elevated!”
+
+“Nur-el-Din at the Palaceum,” replied the reporter.
+
+“By Jove, we’ll go there,” said Desmond, turning to Maurice. “Have you
+ever seen her? I’m told she’s perfectly marvelous...”
+
+“It’s an extraordinarily artistic turn,” said Spencer, “and they’re
+doing wonderful business at the Palaceum. You’d better go and see the
+show soon, though, for they tell me the lady is leaving the programme.”
+
+“_No!_” exclaimed Strangwise so suddenly that Desmond turned round and
+stared at him. “I thought she was there for months yet...”
+
+“They don’t want her to go,” answered Spencer, “she’s a perfect
+gold-mine to them but I gather the lady is difficult... in fact, to put
+it bluntly she’s making such a damn nuisance of herself with her
+artistic temperament that they can’t get on with her at all.”
+
+“Do you know this lady of the artistic temperament, Maurice?” asked
+Desmond.
+
+Strangwise hesitated a moment.
+
+“I met her in Canada a few years ago,” he said slowly, “she was a very
+small star then. She’s a very handsome and attractive girl, in spite of
+our friend’s unfavorable verdict. There’s something curiously real
+about her dancing, too, that you don’t find in this sort of show as a
+rule!”
+
+He stopped a moment, then added abruptly:
+
+“We’ll go along to the Palaceum to-night, if you like, Desmond,” and
+Desmond joyfully acquiesced. To one who has been living for weeks in an
+ill-ventilated pill-box on the Passchendaele Ridge, the lights and
+music and color of a music-hall seem as a foretaste of Paradise.
+
+And that was what Desmond Okewood thought as a few hours later he found
+himself with Maurice Strangwise in the stalls of the vast Palaceum
+auditorium. In the unwonted luxury of evening clothes he felt clean and
+comfortable, and the cigar he way smoking was the climax of one of
+Julien’s most esoteric efforts.
+
+The cards on either side of the proscenium opening bore the words:
+“Deputy Turn.” On the stage was a gnarled old man with ruddy cheeks and
+a muffler. a seedy top hat on his head, a coaching whip in his hand,
+the old horse bus-driver of London in his habit as he had lived. The
+old fellow stood there and just talked to the audience of a fine
+sporting class of men that petrol has driven from the streets, without
+exaggerated humor or pathos. Desmond, himself a born Cockney, at once
+fell under the actor’s spell and found all memories of the front
+slipping away from him as the old London street characters succeeded
+one another on the stage. Then the orchestra blared out, the curtain
+descended, and the house broke into a great flutter of applause.
+
+Desmond, luxuriating in his comfortable stall puffed at his cigar and
+fell into a pleasant reverie.
+
+He was contrasting the ghastly nightmare of mud and horrors from which
+he had only just emerged with the scene of elegance, of civilization;
+around him.
+
+Suddenly, his attention became riveted on the stage. The atmosphere of
+the theatre had changed. Always quick at picking up “influences,”
+Desmond instantly sensed a new mood in the throngs around him. A
+presence was in the theatre, an instinct-awakening, a material
+influence. The great audience was strangely hushed. The air was heavy
+with the scent of incense. The stringed instruments and oboes in the
+orchestra were wandering into rhythmic [Updater’s note: a line appears
+to be missing from the source here] dropped.
+
+Maurice touched his elbow.
+
+“There she is!” he said.
+
+Desmond felt inclined to shake him off roughly. The interruption jarred
+on him. For he was looking at this strangely beautiful girl with her
+skin showing very brown beneath a wonderful silver tiara-like
+headdress, and in the broad interstices of a cloth-of-silver robe with
+short, stiffly wired-out skirt. She was seated, an idol, on a
+glittering black throne, at her feet with their tapering dyed nails a
+fantastically attired throng of worshipers.
+
+The idol stirred into life, the music of the orchestra died away. Then
+a tom-tom began to beat its nervous pulse-stirring throb, the strident
+notes of a reed-pipe joined in and the dancer, raised on her toes on
+the dais, began to sway languorously to and fro. And so she swayed and
+swayed with sinuously curving limbs while the drums throbbed out faster
+with ever-shortening beats, with now and then a clash of brazen cymbals
+that was torture to overwrought nerves.
+
+The dancer was the perfection of grace. Her figure was lithe and supple
+as a boy’s. There was a suggestion of fire and strength and agility
+about her that made one think of a panther as she postured there
+against a background of barbaric color. The grace of her movements, the
+exquisite blending of the colors on the stage, the skillful grouping of
+the throng of worshipers, made up a picture which held the audience
+spellbound and in silence until the curtain dropped.
+
+Desmond turned to find Strangwise standing up.
+
+“I thought of just running round behind the scenes for a few minutes,”
+he said carelessly.
+
+“What, to see Nur-el-Din? By Jove, I’m coming, too!” promptly exclaimed
+Desmond.
+
+Strangwise demurred. He didn’t quite know if he could take him: there
+might be difficulties: another time... But Desmond got up resolutely.
+
+“I’ll be damned if you leave me behind, Maurice,” he laughed, “of
+course I’m coming, too! She’s the most delightful creature I’ve ever
+set eyes on!”
+
+And so it ended by them going through the pass-door together.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III.
+MR. MACKWAYTE MEETS AN OLD FRIEND
+
+
+That night Nur-el-Din kept the stage waiting for five minutes. It was a
+climax of a long series of similar unpardonable crimes in the
+music-hall code. The result was that Mr. Mackwayte, after taking four
+enthusiastic “curtains,” stepped off the stage into a perfect
+pandemonium.
+
+He found Fletcher, the stage manager, livid with rage, surrounded by
+the greater part of the large suite with which the dancer traveled.
+There was Madame’s maid, a trim Frenchwoman, Madame’s business manager,
+a fat, voluble Italian, Madame’s secretary, an olive-skinned South
+American youth in an evening coat with velvet collar, and Madame’s
+principal male dancer in a scanty Egyptian dress with grotesquely
+painted face. They were all talking at the same time, and at intervals
+Fletcher muttered hotly: “This time she leaves the bill or I walk out
+of the theatre!”
+
+Then a clear voice cried:
+
+“_Me voila!_” and a dainty apparition in an ermine wrap tripped into
+the centre of the group, tapped the manager lightly on the shoulder and
+said:
+
+“_Allons!_ I am ready!”
+
+Mr. Mackwayte’s face creased its mask of paint into a thousand
+wrinkles. For, on seeing him, the dancer’s face lighted up, and,
+running to him with hands outstretched, she cried:
+
+“_Tiens!_ Monsieur Arthur!” while he ejaculated:
+
+“Why, it’s little Marcelle!”
+
+But now the stage manager interposed. He whisked Madame’s wrap off her
+with one hand and with the other, firmly propelled her on to the stage.
+She let him have his way with a merry smile, dark eyes and white teeth
+flashing, but as she went she said to Mr. Mackwayte:
+
+“My friend, wait for me! _Et puis nous causerons!_ We will ’ave a talk,
+_n’est-ce pas?_”
+
+“A very old friend of mine, my dear,” Mr. Mackwayte said to Barbara
+when, dressed in his street clothes, he rejoined her in the wings where
+she stood watching Nur-el-Din dancing. “She was an acrobat in the Seven
+Duponts, a turn that earned big money in the old days. It must be...
+let’s see... getting on for twenty years since I last set eyes on her.
+She was a pretty kid in those days! God bless my soul! Little Marcelle
+a big star! It’s really most amazing!”
+
+Directly she was off the stage, Nur-el-Din came straight to Mr.
+Mackwayte, pushing aside her maid who was waiting with her wrap.
+
+“My friend,” she cooed in her pretty broken English, “I am so glad, so
+glad to see you. And this is your girl... ah! she ’as your eyes,
+Monsieur Arthur, your nice English gray eyes! Such a big girl... ah!
+but she make me feel old!”
+
+She laughed, a pretty gurgling laugh, throwing back her head so that
+the diamond collar she was wearing heaved and flashed.
+
+“But you will come to my room, _hein?_” she went on. “Marie, my wrap!”
+and she led the way to the lift.
+
+Nur-el-Din’s spacious dressing-room seemed to be full of people and
+flowers. All her little court was assembled amid a perfect bower of
+hot-house blooms and plants. Head and shoulders above everybody else in
+the room towered the figure of an officer in uniform, with him another
+palpable Englishman in evening dress.
+
+Desmond Okewood thought he had never seen anything in his life more
+charming than the picture the dancer made as she came into the room.
+Her wrap had fallen open and beneath the broad bars of her
+cloth-of-silver dress her bosom yet rose and fell after the exertions
+of her dance. A jet black curl had strayed out from beneath her lofty
+silver head-dress, and she thrust it back in its place with one little
+brown bejeweled hand whilst she extended the other to Strangwise.
+
+“_Tiens, mon capitaine!_” she said. Desmond was watching her closely,
+fascinated by her beauty, but noticed an unwilling, almost a hostile
+tone, in her voice.
+
+Strangwise was speaking in his deep voice.
+
+“Marcelle,” he said, “I’ve brought a friend who is anxious to meet you.
+Major Desmond Okewood! He and I soldiered together in France!” The
+dancer turned her big black eyes full on Desmond as she held out her
+hand to him.
+
+“Old friends, new friends,” she cried, clapping, her hands like a
+child, “I love friends. Captaine, here is a very old friend,” she said
+to Strangwise as Mr. Mackwayte and Barbara came into the rooms,
+“Monsieur Arthur Mackwayte and ’is daughter. I ’ave know Monsieur
+Arthur almos’ all my life. And, Mademoiselle, permit me? I introduce le
+Captaine Strangwise and ’is friend... what is the name? Ah, Major
+Okewood!”
+
+Nur-el-Din sank into a _bergère_ chair beside her great mirror.
+
+“There are too many in this room,” she cried, “there is no air!
+Lazarro, Ramiro, all of you, go outside, my friends!”
+
+As Madame’s entourage surged out, Strangwise said:
+
+“I hear you are leaving the Palaceum, Marcelle!”
+
+He spoke so low that Mr. Mackwayte and Barbara, who were talking to
+Desmond, did not hear. Marcelle, taking off her heavy head-dress,
+answered quickly:
+
+“Who told you that?”
+
+“Never mind,” replied Strangwise. “But you never told me you were
+going. Why didn’t you?”
+
+His voice was stern and hard now, very different from his usual quiet
+and mellow tones. But he was smiling.
+
+Marcelle cast a glance over her shoulder. Barbara was looking round the
+room and caught the reflection of the dancer’s face in a mirror hanging
+on the wall. To her intense astonishment, she saw a look of despair,
+almost of terror, in Nur-el-Din’s dark eyes. It was like the frightened
+stare of some hunted beast. Barbara was so much taken aback that she
+instinctively glanced over her shoulder at the door, thinking that the
+dancer had seen something there to frighten her. But the door was shut.
+When Barbara looked into the mirror again, she saw only the reflection
+of Nur-el-Din’s pretty neck and shoulders. The dancer was talking again
+in low tones to Strangwise.
+
+But Barbara swiftly forgot that glimpse of the dancer’s face in the
+glass. For she was very happy. Happiness, like high spirits, is
+eminently contagious, and the two men at her side were supremely
+content.
+
+Her father’s eyes were shining with his little success of the evening:
+on the way upstairs Fletcher had held out hopes to him of a long
+engagement at the Palaceum while as for the other, he was radiant with
+the excitement of his first night in town after long months of
+campaigning.
+
+He was thinking that his leave had started most propitiously. After a
+man has been isolated for months amongst muddy masculinity, the
+homeliest woman will find favor in his eyes. And to neither of these
+women, in whose presence he so unexpectedly found himself within a few
+hours of landing in England, could the epithet “homely” be applied.
+Each represented a distinct type of beauty in herself, and Desmond, as
+he chatted with Barbara, was mentally contrasting the two women.
+Barbara, tall and slim and very healthy, with her braided brown hair,
+creamy complexion and gray eyes, was essentially English. She was the
+typical woman of England, of England of the broad green valleys and
+rolling downs and snuggling hamlets, of England of the white cliffs
+gnawed by the restless ocean. The other was equally essentially a woman
+of the South. Her dark eyes, her upper lip just baring her firm white
+teeth, spoke of hot Latin or gypsy blood surging in her veins. Hers was
+the beauty of the East, sensuous, arresting, conjuring up pictures of
+warm, perfumed nights, the thrumming of guitars, a great yellow moon
+hanging low behind the palms.
+
+“Barbara!” called Nur-el-Din from the dressing table. Mr. Mackwayte had
+joined her there and was chatting to Strangwise.
+
+“You will stay and talk to me while I change _n’est-ce pas?_ Your papa
+and these gentlemen are going to drink a whiskey-soda with that animal
+Fletcher... _quel homme terrible_... and you shall join them
+presently.”
+
+The men went out, leaving Barbara alone with the dancer. Barbara
+noticed how tired Nur-el-Din was looking. Her pretty, childish ways
+seemed to have evaporated with her high spirits. Her face was heavy and
+listless. There were lines round her eyes, and her mouth had a hard,
+drawn look.
+
+“Child,” she said, “give me, please, my _peignoir_... it is behind the
+door,... and, I will get this paint off my face!”
+
+Barbara fetched the wrapper and sat down beside the dancer. But
+Nur-el-Din did not move. She seemed to be thinking. Barbara saw the
+hunted look she had already observed in her that evening creeping over
+her face again.
+
+“It is a hard life; this life of ours, a life of change, _ma petite!_ A
+great artiste has no country, no home, no fireside! For the past five
+years I have been roaming about the world! Often I think I will settle
+down, but the life holds me!”
+
+She took up from her dressing-table a little oblong plain silver box.
+
+“I want to ask you a favor, _ma petite_ Barbara!” she said. “This
+little box is a family possession of mine: I have had it for many
+years. The world is so disturbed to-day that life is not safe for
+anybody who travels as much as I do! You have a home, a safe home with
+your dear father! He was telling me about it! Will you take this little
+box and keep it safely for me until... until... the war is over...
+until I ask you for it?”
+
+“Yes, of course,” said Barbara, “if you wish it, though, what with
+these air raids, I don’t know that London is particularly safe,
+either.”
+
+“Ah! that is good of you,” cried Nur-el-Din, “anyhow, the little box is
+safer with you than with me. See, I will wrap it up and seal it, and
+then you will take it home with you, _n’est-ce pas?_”
+
+She opened a drawer and swiftly hunting among its contents produced a
+sheet of white paper, and some sealing-wax. She wrapped the box in the
+paper and sealed it up, stamping the seals with a camel signet ring she
+drew off her finger. Then she handed the package to Barbara.
+
+There was a knock at the door. The maid, noiselessly arranging Madame’s
+dresses in the corner opened it.
+
+“You will take care of it well for me,” the dancer said to Barbara, and
+her voice vibrated with a surprising eagerness, “you will guard it
+preciously until I come for it...” She laughed and added carelessly:
+“Because it is a family treasure, a life _mascotte_ of mine, _hein?_”
+
+Then they heard Strangwise’s deep voice outside.
+
+Nur-el-Din started.
+
+“Le Captaine is there, Madame,” said the French maid, “’e say Monsieur
+Mackwayte ask for Mademoiselle!”
+
+The dancer thrust a little hand from the folds of her silken kimono.
+
+“_Au revoir, ma petite_,” she said, “we shall meet again. You will come
+and see me, _n’est-ce pas?_ And say nothing to anybody about...” she
+pointed to Barbara’s bag where the little package was reposing, “it
+shall be a secret between us, _hein?_ Promise me this, _mon enfant!_”
+
+“Of course, I promise, if you like!” said Barbara, wonderingly.
+
+
+At half-past eight the next morning Desmond Okewood found himself in
+the ante-room of the Chief of the Secret Service in a cross and puzzled
+mood. The telephone at his bedside had roused him at 8 a.m. from the
+first sleep he had had in a real bed for two months. In a drowsy voice
+he had protested that he had an appointment at the War Office at 10
+o’clock, but a curt voice had bidden him dress himself and come to the
+Chief forthwith. Here he was, accordingly, breakfastless, his chin
+smarting from a hasty shave. What the devil did the Chief want with him
+anyhow? _He_ wasn’t in the Secret Service, though his brother, Francis,
+was.
+
+A voice broke in upon his angry musing.
+
+“Come in, Okewood!” it said.
+
+The Chief stood at the door of his room, a broad-shouldered figure in a
+plain jacket suit. Desmond had met him before. He knew him for a man of
+many questions but of few confidences, yet his recollection of him was
+of a suave, imperturbable personality. To-day, however, the Chief
+seemed strangely preoccupied. There was a deep line between his bushy
+eyebrows as he bent them at Desmond, motioning him to a chair. When he
+spoke, his manner was very curt.
+
+“What time did you part from the Mackwaytes at the theatre last night?”
+
+Desmond was dumbfounded. How on earth did the Chief know about his
+visit to the Palaceum? Still, he was used to the omniscience of the
+British Intelligence, so he answered promptly:
+
+“It was latish, sir; about midnight, I think!”
+
+“They went home to Seven Kings alone!”
+
+“Yes, sir, in a taxi!” Desmond replied.
+
+The Chief contemplated his blotting-pad gloomily. Desmond knew it for a
+trick of his when worried.
+
+“Did you have a good night?” he said to Desmond, suddenly.
+
+“Yes,” he said, not in the least understanding the drift of the
+question. “... though I didn’t mean to get up quite so early!”
+
+The Chief ignored this sally.
+
+“Nothing out of the ordinary happened during the night, I suppose?” he
+asked again.
+
+Desmond shook his head.
+
+“Nothing that I know of, sir,” he said.
+
+“Seen Strangwise this morning?”
+
+Desmond gasped for breath. So the Chief knew about him meeting
+Strangwise, too!
+
+“No, sir!”
+
+A clerk put his head in at the door.
+
+“Well, Matthews!”
+
+“Captain Strangwise will be along very shortly, sir,” he said.
+
+The Chief looked up quickly.
+
+“Ah, he’s all right then! Good.”
+
+“And, sir,” Matthews added, “Scotland Yard telephoned to say that the
+doctor is with Miss Mackwayte now.”
+
+Desmond started up.
+
+“Is Miss Mackwayte ill?” he exclaimed.
+
+The Chief answered slowly, as Matthews withdrew: “Mr. Mackwayte was
+found murdered at his house early this morning!”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV.
+MAJOR OKEWOOD ENCOUNTERS A NEW TYPE
+
+
+There is a sinister ring about the word “murder,” which reacts upon
+even the most hardened sensibility. Edgar Allan Poe, who was a master
+of the suggestive use of words, realized this when he called the
+greatest detective story ever written “The Murders in the Rue Morgue.”
+From the very beginning of the war, Desmond had seen death in all its
+forms but that word “murdered,” spoken with slow emphasis in the quiet
+room, gave him an ugly chill feeling round the heart that he had never
+experienced on the battlefield.
+
+“Murdered!” Desmond repeated dully and sat down. He felt stunned. He
+was not thinking of the gentle old man cruelly done to death or of the
+pretty Barbara prostrate with grief. He was overawed by the curious
+fatality that had plucked him from the horrors of Flanders only to
+plunge him into a tragedy at home.
+
+“Yes,” said the Chief bluntly, “by a burglar apparently—the house was
+ransacked!”
+
+“Chief,” he broke out, “you must explain. I’m all at sea! Why did you
+send for me? What have you got to do with criminal cases, anyway?
+Surely, this is a Scotland Yard matter!”
+
+The Chief shook his head.
+
+“I sent for you in default of your brother, Okewood!” he said. “You
+once refused an offer of mine to take you into my service, but this
+time I had to have you, so I got the War Office to wire...”
+
+“Then my appointment for ten o’clock to-day was with you?” Desmond
+exclaimed in astonishment.
+
+The Chief nodded.
+
+“It was,” he said curtly.
+
+“But,” protested Desmond feebly, “did you know about this murder
+beforehand!”
+
+The Chief threw back his head and laughed.
+
+“My dear fellow,” he said; “I’m not quite so deep as all that. I
+haven’t second sight, you know!”
+
+“You’ve got something devilish like it, sir!” said Desmond. “How on
+earth did you know that I was at the Palaceum last night?”
+
+The Chief smiled grimly.
+
+“Oh, that’s very simple,” he said. “Shall I tell you some more about
+yourself? You sat...” he glanced down at the desk in front of him,”...
+in Stall E 52 and, after Nur-el-Din’s turn, Strangwise took you round
+and introduced you to the lady. In her dressing-room you met Mr.
+Mackwayte and his daughter. After that...”
+
+“But,” Desmond interrupted quickly, “I must have been followed by one
+of your men. Still, I can’t see why my movements should interest the
+Secret Service, sir!”
+
+The Chief remained silent for a moment. Then he said:
+
+“Fate often unexpectedly takes a hand in this game of ours, Okewood. I
+sent for you to come back from France but old man Destiny wouldn’t
+leave it at that. Almost as soon as you landed he switched you straight
+on to a trail that I have been patiently following up for months past.
+That trail is...”
+
+The telephone on the desk rang sharply.
+
+“Whose trail?” Desmond could not forbear to ask as the Chief took off
+the receiver.
+
+“Just a minute,” the Chief said. Then he spoke into the telephone:
+
+“Marigold? Yes. Really? Very well, I’ll come straight along now... I’ll
+be with you in twenty minutes. Good-bye!”
+
+He put down the receiver and rose to his feet.
+
+“Okewood,” he cried gaily, “what do you say to a little detective work?
+That was Marigold of the Criminal Investigation Department... he’s down
+at Seven Kings handling this murder case. I asked him to let me know
+when it would be convenient for me to come along and have a look round,
+and he wants me to go now. Two heads are better than one. You’d better
+come along!”
+
+He pressed a button on the desk.
+
+The swift and silent Matthews appeared.
+
+“Matthews,” he said, “when Captain Strangwise comes, please tell him
+I’ve been called away and ask him to call back here at two o’clock to
+see me.”
+
+He paused and laid a lean finger reflectively along his nose.
+
+“Are you lunching anywhere, Okewood?” he said. Desmond shook his head.
+
+“Then you will lunch with me, eh? Right. Come along and we’ll try to
+find the way to Seven Kings.”
+
+The two men threaded the busy corridors to the lift which deposited
+them at the main entrance. A few minutes later the Chief was
+dexterously guiding his Vauxhall car through the crowded traffic of the
+Strand, Desmond beside him on the front seat.
+
+Desmond was completely fogged in his mind. He couldn’t see light
+anywhere. He asked himself in vain what possible connection could exist
+between this murder in an obscure quarter of London and the man at his
+side who, he knew, held in his firm hands lines that stretched to the
+uttermost ends of the earth? What kind of an affair was this, seemingly
+so commonplace that could take the Chief’s attention from the hundred
+urgent matters of national security that occupied him?
+
+The Chief seemed absorbed in his driving and Desmond felt it would be
+useless to attempt to draw him out. They wended their way through the
+city and out into the squalid length of the Mile End Road. Then the
+Chief began to talk.
+
+“I hate driving through the City,” he exclaimed, “but I always think
+it’s good for the nerves. Still, I have a feeling that I shall smash
+this old car up some day. That friend of yours, Strangwise, now he’s a
+remarkable man! Do you know his story?”
+
+“About his escape from Germany?” asked Desmond.
+
+The Chief nodded.
+
+“He told me something about it at dinner last night,” said Desmond,
+“but he’s such a modest chap he doesn’t seem to like talking about it!”
+
+“He must have a cool nerve,” replied the Chief, “he doesn’t know a word
+of German, except a few scraps he picked up in camp. Yet, after he got
+free, he made his way alone from somewhere in Hanover clear to the
+Dutch frontier. And I tell you he kept his eyes and ears open!”
+
+“Was he able to tell you anything good” asked Desmond.
+
+“The man’s just full of information. He couldn’t take a note of any
+kind, of course, but he seems to have a wonderful memory. He was able
+to give us the names of almost every unit of troops he came across.”
+
+He stopped to skirt a tram, then added suddenly:
+
+“Do you know him well, Okewood?”
+
+“Yes, I think I do,” said Desmond. “I lived with him for about three
+months in France, and we got on top-hole together. He’s a man
+absolutely without fear.”
+
+“Yes,” agreed the Chief. “But what about his judgment? Would you call
+him a well-balanced fellow? Or is he one of these harum-scarum soldier
+of fortune sort of chaps?”
+
+“I should say he was devilish shrewd,” replied the other. “Strangwise
+is a very able fellow and a fine soldier. The Brigadier thought a lot
+of him. There’s very little about artillery work that Strangwise
+doesn’t know. Our Brigadier’s a good judge, too... he was a gunner
+himself once, you know.”
+
+“I’m glad to hear you say that,” answered the Chief, “because there are
+some things he has told us, about the movements of troops,
+particularly, that don’t agree in the least with our own Intelligence
+reports. I am an old enough hand at my job to know that very often one
+man may be right where fifty independent witnesses are dead wrong. Yet
+our reports from Germany have been wonderfully accurate on the whole.”
+
+He stopped.
+
+“Tell me,” he asked suddenly, “is Strangwise a liar, do you think?”
+
+Desmond laughed. The question was so very unexpected.
+
+“Let me explain what I mean,” said the Chief. “There is a type of man
+who is quite incapable of telling the plain, unvarnished truth. That
+type of fellow might have the most extraordinary adventure happen to
+him and yet be unable to let it stand on its merits. When he narrates
+it, he trims it up with all kinds of embroidery. Is Strangwise that
+type?”
+
+Desmond thought a moment.
+
+“Your silence is very eloquent,” said the Chief drily.
+
+Desmond laughed.
+
+“It’s not the silence of consent,” he said, “but if you want me to be
+quite frank about Strangwise, Chief, I don’t mind telling you I don’t
+like him overmuch. We were very intimate in France. We were in some
+very tight corners together and he never let me down. He showed himself
+to be a very fine fellow, indeed. There are points about him I admire
+immensely. I love his fine physique, his manliness. I’m sure he’s got
+great strength of character, too. It’s because I admire all this about
+him that I think perhaps it’s just jealousy on my part when I feel...”
+
+“What?” said the Chief.
+
+“Well,” said Desmond slowly, “I feel myself trying to like something
+below the surface in the man. And then I am balked. There seems to be
+something abysmally deep behind the facade, if you know what I mean. If
+I think about it much, it seems to me that there is too much surface
+about Strangwise and not enough foundation! And he smiles... Well,
+rather often, doesn’t he?”
+
+“I know what you mean,” said the Chief. “I always tell my young men to
+be wary when a man smiles too much. Smiles are sometimes camouflage, to
+cover up something that mustn’t be seen underneath! Strangwise is a
+Canadian, isn’t he?”
+
+“I think so,” answered Desmond, “anyhow, he has lived there. But he got
+his commission over here. He came over some time in 1915, I believe,
+and joined up.”
+
+“Ah, here we are!” cried the Chief, steering the car down a turning
+marked “Laleham Villas.”
+
+Laleham Villas proved to be an immensely long terrace of small
+two-story houses, each one exactly like the other, the only difference
+between them lying in the color of the front doors and the arrangement
+of the small strip of garden in front of each. The houses stretched
+away on either side in a vista of smoke-discolored yellow brick. The
+road was perfectly straight and, in the dull yellow atmosphere of the
+winter morning, unspeakably depressing.
+
+The abode of small clerks and employees, Laleham Villas had rendered
+up, an hour before, its daily tribute of humanity to the City-bound
+trains of the Great Eastern Railway. The Mackwayte’s house was plainly
+indicated, about 200 yards down on the right-hand side, by a knot of
+errand boys and bareheaded women grouped on the side-walk. A large,
+phlegmatic policeman stood at the gate.
+
+“You’ll like Marigold,” said the Chief to Desmond as they got out of
+the car, “quite a remarkable man and very sound at his work!”
+
+British officers don’t number detective inspectors among their habitual
+acquaintances, and the man that came out of the house to meet them was
+actually the first detective that Desmond had ever met. Ever since the
+Chief had mentioned his name, Desmond had been wondering whether Mr.
+Marigold would be lean and pale and bewildering like Mr. Sherlock
+Holmes or breezy and wiry like the detectives in American crook plays.
+
+The man before him did not bear the faintest resemblance to either
+type. He was a well-set up, broad-shouldered person of about
+forty-five, very carefully dressed in a blue serge suit and black
+overcoat, with a large, even-tempered countenance, which sloped into a
+high forehead. The neatly brushed but thinning locks carefully arranged
+across the top of the head testified to the fact that Mr. Marigold had
+sacrificed most of his hair to the vicissitudes of his profession. When
+it is added that the detective had a small, yellow moustache and a
+pleasant, cultivated voice, there remains nothing further to say about
+Mr. Marigold’s external appearance. But there was something so patent
+about the man, his air of reserve, his careful courtesy, his shrewd
+eyes, that Desmond at once recognized him for a type, a cast from a
+certain specific mould. All services shape men to their own fashion.
+There is the type of Guardsman, the type of airman, the type of naval
+officer. And Desmond decided that Mr. Marigold must be the type of
+detective, though, as I have said, he was totally unacquainted with the
+_genus_.
+
+“Major Okewood, Marigold,” said the Chief, “a friend of mine!”
+
+Mr. Marigold mustered Desmond in one swift, comprehensive look.
+
+“I won’t give you my hand, Major,” the detective said, looking down at
+Desmond’s proffered one, “for I’m in a filthy mess and no error. But
+won’t you come in, sir?” he said to the Chief and led the way across
+the mosaic tile pathway to the front door which stood open.
+
+“I don’t think this is anything in your line, sir,” said Mr. Marigold
+to the Chief as the three men entered the house, “it’s nothing but just
+a common burglary. The old man evidently heard a noise and coming down,
+surprised the burglar who lost his head and killed him. The only novel
+thing about the whole case is that the old party was shot with a pistol
+and not bludgeoned, as is usually the case in affairs of this kind. And
+I shouldn’t have thought that the man who did it was the sort that
+carries a gun...”
+
+“Then you know who did it?” asked the Chief quietly.
+
+“I think I can safely say I do, sir,” said Mr. Marigold with the
+reluctant air of one who seldom admits anything to be a fact, “I think
+I can go as far as that! And we’ve got our man under lock and key!”
+
+“That’s a smart piece of work, Marigold,” said the Chief.
+
+“No, sir,” replied the other, “you could hardly call it that. He just
+walked into the arms of a constable over there near Goodmayes Station
+with the swag on him. He’s an old hand... we’ve known him for a
+receiver for years!
+
+“Who is it?” asked the Chief, “not one of my little friends, I suppose,
+eh, Marigold!”
+
+“Dear me, no, sir,” answered Mr. Marigold, chuckling, “it’s one of old
+Mackwayte’s music-hall pals, name o’ Barney!”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V.
+THE MURDER AT SEVEN KINGS
+
+
+“This is Mrs. Chugg, sir,” said Mr. Marigold, “the charwoman who found
+the body!”
+
+The Chief and Desmond stood at the detective’s side in the Mackwaytes’
+little dining-room. The room was in considerable disorder. There was a
+litter of paper, empty bottles, overturned cruets and other _débris_ on
+the floor, evidence of the thoroughness with which the burglar had
+overhauled the cheap fumed oak sideboard which stood against the wall
+with doors and drawers open. In the corner, the little roll-top desk
+showed a great gash in the wood round the lock where it had been
+forced. The remains of a meal still stood on the table.
+
+Mrs. Chugg, a diminutive, white-haired, bespectacled woman in a rusty
+black cape and skirt, was enthroned in the midst of this scene of
+desolation. She sat in an armchair by the fire, her hands in her lap,
+obviously supremely content with the position of importance she
+enjoyed. At the sound of Mr. Marigold’s voice, she bobbed up and
+regarded the newcomers with the air of a tragedy queen.
+
+“Yus mister,” she said with the slow deliberation of one who thoroughly
+enjoys repeating an oft-told tale, “I found the pore man and a horrid
+turn it give me, too, I declare! I come in early this morning a-purpose
+to turn out these two rooms, the dining-room and the droring-room, same
+as I always do of a Saturday, along of the lidy’s horders and wishes. I
+come in ’ere fust, to pull up the blinds and that, and d’reckly I
+switches on the light ‘Burglars!’ I sez to meself, ‘Burglars! That’s
+wot it is!’ seeing the nasty mess the place was in. Up I nips to Miss
+Mackwayte’s room on the first floor and in I bursts. ‘Miss,’ sez I,
+‘Miss, there’s been burglars in the house!’ and then I sees the pore
+lamb all tied up there on ’er blessed bed! Lor, mister, the turn it
+give me and I ain’t telling you no lies! She was strapped up that tight
+with a towel crammed in ’er mouth she couldn’t ’ardly dror ’er breath!
+I undid ’er pretty quick and the fust thing she sez w’en I gets the
+towl out of her mouth, the pore dear, is ‘Mrs. Chugg,’ she sez all of a
+tremble as you might say, ‘Mrs. Chugg’ sez she, ‘my father! my father!’
+sez she. With that up she jumps but she ’adn’t put foot to the floor
+w’en down she drops! It was along of ’er being tied up orl that time,
+dyer see, mister! I gets ’er back on the bed. ‘You lie still, Miss,’
+says I, ‘and I’ll pop in and tell your pa to come in to you!’ Well; I
+went to the old genelmun’s room. Empty!”
+
+Mrs. Chugg paused to give her narrative dramatic effect.
+
+“And where did you find Mr. Mackwayte?” asked the Chief in such a
+placid voice that Mrs. Chugg cast an indignant glance at him.
+
+“I was jes’ going downstairs to see if ’e was in the kitching or out at
+the back,” she continued, unheeding the interruption, “when there on
+the landing I sees a foot asticking out from under the curting. I pulls
+back the curting and oh, Lor! oh, dear, oh, dear, the pore genelmun,
+’im as never did a bad turn to no one!”
+
+“Come, come, Mrs. Chugg!” said the detective.
+
+The charwoman wiped her eyes and resumed.
+
+“’E was a-lying on his back in ’is dressing-gown, ’is face all burnt
+black, like, and a fair smother o’ blood. Under ’is hed there was a
+pool o’ blood, mister, yer may believe me or not...”
+
+Mr. Marigold cut in decisively.
+
+“Do you wish to see the body, sir?” the detective asked the Chief,
+“they’re upstairs photographing it!”
+
+The Chief nodded. He and Desmond followed the detective upstairs,
+whilst Mrs. Chugg resentfully resumed her seat by the fire. On her face
+was the look of one who has cast pearls before swine.
+
+“Any finger-prints?” asked the Chief in the hall.
+
+“Oh, no,” he said, “Barney’s far too old a hand for that sort o’
+thing!”
+
+The landing proved to be a small space, covered with oilcloth and
+raised by a step from the bend made by the staircase leading to the
+first story. On the left-hand side was a window looking on a narrow
+passage separating the Mackwayte house from its neighbors and leading
+to the back-door. By the window stood a small wicker-work table with a
+plant on it. At the back of the landing was a partition, glazed
+half-way up and a door—obviously the bath-room.
+
+The curtain had been looped right over its brass rod. The body lay on
+its back at the foot of the table, arms flung outward, one leg doubled
+up, the other with the foot just jutting out over the step leading down
+to the staircase. The head pointed towards the bath-room door. Over the
+right eye the skin of the face was blackened in a great patch and there
+was a large blue swelling, like a bruise, in the centre. There was a
+good deal of blood on the face which obscured the hole made by the
+entrance of the bullet. The eyes were half-closed. A big camera,
+pointed downwards, was mounted on a high double ladder straddling the
+body and was operated by a young man in a bowler hat who went on with
+his work without taking the slightest notice of the detective and his
+companions.
+
+“Close range,” murmured Desmond, after glancing at the dead man’s face,
+“a large calibre automatic pistol, I should think!”
+
+“Why do you think it was a large calibre pistol, Major?” asked Mr.
+Marigold attentively.
+
+“I’ve seen plenty of men killed at close range by revolver and rifle
+bullets out at the front,” replied Desmond, “but I never saw a man’s
+face messed up like this. In a raid once I shot a German at point blank
+range with my revolver, the ordinary Army issue pattern, and I looked
+him over after. But it wasn’t anything like this. The only thing I’ve
+seen approaching it was one of our sergeants who was killed out on
+patrol by a Hun officer who put his gun right in our man’s face. That
+sergeant was pretty badly marked, but...”
+
+He shook his head. Then he added, addressing the detective: “Let’s see
+the gun! Have you got it?”
+
+Mr. Marigold shook his head.
+
+“He hadn’t got it on him,” he answered, “he swears he never had a gun.
+I expect he chucked it away somewhere. It’ll be our business to find it
+for him!”
+
+He smiled rather grimly, then added:
+
+“Perhaps you’d care to have a look at Miss Mackwayte’s room, sir!”
+
+“Is Miss Mackwayte there” asked the Chief.
+
+“I got her out of this quick,” replied Mr. Marigold, “she’s had a bad
+shock, poor girl, though she gave her evidence clearly enough for all
+that... as far as it goes and that’s not much. Some friends near by
+have taken her in! The doctor has given her some bromide and says she’s
+got to be kept quiet...”
+
+“What’s her story!” queried the Chief.
+
+“She can’t throw much light on the business. She and her father reached
+home from the theatre about a quarter past twelve, had a bit of supper
+in the dining-room and went up to bed before one o’clock. Miss
+Mackwayte saw her father go into his room, which is next to hers, and
+shut the door. The next thing she knows is that she woke up suddenly
+with some kind of a loud noise in her ears... that was the report of
+the pistol, I’ve no doubt... she thought for a minute it was an air
+raid. Then suddenly a hand was pressed over her mouth, something was
+crammed into her mouth and she was firmly strapped down to the bed.”
+
+“Did she see the man?” asked Desmond.
+
+“She didn’t see anything from first to last,” answered the detective,
+“as far as she is concerned it might have been a woman or a black man
+who trussed her up. It was quite dark in her bedroom and this burglar
+fellow, after binding and gagging her, fastened a bandage across her
+eyes into the bargain. She says she heard him moving about her room and
+then creep out very softly. The next thing she knew was Mrs. Chugg
+arriving at her bedside this morning.”
+
+“What time did this attack take place?” asked the Chief.
+
+“She has no idea,” answered the detective. “She couldn’t see her watch
+and they haven’t got a striking clock in the house.”
+
+“But can she make no guess!”
+
+“Well, she says she thinks it was several hours before Mrs. Chugg
+arrived in the morning... as much as three hours, she thinks!”
+
+“And what time did Mrs. Chugg arrive!”
+
+“At half-past six!”
+
+“About Mackwayte... how long was he dead when they found him? What does
+the doctor say?”
+
+“About three hours approximately, but you know, they can’t always tell
+to an hour or so!”
+
+“Well,” said the Chief slowly, “it looks as if one might figure the
+murder as having been committed some time between 3 and 3.30 a.m.”
+
+“My idea exactly,” said Mr. Marigold. “Shall we go upstairs?”
+
+He conducted the Chief and Desmond up the short flight of stairs to the
+first story. He pushed open the first door he came to.
+
+“Mackwayte’s room, on the back,” he said, “bed slept in, as you see,
+old gentleman’s clothes on a chair—obviously he was disturbed by some
+noise made by the burglar and came out to see what was doing! And
+here,” he indicated a door adjoining, “is Miss Mackwayte’s room, on the
+front; as you observe. They don’t use the two rooms on the second
+floor, except for box-rooms... one’s full of old Mackwayte’s theatre
+trunks and stuff. They keep no servant; Mrs. Chugg comes in each
+morning and stays all day. She goes away after supper every evening.”
+
+Desmond found himself looking into a plainly furnished but dainty
+bedroom with white furniture and a good deal of chintz about. There
+were some photographs and pictures hanging on the walls. The room was
+spotlessly clean and very tidy.
+
+Desmond remarked on this, asking if the police had put the room
+straight.
+
+Mr. Marigold looked quite shocked.
+
+“Oh, no, everything is just as it was when Mrs. Chugg found Miss
+Mackwayte this morning. There’s Miss Mackwayte’s gloves and handbag on
+the toilet-table just as she left ’em last night. I wouldn’t let her
+touch her clothes even. She went over to Mrs. Appleby’s in her
+dressing-gown, in a taxi.”
+
+“Then Master Burglar didn’t burgle this room?” asked the Chief.
+
+“Nothing touched, not even the girl’s money,” replied Marigold.
+
+“Then why did he come up here at all?” asked Desmond.
+
+“Obviously, the old gentleman disturbed him,” was the detective’s
+reply. “Barney got scared and shot the old gentleman, then came up here
+to make sure that the daughter would not give him away before he could
+make his escape. He must have known the report of the gun would wake
+her up.”
+
+“But are there no clues or finger-prints or anything of that kind here,
+Marigold?” asked the Chief.
+
+“Not a finger-print anywhere,” responded the other, “men like Barney
+are born wise to the fingerprint business, sir.”
+
+He dipped a finger and thumb into his waistcoat pocket.
+
+“Clues? Well, I’ve got one little souvenir here which I daresay a
+writer of detective stories would make a good bit of.”
+
+He held in his hand a piece of paper folded flat. He unfolded it and
+disclosed a loop of dark hair.
+
+“There!” he said mockingly, straightening out the hair and holding it
+up in the light. “That’s calculated to set one’s thoughts running all
+over the place, isn’t it? That piece of hair was caught in the buckle
+of one of the straps with which Miss Mackwayte was bound to the bed.
+Miss Mackwayte, I would point out, has brown hair. _Whose hair do you
+think that is?_”
+
+Desmond looked closely at the strand of hair in the detective’s
+fingers. It was long and fine and glossy and jetblack.
+
+The Chief laughed and shook his head.
+
+“Haven’t an idea, Marigold,” he answered, “Barney’s, I should imagine,
+that is, if he goes about with black ringlets falling round his
+shoulders.”
+
+“Barney?” echoed the detective. “Barney’s as bald as I am. Besides, if
+you saw his sheet, you’d realize that he has got into the habit of
+wearing his hair short!”
+
+He carefully rolled the strand of hair up, replaced it in its paper and
+stowed it in his waistcoat pocket.
+
+“It just shows how easily one is misled in a matter of this kind,” he
+went on. “Supposing Barney hadn’t got himself nabbed, supposing I
+hadn’t been able to find out from Miss Mackwayte her movements on the
+night previous to the murder, that strand of hair might have led me on
+a fine wild goose chase!”
+
+“But, damn it, Marigold,” exclaimed the Chief, laughing, “you haven’t
+told us whose hair it is?”
+
+“Why, Nur-el-Din’s, of course!”
+
+The smile froze on the Chief’s lips, the laughter died out of his eyes.
+Desmond was amazed at the change in the man. The languid interest he
+had taken in the different details of the crime vanished. Something
+seemed to tighten up suddenly in his face and manner.
+
+“Why Nur-el-Din?” he asked curtly.
+
+Mr. Marigold glanced quickly at him. Desmond remarked that the
+detective was sensible of the change too.
+
+“Simply because Miss Mackwayte spent some time in the dancer’s
+dressing-room last night, sir,” he replied quietly, “she probably sat
+at her dressing-table and picked up this hair in hers or in her veil or
+something and it dropped on the bed where one of Master Barney’s
+buckles caught it up.”
+
+He spoke carelessly but Desmond noticed that he kept a watchful eye on
+the other.
+
+The Chief did not answer. He seemed to have relapsed into the
+preoccupied mood in which Desmond had found him that morning.
+
+“I was going to suggest, sir,” said Mr. Marigold diffidently, “if you
+had the time, you might care to look in at the Yard, and see the
+prisoner. I don’t mind telling you that he is swearing by all the
+tribes of Judah that he’s innocent of the murder of old Mackwayte. He’s
+got an amazing yarn... perhaps you’d like to hear it!”
+
+Mr. Marigold suddenly began to interest Desmond. His proposal was put
+forward so modestly that one would have thought the last thing he
+believed possible was that the Chief should acquiesce in his
+suggestion. Yet Desmond had the feeling that the detective was far from
+being so disinterested as he wished to seem. It struck Desmond that the
+case was more complicated than Mr. Marigold admitted and that the
+detective knew it. Had Mr. Marigold discovered that the Chief knew a
+great deal more about this mysterious affair than the detective knew
+himself? And was not his attitude of having already solved the problem
+of the murder, his treatment of the Chief as a dilettante criminologist
+simply an elaborate pose, to extract from the Chief information which
+had not been proffered?
+
+The Chief glanced at his watch.
+
+“Right,” he said, “I think I’d like to go along.”
+
+“I have a good deal to do here still,” observed Mr. Marigold, “so, if
+you don’t mind, I won’t accompany you. But perhaps, sir, you would like
+to see me this afternoon?”
+
+The Chief swung round on his heel and fairly searched Mr. Marigold with
+a glance from beneath his bushy eyebrows. The detective returned his
+gaze with an expression of supreme innocence.
+
+“Why, Marigold,” answered the Chief, “I believe I should. Six o’clock
+suit you?”
+
+“Certainly, sir,” said Mr. Marigold.
+
+Desmond stood by the door, vastly amused by this duel of wits. The
+Chief and Mr. Marigold made a move towards the door, Desmond turned to
+open it and came face to face with a large framed photograph of the
+Chief hanging on the wall of Miss Mackwayte’s bedroom.
+
+“Why, Chief,” he cried, “you never told me you knew Miss Mackwayte!”
+
+The Chief professed to be very taken aback by this question. “Dear me,
+didn’t I, Okewood?” he answered with eyes laughing, “she’s my
+secretary!”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI.
+“NAME O’BARNEY”
+
+
+“Miss Mackwayte telephoned to ask if I could go and see her,” said the
+Chief to Desmond as they motored back to White hall, “Marigold gave me
+the message just as we were coming out. She asked if I could come this
+afternoon. I’m going to send you in my place, Okewood. I’ve got a
+conference with the head of the French Intelligence at three, and the
+Lord knows when I shall get away. I’ve a notion that you and Miss
+Mackwayte will work very well together.”
+
+“Certainly,” said Desmond, “she struck me as being a very charming and
+clever girl. Now I know the source of your information about my
+movements last night!”
+
+“That you certainly don’t!” answered the Chief promptly, “if I thought
+you did Duff and No.39 should be sacked on the spot!”
+
+“Then it wasn’t Miss Mackwayte who told you?”
+
+“I haven’t seen or heard from Miss Mackwayte since she left my office
+yesterday evening. You were followed!”
+
+“But why?”
+
+“I’ll tell you all about it at, lunch!”
+
+Bated once more, Desmond retired into his shell. By this he was
+convinced of the utter impossibility of making the Chief vouchsafe any
+information except voluntarily.
+
+Mr. Marigold had evidently announced their coming to Scotland Yard, for
+a very urbane and delightful official met them at the entrance and
+conducted them to a room where the prisoner was already awaiting them
+in charge of a plain clothes man. There the official excused himself
+and retired, leaving them alone with the prisoner and his escort.
+
+Barney proved to be a squat, podgy, middle-aged Jew of the familiar
+East End Polish or Russian type. He had little black beady eyes, a
+round fat white face, and a broad squabby Mongol nose. His clothes were
+exceedingly seedy, and the police had confiscated his collar and tie.
+This absence of neckwear, coupled with the fact that the lower part of
+his face was sprouting with a heavy growth of beard, gave him a
+peculiarly villainous appearance:
+
+He was seated on a chair, his head sunk on his breast. His eyes were
+hollow, and his face overspread with a horrible sickly greenish pallor,
+the hue of the last stage of fear. His hands, resting on his knees,
+twisted and fiddled continually. Every now and then convulsive shudders
+shook him. The man was quite obviously on the verge of a collapse.
+
+As the Chief and Desmond advanced into the room, the Jew looked up in
+panic. Then he sprang to his feet with a scream and flung himself on
+his knees, crying:
+
+“Ah, no! Don’t take me away! I ain’t done no ’arm, gentlemen! S’welp
+me, gentlemen, I ain’t a murderer! I swear...”
+
+“Get him up!” said the Chief in disgust, “and, look here, can’t you
+give him a drink? I want to speak to him. He’s not fit to talk
+rationally in this state!”
+
+The detective pushed a bell in the wall, a policeman answered it, and
+presently the prisoner was handed a stiff glass of whiskey and water.
+
+After Barney had swallowed it, the Chief said:
+
+“Now, look here, my man, I want you to tell me exactly what happened
+last night. No fairy tales, remember! I know what you told the police,
+and if I catch you spinning me any yarns on to it, well, it’ll only be
+the worse for you. I don’t mind telling you, you’re in a pretty bad
+mess!”
+
+The prisoner put down the glass wearily and wiped his forehead with the
+back of his hand. Though the room was bitterly cold, the perspiration
+stood out in beads on his brow.
+
+“I have told the trewth, sir,” he said hoarsely, “and it goes against
+me, don’t it? Hafen’t I not gif myself op to the policeman? Couldn’t I
+not haf drop the svag and ron away? For sure! And vy didn’t I not do
+it? For vy, because of vot I seen in that house. I’ve ’ad my bit of
+trobble mit the police and vy should I tell them how I vos op to a game
+last night if I vas not a-telling the trewth, eh! I’ve been on the
+crook, gentlemen, I say it, ja, but I ain’t no murderer, God choke me I
+ain’t!
+
+“I’ve earned gut monney in my time on the ’alls but life is very ’ardt,
+and I’ve been alvays hongry these days. Yesterday I meet old Mac wot I
+used to meet about the ’alls I vos workin’ along o’ my boss... at the
+agent’s it vos were I vos lookin’ for a shop! The perfesh always makes
+a splash about its salaries, gentlemen, and Mac ’e vos telling me vot a
+lot o’ monney he make on the Samuel Circuit and ’ow ’e ’ad it at home
+all ready to put into var savings certif’kits. I never done a job like
+this von before, gentlemen, but I vos hardt pushed for money, s’welp me
+I vos!
+
+“I left it till late last night because of these air raids... I vanted
+to be sure that ole Mac and ’is daughter should be asleep. I god in
+from the back of the louse, oi, oi, bot it vos dead easy! through the
+scollery vindow. I cleared op a bagful of stuff in the dining-room...
+there vosn’t, anything vorth snatching outer the parlor... and
+sixty-five quid out of an old cigar-box in the desk. The police ’as got
+it... I give it all back! I say I haf stolen, but murder? No!” He
+paused.
+
+“Go on,” said the Chief.
+
+The prisoner looked about him in a frightened way.
+
+“I vos jus’ thinking I had better be getting avay, he continued in his
+hoarse, gutteral voice, ’ven snick.!... I hears a key in the front
+door. I vos, standing by the staircase... I had no time to get out by
+the vay I had kom so I vent opstairs to the landing vere there vos a
+curtain. I shlip behind the curtain and vait! I dare not look out but I
+listen, I listen.. I hear some one go into the dining-room and move
+about. I open the curtain a little way... so!... because I think I vill
+shlip downstairs vile the other party is in the dining-room... and
+there I sees ole Mac in his dressing-gown just coming down from the
+first floor. The same moment I hear a step in the front hall.
+
+“I see ole Mac start but he does not stop. He kom right downstairs, and
+I step back behind the curtain ontil I find a door vich I push. I dare
+not svitch on my light but presently I feel the cold edge of a bath
+with my hands. I stay there and vait. Oi, oi, oi, how shall you belief
+vot I tell?”
+
+He broke off trembling.
+
+“Go on, Barney,” said the detective, “can’t you see the gentlemen are
+waiting?”
+
+The Jew resumed, his voice sinking almost to a whisper.
+
+“It vos quite dark behind the curtain but from the bathroom, through
+the open door, I could just see ole Mac standing with his back to me,
+a-holding the curtain. He must haf shlip in there to watch the other
+who vos komming opstairs. Then... then... I hear a step on the stair...
+a little, soft step... then ole Mac he open the curtain and cry ‘Who
+are you?’ Bang! the... the... other on the stairs he fire a shot. I see
+the red flash and I smell the... the powder not? The other, he does not
+vait... he just go on opstairs and ole Mac is lying there on his back
+with the blood a-trickling out on the oil-cloth. And I, vith my bag on
+my back, I creep downstair and out by the back again, and I ron and ron
+and then I valks. Gott! how I haf walked! I vos so frightened! And
+then, at last, I go to a policeman and gif ‘myself op!”
+
+Barney stopped. The tears burst from his eyes and laying his grimy face
+on his arm, he sobbed.
+
+The detective patted him on the back.
+
+“Pull yourself together, man!” he said encouragingly.
+
+“This man on the stairs,” queried the Chief, “did you see him?”
+
+“Ach was!” replied the prisoner, turning a tearstained face towards
+him, “I haf seen nothing, except old Mac’s back vich vos right in vront
+of me, it vos so dark!”
+
+“But couldn’t you see the other person at all, not even the outline”
+persisted the Chief.
+
+The prisoner made a gesture of despair.
+
+“It vos so dark, I say! Nothing haf I seen! I haf heard only his step!”
+
+“What sort of step? Was it heavy or light or what? Did this person seem
+in a hurry?”
+
+“A little light tread... so! won, two! won, two!, and qvick like ’e
+think ’e sneak opstairs vithout nobody seeing!”
+
+“Did he make much noise”
+
+“Ach was! hardly at all... the tread, ’e vos so light like a
+woman’s...”
+
+“Like a woman’s, eh!”, repeated the Chief, as if talking to himself,
+“Why do you think that?”
+
+“Because for vy it vos so gentle! The’ staircase, she haf not sqveak as
+she haf sqveak when I haf creep away!”
+
+The Chief turned to the plain clothes man.
+
+“You can take him away now, officer,” he said.
+
+Barney sprang up trembling.
+
+“Not back to the cell,” he cried imploringly, “I cannot be alone. Oh,
+gentlemen, you vill speak for me! I haf not had trobble vith the police
+this long time! My vife’s cousin, he is an elder of the Shool he vill
+tell you ’ow poor ve haf been...”
+
+But the Chief crossed the room to the door and the detective hustled
+the prisoner away.
+
+Then the official whom they had seen before came in.
+
+“Glad I caught you,” he said. “I thought you would care to see the post
+mortem report. The doctor has just handed it in.”
+
+The chief waved him off.
+
+“I don’t think there’s any doubt about the cause of death,” he replied,
+“we saw the body ourselves...”
+
+“Quite so,” replied the other, “but there is something interesting
+about this report all the same. They were able to extract the bullet!”
+
+“Oh,” said the Chief, “that ought to tell us something!”
+
+“It does,” answered the official. “We’ve submitted it to our small arms
+expert, and he pronounces it to be a bullet fired by an automatic
+pistol of unusually large calibre.”
+
+The Chief looked at Desmond.
+
+“You were right there,” he said.
+
+“And,” the official went on, “our man says, further, that, as far as he
+knows, there is only one type of automatic pistol that fires a bullet
+as big as this one!”
+
+“And that is?” asked the Chief.
+
+“An improved pattern of the German Mauser pistol,” was the other’s
+startling reply.
+
+
+The Chief tapped a cigarette meditatively on the back of his hand.
+
+“Okewood,” he said, “you are the very model of discretion. I have put
+your reticence to a pretty severe test this morning, and you have stood
+it very well. But I can see that you are bristling with questions like
+a porcupine with quills. Zero hour has arrived. You may fire away!”
+
+They were sitting in the smoking-room of the United Service Club. “The
+Senior,” as men call it, is the very parliament of Britain’s
+professional navy and army. Even in these days when war has flung wide
+the portals of the two services to all-comers, it retains a touch of
+rigidity. Famous generals and admirals look down from the lofty walls
+in silent testimony of wars that have been. Of the war that is, you
+will hear in every cluster of men round the little tables. Every day in
+the hour after luncheon battles are fought over again, personalities
+criticized, and decisions weighed with all the vigorous freedom of
+ward-room or the mess ante-room.
+
+And so to-day, as he sat in his padded leather chair, surveying the
+Chief’s quizzing face across the little table where their coffee was
+steaming, Desmond felt the oddness of the contrast between the direct,
+matter-of-fact personalities all around them, and the extraordinary web
+of intrigue which seemed to have spun itself round the little house at
+Seven Kings.
+
+Before he answered the Chief’s question, he studied him for a moment
+under cover of lighting a cigarette. How very little, to be sure,
+escaped that swift and silent mind! At luncheon the Chief had
+scrupulously avoided making, the slightest allusion to the thoughts
+with which Desmond’s mind was seething. Instead he had told, with the
+gusto of the born raconteur, a string of extremely droll yarns about
+“double crosses,” that is, obliging gentlemen who will spy for both
+sides simultaneously, he had come into contact with during his long and
+varied career. Desmond had played up to him and repressed the questions
+which kept rising to his lips. Hence the Chief’s unexpected tribute to
+him in the smoking room.
+
+“Well,” said Desmond slowly, “there _are_ one or two things I should
+like to know. What am I here for? Why did you have me followed last
+night? How did you know, before we ever went to Seven Kings, that
+Barney did not murder old Mackwayte? And lastly...”
+
+He paused, fearing to be rash; then he risked it:
+
+“And lastly, Nur-el-Din?”
+
+The Chief leant back in his chair and laughed.
+
+“I’m sure you feel much better now,” he said. Then his face grew grave
+and he added:
+
+“Your last question answers all the others!”
+
+“Meaning Nur-el-Din?” asked Desmond.
+
+The Chief nodded.
+
+“Nur-el-Din,” he repeated. “That’s why you’re here, that’s why I had
+you followed last night, that’s why I...” he hesitated for the word,
+“let’s say, _presumed_ (one knows for certain so little in our work)
+that our friend Barney had nothing to do with the violent death of poor
+old Mackwayte. Nur-el-Din in the center, the kernel, the hub of
+everything!”
+
+The Chief leant across the table and Desmond pulled his chair closer.
+
+“There’s only one other man in the world can handle this job, except
+you,” he began, “and that’s your brother Francis. Do you know where he
+is, Okewood?”
+
+“He wrote to me last from Athens,” answered Desmond, “but that must be
+nearly two months ago.”
+
+The Chief laughed.
+
+“His present address is not Athens,” he said, “if you want to know,
+he’s serving on a German Staff somewhere at the back of Jerusalem the
+Golden. Frankly, I know you don’t care about our work, and I did my
+best to get your brother. He has had his instructions and as soon as he
+can get away he will. That was not soon enough for me. It had to be him
+or you. So I sent for you.”
+
+He stopped and cleared his throat. Desmond stared at him. He could
+hardly believe his eyes. This quiet, deliberate man was actually
+embarrassed.
+
+“Okewood,” the Chief went on, “you know I like plain speaking, and
+therefore you won’t make the mistake of thinking I’m trying to flatter
+you.”
+
+Desmond made a gesture.
+
+“Wait a moment and hear me out,” the Chief went on. “What is required
+for this job is a man of great courage and steady nerve. Yes, we have
+plenty of fellows like that. But the man I am looking for must, in
+addition to possessing those qualities, know German and the Germans
+thoroughly, and when I say thoroughly I mean to the very core so that,
+if needs be, he may be a German, think German, act German. I have men
+in my service who know German perfectly and can get themselves up to
+look the part to the life. But they have never been put to the real,
+the searching test. Not one of them has done what you and your brother
+successfully accomplished. The first time I came across you, you had
+just come out of Germany after fetching your brother away. To have
+lived for weeks in Germany in wartime and to have got clear away is a
+feat which shows that both you and he can be trusted to make a success
+of one of the most difficult and critical missions I have ever had to
+propose. Francis is not here. That’s why I want you.”
+
+The Chief paused as if weighing something in his mind.
+
+“It’s not the custom of either service, Okewood,” he said, “to send a
+man to certain death. You’re not in this creepy, crawly business of
+ours. You’re a pukka soldier and keen on your job. So I want you to
+know that you are free to turn down this offer of mine here and now,
+and go back to France without my thinking a bit the worse of you.”
+
+“Would you tell me something about it?” asked Desmond.
+
+“I’m sorry I can’t,” replied the other. “There must be only two men in
+this secret, myself and the fellow who undertakes the mission. Of
+course, it’s not certain death. If you take this thing on, you’ll have
+a sporting chance for your life, but that’s all. It’s going to be a
+desperate game played against a desperate opponent. Now do you
+understand why I didn’t want you to think I was flattering you? You’ve
+got your head screwed on right, I know, but I should hate to feel
+afterwards, if anything went wrong, that you thought I had buttered you
+up in order to entice you into taking the job on!”
+
+Desmond took two or three deep puffs of his cigarette and dropped it
+into the ash-tray.
+
+“I’ll see you!” he said.
+
+The Chief grinned with delight.
+
+“By Jove!” he exclaimed, “I knew you were my man!”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII.
+NUR-EL-DIN
+
+
+The love of romance is merely the nobler form of curiosity. And there
+was something in Desmond Okewood’s Anglo-Irish parentage that made him
+fiercely inquisitive after adventure. In him two men were constantly
+warring, the Irishman, eager for romance yet too indolent to go out in
+search of it, and the Englishman, cautious yet intensely vital withal,
+courting danger for danger’s sake.
+
+All his ill-humor of the morning at being snatched away from his work
+in France had evaporated. In the Chief he now saw only the magician who
+was about to unlock to him the realms of Adventure. Desmond’s eyes
+shone with excitement as the other, obviously simmering with
+satisfaction, lit another cigarette and began to speak.
+
+“The British public, Okewood,” he said, hitching his chair closer,
+“would like to see espionage in this country rendered impossible. Such
+an ideal state of things is, unfortunately out of the question. Quite
+on the contrary, this country of ours is honeycombed with spies. So it
+will ever be, as long as we have to work with natural means: at present
+we have no caps of invisibility or magician’s carpets available.
+
+“As we cannot hope to kill the danger, we do our best to scotch it.
+Personally, my modest ambition is to make espionage as difficult as
+possible for the enemy by knowing as many as possible of his agents and
+their channels of communication, and by keeping him happy with small
+results, to prevent him from finding out the really important things,
+the disclosure of which would inevitably compromise our national
+safety.”
+
+He paused and Desmond nodded.
+
+“The extent of our business,” the Chief resumed, “is so large, the
+issues at stake so vital, that we at the top have to ignore the
+non-essentials and stick to the essentials. By the nonessentials I mean
+the little potty spies, actuated by sheer hunger or mere officiousness,
+the neutral busybody who makes a tip-and-run dash into England, the
+starving waiter, miserably underpaid by some thieving rogue in a
+neutral country—or the frank swindler who sends back to the Fatherland
+and is duly paid for long reports about British naval movements which
+he has concocted without setting foot outside his Bloomsbury lodgings.
+
+“These folk are dealt with somehow and every now and then one of ’em
+gets shot, just to show that we aren’t asleep, don’t you know? But
+spasmodic reports we can afford to ignore. What we are death on is
+anything like a regular news service from this country to Germany; and
+to keep up this steady flow of reliable information is the perpetual
+striving of the men who run the German Secret Service.
+
+“These fellows, my dear Okewood, move in darkness. Very often we have
+to grope after ’em in darkness, too. _They_ don’t get shot, or hardly
+ever; they are far too clever for that. Between us and them it is a
+never-ending series of move and countermove, check and counter-check.
+Very often we only know of their activities by enemy action based on
+their reports. Then there is another leak to be caulked, another
+rat-hole to be nailed up, and so the game goes on. Hitherto I think I
+may say we have managed to hold our own!”
+
+The Chief stopped to light another cigarette. Then he resumed but in a
+lower voice.
+
+“During the past month, Okewood,” he said, “a new organization has
+cropped up. The objective of every spy operating in this country is, as
+you may have surmised, naval matters, the movements of the Fleet, the
+military transports, and the food convoys. This new organization has
+proved itself more efficient than any of its predecessors. It
+specializes in the movement of troops to France, and in the journeys of
+the hospital ships across the Channel. Its information is very prompt
+and extremely accurate, as we know too well. There have been some very
+disquieting incidents in which, for once in a way, luck has been on our
+side, but as long as this gang can work in the dark there is the danger
+of a grave catastrophe. With its thousands of miles of sea to patrol,
+the Navy has to take a chance sometimes, you know! Well, on two
+occasions lately, when chances were taken, _the Hun knew we were taking
+a chance_, and what is more, _when and where we were taking it!_”
+
+The Chief broke off, then looking Desmond squarely in the eyes, said:
+
+“This is the organization that you’re going to beak up!”
+
+Desmond raised his eyebrows.
+
+“Who is at the head of it?” he asked quietly.
+
+The Chief, smiled a little bitterly.
+
+“By George!” he cried, slapping his thigh, “you’ve rung the bell in
+one. Okewood, I’m not a rich man, but I would gladly give a year’s pay
+to be able to answer that question. To be perfectly frank with you, I
+don’t know who is at the back of this crowd, but...” his mouth set in a
+grim line, “I’m going to know!”
+
+He added whimsically:
+
+“What’s more, you’re going to find out for me!”
+
+Desmond smiled at the note of assurance in his voice.
+
+“I suppose you’ve got something to go on?” he asked. “There’s
+Nur-el-Din, for instance. What about her?”
+
+“That young person,” replied the Chief, “is to be your particular
+study. If she is not the center of the whole conspiracy, she is, at any
+rate, in the thick of it. It will be part of your job to ascertain the
+exact rôle she is playing.”
+
+“But what is there against her?” queried Desmond.
+
+“What is there against her? The bad company she keeps is against her.
+‘Tell me who your friends are and I’ll tell you who you are’ is a maxim
+that we have to go on in our profession, Okewood. You have met the
+lady. Did you see any of her entourage? Her business manager, a fat
+Italian who calls himself Lazarro, did you notice him? Would you be
+surprised to hear that Lazarro alias Sacchetti alias Le Tardenois is a
+very notorious international spy who after working in the Italian
+Secret Service in the pay of the Germans was unmasked and kicked out of
+Italy... that was before the war? This pleasant gentleman subsequently
+did five years in the French penal settlements in New Caledonia for
+robbery with violence at Aix-les-Bains... oh, we know a whole lot about
+him! And this woman’s other friends! Do you know, for instance, where
+she often spends the week-end? At the country-place of one Bryan
+Mowbury, whose name used to be Bernhard Marburg, a very old hand indeed
+in the German Secret Service. She has identified herself right and left
+with the German espionage service in this country. One day she lunches
+with a woman spy, whose lover was caught and shot by the French. Then
+she goes out motoring with...”
+
+“But why in Heaven’s name are all these people allowed to run loose?”
+broke in Desmond. “Do you mean to say you can’t arrest them?”
+
+“Arrest ’em? Arrest ’em? Of course, we can arrest ’em. But what’s the
+use? They’re all small fry, and we have to keep out a few lines baited
+with minnows to catch the Tritons. None of ’em can do any harm: we
+watch ’em much too closely for that. Once you’ve located your spy, the
+battle’s won. It’s when he—or it may be a she—is running loose, that I
+get peeved!”
+
+The Chief sprang impatiently to his feet and strode across the
+smoking-room, which was all but empty by this time, to get a match from
+a table. He resumed his seat with a grunt of exasperation.
+
+“I can’t see light, Okewood!” he sighed, shaking his head.
+
+“But is this all you’ve got against Nur-el-Din?” asked Desmond.
+
+“No,” answered the other slowly, “it isn’t. If it were, I need not have
+called you in. We would have interned or deported her. No, we’ve traced
+back to her a line leading straight from the only member of the new
+organization we have been able to lay by the heels.”
+
+“Then you’ve made an arrest?”
+
+The Chief nodded.
+
+“A fortnight ago... a respectable, retired English business man, by
+name of Basil Bellward... taken with the goods on him, as the saying
+is...”
+
+“An Englishman, by Jove!”
+
+“It’s hardly correct to call him an Englishman, though he’s posed as an
+English business man for so long that one is almost justified in doing
+so. As a matter of fact, the fellow is a German named Wolfgang Bruhl
+and it is my belief that he was planted in this country at least a
+dozen years ago solely for the purpose of furnishing him with good,
+respectable credentials for an emergency like this.”
+
+“But surely if you found evidence of his connection with this gang of
+spies, it should be easy to get a clue to the rest of the crowd?”
+
+“Not so easy as you think,” the Chief replied. “The man who organized
+this system of espionage is a master at his craft. He has been careful
+to seal both ends of every connection, that is to say, though we found
+evidence of Master Bellward-Bruhl being in possession of highly
+confidential information relating to the movements of troops, we
+discovered nothing to show whence he received it or how or where he was
+going to forward it. But we did find a direct thread leading straight
+back to Nur-el-Din.”
+
+“Really,” said Desmond, “that rather complicates things for her,
+doesn’t it?”
+
+“It was in the shape of a letter of introduction, in French, without
+date or address, warmly recommending the dancer to our friend,
+Bellward.”
+
+“Who is this letter from?”
+
+“It is simply signed ‘P.’, but you shall see it for yourself when you
+get the other documents in the case.”
+
+“But surely, sir, such a letter might be presented in perfectly good
+faith...”
+
+“It might, but not this one. This letter, as an expert has ascertained
+beyond all doubt, is written on German manufactured note-paper of a
+very superior quality;, the writing is stiff and angular and not
+French: and lastly, the French in which it is phrased, while correct,
+is unusually pompous and elaborate.”
+
+“Then...”
+
+“The letter was, in all probability, written by a German!”
+
+There was a moment’s silence. Desmond was thinking despairingly of the
+seeming hopelessness of untangling this intricate webwork of tangled
+threads.
+
+“And this murder, sir,” he began.
+
+The Chief shrugged his shoulders.
+
+“The motive, Okewood, I am searching for the motive. I can see none
+except the highly improbable one of Miss Mackwayte being my
+confidential secretary. In that case why murder the father, a harmless
+old man who didn’t even know that his daughter is in my service, why
+kill him, I ask you, and spare the girl? On the other hand, I believe
+the man Barney’s story, and can see that Marigold does, too. When I
+first heard the news of the murder over the telephone this morning, I
+had a kind of intuition that we should discover in it a thread leading
+back to this mesh of espionage. Is it merely a coincidence that a hair,
+resembling Nur-el-Din’s, is found adhering to the straps with which
+Barbara Mackwayte was bound? I can’t think so... and yet...”
+
+“But do you believe then, that Nur-el-Din murdered-old Mackwayte? My
+dear Chief, the idea is preposterous...”
+
+The Chief rose from his chair with a sigh.
+
+“Nothing is preposterous in our work, Okewood,” he replied. “But it’s
+3.25, and my French colleague hates to be kept waiting.”
+
+“I thought you were seeing Strangwise, at two?” asked Desmond.
+
+“I put him off until six o’clock,” replied the Chief, “he knows
+Nur-el-Din, and he may be able to give Marigold some pointers about
+this affair. You’re off to see Miss Mackwayte now, I suppose. You know
+where she’s staying? Good. Well, I’ll say good-bye, Okewood. I shan’t
+see you again...”
+
+“You won’t see me again? How do you mean, sir?”
+
+“Because you’re going back to France!”
+
+“Going back to France? When?”
+
+“By the leave-boat to-night!”
+
+Desmond smiled resignedly.
+
+“My dear Chief,” he said, “you must be more explicit. What am I going
+back to France for?”
+
+“Why, now I come to think of it,” replied the Chief, “I never told you.
+You’re going back to France to be killed, of course!”
+
+“To be killed!”
+
+Desmond looked blankly at the other’s blandly smiling face.
+
+“Two or three days from now,” said the Chief, “you will be killed in
+action in France. I thought of making it a shell. But we’ll have it a
+machine gun bullet if you like. Whichever you prefer; it’s all the same
+to me!”
+
+He laughed at the dawn of enlightenment in Desmond’s eyes.
+
+“I see,” said Desmond.
+
+“I hope you don’t mind,” the Chief went on more seriously, “but I know
+you have no people to consider except your brother and his wife. She’s
+in America, and Francis can’t possibly hear about it. So you needn’t
+worry on that score. Or do you?”
+
+Desmond laughed.
+
+“No-o-o!” he said slowly, “but I’m rather young to die. Is it
+absolutely necessary for me to disappear?”
+
+“Absolutely!” responded the Chief firmly.
+
+“But how will we manage it?” asked Desmond.
+
+“Catch the leave-boat to-night and don’t worry. You will receive your
+instructions in due course.”
+
+“But when shall I see you again?”
+
+The Chief chuckled.
+
+“Depends entirely on yourself, Okewood,” he retorted. “When you’re
+through with your job, I expect. In the meantime, Miss Mackwayte will
+act between us. On that point also you will be fully instructed. And
+now I must fly!”
+
+“But I say, sir,” Desmond interposed hastily. “You haven’t told me what
+I am to do. What part am I to play in this business anyway?”
+
+“To-morrow,” said the Chief, buttoning up his coat, “you become Mr.
+Basil Bellward!”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII.
+THE WHITE PAPER PACKAGE
+
+
+A taxi was waiting in Pall Mall outside the club and Desmond hailed it,
+though secretly wondering what the driver would think of taking him out
+to Seven Kings. Rather to his surprise, the man was quite affable, took
+the address of the house where Barbara was staying with her friends and
+bade Desmond “hop in.” Presently, for the second time that day, he was
+heading for the Mile End Road.
+
+As they zigzagged in and out of the traffic, Desmond’s thoughts were
+busy with the extraordinary mission entrusted to him. So he was to sink
+his own identity and don that of an Anglo-German business man, his
+appearance, accent, habits, everything. The difficulties of the task
+positively made him cold with fear. The man must have relations,
+friends, business acquaintances who would be sufficiently familiar with
+his appearance and manner to penetrate, at any rate in the long run,
+the most effective disguise. What did Bellward look like? Where did he
+live? How was he, Desmond, to disguise himself to resemble him? And,
+above all, when this knotty problem of make-up had been settled, how
+was he to proceed? What should be his first step to pick out from among
+all the millions of London’s teeming populace the one obscure
+individual who headed and directed this gang of spies?
+
+Why hadn’t he asked the Chief all these questions? What an annoying man
+the Chief was to deal with to be sure! All said and done, what had he
+actually told Desmond? That there was a German Secret service
+organization spying on the movements of troops to France, that this
+man, Basil Bellward, who had been arrested, was one of the gang and
+that the dancer, Nur-el-Din, was in some way implicated in the affair!
+And that was the extent of his confidence! On the top of all this fog
+of obscurity rested the dense cloud surrounding the murder of old
+Mackwayte with the unexplained, the fantastic, clue of that single hair
+pointing back to Nur-el-Din.
+
+Desmond consoled himself finally by saying that he would be able too
+get some light on his mission from Barbara Mackwayte, whom he judged to
+be in the Chief’s confidence. But here he was doomed to disappointment.
+Barbara could tell him practically nothing save what he already knew,
+that they were to work together in this affair. Like him, she was
+waiting for her instructions.
+
+Barbara received him in a neat little suburban drawing-room in the
+house of her friends, who lived a few streets away from the Mackwaytes.
+She was wearing a plainly-made black crêpe de chine dress which served
+to accentuate the extreme pallor of her face, the only outward
+indication of the great shock she had sustained. She was perfectly calm
+and collected, otherwise, and she stopped Desmond who would have
+murmured some phrases of condolence.
+
+“Ah, no, please,” she said, “I don’t think I can speak about it yet.”
+
+She pulled a chair over for him and began to talk about the Chief.
+
+“There’s not the least need for you to worry,” she said with a little
+woeful smile, like a sun-ray piercing a rain-cloud, “if the Chief says
+‘Go back to France and wait for instructions,’ you may be sure that
+everything is arranged, and you will receive your orders in due course.
+So shall I. That’s the Chief all over. Until you know him, you think he
+loves mystery for mystery’s sake. It isn’t that at all. He just doesn’t
+trust us. He trusts nobody!”
+
+“But that hardly seems fair to us...” began Desmond.
+
+“It’s merely a precaution,” replied Barbara, “the Chief takes no risks.
+I’ve not the least doubt that he has decided to tell you nothing
+whatsoever about your part until you are firmly settled in your new
+role. I’m perfectly certain that every detail of your part has already
+been worked out.”
+
+“Oh, that’s not possible,” said Desmond. “Why, he didn’t know until an
+hour ago that I was going to take on this job.”
+
+Barbara laughed.
+
+“The Chief has taught me a lot about judging men by their looks,” she
+said: “Personally, if I’d been in the Chief’s places I should have gone
+ahead without consulting you, too.”
+
+The girl spoke with such directness that there was not the least
+suggestion of a compliment in her remark, but Desmond blushed to the
+roots of his hair. Barbara noticed it and added hastily:
+
+“I’m not trying to pay you a compliment: I’m just judging by your type.
+I believe I can always tell the man that will take on any job, however
+dangerous, and carry it through to the end.”
+
+Desmond blushed more furiously than ever.
+
+He made haste to divert the conversation into a safer channel.
+
+“Well,” he said slowly, “seeing that you and I were intended to work
+together, it seems to me to be a most extraordinary coincidence our
+meeting like that last night...”
+
+“It was more than a coincidence,” said Barbara, shaking her dark brown
+head. “Forty-eight hours ago I’d never heard of you, then the Chief
+gave me a telegram to send to your Divisional General summoning you
+home, after that he told me that we were to work together, and a few
+hours later I run into you in Nur-el-Din’s dressing-room...”
+
+She broke off suddenly, her gray eyes big with fear. She darted across
+the room to an ormolu table on which her handbag was lying. With
+astonishment, Desmond watched her unceremoniously spill out the
+contents on to the table and rake hastily amongst the collection of
+articles which a pretty girl carries round in her bag.
+
+Presently she raised herself erect and turning, faced the officer. She
+was trembling as though with cold and when she spoke, her voice was low
+and husky.
+
+“Gone!” she whispered.
+
+“Have you lost anything” Desmond asked anxiously.
+
+“How could I have forgotten it?” she went on as though he had not
+spoken, “how could I have forgotten it? Nearly twelve hours wasted, and
+it explains everything. What will the Chief think of me!”
+
+Slowly she sank down on the sofa where she had been sitting, then,
+without any warning, dropped her head into her hands and burst into
+tears.
+
+Desmond went over to her.
+
+“Please don’t cry,” he said gently, “you have borne up so bravely
+against this terrible blow; you must try and not let it overwhelm you.”
+
+All her business-like calm had disappeared now she was that most
+distracting of all pictures of woman, a pretty girl overwhelmed with
+grief. She crouched curled upon the sofa, with shoulders heaving,
+sobbing as though her heart would break.
+
+“Perhaps you would like me to leave you?” Desmond asked. “Let me ring
+for your friends... I am sure you would rather be alone!”
+
+She raised a tear-stained face to his, her long lashes glittering.
+
+“No, no,” she said, “don’t go, don’t go! I want your help. This is such
+a dark and dreadful business, more than I ever realized. Oh, my poor
+daddy, my poor daddy!”
+
+Again she hid her face in her hands and cried whilst Desmond stood
+erect by her aide, compassionate but very helpless.
+
+After a little, she dabbed her eyes with a tiny square of cambric, and
+sitting up, surveyed the other.
+
+“I must go to the Chief at once,” she said, “it is most urgent. Would
+you ring and ask the maid to telephone for a taxi?”
+
+“I have one outside,” answered Desmond. “But won’t you tell me what has
+happened?”
+
+“Why,” said Barbara, “it has only just dawned on me why our house was
+broken into last night and poor daddy so cruelly murdered! Whoever
+robbed the house did not come after our poor little bits of silver or
+daddy’s savings in the desk in the dining room. They came after
+something that I had!”
+
+“And what was that” asked Desmond.
+
+Then Barbara told him of her talk with Nur-el-Din in the dancer’s
+dressing-room on the previous evening and of the package which
+Nur-el-Din had entrusted to her care.
+
+“This terrible business put it completely out of my head,” said
+Barbara. “In the presence of the police this morning, I looked over my
+bedroom and even searched my hand-bag which the police sent back to me
+this afternoon without finding that the burglars had stolen anything.
+It was only just now, when we were talking about our meeting in
+Nur-el-Din’s room last night, that her little package suddenly flashed
+across my mind. And then I looked through my handbag again and
+convinced myself that it was not there.”
+
+“But are you sure the police haven’t taken it?”
+
+“Absolutely certain,” was the reply. “I remember perfectly what was in
+my hand-bag this morning when I went through it, and the same things
+are on that table over there now.”
+
+“Do you know what was in this package!” said Desmond.
+
+“Just a small silver box, oblong and quite plain, about so big,” she
+indicated the size with her hands, “about as large as a cigarette-box.
+Nur-el-Din said it was a treasured family possession of hers, and she
+was afraid of losing it as she traveled about so much. She asked me to
+say nothing about it and to keep it until the war was over or until she
+asked me for it.”
+
+“Then,” said Desmond, “this clears Nur-el-Din!”
+
+“What do you mean,” said Barbara, looking up.
+
+“Simply that she wouldn’t have broken into your place and killed your
+father in order to recover her own package...”
+
+“But why on earth should Nur-el-Din be suspected of such a thing?”
+
+“Have you heard nothing about this young lady from the Chief?”
+
+“Nothing. I had not thought anything about her until daddy discovered
+an old friend in her last night and introduced me.”
+
+The Chief’s infernal caution again! thought Desmond, secretly admiring
+the care with which that remarkable man, in his own phrase, “sealed
+both ends of every connection.”
+
+“If I’m to work with this girl,” said Desmond to himself, “I’m going to
+have all the cards on the table here and now,” so forthwith he told her
+of the Chief’s suspicions of the dancer, the letter recommending her to
+Bellward found when the cheese merchant had been arrested, and lastly
+of the black hair which had been discovered on the thongs with which
+Barbara had been fastened.
+
+“And now,” Desmond concluded, “the very next thing we must do is to go
+to the Chief and tell him about this package of Nur-el-Din’s that is
+missing.” Barbara interposed quickly.
+
+“It’s no use your coming,” she said. “The Chief won’t see you. When he
+has sent a man on his mission, he refuses to see him again until the
+work has been done. If he wishes to send for you or communicate with
+you, he will. But it’s useless for you to try and see him yourself. You
+can drop me at the office!”
+
+Desmond was inclined to agree with her on this point and said so.
+
+“There is one thing especially that puzzles me, Miss Mackwayte,”
+Desmond observed as they drove westward again, “and that is, how anyone
+could have known about your having this box of Nur-el-Din’s. Was there
+anybody else in the room when she gave you the package?”
+
+“No,” said Barbara, “I don’t think so. Wait a minute, though,
+Nur-el-Din’s maid must have come in very shortly after for I remember
+the opened the door when Captain Strangwise came to tell me daddy was
+waiting to take me home.”
+
+“Do you remember if Nur-el-Din actually mentioned the package in the
+presence of the maid!”
+
+“As far as I can recollect just as the maid opened the door to Captain
+Strangwise, Nur-el-Din was impressing on me again to take great care of
+the package. I don’t think she actually mentioned the box but I
+remember her pointing at my bag where I had put the package.”
+
+“The maid didn’t see Nur-el-Din give you the box?”
+
+“No, I’m sure of that. The room was empty save for us two. It was only
+just before Captain Strangwise knocked that I noticed Marie arranging
+Nur-el-Din’s dresses. She must have come in afterwards without my
+seeing her.”
+
+“Well then, this girl, Marie, didn’t see the dancer give you the box
+but she heard her refer to it. Is that right?”
+
+“Yes, and, of course, Captain Strangwise...”
+
+“What about him?”
+
+“He must have heard what Nur-el-Din was saying, too!”
+
+Desmond rubbed his chin.
+
+“I say, you aren’t going to implicate old Strangwise, too, are you?” he
+asked.
+
+Barbara did not reflect his smile.
+
+“He seems to know Nur-el-Din pretty well,” she said, “and I’ll tell you
+something else, that woman’s afraid of your friend, the Captain!”
+
+“What do you mean?” asked Desmond.
+
+“I was watching her in the glass last night as he was talking to her
+while you and I and daddy were chatting in the corner. I don’t know
+what he said to her, but she glanced over her shoulder with a look of
+terror in her eyes. I was watching her face in the glass. She looked
+positively _hunted!_”
+
+The taxi stopped. Desmond jumped out and helped his companion to
+alight.
+
+“_Au revoir_,” she said to him, “never fear, you and I will meet very
+soon again!”
+
+With that she was gone. Desmond looked at his watch. It pointed to a
+quarter to six.
+
+“Now I wonder what time the leave-train starts tonight,” he said aloud,
+one foot on the sideboard of the taxi.
+
+“At 7.45, sir,” said a voice.
+
+“Desmond glanced round him. Then he saw it was the taxi-driver who had
+spoken.
+
+“7.45, eh?” said Desmond. “From Victoria, I suppose?”
+
+“Yes, sir,” said the taxi-man.
+
+“By Jove, I haven’t much time,” ejaculated the officer “and there are
+some things I want to get before I go back across the Channel. And I
+shall have to see the Railway Transport Officer about my pass.”
+
+“That’s all right, sir,” said the taxi-man, “I have your papers here”;
+he handed Desmond a couple of slips of paper which he took from his
+coat-pocket; “those will take you back to France all right, I think
+you’ll find!”
+
+Desmond looked at the papers: they were quite in order and correctly
+filled up with his name, rank and regiment, and date.
+
+The taxi-man cut short any further question by saying:
+
+“If you’ll get into the cab again, sir, I’ll drive you where you want
+to go, and then wait while you have your dinner and take you to the
+station. By the way, your dinner’s ordered too!”
+
+“But who the devil are you?” asked Desmond in amazement.
+
+“On special service, the same as you, sir!” said the man with a grin
+and Desmond understood.
+
+Really, the Chief was extremely thorough.
+
+They went to the stores in the Haymarket, to Fortnum and Mason’s, and
+lastly, to a small, grubby shop at the back of Mayfair where Desmond
+and his brother had bought their cigarettes for years past. Desmond
+purchased a hundred of their favored brand, the Dionysus, as a reserve
+for his journey back to France, and stood chatting over old times with
+the fat, oily-faced Greek manager as the latter tied up his cigarettes
+into a clean white paper parcel, neatly sealed up with red sealing wax.
+
+Then Desmond drove back to the Nineveh Hotel where he left his
+taxi-driving colleague in the courtyard on the understanding that at
+7.25 the taxi would be waiting to drive him to the station.
+
+Desmond went straight upstairs to his room to put his kit together. In
+the strong, firmly woven web spread by the Chief, he felt as helpless
+as a fly caught in a spider’s mesh. He had no idea of what his plans
+were. He only knew that he was going back to France, and that it was
+his business to get on the leave-boat that night.
+
+As he passed along the thickly carpeted, silent corridor to his room,
+he saw the door of Strangwise’s room standing ajar. He pushed open the
+door and walked in unceremoniously. A suitcase stood open on the floor
+with Strangwise bending over it. At his elbow was a table crowded with
+various parcels, a case of razors, different articles of kit, and some
+books. Desmond halted at the door, his box of cigarettes dangling from
+his finger.
+
+“Hullo, Maurice,” he said, “are you off, too?”
+
+Strangwise spun round sharply. The blood had rushed to his face,
+staining it with a dark, angry flush.
+
+“My God, how you startled me!” he exclaimed rather testily. “I never
+heard you come in!”
+
+He turned rather abruptly and went on with his packing. He struck
+Desmond as being rather annoyed at the intrusion; the latter had never
+seen him out of temper before.
+
+“Sorry if I butted in,” said Desmond, sliding his box of cigarettes off
+his finger on to the littered table and sitting down on a chair. “I
+came in to say good-bye. I’m going back to France to-night!”
+
+Maurice looked round quickly. He appeared to be quite his old self
+again and was all smiles now.
+
+“So soon?” he said. “Why, I thought you were getting a job at the War
+Office!”
+
+Desmond shook his head.
+
+“Not good enough,” he replied, “it’s back to the sandbags for mine. But
+where are you off to?”
+
+“Got a bit of leave; the Intelligence folk seem to be through with me
+at last, so they’ve given me six weeks!”
+
+“Going to the country” asked Desmond.
+
+Strangwise nodded.
+
+“Yep,” he said, “down to Essex to see if I can get a few duck or snipe
+on the fens. I wish you were coming with me!”
+
+“So do I, old man,” echoed Desmond heartily. Then he added in a serious
+voice:
+
+“By the way, I haven’t seen you since last night. What a shocking
+affair this is about old Mackwayte, isn’t it? Are there any
+developments, do you know?”
+
+Strangwise very deliberately fished a cigarette out of his case which
+was lying open on the table and lit it before replying.
+
+“A very dark affair,” he said, blowing out a cloud of smoke and
+flicking the match into the grate. “You are discreet, I know, Okewood.
+The Intelligence people had me up this morning... to take my
+evidence...”
+
+Strangwise’s surmise about Desmond’s discretion was perfectly correct.
+With Desmond Okewood discretion was second nature, and therefore he
+answered with feigned surprise: “Your evidence about what? About our
+meeting the Mackwaytes last night?”
+
+After he had spoken he realized he had blundered. Surely, after all,
+the Chief would have told Strangwise about their investigations at
+Seven Kings. Still...
+
+“No,” replied Strangwise, “but about Nur-el-Din!”
+
+The Chief had kept his own counsel about their morning’s work. Desmond
+was glad now that he had dissimulated.
+
+“You see, I know her pretty well,” Strangwise continued, “between
+ourselves, I got rather struck on the lady when she was touring in
+Canada some years ago, and in fact I spent so much more money than I
+could afford on her that I had to discontinue the acquaintance. Then I
+met her here when I got away from Germany a month ago; she was lonely,
+so I took her about a bit. Okewood, I’m afraid I was rather
+indiscreet.”
+
+“How do you mean?” Desmond asked innocently.
+
+“Well,” said Strangwise slowly, contemplating the end of his cigarette,
+“it appears that the lady is involved in certain activities which
+considerably interest our Intelligence. But there, I mustn’t say any
+more!”
+
+“But how on earth is Nur-el-what’s her name concerned in this murder,
+Maurice?”
+
+Strangwise shrugged his shoulders.
+
+“Ah, you’d better ask the police. But I tell you she’ll be getting into
+trouble if she’s not careful!”
+
+Throughout this conversation Desmond seemed to hear in his ears
+Barbara’s words: “That woman’s afraid of your friend!” He divined that
+for some reason or other, Strangwise wanted to create a bad impression
+in his mind about the dancer. He scanned Maurice’s face narrowly. Its
+impenetrability was absolute. There was nothing to be gleaned from
+those careless, smiling features.
+
+“Well,” said Desmond, getting up, “_nous verrons_. I shall have to make
+a bolt for it now if I don’t want to miss my train. Good-bye, Maurice,
+and I hope you’ll get some birds!”
+
+“Thanks, old man. Au revoir, and take care of yourself. My salaams to
+the General!”.
+
+They shook hands warmly, then Desmond grabbed his box of cigarettes in
+its neat white wrapper with the bold red seals and hurried off to his
+room.
+
+Strangwise stood for a moment gazing after him. He was no longer the
+frank, smiling companion of a minute before. His mouth was set hard and
+his chin stuck out at a defiant angle.
+
+He bent over the table and picked up a white paper package sealed with
+bold red seals. He poised it for a moment in his hands while a flicker
+of a smile stole into the narrow eyes and played for an instant round
+the thin lips. Then, with a quick movement, he thrust the little
+package into the side pocket of his tunic and buttoned the flap.
+
+Whistling a little tune, he went on with his packing.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX.
+METAMORPHOSIS
+
+
+It was a clear, cold night. A knife-edge icy wind blew from the
+north-east and kept the lanyards dismally flapping on the flag-mast
+over the customs house. The leave train lay in the station within a
+biscuit’s throw of the quayside and the black, blank Channel beyond, a
+long line of cheerfully illuminated windows that to those returning
+from leave seemed as the last link with home.
+
+The Corporal of Military Police, who stood at the gangway examining the
+passes, stopped Desmond Okewood as the latter held out his pass into
+the rays of the man’s lantern.
+
+“There was a message for you, sir,” said the Corporal. “The captain of
+the Staff boat would h-esteem it a favor, sir, if you would kindly go
+to his cabin immediately on h-arriving on board, sir!”
+
+“Very good, Corporal!” answered the officer and passed up the gang
+plank, enviously regarded by the press of brass-hats and red-tabs who,
+for the most part, had a cramped berth below or cold quarters on deck
+to look forward to.
+
+A seaman directed Desmond to the Captain’s cabin. It was built out just
+behind the bridge, a snug, cheery room with bright chintz curtains over
+the carefully screened portholes, a couple of comfortable benches with
+leather seats along the walls, a small bunk, and in the middle of the
+floor a table set out with a bottle of whiskey, a siphon and some
+glasses together with a box of cigars.
+
+The Captain was sitting there chatting to the pilot, a short,
+enormously broad man with a magenta face and prodigious hands which
+were folded round a smoking glass of toddy.
+
+“Pick ’em up? Rescue ’em?” the pilot ejaculated, as Desmond walked in,
+“I’d let ’em sink, every man Jack o’ them, the outrageous murderin’
+scoundrels. I don’t like to hear you a-talking of such nonsense,
+Cap’en!”
+
+On Desmond’s entrance the Captain broke off the conversation. He proved
+to be a trimly-built man of about fifty with a grizzled beard, and an
+air of quiet efficiency which is not uncommonly found in seamen. The
+pilot drained his glass and, scrambling to his feet, nodded to Desmond
+and stumped out into the cold night air.
+
+“Jawin’ about the U boats!” said the Captain, with a jerk of his head
+towards the cabin door, “I don’t know what the feelings of your men in
+the trenches are towards Fritz, Major, but I tell you that no German
+will dare set foot in any coast port of the United Kingdom in my
+life-time or yours, either! Accommodation’s a bit narrow on board. I
+thought maybe you’d care to spend the night up here!”
+
+“Any orders about me?” asked Desmond.
+
+The Captain went a shade deeper mahogany in the face.
+
+“Oh no,” he replied, with an elaborate assumption of innocence. “But
+won’t you mix yourself a drink? And try one of my cigars, a present
+from a skipper friend of mine who sailed into Tilbury from Manila last
+week.”
+
+Desmond sat in the snug cabin, puffing a most excellent cigar and
+sipping his whiskey and soda while, amid much shouting of seamen and
+screaming of windlasses, the staff boat got clear. Presently they were
+gliding past long low moles and black, inhospitable lighthouses,
+threading their way through the dark shapes of war craft of all kinds
+into the open Channel. There was a good deal of swell, but the sea was
+calm, and the vessel soon steadied down to regular rise and fall.
+
+They had been steaming for nearly an hour when, through the open door
+of the cabin, Desmond saw a seaman approach the captain on the bridge.
+He handed the skipper a folded paper.
+
+“From the wireless operator, sir!” Desmond heard him say.
+
+The skipper scanned it. Then the engine telegraph rang sharply, there
+was the sound of churning water, and the vessel slowed down. The next
+moment the Captain appeared at the door of the cabin.
+
+“I’m afraid we’re going to lose you, Major,” he said pleasantly, “a
+destroyer is coming up to take you off. There was a wireless from the
+Admiral about you.”
+
+“Where are they going to take me, do you know?” asked Desmond.
+
+The Captain shook his head.
+
+“I haven’t an idea. I’ve only got to hand you over!”
+
+He grinned and added:
+
+“Where’s your kit?”
+
+“In the hold, I expect!” answered Desmond. “The porter at Victoria told
+me not to worry about it, and that I should find it on the other side.
+And, oh damn it!—I’ve got a hundred cigarettes in my kit, too! I bought
+them specially for the journey!”
+
+“Well, take some of my cigars,” said the skipper hospitably, “for your
+traps’ll have to go to France this trip, Major. There’s no time to get
+’em up now. I’ll pass the word to the Military Landing Officer over
+there about ’em, if you like. He’ll take care of ’em for you. Now will
+you come with me?”
+
+Desmond scrambled into his coat and followed the Captain down the steps
+to the deck. A little distance away from the vessel, the long shape of
+a destroyer was dimly visible tossing to and fro in the heavy swell. A
+ladder had been let down over the side of the steamer, and at its foot
+a boat, manned by a number of heavily swathed and muffled forms, was
+pitching.
+
+A few officers stood by the rail watching the scene with interest. The
+skipper adroitly piloted Desmond past them and fairly thrust him out on
+to the ladder.
+
+Desmond took the hint and with a hasty “Good night” to the friendly
+captain, staggered down the swaying ladder and was helped into the
+boat. The boat shoved off, the bell of the engine telegraph on the
+steamer resounded sharply, and the vessel resumed her interrupted
+voyage whilst the rowing boat was headed towards the destroyer. On
+board the latter vessel an officer met Desmond at the rail and piloted
+him to the ward-room. Almost before they got there, the destroyer was
+under way.
+
+The officer who had welcomed him proved to be the second in command, a
+joyous person who did the honors of the tiny ward-room with the aplomb
+of a Commander in a super-Dreadnought. He mixed Desmond a drink and
+immediately started to converse about life at the front without giving
+the other a chance of asking whither they were bound.
+
+The suspense was not of long duration, however, for in about half an
+hour’s time, the destroyer slowed down and Desmond’s host vanished.
+When he reappeared, it was to summon Desmond on deck.
+
+They lay aside a mole by some steps cut in the solid concrete. Here
+Desmond’s host took leave of him.
+
+“There should be a car waiting for you up there,” he said.
+
+There on top of the mole, exposed to the keen blast of the wind, a
+large limousine was standing. A chauffeur, who looked blue with cold,
+got down from his seat as Desmond emerged from the stairs and touched
+his cap.
+
+“Major Okewood?” he asked.
+
+“That’s my name!” said Desmond.
+
+“If you’ll get in, sir, we’ll start at once!” the man replied.
+
+Befogged and bewildered, Desmond entered the car, which cautiously
+proceeded along the breakwater, with glimpses of black water and an
+occasional dim light on either hand. They bumped over the railway-lines
+and rough cobblestones of a dockyard, glided through a slumbering town,
+and so gradually drew out into the open country where the car gathered
+speed and fairly raced along the white, winding road. Desmond had not
+the faintest idea of their whereabouts or ultimate destination. He was
+fairly embarked on the great adventure now, and he was philosophically
+content to let Fate have its way with him. He found himself wondering
+rather indolently what the future had in store.
+
+The car slowed down and the chauffeur switched the headlights on. Their
+blinding glare revealed some white gate-posts at the entrance of a
+quiet country station. Desmond looked at his watch. It was half-past
+one. The car stopped at the entrance to the booking-office where a man
+in an overcoat and bowler was waiting.
+
+“This way, Major, please,” said the man in the bowler, and led the way
+into the dark and silent station. At the platform a short train
+consisting of an engine, a Pullman car and a brakesman’s van stood, the
+engine under steam. By the glare from the furnace Desmond recognized
+his companion. It was Matthews, the Chief’s confidential clerk.
+
+Matthews held open the door of the Pullman for Desmond and followed him
+into the carriage. A gruff voice in the night shouted:
+
+“All right, Charley!” a light was waved to and fro, and the special
+pulled out of the echoing station into the darkness beyond.
+
+In the corner of the Pullman a table was laid for supper. There was a
+cold chicken, a salad, and a bottle of claret. On another table was a
+large tin box and a mirror with a couple of electric lights before it.
+At this table was seated a small man with gray hair studying a large
+number of photographs.
+
+“If you will have your supper, Major Okewood, sir,” said Matthews, “Mr.
+Crook here will get to work. We’ve not got too much time.”
+
+The sea air had made Desmond ravenously hungry. He sat down promptly
+and proceeded to demolish the chicken and make havoc of the salad. Also
+he did full justice to the very excellent St. Estephe.
+
+As he ate he studied Matthews, who was one of those undefinable
+Englishmen one meets in tubes and ’buses, who might be anything from a
+rate collector to a rat catcher. He had sandy hair plastered limply
+across his forehead, a small moustache, and a pair of watery blue eyes.
+Mr. Crook, who continued his study of his assortment of photographs
+without taking the slightest notice of Desmond, was a much more alert
+looking individual, with a shock of iron gray hair brushed back and a
+small pointed beard.
+
+“Matthew’s,” said Desmond as he supped, “would it be indiscreet to ask
+where we are?”
+
+“In Kent, Major,” replied Matthews.
+
+“What station was that we started from?”
+
+“Faversham.”
+
+“And where are we going, might I inquire?”
+
+“To Cannon Street, sir!”
+
+“And from there?”
+
+Mr. Matthews coughed discreetly.
+
+“I can’t really say, sir, I’m sure! A car will meet you there and I can
+go home to bed.”
+
+The ends sealed again! thought Desmond. What a man of caution, the
+Chief!
+
+“And this gentleman here, Matthews?” asked Desmond, lighting one of the
+skipper’s cigars.
+
+“That, sir, is Mr. Crook, who does any little jobs we require in the
+way of make-up. Our expert on resemblances, if I may put it that way,
+sir, for we really do very little in the way of disguises. Mr. Crook is
+an observer of what I may call people’s points, sir, their facial
+appearance, their little peculiarities of manner, of speech, of gait.
+Whenever there is any question of a disguise, Mr. Crook is called in to
+advise as to the possibilities of success. I believe I am correct in
+saying, Crook, that you have been engaged on the Major here for some
+time. Isn’t it so?”
+
+Crook looked up a minute from his table.
+
+“That’s right,” he said shortly, and resumed his occupation of
+examining the photographs.
+
+“And what’s your opinion about this disguise of mine?” Desmond asked
+him.
+
+“I can make a good job of you, Major,” said the expert, “and so I
+reported to the Chief. You’ll want to do your hair a bit different and
+let your beard grow, and then, if you pay attention to the lessons I
+shall give you, in a week or two, you’ll be this chap here,” and he
+tapped the photograph in his hand, “to the life.”
+
+So saying he handed Desmond the photograph. It was the portrait of a
+man about forty years of age, of rather a pronounced Continental type,
+with a short brown beard, a straight, rather well-shaped nose and
+gold-rimmed spectacles. His hair was cut _en brosse_, and he was rather
+full about the throat and neck. Without a word, Desmond stretched out
+his hand and gathered up a sheaf of other photos, police photos of Mr.
+Basil Bellward, front face and profile seen from right and left, all
+these poses shown on the same picture, some snapshots and various
+camera studies. Desmond shook his head in despair. He was utterly
+unable to detect the slightest resemblance between himself and this
+rather commonplace looking type of business man.
+
+“Now if you’d just step into the compartment at the end of the Pullman,
+Major,” said Crook, “you’ll find some civilian clothes laid out. Would
+you mind putting them on? You needn’t trouble about the collar and tie,
+or coat and waistcoat for the moment. Then we’ll get along with the
+work.”
+
+The train rushed swaying on through the darkness. Desmond was back in
+the Pullman car in a few minutes arrayed in a pair of dark gray tweed
+trousers, a white shirt and black boots and socks. A cut-away coat and
+waistcoat of the same tweed stuff, a black bowler hat of rather an
+old-fashioned and staid pattern, and a black overcoat with a velvet
+collar, he left in the compartment where he changed.
+
+He found that Crook had opened his tin box and set out a great array of
+grease paints, wigs, twists of tow of various colors, and a number of
+pots and phials of washes and unguents together with a whole battery of
+fine paint brushes. In his hand he held a pair of barber’s clippers and
+the tips of a comb and a pair of scissors protruded from his vest
+pocket.
+
+Crook whisked a barber’s wrap round Desmond and proceeded, with
+clippers and scissors, to crop and trim his crisp black hair.
+
+“Tst-tst” he clicked with his tongue. “I didn’t realize your hair was
+so dark, Major. It’ll want a dash of henna to lighten it.”
+
+The man worked with incredible swiftness. His touch was light and sure,
+and Desmond, looking at his reflection in the glass, wondered to see
+what fine; delicate hands this odd little expert possessed. Matthews
+sat and smoked in silence and watched the operation, whilst the special
+ran on steadily Londonwards.
+
+When the clipping was done, Crook smeared some stuff on a towel and
+wrapped it round Desmond’s head.
+
+“That’ll brighten your hair up a lot, sir. Now for a crepe beard just
+to try the effect. We’ve got to deliver you at Cannon Street ready for
+the job, Mr. Matthews and me, but you won’t want to worry with this
+nasty messy beard once you get indoors. You can grow your own beard,
+and I’ll pop in and henna it a bit for you every now and then.”
+
+There was the smart of spirit gum on Desmond’s cheeks and Crook gently
+applied a strip of tow to his face. He had taken the mirror away so
+that Desmond could no longer see the effect of the gradual
+metamorphosis.
+
+“A mirror only confuses me,” said the expert, breathing hard as he
+delicately adjusted the false beard, “I’ve got this picture firm in my
+head, and I want to get it transferred to your face. Somehow a mirror
+puts me right off. It’s the reality I want.”
+
+As he grew more absorbed in his work, he ceased to speak altogether. He
+finished the beard, trimmed the eyebrows, applied a dash of henna with
+a brush, leaning backwards continually to survey the effect. He
+sketched in a wrinkle or two round the eyes with a pencil, wiped them
+out, then put them in again. Then he fumbled in his tin box, and
+produced two thin slices of grey rubber.
+
+“Sorry,” he said, “I’m afraid you’ll have to wear these inside your
+cheeks to give the effect of roundness. You’ve got an oval face and the
+other man has a round one. I can get the fullness of the throat by
+giving you a very low collar, rather open and a size too large for
+you.”
+
+Desmond obediently slipped the two slices of rubber into his mouth and
+tucked them away on either side of his upper row of teeth. They were
+not particularly uncomfortable to wear.
+
+“There’s your specs,” said Crook, handing him a spectacle case, “and
+there’s the collar. Now if you’ll put on the rest of the duds, we’ll
+have a look at you, sir.”
+
+Desmond went out and donned the vest and coat and overcoat, and, thus
+arrayed, returned to the Pullman, hat in hand.
+
+Crook called out to him as he entered
+
+“Not so springy in the step, sir, if you please. Remember you’re
+forty-three years of age with a Continental upbringing. You’ll have to
+walk like a German, toes well turned out and down on the heel every
+time. So, that’s better. Now, have a look at yourself!”
+
+He turned and touched a blind. A curtain rolled up with a click,
+disclosing a full length mirror immediately opposite Desmond.
+
+Desmond recoiled in astonishment. He could scarcely credit his own
+eyes. The glass must be bewitched, he thought for a moment, quite
+overwhelmed by the suddenness of the shock. For instead of the young
+face set on a slight athletic body that the glass was wont to show him,
+he saw a square, rather solid man in ugly, heavy clothes, with a brown
+silky beard and gold spectacles. The disguise was baffling in its
+completeness. The little wizard, who had effected this change and who
+now stood by, bashfully twisting his fingers about, had transformed
+youth into middle age. And the bewildering thing was that the success
+of the disguise did not lie so much in the external adjuncts, the false
+beard, the pencilled wrinkles, as in the hideous collar, the thick
+padded clothes, in short, in the general appearance.
+
+For the first time since his talk with the Chief at the United Service
+Club, Desmond felt his heart grow light within him. If such miracles
+were possible, then he could surmount the other difficulties as well.
+
+“Crook,” he said, “I think you’ve done wonders. What do you say,
+Matthews?”
+
+“I’ve seen a lot of Mr. Crook’s work in my day, sir,” answered the
+clerk, “but nothing better than this. It’s a masterpiece, Crook, that’s
+what it is.”
+
+“I’m fairly well satisfied,” the expert murmured modestly, “and I must
+say the Major carries it off very well. But how goes the enemy,
+Matthews?”
+
+“It’s half past two,” replied, the latter, “we should reach Cannon
+Street by three. She’s running well up to time, I think.”
+
+“We’ve got time for a bit of a rehearsal,” said Crook. “Just watch me,
+will you please, Major, and I’ll try and give you an impression of our
+friend. I’ve been studying him at Brixton for the past twelve days, day
+and night almost, you might say, and I think I can convey an idea of
+his manner and walk. The walk is a very important point. Now, here is
+Mr. Bellward meeting one of his friends. Mr. Matthews, you will be the
+friend!”
+
+Then followed one of the most extraordinary performances that Desmond
+had ever witnessed. By some trick of the actor’s art, the shriveled
+figure of the expert seemed to swell out and thicken, while his low,
+gentle voice deepened into a full, metallic baritone. Of accent in his
+speech there was none, but Desmond’s ear, trained to foreigners’
+English, could detect a slight Continental intonation, a little roll of
+the “r’s,” an unfamiliar sound about those open “o’s” of the English
+tongue, which are so fatal a trap for foreigners speaking our language.
+As he watched Crook, Desmond glanced from time to time at the
+photograph of Bellward which he had picked up from the table. He had an
+intuition that Bellward behaved and spoke just as the man before him.
+
+Then, at Crook’s suggestion, Desmond assumed the role of Bellward. The
+expert interrupted him continually.
+
+“The hands, Major, the hands, you must _not_ keep them down at your
+sides. That is military! You must move them when you speak! So and so!”
+
+Or again:
+
+“You speak too fast. Too... too youthfully, if you understand me, sir.
+You are a man of middle age. Life has no further secrets for you. You
+are poised and getting a trifle ponderous. Now try again!”
+
+But the train was slackening speed. They were running between black
+masses of squalid houses. As the special thumped over the bridge across
+the river, Mr. Crook gathered up his paints and brushes and photographs
+and arranged them neatly in his black tin box.
+
+To Desmond he said:
+
+“I shall be coming along to give you some more lessons very soon,
+Major. I wish you could see Bellward for yourself: you are very apt at
+this game, and it would save us much time. But I fear that’s
+impossible.”
+
+Even before the special had drawn up alongside the platform at Cannon
+Street, Crook and Matthews swung themselves out and disappeared. When
+the train stopped, a young man in a bowler hat presented himself at the
+door of the Pullman.
+
+“The car is there, Mr. Bellward, sir!” he said, helping Desmond to
+alight. Desmond, preparing to assume his new role, was about to leave
+the carriage when a sudden thought struck him. What about his uniform
+strewn about the compartment where he had changed? He ran back. The
+compartment was empty. Not a trace remained of the remarkable scenes of
+their night journey.
+
+“This is for you,” said the young man, handing Desmond a note as they
+walked down the platform.
+
+Outside the station a motor-car with its noisy throbbing awoke the
+echoes of the darkened and empty courtyard. Desmond waited until he was
+being whirled over the smooth asphalt of the City streets before he
+opened the letter.
+
+He found a note and a small key inside the envelope.
+
+“On reaching the house to which you will be conveyed,” the note said,
+“you will remain indoors until further orders. You can devote your time
+to studying the papers you will find in the desk beside the bed. For
+the present you need not fear detection _as long as you do not leave
+the house_.” Then followed a few rough jottings obviously for his
+guidance.
+
+“Housekeeper, Martha, half blind, stupid; odd man, John Hill, mostly
+invisible, no risk from either. You are confined to house with heavy
+chill. _Do not go out until you get the word._”
+
+The last sentence was twice underlined.
+
+The night was now pitch-dark. Heavy clouds had come up and obscured the
+stars and a drizzle of rain was falling. The car went forward at a good
+pace and Desmond, after one or two ineffectual attempts to make out
+where they were going, was lulled by the steady motion into a deep
+sleep. He was dreaming fitfully of the tossing Channel as he had seen
+it but a few hours before when he came to his senses with a start. He
+felt a cold draught of air on his face and his feet were dead with
+cold.
+
+A figure stood at the open door of the car. It was the chauffeur.
+
+“Here we are, sir,” he said.
+
+Desmond stiffly descended to the ground. It was so dark that he could
+distinguish nothing, but he felt the grit of gravel under his feet and
+he heard the melancholy gurgle of running water. He took a step forward
+and groped his way into a little porch smelling horribly of mustiness
+and damp. As he did so, he heard a whirr behind him and the car began
+to glide off. Desmond shouted after the chauffeur. Now that he stood on
+the very threshold of his adventure, he wanted to cling desperately to
+this last link with his old self. But the chauffeur did not or would
+not hear, and presently the sound of the engine died away, leaving
+Desmond to the darkness, the sad splashing of distant water and his own
+thoughts.
+
+And then, for one brief moment, all his courage seemed to ooze out of
+him. If he had followed his instinct, he would have turned and fled
+into the night, away from that damp and silent house, away from the
+ceaseless splashing of waters, back to the warmth and lights of
+civilization. But his sense of humor, which is very often better than
+courage, came to his rescue.
+
+“I suppose I ought to be in the devil of a rage,” he said to himself,
+“being kept waiting like this outside my own house! Where the deuce is
+my housekeeper? By Gad, I’ll ring the place down!”
+
+The conceit amused him, and he advanced further into the musty porch
+hoping to find a bell. But as he did so his ear caught the distant
+sound of shuffling feet. The shuffle of feet drew nearer and presently
+a beam of light shone out from under the door. A quavering voice called
+out:
+
+“Here I am, Mr. Bellward, here I am, sir!”
+
+Then a bolt was drawn back, a key turned, and the door swung slowly
+back, revealing an old woman, swathed in a long shawl and holding high
+in her hand a lamp as she peered out into the darkness.
+
+“Good evening, Martha,” said Desmond, and stepped into the house.
+
+Save for Martha’s lamp, the lobby was in darkness, but light was
+streaming into the hall from the half open door of a room leading off
+it at the far end. While Martha, wheezing asthmatically, bolted the
+front door, Desmond went towards the room where the light was and
+walked in.
+
+It was a small sitting-room, lined with bookshelves, illuminated by an
+oil lamp which stood on a little table beside a chintz-covered settee
+which had been drawn up in front of the dying fire.
+
+On the settee Nur-el-Din was lying asleep.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X.
+D. O. R. A. IS BAFFLED
+
+
+When Barbara reached the Chief’s ante-room she found it full of people.
+Mr. Marigold was there, chatting with Captain Strangwise who seemed to
+be just taking his leave; there was a short, fat, Jewish-looking man,
+very resplendently dressed with a large diamond pin in his cravat and a
+small, insignificant looking gentleman with a gray moustache and the
+red rosette of the Legion of Honor in his button-hole. Matthews came
+out of the Chief’s room as Barbara entered the outer office.
+
+“Miss Mackwayte,” he said, “we are all so shocked and so very,
+sorry...”
+
+“Mr. Matthews,” she said hastily in a low voice, “never mind about that
+now. I must see the Chief at once. It is most urgent.”
+
+Matthews gesticulated with his arm round the room.
+
+“All these people, excepting the officer there, are waiting to see him,
+Miss, and he’s got a dinner engagement at eight...”
+
+“It is urgent, Mr. Matthews, I tell you. If you won’t take my name in,
+I shall go in myself!”
+
+“Miss Mackwayte, I daren’t interrupt him now. Do you know who’s with
+him...?”
+
+Strangwise crossed the room to where Barbara was standing.
+
+“I can guess what brings you here, Miss Mackwayte,” he said gently. “I
+hope you will allow me to express my condolences...?”
+
+The girl shrank back, almost imperceptibly, yet Strangwise, whose eyes
+were fixed on her pale face, noticed the spontaneous recoil. The
+sunshine seemed to fade out of his debonair countenance, and for a
+moment Barbara Mackwayte saw Maurice Strangwise as very few people had
+ever seen him, stern and cold and hard, without a vestige of his
+constant smile. But the shadow lifted as quickly as it had fallen. His
+face had resumed its habitually engaging expression as he murmured:
+
+“Believe me, I am truly sorry for you!”
+
+“Thank you, thank you!” Barbara said hastily and brushed past him. She
+walked straight across the room to the door of the Chief’s room, turned
+the handle and walked in.
+
+The room was in darkness save for an electric reading lamp on the desk
+which threw a beam of light on the faces of two men thrust close
+together in eager conversation. One was the Chief, the other a face
+that Barbara knew well from the illustrated papers.
+
+At the sound of the door opening, the Chief sprang to his feet.
+
+“Oh, it’s Miss Mackwayte,” he said, and added something in a low voice
+to the other man who had risen to his feet. “My dear,” he continued
+aloud to Barbara, “I will see you immediately; we must not be disturbed
+now. Matthews should have told you.”
+
+“Chief,” cried Barbara, her hands clasped convulsively together, “you
+must hear me now. What I have to say cannot wait. Oh, you must hear
+me!”
+
+The Chief looked as embarrassed as a man usually looks when he is
+appealed to in a busy moment by an extremely attractive girl.
+
+“Miss Mackwayte,” he said firmly but with great courtesy, “you must
+wait outside. I know how unnerved you are by all that you have gone
+through, but I am engaged just now. I shall be free presently.”
+
+“It is about my father, Chief,” Barbara said in a trembling voice, “I
+have found out what they came to get!”
+
+“Ah!” said the Chief and the other man simultaneously.
+
+“We had better hear what she has to say!” said the other man, “but
+won’t you introduce me first?”
+
+“This is Sir Bristowe Marr, the First Sea Lord,” said the Chief,
+bringing up a chair for Barbara, “Miss Mackwayte, my secretary,
+Admiral!”
+
+Then in a low impassioned voice Barbara told her tale of the package
+entrusted to her by Nur-el-Din and its disappearance from her bedroom
+on the night of the murder. As she proceeded a deep furrow appeared
+between the Chief’s bushy eyebrows and he stared absently at the
+blotting-pad in front of him. When the girl had finished her story, the
+Chief said:
+
+“Lambelet ought to hear this, sir: he’s the head of the French
+Intelligence, you know. He’s outside now. Shall we have him in? Miss
+Mackwayte shall tell her story, and you can then hear what Lambelet has
+to say about this versatile young dancer.”
+
+Without waiting for further permission, he pressed a bell on the desk
+and presently Matthews ushered in the small man with the Legion of
+Honor whom Barbara had seen in the ante-room.
+
+The Chief introduced the Frenchman and in a few words explained the
+situation to him. Then he turned to Barbara:
+
+“Colonel Lambelet speaks English perfectly,” he said, “so fire away and
+don’t be nervous!”
+
+When she had finished, the Chief said, addressing Lambelet:
+
+“What do you make of it, Colonel?”
+
+The little Frenchman made an expressive gesture.
+
+“Madame has become aware of the interest you have been taking in her
+movements, _mon cher_. She seized the opportunity of this meeting with
+the daughter of her old friend to get rid of something compromising, a
+code or something of the kind, _qui sait?_ Perhaps this robbery and its
+attendant murder was only an elaborate device to pass on some
+particularly important report of the movements of your ships... _qui
+sait?_”
+
+“Then you are convinced in your own mind, Colonel, that this woman is a
+spy?” The clear-cut voice of the First Sea Lord rang out of the
+darkness of the room outside the circle of light on the desk.
+
+“_Mais certainement!_” replied the Frenchman quietly. “Listen and you
+shall hear! By birth she is a Pole, from Warsaw, of good, perhaps,
+even, of noble family. I cannot tell you, for her real name we have not
+been able to ascertain... _parbleu_, it is impossible, with the Boches
+at Warsaw, _hein?_ We know, however, that at a very early age, under
+the name of _la petite Marcelle_, she was a member of a troupe of
+acrobats who called themselves The Seven Duponts. With this troupe she
+toured all over Europe. _Bien!_ About ten years ago, she went out to
+New York as a singer, under the name of Marcelle Blondinet, and
+appeared at various second-class theatres in the United States and
+Canada. Then we lose track of her for some years until 1913, the year
+before the war, when the famous Oriental dancer, Nur-el-Din, who has
+made a _grand succès_ by the splendor of her dresses in America and
+Canada, appears at Brussels, scores a triumph and buys a fine mansion
+in the outskirts of the capital. She produces herself at Paris,
+Bordeaux, Lyons, Marseilles, Madrid, Milan and Rome, but her home in
+Brussels, always she returns there, your understand me, hein? _La
+petite Marcelle_ of The Seven Duponts, Marcelle Blondinet of the _café
+chantant_, has blossomed out into a star of the first importance.”
+
+The Colonel paused and cleared his throat.
+
+“To buy a mansion in Brussels, to run a large and splendid troupe,
+requires money. It is the men who pay for these things, you would say.
+Quite right, but listen who were the friends of Madame Nur-el-Din.
+Bischoffsberg, the German millionaire of Antwerp, von Wurzburg, of
+Berne... ah ha! you know that gentleman, _mon cher?_” he turned,
+chuckling, to the Chief who nodded his acquiescence; “Prince Meddelin
+of the German Embassy in Paris and administrator of the German Secret
+Service funds in France, and so on and so on. I will not fatigue you
+with the list. The direct evidence is coming now.
+
+“When the war broke out in August, 1914, Madame, after finishing her
+summer season in Brussels, was resting in her Brussels mansion. What
+becomes of her? She vanishes.”
+
+“She told Samuel, the fellow who runs the Palaceum, that she escaped
+from Brussels!” interposed the Chief.
+
+The Frenchman threw his hands above his head.
+
+“Escaped, escaped? _Ah, oui, par exemple_, in a German Staff car. As I
+have told my colleague here,” he went on, addressing the Admiral, “she
+escaped to Metz, the headquarters of the Army Group commanded by the...
+the... how do you say? the Prince Imperial?”
+
+“The Crown Prince,” rectified the Chief.
+
+“Ah, _oui_,—the Crown Prince. Messieurs, we have absolute testimony
+that this woman lived for nearly two years either in Metz or Berlin,
+and further, that at Metz, the Crown Prince was a constant visitor at
+her house. She was one of the ladies who nearly precipitated a definite
+rupture between the Crown Prince and his wife. _Mon Admiral_,” he went
+on, addressing the First Sea Lord again, “that this woman should be at
+large is a direct menace to the security of this country and of mine.
+It is only this morning that I at length received from Paris the facts
+which I have just laid before you. It is for you to order your action
+accordingly!”
+
+The little Frenchman folded his arms pompously and gazed at the
+ceiling.
+
+“How does she explain her movements prior to her coming to this
+country” the First Sea Lord asked the Chief.
+
+For an answer the Chief pressed the bell.
+
+“Samuel, who engaged her, is outside. You shall hear her story from
+him,” he said.
+
+Samuel entered, exuding business acumen, prosperity, geniality. He
+nodded brightly to the Chief and stood expectant.
+
+“Ah, Mr. Samuel,” said the Chief, “I wanted to see you about
+Nur-el-Din. You remember our former conversation on the subject. Where
+did she say she went to when she escaped to Brussels?”
+
+“First to Ostend,” replied the music-hall proprietor, “and then, when
+the general exodus took place from there, to her mother’s country place
+near Lyons, a village called Sermoise-aux-Roses.”
+
+“And what did she say her mother’s name was?”
+
+“Madame Blondinet, sir!”
+
+The Frenchman rapped smartly on a little pocketbook which he had
+produced and now held open in his hand.
+
+“There, is a Madame Blondinet who has a large farm near
+Sermoise-aux-Roses,” he said, “and she has a daughter called Marcelle,
+who went to America.”
+
+“Why then...?” began the First Sea Lord.
+
+“_Attendez un instant!_”
+
+The Colonel held up a plump hand.
+
+“Unfortunately for Madame Nur-el-Din, this Marcelle Blondinet spent the
+whole of her childhood, in fact, the whole of her life until she was
+nineteen years of age, on her mother’s farm at a time when _this_
+Marcelle Blondinet was touring Europe with The Seven Duponts. The
+evidence is absolute. Mademoiselle here heard the dancer herself
+confirm it last night!”
+
+“Thank you, Mr. Samuel,” said the Chief, “we shan’t require you any
+more. But I’m afraid your Nur-el-Din will have to break her contract
+with you.”
+
+“She’s done that already, sir!” said Samuel ruefully.
+
+The Chief sprang to his feet excitedly.
+
+“Broken it already?” he cried. “What do you mean? Explain yourself!
+Don’t stand there staring at me!”
+
+Mr. Samuel looked startled out of his life.
+
+“There was a bit of a row between her and the stage manager last night
+about her keeping the stage waiting again,” he said; “and after lunch
+today she rang up to say she would not appear at the Palaceum to-night
+or any more at all! It’s very upsetting for us; and I don’t mind
+telling you, gentlemen, that I’ve been to my solicitors about it...”
+
+“And why the blazes didn’t you come and tell me?” demanded the Chief
+furiously.
+
+“Well, sir, I thought it was only a bit of pique on her part, and I
+hoped to be able to talk the lady round. I know what these stars are!”
+
+“You’ve seen her then?” the Chief snapped out.
+
+“No, I haven’t!” Mr. Samuel lamented. “I’ve been twice to the
+Nineveh—that’s where she’s stopping—and each time she was out!”
+
+The Chief dismissed him curtly.
+
+When the door had closed behind him, the Chief said to the First Sea
+Lord:
+
+“This is where D.O.R.A. steps in, I think, sir!”
+
+“Decidedly!” replied the Admiral. “Will you take the necessary steps?”
+
+The Chief nodded and pressed the bell. Matthews appeared.
+
+“Anything from the Nineveh?” he asked.
+
+“The lady has not returned, sir!”
+
+“Anything from Gordon and Duff?”
+
+“No, sir, nothing all day!”
+
+The telephone on the desk whirred. The Chief lifted the receiver.
+
+“Yes. Oh, it’s you, Gordon? No, you can say it now: this is a private
+line.”
+
+He listened at the receiver for a couple of minutes. The room was very
+still.
+
+“All right, come to the office at once!”
+
+The Chief hung up the receiver and turned to the Admiral.
+
+“She’s given us the slip for the moment!” he said. “That was Gordon
+speaking. He and Duff have been shadowing our lady friend out of doors
+for days. She left the hotel on foot after lunch this afternoon with my
+two fellows in her wake. There was a bit of a crush on the pavement
+near Charing Cross and Duff was pushed into the roadway and run over by
+a motor-’bus. In the confusion Gordon lost the trail. He’s wasted all
+this time trying to pick it up again instead of reporting to me at
+once.”
+
+“_Zut!_” cried the Frenchman.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI.
+CREDENTIALS
+
+
+The sight of Nur-el-Din filled Desmond with alarm. For a moment his
+mind was overshadowed by the dread of detection. He had forgotten all
+about Mr. Crook’s handiwork in the train, and his immediate fear was
+that the dancer would awake and recognize him. But then he caught sight
+of his face in the mirror over the mantelpiece. The grave bearded man
+staring oddly at him out of the glass gave him a shock until he
+realized the metamorphosis that had taken place in his personality. The
+realization served instantly to still his apprehension.
+
+Nur-el-Din lay on her side, one hand under her face which was turned
+away from the fire. She was wearing a big black musquash coat, and over
+her feet she had flung a tweed overcoat, apparently one of Mr.
+Bellward’s from the hatstand in the hall. Her hat, a very dainty little
+affair of plain black velvet, was skewered with a couple of jewelled
+hatpins to the upholstery of the settee.
+
+Desmond watched her for a moment. Her face looked drawn and tired now
+that her eyelids, with their long sweeping black lashes, were closed,
+shutting off the extraordinary luminosity of her eyes. As he stood
+silently contemplating her, she stirred and moaned in her sleep and
+muttered some word three or four times to herself. Desmond was
+conscious of a great feeling of compassion for this strangely beautiful
+creature. Knowing as he did of the hundred-eyed monster of the British
+Secret Service that was watching her, he found himself thinking how
+frail, how helpless, how unprotected she looked, lying there in the
+flickering light of the fire.
+
+A step resounded behind him and old Martha shuffled into the room,
+carefully shading the lamp she still carried so that its rays should
+not fall on the face of the sleeper.
+
+“I don’t know as I’ve done right, sir,” she mumbled, “letting the pore
+lady wait here for you like this, but I couldn’t hardly help it, sir!
+She says as how she must see you, and seeing as how your first
+tellygram said you was coming at half-past nine, I lets her stop on!”
+
+“When did she arrive” asked Desmond softly.
+
+“About six o’clock,” answered the old, woman. “Walked all the way up
+from Wentfield Station, too, sir, and that cold she was when she
+arrived here, fair blue with the cold she was, pore dear. D’reckly she
+open her lips, I sees she’s a furrin’ lady, sir. She asks after you and
+I tells her as how you are away and won’t be back till this evening.
+‘Oh!’ she says, I then I wait!’ And in she comes without so much as
+with your leave or by your leave. She told me as how you knew her, sir,
+and were expecting to see her, most important, she said it was, so I
+hots her up a bit o’ dinner. I hopes as how I didn’t do wrong, Mr.
+Bellward, sir!”
+
+“Oh, no, Martha, not at all!” Desmond replied—at random. He was sorely
+perplexed as to his next move. Obviously the girl could not stay in the
+house. What on earth did she want with him? And could he, at any rate,
+get at the desk and read the papers of which the note spoke and which,
+he did not doubt, were the _dossier_ of the Bellward case, before she
+awoke? They might, at least, throw some light on his relations with the
+dancer.
+
+“She had her dinner here by the fire,” old Martha resumed her
+narrative, “and about a quarter past nine comes your second tellygram,
+sir, saying as how you could not arrive till five o’clock in the
+morning.”
+
+Desmond glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece. The hands pointed to a
+quarter past five! He had lost all count of the time in his
+peregrinations of the night.
+
+“I comes in here and tells the young lady as how you wouldn’t be back
+last night, sir,” the old woman continued, “and she says, ‘Oh,’ she
+says, ‘then, where shall I go?’ she says. ‘Why don’t you go home, my
+dear?’ says I, ‘and pop round and see the master in the morning,’ I
+says, thinking the pore young lady lives about here. And then she tells
+me as how she come all the way from Lunnon and walked up from the
+station. As well you know, sir, the last train up leaves Wentfield
+Station at five minutes to nine, and so the pore young lady couldn’t
+get back that night. So here she had to stop. I got the spare room
+ready for her and lit a nice fire and all, but she wouldn’t go to bed
+not until she had seen you. I do hope as how I’ve not done wrong, sir.
+I says to Mr. Hill, I says...”
+
+Desmond held up his hand to restrain her toothless babble. Nur-el-Din
+had stirred and was sitting up, rubbing her eyes. Then she caught sight
+of Desmond and scrambled rather unsteadily to her feet.
+
+“Monsieur Bellward?” she said in French, “oh, how glad I am to see
+you!”
+
+“All right, Martha,” said Desmond, “see that the spare room is ready
+for this lady, and don’t go to bed just yet. I shall want you to take
+this lady to her room.”
+
+The old woman hobbled away, leaving the two alone. As soon as the door
+had closed behind her, Nur-el-Din exclaimed:
+
+“You know me; _hein?_”
+
+Desmond bowed in the most correct Continental manner.
+
+“Who does not know the charming Nur-el-Din?” he replied.
+
+“No!” Nur-el-Din commanded with flashing eyes, “no, not that name! I am
+Madame Le Bon, you, understand, a Belgian refugee, from Termonde!”
+
+Rather taken aback by her imperious manner, Desmond bowed again but
+said nothing.
+
+“I received your letter,” the dancer resumed, “but I did not answer it
+as I did not require your assistance. But now I wish your help. It is
+unfortunate that you were absent from home at the very time I counted
+upon your aid.”
+
+She flashed a glance at him as though awaiting an apology.
+
+“I am extremely sorry,” said Desmond, “if I had but known...”
+
+Nur-el-Din nodded carelessly.
+
+“I wish to pass the night here,” she went on, “in fact, I may be here
+for several days. They are becoming inconvenient in London, you
+understand.”
+
+“But the theatre, your professional engagements?”
+
+“Bah, I have left the theatre. I have had enough of these stupid
+English people... they know nothing of art!”
+
+Desmond reflected a moment. Nur-el-Din’s manner was most perplexing.
+What on earth could induce her to adopt this tone of condescension
+towards him? It nettled him. He resolved to try and find out on what it
+was based.
+
+“I am only too happy to be of assistance to you,” he said, “especially
+in view of the letter of introduction you sent me, but I must tell you
+plainly that what you ask is impossible.”
+
+“Impossible?” repeated Nur-el-Din, stamping her feet. “Impossible? Do
+you know what you are saying?”
+
+“Perfectly,” replied Desmond negligently. “Obviously, you must stay
+here for the rest of the night since you cannot return to London until
+the trains start running, but to stay here indefinitely as you propose
+to do is out of the question. People would talk!”
+
+“Then it is your business to see that they don’t!”
+
+“Your letter of introduction came from one whom I am always anxious to
+oblige,” Desmond went on. “But the service he is authorized to claim
+from me does not entitle him to jeopardize my other activities.”
+
+He drew a breath. It was a long shot. Would it draw her?
+
+It did. Nur-el-Din fumbled in her bag, produced a leather pocket-book
+and from it produced a slip of paper folded in two.
+
+“Read that!” she cried, “and then you shall apologize!”
+
+Desmond took the paper. It was a sheet torn from a book of German
+military field messages. “_Meldedienst_” (Message Service) was printed
+in German at the top and there were blanks to be filled in for the
+date, hour and place, and at the bottom a printed form of
+acknowledgment for the recipient to sign.
+
+In a large ostentatious, upright German handwriting was written what
+follows:
+
+“To All Whom it May Concern.
+
+
+“The lady who is the bearer of this, whose description is set out
+overleaf, is entitled to the full respect and assistance of the German
+forces on land and sea and in the air, wherever it may be. Her person
+and property are inviolate.
+    “Given At Our Headquarters at Metz
+
+
+“Friedrich Wilhelm
+“Kronprinz des
+“Deutschen Reiches.”
+
+
+Across the signature was the impress of a green stamp, lozenge-shaped,
+inscribed “Headquarters of the Fifth Army, General Staff, 21st
+September, 1914.”
+
+On the back of the slip was a detailed description of Nur-el-Din.
+
+Desmond bowed and handed the paper back to its owner.
+
+“Madame must accept my humble excuses,” he murmured, hardly knowing
+what he was saying, so great was his surprise, “my house and services
+are at Madame’s disposal!”
+
+“The other letter was from Count Plettenbach, the Prince’s A.D.C., whom
+I think you know!” added the dancer in a mollified voice as she
+replaced the slip of paper in its pocketbook and stowed it away in her
+hand-bag. Then, looking up archly at Desmond, she said:
+
+“Am I so distasteful, then, to have in your house?”
+
+She made a charming picture. Her heavy fur coat had fallen open,
+disclosing her full round throat, very brown against the V-shaped
+opening of her white silk blouse. Her mouth was a perfect cupid’s bow,
+the upper lip slightly drawn up over her dazzlingly white teeth. Before
+Desmond could answer her question, if answer were needed, her mood had
+swiftly changed again. She put her hand out, a little brown hand, and
+laying it on his shoulder, looked up appealingly into his eyes.
+
+“You will protect me,” she said in a low voice, “I cannot bear this
+hunted life. From this side, from that, they, are closing in on me, and
+I am frightened, so very frightened. Promise you will keep me from
+harm!”
+
+Desmond gazed down into her warm, expressive eyes helplessly. What she
+asked was impossible, he knew, but he was a soldier, not a policeman,
+he told himself, and under his breath he cursed the Chief for landing
+him in such a predicament. To Nur-el-Din he said gently:
+
+“Tell me what has happened to frighten you. Who is hunting you? Is it
+the police?”
+
+She withdrew her hand with a gesture of contempt.
+
+“Bah!” she said bitterly. “I am not afraid of the police.”
+
+Then she sank into a reverie, her gaze fixed on the dying embers of the
+fire.
+
+“All my life has been a struggle,” she went on, after a moment, “first
+with hunger, then with men, then the police. I am used to a hard life.
+No, it is not the police!”
+
+“Who is it, then” asked Desmond, completely nonplused.
+
+Nur-el-Din let her eyes rest on his face for a moment.
+
+“You have honest eyes,” she said, “your eyes are not German... pardon
+me, I would not insult your race... I mean they are different from the
+rest of you. One day, perhaps, those eyes of yours may persuade me to
+answer your question. But I don’t know you well enough yet!”
+
+She broke off abruptly, shaking her head.
+
+“I am tired,” she sighed and all her haughty manner returned, “let the
+old woman show me to my room. I will take _déjeuner_ with you at one
+o’clock.”
+
+Desmond bowed and stepping out into the hall, called the housekeeper.
+Old Martha shuffled off with the girl, leaving Desmond staring with
+vacant eyes into the fire. He was conscious of a feeling of exultation,
+despite his utter weariness and craving for sleep. This girl, with her
+queenly ways, her swiftly changing moods, her broad gusts of passion,
+interested him enormously. If she were the quarry, why, then, the chase
+were worth while! But the end? For a brief moment, he had a vision of
+that frail, clinging figure swaying up against some blank wall before a
+file of levelled rifles.
+
+Then again he seemed to see old Mackwayte lying dead on the landing of
+the house at Seven Kings. Had this frail girl done this unspeakable
+deed? To send her to the gallows or before a firing-squad—was this to
+be the end of his mission? And the still, small voice of conscience
+answered: “Yes! that is what you have come here to do!”
+
+Old Martha came shuffling down the staircase. Desmond called to her,
+remembering that he did not yet know where his bedroom was.
+
+“Will you light me up to my room, Martha?” he said, “I want to be sure
+that the sheets are not damp!”
+
+So saying he extinguished the lamp on the table and followed the old
+woman upstairs.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII.
+AT THE MILL HOUSE
+
+
+Clad in a suit of Mr. Basil Bellward’s pyjamas of elaborate
+blue-flowered silk, Desmond lay propped up in bed in Mr. Bellward’s
+luxuriously fitted bedroom, sipping his morning coffee, and studying
+with absorbed interest a sheet of blue foolscap. A number of papers lay
+strewn about the eiderdown quilt. At the head of the bed a handsome
+Sheraton bureau stood open.
+
+As the French say, Mr. Bellward had refused himself nothing. His
+bedroom was most tastefully furnished. The furniture was mahogany,
+every piece carefully chosen, and the chintz of curtains and upholstery
+was bright and attractive. A most elaborate mahogany wardrobe was
+fitted into the wall, and Desmond, investigating it, had found it to
+contain a very large assortment of clothes of every description, all
+new or nearly so, and bearing the name of a famous tailor of Cork
+Street. Folding doors, resembling a cupboard, disclosed, when open, a
+marble basin with hot water laid on, while a curtained door in the
+corner of the room gave access to a white tiled bathroom. Mr. Bellward,
+Desmond had reflected after his tour of the room on his arrival,
+evidently laid weight on his personal comfort; for the contrast between
+the cheerful comfort of his bedroom and the musty gloom of the rooms
+downstairs was very marked.
+
+A bright log fire hissed on the open hearth and the room was pleasantly
+warm. Old Martha’s coffee was excellent, and Desmond, very snug in Mr.
+Bellward’s comfortable bed, noted with regret that the clock on the
+mantel-shelf marked a quarter to twelve. But then he thought of the
+tête-à-tête luncheon that awaited him at one o’clock and his face
+cleared. He didn’t mind getting up so much after all.
+
+He fell again to the perusal of the documents which he had found, as
+indicated in the note from headquarters, in the desk by the bed. They
+were enclosed in two envelopes, one large, the other small, both
+without any superscription. The large envelope enclosed Mr. Bellward’s
+dossier which consisted of a fairly detailed account of his private
+life, movements, habits and friends, and an account of his arrest. The
+small envelope contained Desmond’s eagerly expected orders.
+
+Desmond examined the papers in the large envelope first. From them he
+ascertained that the house in which he found himself was called The
+Mill House, and was situated two and a half miles from the station of
+Wentfield on the Great Eastern Railway in Essex. Mr. Bellward had taken
+the place some eight years before, having moved there from the Surrey
+hills, but had been wont to spend not more than two months in the year
+there. For the rest of the time he traveled abroad, usually passing the
+winter months on the Riviera, and the spring in Switzerland or Italy.
+The war had brought about a change in his habits, and Harrogate, Buxton
+and Bath had taken the place of the Continental resorts which he had
+frequented in peace time.
+
+When in residence at The Mill House, Mr. Bellward had gone up to London
+nearly every morning, either walking or going by motor-cycle to the
+station, and not returning until dinner-time in the evening. Sometimes
+he passed the night in London, and on such occasions slept at a small
+hotel in Jermyn Street. His dossier included, a long and carefully
+compiled list of the people he knew in London, mostly men of the rich
+business set, stockbrokers, manufacturers, solicitors, and the like.
+Against every name was set a note of the exact degree of intimacy
+existing between Bellward and the man in question, and any other
+information that might serve Bellward’s impersonator in good stead.
+Desmond laid this list aside for the moment, intending to study it more
+closely at his leisure.
+
+Of intercourse with his neighbors in, the country, Mr. Bellward
+apparently had none. The Mill House stood in a lonely part of the
+country, remote from the more thickly populated centres of Brentwood
+and Romford, on the edge of a wide tract of inhospitable marshland,
+known as Morstead Fen, intersected by those wide deep ditches which in
+this part of the world are known as dykes. At this stage in the report
+there was a note to the effect that the rector of Wentfield had called
+twice at The Mill House but had not found Mr. Bellward at home, and
+that his visits had not been returned. There were also some opinions
+apparently culled locally regarding the tenant of the Mill House, set
+out something in this wise:—
+
+“Landlord of the Red Lion, Wentfield: The gentleman has never been to
+the Red Lion, but sometimes orders my Ford car and always pays
+regularly.
+    “The Stationmaster at Wentfield: A gentleman who keeps himself to
+    himself but very liberal with his money.
+    “Sir Marsham Dykes, of The Chase, Stanning: A damned unsociable
+    churlish fellow.
+    “Mr. Tracy Wentfield, of the Channings, Home Green: A very rude
+    man. He slammed the front door of the house in my face when I went
+    to ask him for a contribution to our Cottage Hospital. It is not my
+    habit to repeat idle gossip, but they do say he is a heavy
+    drinker.”
+
+
+There was a lot more of this sort of thing, and Desmond turned from it
+with a smile to take up the account of Bellward’s arrest. It appeared
+that, about a fortnight before, on the eve of the departure for France
+of a very large draft of troops, a telegram was handed in at the East
+Strand telegraph office addressed to Bellward. This telegram ran thus:
+
+“Bellward, Bellward Hotel, Jermyn Street.
+    “Shipping to you Friday 22,000 please advise correspondents.
+“MORTIMER.”
+
+
+The authorities were unable to deliver this telegram as no such an
+hotel as the Hotel Bellward was found to exist in Jermyn Street. An
+examination of the address showed clearly that the sender had absent
+mindedly repeated the addressee’s name in writing the name of the
+hotel. An advice was therefore addressed to the sender, Mortimer, at
+the address he had given on the back of the form, according to the
+regulations, to inform him that his telegram had not been delivered. It
+was then discovered that the address given by Mortimer was fictitious.
+
+Suspicion being thus aroused, the telegram was forwarded to the Postal
+Censor’s department whence it reached the Intelligence Authorities who
+promptly spotted the connection between the wording of the telegram and
+the imminent departure of the drafts, more especially as the dates
+tallied. Thereupon, Mr. Bellward was hunted up and ultimately traced by
+his correspondence to The Mill House. He was not found there, but was
+eventually encountered at his London hotel, and requested to appear
+before the authorities with a view to throwing some light on Mortimer.
+Under cross-examination Bellward flatly denied any knowledge of
+Mortimer, and declared that a mistake had been made. He cited various
+well known city men to speak for his bona-fides and protested violently
+against the action of the authorities in doubting his word. It was
+ultimately elicited that Bellward was of German birth and had never
+been naturalized, and he was detained in custody while a search was
+made at The Mill House.
+
+The search was conducted with great discretion, old Martha being got
+out of the way before the detectives arrived and a careful watch being
+kept to avoid any chance of interruption. The search had the most
+fruitful results. Hidden in a secret drawer of the Sheraton desk in
+Bellward’s bedroom, was found a most elaborate analysis of the
+movements of the transports to France, extremely accurate and right up
+to date. There was absolutely no indication, however, as to whence
+Bellward received his reports, and how or to whom he forwarded them. It
+was surmised that Mortimer was his informant, but an exhaustive search
+of the post office files of telegrams despatched showed no trace of any
+other telegram from Mortimer to Bellward save the one in the possession
+of the authorities. As for Mortimer, he remained a complete enigma.
+
+That, summarised, was the gist of the story of Bellward’s arrest. The
+report laid great stress on the fact that no one outside half a dozen
+Intelligence men had any knowledge (a) of Bellward being an
+unnaturalized German, (b) of his arrest.
+
+Desmond’s orders, which he reserved to the last were short and to the
+point. They consisted of five numbered clauses.
+
+“1. You will have a free hand. The surveillance of the house was
+withdrawn on your arrival and will not be renewed.
+
+“2. You will not leave the house until further orders.
+
+“3. You will keep careful note of any communication that may be made to
+you, whether verbal or in writing, of whatever nature it is. When you
+have anything to be forwarded, ring up 700 Slanning on the telephone
+and give Bellward’s name. You will hand your report to the first person
+calling at the house thereafter asking for the letter for Mr. Elias.
+
+“4. If help is urgently required, ring up 700 Stanning and ask for Mr.
+Elias. Assistance will be with you within 15 minutes after. This
+expedient must only be used in the last extremity.
+
+“5. Memorize these documents and burn the lot before you leave the
+house.”
+
+“Handy fellow, Mr. Elias,” was Desmond’s commentary, as he sprang out
+of bed and made for the bathroom. At a quarter to one he was ready
+dressed, feeling very scratchy and uncomfortable about the beard which
+he had not dared to remove owing to Nur-el-Din’s presence in the house.
+Before he left the bedroom, he paused a moment at the desk, the
+documents of the Bellward case in his hands. He had a singularly
+retentive memory, and he was loth to have these compromising papers in
+the house whilst Nur-el-Din was there. He took a quick decision and
+pitched the whole lot into the fire, retaining only the annotated list
+of Mr. Bellward’s friends. This he placed in his pocket-book and, after
+watching the rest of the papers crumble away into ashes, went
+downstairs to lunch.
+
+Nur-el-Din was in the drawing-room, a long room with two high windows
+which gave on a neglected looking garden. A foaming, churning brook
+wound its way through the garden, among stunted bushes and dripping
+willows, obviously the mill-race from which the house took its name.
+The drawing-room was a bare, inhospitable room, studded here and there
+with uncomfortable looking early Victorian armchairs swathed in
+dust-proof cloths. A fire was making an unsuccessful attempt to burn in
+the open grate.
+
+Nur-el-Din turned as he entered the room. She was wearing a gray cloth
+tailor-made with a white silk, blouse and a short skirt showing a pair
+of very natty brown boots. By contrast with her ugly surroundings she
+looked fresh and dainty. Her eyes were bright and her face as smooth
+and unwrinkled as a child’s.
+
+“_Bon jour_,” she cried gaily, “ah! but I am ’ungry! It is the air of
+the country! I love so the country!”
+
+“I hope you slept well, Madame!” said Desmond solicitously, looking
+admiringly at her trim figure.
+
+“Like a dead man,” she replied with a little laugh, translating the
+French idiom. “Shall we make a leetle promenade after the _déjeuner?_
+And you shall show me your pretty English country, _voulez-vous?_ You
+see, I am dressed for _le footing!_”
+
+She lifted a little brown foot.
+
+They had a delightful luncheon together. Old Martha, who proved to be
+quite a passable cook, waited on them. There was some excellent
+Burgundy and a carafe of old brandy with the coffee. Nur-el-Din was in
+her most gracious and captivating mood. She had dropped all her
+arrogance of their last interview and seemed to lay herself out to
+please. She had a keen sense of humor and entertained Desmond vastly by
+her anecdotes of her stage career, some not a little _risqué_, but
+narrated with the greatest _bonhomie_.
+
+But, strongly attracted as he was to the girl, Desmond did not let
+himself lose sight of his ultimate object. He let her run on as gaily
+as she might but steadily, relentlessly he swung the conversation round
+to her last engagement at the Palaceum. He wanted to see if she would
+make any reference to the murder at Seven Kings. If he could only bring
+in old Mackwayte’s name, he knew that the dancer _must_ allude to the
+tragedy.
+
+Then the unexpected happened. The girl introduced the old comedian’s
+name herself.
+
+“The only pleasant memory I shall preserve of the Palaceum,” she said
+in French, “is my meeting with an old comrade of my youth. Imagine, I
+had not seen him for nearly twenty years. Monsieur Mackwayte, his name
+is, we used to call him Monsieur Arthur in the old days when I was the
+child acrobat of the Dupont Troupe. Such a charming fellow; and not a
+bit changed! He was doing a deputy turn at the Palaceum on the last
+night I appeared there! And he introduced me to his daughter! _Une
+belle Anglaise!_ I shall hope to see my old friend again when I go back
+to London!”
+
+Desmond stared at her. If this were acting, the most hardened criminal
+could not have carried it off better. He searched the girl’s face. It
+was frank and innocent. She ran on about Mackwayte in the old days, his
+kindliness to everyone, his pretty wife, without a shadow of an attempt
+to avoid an unpleasant topic. Desmond began to believe that not only
+did the girl have nothing to do with the tragedy but that actually she
+knew nothing about it.
+
+“Did you see the newspapers yesterday?” he asked suddenly.
+
+“My friend,” said Nur-el-Din, shaking her curls at him. “I never read
+your English papers. There is nothing but the war in them. And this
+war!”
+
+She gave a little shudder and was silent.
+
+At this moment old Martha, who had left them over their coffee and
+cigarettes, came into the room.
+
+“There’s a gentleman called to see you, sir!” she said to Desmond.
+
+Desmond started violently. He was scarcely used to his new rôle as yet.
+
+“Who is it, Martha?” he said, mastering his agitation.
+
+“Mr. Mortimer!” mumbled the old woman in her tired voice, “at least
+that’s what he said his name was. The gentleman hadn’t got a card!”
+
+Nur-el-Din sprang up from her chair so vehemently that she upset her
+coffee.
+
+“Don’t let him come in!” she cried in French.
+
+“Did you say I was in?” Desmond asked the old housekeeper, who was
+staring at the dancer.
+
+“Why, yes, sir,” the woman answered.
+
+Desmond made a gesture of vexation.
+
+“Where is this Mr. Mortimer?” he asked
+
+“In the library, sir!”
+
+“Tell him I will be with him at once.”
+
+Martha hobbled away and Desmond turned to the girl.
+
+“You heard what my housekeeper said? The man is here. I shall have to
+see him.”
+
+Nur-el-Din, white to the lips, stood by the table, nervously twisting a
+little handkerchief.
+
+“_Non, non_,” she said rapidly, “you must not see him. He has come to
+find me. Ah! if he should find out what I have done... you will not
+give me up to this man?”
+
+“You need not see him,” Desmond expostulated gently, “I will say you
+are not here! Who is this Mortimer that he should seek to do you harm?”
+
+“My friend,” said the dancer sadly, “he is my evil genius. If I had
+dreamt that you knew him I would never have sought refuge in your
+house.”
+
+“But I’ve never set eyes on the man in my life!” exclaimed Desmond.
+
+The dancer shook her head mournfully at him.
+
+“Very few of you have, my friend,” she replied, “but you are all under
+his orders, _n’est-ce pas?_”
+
+Desmond’s heart leaped. Was Mortimer’s the guiding hand of this network
+of conspiracy?
+
+“I’ve trusted you, Monsieur,” Nur-el-Din continued in a pleading voice,
+“you will respect the laws of hospitality, and hide me from this man.
+You will not give me up! Promise it, my friend?”
+
+Desmond felt strangely moved. Was this a callous murderess, a hired
+spy, who, with her great eyes brimming over with tears, entreated his
+protection so simply, so appealingly?
+
+“I promise I will not give you up to him, _Mademoiselle!_” he said and
+hated himself in the same breath for the part he had to play. Then he
+left her still standing by the table, lost in thought.
+
+Desmond walked through the hall to the room in which he had found
+Nur-el-Din asleep on his arrival. His nerves were strung up tight for
+the impending encounter with this Mortimer, whoever, whatever he was.
+Desmond did not hesitate on the threshold of the room. He quietly
+opened the door and walked in.
+
+A man in a black and white check suit with white gaiters stood on the
+hearthrug, his hands tucked behind his back. He had a curiously
+young-old appearance, such as is found in professors and scientists of
+a certain type. This suggestion was probably heightened by the very
+strong spectacles he wore, which magnified his eyes until they looked
+like large colored marbles. He had a heavy curling moustache resembling
+that affected by the late Lord Randolph Churchill. There was a good
+deal of mud on his boots, showing that he had come on foot.
+
+The two men measured one another in a brief but courteous glance.
+Desmond wondered what on earth this man’s profession was. He was quite
+unable to place him.
+
+“Mr. Bellward?” said Mortimer, in a pleasant cultivated voice, “I am
+pleased to have this opportunity of meeting you personally.”
+
+Desmond bowed and muttered something conventional. Mortimer had put out
+his hand but Desmond could not nerve himself to take it. Instead he
+pushed forward a chair.
+
+“Thanks,” said Mortimer sitting down heavily, “I’ve had quite a walk
+across the fen. It’s pleasant out but damp! I suppose you didn’t get my
+letter?”
+
+“Which letter was that” asked Desmond.
+
+“Why the one asking you to let me know when you would be back so that
+we might meet at last!”
+
+Desmond shook his head.
+
+“No,” he said, “I didn’t get that one. It must have gone astray. As a
+matter of fact,” he added, “I only got back this morning.”
+
+“Oh, well then, I am fortunate in my visit,” said Mortimer. “Did
+everything go off all right?”
+
+“Oh, yes,” Desmond hastened to say, not knowing what he was talking
+about, “everything went off all right.”
+
+“I don’t in the least grudge you the holiday,” the other observed, “one
+should always be careful to pay the last respects to the dead. It makes
+a good impression. That is so important in some countries!”
+
+He beamed at Desmond through his spectacles.
+
+“Was there anything left in your absence?” he asked, “no, there would
+be nothing; I suppose!”
+
+Desmond took a firm resolution. He must know what the man was driving
+at.
+
+“I don’t know what you mean,” he said bluntly.
+
+“God bless my soul!” ejaculated Mortimer turning round to stare at him
+through his grotesque glasses. And then he said very deliberately in
+German:
+
+“_War niemand da?_”
+
+Desmond stood up promptly.
+
+“What do you want with me?” he asked quietly, “and why do you speak
+German in my house?” Mortimer gazed at him blankly.
+
+“Excellence, most excellent,” he gasped. “I love prudence. My friend,
+where are your eyes?”
+
+He put a large, firm hand up and touched the upper edge of the left
+lapel of his jacket. Desmond followed his gesture with his eyes and saw
+the other’s first finger resting on the shiny glass head of a black
+pin. Almost instinctively Desmond imitated the gesture. His fingers
+came into contact with a glassheaded pin similarly embedded in the
+upper edge of the lapel of his own coat.
+
+Then he understood. This must be the distinguishing badge of this
+confraternity of spies. It was a clever idea, for the black pin was
+practically invisible, unless one looked for it, and even if seen,
+would give rise to no suspicions. It had obviously escaped the notice
+of the Chief and his merry men, and Desmond made a mental resolve to
+rub this omission well into his superior on the first opportunity. He
+felt he owed the Chief one.
+
+Mr. Mortimer cleared his throat, as though to indicate the conclusion
+of the episode. Desmond sat down on the settee.
+
+“Nothing came while I was away!” he said.
+
+“Now that you are back,” Mortimer remarked, polishing his glasses with
+a bandanna handkerchief, “the service will be resumed. I have come to
+see you, Mr. Bellward,” he went on, turning to Desmond, “contrary to my
+usual practice, mainly because I wished to confirm by personal
+observation the very favorable opinion I had formed of your ability
+from our correspondence. You have already demonstrated your discretion
+to me. If you continue to show that your prudence is on a level with
+your zeal, believe I shall not prove myself ungrateful.”
+
+So saying he settled his glasses on his nose again.
+
+The action woke Desmond from a brown study. During the operation of
+wiping his spectacles, Mr. Mortimer had given Desmond a glimpse of his
+eyes in their natural state without the protection of those distorting
+glasses. To his intense surprise Desmond had seen, instead of the weak,
+blinking eyes of extreme myopia, a pair of keen piercing eyes with the
+clear whites of perfect health. Those blue eyes, set rather close
+together, seemed dimly familiar. Someone, somewhere, had once looked at
+him like that.
+
+“You are too kind,” murmured Desmond, grappling for the thread of the
+conversation.
+
+Mortimer did not apparently notice his absentmindedness.
+
+“Everything has run smoothly,” he resumed, “on the lines on which we
+have been working hitherto, but more important work lies before us. I
+have found it necessary to select a quiet rendezvous where I might have
+an opportunity of conferring in person with my associates. The first of
+these conferences will take place very shortly. I count upon your
+attendance, Bellward!”
+
+“I shall not fail you,” replied Desmond. “But where is this rendezvous
+of yours, might I ask?”
+
+Mortimer shot a quick glance at him.
+
+“You shall know in good time,” he answered drily. Then he added:
+
+“Do you mind if I have a few words with Nur-el-Din before I go!”
+
+The unexpected question caught Desmond off his guard.
+
+“Nur-el-Din?” he stammered feebly.
+
+“She is staying with you, I believe,” said Mortimer pleasantly.
+
+Desmond shook his head.
+
+“There must be some mistake,” he averred stoutly, “of course I know who
+you mean, but I have never met the lady. She is not here. What led you
+to suppose she was?”
+
+But even as he spoke, his eyes fell on a black object which lay near
+his arm stretched out along the back of the settee. It was a little
+velvet hat, skewered to the upholstery of the settee by a couple of
+jewelled hat-pins. A couple of gaudy cushions lay between it and
+Mortimer’s range of vision from the chair in which the latter was
+sitting. If only Mortimer had not spotted it already!
+
+Desmond’s presence of mind did not desert him. On the pretext of
+settling himself more comfortably he edged up another cushion until it
+rested upon the other two, thus effectively screening the hat from
+Mortimer’s view even when he should get up.
+
+“I wish she were here,” Desmond added, smiling, “one could not have a
+more delightful companion to share one’s solitude, I imagine.”
+
+“The lady has disappeared from London under rather suspicious
+circumstances;” Mortimer said, letting his grotesque eyes rest for a
+moment on Desmond’s face, “to be quite frank with you, my dear fellow,
+she has been indiscreet, and the police are after her.”
+
+“You don’t say!” cried Desmond.
+
+“Indeed, it is a fact,” replied the other, “I wish she would take you
+as her model, my dear Bellward. You are the pattern of prudence, are
+you not?”
+
+He paused perceptibly and Desmond held his breath.
+
+“She has very few reputable friends,” Mortimer continued presently,
+“under a cloud as she is, she could hardly frequent the company of her
+old associates, Mowbury and Lazarro and Mrs. Malplaquet, you doubtless
+know whom I mean. I know she has a very strong recommendation to you,
+so I naturally thought—well, no matter!”
+
+He rose and extended his hand.
+
+“_Au revoir_, Bellward,” he said, “you shall hear from me very soon.
+You’ve got a snug little place here, I must say, and everything in
+charming taste. I like your pretty cushions.”
+
+The blood flew to Desmond’s face and he bent down, on pretense of
+examining the cushions, to hide his confusion.
+
+“They aren’t bad,” he said, “I got them at Harrod’s!”
+
+He accompanied Mortimer to the front door and watched him disappear
+down the short drive and turn out of the gate into the road. Then
+feeling strangely ill at ease, he went back to join Nur-el-Din in the
+dining-room. But only the housekeeper was there, clearing the table.
+
+“If you’re looking for the young lady, sir,” said old Martha, “she’s
+gone out!”
+
+“Oh!” said Desmond, with a shade of disappointment in his voice, “will
+she be back for tea?”
+
+“She’s not coming back at all,” answered the old woman, “she told me to
+tell you she could not stop, sir. And she wouldn’t let me disturb you,
+neither, sir.”
+
+“But did she leave no note or anything for me?” asked Desmond.
+
+“No, sir,” answered old Martha as she folded up the cloth.
+
+Gone! Desmond stared gloomily out at the sopping garden with an uneasy
+feeling that he had failed in his duty.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIII.
+WHAT SHAKESPEARE’S COMEDIES REVEALED
+
+
+In a very depressed frame of mind, Desmond turned into the library. As
+he crossed the hall, he noticed how cheerless the house was. Again
+there came to him that odor of mustiness—of all smells the most eerie
+and drear—which he had noticed on his arrival. Somehow, as long as
+Nur-el-Din had been there, he had not remarked the appalling loneliness
+of the place.
+
+A big log fire was blazing cheerfully in the grate, throwing out a
+bright glow into the room which, despite the early hour, was already
+wreathed in shadows. Wearily Desmond pulled a big armchair up to the
+blaze and sat down. He told himself that he must devote every minute of
+his spare time to going over in his mind the particulars he had
+memorized of Mr. Bellward’s habits and acquaintanceships. He took the
+list of Bellward’s friends from his pocket-book.
+
+But this afternoon he found it difficult to concentrate his attention.
+His gaze kept wandering back to the fire, in whose glowing depths he
+fancied he could see a perfect oval face with pleading eyes and
+dazzling teeth looking appealingly at him.
+
+Nur-el-Din! What an entrancing creature she was! What passion lurked in
+those black eyes of hers, in her moods, swiftly changing from gusts of
+fierce imperiousness to gentle airs of feminine charm! What a frail
+little thing she was to have fought her way alone up the ladder from
+the lowest rung to the very top! She must have character and grit,
+Desmond decided, for he was a young man who adored efficiency: to him
+efficiency spelled success.
+
+But a spy needs grit, he reflected, and Nur-el-Din had many qualities
+which would enable her to win the confidence of men. Hadn’t she
+half-captivated him, the would-be spy-catcher, already?
+
+Desmond laughed ruefully to himself. Indeed, he mused, things looked
+that way. What would the Chief say if he could see his prize young man,
+his white-headed boy, sitting sentimentalizing by the fire over a woman
+who was, by her own confession, practically an accredited German agent?
+Desmond thrust his chin out and shook himself together. He would put
+the feminine side of Nur-el-Din out of his head. He must think of her
+henceforth only as a member of the band that was spotting targets for
+those sneaking, callous brutes of U-boat commanders.
+
+He went back to the study of the list of Mr. Bellward’s friends. But he
+found it impossible to focus his mind upon it. Do what he would, he
+could not rid himself of the sensation that he had failed at the very
+outset of his mission. He was, indeed, he told himself, the veriest
+tyro at the game. Here he had had under his hand in turn Nur-el-Din and
+Mortimer (who, he made no doubt, was the leader of the gang which was
+so sorely troubling the Chief), and he had let both get away without
+eliciting from either even as much as their address. By the use of a
+little tact, he had counted on penetrating something of the mystery
+enveloping the dancer and her relationship with the gang; for he
+thought he divined that Nur-el-Din was inclined to make him her
+confidant. With the information thus procured, he had hoped to get on
+to the track of the leader of the band.
+
+But that ugly brute; Mortimer, with his goggle eyes, had spoiled
+everything. His appearance had taken Desmond completely by surprise: to
+tell the truth, it had thrown our young man rather off his guard. “If
+only I might have had a little longer acquaintance with my part,” he
+reflected bitterly as he sat by the fire, “I should have been better
+able to deal with that pompous ass!”
+
+Afterwards, when thinking over the opening events of this extraordinary
+episode of his career, Desmond rather wondered why he had not followed
+Mortimer out of the house that afternoon and tracked him down to his
+hiding place. But, as a matter of fact, the idea did not occur to him
+at the time. His orders were positive not to leave the house, and he
+never even thought of breaking them—at any rate, not then.
+
+His orders, also, it is true, were to report to headquarters any
+communication that might be made to him; but these instructions, at
+least as far as Nur-el-Din’s and Mortimer’s visits were concerned, he
+resolved to ignore.
+
+For one thing, he felt angry with the Chief who, he argued rather
+irrationally, ought to have foreseen and prevented Mortimer thus taking
+him by surprise. The Chief liked secrets—well, for a change, he should
+be kept in the dark and the laugh would be on Desmond’s side. For a few
+minutes after Mortimer’s departure, Desmond had felt strongly inclined
+to go to the telephone which stood on the desk in the library and ring
+up Mr. Elias, as he should have done, but he resisted this impulse.
+Now, thinking things over in the firelight, he was glad he had
+refrained. He would ferret out for himself the exact part that
+Nur-el-Din and Mortimer were playing in this band of spies. Nothing
+definite had come of his interviews with them as yet. It would be time
+enough to communicate with Headquarters when he had something positive
+to report.
+
+Then Desmond thrust the paper he had been studying back in his
+pocket-book and jumped up. He felt that the inaction was stifling him.
+He determined to go for a walk round the garden. That, at least, was in
+the spirit of his orders.
+
+Remembering that he was supposed to be suffering from a chill he donned
+a heavy Ulster of Bellward’s which was hanging in the hall and wound a
+muffler round his neck. Then cramming a soft cap on his head (he noted
+with satisfaction that Bellward’s hats fitted him remarkably well) he
+opened the front door and stepped outside.
+
+The rain had stopped, but the whole atmosphere reeked of moisture.
+Angry-looking, dirty-brown clouds chased each other across the lowering
+sky, and there was a constant sound of water, trickling and gurgling
+and splashing, in his ears.
+
+An untidy-looking lawn with a few unkempt and overgrown rhododendron
+bushes dotted here and there ran its length in front of the house and
+terminated in an iron railing which separated the grounds from a little
+wood. A badly water-logged drive, green with grass in places, ran past
+the lawn in a couple of short bends to the front gate. On the other
+side the drive was bordered by what had once been a kitchen garden but
+was now a howling wilderness of dead leaves, mud and gravel with
+withered bushes and half a dozen black, bare and dripping apple trees
+set about at intervals. At the side of the house the kitchen garden
+stopped and was joined by a flower garden—at least so Desmond judged it
+to have been by a half ruined pergola which he had noticed from the
+drawing-room windows. Through the garden ran the mill-race which poured
+out of the grounds through a field and under a little bridge spanning
+the road outside.
+
+Desmond followed the drive as far as the front gate. The surrounding
+country was as flat as a pancake, and in almost every field lay great
+glistening patches of water where the land had been flooded by the
+incessant rain. The road on which the house was built ran away on the
+left to the mist-shrouded horizon without another building of any kind
+in sight. Desmond surmised that Morstead Fen lay in the direction in
+which he was looking. To the right, Desmond caught a glimpse of a
+ghostly spire sticking out of some trees and guessed that this was
+Wentfield Church. In front of him the distant roar of a passing train
+showed where the Great Eastern Railway line lay.
+
+More depressed than ever by the utter desolation of the scene, Desmond
+turned to retrace his steps to the house. Noticing a path traversing
+the kitchen garden, he followed it. It led to the back of the house, to
+the door of a kind of lean-to shed. The latch yielded on being pressed
+and Desmond entered the place.
+
+He found himself in a fair-sized shed, very well and solidly built of
+pitch-pine, with a glazed window looking out on the garden, a table and
+a couple of chairs, and a large cupboard which occupied the whole of
+one side of the wall of the house against which the shed was built. In
+a corner of the shed stood a very good-looking Douglas motor-cycle, and
+on a nail on the wall hung a set of motor-cyclist’s overalls. A few
+petrol cans, some full, some empty, stood against the wall.
+
+Desmond examined the machine. It was in excellent condition,
+beautifully clean, the tank half full of spirits. A little dry sand on
+the tires showed that it had been used fairly recently.
+
+“Old man Bellward’s motor-bike that he goes to the station on,” Desmond
+noted mentally. “But what’s in the big cupboard, I wonder? Tools, I
+expect!”
+
+Then he caught sight of a deep drawer in the table. It was half-open
+and he saw that it contained various tools and spare parts, neatly
+arranged, each one in its appointed place.
+
+He went over to the cupboard and tried it. It was locked. Desmond had
+little respect for Mr. Bellward’s property so he went over to the tool
+drawer and selected a stout chisel with which to burst the lock of the
+cupboard. But the cupboard was of oak, very solidly built, and he tried
+in vain to get a purchase for his implement. He leant his left hand
+against the edge of the cupboard whilst with his right he jabbed
+valiantly with the chisel.
+
+Then an extraordinary thing happened. The whole cupboard noiselessly
+swung outwards while Desmond, falling forward, caught his forehead a
+resounding bang against the edge of the recess in which it moved. He
+picked himself up in a very savage frame of mind—a severe blow on the
+head is not the ideal cure for hypochondria—but the flow of
+objurgatives froze on his lips. For he found himself looking into Mr.
+Bellward’s library.
+
+He stepped into the room to see how the cupboard looked from the other
+side. He found that a whole section of bookshelves had swung back with
+the cupboard, in other words that the cupboard in the toolshed and the
+section of bookshelves were apparently all of one piece.
+
+He carefully examined the walls on either side of the recess in the
+library to see how the mechanism worked. The bookshelves were open,
+made of mahogany, the sides elaborately carved with leaves and flowers.
+Desmond ran his hand down the perpendicular section immediately on the
+right of the recess. About halfway down—to be exact, it was in line
+with the fifth shelf from the floor—his fingers encountered a little
+knob which gave under pressure—the heart of a flower which released the
+section of bookshelves. Going back to the shed, Desmond examined the
+place against which his hand had rested as he sought to force the lock
+of the cupboard. As he expected, he found a similar catch let into the
+surface of the oak, but so cunningly inlaid that it could scarce be
+detected with the naked eye.
+
+Before proceeding further with his investigations, Desmond softly
+turned the lock of the library door. He also shot forward a bolt he
+found on the inside of the door of the shed. He did not want to be
+interrupted by the housekeeper or the odd man.
+
+Then he went back to the library and pulled the cupboard to behind him.
+It moved quite easily into place. He wanted to have a look at the
+bookshelves; for he was curious to know whether the cupboard was
+actually all of one piece with the section of bookshelves as it seemed
+to be. He was prepared to find that the books were merely library
+dummies, but no! He tried half a dozen shelves at random, and every
+book he pulled out was real.
+
+Desmond was not easily baffled, and he determined to scrutinize every
+shelf, of this particular section in turn. With the aid of one of those
+step-ladders folding into a chair which you sometimes see in libraries,
+he examined the topmost shelves but without result. He took down in
+turn Macaulay’s History of England, a handsome edition of the works of
+Swift, and a set of Moliere without getting any nearer the end of his
+quest.
+
+The fourth shelf from the top was devoted to a library edition of
+Shakespeare, large books bound in red morocco. Desmond, who, by this
+time was getting cramp in the arms from stretching upwards and had made
+his hands black with dust, pulled out a couple of volumes at hazard
+from the set and found them real books like the rest.
+
+“Oh, damn!” he exclaimed, and had half a mind to abandon the search and
+have a go with hammer and chisel at the cupboard in the shed. By this
+time it was almost dusk in the library, and Desmond, before abandoning
+the search, struck a match to have a final rapid glance over the
+shelves. The light showed him a curious flatness about the backs of the
+last six volumes of Shakespeare. He dropped the match and laid hold of
+a volume of the Comedies. It resisted. He tugged. Still it would not
+come. Exerting all his strength, he pulled, the gilt-lettered backs of
+the last six volumes came away in his hands in one piece and he crashed
+off the ladder to the ground.
+
+This time he did not swear. He picked himself up quickly, lit the lamp
+on the table by the window, and brought it over to the bookcase. Where
+Shakespeare’s Comedies had stood was now a gaping void with a small key
+stuck in a lock, above a brass handle. Desmond mounted on the steps
+again and eagerly turned the key. Then he grasped the handle and
+pulled, the section of bookshelves swung back like a door, and he found
+himself face to face with a great stack of petrol cans. They lay in
+orderly piles stretching from the floor to the top of the bookshelves
+near the railing, several tiers deep. At a rough computation there must
+have been several hundred cans in the recess. And they were all full.
+
+In a flash Desmond realized what his discovery signified. The
+motor-cycle in the shed without was the connecting link between
+Bellward and the man with whom he was co-operating in the organization.
+Under pretext of reading late in his library Bellward would send old
+Martha to bed, and once the house was quiet, sally forth by his secret
+exit and meet his confederate. Even when he was supposed to be sleeping
+in London he could still use the Mill House for a rendezvous, entering
+and leaving by the secret door, and no one a bit the wiser. In that
+desolate part of Essex, the roads are practically deserted after dark.
+Bellward could come and go much as he pleased on his motor-cycle. Were
+he stopped, he always had the excuse ready that he was going to—or
+returning from the station. The few petrol cans that Desmond had seen
+openly displayed in the shed without seemed to show that Bellward
+received a small quantity of spirit from the Petrol Board to take him
+to and from the railway.
+
+The cache, so elaborately concealed, however, pointed to long journeys.
+Did Bellward undertake these trips to fetch news or to transmit it? And
+who was his confederate? Whom did he go to meet? Not Mortimer; for he
+had only corresponded with Bellward. Nor was it Nur-el-Din; for she had
+never met Bellward, either.
+
+Who was it, then?
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIV.
+BARBARA TAKES A HAND
+
+
+“No luck, Mr. Marigold,” said the Assistant Provost Marshal, “I’m
+sorry, but there it is! We’ve made every possible inquiry about this
+Private... er...” he glanced at the buff-colored leave pass in his
+hand, “... this Gunner Barling, but we can’t trace him so far. He
+should have gone back to France the afternoon before the day on which
+you found his pass. But he hasn’t rejoined his unit. He’s been posted
+as an absentee, and the police have been warned. I’m afraid we can’t do
+any more than that!”
+
+The detective looked at the officer with mild reproach in his eyes.
+
+“Dear, dear,” he replied, “and I made sure you’d be able to trace him
+with that pass!”
+
+He clicked his tongue against his teeth and shook his head.
+
+“Dear, dear!” he said again.
+
+“What’s the feller been up to?” asked the A.P.M. Detectives have a
+horror of leading questions, and Mr. Marigold shrank visibly before the
+directness of the other’s inquiry. Before replying, however, he
+measured the officer with his calm, shrewd eye. Mr. Marigold was not
+above breaking his own rules of etiquette if thereby he might gain a
+useful ally.
+
+“Well, Captain Beardiston,” he answered slowly, “I’ll tell you because
+I think that you may be able to help me a little bit. It’s part of your
+work to look after deserters and absentees and those sort o’ folk,
+isn’t it?”
+
+The A.P.M. groaned.
+
+“Part of my work?” he repeated, “it seems to be my whole life ever
+since I came back from the front.”
+
+“If you want to know what this young fellow has been up to,” said Mr.
+Marigold in his even voice, “it’s murder, if I’m not mistaken!”
+
+“Murder?” echoed the other in surprise. “Why, not the Seven Kings
+murder, surely?”
+
+The detective gave a brisk nod.
+
+“That’s it,” he replied, “I’m in charge of that case, if you follow me.
+I found that pass in the front garden of the Mackwayte’s house in
+Laleham Villas, half trodden into the earth of the flower-bed by a
+heavy boot, a service boot, studded with nails. There had been a lot of
+rain in the night, and it had washed the mosaic-tiled pathway up to the
+front door almost clean. When I was having a look round the garden, I
+picked up this pass, and then I spotted the trace of service boots, a
+bit faint, on the beds. You know the way the nails are set in the issue
+boots?”
+
+The officer nodded:
+
+“I ought to know that foot-print,” he said. “It’s all over the roads in
+northern France.”
+
+“We made inquiries through you,” the detective resumed, “and when I
+found that this Gunner Barling, the owner of the pass, was missing,
+well, you will admit, it looked a bit suspicious.”
+
+“Still, you know,” the A.P.M. objected, “this man appears to have the
+most excellent character. He’s got a clean sheet; he’s never gone
+absent before. And he’s been out with his battery almost since the
+beginning of the war.”
+
+“I’m not making any charge against him as yet,” answered the detective,
+picking up his hat, “but it would interest me very much, very much
+indeed, Captain Beardiston, to have five minutes’ chat with this
+gunner. And so I ask you to keep a sharp lookout for a man answering to
+his description, and if you come across him, freeze on to him hard, and
+give me a ring on the telephone.”
+
+“Right you are,” said the officer, “I’ll hold him for you, Mr.
+Marigold. But I hope your suspicions are not well-founded.”
+
+For a brief moment the detective became a human being.
+
+“And so do I, if you want to know,” he said. “One can forgive those
+lads who are fighting out there almost anything. I’ve got a boy in
+France myself!”
+
+A little sigh escaped him, and then Mr. Marigold remembered “The Yard.”
+
+“I’ll bid you good-day!” he added in his most official voice and took
+his leave.
+
+He walked down the steps by the Duke of York’s column and through the
+Horse Guards into Whitehall, seemingly busy with his own thoughts. A
+sprucely dressed gentleman who was engaged in the exciting and
+lucrative sport of war profiteering turned color and hastily swerved
+out towards the Park as he saw the detective crossing the Horse Guards’
+Parade. He was unpleasantly reminded of making the acquaintance of Mr.
+Marigold over a bucketshop a few years ago with the result that he had
+vanished from the eye of his friends for eighteen months. He
+congratulated himself on thinking that Mr. Marigold had not seen him,
+but he would have recognized his mistake could he but have caught sight
+of the detective’s face. A little smile flitted across Mr. Marigold’s
+lips and he murmured to himself:
+
+“Our old friend is looking very prosperous just now. I wonder what he’s
+up to?”
+
+Mr. Marigold didn’t miss much.
+
+The detective made his way to the Chief’s office. Barbara Mackwayte, in
+a simple black frock with white linen collar and cuffs, was at her old
+place in the ante-room. A week had elapsed since the murder, and the
+day before, Mr. Marigold knew, the mortal remains of poor old Mackwayte
+had been laid to rest. He was rather surprised to see the girl back at
+work so soon.
+
+She did not speak to him as she showed him into the Chief, but there
+was a question lurking in her gray eyes.
+
+Mr. Marigold looked at her and gravely shook his head.
+
+“Nothing fresh,” he said.
+
+The Chief was unusually exuberant. Mr. Marigold found him surrounded,
+as was his wont, by papers, and a fearsome collection of telephone
+receivers. He listened in silence to Mr. Marigold’s account of his
+failure to trace Barling.
+
+“Marigold,” he said, when the other had finished, “we must undoubtedly
+lay hold of this fellow. Let’s see now... ah! I have it!”
+
+He scribbled a few lines on a writing-pad and tossed it across to the
+detective.
+
+“If your friend’s innocent,” he chuckled, “that’ll fetch him to a dead
+certainty. If he murdered Mackwayte, of course he won’t respond. Read
+it out and let’s hear how it sounds!”
+
+The Chief leaned back in his chair and lit a cigarette while the
+detective read out:
+
+“If Gunner Barling, etcetera, etcetera, will communicate with Messrs.
+Blank and Blank, solicitors, he will hear of something to his
+advantage. Difficulties with the military can be arranged.”
+
+“But I say, sir,” objected Mr. Marigold, “the military authorities will
+hardly stand for that last, will they?”
+
+“Won’t they, by Jove” retorted the Chief grimly. “They will if I tell
+’em to. No official soullessness for me; thank you! And now, Marigold,
+just ask Matthews to fill in Barling’s regimental number and all that
+and the name and address of the solicitors who do this kind of thing
+for us. And tell him we’ll insert the ad. daily until further notice in
+the _Mail, Chronicle, Daily News, Sketch, Mirror, Evening News_...”
+
+“And _Star_,” put in Mr. Marigold who had Radical tendencies.
+
+“The _Star_, too, by all means. That ought to cover the extent of your
+pal’s newspaper reading, I fancy, eh, Marigold! Right!”
+
+He held out a hand in farewell. But Mr. Marigold stood his ground. He
+was rather a slow mover, and there were a lot of things he wanted to
+discuss with the Chief.
+
+“I was very sorry to see poor Major Okewood in the casualty list this
+morning, sir,” he said. “I was going to ask you...”
+
+“Ah, terrible, terrible!” said the Chief. Then he added:
+
+“Just tell Miss Mackwayte I want her as you go out, will you?”
+
+The detective was used to surprises but the Chief still bowled him out
+occasionally. Before he knew what he was doing, Mr. Marigold found
+himself in the ante-room doing as he was bid.
+
+As soon as her father’s funeral was over; Barbara had insisted on
+returning to work. The whole ghastly business of the murder and the
+inquest that followed seemed to her like a bad dream which haunted her
+day and night. By tacit consent no one in the office had made any
+further allusion, to the tragedy. She had just slipped back into her
+little niche, prompt, punctual, efficient as ever.
+
+“No, it’s not for the letters,” the Chief said to her as she came in
+with her notebook and pencil. “I’m going to give you a little trip down
+to the country this afternoon, Miss Mackwayte... to, Essex... the Mill
+House, Wentfield... you know whom it is you are to see, eh? I’m getting
+a little restless as we’ve had no reports since he arrived there. I had
+hoped, by this, to have been able to put him on the track of
+Nur-el-Din, but, for the moment, it looks as if we had lost the scent.
+But you can tell our friend all we know about the lady’s
+antecedents—what we had from my French colleague the other day, you
+know? Let him have all the particulars about this Barling case—you know
+about that, don’t you? Good, and, see here, try and find out from our
+mutual friend what he intends doing. I don’t want to rush him... don’t
+let him think that... but I should rather like to discover whether he
+has formed any plan. And now you get along. There’s a good train about
+three which gets you down to Wentfield in just under the hour. Take
+care of yourself! See you in the morning!”
+
+Pressing a bell with one hand and lifting up a telephone receiver with
+the other, the Chief immersed himself again in his work. He appeared to
+have forgotten Miss Mackwayte’s very existence.
+
+At a quarter to five that evening, Barbara unlatched the front gate of
+the Mill House and walked up the drive. She had come on foot from the
+station and the exercise had done her good. It had been a deliciously
+soft balmy afternoon, but with the fall of dusk a heavy mist had come
+creeping up from the sodden, low-lying fields and was spreading out
+over the neglected garden of Mr. Bellward’s villa as Barbara entered
+the avenue.
+
+The damp gloom of the place, however, depressed her not at all. She
+exulted in the change of scene and the fresh air; besides, she knew
+that the presence of Desmond Okewood would dispel the vague fears that
+had hung over her incessantly ever since her father’s murder. She had
+only met him twice, she told herself when this thought occurred to her,
+but there was something bracing and dependable about him that was just
+the tonic she wanted.
+
+A porter at the station, who was very intelligent as country porters
+go, had told her the way to the Mill House. The way was not easy to
+find for there were various turns to make but, with the aid of such
+landmarks as an occasional inn, a pond or a barn, given her by the
+friendly porter, Barbara reached her destination. Under the porch she
+pulled the handle of the bell, all dank and glistening with moisture,
+and heard it tinkle loudly somewhere within the house.
+
+How lonely the place was, thought Barbara with a little shiver! The fog
+was growing thicker every minute and now seemed suspended like a vast
+curtain between her and the drive. Somewhere in the distance she heard
+the hollow gurgling of a stream. Otherwise, there was no sound.
+
+She rang the bell again rather nervously and waited. In her bag she had
+a little torch-light (for she was a practical young person), and taking
+it out, she flashed it on the door. It presented a stolid, impenetrable
+oaken front. She stepped out into the fog and scanned the windows which
+were already almost lost to view. They were dark and forbidding.
+
+Again she tugged at the bell. Again, with a groaning of wires,
+responded the hollow tinkle. Then silence fell once more. Barbara began
+to get alarmed. What had happened to Major Okewood? She had understood
+that there was no question of his leaving the house until the Chief
+gave him the word. Where, then, was he? He was not the man to disobey
+an order. Rather than believe that, she would think that something
+untoward had befallen him. Had there been foul play here, too?
+
+A sudden panic seized her. She grasped the bell and tugged and tugged
+until she could tug no more. The bell jangled and pealed and clattered
+reverberatingly from the gloomy house, and then, with a jarring of
+wires, relapsed into silence. Barbara beat on the door with her hands,
+for there was no knocker; but all remained still within. Only the dank
+mist swirled in ever denser about her as she stood beneath the dripping
+porch.
+
+“This won’t do!” said Barbara, pulling herself together. “I mustn’t get
+frightened, whatever I do! Major Okewood is very well capable of
+defending himself. What’s happened is that the man has been called away
+and the servants have taken advantage of his absence to go out!
+Barbara, my dear, you’ll just have to foot it back to the station
+without your tea!”
+
+She turned her back on the door and torch in hand, plunged resolutely
+into the fog-bank. The mist was bewilderingly thick. Still, by going
+slow and always keeping the gravel under her feet, she reached the
+front gate and turned out on the road.
+
+Here the mist was worse than ever. She had not taken four paces before
+she had lost all sense of her direction. The gate, the railways, were
+gone. She was groping in a clinging pall of fog.
+
+Her torch was worse than useless. It only illuminated swirling swathes
+of mist and confused her, so she switched it out. In vain she looked
+about her, trying to pick up some landmark to guide her. There was no
+light, no tree, no house visible, nothing but the dank, ghostly mist.
+
+To some temperaments, Nature has no terrors. Barbara, to whose
+imagination an empty house at dusk had suggested all kinds of
+unimaginable fears, was not in the least frightened by the fog. She
+only hoped devoutly that a motor-car or a trap would not come along
+behind and run her down for she was obliged to keep to the road; the
+hard surface beneath her feet was her only guide.
+
+She smiled over her predicament as she made her way along. She
+frequently found herself going off the road, more than once into
+patches of water, with the result that in a few minutes her feet were
+sopping. Still she forged ahead, with many vain halts to reconnoitre
+while the fog, instead of lifting, seemed to thicken with every step
+she took.
+
+By this time she knew she was completely lost. Coming from the station
+there had been, she remembered, a cross-roads with a sign-board set up
+on a grass patch, about a quarter of a mile from the Mill House. She
+expected every minute to come upon this fork; again and again she
+swerved out to the left from her line of march groping for the
+sign-post with her hands but she never encountered it.
+
+Few sounds came to break in upon the oppressive silence of the mist.
+Once or twice Barbara heard a train roaring along in the distance and,
+at one of her halts, her ear caught the high rising note of a motor
+engine a long way off. Except for these occasional reminders of the
+proximity of human beings, she felt she must be on a desert island
+instead of less than two score miles from London.
+
+Her wrist watch showed her that she had walked for an hour when she
+heard a dog barking somewhere on the left of the road. Presently, she
+saw a blurred patch of radiance apparently on the ground in front of
+her. So deceptive are lights seen through a fog that she was quite
+taken aback suddenly to come upon a long low house with a great beam of
+light streaming out of the door.
+
+The house was approached by a little bridge across a broad ditch. By
+the bridge stood a tall, massive post upon which a sign squeaked softly
+as it swayed to and fro. The inn was built round three sides of a
+square, the left-hand side being the house itself, the centre, the
+kitchen, and the right-hand side a tumble-down stable and some sheds.
+
+The welcome blaze of light coming from the open door was very welcome
+to Barbara after her, long journey through the mist. She dragged her
+wet and weary feet across the little bridge and went up to the
+inn-door.
+
+She stood for a moment at the entrance dazzled by the effect of the
+light on her eyes, which were smarting with the fog. She found herself
+looking into a long, narrow, taproom, smelling of stale beer and
+tobacco fumes, and lit by oil lamps suspended in wire frames from the
+raftered ceiling. The windows were curtained in cheerful red rep and
+the place was pleasantly warmed by a stove in one corner. By the stove
+was a small door apparently leading into the bar, for beside it was a
+window through which Barbara caught a glimpse of beer-engines and rows
+of bottles. Opposite the doorway in which she stood was another door
+leading probably to the back of the house. Down the centre of the room
+ran a long table.
+
+The tap-room was empty when Barbara entered but as she sat down at the
+table, the door opposite opened, and a short, foreign-looking woman
+came out. She stepped dead on seeing the girl: Her face seemed familiar
+to Barbara.
+
+“Good evening” said the latter, “I’ve lost my way in the fog and I’m
+very wet. Do you think I could have my shoes and stockings dried and
+get some tea? I...”
+
+“A moment! I go to tell Meester Rass,” said the woman with a very
+marked foreign accent and in a frightened kind of voice and slipped out
+by the way she came.
+
+“Where have I met that woman before?” Barbara asked herself, as she
+crossed to tile stove to get warm. The woman’s face seemed to be
+connected in her mind with something unpleasant, something she wanted
+to forget. Then a light dawned on her. Why, it was...
+
+A shrill cry broke in upon her meditations, a harsh scream of rage.
+Barbara turned quickly and saw Nur-el-Din standing in the centre of the
+room. She was transfigured with passion. Her whole body quivered, her
+nostrils were dilated, her eyes flashed fire, and she pointed an
+accusing finger at Barbara.
+
+“Ah! _misérable!_” she cried in a voice strangled with rage, “ah!
+_misérable! Te voila enfin!_”
+
+A cold chill struck at Barbara’s heart. Wherever she went, the hideous
+spectre of the tragedy of her father seemed to follow her. And now
+Nur-el-Din had come to upbraid her with losing the treasure she had
+entrusted to her.
+
+“Nur-el-Din,” the girl faltered in a voice broken with tears.
+
+“Where is it? Where is the silver box I gave into your charge? Answer
+me. _Mais réponds, donc, canaille!_”
+
+The dancer stamped furiously with her foot and advanced menacingly on
+Barbara.
+
+An undersized; yellow-faced man came quickly out of the small door
+leading from the bar and stood an instant, a helpless witness of the
+scene, as men are when women quarrel.
+
+Nur-el-Din rapped out an order to him in a tongue which was unknown to
+Barbara. It sounded something like Russian. The man turned and locked
+the door of the bar, then stepped swiftly across the room and bolted
+the outer door.
+
+Barbara recognized the threat that the action implied and it served to
+steady her nerves. She shrank back no longer but drew herself up and
+waited calmly for the dancer to reach her.
+
+“The box you gave me,” said Barbara very quietly, “was stolen from me
+by the person who... who murdered my father!”
+
+Nur-el-Din burst into a peal of malicious laughter.
+
+“And you?” she cried, “you are ’ere to sell it back to me, _hein_, or
+to get your blood money from your accomplice? Which is it?”
+
+On this Barbara’s self-control abandoned her.
+
+“Oh, how dare you! How dare you!” she exclaimed, bursting into tears,
+“when that wretched box you made me take was the means of my losing the
+dearest friend I ever had!”
+
+Nur-el-Din thrust her face, distorted with passion, into Barbara’s. She
+spoke in rapid French, in a low, menacing voice.
+
+“Do you think this play-acting will deceive me? Do you think I don’t
+know the value of the treasure I was fool enough to entrust to your
+safe keeping? _Grand Dieu!_ I must have been mad not to have remembered
+that no woman could resist the price that they were willing to pay for
+it! And to think what I have risked for it! Is all my sacrifice to have
+been in vain?”
+
+Her voice rose to a note of pleading and the tears started from her
+eyes. Her mood changed. She began to wheedle.
+
+“Come, _ma petite_, you will help me recover my little box, _n’est-ce
+pas?_ You will find me generous. And I am rich, I have great savings. I
+can...”
+
+Barbara put up her hands and pushed the dancer away from her.
+
+“After what you have said to me to-night,” she said, “I wouldn’t give
+you back your box even if I had it.”
+
+She turned to the man.
+
+“Will you tell me the way to the nearest station” she went on, “and
+kindly open that door!”
+
+The man looked interrogatively at Nur-el-Din who spoke a few words
+rapidly in the language she had used before. Then she cried to Barbara:
+
+“You stay here until you tell me what you have done with the box!”
+
+Barbara had turned to the dancer when the latter spoke so that she did
+not notice that the man had moved stealthily towards her. Before she
+could struggle or cry out, a hand as big as a spade was clapped over
+her mouth, she was seized in an iron grip and half-dragged,
+half-carried out of the taproom through the small door opposite the
+front entrance.
+
+The door slammed behind them and Barbara found herself in darkness. She
+was pushed round a corner and down a flight of stairs into some kind of
+cellar which smelt of damp straw. Here the grip on her mouth was
+released for a second but before she could utter more than a muffled
+cry the man thrust a handkerchief into her mouth and effectually gagged
+her. Then he tied her hands and feet together with some narrow ropes
+that cut her wrists horribly. He seemed to be able to see in the dark
+for, though the place was black as pitch, he worked swiftly and
+skillfully. Barbara felt herself lifted and deposited on a bundle of
+straw. In a little she heard the man’s heavy foot-step on the stair,
+there was a crash as of a trap-door falling to, the noise of a bolt.
+Then Barbara fainted.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XV.
+MR. BELLWARD IS CALLED TO THE TELEPHONE
+
+
+A knocking at the door of the library aroused Desmond from his
+cogitations. He hastened to replace the volumes of Shakespeare on their
+shelf and restore all to its former appearance. Then he went to the
+door and opened it. Old Martha stood in the hall.
+
+“If you please, sir,” she wheezed, “the doctor’s come!”
+
+“Oh,” said Desmond, rather puzzled, “what doctor?”
+
+“It’s not Dr. Haines from the village, Mr. Bellward, sir,” said the
+housekeeper, “It’s a genel’man from Lunnon!”
+
+Then Desmond remembered Crook’s promise to look him up and guessed it
+must be he. He bade Martha show the doctor in and bring tea for two.
+
+Desmond’s surmise was right. The old woman ushered in Crook, looking
+the very pattern of medical respectability, with Harley Street written
+all over him from the crown of his glossy top-hat to the neat brown
+spats on his feet. In his hand he carried a small black bag.
+
+“Well,” he said, surveying Desmond, “and how do we find ourselves
+to-day? These chills are nasty things to shake off, my dear sir!”
+
+“Oh, stow that!” growled Desmond, who was in little mood for joking.
+
+“Voice inclined to be laryngeal,” said Crook putting down his hat and
+bag on a chair, “we shall have to take care of our bronchial tubes! We
+are not so young as we were!”
+
+“You can drop all that mumming, Crook!” snapped Desmond irascibly.
+
+“Voice rotten,” replied Crook calmly surveying him through his
+pince-nez. “Really, Major—I should say, Mr. Bellward—you must take more
+pains than that. You are talking to me exactly as though I were a
+British Tommy. Tut, tut, this will never do, sir! You must talk
+thicker, more guttural-like, and open the vowels well.”
+
+He had dropped his jesting manner altogether and spoke with the deep
+earnestness of the expert airing his pet topic. He was so serious that
+Desmond burst out laughing. It must be said, however, that he laughed
+as much like a German as he knew how. This appeared to mollify Crook
+who, nevertheless, read him a long lecture against ever, for a moment,
+even when alone, quitting the role he was playing. Desmond took it in
+good part; for he knew the soundness of the other’s advice.
+
+Then old Martha brought tea, and over the cups and saucers Crook gave
+Desmond a budget of news. He told of the warrant issued for the arrest
+of Nur-el-Din and of the search being made for her.
+
+Desmond heard the news of Nur-el-Din’s disappearance from London with
+some consternation. He began to realize that his failure to detain
+Nur-el-Din that afternoon might have incalculable consequences. Sunk in
+thought, he let Crook run on. He was wondering whether he ought to give
+him a message for the Chief, telling him of Nur-el-Din’s visit and of
+her flight on the arrival of Mortimer.
+
+Now, Desmond had a good deal of pride, and like most proud people, he
+was inclined to be obstinate. To confess to the Chief that he had let
+both Nur-el-Din and Mortimer slip through his fingers was more than he
+could face. He could not bear to think that the Chief might believe him
+capable of failure, and take independent measures to guard against
+possible mistakes. Also, in his heart of hearts, Desmond was angry with
+the Chief. He thought the latter had acted precipitately in getting out
+a warrant for Nur-el-Din’s arrest before he, Desmond, had had time to
+get into the skin of his part.
+
+So Desmond heard Crook out and made no comment. When the other asked
+him if he had anything to tell the Chief, he shook his head. He was not
+to know then the consequences which his disobedience of orders was
+destined to have. If he had realized what the result of his obstinacy
+would be, he would not have hesitated to send a full report by
+Crook—and this story might never have been written!
+
+But if youth followed reason instead of impulse, the world would stand
+still. Desmond was still at an age at which a man is willing to take on
+anything and anybody, and he was confident of bringing his mission to a
+successful conclusion without any extraneous aid. So Crook, after
+changing Desmond’s make-up and giving him a further rehearsal of his
+role, packed up his pots and paints and brushes in his black bag and
+returned to London with “nothing to report” as the communiqués say.
+
+He repeated his visit every day for the next four days. Crook’s arrival
+each afternoon was the only break in the monotony of a life which was
+rapidly becoming unbearable to Desmond’s mercurial temperament. He
+found himself looking forward to the wizened little man’s visits and
+for want of better employment, he threw himself wholeheartedly into the
+study of his role under the expert’s able direction. Desmond’s beard
+had sprouted wonderfully, and Crook assured him that, by about the end
+of the week, the tow substitute, which Desmond found a most unmitigated
+nuisance, would be no longer necessary. He also showed his pupil how to
+paint in the few deft lines about the eyes which completed the
+resemblance between Bellward and his impersonator.
+
+The time hung terribly heavily on Desmond’s hands. He had long since
+memorized and destroyed the list of Mr. Bellward’s friends. Every
+morning he spent at least an hour before the mirror in his bedroom
+working up the role. With every day he felt more confident of himself;
+with every day he grew more anxious to go to London, and, taking the
+bull by the horns, boldly visit one of Mr. Bellward’s acquaintances and
+test the effect of his disguise.
+
+But no orders came from Headquarters to release him from his
+confinement. Moreover, no word arrived from Nur-el-Din nor did Mortimer
+send any message or call again at the Mill House. The silence of the
+two conspirators made Desmond uneasy. Suppose Mortimer, who, he felt
+sure, had caught him out lying about Nur-el-Din’s presence in the house
+at the time of his visit, had grown suspicious! What if Nur-el-Din had
+succeeded in making good her escape to the Continent? He had had his
+chance of laying hold of both suspects and he had failed. Would that
+chance come again?
+
+Desmond doubted it. Every morning he awoke long before the dawn and lay
+awake until daylight, his mind racked by these apprehensions. He chafed
+bitterly at his inaction and he plied Crook with questions as to
+whether he had any orders for him. Each time Crook replied in the
+negative.
+
+In the library Desmond found an Ordnance map of Essex. His military
+training had given him a good schooling in the use of maps, and he
+spent many hours studying the section of the country about the Mill
+House, seeking to impress it upon his mind against future emergencies.
+
+He was surprised to find how remote the Mill House lay from other
+habitations. Between it and Wentfield station, once Wentfield village
+was passed, there were only a few lonely farms; but to the south there
+was an absolutely uninhabited tract of fen traversed by the road
+running past the front gate of the Mill House. The Mill House was duly
+marked on the map; with a little blue line showing the millrace which
+Desmond traced to its junction with one of the broad dykes intersecting
+Morstead Fen. The only inhabited house to the south of the Bellward
+villa appeared to be a lonely public house situated on the far edge of
+the fen, a couple of hundred yards away from the road. It was called
+“The Dyke Inn.”
+
+One afternoon—it was the fifth day after Desmond’s arrival at
+Bellward’s—Mr. Crook announced that this was to be his last visit.
+
+“I go abroad to-night, Mr. Bellward,” he said (he always insisted on
+addressing Desmond by his assumed name), “a little job o’ work in
+Switzerland; at Berne, to be precise. Urgent, you might call it, and
+really, sir, you’ve made so much progress that I think I can safely
+leave you. And I was to say that you will be able to go out very soon
+now.”
+
+“Good!” exclaimed Desmond, rubbing his hands together. “And you think
+I’ll do, Crook, eh?”
+
+Crook rubbed his nose meditatively.
+
+“I’ll be quite frank with you, Mr. Bellward,” he said: “With a
+superficial acquaintance, even with an intimate friend, if he’s as
+unobservant as most people are, you’ll pass muster. But I shouldn’t
+like to guarantee anything if you were to meet, say, Mrs. Bellward, if
+the gentleman has got a wife, or his mother. Keep out of a strong
+light; don’t show your profile more than you can help, and remember
+that a woman is a heap more observant than a man.
+
+“That’s my advice to you, sir. And now I’ll take my leave! You won’t
+want that tow beard any more after to-day.”
+
+That night Desmond slept well and did not awake until the sunshine was
+streaming in between the Venetian blinds in his bedroom. He felt keen
+and vigorous, and he had an odd feeling that something was going to
+happen to him that day.
+
+It was a delicious morning, the air as balmy as spring. As he brushed
+his hair in front of the window, Desmond saw the peewits running about
+in the sunshine on the fields by the road. He made an excellent
+breakfast and then, lighting a pipe, opened the _Times_ which lay
+folded by his plate.
+
+He turned first, as was his daily habit, to the casualty list. There it
+was! Under the names of the “Killed in Action,” he read: “Okewood,
+Major D. J. P.,” followed by the name of his regiment. It gave him an
+odd little shock, though he had looked for the announcement every day;
+but the feeling of surprise was quickly followed by one of relief. That
+brief line in the casualty list meant the severing of all the old ties
+until he had hunted down his quarry.
+
+Now he was ready to start.
+
+He spent the morning in the garden. Here, for the first time, he met
+Mr. Hill, the odd man, who, on seeing him, became intensely busy
+picking up handfuls of leaves and conveying them to a fire which was
+smouldering in a corner. Desmond essayed to enter into conversation
+with him but the man was so impenetrably deaf that Desmond, tiring of
+bawling, “It’s a fine day!” in Mr. Hill’s ear, left him and strolled
+over to the shed where the motor-cycle was stored. Here he amused
+himself for more than an hour in taking the machine to pieces and
+putting it together again. He satisfied himself that the bike was in
+working order and filled up the tank. He had an idea that this means of
+conveyance might come in useful.
+
+The day was so mild that he lunched by the open window with the
+sunshine casting rainbows on the tablecloth through the wine-glasses.
+He was just finishing his coffee when the housekeeper came in and told
+him he was wanted on the telephone.
+
+Desmond sprang from his chair with alacrity. His marching orders at
+last! he thought, as he hurried across the hall to the library.
+
+“Hullo!” he cried as he picked up the receiver.
+
+“Is that Mr. Bellward?” answered a nasal voice.
+
+“Bellward speaking!” said Desmond, wondering who had called him up. The
+voice was a man’s but it was not the abrupt clear tones of the Chief
+nor yet Mr. Matthews’ careful accents.
+
+“Madame Le Bon wishes to see you!”
+
+Madame Le Bon? thought Desmond. Why, that was the name that Nur-el-Din
+had given him. “I am Madame Le Bon, a Belgian refugee,” she had said.
+
+“Do you know whom I mean?” the voice continued.
+
+“Certainly,” replied Desmond. “You will come alone. Otherwise, Madame
+will not see you. You understand? If you do not come alone, you will
+waste your time!”
+
+“Where are you speaking from?” Desmond asked.
+
+“If you will turn to the left on leaving your front gate,” the voice
+resumed, “and follow the road, a messenger will meet you and take you
+to the lady.”
+
+“But...” Desmond began.
+
+“Will you come at once? And alone?” the nasal voice broke in sharply.
+
+Desmond took a moment’s thought. To go was to disobey orders; not to go
+was to risk losing a second chance of meeting Nur-el-Din. To telephone
+to 700 Stanning for assistance would bring a hornets’ nest about his
+ears; yet he might only see the dancer if he went alone. He lost no
+time in making up his mind. The Chief must allow him latitude for
+meeting emergencies of this kind. He would go.
+
+“I will come at once,” said Desmond.
+
+“Good,” said the voice and the communication ceased.
+
+Somewhere aloft there sits a sweet little cherub whose especial job is
+to look after the headstrong. It was doubtless this emissary of
+providence that leant down from his celestial seat and whispered in
+Desmond’s ear that it would be delightful to walk out across the fen on
+this sunny afternoon. Desmond was in the act of debating whether he
+would not take the motor-bike, but the cherub’s winning way clinched it
+and he plumped for walking.
+
+In the hall he met the housekeeper who told him she wanted to go into
+Stanning to do some shopping that afternoon. Desmond told her that he
+himself was going out and would not be back for tea. Then, picking a
+stout blackthorn out of the hallstand, he strode down the drive and out
+into the road.
+
+It was still beautifully fine, but already the golden sunshine was
+waning and there were little wisps and curls of mist stealing low along
+the fields. Desmond turned to the left, on leaving the Mill House, as
+he was bid and saw the road running like a khaki ribbon before him into
+the misty distance.
+
+Swinging his stick, he strode on rapidly. The road was neglected,
+broken and flinty and very soft. After he had gone about a mile it
+narrowed to pursue its way between two broad ditches lined with pollard
+willows and brimful of brown peaty water. By this time he judged, from
+his recollection of the map, that he must be on Morstead Fen. An
+interminable waste of sodden, emerald green fields, intersected by
+ditches, stretched away on either hand.
+
+He had walked for half an hour when he made out in the distance a clump
+of trees standing apart and seemingly in the middle of the fields. Then
+in the foreground he descried a gate. A figure was standing by it.
+
+As he approached the gate he saw it was a small boy. On remarking the
+stranger, the urchin opened the gate and without looking to right or
+left led off down the road towards the clump of trees: Desmond followed
+at his leisure.
+
+As they neared the trees, the low red roof of a house detached itself.
+By this time the sun was sinking in a smear of red across a delicately
+tinted sky. Its dying rays held some glittering object high up on the
+side of the house.
+
+At first Desmond thought it was a window, but presently the light went
+out, kindled again and once more vanished. It was too small for a
+window, Desmond decided, and then, turning the matter over in his mind,
+as observant people are accustomed to do even with trifles, he suddenly
+realized that the light he had seen was the reflection of the sun on a
+telescope or glasses.
+
+They were now within a few hundred yards of the house. The road had
+made a right angle turn to the left, but the diminutive guide had
+quitted it and struck out along a very muddy cart track. Shading his
+eyes, Desmond gazed at the house and presently got a glimpse of a
+figure at a window surveying the road through a pair of field glasses.
+Even as he looked, the figure bobbed down and did not reappear.
+
+“They want to be sure I’m alone,” thought Desmond, and congratulated
+himself on having had the strength of mind to break his orders.
+
+The cart-track led up to a little bridge over a ditch. By the bridge
+stood a tall pole, on the top of which was a blue and gold painted
+sign-board inscribed, “The Dyke Inn by J. Rass.” The urchin led him
+across the bridge and up to the door of the inn.
+
+An undersized, yellow-faced man, wearing neither collar nor tie, came
+to the door as they approached. Although of short stature, he was
+immensely broad with singularly long arms. Altogether he had something
+of the figure of a gorilla, Desmond thought on looking at him.
+
+The man put a finger up and touched his forelock.
+
+“Madame Le Bon is upstairs waiting for you!” he said in a nasal voice
+which Desmond recognized as that he had heard on the telephone. “Please
+to follow me!”
+
+He led the way across a long low tap-room through a door and past the
+open trap-door of a cellar to a staircase. On the first landing, lit by
+a window looking out on a dreary expanse of fen, he halted Desmond.
+
+“That’s her room,” he said, pointing to a door opposite the head of the
+staircase, half a dozen steps up, and so saying, the yellow-faced man
+walked quickly downstairs and left him. Desmond heard his feet echo on
+the staircase and the door of the tap-room slam.
+
+He hesitated a moment. What if this were a trap? Suppose Mortimer,
+growing suspicious, had made use of Nur-el-Din to lure him to an ambush
+in this lonely place? Why the devil hadn’t he brought a revolver with
+him?
+
+Then Desmond’s Irish blood came to his rescue. He gave his head a
+little shake, took a firm hold of his stick which was a stoutish sort
+of cudgel and striding boldly up to the door indicated, tapped.
+
+“_Entrez!_” said a pretty voice that made Desmond’s heart flutter.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVI.
+THE STAR OF POLAND
+
+
+The room in which Desmond found Nur-el-Din was obviously the parlor of
+the house. Everything in it spoke of that dreary period in art, the
+middle years of the reign of Victoria the Good. The wall-paper, much
+mildewed in places, was an ugly shade of green and there were dusty and
+faded red curtains at the windows and draping the fireplace. Down one
+side of the room ran a hideous mahogany sideboard, almost as big as a
+railway station buffet, with a very dirty tablecloth. The chairs were
+of mahogany, upholstered in worn black horsehair and there were two
+pairs of fly-blown steel engravings of the largest size on the wall. In
+the centre of the apartment stood a small round table, covered with a
+much stained red tablecloth and there was a door in the corner.
+
+The dainty beauty of Nur-el-Din made a very forlorn picture amid the
+unmatched savagery of this English interior. The dancer, who was
+wearing the same becoming gray tweed suit in which Desmond had last
+seen her, was sitting sorrowfully at the table when Desmond entered. At
+the sight of him she sprang up and ran to meet him with outstretched
+hands.
+
+“Ah!” she cried, “_comme je suis heureuse de vous voir!_ It is good of
+you to come!”
+
+And then, without any warning, she burst into tears and putting her
+hands on the man’s shoulders, hid her head against his chest and sobbed
+bitterly.
+
+Desmond took one of her hands, small and soft and warm, and gently
+disengaged her. His mind was working clearly and rapidly. He felt sure
+of himself, sure of his disguise; if this were an exhibition of woman’s
+wiles, it would find him proof; on that he was resolved. Yet, dissolved
+in tears as she was, with her long lashes glistening and her mouth
+twitching pitifully, the dancer seemed to touch a chord deep down in
+his heart.
+
+“Come, come,” said Desmond gutturally, with a touch of _bonhomie_ in
+his voice in keeping with his ample girth, “you mustn’t give way like
+this, my child! What’s amiss? Come, sit down here and tell me what’s
+the matter.”
+
+He made her resume her seat by the table and pulled up one of the
+horsehair chairs for himself. Nur-el-Din wiped her eyes on a tiny lace
+handkerchief, but continued to sob and shudder at intervals.
+
+“Marie, my maid,” she said in French in a broken voice, “joined me here
+to-day. She has told me of this dreadful murder!”
+
+Desmond stiffened to attention. His mind swiftly reverted to the last
+woman he had seen cry, to Barbara Mackwayte discovering the loss of the
+package entrusted to her charge by the woman who sat before him.
+
+“What murder?” he asked, striving to banish any trace of interest from
+his voice. He loathed the part he had to play. The dancer’s distress
+struck him as genuine.
+
+“The murder of Monsieur Mackwayte,” said Nur-el-Din, and her tears
+broke forth anew.
+
+“I have read of this in the newspapers,” said Desmond. “I remember you
+told me he was a friend of yours.”
+
+Briefly, with many sobs, the dancer told him of the silver box which
+she had entrusted to Barbara Mackwayte’s charge.
+
+“And now,” she sobbed, “it is lost and all my sacrifice, all my
+precautions, have been in vain!”
+
+“But how?” asked Desmond. “Why should you think this box should have
+been taken? From what I remember reading of this case in the English
+newspapers there was a burglary at the house, but the thief has been
+arrested and the property restored. You have only to ask this Miss—what
+was the name? ah! yes, Mackwayte for your box and she will restore it!”
+
+“No, no!” Nur-el-Din answered wearily, “you don’t understand. This was
+no burglary. The man who murdered Monsieur Arthur murdered him to get
+my silver box.”
+
+“But,” objected Desmond, “a silver box! What value has a trifling
+object like that? My dear young lady, murder is not done for a silver
+box!”
+
+“No, no,” Nur-el-Din repeated, “you don’t understand! You don’t know
+what that box contained!”
+
+Then she relapsed into silence, plucking idly at the shred of cambric
+she held between her fingers.
+
+Already dusk was falling and the room was full of shadows. The golden
+radiance of the afternoon had died and eerie wraiths of fog were
+peering-in at the window.
+
+Desmond held his peace. He felt he was on the threshold of a confession
+that might rend the veil of mystery surrounding the murder at Seven
+Kings. He stared fixedly at the ugly red tablecloth, conscious that the
+big eyes of the girl were searching his face.
+
+“You have honest eyes,” she said presently. “I told you that once
+before... that night we met at your house... do you remember? Your eyes
+are English. But you are a German, _hein?_”
+
+“My mother was Irish,” said Desmond and felt a momentary relief that,
+for once, he had been able to speak the truth.
+
+“I want a friend,” the girl resumed wearily, “someone that I can trust.
+But I look around and I find no one. You serve the German Empire, do
+you not?”
+
+Desmond bowed.
+
+“But not the House of Hohenzollern?” the girl cried, her voice
+trembling with passion.
+
+“I am not of the Emperor’s personal service, if that is what you mean,
+madame,” Desmond returned coldly.
+
+“Then, since you are not altogether an iron Prussian,” Nur-el-Din
+resumed eagerly, “you can differentiate. You can understand that there
+is a difference between working for the cause of Germany and for the
+personal business of her princes.”
+
+“But certainly,” answered Desmond, “I am not an errand boy nor yet a
+detective. I regard myself as a German officer doing his duty on the
+front. We have many fronts besides the Western and the Eastern. England
+is one.
+
+“Ah,” exclaimed the girl, clasping her hands together and looking at
+him with enraptured eyes, “I see you understand! My friend, I am much
+tempted to make a confidant of you!”
+
+Desmond looked at her but did not speak. Again he felt that silence was
+now his only role. He tried hard to fix his mind on his duty; but the
+man in him was occupied with the woman who looked so appealingly at
+him.
+
+“... but if I do,” the girl went on and her voice was hurried and
+anxious, “you must swear to me that you will respect my confidence,
+that you will not betray me to the others and that you will, if need
+be, protect me.”
+
+Seeing that Desmond remained silent, she hastened to add:
+
+“Believe me, what I ask you to do is not in opposition to your duty. My
+friend, for all my surroundings, I am not what I seem. Fate has drawn
+me into the system of which you form part; but, believe me, I know
+nothing of the service to which you and Mortimer and the rest belong!”
+
+She spoke with painful earnestness and in a tone so mournful that
+Desmond felt himself profoundly moved. “If only she is not acting!” he
+thought, and sought to shake himself free from the spell which this
+girl seemed able to cast about him at will.
+
+“Promise me that you will respect my confidence and help me!” she said
+and held out her hand.
+
+Desmond’s big hand closed about hers and he felt an odd thrill of
+sympathy with her as their hands met.
+
+“I promise!” he said and murmured to himself something very like a
+prayer that he might not be called upon to redeem his word.
+
+She let her eyes rest for a moment on his.
+
+“Be careful!” she urged warningly, while the ghost of a smile flitted
+across her face. “Very soon I may call upon you to make good your
+words!”
+
+“I promise!” he repeated—and his eyes never left hers.
+
+“Then,” she cried passionately, “find out who has stolen for the Crown
+Prince the Star of Poland at the price of the life of a harmless old
+man!”
+
+“The Star of Poland!” repeated Desmond. “What is the Star of Poland?”
+
+The girl drew herself up proudly and there was a certain dignity about
+her manner as she answered.
+
+“I am a Pole,” she said, “and to us Poles, the Star of Poland has stood
+for centuries as a pledge of the restoration of our long-lost kingdom.
+It was the principal jewel of the Polish Coronation sword which
+vanished many hundreds of years ago—in the thirteenth century, one of
+my compatriots once told me—and it was one of the most treasured
+national possessions in the Château of our great king, John Sobieski at
+Villanoff, outside Warsaw. My friend, I am not religious, and since my
+childhood I have renounced the ancient faith of my fathers, but, when I
+think of the extraordinary chain of circumstances by which this
+treasure came into my possession, I almost believe that God has chosen
+me to restore this gem to the King of an independent Poland.
+
+“Four years ago I was in the United States, a very humble dancer in
+vaudeville of the third or fourth class. When I was appearing at
+Columbus, Ohio, I met a German, a man who had been an officer in the
+Prussian Guard but had come to grief and had been forced to emigrate.
+
+“This man’s name was Hans von Schornbeek. Like so many German officers
+who go to America, in his time he had been everything—waiter, lift-man,
+engine-driver and heaven knows what else, but when I met him he was
+apparently well-off. It was only later on that I knew he was one of
+your principal secret agents in America.
+
+“He praised my talents highly and offered to furnish the capital to
+start me as an Oriental dancer with a large company of my own. There
+was only one condition attaching to his offer, a condition, _ma foi!_
+which was not disagreeable to me. It was that, after six months tour in
+the States and Canada, I should go to Brussels and settle down there in
+a house that Herr von Schornbeek would present me with.
+
+“_Mon ami_, in those days, I understood nothing at all of diplomacy. I
+knew only that I was often hungry and that I had a little talent which,
+were it given a chance, might keep me from want. Herr von Schornbeek
+fulfilled his promises to me. I had my company, I did my tour of
+America and Canada with great success and finally I came to Europe and
+made my debut at Brussels.
+
+“I knew Brussels already from the old days. As a half-starved, unhappy
+child with a troupe of acrobats, I had often appeared there. But now I
+came to Brussels as a conqueror. A beautiful villa in the suburb of
+Laeken was ready to receive me and I found that a large credit had been
+opened in my name at one of the principal banks so that I could keep
+open house.
+
+“I think I scarcely realized then the rôle that I was destined to fill
+by the German Secret Service. In all my life before, I had never been
+happy, I had never ceased to struggle for my bare existence, I had
+never had pretty clothes to wear, and motor-cars and servants of my
+own.”
+
+She paused and glanced around her. The room was almost dark; the fog
+outside hung like a veil before the window.
+
+“Light the lamp!” she begged, “I do not like the dark!”
+
+Desmond struck a match and kindled an oil lamp, which stood on the
+sideboard.
+
+“Ah! my friend,” the girl resumed. “I took my fill of life with both
+hands. The year was 1913. Now I know that I was one of the German
+agents for the penetration of Belgium in preparation of what was
+coming. My mission was to make friends among the Belgians and the
+French and the cosmopolitan society of Brussels generally, and invite
+them to my house where your people were waiting to deal with them.
+
+“My pretty villa became the rendezvous for half the rascals of Europe,
+men and women, who used to meet there with all kinds of mysterious
+Germans. Sometimes there was a scandal. Once a Belgian Colonel was
+found shot in the billiard-room; they said it was suicide and the thing
+was hushed up, but _dame!_ now that I know what I know...
+
+“_Enfin!_ I shut my eyes to it all... it was none of my business... and
+I revelled in my _robes_, my dancing, my new life of luxury!
+
+“And then the war came. I was at Laeken, resting after a visit to Rome.
+There was a lot of talk about the war amongst the people who came to my
+house, but I did not see how it could affect me, an _artiste_, and I
+never read the newspapers. My German friends assured me that, in a
+little while, the German army would be at Brussels; that, if I remained
+quietly at home, all would be well. They were very elated and
+confident, these German friends of mine. And rightly; for within a few
+weeks the Germans entered the city and a General quartered himself in
+my villa. It was he who brought the Crown Prince to see me.
+
+“_Mon cher_, you know this young man and his reputation. I am not
+excusing myself; but all my life had been spent up to then in the
+_bas-fonds_ of society. I had never known what it was to be courted and
+admired by one who had the world at his feet. _Parbleu!_ one does not
+meet a future Emperor every day!
+
+“_Enfin!_ the Prince carried me with him back to Metz, where he had his
+headquarters. He was very _épris_ with me, but you know his
+temperament! No woman can hold him for more than a few weeks, vain and
+weak and arrogant as he is. But _pardon!_ I was forgetting that you are
+a good German. I fear I offend your susceptibilities...”
+
+Desmond laughed drily.
+
+“Madame,” he said, “I hope I have preserved sufficient liberty of
+judgment to have formed my own opinion about our future sovereign. Most
+Germans have...”
+
+“_Alors_,” she broke in fiercely, her voice shaking with passion, “you
+know what an ignoble _canaille_ is this young man, without even enough
+decency of feeling to respect the troops of whom he has demanded such
+bloody sacrifices. At Metz we were near enough to the fighting to
+realize the blood and tears of this war. But the Prince thought of
+nothing, but his own amusement. To live as he did, within sound of the
+guns, with parties every night, women and dancing and roulette and
+champagne suppers—bah! _c’était trop fort!_ It awakened in me the love
+of country which lies dormant in all of us. I wanted to help my
+country, lest I might sink as low as he...”
+
+“One day the Prince brought a young officer friend of his to dine with
+me. This officer had come from the Eastern front and had been present
+at the capture of Warsaw. After dinner he took a leather case out of
+his pocket and said to the Prince: ‘I have brought your Imperial
+Highness a little souvenir from Poland!’ As he spoke he touched a
+spring and the case flew open, displaying an enormous diamond, nearly
+as big as the great Orloff diamond which I have seen at Petrograd,
+surrounded by five other brilliants, the whole set like a star.
+
+“‘The Star of Poland,’ said the young officer (the Prince called him
+‘Erich;’ I never heard his full name), ‘it comes from the long-lost
+Coronation sword of the Polish kings. I took it for your Imperial
+Highness from the Château of John Sobieski at Villanoff.
+
+“I could not take my eyes off the gem. As the Prince held it down under
+the lamp to study it, it shone like an electric light. I had met many
+of my fellow countrymen in America and I had often heard of this jewel,
+famous in our unhappy history.
+
+“The Prince, who was gay with champagne, laughed and said:
+
+“‘These lousy Poles will have no further use for this pretty trinket,
+thanks to our stout German blows, will they, Erich?’
+
+“And his friend replied:
+
+“‘We’ll give them a nice new German constitution instead, your Imperial
+Highness!’
+
+“The Prince, as I have said, was very merry that night. He let me take
+the jewel from its case and hold it in my hands. Then I fastened it in
+my hair before the mirror and turned to show myself to the Prince and
+his companion.
+
+“‘_Donnerwetter!_ said Willie. ‘It looks wonderful in your hair,
+Marcelle!’
+
+“Then, as if struck by a sudden thought, he cried:
+
+“‘Erich! What do you say, Marcelle is a Pole. She shall have the Star
+of Poland and wear it in memory of me!’
+
+“The other thought this a famous idea, and so the jewel passed into my
+hands. That same evening I resolved that it should be a sacred duty on
+my part to keep it in safety until I could hand it back to the lawful
+sovereign of an independent Poland.
+
+“I was very unhappy at Metz until the Star of Poland came to comfort
+me. When I was alone, I used to take it from its case and feast my eyes
+upon it. I made many attempts to get away, but the Prince would never
+let me go, though he had long since tired of me and I was merely one of
+his harem of women. _Pfui!_”
+
+She gave an exclamation of disgust.
+
+“It was the Crown Princess who eventually came to my rescue,” she
+continued. “Long-suffering wife as she is, the stories that came to her
+ears from Metz were such that she went to the Emperor and declared that
+she would insist upon a divorce. There was a great scandal. The
+Prince’s headquarters were moved and at length I got my release.
+
+“I had no money. This was a detail which the Prince overlooked. But I
+wanted to resume my stage work, so, with great difficulty, through the
+influence of the Prince, I obtained a passport to Holland and from
+there got across to England.
+
+“I had hoped to turn my back once and for all on my connection with the
+Prince. But your German Secret Service had been warned about me. The
+Imperial Authorities were obviously afraid that I might tell tales out
+of school. Scarcely had I arrived in London when a man who called
+himself Bryan Mowbury, but who looked and spoke like a German, came to
+see me and said he had been instructed to ‘look after me.’ What that
+meant, I was soon to discover. In a very few days I found that I was
+under the supervision of your Secret Service here. In fact, Mowbury
+gave me to understand that any indiscretion on my part as to my stay at
+Metz would result in my immediate denunciation to the English police as
+a spy.
+
+“My friend, I had no alternative. I am not German; I am not English; I
+am a Pole. I have good friends in Germany, I have good friends in
+England, and their quarrels are not mine. I held my peace about the
+past and submitted to the incessant watch which Mowbury and his friends
+kept on my movements.
+
+“And then one day I had a letter. It was from Count Plettenbach, the
+Crown Prince’s aide-de-camp, as I knew by the hand-writing, for it was
+signed with an assumed name. In this letter the Count, ‘on behalf of a
+mutual friend,’ as he put it, requested me to hand back to a certain
+Mr. Mortimer, his accredited representative, ‘Erich’s present.’ There
+were cogent reasons, it was added, for this unusual request.
+
+“I sent no reply to that letter, although an address in Switzerland was
+given to which an answer might be despatched. I was resolved, come what
+may, not to part with the Star of Poland. When Mortimer came, five days
+later, I told him the jewel was not mine to hand over, that it was part
+of the regalia of Poland and that I would never give it up.
+
+“Mortimer replied that the German and Austrian Governments had decided
+to restore the independence of Poland, that probably an Austrian
+Archduke would be made king and that it was essential that the Star of
+Poland should be restored in order to include it in the regalia for the
+Coronation. But I knew what this Austro-German kingdom of Poland was to
+be, a serf state with not a shadow of that liberty for which every Pole
+is longing. Since I have been in England, I have kept in touch with the
+Polish political organizations in this country. Rass, as he calls
+himself, the landlord of this inn, is one of the most prominent of the
+Polish leaders in England.
+
+“Mortimer reasoned with me in vain and finally went away empty-handed.
+But he did not abandon hope. Four successive attempts were made to get
+the jewel away from me. Twice my apartments at the Nineveh Hotel were
+rifled; once my dressing-room at the theatre was entered and searched
+whilst I was on the stage. But I wore the jewel day and night in a
+little bag suspended by a chain from my neck and they never got it from
+me.
+
+“Two days before I came down to your house—it was the day before the
+murder—I was hustled by a group of men as I came out of the theatre.
+Fortunately the stage-door keeper came up unexpectedly and the men made
+off. But the encounter frightened me, and I resolved to break my
+contract with the Palaceum and bury myself down here in the country.
+
+“But somehow Mortimer learnt of my intention. The next night—it was the
+night of the murder—he came to the theatre and warned me against trying
+to elude his vigilance by flight. I have never forgotten his words.
+
+“‘I can afford to wait,’ he said, ‘for I shall get what I want: I
+always do. But you have chosen to set yourself against me and you will
+bitterly repent it!”
+
+As though the recollection proved too much for her, Nur-el-Din broke
+off her narrative and covered her face with her hands.
+
+“And do you think that Mortimer did this murder?” asked Desmond gently.
+
+Wearily the girl raised her head.
+
+“Either he or one of his accomplices, of whom this girl is one!” she
+answered.
+
+“But why not have put the jewel in a bank or one of the safe deposits?
+Surely it was risky to have entrusted it to a girl of whom you knew
+nothing?”
+
+“My friend,”, said the dancer, “I was desperate. Mortimer sees and
+knows all. This unexpected meeting with the daughter of my old friend
+seemed at the moment like a heaven-sent chance to place the jewel,
+unknown to him, in safe hands. I felt that as long as I carried it on
+me, my life was in constant danger. It was only to-day, when I heard of
+the murder, that it dawned on me how indiscreet I had been. I might
+have guessed, since Miss Mackwayte knew Mortimer—”
+
+“Miss Mackwayte knows Mortimer?” echoed Desmond in stupefaction.
+
+“But certainly,” replied Nur-el-Din. “Was it not I myself—” She broke
+off suddenly with terror in her eyes.
+
+“Ah, no!” she whispered. “It is enough. Already I have said too
+much...”
+
+Desmond was about to speak when the door opened and a foreign-looking
+maid, whom Desmond remembered to have seen in the dancer’s
+dressing-room, came in. She went swiftly to her mistress and whispered
+something in her ear.
+
+The dancer sprang to her feet.
+
+“A little moment... you will excuse me...” she cried to Desmond and ran
+from the room. The maid followed her, leaving Desmond alone.
+
+Presently, the sound of Nur-el-Din’s voice raised high in anger struck
+on his ears. He stole softly to the door and opened it. Before him lay
+the staircase deserted. He tiptoed down the stairs to the first landing
+and listened. The murmur of voices reached him indistinctly from the
+room below. Then he heard Nur-el-Din crying out again in anger.
+
+He craned his ear over the well of the staircase, turning his face to
+the window which stood on the landing. The window gave on a small yard
+with a gate over which a lamp was suspended and beyond it the fen now
+swathed in fog. The dancer’s maid stood beneath the lamp in earnest
+conversation with a man in rough shooting clothes who held a gun under
+his arm. As Desmond looked the man turned his head so that the rays of
+the lamp fell full upon his face. To his unspeakable consternation and
+amazement, Desmond recognized Strangwise.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVII.
+MR. BELLWARD ARRANGES A BRIDGE EVENING
+
+
+Oblivious of the voices in the room below, Desmond stood with his face
+pressed against the glass of the window. Was Strangwise staying at “The
+Dyke Inn”? Nothing was more probable; for the latter had told him that
+he was going to spend his leave shooting in Essex, and Morstead Fen
+must abound in snipe and duck.
+
+But he and Strangwise must not meet. Desmond was chary of submitting
+his disguise to the other’s keen, shrewd eyes. Strangwise knew
+Nur-el-Din: indeed, the dancer might have come to the inn to be with
+him. If he recognized Desmond and imparted his suspicions to the
+dancer, the game world be up; on the other hand, Desmond could not take
+him aside and disclose his identity; for that would be breaking faith
+with the Chief. There was nothing for it, he decided, but flight.
+
+Yet how could he get away unobserved? There was no exit from the
+staircase by the door into the tap-room where Nur-el-Din was, and to go
+through the tap-room was to risk coming face to face with Strangwise.
+
+So Desmond remained where he was by the window and watched. Presently,
+the woman turned and began to cross the yard, Strangwise, carrying his
+gun, following her. Desmond waited until he heard a door open somewhere
+below and then he acted.
+
+Beside the window ran an old lead water-pipe which drained the roof
+above his head. On a level with the sill of the landing below, this
+pipe took a sharp turn to the left and ran diagonally down to a tall
+covered-in water-butt that stood on the flat roof of an outhouse in the
+little yard.
+
+Desmond raised the window very gently and tested the pipe with his
+hand. It seemed rather insecure and shook under his pressure. With his
+eye he measured the distance from the sill to the pipe; it was about
+four feet. Desmond reckoned that, if the pipe would hold, by getting
+out of the window and hanging on to the sill, he might, by a
+pendulum-like motion, gain sufficient impulse to swing his legs across
+the diagonally-running pipe, then transfer his hands and so slide down
+to the outhouse roof.
+
+He wasted no time in debating the chances of the pipe collapsing under
+his weight. All his life it had been his practice to take a risk, for
+such is the Irish temperament—if the object to be attained in any way
+justified it; and he was determined to avoid at all costs the chance of
+a meeting with Strangwise. The latter had probably read the name of
+Okewood in that morning’s casualty list, but Desmond felt more than
+ever that he distrusted the man, and his continued presence in the
+neighborhood of Nur-el-Din gravely preoccupied him.
+
+He stood a moment by the open window and listened. The murmur of voices
+went on in the taproom, but from another part of the house he heard a
+deep laugh and knew it to be Strangwise’s. Trusting to Providence that
+the roof of the outhouse would be out of sight of the yard door,
+Desmond swung his right leg over the window-sill and followed it with
+the other, turning his back on the yard. The next moment he was
+dangling over the side of the house.
+
+Then from the yard below he heard Strangwise call:
+
+“Rufus! Rufus!”
+
+A heavy footstep sounded on the flags. Desmond remained perfectly
+still. The strain on his arms was tremendous. If Strangwise should go
+as far as the gate, so as to get clear of the yard, he must infallibly
+see that figure clinging to the window-sill.
+
+“Where the devil is that doggy” said Strangwise. Then he whistled, and
+called again:
+
+“Rufus! Rufus!”
+
+Desmond made a supreme effort to support the strain on his muscles. The
+veins stood out at his temples and he felt the blood singing in his
+ears. Another minute and he knew he must drop. He no longer had the
+power to swing himself up to the window ledge again.
+
+A bark rang out in the courtyard, followed by the patter of feet.
+Desmond heard Strangwise speak to the dog and reenter the house. Then
+silence fell again. With a tremendous effort Desmond swung his legs
+athwart the pipe, gripped it with his right hand, then his left, and
+very gently commenced to let himself down. The pipe quivered beneath
+his weight, but it held fast and in a minute he was standing on the
+roof of the outhouse, cautiously peering through the dank fog that hung
+about the yard.
+
+Screening himself from view behind the tall waterbutt, he reconnoitred
+the back of the inn. The upper part of the house was shrouded in
+darkness, but a broad beam of light from a half-open door and a tall
+window on the ground floor cleft the pall of fog. The window showed a
+snug little bar with Strangwise standing by the counter, a glass in his
+hand. As Desmond watched him, he heard a muffled scream from somewhere
+within the house. Strangwise heard it too, for Desmond saw him put his
+glass down on the bar and raise his head sharply. There followed a dull
+crash from the interior of the inn and the next moment the yellow-faced
+man, whom Desmond judged to be Rass, stepped into the circle of light
+inside the window. He said something to Strangwise with thumb jerked
+behind him, whereupon the latter clapped him, as though in approval, on
+the shoulder, and both hurried out together.
+
+Puzzled though he was by the scene he had just witnessed, Desmond did
+not dare to tarry longer. The roof of the outhouse was only some ten
+feet from the ground, an easy drop. He let himself noiselessly down and
+landing on his feet without mishap, darted out of the yard gate. As he
+did so, he heard the inn door open and Strangwise’s voice cry out:
+
+“Who’s that?”
+
+But Desmond heeded not. He dashed out upon the fen. Before he had gone
+a dozen paces the fog had swallowed up inn and all. Out of the white
+pall behind him he heard confused shouts as he skirted swiftly round
+the house and reached the road.
+
+Once he had gained the freedom of the highway; Desmond breathed again.
+The dense fog that enveloped him, the hard road beneath his feet, gave
+him a sense of security that he had missed as long as he was in the
+atmosphere of that lonely, sinister place. He struck out at a good pace
+for home, intent upon one thing, namely, to send an immediate summons
+for help to surround the Dyke Inn and all within it. Nur-el-Din, it was
+clear, whether a spy or no (and Desmond believed her story), was the
+only person who could throw any light on the mysterious circumstances
+surrounding old Mackwayte’s murder. Besides, her arrest would safeguard
+her against further machinations on the part of Mortimer, though
+Desmond suspected that the latter, now that he had secured the jewel,
+would leave the dancer in peace. As for Strangwise, it would be for him
+to explain as best he could his continued association with a woman for
+whose arrest a warrant had been issued.
+
+Desmond let himself in with his key. The housekeeper had returned and
+was laying the dinner-table. In the library the curtains were drawn and
+a fire burned brightly in the grate. The room looked very snug and cosy
+by contrast with the raw weather outside.
+
+Desmond shut and locked the door and then went to the telephone at the
+desk. “Ring up 700 Stanning”—he repeated his instructions to himself
+“and ask for Mr. Elias. Assistance’ll be with you within fifteen
+minutes afterwards.”
+
+By the clock on the mantelpiece it was a quarter to seven. If aid
+arrived promptly, with a car they could be at the Dyke Inn by a quarter
+past seven.
+
+The telephone gave no sign of life. Desmond impatiently jerked the
+receiver hook up and down. This time, at least, he would not fail, he
+told himself. Before he went to bed that night Nur-el-Din, her maid,
+Rass, and if needs be, Strangwise (who needed a lesson to teach him
+discretion), should be in custody.
+
+Still no reply.
+
+“Hullo! Hullo!” cried Desmond, depressing the hook repeatedly. “Hullo,
+Exchange!”
+
+But there was no answer. Then it struck Desmond that the line was dead:
+his ear detected none of that busy whirr which is heard in the
+telephone when one is waiting to get a number.
+
+He spent five minutes in vain attempts to obtain a reply, then
+abandoned the endeavor in disgust.
+
+“I shall have to take the motor-bike and go over to Stunning,” he said
+to himself, “how I shall find my way there in this fog, the Lord only
+knows! And I don’t know whom to apply to when I get there. The
+police-station, I suppose!”
+
+He unlocked the door and rang for Martha.
+
+“I have to go over to Stunning, Martha,” he said, “I will try and be
+back for dinner at eight!”
+
+He had no intention of accompanying the party to the Dyke Inn. He must
+preserve his incognito until Mortimer, the main quarry, had been run
+down.
+
+He filled his case from the box of cigarettes on the table and thrust a
+box of matches into his pocket to light his head-lamp. Then, taking a
+cap from the hat-stand, he opened the front door. Even as he did so a
+big open car slowed down throbbing outside the porch. A man sprang out
+and advanced into the light streaming from the front door into the
+eddying mist. It was Mortimer.
+
+“Fortune,” thought Desmond, “has broken her rule. She has given me a
+second chance!”
+
+“Well met, Bellward!” cried Mortimer, blinking at the other through his
+thick glasses. “Tut, tut! What a night! You were never going out, I
+swear.”
+
+Already Desmond had decided in his mind the course of action he would
+pursue. For the moment he must let the party at the Dyke Inn slide in
+favor of the bigger catch. He must slip away later and have another try
+at the telephone and if it were still out of order, he must endeavor to
+overpower Mortimer and then go for assistance himself. On a night like
+this it was useless to think of employing a half-blind old dolt like
+Martha to take a message. As for the odd man, he lived at Wakefield,
+and went away at dusk every evening.
+
+So Desmond muttered some plausible lie about wanting to have a look at
+the weather and cordially invited Mortimer in.
+
+“You will stay for dinner” he said.
+
+“Gladly,” replied the other, sinking with a grunt into the settee. “And
+I should be glad if we might dine early.”
+
+Desmond raised his eyebrows.
+
+“... Because,” Mortimer resumed, “I have ventured to ask a few friends
+round here to... to have an evening at bridge. Doubtless, you have
+cards, eh?”
+
+Desmond pointed to a card-table standing in the corner with several
+packs of cards and markers. Then he rang and told the housekeeper that
+they would dine as soon as possible.
+
+“The coming fortnight,” said Mortimer, tucking his napkin into his
+collar as they sat at the dinner table, “is pregnant with great events.
+No less than ten divisions are, I understand, to be transferred to the
+other side. I have waited to communicate with you until I had
+confirmation of this report. But now that the matter has been decided,
+it only remains for us to perfect our arrangements for communicating
+these plans to our friends beyond the North Sea. Therefore, I thought a
+friendly bridge evening at the hospitable home of our dear colleague
+Bellward would be in place.”
+
+He smiled affably and bent over his soup-plate.
+
+“I shall be delighted to receive our friends,” Desmond replied, “a
+glass of sherry?”
+
+“Thank you,” said Mortimer.
+
+“I shall have to provide a few refreshments,” said Desmond. “May I ask
+how many guests I may expect?”
+
+Mortimer reckoned on his fingers.
+
+“Let’s see,” he answered, “there’s Max, that’s one, and Madame
+Malplaquet, that’s two. No. 13 and Behrend makes four and myself,
+five!”
+
+“And Madame Nur-el-Din?” queried Desmond innocently, but inwardly
+quaking at his rashness.
+
+Mortimer genially shook a finger at him.
+
+“Sly dog!” he chuckled, “you’re one too many for me in that quarter, I
+see! I know all about your tête-à-tête with our charming young friend
+this afternoon!”
+
+Desmond felt the blood rush to his face. He thought of Nur-el-Din’s
+words: “Mortimer sees and knows all.” He picked up his sherry glass and
+drained it to cover his confusion.
+
+“... It was hardly gallant of you to bolt so suddenly and leave the
+lady!” Mortimer added.
+
+_How much did this uncanny creature know?_
+
+Without waiting for him to reply, Mortimer went on.
+
+“I suppose she told you a long story of my persecution, eh, Bellward?
+You needn’t shake your head. I taxed her with it and she admitted as
+much.”
+
+“I had no idea that you were staying at the Dyke Inn!” said Desmond at
+a venture.
+
+“My friend,” replied Mortimer, lowering his voice, “your fair charmer
+is showing a decided inclination to make a nuisance of herself. I have
+had to keep an eye on her. It’s been a very serious inconvenience to my
+plans, I can assure you. But you haven’t answered my question. What
+sent you away in such a hurry this afternoon? and in so romantic a
+fashion? By the window, was it not?”
+
+Through sheer apprehension, Desmond was now keyed up to a kind of
+desperate audacity. The truth is sometimes a very effective weapon in
+the game of bluff, and Desmond determined to employ it.
+
+“I saw someone I didn’t want to meet,” he replied.
+
+“Ah!” said Mortimer, “who was that, I wonder? The Dyke Inn could hardly
+be described as a frequented resort, I imagine!”
+
+The entry of old Martha to change the plates prevented Desmond from
+replying. He used the brief respite to review the situation. He would
+tell Mortimer the truth. They were man to man now and he cared nothing
+even if the other should discover the fraud that had been practised
+upon him. Come what might, Mortimer, dead or alive, should be delivered
+up to justice that night.
+
+The housekeeper left the room and Desmond spoke.
+
+“I saw an officer I knew in the courtyard,” he said.
+
+“Oh, Strangwise, I suppose!” said Mortimer carelessly. “There’s nothing
+to fear from him, Bellward. He’s of the beef and beer and no brains
+stamp of British officer. But how do you know Strangwise?”
+
+“I met him at the Nineveh Hotel in town one night,” replied Desmond. “I
+don’t care about meeting officers, however, and that’s a fact!”
+
+Mortimer looked at him keenly for a brief instant. “What prudence!” he
+cried. “Bellward, you are the very model of what a secret agent should
+be! This pheasant is delicious!”
+
+He turned the conversation into a different channel but Desmond could
+not forget that brief searching look. His mind was in a turmoil of
+half-digested facts, of semi-completed deductions. He wanted to go away
+somewhere alone and think out this mystery and disentangle each
+separate web of this baffling skein of intrigue.
+
+He must focus his attention on Mortimer and Nur-el-Din. If Mortimer and
+Strangwise were both staying at the Dyke Inn, then they were probably
+acquainted. Strangwise knew Nur-el-Din, too, knew her well; for Desmond
+remembered how familiarly they had conversed together that night in the
+dancer’s dressing-room at the Palaceum. Strangwise knew Barbara
+Mackwayte also. Nur-el-Din had introduced them, Desmond remembered, on
+that fateful night when he had accompanied Strangwise to the Palaceum.
+Strange, how he was beginning to encounter the man Strangwise at every
+turn in this sinister affair.
+
+And then, with a shock that struck him like a blow in the face, Desmond
+recalled Barbara’s parting words to him in the taxi. He remembered how
+she had told him of seeing Nur-el-Din’s face in the mirror as the
+dancer was talking to Strangwise that night at the Palaceum, and of the
+look of terror in the girl’s eyes. Nur-el-Din was terrified of
+Mortimer; for so much she had admitted to Desmond that very afternoon;
+she was terrified of Strangwise, too, it seemed, of this Strangwise
+who, like Mortimer, kept appearing at every stage of this bewildering
+affair. What confession had been on Nur-el-Din’s lips when she had
+broken off that afternoon with the cry:
+
+“Already I have said too much!”
+
+Thereafter Desmond’s eyes were never long absent from Mortimer’s face,
+scrutinizing each feature in turn, the eyes, set rather close together,
+grotesquely shielded by the thick spectacles, the narrow cheeks, the
+rather cynical mouth half hidden by the heavy, drooping moustache, the
+broad forehead broken by a long lock of dark hair brushed out flat in a
+downward direction from an untidy, unkempt crop.
+
+They talked no more of Strangwise or of Nur-el-Din. The rest of dinner
+was passed in conversation of a general order in which Mr. Mortimer
+showed himself to great advantage. He appeared to be a widely traveled,
+well-read man, with a fund of dry, often rather grim humor. And all the
+time Desmond watched, watched, unobtrusively but unceasingly, looking
+out for something he was confident of detecting through the suave,
+immobile mask of this brilliant conversationalist.
+
+Skillfully, almost imperceptibly, Desmond edged the talk on to the war.
+In this domain, too, Mortimer showed himself a man of broad views, of
+big, comprehensive ideas. Towards the strategy and tactics of the two
+sides, he adopted the attitude of an impartial onlooker, but in his
+comments he proved himself to have a thorough grasp of the military
+situation. He talked freely and ably of such things as tanks, the
+limited objective in the attack and the decentralization of
+responsibility in the field.
+
+Encouraged by his volubility, for he was a man who delighted in
+conversation, Desmond gradually gave the talk a personal turn. But
+willing as Mortimer showed himself to discuss the war generally, about
+his personal share he was as mute as a fish. Try as he would Desmond
+could get nothing out of him. Again and again, he brought the
+conversation round to personal topics; but every time his companion
+contrived to switch it back to general lines.
+
+At last Desmond risked a direct question. By this time a pint of
+Pommery and Gréno was tingling in his veins and he felt he didn’t care
+if the roof fell in.
+
+“Ever since Nur-el-Din told me you were of the Crown Prince’s personal
+service,” he said, “I have been devoured with curiosity to know what
+you were doing before you came to England. Were you at Metz with his
+Imperial Highness? Did you see the assault at Verdun? Were you present
+at the capture of the Fort of Douaumont?”
+
+Mortimer shook his head, laughing, and held up a deprecating hand.
+
+“Professional discretion, my dear fellow, professional discretion!” he
+retorted. “You know what it is!”
+
+Then lowering his voice, he added:
+
+“Between ourselves the less said about my connection with Master Willie
+the better. Our colleagues are already restless at what they consider
+my neglect of my professional work. They attribute it to the wiles of
+Nur-el-Din. They may if they like and I don’t propose to disillusion
+them. You understand, Bellward?”
+
+His voice was commanding and he bent his brows at Desmond, who hastened
+to protest that his discretion in the matter would be absolute.
+
+When they had had their coffee and Mortimer was contentedly puffing one
+of Bellward’s excellent double Coronas, Desmond rose from the table.
+
+“If you will excuse me a minute,” he said, “I will just go across to
+the library and see if my housekeeper has put all in order for our
+guests!”
+
+Instantly Mortimer got up from the table.
+
+“By all means,” he said, and emptied his glass of brandy, “so, I will
+come with you!”
+
+Mortimer meant to stick to him, thought Desmond; that was evident. Then
+an idea struck him. Why should he not telephone in Mortimer’s presence?
+To ask for Mr. Elias was in no way incriminating and if help came
+promptly, Mortimer could be secured and the other spies pounced upon in
+their turn as they arrived.
+
+Therefore, as soon as they reached the library, Desmond walked over to
+the desk and picked up the telephone receiver from its hook.
+
+“Excuse me,” he said to Mortimer, “I had forgotten I had to ring up
+Stanning!”
+
+“Oh, dear,” said Mortimer from his place on the hearth rug where he was
+warming his coat tails in front of the fire, “isn’t that unfortunate? I
+wish I had known! Tut, tut, how annoying for you!”
+
+The telephone seemed quite dead.
+
+“I don’t understand!” said Desmond to Mortimer. “What’s annoying?”
+
+“The telephone, my dear Bellward,”—Mortimer spoke in a pompous
+voice—“the telephone is the symbol of the age in which we live, the age
+of publicity but also of indiscretion. It is almost as indiscreet to
+have a telephone in your house as to keep a diary. Therefore, in view
+of our little party here this evening, to prevent us from being
+disturbed in any way, I took the liberty of... of severing the
+connection... temporarily, mind you, only temporarily; it shall be
+restored as soon as we break up. I have some small acquaintance with
+electrical engineering.”
+
+Desmond was silent. Disappointment had deprived him for the moment of
+the power of speech. It was to be man to man then, after all. If he was
+to secure Mortimer and the rest of the gang that night, he must do it
+on his own. He could not hope for aid. The prospect did not affright
+him. If Mortimer could have seen the other’s eyes at that moment he
+might have remarked a light dancing in them that was not solely of
+Messrs. Pommery and Gréno’s manufacture.
+
+“If I had known you wanted to use the instrument, my dear fellow,”
+Mortimer continued in his bland voice, “I should certainly have waited
+until you had done your business!”
+
+“Pray don’t mention it,” replied Desmond, “you do well to be prudent,
+Mr. Mortimer!”
+
+Mortimer shot a sudden glance at him. Desmond met it with a frank, easy
+smile.
+
+“I’m a devil for prudence myself!” he observed brightly.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVIII.
+THE GATHERING OF THE SPIES
+
+
+Action, or the promise of action, always acted on Desmond Okewood like
+a nerve tonic. His visit to the inn, followed by the fencing with
+Mortimer at dinner, had galvanized his nerves jaded with the inaction
+of the preceding days. He averted his eyes from the future, he put the
+past resolutely away. He bent his whole attention on the problem
+immediately before him—how to carry off the role of Bellward in front
+of four strangers, one of whom, at least, he thought, must know the man
+he was impersonating; how to extract as much information as possible
+about the gang and its organization before uncovering his hand;
+finally, how to overpower the four men and the one woman when the
+moment had come to strike.
+
+Mortimer and he were in the library. By Desmond’s direction old Martha
+had put out two bridge tables and cards. A tantalus stand with siphons
+and glasses, an assortment of different colored liqueurs in handsome
+cut-glass carafes and some plates of sandwiches stood on a side-table.
+At Mortimer’s suggestion Desmond had told the housekeeper that, once
+the guests had arrived, she might go to bed.
+
+The library was very still. There was no sound except for the solemn
+ticking of the clock on the mantelpiece or the occasional rustle of the
+evening paper in Mortimer’s hand as he stood in front of the fire.
+Desmond was sitting on the settee, tranquilly smoking, studying
+Mortimer and thinking out the problem before him.
+
+He measured Mortimer with his eye. The latter was a bigger man than
+Desmond in every way and Desmond suspected that he was even stronger
+than he looked. Desmond wondered whether he should try and overpower
+him then and there. The other was almost certain to carry a revolver,
+he thought, while he was unarmed. Failure, he knew, would ruin
+everything. The gang would disperse to the four winds of heaven while
+as for Mr. Bellward—well, he would certainly be “for it,” as the
+soldiers say.
+
+No, he must hold his hand until the meeting had taken place. This was
+the first conference that Mortimer had summoned, and Desmond intended
+to see that it should be the last. But first he meant to find out all
+there was to know about the working of the gang.
+
+He resolved to wait and see what the evening would bring forth. The
+telephone was “a washout”: the motor-cycle was now his only chance to
+summon aid for he knew it was hopeless to think of tackling
+single-handed odds of four to one (to say nothing of the lady in the
+case). It must be his business to _make_ an opportunity to slip away on
+the motor-bike to Stanning. Ten minutes to get there, five minutes to
+deliver his message at the police station (if the Chief’s people made
+their headquarters there), and ten minutes to get back if they had a
+car. Could he leave the meeting for 25 minutes without arousing
+suspicions? He doubted it; but it must be. There was no other way. And
+then with a shock that made him cold with fear he remembered Mortimer’s
+motor-car.
+
+If, during his absence, anything occurred to arouse their suspicions,
+the whole crowd could pile into the car and be away long before Desmond
+could be back with help. The fog had lifted and it was a clear night
+outside. The car would have to be got rid of before he left the house,
+that was all about it. But how? A means to that end must also be
+discovered as the evening progressed. By the way, what had Mortimer
+done with his car?
+
+A very faint throbbing somewhere outside answered Desmond’s unspoken
+question.
+
+Mortimer flung aside his paper.
+
+“Isn’t that a car?” he asked, “that’ll be they. I sent Max to Wentfield
+station to meet our friends!”
+
+There was the sound of voices, of bustle in the hall. Then the door
+opened and a man came in. Desmond had a brief moment of acute suspense.
+Was he supposed to know him?
+
+He was a short, ugly fellow with immensely broad shoulders, a heavy
+puffy face, a gross, broad nose, and a tooth-brush moustache. He might
+have been a butcher to look at. In the top edge of his coat lapel, he
+wore a small black pin with a glass head.
+
+“Well, Max,” said Mortimer. “Have you brought them all?”
+
+The man was mustering Desmond with a suspicious, unfriendly stare.
+
+“My friend, Bellward!” said Mortimer, clapping Desmond on the shoulder.
+“You’ve heard of Bellward, Max!”
+
+And to Desmond’s surprise he made some passes in the air.
+
+The man’s mien underwent a curious change. He became cringing; almost
+overawed.
+
+“Reelly,” he grunted, “reelly now! You don’t siy! Glad to know yer,
+mister, I’m shore!”
+
+He spoke with a vile snuffing cockney accent, and thrust out his hand
+to Desmond. Then he added to Mortimer:
+
+“There’s three on ’em. That’s the count, ain’t it? I lef’ the car
+outside on the drive!”
+
+At this moment two more of the guests entered: One was a tall,
+emaciated looking man of about fifty who seemed to be in the last
+stages of consumption; the other a slightly built young fellow with a
+shock of black hair brushed back and an olive complexion. He wore
+pince-nez and looked like a Russian revolutionary. They, too, wore the
+badge of the brotherhood—the black pin in the coat lapel.
+
+“Goot efening, Mr. Mortimer,” said the tall man in a guttural voice,
+“this is Behrend”—he indicated the young man by his side—“you haft not
+meet him no?”
+
+Then, leaving Behrend to shake hands with Mortimer, he literally rushed
+at Desmond and shook him by the hand exactly as though he were working
+a pump handle.
+
+“My tear Pellward,” he cried, “it is a hondred year since I haf see
+you, not? And how are the powers!”
+
+He lowered his voice and gazed mysteriously at him.
+
+Desmond, at a loss what to make of this extraordinary individual,
+answered at random:
+
+“The powers? Still fighting, I believe!”
+
+The tall man stared open-mouthed at him for a moment. Then, clapping
+his hands together, he burst into a high-pitched cackle of laughter.
+
+“A joke,” he yelled, “a mos’ excellent joke! I must tell this to Minna.
+My vriend, I haf not mean the great Powers.”
+
+He looked dramatically about him, then whispered:
+
+“I mean, the oggult!”
+
+Desmond, who was now quite out of his depth, wagged his head solemnly
+at the other as though to indicate that, his occult powers were
+something not to be lightly mentioned. He had no fear of the tall man,
+at any rate. He placed _him_ as a very ordinary German, a common type
+in the Fatherland, simple-minded, pedantic, inquisitive, and a
+prodigious bore withal but dangerous, for of this stuff German
+discipline kneads militarists.
+
+But the door opened again to admit the last of the guests. A woman
+entered. Desmond was immediately struck by the contrast she presented
+to the others, Mortimer with his goggle eyes and untidy hair, Max,
+gross and bestial, Behrend, Oriental and shifty, and the scarecrow
+figure of the tall man.
+
+Despite her age, which must have been nearly sixty, she still retained
+traces of beauty. Her features were very regular, and she had a pair of
+piercing black eyes of undimmed brightness. Her gray hair was
+tastefully arranged, and she wore a becoming black velvet gown with a
+black lace scarf thrown across the shoulders. A white silk rose was
+fastened to her bodice by a large black pin with a glass head.
+
+Directly she appeared, the tall man shouted to her in German.
+
+“Sag’ mal, Minna...” he began.
+
+Mortimer turned on him savagely.
+
+“Hold your tongue, No. 13,” he cried, “are you mad? What the devil do
+you mean by it? You know the rules!”
+
+By way of reply, “No. 13” broke into a regular frenzy of coughing which
+left him gasping for breath.
+
+“Pardon! I haf’ forgot!” he wheezed out between the spasms.
+
+The woman went over to Mortimer and put out her gloved hand.
+
+“I am Mrs. Malplaquet,” she said in a pleasant voice. “And you are Mr.
+Mortimer, I think!”
+
+Mortimer bowed low over her hand.
+
+“Madame, I am charmed to meet one of whom I have heard nothing but
+praise,” he said.
+
+“Verry pretty!” replied Mrs. Malplaquet smiling. “They tell me you have
+a great way with the ladies, my dear sir!”
+
+“But,” she went on, “I am neglecting our host, my dear Mr. Bellward.
+How are you, my friend? How well you are looking... so young... so
+fresh! I declare you seem to have got five years younger!”
+
+The keen black eyes searched Desmond’s face. He felt horribly
+uncomfortable. The woman’s eyes were like gimlets boring right into
+him. He suddenly felt that his disguise was a poor one. He remembered
+Crook’s warning to be wary of women, and he inwardly quailed.
+
+“I am so glad to meet you again!” he murmured. He didn’t like Mrs.
+Malplaquet’s eyes. They assorted strangely with the rest of her gentle
+and refined appearance. They were hard and cruel, those black eyes.
+They put him in mind of a snake.
+
+“It is so long since I’ve seen you,” she said, “that positively your
+voice seems to have changed.”
+
+“That’s because I have a cold,” said Desmond.
+
+“Fiddlesticks!” retorted the lady, “the _timbre_ is quite different!
+Bellward, I believe you’re in love! Don’t tell me you’ve been running
+after that hank of hair that Mortimer is so devoted to!” She glanced in
+Mortimer’s direction, but that gentleman was engaged in earnest
+conversation with Behrend and the tall man.
+
+“Whom do you meant” asked Desmond.
+
+“Where are your eyes, man?” rapped out Mrs. Malplaquet. “The dancer
+woman, of course, Nur-el-what-do-you-call-it. There’s the devil of a
+row brewing about the way our friend over there is neglecting us to run
+after the minx. They’re getting sharp in this country, Bellward—I’ve
+lived here for forty years so I know what I’m talking about—and we
+can’t afford to play any tricks. Mortimer will finish by bringing
+destruction on every one of us. And I shall tell him so tonight. And so
+will No. 13! And so will young Behrend! You ought to hear Behrend about
+it!”
+
+Mrs. Malplaquet began to interest Desmond. She was obviously a woman of
+refinement, and he was surprised to find her in this odd company. By
+dint of careful questioning, he ascertained the fact that she lived in
+London, at a house on Campden Hill. She seemed to know a good many
+officers, particularly naval men.
+
+“I’ve been keeping my eyes open as I promised, Bellward,” she said,
+“and I believe I’ve got hold of a likely subject for you—a submarine
+commander he is, and very psychic. When will you come and meet him at
+my house?”
+
+Mortimer’s voice, rising above the buzz of conversation, checked his
+reply.
+
+“If you will all sit down,” he said, “we’ll get down to business.”
+
+Despite all distractions, Desmond had been watching for this summons.
+He had marked down for himself a chair close to the door. For this he
+now made, after escorting Mrs. Malplaquet to the settee where she sat
+down beside Behrend. Max took the armchair on the left of the
+fireplace; while No. 13 perched himself grotesquely on a high
+music-stool, his long legs curled round the foot. Mortimer stood in his
+former position on the hearth, his back to the fire.
+
+A very odd-looking band! Desmond commented to himself but he thought he
+could detect in each of the spies a certain ruthless fanaticism which
+experience taught him to respect as highly dangerous. And they all had
+hard eyes!
+
+When they were seated, Mortimer said:
+
+“About the 14th of this month the British Admiralty will begin the work
+of shipping to France ten divisions of American troops now training in
+this country. The most extraordinary precautions are being taken to
+complete this huge undertaking with success. It seems to me that the
+moment has come for us to demonstrate the efficiency of our new
+organization.”
+
+He looked round at his audience but no one said a word. Desmond felt
+very distinctly that there was a hostile atmosphere against Mortimer in
+that room.
+
+“I asked you to come here to-night,” Mortimer went on, “to discuss the
+plans for sending prompt and accurate information regarding the
+movements of these transports to the other side. I warn you that this
+time our mode of procedure will have to be radically different from the
+methods we have pursued on former occasions. To expend our energies in
+collecting information at half a dozen different ports of war will be
+waste of time. The direction of the whole of this enterprise lies in
+the hands of one man at the Admiralty.”
+
+Behrend, who had struck Desmond as a rather taciturn young man, shook
+his head dubiously.
+
+“That makes things very difficult,” he remarked.
+
+“Wait,” replied Mortimer. “I agree, it is very difficult, the more so
+as I have reason to believe that the authorities have discovered the
+existence of our organization.”
+
+Mrs. Malplaquet and Behrend turned to one another simultaneously.
+
+“What did I say?” said Behrend.
+
+“I told you so,” said the lady.
+
+“Therefore,” Mortimer resumed, “our former activities on the coast will
+practically be paralyzed. We shall have to confine our operations to
+London while Max and Mr. Behrend here will be entrusted with the task
+of getting the news out to our submarines.”
+
+No. 13 broke in excitedly.
+
+“Vork in London, vork in London!” he cried. “It is too dangerous, my
+vriend. Vot do I know of London? Portsmouth” (he called it Portsmouse),
+“Sout’ampton, the Isle of Vight... good... it is my province. But,
+London... it is senseless!”
+
+Mortimer turned his gig-lamps on the interrupter.
+
+“You will take your orders from me as before,” he said quietly.
+
+Behrend adjusted his pince-nez.
+
+“No. 13 is perfectly right,” he remarked, “he knows his territory, and
+he should be allowed to work there.”
+
+“You, too,” Mortimer observed in the same calm tone as before, “will
+take your orders from me!”
+
+With a quick gesture the young man dashed his long black hair out of
+his eyes.
+
+“Maybe,” he replied, “but only as long as I feel sure that your orders
+are worth following.
+
+“Do you dare...” began Mortimer, shouting.
+
+“... At present,” the other continued, as though Mortimer had not
+spoken. “I don’t feel at all sure that they are.”
+
+The atmosphere was getting a trifle heated, thought Desmond. If he
+judged Mortimer aright, he was not the man to let himself be dictated
+to by anybody. He was wondering how the scene would end when suddenly
+something caught his eye that took his mind right away from the events
+going forward in the room.
+
+Opposite him, across the library, was a French window across which the
+curtains had been drawn. One of the curtains, however, had got looped
+up on a chair so that there was a gap at the bottom of the window
+showing the pane.
+
+In this gap was a face pressed up against the glass. To his
+astonishment Desmond recognized the weather-beaten features of the odd
+man, Mr. John Hill. The face remained there only for a brief instant.
+The next moment it was gone and Desmond’s attention was once more
+claimed by the progress of the conference.
+
+“Do I understand that you refuse to serve under me any longer?”
+Mortimer was saying to Behrend, who had risen from the settee and stood
+facing him.
+
+“As long as you continue to behave as you are doing at present,”
+replied the other, “you may understand that!”
+
+Mortimer made a quick dive for his pocket. In an instant Max had jumped
+at him and caught his arm.
+
+“Don’t be a fool!” he cried, “for Gawd’s sake, put it away, carn’t yer?
+D ’you want the ’ole ruddy plice abart our ears?”
+
+“I’ll have no disobedience of orders,” roared Mortimer, struggling with
+the other. In his fist he had a big automatic pistol. It was a
+prodigious weapon, the largest pistol that Desmond had ever seen.
+
+“He threatened him, he threatened him!” screamed No. 13 jumping about
+on his stool.
+
+“Take it away from him, Max, for Heaven’s sake!” cried the lady.
+
+Everybody was talking at once. The noise was so loud that Desmond
+wondered whether old Martha would hear the din. He sat in his chair by
+the door, a silent witness of the scene. Then suddenly, at the height
+of the hubbub, he heard the faint humming of a motor-car. It lasted for
+perhaps thirty seconds, then gradually died away.
+
+“What did it mean?” he asked himself. The only living being he knew of
+outside was John Hill, the odd man, whose face he had just seen; the
+only car was Mortimer’s. Had the odd man gone off in Mortimer’s car? He
+was thankful to note that, in the din, none save him seemed to have
+heard the car.
+
+By this time Mortimer had put up his pistol and Mrs. Malplaquet was
+speaking. Her remarks were effective and very much to the point. She
+upbraided Mortimer with his long and mysterious absences which she
+attributed to his infatuation for Nur-el-Din and complained bitterly of
+the dancer’s imprudence in consorting openly with notorious folk like
+Lazarro and Bryan Mowbury.
+
+“I went to the girl myself,” she said, “and begged her to be more
+circumspect. But Madame would not listen to advice; Madame was
+doubtless sure of her position with our revered leader, and thought she
+could reject the friendly counsel of one old enough to be her mother.
+Behrend and Max and No. 13 there—all of us—are absolutely agreed that
+we are not going on with this sort of thing any longer. If you are to
+remain in charge of our organization, Mr. Mortimer, we want to know
+where you are to be found and how you spend your time. In short, we
+want to be sure that you are not playing a game that most of us have at
+different times played on subordinate agents... I mean, that when the
+crisis comes, we fall into the trap and _you_ walk away. You had better
+realize once and for all that we are too old hands for that sort of
+trick.”
+
+Here Max took up the thread. “Mrs. Malplaquet had put it very strite,
+so she ’ad, and wot he wanted to know was what Mortimer ’ad to siy?”
+
+Mortimer was very suave in his reply; a bad sign, thought Desmond, for
+it indicated that he was not sure of himself. He was rather vague,
+spoke about a vitally important mission that he had had to fulfil but
+which he had now brought to a successful conclusion, so that he was at
+length free to devote his whole attention once more to the great task
+in hand.
+
+Behrend brought his fist crashing down on the arm of the settee.
+
+“Words, words,” he cried, “it won’t do for me. Isn’t there a man in the
+room besides me? You, Bellward, or you, Max, or you, No.13? Haven’t you
+got any guts any of you? Are you going to sit here and listen to the
+soft soap of a fellow who has probably sent better men than himself to
+their death with tripe of this kind? It may do for you, but by the
+Lord, it won’t do for me!”
+
+Mortimer cleared his throat uneasily.
+
+“Our host is silent,” said Mrs. Malplaquet, “what does Mr. Bellward
+think about it?”
+
+Desmond spoke up promptly.
+
+“I think it would be very interesting to hear something further about
+this mission of Mortimer’s,” he observed:
+
+Mortimer cast him a glance of bitter malice.
+
+“Well,” he said, after a pause, “you force my hand. I shall tell you of
+this mission of mine and I shall show you the evidence, because it
+seems essential in the interests of our organization. But I assure you
+I shall not forget this want of confidence you have shown in me; and I
+shall see that you don’t forget it, either!”
+
+As he spoke, he glared fiercely at Desmond through his glasses.
+
+“Let’s hear about the precious mission,” jeered Behrend, “let’s see the
+evidence. The threats’ll keep!”
+
+Then Mortimer told them of how the Star of Poland came into
+Nur-el-Din’s possession, and of the Crown Prince’s embarrassment when
+the German authorities claimed it for the regalia of the new Kingdom of
+Poland.
+
+“The Crown Prince,” he said, “summoned me to him in person and gave me
+the order to make my way to England immediately and recover the gem at
+all costs and by any means. Did I whine or snivel about being sent to
+my death as some of you were doing just now? No! That is not the way of
+the Prussian Guard...”
+
+“The Prussian Guard?” cried No. 13 in an awed voice. “Are you also of
+the Prussian Guard, comrade?”
+
+He had risen from his seat and there was something almost of majesty
+about his thin, ungainly figure as he drew himself to his full height.
+
+“Ay, comrade, I was,” replied Mortimer.
+
+“Then,” cried No. 13, “you are...”
+
+“No names, comrade,” warned Mortimer, “no names, I beg!”
+
+“No names, no names!” repeated the other and relapsed into his seat in
+a reverie.
+
+“How I got to England,” Mortimer continued, “matters nothing; how I
+fulfilled my mission is neither here nor there. But I recovered the gem
+and the proof...”
+
+He thrust a hand into the inner pocket of his coat and plucked out a
+white paper package sealed up with broad red seals.
+
+Desmond held his breath. It was the white paper package, exactly as
+Barbara had described.
+
+“Look at it well, Behrend,” said Mortimer, holding it up for the young
+man to see, “it cost me a man’s life to get that. If it had sent twenty
+men to their death, I should have had it just the same!”
+
+Mrs. Malplaquet clapped her hands, her eyes shining.
+
+“Bravo, bravo!” she exclaimed, “that’s the spirit! That’s the way to
+talk, Mortimer!”
+
+“Cut it out,” snarled Behrend, “and let’s see the goods!”
+
+All had left their seats and were gathered in a group about Mortimer as
+he began to break the gleaming red wag seals. One by one he burst them,
+the white paper slipped off and disclosed... a box of cigarettes.
+
+Mortimer stood gazing in stupefaction at the gaudy green and gold
+lettering of the box. Then, running his thumb-nail swiftly along the
+edge of the box, he broke the paper wrapping, the box burst open and a
+shower of cigarettes fell to the ground.
+
+“So that’s your Star of Poland, is it?” cried Behrend in a mocking
+voice.
+
+“Wot ’ave yer done wiv’ the sparklers, eh?” demanded Max, catching
+Mortimer roughly by the arm.
+
+But Mortimer stood, aimlessly shaking the empty box in front of him, as
+though to convince himself that the gem was not there. Behrend fell on
+his knees and raked the pile of cigarettes over and over with his
+fingers.
+
+“Nothing there!” he shouted angrily, springing to his feet. “It’s all
+bluff! He’s bluffing to the end! See, he doesn’t even attempt to find
+his famous jewel! He knows it isn’t there!”
+
+But Mortimer paid no heed. He was staring straight in front of him, a
+strangely woe-begone figure with his thatch of untidy hair and round
+goggle eyes. Then the cigarette box fell to the floor with a crash as
+Mortimer’s hands dropped, with, a hopeless gesture, to his sides.
+
+“Barbara Mackwayte!” he whispered in a low voice, not seeming to
+realize that he was speaking aloud, “so that’s what she wanted with
+Nur-el-Din!”
+
+Desmond was standing at Mortimer’s elbow and caught the whisper. As he
+heard Mortimer speak Barbara’s name, he had a sudden premonition that
+his own unmasking was imminent, though he understood as little of the
+purport of the other’s remark as of the pile of cigarettes lying on the
+carpet. As Mortimer turned to look at him, Desmond nerved himself to
+meet the latter’s gaze. But Mortimer’s face wore the look of a
+desperate man. There was no recognition in his eyes.
+
+Not so with Desmond. Perhaps the bitterness of his disappointment had
+made Mortimer careless, perhaps the way in which he had pronounced
+Barbara’s name struck a familiar chord in Desmond’s memory. The unkempt
+hair brushed down across the forehead, the thick glasses, the heavy
+moustache still formed together an impenetrable mask which Desmond’s
+eyes failed to pierce. But now he recalled the voice. As Mortimer
+looked at him, the truth dawned on Desmond and he knew that the man
+standing beside him was Maurice Strangwise, his comrade-in-arms in
+France.
+
+At that very moment a loud crash rang through the room, a cold blast of
+damp air came rushing in and the lamp on the table flared up wildly,
+flickered an instant and went out, leaving the room in darkness save
+for the glow of the fire.
+
+A deep voice cried:
+
+“May I ask what you are all doing in my house?”
+
+The secret door of the bookshelves had swung back and there, framed in
+the gaping void, Desmond saw the dark figure of a man.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIX.
+THE UNINVITED GUEST
+
+
+There are moments in life when the need for prompt action is so urgent
+that thought, decision and action must be as one operation of the
+brain. In the general consternation following on the dramatic
+appearance of this uninvited guest, Desmond had a brief respite in
+which to think over his position.
+
+Should he make a dash for it or stay where he was and await
+developments?
+
+Without a second’s hesitation; he decided on the latter course. With
+the overpowering odds against him it was more than doubtful whether he
+could ever reach the library door. Besides, to go was to abandon
+absolutely all hope of capturing the gang; for his flight would warn
+the conspirators that the game was up. On the other hand, the new-comer
+might be an ally, perhaps an emissary of the Chief’s. The strange
+behavior of the odd man had shown that something was afoot outside of
+which those in the library were unaware. Was the uninvited guest the
+_deus ex machina_ who was to help him, Desmond, out of his present
+perilous fix?
+
+Meanwhile the stranger had stepped into the room, drawing the secret
+door to behind him. Desmond heard his heavy step and the dull thud of
+the partition swinging into place. The sound seemed to break the spell
+that hung over the room.
+
+Mortimer was the first to recover his presence of mind. Crying out to
+No. 13 to lock the door leading into the hall, he fumbled for a moment
+at the table. Desmond caught the noise of a match being scratched and
+the next moment the library was again bathed in the soft radiance of
+the lamp.
+
+Picking up the light, Mortimer strode across to the stranger.
+
+“What do _you_ want here” he demanded fiercely, “and who the devil...”
+
+He broke off without completing his sentence, drawing back in
+amazement. For the rays of the lamp fell upon the pale face of a
+stoutish, bearded man, veering towards middle age standing in front of
+Mortimer. And the face was the face of the stoutish, bearded man,
+veering towards middle age, who stood in the shadow a few paces
+_behind_ Mortimer. Each man was a complete replica of the other, save
+that the face of the new arrival was thin and haggard with that
+yellowish tinge which comes from long confinement.
+
+As Mortimer staggered back, the uninvited guest recoiled in his turn.
+He was staring fixedly across the room at his double who met his gaze
+firmly, erect, tense, silent. The others looked in sheer stupefaction
+from one to the other of the two Mr. Bellwards. For nearly a minute the
+only sound in the room was the deep ticking of the clock, counting away
+the seconds separating him from eternity, Desmond thought.
+
+It was Mrs. Malplaquet who broke the silence. Suddenly her nerves
+snapped under the strain, and she screamed aloud.
+
+“A—ah!” she cried, “look! There are two of them! No, no, it can’t be!”
+
+And she sank half fainting on the sofa.
+
+Behrend whipped out a pistol from his hip pocket and thrust it in
+Mortimer’s face.
+
+“Is this another of your infernal surprise packets?” he demanded
+fiercely.
+
+All the spies seemed on a sudden to be armed, Desmond noted, all, that
+is, save Mrs. Malplaquet who lay cowering on the settee. Mortimer had
+pulled out his super-Mauser; No. 13, who was guarding the door, had a
+revolver in his hand, and Behrend, as has been stated, was threatening
+Mortimer with his Browning.
+
+Now Max advanced threateningly into the room, a long seaman’s knife in
+his hand..
+
+“Put that blarsted shooting-iron awiy!” he snarled at Mortimer, “and
+tell us wot’s the little gime, will yer! Come on, egpline!”
+
+With absolute self-possession Mortimer turned from the stranger to
+Desmond.
+
+“I think it is up to the twins to explain,” he said almost
+nonchalantly, “suppose we hear what this gentleman, who arrived so
+surprisingly through the book-shelves, has to say?”
+
+Though threatened with danger from two sides, from the gang and
+possibly, as far as he knew, from the stranger, Mortimer was perfectly
+calm. Desmond never admired Maurice Strangwise more than in that
+moment. All eyes now turned questioningly towards the new arrival. As
+for Desmond he drew back as far as he dared into the shadow. He knew he
+was in the direst peril; but he was not afraid for himself. He was
+crushed to the ground by the sickening feeling that he was going to be
+beaten, that the gang were going to slip through his fingers after
+all... and he was powerless to prevent it.
+
+He guessed at once what had happened. Bellward must have escaped from
+custody; for there was no disguise about this pale, flustered creature
+who had the cowed look of a hunted man in his eyes. He must have come
+to the Mill House to get his motorcycle; for he surely would have known
+that the villa would be the first place to which the police would
+follow him up.
+
+Desmond saw a little ray of hope. If—it was a very big if—Bellward’s
+flight were discovered promptly, the police might be expected to reach
+the Mill House very soon behind him. Bellward must have come straight
+there; for he had not even taken the very elementary precaution of
+shaving off his beard. That made Desmond think that he must have
+escaped some time that evening after the barbers’ shops were closed.
+
+With thumping heart, with bated breath, he waited for what was to come.
+In a very little while, he told himself, the truth must come out. His
+only chance was to try and bluff his way out of this appalling dilemma
+and above all, at all costs—this was the essential fact which, he told
+himself, he must keep steadfastly before his eyes—not to lose sight of
+Mortimer whatever happened.
+
+Bellward’s voice—and its tones showed Desmond what an accomplished mime
+Crook had been—broke the silence.
+
+“I have nothing to explain,” he said, turning from the sofa where he
+had been exchanging a few words in an undertone with Mrs. Malplaquet,
+“this is my house. That is sufficient explanation for my presence here,
+I imagine. But I confess I am curious to know what this person”—he
+indicated Desmond—“is doing in _my_ clothes, if I mistake not, giving
+what I take to be a very successful impersonation of myself.”
+
+Then Desmond stepped boldly out of the shadow into the circle of light
+thrown by the lamp.
+
+“I don’t know what you all think,” he said firmly, “but it seems to me
+singularly unwise for us to stand here gossiping when there is a
+stranger amongst us. I fail to understand the motive of this gentleman
+in breaking into _my_ house by _my_ private door, wearing _my_ clothes,
+if I am to believe my eyes; but I clearly realize the danger of
+admitting strangers to a gathering of this kind.”
+
+“Quite right,” agreed Behrend, nodding his head in assent.
+
+“You have had one singular surprise to-night already,” Desmond resumed,
+“in the matter of the jewel which our respected leader was about to
+show us: if you recollect, our friend was only prevented from giving us
+the explanation which he certainly owed us over his little hoax by the
+arrival, the most timely arrival, of his confederate...”
+
+“Confederate?” shouted Mortimer, “what the devil do you mean by that?”
+
+“Yes, confederate,” Desmond repeated. “Max, Behrend, Mrs. Malplaquet,
+all of you, look at this wretched fellow”—he pointed a finger of scorn
+at Bellward—“trembling with fright at the role that has been thrust
+upon him, to force his way into our midst, to give his accomplice the
+tip to clear out before the police arrive.”
+
+“Stop!” exclaimed Mortimer, raising his pistol. Behrend caught his
+hand.
+
+“We’ll hear _you_ in a minute!” he said.
+
+“Let him finish!” said Mrs. Malplaquet, and there was a certain ominous
+quietness in her tone that startled Desmond.
+
+As for Bellward, he remained silent, with arms folded, listening very
+intently.
+
+“Doubtless, this double of mine,” continued Desmond in a mocking voice,
+“is the bearer of the Star of Poland, the wonderful jewel which has
+required our beloved leader to devote so much of his time to a certain
+charming lady. Bah! are you going to let a man like this,” and he
+pointed to Mortimer disdainfully with his hand, “a man who puts you in
+the fighting line while he amuses himself in the rear, are you going to
+let this false friend, this bogus spy, cheat you like this? My friends,
+my advice to you, if you don’t want to have another and yet more
+disagreeable surprise, is to make sure that this impudent imposter is
+not here for the purpose of selling us all!”
+
+He raised his voice until it rang through the room, at the same time
+looking round the group at the faces of the spies to see how his
+harangue had worked upon their feelings. Max and Behrend, he could see,
+were on his side; No. 13 was obviously, undecided; Mortimer and
+Bellward were, of course, against him; Mrs. Malplaquet sat with her
+hands in her lap, her eyes cast down, giving no sign.
+
+“It’s high time...” Mortimer began violently but Mrs. Malplaquet put up
+her hand and checked him.
+
+“Better hear Bellward!” she said softly.
+
+“I know nothing of what has been taking place in my absence,” he said,
+“either here or outside. I only know that I escaped from the escort
+that was taking me back from Scotland Yard to Brixton Prison this
+evening and that the police are hard on my track. I have delayed too
+long as, it is. Every one of us in this room, with the exception of the
+traitor who is amongst us”—he pointed a finger in denunciation at
+Desmond—“is in the most imminent peril as long as we stay here. The
+rest of you can please yourselves. I’m off!”
+
+He turned and pressed the spring. The book shelves swung open. Behrend
+sprang forward.
+
+“Not so fast,” he cried. “You don’t leave this room until we know who
+you are!”
+
+And he covered him with his pistol.
+
+“Fool!” exclaimed Bellward who had stopped on the threshold of the
+secret door, “do you want to trap the lot of us! Tell him, Minna,” he
+said to Mrs. Malplaquet, “and for Heaven’s sake, let us be gone!”
+
+Mrs. Malplaquet stood up.
+
+“This is Basil Bellward,” she said, “see, he’s wearing the ring I gave
+him, a gold snake with emerald eyes! And now,” she cried, raising her
+voice shrilly, “before we go, kill that man!”
+
+And she pointed at Desmond.
+
+Bellward had seized her by the arm and was dragging her through the
+opening in the shed when a shrill whistle resounded from the garden.
+Without any warning Mortimer swung round and fired point-blank at
+Desmond. But Desmond had stooped to spring at the other and the bullet
+went over his head. With ears singing from the deafening report of the
+pistol in the confined space, with the acrid smell of cordite in his
+nostrils, Desmond leapt at Mortimer’s throat, hoping to bear him to the
+ground before he could shoot again. As he sprang he heard the crash of
+glass and a loud report. Someone cried out sharply “Oh!” as though in
+surprise and fell prone between him and his quarry; then he stumbled
+and at the same time received a crashing blow on the head. Without a
+sound he dropped to the ground across a body that twitched a little and
+then lay still.
+
+
+Somewhere in the far, far distance Desmond heard a woman crying—long
+drawn-out wailing lamentations on a high, quavering note. He had a
+dull, hard pain in his head which felt curiously stiff. Drowsily he
+listened for a time to the woman’s sobbing, so tired, so curiously
+faint that he scarcely cared to wonder what it signified. But at last
+it grated on him by its insistency and he opened his eyes to learn the
+cause of it.
+
+His bewildered gaze fell upon what seemed to him a gigantic, ogre-like
+face, as huge, as grotesque, as a pantomime mask. Beside it was a
+light, a brilliant light, that hurt his eyes.
+
+Then a voice, as faint as a voice on a long distance telephone, said:
+
+“Well, how are you feeling?”
+
+The voice was so remote that Desmond paid no attention to it. But he
+was rather surprised to hear a voice reply, a voice that came from his
+own lips, curiously enough:
+
+“Fine!”
+
+So he opened his eyes again to ascertain the meaning of this
+phenomenon. This time the ogre-like face came into focus, and Desmond
+saw a man with a tumbler in his hand bending over him.
+
+“That’s right,” said the man, looking very intently at him, “feel a bit
+better, eh? Got a bit of a crack, what? Just take a mouthful of
+brandy... I’ve got it here!”
+
+Desmond obediently swallowed the contents of the glass that the other
+held to his lips. He was feeling horribly weak, and very cold. His
+collar and shirt were unbuttoned, and his neck and shoulders were
+sopping wet with water. On his ears still fell the wailing of the
+woman.
+
+“Corporal,” said the man bending over him, “just go and tell that old
+hag to hold her noise! She’ll have to go out of the house if she can’t
+be quiet!”
+
+Desmond opened his eyes again. He was lying on the settee in the
+library. A tall figure in khaki, who had been stirring the fire with
+his boot, turned at the doctor’s summons and left the room. On the
+table the lamp was still burning but its rays were neutralized by the
+glare of a crimson dawn which Desmond could see flushing the sky
+through the shattered panes of the French window. In the centre of the
+floor lay a long object covered by a tablecloth, beside it a table
+overturned with a litter of broken glass strewn about the carpet.
+
+The woman’s sobbing ceased. The corporal came back into the room.
+
+“She’ll be quiet now, sir,” he said, “I told her to get you and the
+gentlemen a cup o’ tea.”
+
+Then, to Desmond, he said:
+
+“Nasty ding you got, sir! My word, I thought they’d done for you when I
+come in at the winder!”
+
+The telephone on the desk tingled sharply. The door opened at the same
+moment and a shabby little old man with sandy side whiskers and
+moleskin trousers came briskly in.
+
+His appearance had a curious effect on the patient on the settee.
+Despite the doctor’s restraining hand, he struggled into a sitting
+position, staring in bewilderment at the shabby old man who had gone
+straight to the telephone and lifted the receiver. And well might
+Desmond stare; for here was Mr. John Hill, the odd man, talking on the
+telephone. And his voice...
+
+“Well?” said the man at the telephone, curtly.
+
+“Yes, speaking. You’ve got her, eh? Good. What’s that? Well, that’s
+something. No trace of the others? Damn!”
+
+He slammed down the receiver and turned to face the settee.
+
+“Francis!” cried Desmond.
+
+And then he did a thing highly unbecoming in a field officer. He burst
+into tears.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XX.
+THE ODD MAN
+
+
+Desmond and Francis Okewood sat in the dining-room of the Mill House
+finishing an excellent breakfast of ham and eggs and coffee which old
+Martha had prepared for them.
+
+Francis was still wearing Mr. John Hill’s greasy jacket and moleskins,
+but the removal of the sandy whiskers and a remarkable wig, consisting
+of a bald pate with a fringe of reddish hair, had gone far to restore
+him to the semblance of his former self.
+
+Desmond was feeling a good deal better. His head had escaped the full
+force of the smashing blow dealt at him by Strangwise with the butt of
+his pistol. He had instinctively put up his arm to defend his face and
+the thickly padded sleeve of Bellward’s jacket had broken the force of
+the blow. Desmond had avoided a fractured skull at the price of an
+appalling bruise on the right forearm and a nasty laceration of the
+scalp.
+
+Francis had resolutely declined to enlighten him as to the events of
+the night until both had breakfasted. After despatching the corporal of
+military police to hurry the housekeeper on with the breakfast, Francis
+had taken his brother straight to the dining-room, refusing to let him
+ask the questions which thronged his brain until they had eaten and
+drunk. Only when all the ham and eggs had disappeared, did Francis,
+lighting one of Mr. Bellward’s cigars, consent to satisfy his brother’s
+curiosity.
+
+“It was only yesterday morning,” he said, “that I landed at Folkstone
+from the Continent. How I got the Chief’s message recalling me and how
+I made my escape through the Turkish lines to Allenby’s headquarters is
+a long story which will keep. The Chief had a car waiting for me at
+Folkstone and I reached London in time to lunch with him. We had a long
+talk and he gave me carte blanche to jump into this business now, when
+and where I thought I could best help you.”
+
+Desmond smiled bitterly.
+
+“The Chief couldn’t trust me to make good on my own, I suppose,” he
+said.
+
+“The Chief had a very good idea of the character of the people you had
+to deal with, Des.,” retorted Francis, “and he was a trifle
+apprehensive that the role you were playing might lead to
+complications, supposing the gang were to see through your
+impersonation. He’s a wonderful man, that, Des., and he was dead
+right—as he always is.”
+
+“But how?” asked Desmond. “Did the crowd spot me?”
+
+“No,” answered the other; “but it was your disguise which was
+responsible for the escape of Strangwise—”
+
+“What?” cried Desmond. “He’s escaped after all!”
+
+Francis nodded.
+
+“Yes,” he said, “got clear away and left no trace. Wait a minute and
+you shall hear! When I have told my story, you shall tell yours and
+between us, we’ll piece things together!
+
+“Well, when I left the Chief yesterday, I came down here. The
+description of Mr. John Hill, your odd man, rather tickled my fancy. I
+wanted badly to get at you for a quiet chat and it seemed to me that if
+I could borrow Mr. Hill’s appearance for a few hours now and then I
+might gain access to you without rousing any suspicion. You see, I knew
+that old Hill left here about dusk every afternoon, so I guessed the
+coast would be clear.
+
+“Clarkson’s fitted me out with the duds and the make-up and I got down
+to Wentfield by half-past six. The fog was so infernally thick that it
+took me more than an hour to get here on foot. It must have been close
+on eight o’clock when I pushed open your front gate. I thought of going
+boldly into the kitchen and asking for you, but, fortunately, I decided
+to have a preliminary prowl round the place. Through a chink in the
+curtains of the library I saw you and a stranger talking together. The
+stranger was quite unknown to me; but one thing about him I spotted
+right off. I saw that he was disguised; so I decided to hang about a
+bit and await developments.
+
+“I loafed around in the fog for about half an hour. Then I heard a car
+coming up the drive. I hid myself in the rhododendron bush opposite the
+front door and saw two men and a woman get out. They hurried into the
+house, so that I didn’t have a chance of seeing their faces. But I got
+a good, glimpse of the chauffeur as he bent down to turn out the
+headlights. And, yes, I knew him!”
+
+“Max, they called him,” said Desmond.
+
+“His name was Mirsky when last I saw him,” answered Francis, “and mine
+was Apfelbaum, if you want to know. He was a German agent in Russia and
+as ruthless and unscrupulous a rascal as you’ll find anywhere in the
+German service. I must say I never thought he’d have the nerve to show
+his face in this country, though I believe he’s a Whitechapel Jew born
+and bred. However, there he was and the sight of his ugly mug told me
+that something was doing. But like a fool I decided to hang on a bit
+and watch, instead of going right off in that car and fetching help
+from Stanning.”
+
+“It was just as well you waited,” said Desmond, “for if you’d gone off
+at once they must have heard the car and the fat would have been in the
+fire straight away!”
+
+And he told Francis of the loud dispute among the confederates in the
+library, the noise of which had effectually covered the sound of the
+departing ear.
+
+Francis laughed.
+
+“From my observation post outside,” he said, “I could only see you,
+Des, and that blackguard, Mug, as you two were sitting opposite the
+window. I couldn’t see more than the feet of the others. But your face
+told me the loud voices which reached me even outside meant that a
+crisis of some sort was approaching, so I thought it was time to be up
+and doing. So I sneaked round to the front of the house, got the engine
+of the car going and started off down the drive.
+
+“I had the very devil of a job to get to Stanning. Ever since you’ve
+been down here, the Chief has had special men on duty day and night at
+the police-station there. I didn’t dare stop to light the head-lamps
+and as a result the first thing I did was to charge the front gate and
+get the back wheel so thoroughly jammed that it took me the best part
+of twenty minutes to get the blooming car clear. When at last I got to
+the station, I found that Matthews, the Chief’s man, you know, had just
+arrived by car from London with a lot of plain-clothes men and some
+military police. He was in the very devil of a stew. He told me that
+Bellward had escaped, that the Chief was out of town for the night and
+ungetatable, and that he (Matthews) had come down on his own to prevent
+the gaff being blown on you and also to recapture Mr. Bellward if he
+should be mad enough to make for his old quarters.
+
+“I told Matthews of the situation up at the Mill House. Neither of us
+was able to understand why you had not telephoned for assistance—we
+only discovered later that the telephone had been disconnected—but I
+went bail that you were up against a very stiff proposition. I told
+Matthews that, by surrounding the house, we might capture the whole
+gang.
+
+“Matthews is a cautious cuss and he wanted a good deal of persuading,
+so we lost a lot of time. In the end, he wouldn’t take my advice to
+rush every available man to the scene, but only consented to take two
+plainclothes men and two military police. He was so precious afraid of
+upsetting your arrangements. The Chief, it appears, had warned
+everybody against doing that. So we all piled into the car and I drove
+them back to the Mill House.
+
+“This time I left the car at the front gate and we went up to the house
+on foot. We had arranged that Matthews and one of the military police,
+both armed, should stay and guard the car, while the two plainclothes
+men and the other military policeman, the corporal here, should
+accompany me to the house. Matthews believed my yarn that we were only
+going to ‘investigate.’ What I intended to do in reality was to round
+up the whole blessed lot.
+
+“I put one of the plain-clothes men on the front door and the other
+round at the back of the house. Their orders were to stop anybody who
+came out and at the same time to whistle for assistance. The corporal
+and I went to our old observation post outside the library window.
+
+“The moment I glanced into the room I knew that matters had reached a
+climax. I saw you—looking pretty blue, old man—facing that woman who
+seemed to be denouncing you. Max stood beside you with a pistol, and
+beside him was our friend, Mortimer, with a regular whopper of an
+automatic. Before I had time to move, the plain-clothes man at the back
+of the house whistled. He had found the secret door with Bellward and
+the woman coming out of it.
+
+“Then I saw Mortimer fire point-blank at you. I had my gun out in a
+second, but I was afraid of shooting, for fear of hitting you as you
+went for the other man.
+
+“But the corporal at my side wasn’t worrying much about you. Just as
+you jumped he put up his gun and let fly at Mortimer with a sense of
+discrimination which does him infinite credit. He missed Mortimer, but
+plugged Max plumb through the forehead and my old friend dropped in his
+tracks right between you and the other fellow. On that we hacked our
+way through the French window. The corporal found time to have another
+shot and laid out a tall, odd-looking man...”
+
+“No. 13,” elucidated Desmond.
+
+“... When we got inside we found him dead across the threshold of the
+door leading into the hall. Behrend we caught hiding in a brush
+cupboard by the back stairs. As for the others—”
+
+“Gone?” queried Desmond with a sudden sinking at his heart.
+
+Francis nodded.
+
+“We didn’t waste any time getting through that window,” he said, “but
+the catch was stiff and the broken glass was deuced unpleasant. Still,
+we were too late. You were laid out on the floor; Mortimer, Bellward
+and the lady had made their lucky escape. And the secret door showed us
+how they had gone...”
+
+“But I thought you had a man posted at the back?”
+
+“Would you believe it? When the shooting began, the infernal idiot must
+rush round to our assistance, so, of course, Mortimer and Co., nipping
+out by the secret door, got clear away down the drive. But that is not
+the worst. Matthews gave them the car!”
+
+“No!” said Desmond incredulously.
+
+“He did, though,” answered Francis. “Mind you, Mortimer had had the
+presence of mind to throw off his disguise. He presented himself to
+Matthews as Strangwise. Matthews knows Strangwise quite well: he has
+often seen him with the Chief.
+
+“‘My God, Captain Strangwise,’ says Matthews, as the trio appeared,
+‘What’s happened?’
+
+“‘You’re wanted up at the house immediately, Matthews,’ says Strangwise
+quite excitedly. ‘We’re to take the car and go for assistance.’
+
+“Matthews had a look at Strangwise’s companions, and seeing Bellward,
+of course, takes him for you. As for the lady, she had a black lace
+muffler wound about her face.
+
+“‘Miss Mackwayte’s coming with us, Matthews,’ Strangwise says, seeing
+Matthews look at the lady. That removed the last of any lurking
+suspicions that old Matthews might have had. He left the military
+policeman at the gate and tore off like mad up the drive while
+Strangwise and the others jumped into the car and were away before you
+could say ‘knife.’ The military policeman actually cranked up the car
+for them!
+
+“When Matthews burst into the library with the story of you and
+Strangwise and Miss Mackwayte having gone off for help in our only car,
+I knew we had been sold. You were there, knocked out of time on the
+floor, in your disguise as Bellward, so I knew that the man with
+Strangwise was the real Bellward and I consequently deduced that
+Strangwise was Mortimer and consequently the very man we had to catch.
+
+“We were done brown. If we had had a little more time to think things
+out, we should have found that motor-bike and I would have gone after
+the trio myself. But my first idea was to summon aid. I tried to
+telephone without success and then we found the wire cut outside. Then
+I had the idea of pumping Behrend. I found him quite chatty and furious
+against Mortimer, whom he accused of having sold them. He told us that
+the party would be sure to make for the Dyke Inn, as Nur-el-Din was
+there.
+
+“By this time Strangwise and his party had got at least an hour clear
+start of us. I had set a man to repair the telephone and in the
+meantime was thinking of sending another on foot to Stanning to fetch
+one of our cars. Then I found the motor-bike and despatched one of the
+military policemen on it to Stanning.
+
+“In about half an hour’s time he was back with a car in which were
+Gordon and Harrison and some more military police. I put Matthews in
+charge of the party and sent them off to the Dyke Inn, though I felt
+pretty sure we were too late to catch the trio. That was really the
+reason I stayed behind; besides, I wanted to look after you. I got a
+turn when I saw you spread out all over the carpet, old man, I can tell
+you.”
+
+Desmond, who had listened with the most eager attention, did not speak
+for a minute. The sense of failure was strong upon him. How he had
+bungled it all!
+
+“Look here,” he said presently in a dazed voice, “you said just now
+that Matthews mistook Mrs. Malplaquet for Miss Mackwayte. Why should
+Matthews think that Miss Mackwayte was down here? Did she come down
+with you?”
+
+Francis looked at him quickly.
+
+“That crack on the head makes you forget things,” he said. “Don’t you
+remember Miss Mackwayte coming down here to see you yesterday
+afternoon? Matthews thought she had stayed on...”
+
+Desmond shook his head.
+
+“She’s not been here,” he replied. “I’m quite positive about that!”
+
+Francis sprang to his feet.
+
+“Surely you must be mistaken,” he said in tones of concern. “The Chief
+sent her down yesterday afternoon on purpose to see you. She reached
+Wentfield Station all right; because the porter told Matthews that she
+asked him the way to the Mill House.”
+
+An ominous foreboding struck chill at Desmond’s heart. He held his
+throbbing head for an instant. Someone had mentioned Barbara that night
+in the library but who was it? And what had he said?
+
+Ah! of course, it was Strangwise. “So that’s what she wanted with
+Nur-el-Din!” he had said.
+
+Desmond felt it all coming back to him now. Briefly he told Francis of
+his absence from the Mill House in response to the summons from
+Nur-el-Din, of his interview with the dancer and her story of the Star
+of Poland, of his hurried return just in time to meet Mortimer, and of
+Mortimer’s enigmatical reference to the dancer in the library that
+night.
+
+Fancis looked graver and graver as the story proceeded. Desmond noted
+it and reproached himself most bitterly with his initial failure to
+inform the Chief of the visits of Nur-el-Din and Mortimer to the Mill
+House. When he had finished speaking, he did not look at Francis, but
+gazed mournfully out of the window into the chilly drizzle of a sad
+winter’s day.
+
+“I don’t like the look of it at all, Des,” said his brother shaking his
+head, “but first we must make sure that there has been no
+misunderstanding about Miss Mackwayte. You say your housekeeper was
+already here when you came back from the Dyke Inn. She may have seen
+her. Let’s have old Martha in!”
+
+Between fright, bewilderment and indignation at the invasion of the
+house, old Martha was, if anything, deafer and more stupid than usual.
+After much interrogation they had to be satisfied with her repeated
+assertion that “she ’adn’t seen no young lady” and allowed her to
+hobble back to her kitchen.
+
+The two brothers stared at one another blankly. Francis was the first
+to speak. His eyes were shining and his manner was rather tense.
+
+“Des,” he asked; “what do you make of it? From what Strangwise let fall
+in the library here tonight, it seems probable that Miss Mackwayte,
+instead of coming here to see you as she was told—or she may have
+called during your absence—went to the Dyke Inn and saw Nur-el-Din. The
+muffed cry you heard at the inn suggests foul play to me and that
+suspicion is deepened in my mind by the fact that Matthews found
+Nur-el-Din at the Dyke Inn, as he reported to me by telephone just now;
+but he says nothing about Miss Mackwayte. Des, I fear the worst for
+that poor girl if she has fallen into the hands of that gang!”
+
+Desmond remained silent for a moment. He was trying to piece things
+together as best as his aching head would allow. Both Nur-el-Din and
+Strangwise were after the jewel. Nur-el-Din believed that afternoon
+that Strangwise had it, while Strangwise, on discovering his loss, had
+seemed to suggest that Barbara Mackwayte had recovered it.
+
+“Either Strangwise or Nur-el-Din, perhaps both of them,” said Desmond,
+“must know what has become of Miss Mackwayte.”
+
+And he explained his reasoning to Francis. His brother nodded quickly.
+
+“Then Nur-el-Din shall tell us,” he answered sternly.
+
+“They’ve arrested her?” asked Desmond with a sudden pang.
+
+“Yes,” said Francis curtly. But too late to prevent a crime being
+committed. When Matthews and his party arrived, they found Nur-el-Din
+in the very act of leaving the inn. The landlord, Rass, was lying dead
+on the floor of the tap-room with a bullet through the temple. That
+looks to me, Des, as though Nur-el-Din had recovered the jewel!”
+
+“But Rass is a compatriot of hers,” Desmond objected.
+
+“But he was also an inconvenient witness of her dealings with
+Strangwise,” retorted Francis. “If either Nur-el-Din or Strangwise have
+regained possession of the Star of Poland, Des, I fear the worst for
+Barbara Mackwayte. Come in!”
+
+The corporal stood, saluting, at the door.
+
+“Mr. Matthews on the telephone, sir!”
+
+Francis hurried away, leaving Desmond to his thoughts, which were not
+of the most agreeable. Had he been wrong in thinking Nur-el-Din a
+victim? Was he, after all, nothing but a credulous fool who had been
+hoodwinked by a pretty woman’s play-acting? And had he sacrificed
+Barbara Mackwayte to his obstinacy and his credulousness?
+
+Francis burst suddenly into the room.
+
+“Des,” he cried, “they’ve found Miss Mackwayte’s hat on the floor of
+the tap-room... it is stained with blood...”
+
+Desmond felt himself growing pale:
+
+“And the girl herself,” he asked thickly, “what of her?”
+
+Francis shook his head.
+
+“Vanished,” he replied gravely. “Vanished utterly. Desmond,” he added,
+“we must go over to the Dyke Inn at once!”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXI.
+THE BLACK VELVET TOQUE
+
+
+Across Morsted Fen the day was breaking red and sullen. The brimming
+dykes, fringed with bare pollards, and the long sheets of water spread
+out across the lush meadows, threw back the fiery radiance of the sky
+from their gleaming surface. The tall poplars about the Dyke Inn stood
+out hard and clear in the ruddy light; beyond them the fen, stretched
+away to the flaming horizon gloomy and flat and desolate, with nothing
+higher than the stunted pollards visible against the lurid background.
+
+Upon the absolute silence of the scene there presently broke the steady
+humming of a car. A great light, paled by the dawn, came bobbing and
+sweeping, along the road that skirted the fen’s edge. A big open car
+drew up by the track and branched, off to the inn. Its four occupants
+consulted together for an instant and then alighted. Three of them were
+in plain clothes; the other was a soldier. The driver was also in
+khaki.
+
+“They’re astir, Mr. Matthews,” said one, of the plain clothes men,
+pointing towards the house, “see, there’s a light in the inn!”
+
+They followed the direction of his finger and saw a beam of yellow
+light gleaming from among the trees.
+
+“Get your guns out, boys!” said Matthews. “Give them a chance to put
+their hands up, and if they don’t obey, shoot!”
+
+Very swiftly but very quietly, the four men picked their way over the
+miry track to the little bridge leading to the yard in front of the
+inn. The light they had remarked shone from the inn door, a feeble,
+flickering light as of an expiring candle.
+
+Matthews, who was leading, halted and listened. Everything was quite
+still. Above their head the inn sign groaned uneasily as it was stirred
+by the fresh morning breeze.
+
+“You, Gordon,” whispered Matthews to the man behind him—they had
+advanced in Indian file—“take Bates and go round to the back. Harrison
+will go in by the front with me.”
+
+Even as he spoke a faint noise came from the interior of the house. The
+four men stood stock-still and listened. In the absolute stillness of
+the early morning, the sound fell distinctly on their ears. It was a
+step—a light step—descending the stairs.
+
+Gordon and the soldier detached themselves from the party as Matthews
+and the other plain clothes man crossed the bridge swiftly and went up
+to the inn door. Hardly had Matthews got his foot on the stone step of
+the threshold than, a piercing shriek resounded from the room quite
+close at hand. The next minute a flying figure burst out of the door
+and fell headlong into the arms of Matthews who was all but
+overbalanced by the force of the impact.
+
+He closed with the figure and grappled it firmly. His arms encountered
+a frail, light body, shaking from head to foot, enveloped in a cloak of
+some soft, thick material.
+
+“It’s a woman!” cried Matthews.
+
+“It’s Nur-el-Din!” exclaimed his companion in the same breath, seizing
+the woman by the arm.
+
+The dancer made no attempt to escape. She stood with bowed head,
+trembling violently, in a cowering, almost a crouching posture.
+
+Harrison, who had the woman by the arm, had turned her head so that he
+could see her face. She was deathly pale and her black eyes were wide
+open, the pupils dilated. Her teeth were chattering in her head. She
+seemed incapable of speech or motion.
+
+“Nur-el-Din?” exclaimed Matthews in accents of triumph. “Bring her in,
+Harrison, and let’s have a look at her!”
+
+But the woman recoiled in terror. She arched her body stiff, like a
+child in a passion, and strained every muscle to remain where she was
+cowering by the inn-door.
+
+“Come on, my girl,” said the man not unkindly, “don’t you ’ear wot the
+Guv’nor sez! In you go!”
+
+Then the girl screamed aloud.
+
+“No, no!” she cried, “not in that house! For the love of God, don’t
+take me back into that room! Ah! For pity’s sake, let me stay outside!
+Take me to prison but not, not into that house again!”
+
+She half fell on her knees in the mire, pleading, entreating, her body
+shaken by sobs.
+
+Then Harrison, who was an ex-Guardsman and a six-footer at that,
+plucked her off her feet and carried her, still struggling, still
+imploring with piteous cries, over the threshold into the house:
+Matthews followed behind.
+
+The shutters of the tap-room were still closed. Only a strip of the
+dirty floor, strewn with sawdust, was illuminated by a bar of reddish
+light from the daybreak outside. On the table a candle, burnt down to
+the socket of its brass candlestick, flared and puttered in a riot of
+running wax. Half in the bar of daylight from outside, half in the
+darkness beyond the open door, against which the flickering candlelight
+struggled feebly, lay the body of a yellow-faced, undersized man with a
+bullet wound through the temple.
+
+Without effort Harrison deposited his light burden on her feet by the
+table. Instantly, the girl fled, like some frightened animal of the
+woods, to the farthest corner of the room. Here she dropped sobbing on
+her knees, rocking herself to and fro in a sort of paroxysm of
+hysteria. Harrison moved quickly round the table after her; but he was
+checked by a cry from Matthews who was kneeling by the body.
+
+“Let her be,” said Matthews, “she’s scared of this and no wonder! Come
+here a minute, Harrison, and see if you know, this chap!”
+
+Harrison crossed the room and looked down at the still figure. He
+whistled softly.
+
+“My word!” he said, “but he copped it all right, sir! Ay, I know him
+well enough! He’s Rass, the landlord of this pub, that’s who he is, as
+harmless a sort of chap as ever was! Who did it, d’you think, sir?”
+
+Matthews, who had been going through the dead man’s pockets, now rose
+to his feet.
+
+“Nothing worth writing home about there,” he said half aloud. Then to
+Harrison, he added: “That’s what we’ve got to discover... hullo, who’s
+this?”
+
+The door leading from the bar to the tap-room was thrust open. Gordon
+put his head in.
+
+“I left Bates on guard outside, sir,” he said in answer to an
+interrogatory glance from Matthews, “I’ve been all over the ground
+floor and there’s not a soul here...”
+
+He checked himself suddenly.
+
+“God bless my soul!” he exclaimed, his eyes on the figure crouching in
+the corner, “you don’t mean to say you’ve got her? A pretty dance she
+led Dug and myself! Well, sir, it looks to me like a good night’s
+work!”.
+
+Matthews smiled a self-satisfied smile.
+
+“I fancy the Chief will be pleased,” he said, “though the rest of ’em
+seem to have given us the slip. Gordon, you might take a look
+upstairs—that door in the corner leads to the upper rooms, I
+fancy—whilst I’m telephoning to Mr. Okewood. He must know about this
+without delay. You, Harrison, keep an eye on the girl!”
+
+He went through the door leading into the bar, and they heard him
+speaking on the telephone which hung on the wall behind the counter. He
+returned presently with a white tablecloth which he threw over the
+prostrate figure on the floor.
+
+Then he turned to the dancer.
+
+“Stand up,” he said sternly, “I want to speak to you.”
+
+Nur-el-Din cast a frightened glance over her shoulder at the floor
+beside the table where Rass lay. On seeing the white pall that hid him
+from view, she became somewhat reassured. She rose unsteadily to her
+feet and stood facing Matthews.
+
+“In virtue of the powers conferred upon me by the Defence of the Realm
+Acts, I arrest you for espionage... Matthews rolled off in glib,
+official gabble the formula of arrest ending with the usual caution
+that anything the prisoner might say might be used against her at her
+trial. Then he said to Harrison:
+
+“Better put them on her, Harrison!”
+
+The plain clothes man took a pace forward and touched the dancer’s
+slender wrists, there was a click and she was handcuffed.
+
+“Now take her in there,” said Matthews pointing to the bar. “There’s no
+exit except by this room. And don’t take your eyes off her. You
+understand? Mr. Okewood will be along presently with a female
+searcher.”
+
+“Sir!” said the plain clothes man with military precision and touched
+the dancer on the shoulder. Without a word she turned and followed him
+into the bar.
+
+Gordon entered by the door at the end of the room.
+
+“I’d like you to have a look upstairs, sir,” he said to Matthews,
+“there’s not a soul in the house, but somebody has been locked up in
+one of the rooms. The door is still locked but one of the panels has
+been forced out. I think you ought to see it!”
+
+The two men passed out of the tap-room together, and mounted the
+stairs. On the landing Matthews paused a moment to glance out of the
+window on to the bleak and inhospitable fen which was almost obscured
+from view by a heavy drizzle of rain.
+
+“Brr!” said Mr. Matthews, “what a horrible place!”
+
+Looking up the staircase from the landing, they could see that one of
+the panels of the door facing the head of the stairs had been pressed
+out and lay on the ground. They passed up the stairs and Matthews,
+putting one arm and his head through the opening, found himself gazing
+into that selfsame ugly sitting room where Desmond had talked with
+Nur-el-Din.
+
+A couple of vigorous heaves burst the fastening of the door. The
+sitting-room was in the wildest confusion. The doors of the sideboard
+stood wide with its contents scattered higgledy-piggledy on the carpet.
+A chest of drawers in the corner had been ransacked, some of the
+drawers having been taken bodily out and emptied on the floor.
+
+The door leading to the inner room stood open and showed that a similar
+search had been conducted there as well. The inner room proved to be a
+bare white-washed place, very plainly furnished as a bedroom. On the
+floor stood a small attaché case, and beside it a little heap of
+miscellaneous articles such as a woman would take away with her for a
+weekend, a crêpe-de-chine nightdress, a dainty pair of bedroom slippers
+and some silver-mounted toilet fittings. From these things Matthews
+judged that this had been Nur-el-Din’s bedroom.
+
+The two men spent a long time going through the litter with which the
+floor in the bedroom and sitting room was strewed. But their labors
+were vain, and they turned their attention to the remaining rooms, of
+which there were three.
+
+The first room they visited, adjoining Nur-el-Din’s bedroom, was
+scarcely better than an attic. It contained in the way of furniture
+little else than a truckle-bed, a washstand, a table and a chair.
+Women’s clothes were hanging on hooks behind the door. The place looked
+like a servant’s bedroom.
+
+They pursued their search. Across the corridor two rooms stood side by
+side. One proved to be Rass’s. His clothes lay about the room, and on a
+table in the corner, where writing materials stood, were various
+letters and bills made out in his name.
+
+The other room had also been occupied; for the bed was made and turned
+back for the night and there were clean towels on the washstand. But
+there was no clue as to its occupant save for a double-barreled gun
+which stood in the corner. It had evidently been recently used; for
+fresh earth was adhering to the stock and the barrel, though otherwise
+clean, showed traces of freshly-burnt powder.
+
+There being nothing further to glean upstairs, the two men went down to
+the tap-room again. As Matthews came through the door leading from the
+staircase his eye caught a dark object which lay on the floor under the
+long table. He fished it out with his stick.
+
+It was a small black velvet toque with a band of white and black silk
+flowers round it. In one part the white flowers were besmeared with a
+dark brown stain.
+
+Matthews stared at the little hat in his hand with puckered brows. Then
+he called to Gordon.
+
+“Do you know that hat?” he asked, holding it up for the man to see.
+
+Gordon shook his head.
+
+“I might have seen it,” he replied, “but I don’t take much account of
+such things, Mr. Matthews, being a married man...”
+
+“Tut, tut,” fussed Matthews, “I think you have seen it. Come, think of
+the office for a minute!”
+
+“Of the office?” repeated Gordon. Then he exclaimed suddenly:
+
+“Miss Mackwayte!”
+
+“Exactly,” answered Matthews, “it’s her hat, I recall it perfectly. She
+wore it very often to the office. Look at the blood on it!”
+
+He put the hat down on the table and ran into the bar where Nur-el-Din
+sat immobile on her chair, wrapped in a big overcoat of some soft
+blanket cloth in dark green, her chin sunk on her breast.
+
+Matthews called up the Mill House and asked for Francis Okewood. When
+he mentioned the finding of Barbara Mackwayte’s hat, the dancer raised
+her head and cast a frightened glance at Matthews. But she said nothing
+and when Matthews turned from the telephone to go back to the tap-room
+she had resumed her former listless attitude.
+
+Matthews and Gordon made a thorough search of the kitchen and back
+premises without finding anything of note. They had just finished when
+the sound of a car outside attracted their attention. On the road
+beyond the little bridge outside the inn Francis and Desmond Okewood
+were standing, helping a woman to alight. Francis was still wearing his
+scarecrow-like apparel, while Desmond, with his beard and pale face and
+bandaged head, looked singularly unlike the trim Brigade Major who had
+come home on leave only a week or so before.
+
+Matthews went out to meet them and, addressing the woman—a
+brisk-looking person--as Mrs. Butterworth, informed her that it was
+shocking weather. Then he led the way into the inn.
+
+The first thing that Desmond saw was the little toque with the brown
+stain on its flowered band lying on the table. Francis picked it up,
+turned it over and laid it down again.
+
+“Where did you find it?” he asked Matthews. The latter informed him of
+the circumstances of the discovery. Then Francis, sending the searcher
+in to Nur-el-Din in the bar, pointed to the body on the floor.
+
+“Let’s have a look at that!” he said.
+
+Matthews removed the covering and the three men gazed at the set face
+of the dead man. There was a clean bullet wound in the right temple.
+Matthews showed the papers he had taken off the body and exchanged a
+few, words in a low tone with Francis. There is something about the
+presence of death which impels respect whatever the circumstances.
+
+Five minutes later Mrs. Butterworth came out of the bar. In her hands
+she held a miscellaneous assortment of articles, a small gold chain
+purse, a pair of gloves, a gold cigarette case, a tiny handkerchief,
+and a long blue envelope. She put all the articles down on the tables
+save the envelope which she handed to Francis.
+
+“This was in the lining of her overcoat, sir,” she said.
+
+Francis took the envelope and broke the seal. He drew out half a dozen
+sheets of thin paper, folded lengthwise. Leisurely he unfolded them,
+but he had hardly glanced at the topmost sheet than he turned to the
+next and the next until he had run through the whole bunch. Desmond,
+peering over his shoulder, caught a glimpse of rows of figures, very
+neatly set out in a round hand and knew that he was looking at a
+message in cipher code.
+
+The door at the end of the tap-room was flung open and a soldier came
+in quickly.
+
+He stopped irresolute on seeing the group.
+
+“Well, Bates,” said Matthews.
+
+“There’s a woman lying dead in the cellar back yonder,” said the man,
+jerking his thumb over his shoulder.
+
+“The cellar?” cried Matthews.
+
+“Yes, sir... I think you must ha’ overlooked it.”
+
+Francis, Desmond and Matthews exchanged a brief glance. A name was on
+the lips of each one of them but none dared speak it. Then, leaving
+Harrison and Mrs. Butterworth with Nur-el-Din, the three men followed
+the soldier and hurriedly quitted the room.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXII.
+WHAT THE CELLAR REVEALED
+
+
+On opening the door at the farther end of the tap-room they saw before
+them a trap-door standing wide with a shallow flight of wooden steps
+leading to the darkness below. Bates pointed with his foot to a square
+of linoleum which lay on one side.
+
+“That was covering the trap,” he said, “I wouldn’t ha’ noticed nothing
+out of the ordinary myself only I slipped, see, and kicked this bit o’
+ilecloth away and there was the ring of the trap staring me in the
+face, as you might say. Show us a light here, Gordon!”
+
+Gordon handed him an electric torch. He flashed it down the stair. It
+fell upon something like a heap of black clothes huddled up at the foot
+of the ladder.
+
+“Is it Miss Mackwayte?” whispered Francis to his brother. “I’ve never
+seen her, you know!”
+
+“I can’t tell,” Desmond whispered back, “until I see her face.”
+
+He advanced to descend the ladder but Matthews was before him.
+Producing an electric torch from his pocket, Matthews slipped down the
+stair with Gordon close behind. There was a pause, so tense that it
+seemed an eternity to Desmond, as he waited half-way down the ladder
+with the musty smell of the cellar in his nostrils. Then Matthews
+cried:
+
+“It’s not her!”
+
+“Let me look!” Gordon broke in. Then Desmond heard him exclaim.
+
+“It’s Nur-el-Din’s French maid! It’s Marie... she’s been stabbed in the
+back!”
+
+Desmond suddenly felt rather sick. This progress from one deed of
+violence to another revolted him. The others crowded into the cellar;
+but he did not follow them. He remained at the top of the trap, leaning
+against the wall, trying to collect his thoughts.
+
+Barbara Mackwayte was now his sole preoccupation. If anything had
+happened to her,—it was through his fault alone; for he began to feel
+sure she must have come to the Mill House in his absence. What then had
+become of her? The blood-stained toque pointed to foul play. But if
+they had murdered her, what had they done with the body?
+
+His thoughts flew back to his interview with Nur-el-Din upstairs on the
+previous afternoon. He remembered the entrance of the maid and the
+dancer’s hurried exit. Might not Marie have come to tell her that
+Barbara Mackwayte was below asking for her? It was very shortly after
+this interruption that, crouching on the roof of the shed, he had heard
+that muffled cry from the house and seen Rass enter the bar and speak
+with Strangwise. He had seen, too, the maid, Marie, in earnest
+conversation with Strangwise by the back gate on the fen. Had both
+Marie and Rass been in league with Strangwise against the dancer? And
+had Nur-el-Din discovered their treachery? His mind refused to follow
+these deductions to their logical sequence; for, black as things looked
+against Nur-el-Din, he could not bring himself to believe her a
+murderess.
+
+But now there were footsteps on the ladder. They were all coming out of
+the cellar again. As soon as Francis saw Desmond’s face, he caught his
+brother by the arm and said:
+
+“The open air for you, my boy! You look as if you’d seen a ghost! I
+should have remembered all you’ve gone through!”
+
+He walked him quickly through the tap-room and out through the inn door
+into the yard.
+
+The rain had ceased and the sun was making a brave attempt to shine
+through the clouds. The cold air did Desmond good and after a turn or
+two in the yard, arm in arm with Francis, he felt considerably better.
+
+“Where is Miss Mackwayte?” he asked.
+
+“Des,” said his brother, “I don’t know and I don’t want to
+cross-examine Nur-el-Din in there until I have reasoned out some theory
+which will fit Miss Mackwayte in her place in this horrible affair. The
+men have gone to search the outhouses and precincts of the inn to see
+if they can find any traces of her body, but I don’t think they will
+find anything. I believe that Miss Mackwayte is alive.”
+
+“Alive?” said Desmond.
+
+“The blood on that toque of hers might have been Rass’s. There is a
+good deal of blood on the floor. You see, I still think Miss
+Mackwayte’s safety depends on that jewel not being recovered by either
+Strangwise or Nur-el-Din. Strangwise, we know, has lost the jewel and
+there is no trace of it here: moreover, we know that, as late as
+yesterday afternoon, Nur-el-Din did not have it. Therefore, she cannot
+have sent it away! I am inclined to believe, too, that Strangwise,
+before going over to the Mill House last night, carried off Miss
+Mackwayte somewhere with the aid of Rass and Marie, who were evidently
+his accomplices, in order to find out from her where the jewel is
+concealed...”
+
+“But Miss Mackwayte cannot know what has become of it,” objected
+Desmond.
+
+“Maybe not,” retorted his brother, “but both Strangwise and Nur-el-Din
+know that the jewel was originally entrusted to her charge. Nur-el-Din
+did not, it is true, tell Miss Mackwayte what the silver box contained
+but the latter may have found out, at least the dancer might suppose
+so; while Strangwise might think the same. Therefore, both Strangwise
+and Nur-el-Din had an interest in detaining Miss Mackwayte, and I think
+Strangwise forestalled the dancer. When Nur-el-Din discovered it, both
+Rass and her maid paid the penalty of their betrayal.”
+
+They walked once up and down the yard before Desmond replied.
+
+“Francis,” he said, “you remember Nur-el-Din’s story—I told it to you
+just as I had it from her.”
+
+“Perfectly,” answered his brother.
+
+“Well,” Desmond went on deliberately, “I think that story gives us the
+right measure of Nur-el-Din’s, character. She may be vain, she may be
+without morals, she may be weak, she may be an adventuress, but she’s
+not a murderess. If anything, she’s a victim!”
+
+Francis laughed shortly.
+
+“Victim be damned!” he cried. “Man alive,” he went on, “how can you
+talk such nonsense in face of the evidence, with this bloody-minded
+woman’s victims hardly cold yet? But, horrible as these murders are,
+the private squabbles of this gang of spies represent neither your
+interest nor mine in this case. For us the fact remains that
+Nur-el-Din, besides being a monster of iniquity, is the heart and soul
+and vitals of the whole conspiracy!”
+
+Jaded and nervous, Desmond felt a quick sting of resentment at his
+brother’s tone. Why should Francis thus lay down the law to him about
+Nur-el-Din? Francis knew nothing of the girl or her antecedents while
+he, Desmond, flattered himself that he had at least located the place
+she occupied in this dark conspiracy. And he cried out vehemently:
+
+“You’re talking like a fool! I grant you that Nur-el-Din has been mixed
+up with this spy crowd; but she herself stands absolutely apart from
+the organization...”
+
+“Half a minute!” put in Francis, “aren’t you forgetting that blue
+envelope we took off her just now?”
+
+“What about it?” asked Desmond sharply.
+
+“Merely this; the cipher is in five figure groups, addressed to a four
+figure group and signed by a six figure group...”
+
+“Well?”
+
+“That happens to be the current secret code of the German Great General
+Staff. If you were to tap a German staff message out in France to-day,
+ten to one it would be in that code. Curious coincidence, isn’t it?”
+
+When one is angry, to be baffled in argument does not have a sedative
+effect as a rule. If we were all philosophers it might; but being
+merely human beings, cold reason acts on the inflamed temperament as a
+red rag is said to affect a bull.
+
+Desmond, sick with the sense of failure and his anxiety about Barbara,
+was in no mood to listen to reason. The cold logic of his brother
+infuriated him mainly because Desmond knew that Francis was right.
+
+“I don’t care a damn for the evidence,” vociferated Desmond; “It may
+look black against Nur-el-Din; I daresay it does; but I have met and
+talked to this girl and I tell you again that she is not a principal in
+this affair but a victim!”
+
+“You talk as if you were in love with the woman!” Francis said
+mockingly.
+
+Desmond went rather white.
+
+“If pity is a form of love,” he replied in a low voice, “then I am, for
+God knows I never pitied any woman as I pity Nur-el-Din! Only you, I
+suppose,” he added bitterly, “are too much of the policeman, Francis,
+to appreciate anything like that!” Hot tempers run in families and
+Francis flared up on the instant.
+
+“I may be a policeman, as you say,” he retorted, “but I’ve got enough
+sense of my duty, I hope, not to allow sentimentality to interfere with
+my orders!”
+
+It was a shrewd thrust and it caught Desmond on the raw.
+
+“I’m sick of arguing here,” he said hotly, “if you’re so mighty clever,
+you’d better shoot Nur-el-Din first and arrest Strangwise afterwards.
+Then you’ll find out which of us two is right!”
+
+He turned on his heel and started for the little bridge leading out
+onto the fen.
+
+Francis stood still a moment watching him, then ran after him. He
+caught up with Desmond as the latter reached the bridge.
+
+“Desmond!” he said, pleadingly.
+
+“Oh, go to hell!” retorted the other savagely, whereupon Francis turned
+his back on him and walked back to the inn.
+
+A car had stopped by the bridge and a man was getting out of it as
+Desmond moved towards the fen. The next moment he found himself face to
+face with the Chief.
+
+The Chief’s face was hard and cold and stern. There was a furrow
+between his eyes which deepened when he recognized Desmond.
+
+“Well,” he said curtly, “and where is my secretary?”
+
+“I don’t know,” Desmond faltered.
+
+“Why are you here, then?” came back in that hard, uncompromising voice.
+
+Desmond was about to reply; but the other checked him.
+
+“I know all you have to say,” he resumed, “but no excuse you can offer
+can explain away the disappearance of Miss Mackwayte. Your orders were
+formal to remain at home. You saw fit to disobey them and thereby,
+maybe, sent Miss Mackwayte to her death. No!” he added, seeing that
+Desmond was about to expostulate, “I want to hear nothing from you.
+However obscure the circumstances of Miss Mackwayte’s disappearance may
+be, one fact is perfectly clear, namely, that she went to the Mill
+House, as she was ordered and you were not there. For no man or woman
+in my service ever dares to disobey an order I have given.”
+
+“Chief...” Desmond broke in, but again that inexorable voice
+interposed.
+
+“I will hear nothing from you,” said the Chief, “it is a rule of mine
+never to interfere with my men in their work or to see them until their
+mission has been successfully completed. When you have found Miss
+Mackwayte I will hear you but not before!”
+
+Desmond drew himself up.
+
+“In that case, sir,” he said stiffly, “I will bid you good morning. And
+I trust you will hear from me very soon again!”
+
+He walked over to one of the cars waiting outside the inn, spoke a word
+to the driver and got in. The driver started the engine and presently
+the car was bumping slowly along the muddy track to the main road.
+
+The Chief stood looking after him.
+
+“Well,” he murmured to himself. “I soaked it into him pretty hard; but
+he took it like a brick. I do believe he’ll find her yet!”
+
+He shook his head sagely and continued on his way across the yard.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIII.
+MRS. MALPLAQUET GOES DOWN TO THE CELLAR
+
+
+In the age of chivalry woman must have been built of sterner stuff than
+the girl of to-day. At least, we read in medieval romance of fair
+ladies who, after being knocked down by a masterful suitor and carried
+off across his saddle bow thirty or forty miles, are yet able to
+appear, cold but radiantly beautiful, at the midnight wedding and the
+subsequent marriage feast.
+
+But this is a romance of the present day, the age of nerves and high
+velocity. Barbara Mackwayte, strong and plucky as she was, after being
+half throttled and violently thrown into the cellar of the Dyke Inn,
+suddenly gave way under the strain and conveniently evaded facing the
+difficulties of her position by fainting clear away.
+
+The precise moment when she came out of her swoon she never knew. The
+cellar was dark; but it was nothing compared to the darkness enveloping
+her mind. She lay there on the damp and mouldy straw, hardly able,
+scarcely wanting, to move, overwhelmed by the extraordinary adventure
+which had befallen her. Was this to be the end of the pleasant trip
+into the country on which she had embarked so readily only a few hours
+before? She tried to remember that within twenty miles of her were
+policemen and taxis and lights and all the attributes of our present
+day civilization; but her thoughts always returned, with increasing
+horror, to that undersized yellow-faced man in the room above, to the
+face of Nur-el-Din, dark and distorted with passion.
+
+A light shining down the cellar stairs drew her attention to the
+entrance. The woman she had already seen and in whom she now recognized
+Marie, the dancer’s maid, was descending, a tray in her hand. She
+placed the tray on the ground without a word, then went up the stairs
+again and fetched the lamp. She put the lamp down by the tray and,
+stooping, cut the ropes that fastened Barbara’s hands and feet.
+
+“So, Mademoiselle,” she said, drawing herself erect with a grunt, “your
+supper: some tea and meat!”
+
+She pulled a dirty deal box from a corner of the cellar and put the
+tray upon it. Then she rose to her feet and sat down. The maid watched
+Barbara narrowly while she ate a piece of bread and drank the tea.
+
+“At least,” thought Barbara to herself, “they don’t mean to starve me!”
+
+The tea was hot and strong; and it did her good. It seemed to clear her
+faculties, too; for her brain began to busy itself with the problem of
+escaping from her extraordinary situation.
+
+“Mademoiselle was a leetle too clevaire,” said the maid with an evil
+leer,—“she would rob Madame, would she? She would play the _espionne,
+hein? Eh bien, ma petite_, you stay ’ere ontil you say what you lave
+done wiz ze box of Madame!”
+
+“Why do you say I have stolen the box?” protested Barbara, “when I tell
+you I know nothing of it. It was stolen from me by the man who killed
+my father. More than that I don’t know. You don’t surely think I would
+conspire to kill” her voice trembled—“my father, to get possession of
+this silver box that means nothing to me!”
+
+Marie laughed cynically.
+
+“_Ma foi_,” she cried, “when one is a spy, one will stop at nothing!
+But _tiens_, here is Madame!”
+
+Nur-el-Din picked her way carefully down the steps, the yellow-faced
+man behind her. He had a pistol in his hand. The dancer said something
+in French to her maid who picked up the tray and departed.
+
+“Now, Mademoiselle,” said Nur-el-Din, “you see this pistol. Rass here
+will use it if you make any attempt to escape. You understand me,
+_hein?_ I come to give you a las’ chance to say where you ’ave my
+box...”
+
+Barbara looked at the dancer defiantly.
+
+“I’ve told you already I know nothing about it. You, if any one, should
+be better able to say what has become of it...”
+
+“_Quoi?_” exclaimed Nur-el-Din in genuine surprise, “_comment?_”
+
+“Because,” said Barbara, “a long black hair—one of your hairs—was found
+adhering to the straps with which I was fastened!”
+
+“_Tiens!_” said the dancer, her black eyes wide with surprise,
+“_tiens!_”
+
+She was silent for a minute, lost in thought. The man, Rass, suddenly
+cocked his ear towards the staircase and said something to Nur-el-Din
+in the same foreign tongue which Barbara had heard them employ before.
+
+The dancer made a gesture, bidding him to be silent.
+
+“He was at my dressing-table that night;” she murmured in French, as
+though to herself, “then it was he who did it!”
+
+She spoke rapidly to Barbara.
+
+“This man who tied you up... you didn’t see him?”
+
+Barbara shook her head.
+
+“I could see nothing; I don’t even know that it was a man. He seized me
+so suddenly that in the dark I could distinguish nothing... it might
+have been a woman... yourself, for instance, for all I know!”
+
+Nur-el-Din clasped her hands together.
+
+“It was he, himself, then,” she whispered, “I might have known. Yet he
+has not got it here!”
+
+Heavy footsteps resounded in the room above. Rass cried out something
+swiftly to the dancer, thrust the pistol into her hands, and dashed up
+the ladder. The next moment there was a loud report followed by the
+thud of a heavy body falling. Somewhere in the rooms above a woman
+screamed.
+
+Nur-el-Din’s hands flew to her face and the pistol crashed to the
+ground. Two men appeared at the head of the cellar stairs. One was
+Strangwise, in uniform, the other was Bellward.
+
+“They’re both here!” said Strangwise over his shoulder to Bellward.
+
+“Ah, thank God, you’ve come!” cried Barbara, running to the foot of the
+ladder.
+
+Strangwise brushed past her and caught Nur-el-Din by the arm.
+
+“Run her upstairs,” he said quickly to Bellward who had followed behind
+him, “and lock her in her room. I’ve seen to the rest. You, Miss
+Mackwayte,” he added to Barbara, “you will come with us!”
+
+Barbara was staring in fascination at Bellward. She had never believed
+that any disguise could be so baffling, so complete; Major Okewood, she
+thought, looked like a different man.
+
+But Bellward had grasped the dancer by the two arms and forced her up
+the stairs in front of him. Nur-el-Din seemed too overcome with terror
+to utter a sound.
+
+“Oh, don’t be so rough with her, Major Okewood!” entreated Barbara,
+“you’ll hurt her!”
+
+She had her back turned to Strangwise so she missed the very remarkable
+change that came over his features at her words.
+
+“Okewood,” he whispered but too low for the girl to distinguish the
+words, “Okewood? I might have guessed! I might have guessed!” Then he
+touched Barbara lightly on the shoulder.
+
+“Come,” he said, “we must be getting upstairs. We have much to do!”
+
+He gently impelled her towards the ladder up which Bellward and
+Nur-el-Din had already disappeared. At the top, he took the lead and
+conducted Barbara into the taproom. A single candle stood on the table,
+throwing a wan light into the room. Rass lay on his back in the centre
+of the floor, one hand doubled up under him, one knee slightly drawn
+up.
+
+Barbara started back in horror.
+
+“Is he... is he...” she stammered, pointing at the limp still form.
+
+Strangwise nodded.
+
+“A spy!” he said gravely, “we were well rid of him. Go over there in
+the corner where you won’t see it. Stay!” he added, seeing how pale the
+girl had become, “you shall have some brandy!”
+
+He produced a flask and measured her out, a portion in the cup.
+Suddenly, the door leading from the bar opened and a woman came into
+the room. Her black velvet dress, her gray hair and general air of
+distinction made her a bizarre figure in that squalid room lit by the
+guttering candle.
+
+“Time we were off!” she said to Strangwise, “Bellward’s just coming
+down!”
+
+“There’s the maid...” began Strangwise, looking meaningly at Barbara.
+
+The woman in black velvet cast a questioning glance at him.
+
+Strangwise nodded.
+
+“I’ll do it,” said the woman promptly, “if you’ll call her down!”
+
+Strangwise went to the other door of the tap-room and called:
+
+“Marie!”
+
+There was a step outside and the maid came in, pale and trembling.
+
+“Your mistress wants you; she is downstairs in the cellar,” he said
+pleasantly.
+
+Marie hesitated an instant and surveyed the group.
+
+“_Non, non_,” she said nervously, “_je n’veux pas descendre!_”
+
+Strangwise smiled, showing his teeth.
+
+“No need to be frightened, _ma fille_,” he replied. “Madame here will
+go down with you!” and he pointed to the woman in black velvet.
+
+This seemed to reassure the maid and she walked across the room to the
+door, the woman following her. As the latter passed Strangwise he
+whispered a word in her ear.
+
+“No, no,” answered the other, “I prefer my own way,” and she showed him
+something concealed in her hand.
+
+The two women quitted the room together, leaving Strangwise and Barbara
+alone with the thing on the floor. Strangwise picked up a military
+great-coat which was hanging over the back of a chair and put it on,
+buttoning it all the way up the front and turning up the collar about
+the neck. Then he crammed a cap on his head and stood listening
+intently.
+
+A high, gurgling scream, abruptly checked, came through the open door
+at the farther end of the room.
+
+Barbara sprang up from the chair into which she had sunk.
+
+“_What was that?_” she asked, whispering.
+
+Strangwise did not reply. He was still listening, a tall, well set-up
+figure in the long khaki great-coat.
+
+“But those two women are alone in the cellar,” exclaimed Barbara, “they
+are being murdered! Ah! what was that?”
+
+A gentle thud resounded from below.
+
+A man came in through the door leading from the bar:
+
+He had a fat, smooth-shaven face, heavily jowled.
+
+“All ready, Bellward?” asked Strangwise carelessly.
+
+Barbara stared at the man thus addressed. She saw that he was wearing
+the same clothes as the man who had come down into the cellar with
+Strangwise but the beard was gone. And the man she saw before her was
+not Desmond Okewood.
+
+Without waiting to reason out the metamorphosis, she ran towards
+Bellward.
+
+“They’re murdering those two women down in the cellar,” she cried, “oh,
+what has happened? Won’t you go down and see?”
+
+Bellward shook her off roughly.
+
+“Neat work!” said Strangwise.
+
+“She’s a wonder with the knife!” agreed the other.
+
+Barbara stamped her foot.
+
+“If neither of you men have the courage to go down,” she cried, “then
+I’ll go alone! As for you, Captain Strangwise, a British officer...”
+
+She never finished the sentence. Strangwise caught her by the shoulder
+and thrust the cold barrel of a pistol in her face.
+
+“Stay where you are!” he commanded. “And if you scream I shoot!”
+
+Barbara was silent, dumb with horror and bewilderment, rather than with
+fear. A light shone through the open door at the end of the tap-room
+and the woman in black velvet appeared, carrying a lamp in her hand.
+She was breathing rather hard and her carefully arranged gray hair was
+a little untidy; but she was quite calm and self-possessed.
+
+“We haven’t a moment to lose!” she said, putting the lamp down on the
+table and blowing it out.
+
+“Bellward, give me my cloak!”
+
+Bellward advanced with a fur cloak and wrapped it about her shoulders.
+
+“You are the perfect artiste, Minna,” he said.
+
+“Practise makes perfect!” replied Mrs. Malplaquet archly.
+
+Strangwise had flung open the door leading to the front yard. A big
+limousine stood outside.
+
+“Come on,” he said impatiently, “don’t stand there gossiping you two!”
+
+Then Barbara revolted.
+
+“I’ll not go!” she exclaimed, “you can do what you like but I’ll stay
+where I am! Murderers...”
+
+“Oh,” said Strangwise wearily, “bring her along, Bellward!”
+
+Bellward and the woman seized the girl one by each arm and dragged her
+to the car. Strangwise had the door open and between them they thrust
+her in. Bellward and the woman mounted after her while Strangwise,
+after starting the engine, sprang into the driving-seat outside. With a
+low hum the big car glided forth into the cold, starry night.
+
+From the upper floor of the Dyke Inn came the sound of a woman’s
+terrified sobs. Below there reigned the silence of death.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIV.
+THE TWO DESERTERS
+
+
+Desmond drove to Wentfield Station in an angry and defiant mood. He was
+incensed against Francis, incensed against the Chief, yet, if the truth
+were told, most of all incensed against himself.
+
+Not that he admitted it for a moment. He told himself that he was very
+hardly used. He had undergone considerable danger in the course of
+discharging a mission which was none of his seeking, and he had met
+with nothing but taunts from his brother and abuse from the Chief.
+
+“I wash my hands of the whole thing,” Desmond declared, as he paced the
+platform at Wentfield waiting for his train. “As Francis is so precious
+cocksure about it all, let him carry on in my place! He’s welcome to
+the Chief’s wiggings! The Chief won’t get me to do his dirty work again
+in a hurry! That’s flat!”
+
+Yet all the while the little gimlet that men call conscience was
+patiently drilling its way through the wall of obduracy behind which
+Desmond’s wounded pride had taken cover. Rail as he would against his
+hard treatment at the hands of the Chief, he knew perfectly well that
+he could never wash his hands of his mission until Barbara Mackwayte
+had been brought back into safety. This thought kept thrusting itself
+forward into the foreground of his mind; and he had to focus his
+attention steadfastly on his grievances to push it back again.
+
+But we puny mortals are all puppets in the hands of Fate. Even as the
+train was bearing Desmond, thus rebellious, Londonwards, Destiny was
+already pulling the strings which was to force the “quitter” back into
+the path he had forsaken. For this purpose Fate had donned the disguise
+of a dirty-faced man in a greasy old suit and a spotted handkerchief in
+lieu of collar... but of him presently.
+
+On arriving at Liverpool Street, Desmond, painfully conscious of his
+unkempt appearance, took a taxi to a Turkish bath in the West End.
+There his first care was to submit himself to the hands of the barber
+who, after a glance at his client’s bandaged head, muddy clothes and
+shaggy beard, coughed ominously and relapsed into a most unbarber-like
+reserve.
+
+Desmond heard the cough and caught the look of commiseration on the
+man’s face.
+
+“I rather think I want a shave!” he said, weakly. “I rather think you
+do, sir!” replied the man, busy with his lather.
+
+“... Had a nasty accident,” murmured Desmond, “I fell down and cut my
+head...”
+
+“We’re used to that here, sir,” answered the barber, “but the bath’ll
+make you as right as, rain. W’y we ’ad a genel’man in ’ere, only lars’
+week it was, as ’adn’t been ’ome for five days and nights and the coat
+mos tore off ’is back along with a bit of turn-up ’e’d ’at one o’ them
+night clubs. And drunk!... w’y ’e went to bite the rubber, so they wos
+tellin’ me! But, bless you, ’e ’ad a nice shave and a couple of hours
+in the bath and a bit of a nap; we got him his clothes as was tore
+mended up fine for ’im and ’e went ’ome as sober as a judge and as
+fresh as a daisy!”
+
+Desmond had it in his mind to protest against this material
+interpretation of his disreputable state; but the sight in the mirror
+of his ignominiously scrubby and battered appearance silenced him. The
+barber’s explanation was as good as any, seeing that he himself could
+give no satisfactory account of the circumstances which had reduced him
+to his sorry pass. So Desmond held his peace though he felt constrained
+to reject the barber’s offer of a pick-me-up.
+
+From the shaving saloon, Desmond sent a messenger out for some clothes,
+and for the next three hours amused himself by exhausting the resources
+of the Turkish bath. Finally, about the hour of noon, he found himself,
+considerably refreshed, swathed in towel, reposing on a couch, a cup of
+coffee at his elbow and that morning’s _Daily Telegraph_ spread out
+before him.
+
+Advertisements, so the experts say, are printed on the front and back
+of newspapers in order to catch the eye of the indolent, on the chance
+that having exhausted the news, they may glance idly over the front and
+back of the paper before laying it aside. So Desmond, before he even
+troubled to open his paper, let his gaze wander down the second column
+of the front page whence issue daily those anguishing appeals,
+mysterious messages, heart-rending entreaties and barefaced begging
+advertisements which give this column its characteristic name.
+
+There his eye fell on an advertisement couched in the following terms:
+
+“If Gunner Martin Barling, 1820th Battery, R.F.C., will communicate
+with Messrs. Mills & Cheyne, solicitors 130 Bedford Row, W. C., he will
+hear of something to his advantage. Difficulties with the military can
+be arranged.”
+
+
+Desmond read this advertisement over once and then, starting at the
+beginning, read it over again. Gunner Barling... the name conjured up a
+picture of a jolly, sun-burned man, always very spick and span, talking
+the strange lingo of our professional army gleaned from India, Aden,
+Malta and the Rock, the type of British soldier that put the Retreat
+from Mons into the history books for all time.
+
+Advertisements like this; Desmond reflected dreamily, meant legacies as
+a rule; he was glad of it, for the sake of Barling whom he hadn’t seen
+since the far-away days of Aldershot before the war.
+
+“Buzzer” Barling was the brother of one Private Henry Barling who had
+been Desmond’s soldier-servant. He derived the nickname of “Buzzer”
+from the fact that he was a signaller. As the vicissitudes of service
+had separated the two brothers for many years, they had profited by the
+accident of finding themselves at the same station to see as much of
+one another as possible, and Desmond had frequently come across the
+gunner at his quarters in barracks. Henry Barling had gone out to
+France with Desmond but a sniper in the wood at Villers Cotterets had
+deprived Desmond of the best servant and the truest friend he had ever
+had. Now here was Henry’s brother cropping up again. Desmond hoped that
+“Buzzer” Barling would see the advertisement, and half asleep, formed a
+mental resolve to cut out the notice and send it to the gunner who, he
+felt glad to think, was still alive. The rather curiously worded
+reference to difficulties with the military must mean, Desmond thought,
+that leave could be obtained for Martin Barling to come home and
+collect his legacy.
+
+At this point the _Daily Telegraph_ fell to the ground and Desmond went
+off to sleep. When he awoke, the afternoon hush had fallen upon the
+bath. He seemed to be the only occupant of the cubicles. His clothes
+which had arrived from the shop during his slumbers, were very neatly
+laid out on a couch opposite him.
+
+He dressed himself leisurely. The barber was quite right. The bath had
+made a new man of him. Save for a large bump on the back of his head he
+was none the worse for Strangwise’s savage blow. The attendant having
+packed Bellward’s apparel in the suit-case in which Desmond’s clothes
+had come from the club, Desmond left the suit-case in the man’s charge
+and strolled out into the soft air of a perfect afternoon. He had
+discarded his bandage and in his well fitting blue suit and brown boots
+he was not recognizable as the scrubby wretch who had entered the bath
+six hours before.
+
+Desmond strolled idly along the crowded streets in the sunshine. He was
+rather at a loss as to what his next move should be. Now that his
+mental freshness was somewhat restored, his thoughts began to busy
+themselves again with the disappearance of Barbara Mackwayte. He was
+conscious of a guilty feeling towards Barbara. It was not so much the
+blame he laid upon himself for not being at the Mill House to meet her
+when she came as the sense that he had been unfaithful to the cause of
+her murdered father.
+
+Now that he was away from Nur-el-Din with her pleading eyes and pretty
+gestures, Desmond’s thoughts turned again to Barbara Mackwayte. As he
+walked along Piccadilly, he found himself contrasting the two women as
+he had contrasted them that night he had met them in Nur-el-Din’s
+dressing room at the Palaceum. And, with a sense of shame; he became
+aware of how much he had succumbed to the dancer’s purely sensual
+influence; for away from her he found he could regain his independence
+of thought and action.
+
+The thought of Barbara in the hands of that woman with the cruel eyes
+or a victim to the ruthlessness of Strangwise made Desmond cold with
+apprehension. If they believed the girl knew where the jewel had
+disappeared to, they would stop at nothing to force a confession from
+her; Desmond was convinced of that. But what had become of the trio?
+
+In vain he cast about him for a clue. As far as he knew, the only
+London address that Strangwise had was the Nineveh; and he was as
+little likely to return there as Bellward was to make his way to his
+little hotel in Jermyn Street. There remained Mrs. Malplaquet who, he
+remembered, had told him of her house at Campden Hill.
+
+For the moment, Desmond decided, he must put both Strangwise and
+Bellward out of his calculations. The only direction in which he could
+start his inquiries after Barbara Mackwayte pointed towards Campden
+Hill and Mrs. Malplaquet.
+
+The delightful weather suggested to his mind the idea of walking out to
+Campden Hill to pursue his investigations on the spot. So he made his
+way across the Park into Kensington Gardens heading for the pleasant
+glades of Notting Hill. In the Bayswater Road he turned into a
+postoffice and consulted the London Directory. He very quickly
+convinced himself that among the hundreds of thousands of names
+compiled by Mr. Kelly’s indefatigable industry Mrs. Malplaquet’s was
+not to be found. Neither did the street directory show her as the
+tenant of any of the houses on Campden Hill.
+
+I don’t know that there is a more pleasant residential quarter of
+London than the quiet streets and gardens that straggle over this airy
+height. The very steepness of the slopes leading up from the Kensington
+High Street on the one side and from Holland Park Avenue on the other
+effectually preserves the atmosphere of old-world languor which
+envelops this retired spot. The hill, with its approaches so steep as
+to suggest to the imaginative the pathway winding up some rock-bound
+fastness of the Highlands, successfully defies organ-grinders and
+motor-buses and other aspirants to the membership in the great society
+for the propagation of street noises. As you near the summit, the quiet
+becomes more pronounced until you might fancy yourself a thousand
+leagues, instead of as many yards, removed from the busy commerce of
+Kensington or the rather strident activity of Notting Hill.
+
+So various in size and condition are the houses that it is as though
+they had broken away from the heterogeneous rabble of bricks and mortar
+that makes up the Royal Borough of Kensington, and run up in a crowd to
+the summit of the hill to look down contemptuously upon their less
+fortunate brethren in the plain. On Campden Hill there are houses to
+suit all purses and all tastes from the vulgar mansion with its private
+garden to the little one-story stable that Art (which flourishes in
+these parts) and ten shillings worth of paint has converted into a
+cottage.
+
+For half an hour Desmond wandered in a desultory fashion along the
+quiet roads of natty houses with brightly painted doors and shining
+brass knockers. He had no definite objective; but he hoped rather
+vaguely to pick up some clue that might lead him to Mrs. Malplaquet’s.
+He walked slowly along surveying the houses and scrutinizing the faces
+of the passers-by who were few and far between, yet without coming any
+nearer the end of his search.
+
+It was now growing dusk. Enthroned on the summit of the hill the
+water-tower stood out hard and clear against the evening sky. Desmond,
+who had lost his bearings somewhat in the course of his wanderings,
+came to a full stop irresolutely, where two streets crossed, thinking
+that he would retrace his footsteps to the main-road on the chance of
+picking up a taxi to take him back to town. He chose one of the streets
+at random; but it proved to be a crescent and brought him back
+practically to the spot he had started from. Thereupon, he took the
+other and followed it up, ignoring various side-turnings which he
+feared might be pitfalls like the last: But the second road was as bad
+as the first. It was a _cul de sac_ and brought Desmond face to face
+with a blank wall.
+
+He turned and looked about him for somebody of whom to ask the way. But
+the street was entirely deserted. He seemed to be on the very summit of
+the hill; for all the roads were a-tilt. Though the evening was falling
+fast, no light appeared in any of the houses and the street lamps were
+yet unlit. Save for the distant bourdon of the traffic which rose to
+his ears like the beating of the surf, the breeze rustling the bushes
+in the gardens was the only sound.
+
+Desmond started to walk back slowly the way he had come. Presently, his
+eyes caught the gleam of a light from above a front door. When he drew
+level with it, he saw that a gas-jet was burning in the fanlight over
+the entrance to a neat little two-story house which stood by itself in
+a diminutive garden. As by this time he was thoroughly sick of
+wandering aimlessly about, he went up to the neat little house and rang
+the bell.
+
+A maid-servant in a cap and apron who seemed to be drawn to the scale
+of the house, such an insignificant little person she was, opened the
+door.
+
+“Oh, sir,” she exclaimed when she saw him, “was it about the rooms?”
+
+And she pointed up at the fan-light where, for the first time, Desmond
+noticed a printed card with the inscription-:
+
+“Furnished Rooms to Let.”
+
+
+The servant’s unexpected question put an idea into Desmond’s head. He
+could not return to the club, he reflected, since he was supposed to be
+killed in action. Why not take a room in this house in the heart of the
+enemy’s country and spend some days on the watch for Mrs. Malplaquet or
+for any clue that might lead him to her?
+
+So Desmond answered, yes, it was about the rooms he had come.
+
+Promising that she would tell “the missus,” the little servant showed
+him into a tiny sitting-room, very clean and bright, with blue cretonne
+curtains and a blue carpet and an engraving of “King Cophetua and The
+Beggar Maid” over the mantelpiece. Directly you came into the room,
+everything in it got up and shouted “Tottenham Court Road.”
+
+Then the door opened and, with a great tinkling and rustling, a
+stoutish, brisk-looking woman sailed in. The tinkling proceeded from
+the large amount of cheap jewelry with which she was adorned; the
+rustling from a black and shiny glacé silk dress. With every movement
+she made the large drops she wore in her ears chinked and were answered
+by a melodious chime from the charm bangles she had on her wrists.
+
+She measured Desmond in a short glance and his appearance seemed to
+please her for she smiled as she said in rather a mincing voice:
+
+“My (she pronounced it ‘may’) maid said you wished to see the rooms!”
+
+Desmond intimated that such was his desire.
+
+“Pray be seated,” said the little woman: “You will understand, I’m
+sure, that ay am not in the habit of taking in paying guests, but may
+husband being at the front, ay have a bedroom and this sitting-room
+free and ay thought...”
+
+She stopped and looked sharply at Desmond.
+
+“You are an officer, I think” she asked.
+
+Desmond bowed.
+
+“May husband is also an officer,” replied the woman, “Captain
+Viljohn-Smythe; you may have met him. No? Of course, had you not been
+of commissioned rank, ay should not...”
+
+She trailed off vaguely.
+
+Desmond inquired her terms and surprised her somewhat by accepting them
+on the spot.
+
+“But you have not seen the bedroom!” protested Mrs. Viljohn-Smythe.
+
+“I will take it on trust,” Desmond replied, “and here,” he added,
+pulling out his note-case, “is a week’s rent in advance. I’ll go along
+now and fetch my things. By the way,” he went on, “I know some people
+here at Campden Hill but very foolishly, I’ve mislaid the address.
+Malplaquet... Mrs. Malplaquet. Do you happen to know her house?”
+
+“Ay know most of the naice people living round about here,” replied the
+lady, “but for the moment, ay cannot recollect... was it one of the
+larger houses on the hill, do you know?”
+
+“I’m afraid I don’t know,” said Desmond. “You see, I’ve lost the
+address!”
+
+“Quayte!” returned Mrs. Viljohn-Smythe. “Ay can’t say ay know the
+name!” she added.
+
+However, she consented to consult the handmaiden, who answered to the
+name of Gladays, as to Mrs. Malplaquet’s address, but she was as
+ignorant as her mistress.
+
+Promising to return in the course of the evening with his things and
+having received exact instructions as to the shortest way to Holland
+Park Avenue, Desmond took his leave. He felt that he had embarked on a
+wild goose chase; for, even if the fugitives had made their way to Mrs.
+Malplaquet’s (which was more than doubtful) he imagined they would take
+care to lie very low so that his chances of coming across any of them
+were of the most meager.
+
+Following the directions he had received, he made his way easily back
+to the main road. He halted under a street-lamp to catch the eye of any
+passing taxi which might happen to be disengaged. A dirty faced man in
+a greasy old suit and a spotted handkerchief knotted about his throat
+came slouching along the pavement, keeping close to the wall. On
+catching sight of Desmond’s face by the light of the lamp, he stopped
+irresolutely and then advanced slowly towards him.
+
+“Excuse me, sir!” he said falteringly.
+
+Desmond looked round at the sound of the man’s voice and seeing a
+typical street loafer, asked the fellow to get him a taxi.
+
+“It _is_ Captain Okewood,” said the loafer, “you don’t remember me,
+sir?”
+
+Desmond looked at the dirty, rather haggard face with its unshaven chin
+and shook his head.
+
+“I don’t think I do,” he answered, “though you seem to know _my_ name!”
+
+The vagrant fumbled in his pocket for a minute and extracting a scrap
+of paper, unfolded it and held it out to Desmond.
+
+“That’s me, sir!” he said, “and, oh, sir! if you would kindly help me
+with a word of good advice, just for old times’ sake, I’d be very
+grateful!”
+
+Desmond took the scrap of paper which the man tendered and held it so
+as to catch the rays of the lamp. It was a fragment torn from a
+newspaper. He had hardly set eyes on the cutting than he stretched out
+his hand to the vagrant.
+
+“Why, Gunner Barling,” he cried, “I didn’t know you! How on earth do
+you come to be in this state?”
+
+The man looked shamefacedly down on the ground.
+
+“I’m a deserter, sir!” he said in a low voice.
+
+“Are you, by George?” replied Desmond, “and now I come to think of it,
+so am I!”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXV.
+TO MRS. MALPLAQUET’S
+
+
+Clasping Barbara’s wrist in a bony grip, Mrs. Malplaquet sat at the
+girl’s side in the back seat of the limousine whilst Bellward placed
+himself on the seat opposite. The car was powerfully engined; and, once
+the cart track up to the inn was passed and the main road reached,
+Strangwise opened her out.
+
+By the track leading to the inn the high road made a right angle turn
+to the right. This turn they took, leaving the Mill House away in the
+distance to the left of them, and, after skirting the fen for some way
+and threading a maze of side roads, presently debouched on a straight,
+broad road.
+
+Dazed and shaken by her experiences, Barbara lost all count of time,
+but after running for some time through the open country in the gray
+light of dawn, they reached the edge of those long tentacles of bricks
+and mortar which London thrusts out from her on every side. The outer
+fringes of the metropolis were still sleeping as the great car roared
+by. The snug “High Streets,” the red brick “Parades” and “Broadways,”
+with their lines of houses with blinds drawn, seemed to have their eyes
+shut, so blank, so somnolent was their aspect.
+
+With their lamps alight, the first trams were gliding out to begin the
+new day, as the big car swiftly traversed the eastern suburbs of
+London. To Barbara, who had had her home at Seven Kings, there was
+something familiar about the streets as they flickered by; but her
+powers of observation were dulled, so great was the sense of
+helplessness that weighed her down.
+
+High-booted scavengers with curious snake-like lengths of hose on
+little trolleys were sluicing the asphalt as the limousine snorted past
+the Mansion House into Poultney and Cheapside. The light was growing
+clearer now; the tube stations were open and from time to time a
+motor-bus whizzed by.
+
+Barbara stirred restlessly and Mrs. Malplaquet’s grip on her wrist
+tightened.
+
+“Where are you taking me?” the girl said.
+
+Mrs. Malplaquet spoke a single word.
+
+“Bellward!” she said in a gentle voice; but it was a voice of command.
+
+Bellward leaned forward.
+
+“Look at me, Miss Mackwayte!” he said.
+
+There was a curious insistence in his voice that made Barbara obey. She
+struggled for a moment against the impulse to do his bidding; for some
+agency within her told her to resist the summons. But an irresistible
+force seemed to draw her eyes to his. Bellward did not move. He simply
+leaned forward a little, his hands on his knees, and looked at her.
+Barbara could not see his eyes, for the light in the car was still dim,
+but inch by inch they captured hers.
+
+She looked at the black outline of his head and instantly was conscious
+of a wave of magnetic power that transmitted itself from his will to
+hers. She would have cried out, have struggled, have sought to break
+away; but that invisible dance held her as in a vice. A little gasp
+broke from her lips; but that was all.
+
+“So!” said Bellward with the little sigh of a man who has just
+accomplished some bodily effort, “so! you will keep quiet now and do as
+I tell you. You understand?”
+
+No reply came from the girl. She had thrust her head forward and was
+gazing fixedly at the man. Bellward leaned towards the girl until his
+stubbly hair actually touched her soft brown curls. He was gazing
+intently at her eyes.
+
+He was apparently well satisfied with his inspection, for he gave a
+sigh of satisfaction and turned to Mrs. Malplaquet.
+
+“She’ll give no more trouble now!” he remarked airily.
+
+“Ah! Bellward,” sighed Mrs. Malplaquet, “you’re incomparable! What an
+undefeatable combination you and I would have made if we’d met twenty
+years sooner!”
+
+And she threw him a coquettish glance.
+
+“Ah, indeed!” returned Bellward pensively. “But a night like this makes
+me feel twenty years older, Minna. He’s a daredevil, this Strangwise.
+Imagine going back to that infernal inn when the police might have
+broken in on us any minute. But he is a determined chap. He doesn’t
+seem to know what it is to be beaten. He wanted to make sure that
+Nur-el-Din had not recovered the jewel from him, though he declares
+that it has never left him day or night since he got possession of it.
+He fairly made hay of her room back at the inn there.”
+
+“Well,” said Mrs. Malplaquet rather spitefully, “he seems to be beaten
+this time. He hasn’t found his precious Star of Poland.”
+
+“No,” answered the man reflectively, “but I think he will!”
+
+Mrs. Malplaquet laughed shrilly.
+
+“And how, may I ask? From what Strangwise told me himself, the thing
+has utterly vanished. And he doesn’t seem to have any clue as to who
+has taken it!”
+
+“Perhaps not,” replied Bellward, who appeared to have a high opinion of
+Strangwise, “but, like all Germans, our friend is thorough. If he does
+not see the direct road, he proceeds by a process of elimination until
+he hits upon it. He did not expect to find the jewel in Nur-el-Din’s
+room; he told me as much himself, but he searched because he is
+thorough in everything. Do you know why he really went back to the Dyke
+Inn?”
+
+“Why?” asked Mrs. Malplaquet.
+
+“To secure our young friend here,” answered Bellward with a glance at
+Barbara.
+
+Mrs. Malplaquet made a little grimace to bid him to be prudent in what
+he said before the girl.
+
+“Bah!” the man laughed, “you understand nothing of what we are saying,
+do you?” he said, addressing Barbara.
+
+The girl moved uneasily.
+
+“I understand nothing of what you are saying,” she replied in a
+strained voice.
+
+“This girl was the last person to have the jewel before Strangwise,”
+Bellward said, continuing his conversation with Mrs. Malplaquet, “and
+she is employed at the Headquarters of the Secret Service. Strangwise
+was satisfied that nobody connected him with the theft of the silver
+box which Nur-el-Din gave to this girl until our young lady here
+appeared at the Dyke Inn yesterday afternoon. Nur-el-Din played his
+game for him by detaining the girl. Strangwise believes—and I must say
+I agree with him—that probably two persons know where the Star of
+Poland is. One is this girl...”
+
+“The other being the late Mr. Bellward?” queried Mrs. Malplaquet.
+
+“Precisely. The late Mr. Bellward or Major Desmond Okewood!” said
+Bellward. “Between him and this girl here I think we ought to be able
+to recover Strangwise’s lost property for him!”
+
+“But you haven’t got Okewood yet!” observed the lady in a mocking
+voice.
+
+The man looked evilly at her, his heavy, fat chin set square.
+
+“But we shall get him, never fear. With a little bird-lime as
+attractive as this—”
+
+He broke off and jerked his head in the direction of Barbara.
+
+“... I shall do the rest!” he added.
+
+“Ah!”
+
+Mrs. Malplaquet drew a deep sigh of admiration.
+
+“That’s a clever idea. He is so _rusé_, this Strangwise. You are quite
+right, Bellward, he never admits himself beaten. And he never is! But
+tell me,” she added, “what about Nur-el-Din? They’ll nab her, eh?”
+
+“Unless our British friends are even more inefficient than I believe
+them to be, they most certainly will,” he replied.
+
+“And then?”
+
+Bellward shrugged his shoulders and spread wide his hands.
+
+“A little morning ceremony at the Tower,” he answered, “unless these
+idiotic English are too sentimental to execute a woman...”
+
+The car was running down the long slope to Paddington Station. It drew
+up at the entrance to the booking office, and Strangwise, springing
+from the driver’s seat, flung open the door.
+
+“Come on!” he cried, “we must look sharp or we’ll miss our train!”
+
+He dragged a couple of bags off the roof and led the way into the
+station. In the booking-hall he inquired of a porter what time the
+express left for Bath, then went to the ticket office and took four
+first-class tickets to that place. Meanwhile, the car remained standing
+empty in the carriageway.
+
+Strangwise led his little party up some stairs and across a long
+bridge, down some stairs and up some stairs again, emerging, finally,
+at the Bakerloo Tube Station. There he despatched Bellward to fetch a
+taxi.
+
+Taxis are rare in the early hours of the morning in war-time and
+Bellward was gone fully twenty minutes. Strangwise fidgeted
+continually, drawing out his watch repeatedly and casting many anxious
+glances this way and that.
+
+His nervous demeanor began to affect Mrs. Malplaquet, who had linked
+her arm affectionately in Barbara’s. The girl remained absolutely
+apathetic. Indeed, she seemed almost as one in a trance.
+
+“Aren’t we going to Bath?” at length demanded Mrs. Malplaquet of
+Strangwise.
+
+“Don’t ask questions!” snapped the latter.
+
+“But the car?” asked the lady.
+
+“Hold your tongue!” commanded the officer; and Mrs. Malplaquet obeyed.
+
+Then Mr. Bellward returned with the news that he had at last got a
+taxi. Strangwise turned to Bellward.
+
+“Can Minna and the girl go to Campden Hill alone?” he asked. “Or will
+the girl try and break away, do you think?”
+
+Bellward held up his hand to enjoin silence.
+
+“You will go along with Mrs. Malplaquet,” he said to Barbara in his low
+purring voice, “you will stay with her until I come. You understand?”
+
+“I will go with Mrs. Malplaquet!” the girl replied in the same dull
+tone as before.
+
+“Upon my word,” exclaimed Mrs. Malplaquet, “you might have told me that
+we were going to my own place...”
+
+But Strangwise shut her up.
+
+“Bellward and I will come on by tube... it is safer,” he said, “hurry,
+hurry! We must all be under cover by eight o’clock... we have no time
+to lose!”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVI.
+THE MAN IN THE SUMMER-HOUSE
+
+
+The hour of the theatre rush was long since over and its passing had
+transformed the taxi-drivers from haughty autocrats to humble
+suppliants. One taxi after another crawled slowly past the street
+corner where Desmond had stood for over an hour in deep converse with
+Gunner Barling, but neither flaunting flag nor appealingly uplifted
+finger attracted the slightest attention from the athletic-looking man
+who was so earnestly engaged in talk with a tramp. But at last the
+conversation was over; the two men separated and the next taxi passing
+thereafter picked up a fare.
+
+At nine o’clock the next morning Desmond appeared for breakfast in his
+sitting-room at Santona Road; for such was the name of the street in
+which his new rooms were situated. When he had finished his meal, he
+summoned Gladys and informed her that he would be glad to speak to Mrs.
+Viljohn-Smythe. That lady having duly answered the summons, Desmond
+asked whether, in consideration of terms to be mutually agreed upon,
+she could accommodate his soldier servant. He explained that the
+last-named was of the most exemplary character and threw out a hint of
+the value of a batman for such tasks as the cleaning of the family
+boots and the polishing of brass or silver.
+
+The landlady made no objections and half an hour later a clean and
+respectable-looking man arrived whom Desmond with difficulty recognized
+as the wretched vagrant of the previous evening. This was, indeed, the
+Gunner Barling he used to know, with his smooth-shaven chin and neat
+brown moustache waxed at the ends and characteristic “quiff” decorating
+his brow. And so Desmond and his man installed themselves at Santona
+Road.
+
+The house was clean and comfortable, and Mrs. Viljohn-Smythe, for all
+her “refaynement,” as she would have called it, proved herself a
+warm-hearted, motherly soul. Desmond had a small but comfortably
+furnished bedroom at the top of the house, on the second floor, with a
+window which commanded a view of the diminutive garden and the back of
+a row of large houses standing on the lower slopes of the hill. So
+precipitous was the fall of the ground, indeed, that Desmond could look
+right into the garden of the house backing on Mrs. Viljohn-Smythe’s.
+This garden had a patch of well-kept green sward in the centre with a
+plaster nymph in the middle, while in one corner stood a kind of large
+summer-house or pavilion built on a slight eminence, with a window
+looking into Mrs. Viljohn-Smythe’s’ back garden.
+
+In accordance with a plan of action he had laid down in his mind,
+Desmond took all his meals at his rooms. The rest of the day he devoted
+to walking about the streets of Campden Hill and setting on foot
+discreet inquiries after Mrs. Malplaquet amongst the local
+tradespeople.
+
+For three or four days he carried out this arrangement without the
+slightest success. He dogged the footsteps of more than one gray-haired
+lady of distinguished appearance without lighting upon his quarry. He
+bestowed largesse on the constable on point duty, on the milkman and
+the baker’s young lady; but none of them had ever heard of Mrs.
+Malplaquet or recognized her from Desmond’s description.
+
+On the morning of the fourth day Desmond returned to lunch, dispirited
+and heart-sick. He had half a mind to abandon his quest altogether and
+to go and make his peace with the Chief and ask to be sent back to
+France. He ate his lunch and then, feeling that it would be useless to
+resume his aimless patrol of the streets, lit a cigar and strolled out
+into the little back-garden.
+
+It was a fine, warm afternoon, and already the crocuses were thrusting
+their heads out of the neat flower-beds as if to ascertain whether the
+spring had really arrived. There was, indeed, a pleasant vernal scent
+in the air.
+
+“A fine day!” said a voice.
+
+Desmond looked up. At the open window of the summerhouse of the garden
+backing on Mrs. Viljohn-Smythe’s, his elbows resting on the pitch-pine
+frame, was a middle-aged man. A cigarette was in his mouth and from his
+hands dangled a newspaper. He had a smooth-shaven, heavily-jowled face
+and a large pair of tortoise-shell spectacles on his nose.
+
+Desmond remembered to have seen the man already looking out of a window
+opposite his on one of the upper floors of the house. In reply to a
+casual inquiry, Mrs. Viljohn-Smythe had informed him that the house was
+a nursing home kept by a Dr. Radcombe, a nerve specialist.
+
+“It is quite like spring!” replied Desmond, wondering if this were the
+doctor. Doctors get about a good deal and Dr. Radcombe might be able to
+tell him something about Mrs. Malplaquet.
+
+“I think we have seen one another in the mornings sometimes,” said the
+heavily-jowled man, “though I have noticed that you are an earlier
+riser than I am. But when one is an invalid—”
+
+“You are one of Dr. Radcombe’s patients, then!” said Desmond.
+
+“I am,” returned the other, “a great man, that, my dear sir. I doubt if
+there is his equal for diagnosis in the kingdom.”
+
+“He has lived here for some years, I suppose?”
+
+“Oh yes!” answered the man, “in fact, he is one of the oldest and
+most-respected residents of Kensington, I believe!”
+
+“I am rather anxious to find some friends of mine who live about here,”
+Desmond remarked, quick to seize his opportunity, “I wonder whether
+your doctor could help me...”
+
+“I’m sure he could,” the man replied, “the doctor knows everybody...”
+
+“The name—” began Desmond, but the other checked him.
+
+“Please don’t ask me to burden my memory with names,” he protested. “I
+am here for a complete rest from over-work, and loss of memory is one
+of my symptoms. But look here; why not come over the wall and step
+inside the house with me? Dr. Radcombe is there and will, I am sure, be
+delighted to give you any assistance in his power!”
+
+Desmond hesitated.
+
+“Really,” he said, “it seems rather unconventional. Perhaps the doctor
+would object...”
+
+“Object” said the heavily-jowled man, “tut, tut, not at all. Come on,
+I’ll give you a hand up!”
+
+He thrust out a large, white hand. Desmond was about to grasp it when
+he saw gleaming on the third finger a gold snake ring with emerald
+eyes—the ring that Mrs. Malplaquet had given Bellward. He was about to
+draw back but the man was too quick for him. Owing to the slope of the
+ground the window of the summer-house was on a level with Desmond’s
+throat. The man’s two hands shot out simultaneously. One grasped
+Desmond’s wrist in a steel grip whilst the other fastened itself about
+the young man’s throat, squeezing the very breath out of his body. It
+was done so quickly that he had no time to struggle, no time to shout.
+As Bellward seized him, another arm was shot out of the window. Desmond
+felt himself gripped by the collar and lifted, by a most amazing effort
+of strength, bodily over the wall.
+
+His brain swimming with the pressure on his throat, he struggled but
+feebly to recover his freedom. However, as Desmond was dropped heavily
+on to the grass on the other side of the wall, Bellward’s grip relaxed
+just for a second and in that instant Desmond made one desperate bid
+for liberty. He fell in a crouching position and, as he felt Bellward
+loosen his hold for a second with the jerk of his victim’s fall,
+Desmond straightened himself up suddenly, catching his assailant a
+violent blow with his head on the point of the chin.
+
+Bellward fell back with a crash on to the timber flooring of the
+pavilion. Desmond heard his head strike the boards with a thud, heard a
+muttered curse. He found himself standing in a narrow lane, less than
+three feet wide, which ran between the garden wall and the
+summer-house; for the pavilion, erected on a slight knoll surrounded by
+turf, was not built against the wall as is usually the case with these
+structures.
+
+In this narrow space Desmond stood irresolute for the merest fraction
+of a second. It was not longer; for, directly after Bellward had
+crashed backwards, Desmond heard a light step reverberate within the
+planks of the summerhouse. His most obvious course was to scramble back
+over the wall again into safety, in all thankfulness at having escaped
+so violent an attack. But he reflected that Bellward was here and that
+surely meant that the others were not far off. In that instant as he
+heard the stealthy footstep cross the floor of the summer-house,
+Desmond resolved he would not leave the garden until he had ascertained
+whether Barbara Mackwayte was there.
+
+Desmond decided that he would stay where he was until he no longer
+heard that footstep on the planks within; for then the person inside
+the summer-house would have reached the grass at the door. Desmond
+remembered the arm which had shot out beside Bellward at the window and
+swung him so easily off his feet. He knew only one man capable of
+achieving that very respectable muscular performance; for Desmond
+weighed every ounce of twelve stone. That man was Maurice Strangwise.
+
+As soon as the creaking of the timbers within ceased, Desmond moved to
+the left following the outer wall of the pavilion. On the soft green
+sward his feet made no sound. Presently he came to a window which was
+let in the side of the summerhouse opposite the window from which
+Bellward had grappled with him. Raising his eyes to the level of the
+sill, Desmond took a cautious peep. He caught a glimpse of the face of
+Maurice Strangwise, brows knit, nostrils dilated, the very picture of
+venomous, watchful rancor.
+
+Strangwise had halted and was now looking back over the wall into Mrs.
+Viljohn-Smythe’s back garden. Was it possible, Desmond wondered, that
+he could believe that Desmond had scrambled back over the wall?
+Strangwise remained motionless, his back now fully turned to Desmond,
+peering into the other garden.
+
+The garden in which the summer-house stood was oblong in shape and more
+than twice as broad as it was long. The pavilion was not more than
+forty yards from the back entrance of the house. Desmond weighed in his
+mind the possibility of being able to dash across those forty yards,
+the turf deadening the sound of his feet, before Strangwise turned
+round again. The entrance to the back of the house was through a door
+in the side of the house, to which two or three wrought-iron steps gave
+access. Once he had gained the steps Desmond calculated that the side
+of the house would shelter him from Strangwise’s view. He turned these
+things over in his mind in the twinkling of an eye; for all his life he
+had been used to quick decision and quick action. To cover those forty
+yards across the open in one bound was, he decided, too much to risk;
+for he must at all costs gain access to the house and discover, if
+possible, whether Barbara Mackwayte were confined within, before he was
+caught.
+
+Then his eye fell on the plaster nymph in the middle of the grass. She
+was a stoutly-built female, life-size, standing upon a solid-looking
+pedestal fully four feet broad. Desmond measured the distance
+separating him from the nymph. It was not more than twenty yards at the
+outside and the pedestal would conceal him from the eyes of Strangwise
+if the latter should turn round before he had made his second bound and
+reached the steps at the side of the house.
+
+He peeped through the window again. Strangwise stood in his old
+attitude gazing over the garden wall. Then Desmond acted. Taking long
+strides on the points of his toes, he gained the statue and crouched
+down behind it. Even as he started, he heard a loud grunt from the
+inside of the summerhouse and from his cover behind the nymph saw
+Strangwise turn quickly and enter the summerhouse. On that Desmond
+sprang to his feet again, heedless of whether he was seen from the
+house, ran lightly across the grass and reached the steps at the side
+of the house.
+
+The door stood ajar.
+
+He stood still on the top step and listened for a moment. The house was
+wrapped in silence. Not a sign of life came from within.
+
+But now he heard voices from the garden and they were the voices of two
+angry men, raised in altercation. As he listened, they drew nearer.
+
+Desmond tarried no longer. He preferred the unknown perils which that
+silent house portended to the real danger advancing from the garden. He
+softly pushed the door open and slipped into the house.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVII.
+THE RED LACQUER ROOM
+
+
+The side-door led into a little white passage with a green baize door
+at the end. A staircase, which from its white-washed treads, Desmond
+judged to be the back stairs, gave on the passage. Calculating that the
+men in the garden would be certain to use the main staircase, Desmond
+took the back stairs which, on the first landing, brought him face to
+face with a green baize door, similar in every respect to that on the
+floor below.
+
+He pushed this door open and listened. Hearing nothing he passed on
+through it. He found himself in a broad corridor on to which gave the
+main staircase from below and its continuation to the upper floors.
+Three rooms opened on to this corridor, a large drawing-room, a small
+study and what was obviously the doctor’s consulting room, from the
+operating table and the array of instruments set out in glass cases.
+The rooms were empty and Desmond was about to return to the back stairs
+and proceed to the next floor when his attention was caught by a series
+of framed photographs with which the walls of the corridor were lined.
+
+These were groups of doctors taken at various medical congresses. You
+will find such photographs in many doctors’ houses. Below each group
+were neatly printed the names of the persons therein represented.
+Anxious to see what manner of man was this Doctor Radcombe in whose
+house spies were apparently at liberty to consort with impunity,
+Desmond looked for his name.
+
+There it was—Dr. A. J. Radcombe. But, on looking at the figure above
+the printed line, what was his astonishment to recognize the angular
+features and drooping moustache of “No. 13”!
+
+There was no possible mistake about it. The photographs were excellent
+and Desmond had no difficulty in identifying the eccentric-looking
+German in each of them. So this was Mrs. Malplaquet’s house, was it? A
+nursing-home run by “No. 13,” who in addition to being a spy, would
+seem to have been a nerve specialist as well. In this guise, no doubt,
+he had made trips to the South of England which had gained for him that
+intimate acquaintance with Portsmouth and Southsea of which he had
+boasted at the gathering in the library. In this capacity, moreover, he
+had probably met Bellward whose “oggult” powers, to which “No. 13” had
+alluded, seem to point to mesmerism and kindred practices in which
+German neurasthenic research has made such immense progress.
+
+Pondering over his surprising discovery, Desmond pursued his way to the
+floor above. Here, too, was a green baize door which opened on to a
+corridor. Desmond walked quickly along it, glancing in, as he passed,
+at the open doors of two or three bedrooms. Just beyond where the
+staircase crossed the corridor were two doors, both of which were
+closed. The one was a white door and might have been a bathroom; the
+other was enameled a brilliant, glossy red.
+
+The second floor was as silent and deserted as the corridor below. But
+just as Desmond passed the head of the main staircase he heard the
+sound of voices. He glanced cautiously down the well of the stairs and
+saw Strangwise and Bellward talking together. Bellward was on the
+stairs while Strangwise stood in the corridor.
+
+“It’s our last chance,” Strangwise was saying.
+
+“No, no,” Bellward replied heatedly, “I tell you it is madness. We must
+not delay a minute. For Heaven’s sake, leave the girl alone and let’s
+save ourselves.”
+
+“What?” cried Strangwise, “and abandon Minna!”
+
+“Minna is well able to look after herself,” answered Bellward in a
+sulky voice, “it’s a question of _sauve qui peut_ now... every man for
+himself!”
+
+“No!” said Strangwise firmly, “we’ll wait for Minna, Bellward. You
+exaggerate the danger. I tell you I was at the garden wall within a few
+seconds of our friend laying you out, and I saw no sign of him in his
+garden. It was a physical impossibility for him to have got over the
+wall and back into the house in the time. And in his garden there’s
+nowhere to hide. It’s as bare as the Sahara!”
+
+“But, good Heavens!” cried Bellward, throwing his hands excitedly above
+his head, “the man can’t dissolve into thin air. He’s gone back to the
+house, I tell you, and the police will be here at any minute. You know
+he’s not in our garden; for you searched every nook and corner of it
+yourself. Okewood may be too clever for you, Strangwise; but he’s not a
+magician!”
+
+“No,” said Strangwise sternly, “he is not.” And he added in a low
+voice:
+
+“That’s why I am convinced that he is in this house!”
+
+Desmond felt his heart thump against his ribs.
+
+Bellward seemed surprised for he cried quickly:
+
+“What? Here?”
+
+Strangwise nodded.
+
+“You stand here gossiping with that man loose in the house?” exclaimed
+Bellward vehemently, “why the next thing we know the fellow will escape
+us again!”
+
+“Oh, no, he won’t” retorted the other. “Every window on the ground
+floor is barred... this is a home for neurasthenics, you know, and that
+is sometimes a polite word for a lunatic, my friend... and the doors,
+both front and back are locked. The keys are here!”
+
+Desmond heard a jingle as Strangwise slapped his pocket.
+
+“All the same,” the latter went on, “it is as well to be prepared for a
+sudden change of quarters. That’s why I want you to finish off the girl
+at once. Come along, we’ll start now...”
+
+“No, no!” declared Bellward. “I’m far too upset. You seem to think you
+can turn me on and off like you do the gas!”
+
+“Well, as you like,” said Strangwise, “but the sooner we clear up this
+thing the better. I’m going to see if our clever young friend has taken
+refuge in the servants’ quarters upstairs. He’s not on this floor,
+that’s certain!”
+
+Desmond drew back in terror. He heard the green baize door on the floor
+below swing back as Strangwise went out to the back stairs and
+Bellward’s heavy step ascended the main staircase. There was something
+so horribly sinister in that firm, creaking tread as it mounted towards
+him that for the moment he lost his head. He looked round wildly for a
+place of concealment; but the corridor was bare. Facing him was the red
+enamel door. Boldly he turned the handle and walked in, softly closing
+the door behind him.
+
+It was as though he had stepped into another world. The room in which
+he found himself was a study in vivid red emphasized by black. Red and
+black; these were the only colors in the room. The curtains, which were
+of black silk, were drawn, though it was not yet dark outside, and from
+the ceiling was suspended a lamp in the shape of a great scarlet bowl
+which cast an eerie red light on one of the most bizarre apartments
+that Desmond had ever seen.
+
+It was a lacquer room in the Chinese style, popularized by the craze
+for barbaric decoration introduced by Bakst and the Russian Ballet into
+England. The walls were enameled the same brilliant glossy red as the
+door and hung at intervals with panels of magnificent black and gold
+lacquer work. The table which ran down the centre of the room was of
+scarlet and gold lacquer like the fantastically designed chairs and the
+rest of the furniture. The heavy carpet was black.
+
+Desmond did not take in all these details at once; for his attention
+was immediately directed to a high-backed armchair covered in black
+satin which stood with its back to the door. He stared at this chair;
+for, peeping out above the back, making a splash of deep golden brown
+against the black sheen of the upholstery, was a mass of curls...
+Barbara Mackwayte’s hair.
+
+As he advanced towards the girl, she moaned in a high, whimpering
+voice:
+
+“No, no, not again! Let me sleep! Please, please, leave me alone!”
+
+Desmond sprang to her side.
+
+“Barbara!” he cried and never noticed that he called her by her
+Christian name.
+
+Barbara Mackwayte sat in the big black armchair, facing the
+black-curtained window. Her face was pale and drawn, and there were
+black circles under her eyes. There was a listless yet highly-strung
+look about her that you see in people who habitually take drugs.
+
+She heeded not the sound of his voice. It was as though he had not
+spoken. She only continued to moan and mutter, moving her body about
+uneasily as a child does when its sleep is disturbed by nightmares.
+Then, to his inexpressible horror, Desmond saw that her feet were bound
+with straps to the legs of the chair. Her arms were similarly tethered
+to the arms of the chair, but her hands had been left free.
+
+“Barbara!” said Desmond softly, “you know me! I’m Desmond Okewood! I’ve
+come to take you home!”
+
+The word “home” seemed to catch the girl’s attention; for now she
+turned her head and looked at the young man. The expression in her
+eyes, wide and staring, was horrible; for it was the look of a tortured
+animal.
+
+Desmond was bending to unbind the straps that fastened Barbara’s arms
+when he heard a step outside the door. The curtains in front of the
+window were just beside him. They were long and reached to the floor.
+Without a second’s hesitation he slipped behind them and found himself
+in the recess of a shallow bow window.
+
+The bow window was in three parts and the central part was open wide at
+the bottom. It gave on a little balcony which was in reality the roof
+of a bow window of one of the rooms on the floor below. Desmond
+promptly scrambled out of the window and letting himself drop on to the
+balcony crouched down below the sill.
+
+A door opened in the room he had just left. He heard steps moving about
+and cupboards opened and shut. Then, there was the sound of curtains
+being drawn back and a voice said just above him:
+
+“He’s not here! I tell you the fellow’s not in the house! Now perhaps
+you’ll believe me!”
+
+The balcony was fairly deep and it was growing dusk; but Desmond could
+scarcely hope to escape detection if Bellward, for he had recognized
+his voice, should think of leaning out of the window and looking down
+upon the balcony. With his coat collar turned up to hide the
+treacherous white of his linen, Desmond pressed himself as close as
+possible against the side of the house and waited for the joyful cry
+that would proclaim that he had been discovered. There was no possible
+means of escape; for the balcony stood at an angle of the house with no
+windows or water-pipes anywhere within reach, to give him a foothold,
+looking out on an inhospitable and gloomy area.
+
+Whether Bellward, who appeared bent only on getting away from the house
+without delay, examined the balcony or not, Desmond did not know; but
+after the agony of suspense had endured for what seemed to him an hour,
+he heard Strangwise say:
+
+“It’s no good, Bellward! I’m not satisfied! And until I _am_ satisfied
+that Okewood is not here, I don’t leave this house. And that’s that!”
+
+Bellward swore savagely.
+
+“We’ve searched the garden and not found him: we’ve ransacked the house
+from top to bottom without result. The fellow’s not here; but by God,
+he’ll be here presently with a bunch of police, and then it’ll be too
+late! For the last time, Strangwise, will you clear out?”
+
+There was a moment’s pause. Then Desmond heard Strangwise’s clear, calm
+voice.
+
+“There’s a balcony there... below the window, I mean.”
+
+“I’ve looked,” replied Bellward, “and he’s not there. You can see for
+yourself!”
+
+The moment of discovery had arrived. To Desmond the strain seemed
+unbearable and to alleviate it, he began to count, as one counts to woo
+sleep. One! two! three! four! He heard a grating noise as the window
+was pushed further up. Five! six! seven! eight!
+
+“Strange!”
+
+Strangwise muttered the word just above Desmond’s head. Then, to his
+inexpressible relief, he heard the other add:
+
+“He’s not there!”
+
+And Desmond realized that the depth of the balcony had saved him. Short
+of getting out of the window, as he had done, the others could not see
+him.
+
+The two men returned to the room and silence fell once more. Outside on
+the damp balcony in the growing darkness Desmond was fighting down the
+impulse to rush in and stake all in one desperate attempt to rescue the
+girl from her persecutors. But he was learning caution; and he knew he
+must bide his time.
+
+Some five minutes elapsed during which Desmond could detect no definite
+sound from the red lacquer room except the occasional low murmur of
+voices. Then, suddenly, there came a high, quavering cry from the girl.
+
+Desmond raised himself quickly erect, his ear turned so as to catch
+every sound from the room. The girl wailed again, a plaintive, tortured
+cry that seemed to issue forth unwillingly from her.
+
+“My God!” said Desmond to himself, “I can’t stand this!”
+
+His head was level with the sill of the window which was fortunately
+broad. Getting a good grip on the rough cement with his hands, he
+hoisted himself up on to the sill, by the sheer force of his arms
+alone, sat poised there for an instant, then very lightly and without
+any noise, clambered through the window and into the room. Even as he
+did so, the girl cried out again.
+
+“I can’t! I can’t!” she wailed.
+
+Every nerve in Desmond’s body was tingling with rage. The blood was
+hotly throbbing against his temples and he was literally quivering all
+over with fury. But he held himself in check. This time he must not
+fail. Both those men were armed, he knew. What chance could he, unarmed
+as he was, have against them? He must wait, wait, that they might not
+escape their punishment.
+
+Steadying the black silk curtains with his hands, he looked through the
+narrow chink where the two panels met. And this was what he saw.
+
+Barbara Mackwayte was still in the chair; but they had unfastened her
+arms though her feet were still bound. She had half-risen from her
+seat. Her body was thrust forward in a strained, unnatural attitude;
+her eyes were wide open and staring; and there was a little foam on her
+lips. There was something hideously deformed, horribly unlife-like
+about her. Though her eyes were open, her look was the look of the
+blind; and, like the blind, she held her head a little on one side as
+though eager not to miss the slightest sound.
+
+Bellward stood beside her, his face turned in profile to Desmond. His
+eyes were dilated and the sweat stood out in great beads on his
+forehead and trickled in broad lanes of moisture down his heavy cheeks.
+He was half-facing the girl and every time he bent towards her, she
+tugged and strained at her bonds as though to follow him.
+
+“You say he has been here. Where is he? Where is he? You shall tell me
+where he is.”
+
+Bellward was speaking in a strange, vibrating voice. Every question
+appeared to be a tremendous nervous effort. Desmond, who was keenly
+sensitive to matters psychic, could almost feel the magnetic power
+radiating from the man. In the weird red light of the room, he could
+see the veins standing out like whipcords on the back of Bellward’s
+hands.
+
+“Tell me where he is? I command you!”
+
+The girl wailed out again in agony and writhed in her bonds. Her voice
+rose to a high, gurgling scream.
+
+“There!” she cried, pointing with eyes staring, lips parted, straight
+at the curtains behind which Desmond stood.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVIII.
+AN OFFER FROM STRANGWISE
+
+
+Desmond sprang for the window; but it was too late. Strangwise who had
+not missed a syllable of the interrogatory was at the curtains in a
+flash. As he plucked the hangings back, Desmond made a rush for him;
+but Strangwise, wary as ever, kept his head and, drawing back, jabbed
+his great automatic almost in the other’s face.
+
+And then Desmond knew the game was up.
+
+Barbara had collapsed in her chair. Her face was of an ivory pallor and
+she seemed to have fallen back into the characteristic hypnotic trance.
+As for Bellward, he had dropped on to a sofa, a loose mass, exhausted
+but missing nothing of what was going forward, though, for the moment,
+he seemed too spent to take any active part in the proceedings. In the
+meantime Strangwise, his white, even teeth bared in a quiet smile, was
+very steadily looking at his prisoner.
+
+“Well, Desmond,” he said at last, “here’s a pleasant surprise! I
+thought you were dead!”
+
+Desmond said nothing. He was not a coward as men go; but he was feeling
+horribly afraid just then. The deviltry of the scene he had just
+witnessed had fairly unmanned him. The red and black setting of the
+room had a suggestion of Oriental cruelty in its very garishness.
+Desmond looked from Strangwise, cool and smiling, to Bellward, gross
+and beastly, and from the two men to Barbara, wan and still and
+defenceless. And he was afraid.
+
+Then Bellward scrambled clumsily to his feet, plucking a revolver from
+his inside pocket as he did so.
+
+“You sneaking rascal,” he snarled, “we’ll teach you to play your dirty
+tricks on us!”
+
+He raised the pistol; but Strangwise stepped between the man and his
+victim.
+
+“Kill him!” cried Bellward, “and let’s be rid of him once and for all!”
+
+“What” said Strangwise. “Kill Desmond? Ah, no, my friend, I don’t think
+so!”
+
+And he added drily:
+
+“At least not quite yet!”
+
+“But you must be mad,” exclaimed Bellward, toying impatiently with his
+weapon, “you let him escape through your fingers before! I know his
+type. A man like him is only safe when he’s dead. And if you won’t...”
+
+“Now, Bellward,” said Strangwise not budging but looking the other
+calmly in the eye, “you’re getting excited, you know.”
+
+But Bellward muttered thickly:
+
+“Kill him! That’s all I ask. And let’s get out of here! I tell you it
+isn’t safe! Minna can shift for herself!” he added sulkily.
+
+“As she has always done!” said a voice at the door. Mrs. Malplaquet
+stood there, a very distinguished looking figure in black with a
+handsome set of furs.
+
+“But who’s this?” she asked, catching sight of Desmond, as she flashed
+her beady black eyes round the group. Of Barbara she took not the
+slightest notice. Desmond remarked it and her indifference shocked him
+profoundly.
+
+“Of course, you don’t recognize him!” said Strangwise. “This is Major
+Desmond Okewood, more recently known as Mr. Basil Bellward!”
+
+The woman evinced no surprise.
+
+“So!” she said, “I thought we’d end by getting him. Well, Strangwise,
+what are we waiting for? Is our friend to live for ever?”
+
+“That’s what I want to know!” bellowed Bellward savagely.
+
+“I have not finished with our friend here!” observed Strangwise.
+
+“No, no,” cried Mrs. Malplaquet quickly, Strangwise, “you’ve had your
+lesson. You’ve lost the jewel and you’re not likely to get it back
+unless you think that this young man has come here with it on him. Do
+you want to lose your life, the lives of all of us, as well? Come,
+come, the fellow’s no earthly good to us! And he’s a menace to us all
+as long as he’s alive!”
+
+“Minna,” said Strangwise, “you must trust me. Besides...” he leaned
+forward and whispered something in her ear. “Now,” he resumed aloud,
+“you shall take Bellward downstairs and leave me to have a little chat
+with our friend here.”
+
+To Bellward he added:
+
+“Minna will tell you what I said. But first,” he pointed to Barbara who
+remained apparently lifeless in her chair, “bring her round. And then I
+think she’d better go to bed.”
+
+“But what about the treatment to-night” asked Mrs. Malplaquet.
+
+Strangwise smiled mysteriously.
+
+“I’m not sure that any further treatment will be required,” he said.
+
+In the meantime, Bellward had leaned over the girl and with a few
+passes of his hand had brought her back to consciousness. She sat up,
+one hand pressed to her face, and looked about her in a dazed fashion.
+On recognizing Desmond she gave a little cry.
+
+“Take her away!” commanded Strangwise.
+
+Bellward had unfastened the ropes binding her feet, and he and Mrs.
+Malplaquet between them half-dragged, half-lifted the girl (for she was
+scarcely able to walk) from the room.
+
+When the door had closed behind them, Strangwise pointed to a chair and
+pulled out his cigarette case. “Sit down, Desmond,” he said, “and let’s
+talk. Will you smoke?”
+
+He held out his case. A cigarette was the one thing for which Desmond
+craved. He took one and lit it. Strangwise sat down on the other side
+of a curiously carved ebony table, his big automatic before him.
+
+“I guess you’re sharp enough to know when you’re beaten, Desmond,” he
+said. “You’ve put up a good fight and until this afternoon you were one
+up on me. I’ll grant you that. And I don’t mind admitting that you’ve
+busted up my little organization—for the present at any rate. But I’m
+on top now and you’re in our power, old man.”
+
+“Well,” replied Desmond shortly, “what are you going to do about it?”
+
+“I’m going to utilize my advantage to the best I know how,” retorted
+Strangwise, snapping the words, “that’s good strategy, isn’t it,
+Desmond? That’s what Hamley and all the military writers teach, isn’t
+it? And I’m going to be frank with you. I suppose you realize that your
+life hung by a thread in this very room only a minute ago. Do you know
+why I intervened to save you?”
+
+Desmond smiled. All his habitual serenity was coming back to him. He
+found it hard to realize that this old brother officer of his, blowing
+rings of cigarette smoke at him across the table, was an enemy.
+
+“I don’t suppose it was because of the love you bear me,” replied
+Desmond.
+
+And he rubbed the bump on his head.
+
+Strangwise noted the action and smiled.
+
+“Listen here,” he resumed, planking his hands down on the table and
+leaning forward, “I’m ready and anxious to quit this spying business.
+It was only a side line with me anyway. My main object in coming to
+this country was to recover possession of that diamond star. Once I’ve
+got it back, I’m through with England...”
+
+“But not with the army,” Desmond broke in, “thank God, we’ve got a
+swift way with traitors in this country!”
+
+“Quite so,” returned the other, “but you see, my friend, the army
+hasn’t got me. And I have got you! But let us drop talking platitudes,”
+he went on. “I’m no great hand at driving a bargain, Desmond—few army
+men are, you know—so I won’t even attempt to chaffer with you. I shall
+tell you straight out what I am ready to offer. You were given the job
+of breaking up this organization, weren’t you?”
+
+Desmond was silent. He was beginning to wonder what Strangwise was
+driving at.
+
+“Oh, you needn’t trouble to deny it. I never spotted you, I admit, even
+when the real Bellward turned up: that idea of putting your name in the
+casualty list as ‘killed’ was a masterstroke; for I never looked to
+find you alive and trying to put it across me. But to return to what I
+was saying—your job was to smash my little system, and if you pull it
+off, it’s a feather in your cap. Well, you’ve killed two of my people
+and you’ve arrested the ringleader.”
+
+“Meaning Behrend?” asked Desmond.
+
+“Behrend be hanged! I mean Nur-el-Din!”
+
+“Nur-el-Din was not the ringleader,” said Desmond, “as well you know,
+Strangwise!”
+
+“Your employers evidently don’t share your views, Desmond,” he replied,
+“all the documents were found on Nur-el-Din!”
+
+“Bah!” retorted Desmond, “and what of it? Mightn’t they have been
+planted on her in order to get her arrested to draw the suspicion away
+from the real criminal, yourself?”
+
+Strangwise laughed a low, mellow laugh.
+
+“You’re devilish hard to convince,” he remarked. “Perhaps you’ll change
+your mind about it when I tell you that Nur-el-Din was sentenced to
+death by a general court-martial yesterday afternoon.”
+
+The blow struck Desmond straight between the eyes. The execution of
+spies followed hard on their conviction, he knew. Was he too late?
+
+“Has... has she... has the sentence already been carried out?” he asked
+hoarsely.
+
+Strangwise shrugged his shoulders.
+
+“My information didn’t go as far as that!” he replied. “But I expect
+so. They don’t waste much time over these matters, old man! You see,
+then,” he continued, “you’ve got the ringleader, and you shall have the
+other two members of the organization and save your own life into the
+bargain if you will be reasonable and treat with me.”
+
+Desmond looked straight at him; and Strangwise averted his eyes.
+
+“Let me get this right,” said Desmond slowly. “You let me go free—of
+course, I take it that my liberty includes the release of Miss
+Mackwayte as well—and in addition, you hand over to me your two
+accomplices, Bellward and the Malplaquet woman. That is your offer,
+isn’t it? Well, what do you want from me in exchange?”
+
+“The Star of Poland!” said Strangwise in a low voice.
+
+“But,” Desmond began. He was going to add “I haven’t got it,” but
+checked himself in time. Why should he show his hand?
+
+Strangwise broke in excitedly.
+
+“Man,” he cried, “it was grandly done. When first I discovered the gem,
+I opened the package in which the silver box was wrapped and took the
+jewel from its case to make sure that it was there. Then I sealed it up
+again, silver box and all, with the firm intention that no other hand
+should break the seals but the hand of His Imperial Highness the Crown
+Prince when I reported to him that I had fulfilled my mission. So you
+will understand that I was loth to open it to satisfy those blockheads
+that evening at the Mill House.
+
+“I carried the package on me night and day and I could hardly believe
+my eyes when I discovered that a box of cigarettes had been substituted
+for the silver casket containing the jewel. I then suspected that
+Barbara Mackwayte, in collusion with Nur-el-Din, whom she had visited
+at the Dyke Inn that evening, had played this trick on me. But before I
+escaped from the Mill House I picked up one of the cigarettes which
+fell from the box when I broke the seals. Ah! There you made a slip,
+Desmond. When I looked at the cigarette I found it was a
+‘Dionysus’—your own particular brand—why, I have smoked dozens of them
+with you in France. The sight of the familiar name reminded me of you
+and then I remembered your unexpected visit to me at the Nineveh when I
+was packing up to go away on leave the evening you were going back to
+France. I remembered that I had put the package with the jewel on my
+table for a moment when I was changing my tunic. Your appearance drove
+it out of my head for the time, and you utilized the chance to
+substitute a similar package for mine. It was clever, Desmond, ’pon my
+word it was a stroke of genius, a master coup which in my country would
+have placed you at the very top of the tree in the Great General
+Staff!”
+
+Desmond listened to this story in amazement. He did not attempt to
+speculate on the different course events would have taken had he but
+known that the mysterious jewel which had cost old Mackwayte his life,
+had been in his, Desmond’s, possession from the very day on which he
+had assumed the guise and habiliments of Mr. Bellward. He was racking
+his brains to think what he had done with the box of cigarettes he had
+purchased at the Dionysus shop on the afternoon of the day he had taken
+the leave train back to France.
+
+He remembered perfectly buying the cigarettes for the journey. But he
+didn’t have them on the journey; for the captain of the leave boat had
+given him some cigars as Desmond had nothing to smoke. And then with a
+flash he remembered. He had packed the cigarettes in his kit—his kit
+which had gone over to France in the hold of the leave boat? And to
+think that there was a £100,000 jewel in charge of the M.L.O. at a
+French port!
+
+The idea tickled Desmond’s sense of humor and he smiled.
+
+“Come,” cried Strangwise, “you’ve heard my terms. This jewel, this Star
+of Poland, it is nothing to you or your Government. You restore it to
+me and I won’t even ask you for a safe conduct back to Germany. I’ll
+just slide out and it will be as if I had never been to England at all.
+As for my organization, you, Desmond Okewood, have blown it sky-high!”
+
+He stretched out his hand to Desmond as though he expected the other to
+produce the gem from his pocket. But Desmond rose to his feet and
+struck the hand contemptuously on one side. The smile had vanished from
+his face.
+
+“Are you sure that is all you have to say to me?” he asked.
+
+Strangwise had stood up as well.
+
+“Why, yes!” he said, “I think so!”
+
+“Well, then,” said Desmond firmly, “just listen to me for a moment!
+Here’s my answer. You’ve lost the jewel for good and all, and you will
+never get it back. Your offer to betray your accomplices to me in
+exchange for the Star of Poland is an empty one; for your accomplices
+will be arrested with you. And lastly I give you my word that I shall
+make it my personal duty to see that you are not shot by clean-handed
+British soldiers, but strung up by the neck by the common hangman—as
+the murderer that you are!”
+
+Strangwise’s face underwent an extraordinary change. His suavity
+vanished, his easy smile disappeared and he looked balefully across the
+table as the other fearlessly confronted him.
+
+“If you are a German, as you seem to be,” Desmond went on, “then I tell
+you I shall never have guessed it until this interview between us. But
+a man who can murder a defenceless old man and torture a young girl and
+then propose to sell his pals to a British officer at the price of that
+officer’s honor can only be a Hun! And you seem to be a pretty fine
+specimen of your race!”
+
+Strangwise mastered his rising passion by an obvious effort; but his
+face was evil as he spoke.
+
+“I put that Malplaquet woman off by appealing to her avarice,” he said,
+“I’ve promised her and Bellward a thousand pounds apiece as their share
+of my reward for recovering the jewel. I only have to say the word,
+Okewood, and your number’s up! And you may as well know that Bellward
+will try his hand on you before he kills you. If that girl had known
+where the Star of Poland was, Bellward would have had it out of her!
+Three times a day he’s put her into the hypnotic sleep. I warn you, you
+won’t like the interrogatory!”
+
+The door flew open and Bellward came in. He went eagerly to Strangwise.
+
+“Well, have you got it!” he demanded.
+
+“Have you anything further to say, Desmond?” asked Strangwise. “Perhaps
+you would care to reconsider your decisions?”
+
+Desmond shook his head.
+
+“You’ve had my answer!” he said doggedly.
+
+“Then, my friend,” said Strangwise to Bellward, “after dinner you shall
+try your hand on this obstinate fool. But first we’ll take him
+upstairs.”
+
+He was close beside Desmond and as he finished speaking he suddenly
+caught him by the throat and forced him back into the chair to which
+Barbara had been tethered. To struggle was useless, and Desmond
+suffered them to bind his arms and feet to the arms and legs of the
+chair. Then the two men picked him up, chair and all, and bore him from
+the room upstairs to the third floor. There they carried him into a
+dark room where they left him, turning the key in the lock as they went
+away.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIX.
+DOT AND DASH
+
+
+For a long time after the retreating footsteps of Strangwise and
+Bellward had died away, Desmond sat listless, preoccupied with his
+thoughts. They were somber enough. The sinister atmosphere of the
+house, weighing upon him, seemed to deepen his depression.
+
+About his own position he was not concerned at all. This is not an
+example of unselfishness it is simply an instance of the force of
+discipline which trains a man to reckon the cause as everything and
+himself as naught. And Desmond was haunted by the awful conviction that
+he had at length reached the end of his tether and that nothing could
+now redeem the ignominious failure he had made of his mission.
+
+He had sacrificed Barbara Mackwayte; he had sacrificed Nur-el-Din; he
+had not even been clever enough to save his own skin. And Strangwise,
+spy and murderer, had escaped and was now free to reorganize his band
+after he had put Barbara and Desmond out of the way.
+
+The thought was so unbearable that it stung Desmond into action.
+Strangwise should not get the better of him, he resolved, and he had
+yet this brief interval of being alone in which he might devise some
+scheme to rescue Barbara and secure the arrest of Strangwise and his
+accomplices. But how?
+
+He raised his head and looked round the room. The curtains had not been
+drawn and enough light came into the room from the outside to enable
+him to distinguish the outlines of the furniture. It was a bedroom,
+furnished in rather a massive style, with some kind of thick, soft
+carpet into which the feet sank.
+
+Desmond tested his bonds. He was very skillfully tied up. He fancied
+that with a little manipulation he might contrive to loosen the rope
+round his right arm, for one of the knots had caught in the folds of
+his coat. The thongs round his left arm and two legs were, however, so
+tight that he thought he had but little chance of ridding himself of
+them, even should he get his right arm free; for the knots were tied at
+the back under the seat of the chair in such a way that he could not
+reach them.
+
+He, therefore, resigned himself to conducting operations in the highly
+ridiculous posture in which he found himself, that is to say, with a
+large arm-chair attached to him, rather like a snail with its house on
+its back. After a certain amount of maneuvering he discovered that, by
+means of a kind of slow, lumbering crawl, he was able to move across
+the ground. It might have proved a noisy business on a parquet floor;
+but Desmond moved only a foot or two at a time and the pile carpet
+deadened the sound.
+
+They had deposited him in his chair in the centre of the room near the
+big brass bedstead. After ten minutes’ painful crawling he had reached
+the toilet table which stood in front of the window with a couple of
+electric candles on either side of the mirror. He moved the toilet
+table to one side, then bumped steadily across the carpet until he had
+reached the window. And then he gave a little gasp of surprise.
+
+He found himself looking straight at the window of his own bedroom at
+Mrs. Viljohn-Smythe’s. There was no mistaking it. The electric light
+was burning and the curtains had not yet been drawn. He could see the
+black and pink eiderdown on his bed and the black lining of the chintz
+curtains. Then he remembered the slope of the hill. He must be in the
+room from which he had seen Bellward looking out.
+
+The sight of the natty bedroom across the way moved Desmond strangely.
+It seemed to bring home to him for the first time the extraordinary
+position in which he found himself, a prisoner in a perfectly
+respectable suburban house in a perfectly respectable quarter of
+London, in imminent danger of a violent death.
+
+He wouldn’t give in without a struggle. Safety stared him in the face,
+separated only by a hundred yards of grass and shrub and wall. He
+instinctively gripped the arms of the chair to raise himself to get a
+better view from the window, forgetting he was bound. The ropes cut his
+arms cruelly and brought him back to earth.
+
+He tested again the thongs fastening his right arm. Yes! they were
+undoubtedly looser than the others. He pulled and tugged and writhed
+and strained. Once in his struggles he crashed into the toilet table
+and all but upset one of the electric candles which slid to the table’s
+very brink and was saved, as by a miracle, from falling to the floor.
+He resumed his efforts, but with less violence. It was in vain. Though
+the ropes about his right arm were fairly loose, the wrist was solidly
+fastened to the chair, and do what he would, he could not wrest it
+free. He clawed desperately with his fingers and thumb, but all in
+vain.
+
+In the midst of his struggles he was arrested by the sound of
+whistling. Somebody in the distance outside was whistling, clearly and
+musically, a quaint, jingling sort of jig that struck familiarly on
+Desmond’s ear. Somehow it reminded him of the front. It brought with it
+dim memory of the awakening to the early morning chill of a Nissen hut,
+the smell of damp earth, the whirr of aircraft soaring through the
+morning sky, the squeak of flutes, the roll of drums... why, it was the
+Grand Reveillé, that ancient military air which every soldier knows.
+
+He stopped struggling and peered cautiously out into the dusk. The time
+for darkening the windows must be at hand, he thought, for in most of
+the houses the blinds were already drawn. Here and there, however, an
+oblong of yellow light showed up against the dark mass of the houses on
+the upper slopes of the hill. The curtains of his bedroom at Mrs.
+Viljohn-Smythe’s were not yet drawn and the light still burned brightly
+above the bed.
+
+The whistling continued with occasional interruptions as though the
+whistler were about some work or other. And then suddenly “Buzzer”
+Barling, holding something in one hand and rubbing violently with the
+other, stepped into the patch of light between the window and the bed
+in Desmond’s bedroom.
+
+Desmond’s heart leaped within him. Here was assistance close at hand.
+Mechanically he sought to raise his hand to open the window, but an
+agonising twinge reminded him of his thongs. He swiftly reviewed in his
+mind the means of attracting the attention of the soldier opposite.
+Whatever he was going to do, he must do quickly; for the fact that
+people were beginning to darken their windows showed that it must be
+close on half-past six, and about seven o’clock, Barling, after putting
+out Desmond’s things, was accustomed to go out for the evening.
+
+Should he shout? Should he try and break the window? Desmond rejected
+both these suggestions. While it was doubtful whether Barling would
+hear the noise or, if he heard it, connect it with Desmond, it was
+certain that Strangwise and Bellward would do both and be upon Desmond
+without a moment’s delay.
+
+Then Desmond’s eye fell upon the electric candle which had slid to the
+very edge of the table. It was mounted in a heavy brass candle-stick
+and the switch was in the pedestal, jutting out over the edge of the
+table in the position in which the candle now stood. The candle was
+clear of the mirror and there was nothing between it and the window.
+Desmond’s brain took all this in at a glance. That glance showed him
+that Providence was being good to him.
+
+A couple of jerks of the chair brought him alongside the table. Its
+edge was practically level with the arms of the chair so that, by
+getting into the right position, he was able to manipulate the switch
+with his fingers. And then, thanking God and the Army Council for the
+recent signalling course he had attended, he depressed the switch with
+a quick, snapping movement and jerked it up again, sending out the dots
+and dashes of the Morse code.
+
+“B-A-R-L-I-N-G” he spelt out, slowly and laboriously, it is true; for
+he was not an expert.
+
+As he worked the switch, he looked across at the illuminated window of
+the room in which Barling stood, with bent head, earnestly engaged upon
+his polishing.
+
+“B-a-r-l-i-n-g-ack-ack-ack-B-a-r-l-i-n-g-ack-ack-ack”
+
+The light flickered up and down in long and short flashes. Still
+“Buzzer” Barling trilled away at the “Grand Reveillé” nor raised his
+eyes from his work.
+
+Desmond varied the call:
+
+“O-K-E-W-O-O-D T-O B-A-R-L-I-N-G” he flashed.
+
+He repeated the call twice and was spelling it out for the third time
+when Desmond saw the “Buzzer” raise his head.
+
+The whistling broke off short.
+
+“O-k-e-w-o-o-d t-o B-a-r-l-i-n-g” flickered the light.
+
+The next moment the bedroom opposite was plunged in darkness.
+Immediately afterwards the light began to flash with bewildering
+rapidity. But Desmond recognized the call.
+
+“I am ready to take your message,” it said.
+
+“S-t-r-a-n-g-w-i-s-e h-a-s g-o-t m-e ack-ack-ack,” Desmond flashed
+back, “f-e-t-c-h h-e-l-p a-t o-n-c-e ack-ack-ack: d-o-n-t r-e-p-l-y;
+ack-ack-ack; s-e-n-d o-n-e d-o-t o-n-e d-a-s-h t-o s-h-o-w y-o-u
+u-n-d-e-r-s-t-a-n-d ack-ack-ack!”
+
+For he was afraid lest the light flashing from the house opposite might
+attract the attention of the men downstairs.
+
+He was very slow and he made many mistakes, so that it was with bated
+breath that, after sending his message, he watched the window opposite
+for the reply.
+
+It came quickly. A short flash and a long one followed at once. After
+that the room remained in darkness. With a sigh of relief Desmond, as
+quietly as possible, manoeuvred the dressing-table back into place and
+then jerked the chair across the carpet to the position where
+Strangwise and Bellward had left him in the middle of the floor:
+
+It was here that the two men found him, apparently asleep, when they
+came up half-an-hour later. They carried him down to the red lacquer
+room again.
+
+“Well, Desmond!” said Strangwise, when their burden had been deposited
+on the floor under the crimson lamp.
+
+“Well, Maurice?” answered the other.
+
+Strangwise noticed that Desmond had addressed him by his Christian name
+for the first time since he had been in the house and his voice was
+more friendly when he spoke again.
+
+“I see you’re going to be sensible, old man,” he said. “Believe me,
+it’s the only thing for you to do. You’re going to give up the Star of
+Poland, aren’t you?”
+
+“Oh, no, Maurice, I’m not,” replied Desmond in a frank, even voice.
+“I’ve told you what I’m going to do. I’m going to hand you over to the
+people at Pentonville to hang as a murderer. And I shouldn’t be at all
+surprised if they didn’t run up old Bellward there alongside of you!”
+
+Strangwise shook his head at him.
+
+“You are very ill-advised to reject my offer, Desmond,” he said, “for
+it simply means that I can do nothing more for you. Our friend Bellward
+now assumes the direction of affairs. I don’t think you can realize
+what you are letting yourself in for. You appear to have been dabbling
+in Intelligence work. Perhaps it would interest you to hear something
+about this, our latest German method for extracting accurate
+information from reluctant or untruthful witnesses. Bellward, perhaps
+you would enlighten him.”
+
+Bellward smiled grimly.
+
+“It is a blend,” he explained glibly, “of that extreme form of
+cross-examination which the Americans call ‘the third degree’ and
+hypnotic treatment. Many people, as you are doubtless aware, are less
+responsive to hypnotic influence than others. An intensified course of
+the third degree and lack of sleep renders such refractory natures
+extraordinarily susceptible to mesmeric treatment. It prepares the
+ground as it were!”
+
+Bellward coughed and looked at Desmond over his tortoise-shell
+spectacles which he had put on again.
+
+“The method has had its best results when practised on women,” he
+resumed. “Our people in Holland have found it very successful in the
+case of female spies who come across the Belgian frontier. But some
+women—Miss Barbara, for example—seem to have greater powers of
+resistance than others. We had to employ a rather drastic form of the
+third degree for her, didn’t we, Strangwise?”
+
+He laughed waggishly.
+
+“And you’ll be none too easy either,” he added.
+
+“You beasts,” cried Desmond, “but just you wait, your turn will come!”
+
+“Yours first, however,” chuckled Bellward. “I rather fancy you _will_
+think us beasts by the time we have done with you, my young friend!”
+
+Then he turned to Strangwise.
+
+“Where’s Minna?” he asked.
+
+“With the girl.”
+
+“Is the girl sleeping?”
+
+Strangwise nodded.
+
+“She wanted it,” he replied, “no sleep for four days... I tell you it
+takes some constitution to hold out against that!”
+
+“Well,” said Bellward, rubbing the palms of his hands together, “as
+we’re not likely to be disturbed, I think we’ll make a start!”
+
+He advanced a pace to where Desmond sat trussed up, hand and foot, in
+his chair. Bellward’s eyes were large and luminous, and as Desmond
+glanced rather nervously at the face of the man approaching him, he was
+struck by the compelling power they seemed to emit.
+
+Desmond bent his head to avoid the insistent gaze. But in a couple of
+quick strides Bellward was at his side and stooping down, had thrust
+his face right into his victim’s. Bellward’s face was so close that
+Desmond felt his warm breath on his cheek whilst those burning eyes
+seemed to stab through his closed eyelids and steadily, stealthily,
+draw his gaze.
+
+Resolutely Desmond held his head, averted. All kinds of queer ideas
+were racing through his brain, fragments of nursery rhymes, scenes from
+his regimental life in India, memories of the front, which he had
+deliberately summoned up to keep his attention distracted from those
+merciless eyes, like twin search-lights pitilessly playing on his face.
+
+Bellward could easily have taken Desmond by the chin and forced his
+face up until his eyes came level with the other’s. But he offered no
+violence of any kind. He remained in his stooping position, his face
+thrust forward, so perfectly still that Desmond began to be tormented
+by a desire to risk a rapid peep just to see what the mesmerist was
+doing.
+
+He put the temptation aside. He must keep his eyes shut, he told
+himself. But the desire increased, intensified by the strong attraction
+radiating from Bellward, and finally Desmond succumbed. He opened his
+eyes to dart a quick glance at Bellward and found the other’s staring
+eyes, with pupils distended, fixed on his. And Desmond felt his
+resistance ebb. He tried to avert his gaze; but it was too late. That
+basilisk glare held him fast.
+
+With every faculty of his mind he fought against the influence which
+was slowly, irresistibly, shackling his brain. He laughed, he shouted
+defiance at Bellward and Strangwise, he sang snatches of songs. But
+Bellward never moved a muscle. He seemed to be in a kind of cataleptic
+trance, so rigid his body, so unswerving his stare.
+
+The lights in the room seemed to be growing dim. Bellward’s eyeballs
+gleamed redly in the dull crimson light flooding the room. Desmond felt
+himself longing for some violent shock that would disturb the hideous
+stillness of the house. His own voice was sounding dull and blunted in
+his ears. What was the use of struggling further? He might as well give
+up...
+
+A loud crash, the sound of a door slamming, reechoed through the house.
+The room shook. The noise brought Desmond back to his senses and at the
+same time the chain binding him to Bellward snapped. For Bellward
+started and raised his head and Strangwise sprang to the door. Then
+Desmond heard the door burst open, there was the deafening report of a
+pistol, followed by another, and Bellward crashed forward on his knees
+with a sobbing grunt. As Desmond had his back to the door he could see
+nothing of what was taking place, but some kind of violent struggle was
+going on; for he heard the smash of glass as a piece of furniture was
+upset.
+
+Then suddenly the room seemed full of people. The thongs binding his
+hands and feet fell to the ground. “Buzzer” Barling stood at his side.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXX.
+HOHENLINDEN TRENCH
+
+
+A man broke quickly away from the throng of people pressing into the
+room. It was Francis. The Chief and Mr. Marigold were close at his
+heels.
+
+“Des,” cried Francis, “ah! thank God! you are all right!”
+
+Desmond looked in a dazed fashion from one to the other. The rapid
+transition from the hush of the room to the scene of confusion going on
+around him had left him bewildered. His glance traveled from the faces
+of the men gathered round his chair to the floor. The sight of
+Bellward, very still, hunched up with his face immersed in the thick
+black carpet, seemed to recall something to his mind.
+
+“Barbara!” he murmured in a strained voice.
+
+“She’s all right!” replied his brother, “we found her on the bed in a
+room on the floor below sleeping the sleep of the just. The woman’s
+vanished, though. I’m afraid she got away! But who’s this?”
+
+He pointed to “Buzzer” Barling who stood stiffly at attention beside
+Desmond’s chair.
+
+“Ay, who are you, young fellow” repeated Mr. Marigold coming up close
+to the soldier. “Ask him!” said Desmond, raising his arm, “he knows!”
+
+The group around the door had broken up. Strangwise, his wrists
+handcuffed together, his hair dishevelled and his collar torn, stood
+there between two plain clothes men. And at him Desmond pointed.
+
+Strangwise was staring at the straight, square figure of the gunner,
+awkwardly attired in one of Desmond’s old suits. Berling’s frank,
+honest eyes returned the other’s gaze unflinchingly. But Strangwise was
+obviously taken aback, though only for the moment. The flush that
+mounted to his cheek quickly died down, leaving him as cool and
+impassive as ever.
+
+“Do you know this man!” the Chief, asked sternly, addressing
+Strangwise.
+
+“Certainly,” retorted Strangwise, “it’s Gunner Barling, one of the
+Brigade signallers!”
+
+Mr. Marigold gave a keen glance at the soldier.
+
+“So you’re Barling, eh?” he muttered as though talking to himself, “ah!
+this is getting interesting!”
+
+“Yes,” said Desmond, “this is Gunner Barling. Have a good look at him,
+Strangwise. It is he who summoned these gentlemen to my assistance. It
+is he who’s going to tell them who and what you are!”
+
+Turning to the Chief he added with a touch of formality: “May Gunner
+Barling tell his story, sir?”
+
+“By all means,” replied the Chief. “I am all attention. But first let
+this fellow be removed.”
+
+And beckoning to two of his men; he pointed to the body of Bellward.
+
+“Is he dead” asked Desmond.
+
+The Chief shook his head.
+
+“He drew a bead on one of my men as we came in,” he answered, “and got
+a bullet through the chest for his pains. We’ll have to cure him of
+this gunshot wound so as to get him ready to receive another!”
+
+He laughed a grim dry laugh at his little joke.
+
+“Now, Barling,” said Desmond, when Bellward had been borne away, “I
+want you to tell these gentlemen the story of the raid on the
+Hohenlinden trench.”
+
+Barling glanced rather self-consciously about him. But the look of
+intense, almost nervous watchfulness on the face of Maurice Strangwise
+seemed to reassure him. And when he spoke, he spoke straight at
+Strangwise.
+
+“Well,” he said, “Major Okewood here, what I used to know along of my
+brother being his servant, says as how you gentlemen’ll make it all
+right about my stoppin’ absent if I tells you what I know about this
+orficer. Tell it I will and gladly; for it was all along of him that I
+spoiled a clean sheet of eighteen years’ service, gentlemen.
+
+“When we was down Arras way a few months ago the infantry was a-goin’
+to do a raid, see? And the Captain here was sent along of the infantry
+party to jine up a line back to the ’tillery brigade headquarters.
+Well, he took me and another chap, name o’ Macdonald—Bombardier he
+was—along with him as signallers.
+
+“This was a daylight raid, d’ye see, gentlemen? Our chaps went over at
+four o’clock in the afternoon. They was to enter a sort o’ bulge in the
+German front line wot they called Hohenlinden Trench, bomb the Gers.
+out o’ that, push on to the support line and clear out that and then
+come back. The rocket to fetch ’em home was to go up forty minutes
+after they started.
+
+“Well, me and Mac—that’s the Bombardier—went over with th’ officer here
+just behind the raiding party. O’ course Fritz knew we was comin’ for
+it was broad daylight, and that clear you could see for miles over the
+flats. First thing we knew Fritz had put down a roarin’, tearin’
+barrage, and we hadn’t gone not twenty yards before ole Mac. cops one
+right on the nut; about took his head off, it did. So me and the
+captain we goes on alone and drops all nice and comfortable in the
+trench, and I starts getting my line jined up.
+
+“It was a longish job but I got the brigade line goin’ at last. Our
+chaps had cleared out the front line and was off down the communication
+trenches to the support. What with machine-guns rattlin’ and bombs
+a-goin’ off down the trench and Fritz’s barrage all over the shop the
+row was that awful we had to buzz every single word.
+
+“There was a bit of a house like, a goodish way in front, X farm, they
+called it, and presently the Brigade tells the Captain, who was buzzin’
+to them, to register B battery on to the farm.
+
+“‘I can’t see the farm nohow from here,’ sez the Captain. I could see
+it as plain as plain, and I pointed it out to him. But no! he couldn’t
+see it.
+
+“‘I’ll crawl out of the trench a bit, gunner,’ sez he to me, ‘you sit
+tight,’ he sez, ‘I’ll let you know when to follow!”
+
+“With that he up and out o’ the trench leavin’ me and the instruments
+behind all among the dead Gers., and our lads had killed a tidy few. It
+was pretty lonely round about w’ere I was; for our chaps had all gone
+on and was bombin’ the Gers., like they was a lot o’ rabbits, up and
+down the support line.
+
+“I followed the Captain with me eye, gentlemen, and I’m blessed if he
+didn’t walk straight across the open and over the support trench. Then
+he drops into a bit of a shell-hole and I lost sight of him. Well, I
+waited and waited and no sign of th’ orficer. The rocket goes up and
+our lads begin to come back with half a dozen Huns runnin’ in front of
+them with their hands up. Some of the chaps as they passed me wanted to
+know if I was a-goin’ to stay there all night! And the Brigade buzzin’
+like mad to talk to the Captain.
+
+“I sat in that blessed trench till everybody had cleared out. Then,
+seeing as how not even the docket had brought th’ orficer back, I sez
+to myself as how he must ha’ stopped one. So I gets out of the trench
+and starts crawling across the top towards the place where I see the
+Captain disappear. As I got near the support line the ground went up a
+little and then dropped, so I got a bit of a view on to the ground
+ahead. And then I sees the Captain here!”
+
+Buzzer Barling stopped. All had listened to his story with the deepest
+interest, especially Strangwise, who never took his eyes off the
+gunner’s brown face. Some men are born story-tellers and there was a
+rugged picturesqueness about Barling’s simple narrative which conjured
+up in the minds of his hearers the picture of the lonely signaller
+cowering in the abandoned trench among the freshly slain, waiting for
+the officer who never came back.
+
+“It’s not a nice thing to have to say about an orficer,” the gunner
+presently continued, “and so help me God, gentlemen, I kep’ my mouth
+shut about it until... until...”
+
+He broke off and looked quickly at Desmond.
+
+“Keep that until the end, Barling,” said Desmond, “finish about the
+raid now!”
+
+“Well, as I was sayin’, gentlemen, I was up on a bit of hillock near
+Fritz’s support line when I sees the Captain here. He was settin’ all
+comfortable in a shell-hole, his glasses in his hand, chattin’ quite
+friendly like with two of the Gers. orficers, I reckoned they was,
+along o’ the silver lace on their collars. One was wearin’ one o’ them
+coal-scuttle helmets, t’other a little flat cap with a shiny peak. And
+the Captain here was a-pointin’ at our lines and a-wavin’ his hand
+about like he was a-tellin’ the two Fritzes all about it, and the chap
+in the coal-scuttle hat was a-writin’ it all down in a book.”
+
+Barling paused. He was rather flushed and his eyes burned brightly in
+his weather-beaten face.
+
+“Eighteen year I done in the Royal Regiment,” he went on, and his voice
+trembled a little, “and me father a battery sergeant-major before me,
+and I never thought to see one of our orficers go over to the enemy.
+Fritz was beginnin’ to come back to his front line: I could see their
+coal-scuttle hats a-bobbin’ up and down the communication trenches, so
+I crawled back the way I come and made a bolt for our lines.
+
+“I meant to go straight to the B.C. post and report wot I seen to the
+Major. But I hadn’t the heart to, gentlemen, when I was up against it.
+It was an awful charge to bring against an orficer, d’you see? I told
+myself I didn’t know but what the Captain hadn’t been taken prisoner
+and was makin’ the best of it, w’en I see him, stuffin’ the Fritzes up
+with a lot o’ lies. And so I jes’ reported as how th’ orficer ’ad
+crawled out of the trench and never come back. And then this here
+murder happened...”
+
+Mr. Marigold turned to the Chief.
+
+“If you remember, sir,” he said, “I found this man’s leave paper in the
+front garden of the Mackwayte’s house at Laleham Villas, Seven Kings,
+the day after the murder. There are one or two questions I should like
+to put...”
+
+“No need to arsk any questions,” said Barling. “I’ll tell you the whole
+story meself, mister. I was on leave at the time, due to go back to
+France the next afternoon. I’d been out spending the evenin’ at my
+niece’s wot’s married and livin’ out Seven Kings way. Me and her man
+wot works on the line kept it up a bit late what with yarnin’ about the
+front an’ that and it must a’ been nigh on three o’clock w’en I left
+him to walk back to the Union Jack Club where I had a bed.
+
+“There’s a corfee-stall near their road and the night bein’ crool damp
+I thought as how a nice cup o’ corfee’d warm me up afore I went back to
+the Waterloo Bridge Road. I had me cup o’ corfee and was jes’ a-payin’
+the chap what has the pitch w’en a fellow passes by right in the light
+o’ the lamp on the stall. It was th’ orficer here, in plain
+clothes—shabby-like he was dressed—but I knew him at once.
+
+“‘Our orficers don’t walk about these parts after midnight dressed like
+tramps,’ I sez to meself, and rememberin’ what I seen at the
+Hohenlinden Trench I follows him...”
+
+“Just a minute!”
+
+The Chief’s voice broke in upon the narrative.
+
+“Didn’t you know, Barling, hadn’t you heard, about Captain Strangwise’s
+escape from a German prisoners of war camp?”
+
+“No, sir!” replied the gunner.
+
+“There was a good deal about it in the papers.”
+
+“I’ve not got much eddication, sir,” said Barling, “that’s w’y I never
+took the stripe and I don’t take much account of the newspapers an’
+that’s a fact!”
+
+“Well, go on!” the Chief bade him.
+
+“It was pretty dark in the streets and I follered him along without his
+seeing me into the main-road and then down a turnin’...”
+
+“Laleham Villas,” prompted Mr. Marigold.
+
+“I wasn’t payin’ much attention to were he was leadin’ me,” said
+Barling, “what I wanted to find out was what he was up to! Presently he
+turned in at a gate. I was closer up than I meant to be, and he swung
+in so sudden that I had to drop quick and crouch behind the masonry of
+the front garden wall. My leave pass must a’ dropped out o’ my pocket
+and through the railin’s into the garden.
+
+“Well, the front door must a’ been on the jar for th’ orficer here just
+pushes it open and walks in, goin’ very soft like. I crep’ in the front
+gate and got as far as the door w’ich was a-standin’ half open. I could
+’ear the stair creakin’ under ’im and I was just wonderin’ whether I
+should go into the house w’en I hears a bang and wi’ that someone comes
+aflyin’ down the stairs, dodges through the front hall and out at the
+back. I see him come scramblin’ over the back gate and was a-goin’ to
+stop him thinkin’ it was th’ orficer here w’en I sees it is a tubby
+little chap, not big like the Captain. And then it come over me quite
+sudden-like that burglary and murder had been done in the house and wot
+would I say if a p’liceman come along? So I slipped off and went as
+hard as I could go back to the old Union Jack Club.
+
+“The next mornin’ I found I’d lost me leave paper. I was afraid to go
+and report it in case it had been picked up, and they’d run me in for
+this murder job. That’s how I come to desert, gentlemen, and spoilt a
+eighteen years’ conduct sheet without a entry over this murderin’ spy
+here!”
+
+Gunner Barling broke off abruptly as though he had committed himself to
+a stronger opinion than discipline would allow. It was the Chief who
+broke the silence following the termination of the gunner’s story.
+
+“Strangwise,” he said, “hadn’t you better tell us who you are?”
+
+“He’s an officer of the Prussian Guard,” Desmond said, “and he was sent
+over here by the German secret service organization in the United
+States to get a commission in the British Army. When a good man was
+wanted to recover the Star of Poland for the Crown Prince, the secret
+service people in Berlin sent word to Strangwise (who was then serving
+with the gunners in France) to get himself captured. The German
+military authorities duly reported him a prisoner of war and then let
+him ‘escape’ as’ the easiest and least suspicious means of getting him
+back to London!”
+
+The Chief smiled genially.
+
+“That’s a dashed clever idea,” he observed shrewdly, “’pon my word,
+that’s bright! That’s very bright! I should like to compliment the man
+who thought of that!”
+
+“Then you may address your compliments to me, Chief,” said Strangwise.
+
+The Chief turned and looked at him.
+
+“I’ve met many of your people in my time, Strangwise,” he said, “but I
+don’t know you! Who are you?”
+
+Strangwise laughed.
+
+“Ask Nur-el-Din,” he said, “that is to say, if you haven’t shot her
+yet!”
+
+“And if we have?” asked the Chief.
+
+Desmond sprang up.
+
+“It isn’t possible!” he cried. “Why, the woman’s a victim, not a
+principal! Chief...”
+
+“What if we have?” asked the Chief again.
+
+A curious change had come over the prisoner. His jaunty air had left
+him and there was an apprehensive look in his eyes.
+
+“I would have saved her if I could have,” Strangwise said, “but she
+played me false over the jewel. She imperiled the success of my
+mission. You English have no idea of discipline. To us Prussian
+officers an order stands above everything else. There is nothing we
+would not sacrifice to obey our orders. And my order was to recover the
+Star of Poland for His Imperial Highness the Crown Prince, Lieutenant
+Colonel in the Regiment to which I have the honor to belong, the First
+Regiment of Prussian Foot Guards. But Nur-el-Din plotted with our
+friend here and with that little fool upstairs to upset my plans, and I
+had no mercy on her. I planted those documents in her dress—or rather
+Bellward did—to draw suspicion away from me. I thought you English
+would be too flabby to execute a woman; but I reckoned on you putting
+the girl away for some years to come. I would have shot her as I shot
+Rass if...” His voice trembled and he was silent.
+
+“If what?” asked the Chief.
+
+“If she hadn’t been my wife,” said Strangwise.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXI.
+THE £100,000 KIT
+
+
+It was a clear, crisp morning with a sparkle of frost on jetty and
+breakwater. The English Channel stretched flashing like a living sheet
+of glass to the filmy line marking the coast of France, as serene and
+beautiful in its calm as it is savage and cruel in its anger. It was
+high tide; but only a gentle murmur came from the little waves that
+idly beat upon the shore in front of the bungalow.
+
+A girl lay in a deck chair on the verandah, well wrapped up against the
+eager air. But the fresh breeze would not be denied and, foiled by the
+nurse’s vigilance of its intents against the patient, it revenged
+itself by blowing havoc among the soft brown curls which peeped out
+from under the girl’s hat.
+
+She turned to the man at her side.
+
+“Look!” she said, and pointed seawards with her finger.
+
+A convoy of vessels was standing out to sea framed in the smoke-blurs
+of the escorting destroyers. Ugly, weatherbeaten craft were the
+steamers with trails of smoke blown out in the breeze behind them. They
+rode the sea’s highway with confidence, putting their trust in the
+unseen power that swept the road clear for them.
+
+“Transports, aren’t they?” asked the man.
+
+But he scarcely looked at the transports. He was watching the gleam of
+the sun on the girl’s brown hair and contrasting the deep gray of her
+eyes with the ever-changing hues of the sea.
+
+“Yes,” replied the girl. “It’s the third day they’ve gone across! By
+this time next week there’ll be ten fresh divisions in France. How
+_secure_ they look steaming along! And to think they owe it all to
+you!”
+
+The man laughed and flushed up.
+
+“From the strictly professional standpoint the less said about me the
+better,” he said.
+
+“What nonsense you talk!” cried the girl. “When the Chief was down to
+see me yesterday, he spoke of nothing but you. ‘They beat him, but he
+won out!’ he said, ‘they shook him off but he went back and found ’em!’
+He told me it was a case of grit versus violence—and grit won. In all
+the time I’ve known the Chief, I’ve never heard him talk so much about
+one man before. Do you know,” Barbara went on, looking up at Desmond,
+“I think you’ve made the Chief feel a little bit ashamed of himself.
+And that I may tell you is a most extraordinary achievement!”
+
+“Do you think you’re strong enough to hear some news?” asked Desmond
+after a pause.
+
+“Of course,” replied the girl. “But I think I can guess it. It’s about
+Strangwise, isn’t it?”
+
+Desmond nodded.
+
+“He was shot yesterday morning,” he replied. “I’m glad they did it in
+France. I was terrified lest they should want me to go to it.”
+
+“Why?” asked the girl with a suspicion of indignation in her voice, “he
+deserved no mercy.”
+
+“No,” replied Desmond slowly, “he was a bad fellow—a Prussian through
+and through. He murdered your poor father, he shot Rass, he instigated
+the killing of the maid, Marie, he was prepared to sacrifice his own
+wife even, to this Prussian God of militarism which takes the very soul
+out of a man’s body and puts it into the hands of his superior officer.
+And yet, and yet, when one has soldiered with a man, Barbara, and
+roughed it with him and been shelled and shot at with him, there seems
+to be a bond of sympathy between you and him for ever after. And he was
+a brave man, Barbara, cruel and unscrupulous, I admit, but there was no
+fear in him, and I can’t help admiring courage. I seem to think of him
+as two men—the man I soldiered with and the heartless brute who watched
+while that beast Bellward...”
+
+He broke off as a spasm of pain crossed the girl’s face. “I shall
+remember the one and forget the other,” he concluded simply.
+
+“Tell me,” said the girl suddenly, “who _was_ Strangwise?”
+
+“After he was arrested and just before they were going to take him
+off,” Desmond said, “he asked to be allowed to say a word privately to
+the Chief. We were all sent away and he told the Chief his real name.
+He thought he was going to be hanged, you see, and while he never
+shrank from any crime in the fulfilment of his mission, he was
+terrified of a shameful death. He begged the Chief to see that his real
+name was not revealed for the disgrace that his execution would bring
+upon his family. Curiously Prussian attitude of mind, isn’t it?”
+
+“And what did the Chief say?”
+
+“I don’t know; but he was mighty short with him, I expect.”
+
+“And what was Strangwise’s real name?”
+
+“When he told us that Nur-el-Din was his wife, I knew at once who he
+was. His name is Hans von Schornbeek. He was in the Prussian Foot
+Guards, was turned out for some reason or other and went to America
+where, after a pretty rough time, he was taken on by the German secret
+service organization. He was working for them when he met Nur-el-Din.
+They were married out there and, realizing the possibilities of using
+her as a decoy in the secret service, he sent her to Brussels where the
+Huns were very busy getting ready for war. He treated her abominably;
+but the girl was fond of him in her way and even when she was in fear
+of her life from this man she never revealed to me the fact that he was
+Hans von Schornbeek and her husband.”
+
+Barbara sat musing for a while, her eyes on the restless sea.
+
+“How strange it is,” she said, “to think that they are all dispersed
+now... and the transports are sailing securely to France. Two were
+killed at the Mill House, Behrend committed suicide in prison, Bellward
+died in hospital, Mrs. Malplaquet has disappeared, and now Strangwise
+has gone. There only remains...”
+
+She cast a quick glance at Desmond but he was gazing seaward at the
+smoke of the transports smudging the horizon.
+
+“What are they going to do with Nur-el-Din?” she asked rather abruptly.
+
+“Didn’t the Chief tell you?” said Desmond.
+
+“He only asked me what I had to say in the matter as I had had to
+suffer at her hands. But I told him I left the matter entirely to him.
+I said I took your point of view that Nur-el-Din was the victim of her
+husband...”
+
+“That was generous of you, Barbara,” Desmond said gently.
+
+She sighed.
+
+“Daddy knew her as a little girl,” she answered, “and he was so pleased
+to see her again that night. She never had a chance. I hope she’ll get
+one now!”
+
+“They’re going to intern her, I believe,” said Desmond, “until the end
+of the war; they could do nothing else, you know. But she will be well
+looked after, and I think she will be safer in our charge than if she
+were allowed to remain at liberty. The German Secret Service has had a
+bad knock, you know. Somebody has got to pay for it!”
+
+“I know,” the girl whispered, “and it frightens me.”
+
+“You poor child!” said Desmond, “you’ve had a rough time. But it’s all
+over now. And that reminds me, Barney is coming up for sentence to-day;
+they charged him with murder originally; but Marigold kept on getting
+him remanded until they were able to alter the charge to one of
+burglary. He’ll probably get two years’ hard labor, Marigold says.”
+
+“Poor Barney!” said Barbara, “I wish they would let him go free. All
+these weeks the mystery of poor Daddy’s death has so weighed upon my
+mind that now it has been cleared up I feel as though one day I might
+be happy again. And I want everybody to be happy, too!”
+
+“Barbara,” said Desmond and took her hand.
+
+Barbara calmly withdrew it from his grasp and brushed an imaginary curl
+out of her eye.
+
+“Any news of your hundred thousand pound kit?” she asked, by way of
+turning the conversation.
+
+“By Jove,” said Desmond, “there was a letter from Cox’s at the club
+this morning but I was so rushed to catch my train that I shoved it in
+my pocket and forgot all about it. I wrote and asked them weeks ago to
+get my kit back from France. Here we are!”
+
+He pulled a letter out of his pocket, slit open the envelope and took
+out a printed form. Barbara, propping herself up with one hand on his
+shoulder, leaned over him to read the communication. This is what she
+read.
+
+“We are advised,” the form ran, “that a Wolseley valise forwarded to
+you on the 16th inst. from France has been lost by enemy action. We are
+enclosing a compensation form which...”
+
+But neither troubled to read further.
+
+“Gone to the bottom, by Jove!” cried Desmond. “But isn’t it strange,”
+he went on, “to think of the Star of Poland lying out there on the bed
+of the Channel? Well, I’m not so sure that it isn’t the best place for
+it. It won’t create any further trouble in this world at least!”
+
+“Poor Nur-el-Din!” sighed the girl.
+
+They sat awhile in silence together and watched the gulls circling
+unceasingly above the receding tide.
+
+“You’re leaving here to-morrow then?” said Desmond presently.
+
+Barbara nodded
+
+“And going back to your work with the Chief?”
+
+Barbara nodded again.
+
+“It’s not good enough,” cried Desmond. “This is no job for a girl like
+you, Barbara. The strain is too much; the risks are too great. Besides,
+there’s something I wanted to say...”
+
+Barbara stopped him.
+
+“Don’t say it!” she bade him.
+
+“But you don’t know what I was going to say!” he protested.
+
+Barbara smiled a little happy smile.
+
+“Barbara...” Desmond began.
+
+Her hand still rested on his shoulder and he put his hand over hers.
+For a brief moment she let him have his way.
+
+Then she withdrew her hand.
+
+“Desmond,” she said, looking at him with kindly eyes, “we both have
+work to do...”
+
+“We have,” replied the man somberly, “and mine’s at the front!”
+
+The girl shook her head.
+
+“No!” she said. “Henceforward it’s where the Chief sends you!”
+
+Desmond set his jaw obstinately.
+
+“I may have been a Secret Service agent by accident,” he answered, “but
+I’m a soldier by trade. My place is in the fighting-line!”
+
+“The Secret Service has its fighting-line, too,” Barbara replied,
+“though the war correspondents don’t write about it. It never gets a
+mention in despatches, and Victoria Crosses don’t come its way. The
+newspapers don’t publish its casualty list, though you and I know that
+it’s a long one. A man slips quietly away and never comes back, and
+after a certain lapse of time we just mark him off the books and
+there’s an end of it. But it’s a great service; and you’ve made your
+mark in it. The Chief wants men like you. You’ll have to stay!”
+
+Desmond was about to speak; but the girl stopped him. “What do you and
+I matter,” she asked, “when the whole future of England is at stake! If
+you are to give of your best to this silent game of ours, you must be
+free with no responsibilities and no ties, with nothing that will ever
+make you hesitate to take a supreme risk. And I never met a man that
+dared more freely than you!”
+
+“Oh, please...” said Desmond and got up.
+
+He stood gazing seawards for a while.
+
+Then he glanced at his watch.
+
+“I must be going back to London,” he said. “I have to see the Chief at
+four this afternoon. And you know why!”
+
+The girl nodded.
+
+“What will you tell him?” she asked. “Will you accept his offer to
+remain on in the Secret Service?”
+
+Desmond looked at her ruefully.
+
+“You’re so eloquent about it,” he said slowly, “that I think I must!”
+
+Smiling, she gave him her hand. Desmond held it for an instant in his.
+
+Then, without another word, he turned and strode off towards the
+winding white road that led to the station.
+
+Barbara watched him until a turn in the road hid him from her sight.
+Then she pulled out her handkerchief.
+
+“Good Heavens, girl!” she said to herself, “I believe you’re crying!”
+
+
+
+
+*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK OKEWOOD OF THE SECRET SERVICE ***
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+<div style='text-align:center; font-size:1.2em; font-weight:bold'>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Okewood of the Secret Service, by Valentine Williams</div>
+<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and
+most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions
+whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms
+of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online
+at <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you
+are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the
+country where you are located before using this eBook.
+</div>
+<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: Okewood of the Secret Service</div>
+<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Valentine Williams</div>
+<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Pseudonym: Douglas Valentine</div>
+<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: December, 2000 [eBook #2417]<br />
+[Most recently updated: August 18, 2021]</div>
+<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</div>
+<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Character set encoding: UTF-8</div>
+<div style='display:block; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Produced by: Polly Stratton. HTML version by Al Haines.</div>
+<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK OKEWOOD OF THE SECRET SERVICE ***</div>
+
+<h1>Okewood of the Secret Service</h1>
+
+<h2 class="no-break">by Valentine Williams</h2>
+
+<hr />
+
+<h2>Contents</h2>
+
+<table summary="" style="">
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap01">CHAPTER I. THE DEPUTY TURN</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap02">CHAPTER II. CAPTAIN STRANGWISE ENTERTAINS A GUEST</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap03">CHAPTER III. MR. MACKWAYTE MEETS AN OLD FRIEND</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap04">CHAPTER IV. MAJOR OKEWOOD ENCOUNTERS A NEW TYPE</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap05">CHAPTER V. THE MURDER AT SEVEN KINGS</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap06">CHAPTER VI. “NAME O’BARNEY”</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap07">CHAPTER VII. NUR-EL-DIN</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap08">CHAPTER VIII. THE WHITE PAPER PACKAGE</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap09">CHAPTER IX. METAMORPHOSIS</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap10">CHAPTER X. D. O. R. A. IS BAFFLED</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap11">CHAPTER XI. CREDENTIALS</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap12">CHAPTER XII. AT THE MILL HOUSE</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap13">CHAPTER XIII. WHAT SHAKESPEARE’S COMEDIES REVEALED</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap14">CHAPTER XIV. BARBARA TAKES A HAND</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap15">CHAPTER XV. MR. BELLWARD IS CALLED TO THE TELEPHONE</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap16">CHAPTER XVI. THE STAR OF POLAND</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap17">CHAPTER XVII. MR. BELLWARD ARRANGES A BRIDGE EVENING</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap18">CHAPTER XVIII. THE GATHERING OF THE SPIES</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap19">CHAPTER XIX. THE UNINVITED GUEST</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap20">CHAPTER XX. THE ODD MAN</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap21">CHAPTER XXI. THE BLACK VELVET TOQUE</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap22">CHAPTER XXII. WHAT THE CELLAR REVEALED</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap23">CHAPTER XXIII. MRS. MALPLAQUET GOES DOWN TO THE CELLAR</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap24">CHAPTER XXIV. THE TWO DESERTERS</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap25">CHAPTER XXV. TO MRS. MALPLAQUET’S</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap26">CHAPTER XXVI. THE MAN IN THE SUMMER-HOUSE</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap27">CHAPTER XXVII. THE RED LACQUER ROOM</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap28">CHAPTER XXVIII. AN OFFER FROM STRANGWISE</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap29">CHAPTER XXIX. DOT AND DASH</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap30">CHAPTER XXX. HOHENLINDEN TRENCH</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap31">CHAPTER XXXI. THE £100,000 KIT</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+</table>
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap01"></a>CHAPTER I.<br/>
+THE DEPUTY TURN</h2>
+
+<p>
+Mr. Arthur Mackwayte slipped noiselessly into the dining-room and took his
+place at the table. He always moved quietly, a look of gentle deprecation on
+his face as much as to say: &ldquo;Really, you know, I can&rsquo;t help being
+here: if you will just overlook me this time, by and by you won&rsquo;t notice
+I&rsquo;m there at all!&rdquo; That was how he went through life, a shy,
+retiring little man, quiet as a mouse, gentle as a dove, modesty personified.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+That is, at least, how Mr. Arthur Mackwayte struck his friends in private life.
+Once a week, however, he fairly screamed at the public from the advertisement
+columns of &ldquo;The Referee&rdquo;: &ldquo;Mackwayte, in his Celebrated
+Kerbstone Sketches. Wit! Pathos! Tragedy!!! The Epitome of London Life.
+Universally Acclaimed as the Greatest Portrayer of London Characters since the
+late Chas. Dickens. In Tremendous Demand for Public Dinners. The Popular
+Favorite. A Few Dates still Vacant. 23, Laleham Villas, Seven Kings.
+&rsquo;Phone&rdquo; and so on.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But only professionally did Mr. Mackwayte thus blow his own trumpet, and then
+in print alone. For the rest, he had nothing great about him but his heart. A
+long and bitter struggle for existence had left no hardness in his
+smooth-shaven flexible face, only wrinkles. His eyes were gray and keen and
+honest, his mouth as tender as a woman&rsquo;s.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+His daughter, Barbara, was already at table pouring out the tea&mdash;high tea
+is still an institution in music-hall circles. Mr. Mackwayte always gazed on
+this tall, handsome daughter of his with amazement as the great miracle of his
+life. He looked at her now fondly and thought how.... how distinguished, yes,
+that was the word, she looked in the trim blue serge suit in which she went
+daily to her work at the War Office.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Rations a bit slender to-night, daddy,&rdquo; she said, handing him his
+cup of tea, &ldquo;only sardines and bread and butter and cheese. Our meatless
+day, eh?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It&rsquo;ll do very well for me, Barbara, my dear,&rdquo; he answered in
+his gentle voice, &ldquo;there have been times when your old dad was glad
+enough to get a cup of tea and a bite of bread and butter for his supper. And
+there&rsquo;s many a one worse off than we are today!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Any luck at the agent&rsquo;s, daddy?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mr. Mackwayte shook his head.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;These revues are fair killing the trade, my dear, and that&rsquo;s a
+fact. They don&rsquo;t want art to-day, only rag-time and legs and all that.
+Our people are being cruelly hit by it and that&rsquo;s a fact. Why, who do you
+think I ran into at Harris&rsquo; this morning? Why, Barney who used to work
+with the great Charles, you know, my dear. For years he drew his ten pound a
+week regular. Yet there he was, looking for a job the same as the rest of us.
+Poor fellow, he <i>was</i> down on his luck!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Barbara looked up quickly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Daddy, you lent him money....&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mr. Mackwayte looked extremely uncomfortable.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Only a trifle, my dear, just a few shillings.... to take him over the
+week-end.... he&rsquo;s getting something.... he&rsquo;ll repay me, I feel
+sure....&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It&rsquo;s too bad of you, daddy,&rdquo; his daughter said severely.
+&ldquo;I gave you that ten shillings to buy yourself a bottle of whiskey. You
+know he won&rsquo;t pay you back. That Barney&rsquo;s a bad egg!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Things are going bad with the profession,&rdquo; replied Mr. Mackwayte.
+&ldquo;They don&rsquo;t seem to want any of us old stagers today,
+Barbara!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Now, daddy, you know I don&rsquo;t allow you to talk like that. Why, you
+are only just finished working.... the Samuel Circuit, too!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Barbara looked up at the old man quickly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Only, four weeks&rsquo; trial, my dear.... they didn&rsquo;t want me,
+else they would have given me the full forty weeks. No, I expect I am getting
+past my work. But it&rsquo;s hard on you child....&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Barbara sprang up and placed her hand across her father&rsquo;s mouth.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I won&rsquo;t have you talk like that, Mac&rdquo;&mdash;that was her pet
+name for him&mdash;&ldquo;you&rsquo;ve worked hard all your life and now
+it&rsquo;s my turn. Men have had it all their own way before this war came
+along: now women are going to have a look in. Presently, when I get to be
+supervisor of my section and they raise my pay again, you will be able to
+refuse all offers of work. You can go down to Harris with a big cigar in your
+mouth and patronize him, daddy...&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The telephone standing on the desk in the corner of the cheap little room
+tingled out sharply. Barbara rose and went across to the desk. Mr. Mackwayte
+thought how singularly graceful she looked as she stood, very slim, looking at
+him whimsically across the dinner-table, the receiver in her hand.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Then a strange thing happened. Barbara quickly put the receiver down on the
+desk and clasped her hands together, her eyes opened wide in amazement.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Daddy,&rdquo; she cried, &ldquo;it&rsquo;s the Palaceum... the
+manager&rsquo;s office... they want you urgently! Oh, daddy, I believe it is an
+engagement!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mr. Mackwayte rose to his feet in agitation, a touch of color creeping into his
+gray cheeks.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Nonsense, my dear!&rdquo; he answered, &ldquo;at this time of night!
+Why, it&rsquo;s past eight... their first house is just finishing... they
+don&rsquo;t go engaging people at this time of day... they&rsquo;ve got other
+things to think of!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He went over to the desk and picked up the receiver.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Mackwayte speaking!&rdquo; he said, with a touch of stage majesty in his
+voice.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Instantly a voice broke in on the other end of the wire, a perfect torrent of
+words.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Mackwayte? Ah! I&rsquo;m glad I caught you at home. Got your props
+there? Good. Hickie of Hickie and Flanagan broke his ankle during their turn at
+the first house just now, and I want you to take their place at the second
+house. Your turn&rsquo;s at 9.40: it&rsquo;s a quarter past eight now:
+I&rsquo;ll have a car for you at your place at ten to nine sharp. Bring your
+band parts and lighting directions with you... don&rsquo;t forget! You get
+twenty minutes, on! Right! Goodbye!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The Palaceum want me to deputize for Hickie and Flanagan, my
+dear,&rdquo; he said a little tremulously, &ldquo;9.40... the second house...
+it&rsquo;s... it&rsquo;s very unexpected!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Barbara ran up and throwing her arms about his neck, kissed him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;How splendid!&rdquo; she exclaimed, &ldquo;the Palaceum, daddy!
+You&rsquo;ve never had an engagement like this before... the biggest hall in
+London...!!
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Only for a night, my dear,&rdquo; said Mr. Mackwayte modestly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But if they like you, daddy, if it goes down... what will you give them,
+daddy?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mr. Mackwayte scratched his chin.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It&rsquo;s the biggest theatre in London,&rdquo; he mused,
+&ldquo;It&rsquo;ll have to be broad effects... and they&rsquo;ll want something
+slap up modern, my dear, I&rsquo;m thinking...&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, no, daddy&rdquo; his daughter broke in vehemently &ldquo;they want
+the best. This is a London audience, remember, not a half-baked provincial
+house. This is London, Mac, not Wigan! And Londoners love their London!
+You&rsquo;ll give &rsquo;em the old London horse bus driver, the sporting
+cabby, and I believe you&rsquo;ll have time to squeeze in the hot potato
+man...&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, like your poor dear mother, I expect you know what&rsquo;s the
+best I&rsquo;ve got&rdquo; replied Mr. Mackwayte, &ldquo;but it&rsquo;ll be a
+bit awkward with a strange dresser... I can&rsquo;t get hold of Potter at this
+time, of night... and a stranger is sure to mix up my wigs and things...&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Why, daddy, I&rsquo;m going with you to put out your things...&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But a lady clerk in the War Office, Barbara... a Government official, as
+you might say... go behind at a music-hall... it don&rsquo;t seem proper right,
+my dear!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Nonsense, Mac. Where&rsquo;s your theatre trunk? Come along. We&rsquo;ll
+have to try and get a taxi!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;They&rsquo;re sending a car at ten to nine, my dear!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Good gracious! what swells we are! And it&rsquo;s half-past eight
+already! Who is on the bill with you?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;My dear, I haven&rsquo;t an idea... I&rsquo;m not very well up in the
+London programmes, I&rsquo;m afraid... but it is sure to be a good programme.
+The Palaceum is the only house that&rsquo;s had the courage to break away from
+this rotten revue craze!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Barbara was in the hall now, her arms plunged to the shoulder in a great basket
+trunk that smelt faintly of cocoa-butter. Right and left she flung coats and
+hats and trousers and band parts, selecting with a sure eye the properties
+which Mr. Mackwayte would require for the sketches he would play that evening.
+In the middle of it all the throbbing of a car echoed down the quiet road
+outside. Then there came a ring at the front door.
+</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p>
+At half-past nine that night, Barbara found herself standing beside her father
+in the wings of the vast Palaceum stage. Just at her back was the little
+screened-off recess where Mr. Mackwayte was to make the quick changes that came
+in the course of his turn. Here, since her arrival in the theatre, Barbara had
+been busy laying out coats and hats and rigs and grease-paints on the little
+table below the mirror with its two brilliant electric bulbs, whilst Mr.
+Mackwayte was in his dressing-room upstairs changing into his first costume.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Now, old Mackwayte stood at her elbow in his rig-out as an old London
+bus-driver in the identical, characteristic clothes which he had worn for this
+turn for the past 25 years. He was far too old a hand to show any nervousness
+he might feel at the ordeal before him. He was chatting in undertones in his
+gentle, confidential way to the stage manager.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+All around them was that curious preoccupied stillness&mdash;the hush of the
+power-house&mdash;which makes the false world of the stage so singularly unreal
+by contrast when watched from the back. The house was packed from floor to
+ceiling, for the Palaceum&rsquo;s policy of breaking away from revue and going
+back to Mr. Mackwayte called &ldquo;straight vaudeville&rdquo; was triumphantly
+justifying itself.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Standing in the wings, Barbara could almost feel the electric current running
+between the audience and the comedian who, with the quiet deliberation of the
+finished artist, was going through his business on the stage. As he made each
+of his carefully studied points, he paused, confident of the vast rustle of
+laughter swelling into a hurricane of applause which never failed to come from
+the towering tiers of humanity before him, stretching away into the roof where
+the limelights blazed and spluttered. Save for the low murmur of voices at her
+side, the silence behind the scenes was absolute. No one was idle. Everyone was
+at his post, his attention concentrated on that diminutive little figure in the
+ridiculous clothes which the spot-lights tracked about the stage.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It was the high-water mark of modern music-hall development. The perfect
+smoothness of the organization gave Barbara a great feeling of contentment for
+she knew how happy her father must be. Everyone had been so kind to him.
+&ldquo;I shall feel a stranger amongst the top-liners of today, my dear,&rdquo;
+he had said to her in the car on their way to the hall. She had had no answer
+ready for she had feared he spoke the truth.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Yet everyone they had met had tried to show them that Arthur Mackwayte was not
+forgotten. The stage-door keeper had known him in the days of the old Aquarium
+and welcomed him by name. The comedian who preceded Mr. Mackwayte and who was
+on the stage at that moment had said, &ldquo;Hullo, Mac! Come to give us young
+&rsquo;uns some tips?&rdquo; And even now the stage manager was talking over
+old days with her father.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You had a rough but good schooling, Mac,&rdquo; he was saying,
+&ldquo;but, by Jove, it gave us finished artists. If you saw the penny reading
+line that comes trying to get a job here... and gets it, by Gad!... it&rsquo;d
+make you sick. I tell you I have my work cut out staving them off! It&rsquo;s a
+pretty good show this week, though, and I&rsquo;ve given you a good place,
+Mac... you&rsquo;re in front of Nur-el-Din!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Nur-el-Din?&rdquo; repeated Mr. Mackwayte, &ldquo;what is it, Fletcher?
+A conjurer?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Good Lord, man, where have you been living?&rdquo; replied Fletcher.
+&ldquo;Nur-el-Din is the greatest vaudeville proposition since Lottie Collins.
+Conjurer! That&rsquo;s what she is, too, by Jove! She&rsquo;s the newest thing
+in Oriental dancers... Spaniard or something... wonderful clothes, what there
+is of &rsquo;em... and jewelry... wait till you see her!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Dear me,&rdquo; said Mr. Mackwayte, &ldquo;I&rsquo;m afraid I&rsquo;m a
+bit behind the times. Has she been appearing here long?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;First appearance in London, old man, and she&rsquo;s made good from the
+word &lsquo;Go!&rsquo; She&rsquo;s been in Paris and all over the Continent,
+and America, too, I believe, but she had to come to me to soar to the top of
+the bill. I saw at once where <i>she</i> belonged! She&rsquo;s a real artiste,
+temperament, style and all that sort of thing and a damn good producer into the
+bargain! But the worst devil that ever escaped out of hell never had a wickeder
+temper! She and I fight all the time! Not a show, but she doesn&rsquo;t keep
+the stage waiting! But I won! I won&rsquo;t have her prima donna tricks in this
+theatre and so I&rsquo;ve told her! Hullo, Georgie&rsquo;s finishing...&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The great curtain switched down suddenly, drowning a cascade of applause, and a
+bundle of old clothes, twitching nerves, liquid perspiration and grease paint
+hopped off the stage into the centre of the group. An electric bell trilled,
+the limelights shut off, with a jerk that made the eyes ache, a back-cloth
+soared aloft and another glided down into its place, the comedian took two,
+three, four calls, then vanished into a horde of dim figures scuttling about in
+the gloom.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+An electric bell trilled again and deep silence fell once more, broken only by
+the hissing of the lights.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You ought to stop behind after your turn and see her, Mac,&rdquo; the
+stage manager&rsquo;s voice went on evenly. &ldquo;All right, Jackson! On you
+go, Mac!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Barbara felt her heart jump. Now for it, daddy!
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The great curtain mounted majestically and Arthur Mackwayte, deputy turn,
+stumped serenely on to the stage.
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap02"></a>CHAPTER II.<br/>
+CAPTAIN STRANGWISE ENTERTAINS A GUEST</h2>
+
+<p>
+It was the slack hour at the Nineveh Hotel. The last groups about the
+tea-tables in the Palm Court had broken up, the Tzigane orchestra had stacked
+its instruments together on its little platform and gone home, and a gentle
+calm rested over the great hotel as the forerunner of the coming dinner storm.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The pre-dinner hour is the uncomfortable hour of the modern hotel de luxe. The
+rooms seem uncomfortably hot, the evening paper palls, it is too early to dress
+for dinner, so one sits yawning over the fire, longing for a fireside of
+one&rsquo;s own. At least that is how it strikes one from the bachelor
+standpoint, and that is how it appeared to affect a man who was sitting hunched
+up in a big arm-chair in the vestibule of the Nineveh Hotel on this winter
+afternoon.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+His posture spoke of utter boredom. He sprawled full length in his chair, his
+long legs stretched out in front of him, his eyes half-closed, various editions
+of evening papers strewn about the ground at his feet. He was a tall,
+well-groomed man, and his lithe, athletic figure looked very well in its neat
+uniform.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A pretty little woman who sat at one of the writing desks in the vestibule
+glanced at him more than once. He was the sort of man that women look at with
+interest. He had a long, shrewd, narrow head, the hair dark and close-cropped,
+a big, bold, aquiline nose, and a firm masterful chin, dominated by a
+determined line of mouth emphasised by a thin line of moustache. He would have
+been very handsome but for his eyes, which, the woman decided as she glanced at
+him, were set rather too close together. She thought she would prefer him as he
+was now, with his eyes glittering in the fire-light through their long lashes.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But what was most apparent was the magnificent physical fitness of the man. His
+was the frame of the pioneer, the man of the earth&rsquo;s open spaces and
+uncharted wilds. He looked as hard as nails, and the woman murmured to herself,
+as she went on with her note, &ldquo;On leave from the front.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Presently, the man stirred, stretched himself and finally sat up. Then he
+started, sprang to his feet, and strode easily across the vestibule to the
+reception desk. An officer was standing there in a worn uniform, a very shabby
+kit-bag by his side, a dirty old Burberry over his arm.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Okewood!&rdquo; said the young man and touched the other on the
+shoulder, &ldquo;isn&rsquo;t it Desmond Okewood? By Jove, I <i>am</i> glad to
+see you!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The new-comer turned quickly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Why, hullo,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;if it isn&rsquo;t Maurice Strangwise!
+But, good heavens, man, surely I saw your name in the casualty list... missing,
+wasn&rsquo;t it?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yep!&rdquo; replied the other smiling, &ldquo;that&rsquo;s so!
+It&rsquo;s a long story and it&rsquo;ll keep! But tell me about yourself...
+this,&rdquo; he kicked the kit-bag with the toe of his boot, &ldquo;looks like
+a little leave! Just in from France?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He smiled again, baring his firm, white teeth, and looking at him Desmond
+suddenly remembered, as one recalls a trifle, his trick of smiling. It was a
+frank enough smile but... well, some people smile too much.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Got in just now by the leave train,&rdquo; answered Desmond.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;How much leave have you got?&rdquo; asked Strangwise.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well,&rdquo; said the other, &ldquo;it&rsquo;s a funny thing, but I
+don&rsquo;t know!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Say, are they giving unlimited leave over there now?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Desmond laughed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Hardly,&rdquo; he replied. &ldquo;But the War Office just applied for me
+to come over and here I am! What they want me for, whether it&rsquo;s to advise
+the War Council or to act as Quartermaster to the Jewish Battalion I
+can&rsquo;t tell you! I shan&rsquo;t know until tomorrow morning! In the
+meantime I&rsquo;m going to forget the war for this evening!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What are you going to do to-night?&rdquo; asked Strangwise.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Desmond began to check off on his fingers.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Firstly, I&rsquo;m going to fill the biggest bath in this hotel with hot
+water, get the biggest piece of Pears&rsquo; soap in London, and jump in: Then,
+if my tailor hasn&rsquo;t betrayed me, I&rsquo;m going to put on dress clothes,
+and whilst I am dressing summon Julien (if he&rsquo;s maitre d&rsquo;hôtel
+here) to a conference, then I&rsquo;m going to eat the best dinner that this
+pub can provide. Then...&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Strangwise interrupted him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The bath is on you, if you like,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;but the
+dinner&rsquo;s on me and a show afterwards. I&rsquo;m at a loose end, old man,
+and so are you, so we&rsquo;ll hit up together! We&rsquo;ll dine in the
+restaurant here at 7.30, and Julien shall come up to your room so that you can
+order the dinner. Is it a go?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Rather,&rdquo; laughed Desmond, &ldquo;I&rsquo;ll eat your dinner,
+Maurice, and you shall tell me how you managed to break out of the casualty
+list into the Nineveh Hotel. But what do all these anxious-looking gentry
+want?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The two officers turned to confront a group of four men who were surveying them
+closely. One of them, a fat, comfortable looking party with grizzled hair, on
+seeing Desmond, walked up to him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Hullo!&rdquo; said Desmond, &ldquo;it&rsquo;s Tommy Spencer! How are
+you, Spencer? What&rsquo;s the betting in Fleet Street on the war lasting
+another five years? Have you come to interview me?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The tubby little man beamed and shook hands effusively.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Glad to see you looking so well, Major,&rdquo; he said,
+&ldquo;It&rsquo;s your friend we want...&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What? Strangwise? Here, Maurice, come meet my friend Tommy Spencer of
+the &ldquo;Daily Record,&rdquo; whom I haven&rsquo;t seen since we went on
+manoeuvres together down at Aldershot! Captain Strangwise, Tommy Spencer! Now,
+then, fire away; Spencer!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Strangwise smiled and shook his head.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;m very pleased to know your friend, Desmond,&rdquo; he said,
+&ldquo;but, you know, I can&rsquo;t talk! I had the strictest orders from the
+War Office... It&rsquo;s on account of the other fellows, you know...&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Desmond looked blankly at him. Then he&mdash;turned to Spencer.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You must let me into this, Spencer,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;what&rsquo;s
+old Maurice been up to? Has he been cashiered for wearing shoes or what?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Spencer&rsquo;s manner became a trifle formal.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Captain Strangwise has escaped from a prisoners&rsquo; of war camp in
+Germany, Major,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;we&rsquo;ve been trying to get hold of
+him for days! He&rsquo;s the talk of London!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Desmond turned like a shot.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Maurice!&rdquo; he cried, &ldquo;&rsquo;pon my soul, I&rsquo;m going to
+have an interesting evening... why, of course, you are just the sort of fellow
+to do a thing like that. But, Spencer, you know, it won&rsquo;t do... fellows
+are never allowed to talk to the newspaper men about matters of this kind. And
+if you&rsquo;re a good fellow, Spencer, you won&rsquo;t even say that you have
+seen Strangwise here... you&rsquo;ll only get him into trouble!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The little man looked rather rueful.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, of course, Major, if you put it that way,&rdquo; he said.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;... And you&rsquo;ll use your influence to make those other fellows with
+you drop it, will you, Spencer? And then come along to the bar and we&rsquo;ll
+have a drink for old times&rsquo; sake!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Spencer seemed doubtful about the success of his representations to his
+colleagues but he obediently trotted away. Apparently, he succeeded in his
+mission for presently he joined the two officers alone in the American Bar.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I haven&rsquo;t seen Strangwise for six months, Spencer,&rdquo; said
+Desmond over his second cocktail. &ldquo;Seeing him reminds me how astonishing
+it is the way fellows drop apart in war. Old Maurice was attached to the
+Brigade of which I am the Brigade Major as gunner officer, and we lived
+together for the best part of three months, wasn&rsquo;t it, Maurice? Then he
+goes back to his battery and the next thing I hear of him is that he is
+missing. And then I&rsquo;m damned if he doesn&rsquo;t turn up here!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Spencer cocked an eye at Strangwise over his Martini.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;d like to hear your story, despite the restrictions,&rdquo; he
+said.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Strangwise looked a trifle embarrassed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Maybe I&rsquo;ll tell you one day,&rdquo; he replied in his quiet way,
+&ldquo;though, honestly, there&rsquo;s precious little to tell...&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Desmond marked his confusion and respected him for it. He rushed in to the
+rescue.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Spencer,&rdquo; he said abruptly, &ldquo;what&rsquo;s worth seeing in
+London? We are going to a show to-night. I want to be amused, mark you, not
+elevated!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Nur-el-Din at the Palaceum,&rdquo; replied the reporter.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;By Jove, we&rsquo;ll go there,&rdquo; said Desmond, turning to Maurice.
+&ldquo;Have you ever seen her? I&rsquo;m told she&rsquo;s perfectly
+marvelous...&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It&rsquo;s an extraordinarily artistic turn,&rdquo; said Spencer,
+&ldquo;and they&rsquo;re doing wonderful business at the Palaceum. You&rsquo;d
+better go and see the show soon, though, for they tell me the lady is leaving
+the programme.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;<i>No!</i>&rdquo; exclaimed Strangwise so suddenly that Desmond turned
+round and stared at him. &ldquo;I thought she was there for months
+yet...&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;They don&rsquo;t want her to go,&rdquo; answered Spencer,
+&ldquo;she&rsquo;s a perfect gold-mine to them but I gather the lady is
+difficult... in fact, to put it bluntly she&rsquo;s making such a damn nuisance
+of herself with her artistic temperament that they can&rsquo;t get on with her
+at all.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Do you know this lady of the artistic temperament, Maurice?&rdquo; asked
+Desmond.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Strangwise hesitated a moment.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I met her in Canada a few years ago,&rdquo; he said slowly, &ldquo;she
+was a very small star then. She&rsquo;s a very handsome and attractive girl, in
+spite of our friend&rsquo;s unfavorable verdict. There&rsquo;s something
+curiously real about her dancing, too, that you don&rsquo;t find in this sort
+of show as a rule!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He stopped a moment, then added abruptly:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;We&rsquo;ll go along to the Palaceum to-night, if you like,
+Desmond,&rdquo; and Desmond joyfully acquiesced. To one who has been living for
+weeks in an ill-ventilated pill-box on the Passchendaele Ridge, the lights and
+music and color of a music-hall seem as a foretaste of Paradise.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And that was what Desmond Okewood thought as a few hours later he found himself
+with Maurice Strangwise in the stalls of the vast Palaceum auditorium. In the
+unwonted luxury of evening clothes he felt clean and comfortable, and the cigar
+he way smoking was the climax of one of Julien&rsquo;s most esoteric efforts.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The cards on either side of the proscenium opening bore the words:
+&ldquo;Deputy Turn.&rdquo; On the stage was a gnarled old man with ruddy cheeks
+and a muffler. a seedy top hat on his head, a coaching whip in his hand, the
+old horse bus-driver of London in his habit as he had lived. The old fellow
+stood there and just talked to the audience of a fine sporting class of men
+that petrol has driven from the streets, without exaggerated humor or pathos.
+Desmond, himself a born Cockney, at once fell under the actor&rsquo;s spell and
+found all memories of the front slipping away from him as the old London street
+characters succeeded one another on the stage. Then the orchestra blared out,
+the curtain descended, and the house broke into a great flutter of applause.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Desmond, luxuriating in his comfortable stall puffed at his cigar and fell into
+a pleasant reverie.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He was contrasting the ghastly nightmare of mud and horrors from which he had
+only just emerged with the scene of elegance, of civilization; around him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Suddenly, his attention became riveted on the stage. The atmosphere of the
+theatre had changed. Always quick at picking up &ldquo;influences,&rdquo;
+Desmond instantly sensed a new mood in the throngs around him. A presence was
+in the theatre, an instinct-awakening, a material influence. The great audience
+was strangely hushed. The air was heavy with the scent of incense. The stringed
+instruments and oboes in the orchestra were wandering into rhythmic
+[Updater&rsquo;s note: a line appears to be missing from the source here]
+dropped.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Maurice touched his elbow.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;There she is!&rdquo; he said.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Desmond felt inclined to shake him off roughly. The interruption jarred on him.
+For he was looking at this strangely beautiful girl with her skin showing very
+brown beneath a wonderful silver tiara-like headdress, and in the broad
+interstices of a cloth-of-silver robe with short, stiffly wired-out skirt. She
+was seated, an idol, on a glittering black throne, at her feet with their
+tapering dyed nails a fantastically attired throng of worshipers.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The idol stirred into life, the music of the orchestra died away. Then a
+tom-tom began to beat its nervous pulse-stirring throb, the strident notes of a
+reed-pipe joined in and the dancer, raised on her toes on the dais, began to
+sway languorously to and fro. And so she swayed and swayed with sinuously
+curving limbs while the drums throbbed out faster with ever-shortening beats,
+with now and then a clash of brazen cymbals that was torture to overwrought
+nerves.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The dancer was the perfection of grace. Her figure was lithe and supple as a
+boy&rsquo;s. There was a suggestion of fire and strength and agility about her
+that made one think of a panther as she postured there against a background of
+barbaric color. The grace of her movements, the exquisite blending of the
+colors on the stage, the skillful grouping of the throng of worshipers, made up
+a picture which held the audience spellbound and in silence until the curtain
+dropped.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Desmond turned to find Strangwise standing up.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I thought of just running round behind the scenes for a few
+minutes,&rdquo; he said carelessly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What, to see Nur-el-Din? By Jove, I&rsquo;m coming, too!&rdquo; promptly
+exclaimed Desmond.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Strangwise demurred. He didn&rsquo;t quite know if he could take him: there
+might be difficulties: another time... But Desmond got up resolutely.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll be damned if you leave me behind, Maurice,&rdquo; he laughed,
+&ldquo;of course I&rsquo;m coming, too! She&rsquo;s the most delightful
+creature I&rsquo;ve ever set eyes on!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And so it ended by them going through the pass-door together.
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap03"></a>CHAPTER III.<br/>
+MR. MACKWAYTE MEETS AN OLD FRIEND</h2>
+
+<p>
+That night Nur-el-Din kept the stage waiting for five minutes. It was a climax
+of a long series of similar unpardonable crimes in the music-hall code. The
+result was that Mr. Mackwayte, after taking four enthusiastic
+&ldquo;curtains,&rdquo; stepped off the stage into a perfect pandemonium.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He found Fletcher, the stage manager, livid with rage, surrounded by the
+greater part of the large suite with which the dancer traveled. There was
+Madame&rsquo;s maid, a trim Frenchwoman, Madame&rsquo;s business manager, a
+fat, voluble Italian, Madame&rsquo;s secretary, an olive-skinned South American
+youth in an evening coat with velvet collar, and Madame&rsquo;s principal male
+dancer in a scanty Egyptian dress with grotesquely painted face. They were all
+talking at the same time, and at intervals Fletcher muttered hotly: &ldquo;This
+time she leaves the bill or I walk out of the theatre!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Then a clear voice cried:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;<i>Me voila!</i>&rdquo; and a dainty apparition in an ermine wrap
+tripped into the centre of the group, tapped the manager lightly on the
+shoulder and said:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;<i>Allons!</i> I am ready!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mr. Mackwayte&rsquo;s face creased its mask of paint into a thousand wrinkles.
+For, on seeing him, the dancer&rsquo;s face lighted up, and, running to him
+with hands outstretched, she cried:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;<i>Tiens!</i> Monsieur Arthur!&rdquo; while he ejaculated:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Why, it&rsquo;s little Marcelle!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But now the stage manager interposed. He whisked Madame&rsquo;s wrap off her
+with one hand and with the other, firmly propelled her on to the stage. She let
+him have his way with a merry smile, dark eyes and white teeth flashing, but as
+she went she said to Mr. Mackwayte:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;My friend, wait for me! <i>Et puis nous causerons!</i> We will
+&rsquo;ave a talk, <i>n&rsquo;est-ce pas?</i>&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;A very old friend of mine, my dear,&rdquo; Mr. Mackwayte said to Barbara
+when, dressed in his street clothes, he rejoined her in the wings where she
+stood watching Nur-el-Din dancing. &ldquo;She was an acrobat in the Seven
+Duponts, a turn that earned big money in the old days. It must be...
+let&rsquo;s see... getting on for twenty years since I last set eyes on her.
+She was a pretty kid in those days! God bless my soul! Little Marcelle a big
+star! It&rsquo;s really most amazing!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Directly she was off the stage, Nur-el-Din came straight to Mr. Mackwayte,
+pushing aside her maid who was waiting with her wrap.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;My friend,&rdquo; she cooed in her pretty broken English, &ldquo;I am so
+glad, so glad to see you. And this is your girl... ah! she &rsquo;as your eyes,
+Monsieur Arthur, your nice English gray eyes! Such a big girl... ah! but she
+make me feel old!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She laughed, a pretty gurgling laugh, throwing back her head so that the
+diamond collar she was wearing heaved and flashed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But you will come to my room, <i>hein?</i>&rdquo; she went on.
+&ldquo;Marie, my wrap!&rdquo; and she led the way to the lift.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Nur-el-Din&rsquo;s spacious dressing-room seemed to be full of people and
+flowers. All her little court was assembled amid a perfect bower of hot-house
+blooms and plants. Head and shoulders above everybody else in the room towered
+the figure of an officer in uniform, with him another palpable Englishman in
+evening dress.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Desmond Okewood thought he had never seen anything in his life more charming
+than the picture the dancer made as she came into the room. Her wrap had fallen
+open and beneath the broad bars of her cloth-of-silver dress her bosom yet rose
+and fell after the exertions of her dance. A jet black curl had strayed out
+from beneath her lofty silver head-dress, and she thrust it back in its place
+with one little brown bejeweled hand whilst she extended the other to
+Strangwise.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;<i>Tiens, mon capitaine!</i>&rdquo; she said. Desmond was watching her
+closely, fascinated by her beauty, but noticed an unwilling, almost a hostile
+tone, in her voice.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Strangwise was speaking in his deep voice.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Marcelle,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;I&rsquo;ve brought a friend who is
+anxious to meet you. Major Desmond Okewood! He and I soldiered together in
+France!&rdquo; The dancer turned her big black eyes full on Desmond as she held
+out her hand to him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Old friends, new friends,&rdquo; she cried, clapping, her hands like a
+child, &ldquo;I love friends. Captaine, here is a very old friend,&rdquo; she
+said to Strangwise as Mr. Mackwayte and Barbara came into the rooms,
+&ldquo;Monsieur Arthur Mackwayte and &rsquo;is daughter. I &rsquo;ave know
+Monsieur Arthur almos&rsquo; all my life. And, Mademoiselle, permit me? I
+introduce le Captaine Strangwise and &rsquo;is friend... what is the name? Ah,
+Major Okewood!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Nur-el-Din sank into a <i>bergère</i> chair beside her great mirror.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;There are too many in this room,&rdquo; she cried, &ldquo;there is no
+air! Lazarro, Ramiro, all of you, go outside, my friends!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+As Madame&rsquo;s entourage surged out, Strangwise said:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I hear you are leaving the Palaceum, Marcelle!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He spoke so low that Mr. Mackwayte and Barbara, who were talking to Desmond,
+did not hear. Marcelle, taking off her heavy head-dress, answered quickly:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Who told you that?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Never mind,&rdquo; replied Strangwise. &ldquo;But you never told me you
+were going. Why didn&rsquo;t you?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+His voice was stern and hard now, very different from his usual quiet and
+mellow tones. But he was smiling.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Marcelle cast a glance over her shoulder. Barbara was looking round the room
+and caught the reflection of the dancer&rsquo;s face in a mirror hanging on the
+wall. To her intense astonishment, she saw a look of despair, almost of terror,
+in Nur-el-Din&rsquo;s dark eyes. It was like the frightened stare of some
+hunted beast. Barbara was so much taken aback that she instinctively glanced
+over her shoulder at the door, thinking that the dancer had seen something
+there to frighten her. But the door was shut. When Barbara looked into the
+mirror again, she saw only the reflection of Nur-el-Din&rsquo;s pretty neck and
+shoulders. The dancer was talking again in low tones to Strangwise.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But Barbara swiftly forgot that glimpse of the dancer&rsquo;s face in the
+glass. For she was very happy. Happiness, like high spirits, is eminently
+contagious, and the two men at her side were supremely content.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Her father&rsquo;s eyes were shining with his little success of the evening: on
+the way upstairs Fletcher had held out hopes to him of a long engagement at the
+Palaceum while as for the other, he was radiant with the excitement of his
+first night in town after long months of campaigning.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He was thinking that his leave had started most propitiously. After a man has
+been isolated for months amongst muddy masculinity, the homeliest woman will
+find favor in his eyes. And to neither of these women, in whose presence he so
+unexpectedly found himself within a few hours of landing in England, could the
+epithet &ldquo;homely&rdquo; be applied. Each represented a distinct type of
+beauty in herself, and Desmond, as he chatted with Barbara, was mentally
+contrasting the two women. Barbara, tall and slim and very healthy, with her
+braided brown hair, creamy complexion and gray eyes, was essentially English.
+She was the typical woman of England, of England of the broad green valleys and
+rolling downs and snuggling hamlets, of England of the white cliffs gnawed by
+the restless ocean. The other was equally essentially a woman of the South. Her
+dark eyes, her upper lip just baring her firm white teeth, spoke of hot Latin
+or gypsy blood surging in her veins. Hers was the beauty of the East, sensuous,
+arresting, conjuring up pictures of warm, perfumed nights, the thrumming of
+guitars, a great yellow moon hanging low behind the palms.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Barbara!&rdquo; called Nur-el-Din from the dressing table. Mr. Mackwayte
+had joined her there and was chatting to Strangwise.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You will stay and talk to me while I change <i>n&rsquo;est-ce pas?</i>
+Your papa and these gentlemen are going to drink a whiskey-soda with that
+animal Fletcher... <i>quel homme terrible</i>... and you shall join them
+presently.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The men went out, leaving Barbara alone with the dancer. Barbara noticed how
+tired Nur-el-Din was looking. Her pretty, childish ways seemed to have
+evaporated with her high spirits. Her face was heavy and listless. There were
+lines round her eyes, and her mouth had a hard, drawn look.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Child,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;give me, please, my <i>peignoir</i>... it
+is behind the door,... and, I will get this paint off my face!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Barbara fetched the wrapper and sat down beside the dancer. But Nur-el-Din did
+not move. She seemed to be thinking. Barbara saw the hunted look she had
+already observed in her that evening creeping over her face again.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It is a hard life; this life of ours, a life of change, <i>ma
+petite!</i> A great artiste has no country, no home, no fireside! For the past
+five years I have been roaming about the world! Often I think I will settle
+down, but the life holds me!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She took up from her dressing-table a little oblong plain silver box.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I want to ask you a favor, <i>ma petite</i> Barbara!&rdquo; she said.
+&ldquo;This little box is a family possession of mine: I have had it for many
+years. The world is so disturbed to-day that life is not safe for anybody who
+travels as much as I do! You have a home, a safe home with your dear father! He
+was telling me about it! Will you take this little box and keep it safely for
+me until... until... the war is over... until I ask you for it?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes, of course,&rdquo; said Barbara, &ldquo;if you wish it, though, what
+with these air raids, I don&rsquo;t know that London is particularly safe,
+either.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Ah! that is good of you,&rdquo; cried Nur-el-Din, &ldquo;anyhow, the
+little box is safer with you than with me. See, I will wrap it up and seal it,
+and then you will take it home with you, <i>n&rsquo;est-ce pas?</i>&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She opened a drawer and swiftly hunting among its contents produced a sheet of
+white paper, and some sealing-wax. She wrapped the box in the paper and sealed
+it up, stamping the seals with a camel signet ring she drew off her finger.
+Then she handed the package to Barbara.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+There was a knock at the door. The maid, noiselessly arranging Madame&rsquo;s
+dresses in the corner opened it.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You will take care of it well for me,&rdquo; the dancer said to Barbara,
+and her voice vibrated with a surprising eagerness, &ldquo;you will guard it
+preciously until I come for it...&rdquo; She laughed and added carelessly:
+&ldquo;Because it is a family treasure, a life <i>mascotte</i> of mine,
+<i>hein?</i>&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Then they heard Strangwise&rsquo;s deep voice outside.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Nur-el-Din started.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Le Captaine is there, Madame,&rdquo; said the French maid,
+&ldquo;&rsquo;e say Monsieur Mackwayte ask for Mademoiselle!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The dancer thrust a little hand from the folds of her silken kimono.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;<i>Au revoir, ma petite</i>,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;we shall meet
+again. You will come and see me, <i>n&rsquo;est-ce pas?</i> And say nothing to
+anybody about...&rdquo; she pointed to Barbara&rsquo;s bag where the little
+package was reposing, &ldquo;it shall be a secret between us, <i>hein?</i>
+Promise me this, <i>mon enfant!</i>&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Of course, I promise, if you like!&rdquo; said Barbara, wonderingly.
+</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p>
+At half-past eight the next morning Desmond Okewood found himself in the
+ante-room of the Chief of the Secret Service in a cross and puzzled mood. The
+telephone at his bedside had roused him at 8 a.m. from the first sleep he had
+had in a real bed for two months. In a drowsy voice he had protested that he
+had an appointment at the War Office at 10 o&rsquo;clock, but a curt voice had
+bidden him dress himself and come to the Chief forthwith. Here he was,
+accordingly, breakfastless, his chin smarting from a hasty shave. What the
+devil did the Chief want with him anyhow? <i>He</i> wasn&rsquo;t in the Secret
+Service, though his brother, Francis, was.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A voice broke in upon his angry musing.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Come in, Okewood!&rdquo; it said.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The Chief stood at the door of his room, a broad-shouldered figure in a plain
+jacket suit. Desmond had met him before. He knew him for a man of many
+questions but of few confidences, yet his recollection of him was of a suave,
+imperturbable personality. To-day, however, the Chief seemed strangely
+preoccupied. There was a deep line between his bushy eyebrows as he bent them
+at Desmond, motioning him to a chair. When he spoke, his manner was very curt.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What time did you part from the Mackwaytes at the theatre last
+night?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Desmond was dumbfounded. How on earth did the Chief know about his visit to the
+Palaceum? Still, he was used to the omniscience of the British Intelligence, so
+he answered promptly:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It was latish, sir; about midnight, I think!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;They went home to Seven Kings alone!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes, sir, in a taxi!&rdquo; Desmond replied.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The Chief contemplated his blotting-pad gloomily. Desmond knew it for a trick
+of his when worried.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Did you have a good night?&rdquo; he said to Desmond, suddenly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; he said, not in the least understanding the drift of the
+question. &ldquo;... though I didn&rsquo;t mean to get up quite so
+early!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The Chief ignored this sally.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Nothing out of the ordinary happened during the night, I suppose?&rdquo;
+he asked again.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Desmond shook his head.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Nothing that I know of, sir,&rdquo; he said.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Seen Strangwise this morning?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Desmond gasped for breath. So the Chief knew about him meeting Strangwise, too!
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, sir!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A clerk put his head in at the door.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, Matthews!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Captain Strangwise will be along very shortly, sir,&rdquo; he said.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The Chief looked up quickly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Ah, he&rsquo;s all right then! Good.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And, sir,&rdquo; Matthews added, &ldquo;Scotland Yard telephoned to say
+that the doctor is with Miss Mackwayte now.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Desmond started up.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Is Miss Mackwayte ill?&rdquo; he exclaimed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The Chief answered slowly, as Matthews withdrew: &ldquo;Mr. Mackwayte was found
+murdered at his house early this morning!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap04"></a>CHAPTER IV.<br/>
+MAJOR OKEWOOD ENCOUNTERS A NEW TYPE</h2>
+
+<p>
+There is a sinister ring about the word &ldquo;murder,&rdquo; which reacts upon
+even the most hardened sensibility. Edgar Allan Poe, who was a master of the
+suggestive use of words, realized this when he called the greatest detective
+story ever written &ldquo;The Murders in the Rue Morgue.&rdquo; From the very
+beginning of the war, Desmond had seen death in all its forms but that word
+&ldquo;murdered,&rdquo; spoken with slow emphasis in the quiet room, gave him
+an ugly chill feeling round the heart that he had never experienced on the
+battlefield.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Murdered!&rdquo; Desmond repeated dully and sat down. He felt stunned.
+He was not thinking of the gentle old man cruelly done to death or of the
+pretty Barbara prostrate with grief. He was overawed by the curious fatality
+that had plucked him from the horrors of Flanders only to plunge him into a
+tragedy at home.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; said the Chief bluntly, &ldquo;by a burglar
+apparently&mdash;the house was ransacked!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Chief,&rdquo; he broke out, &ldquo;you must explain. I&rsquo;m all at
+sea! Why did you send for me? What have you got to do with criminal cases,
+anyway? Surely, this is a Scotland Yard matter!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The Chief shook his head.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I sent for you in default of your brother, Okewood!&rdquo; he said.
+&ldquo;You once refused an offer of mine to take you into my service, but this
+time I had to have you, so I got the War Office to wire...&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Then my appointment for ten o&rsquo;clock to-day was with you?&rdquo;
+Desmond exclaimed in astonishment.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The Chief nodded.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It was,&rdquo; he said curtly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But,&rdquo; protested Desmond feebly, &ldquo;did you know about this
+murder beforehand!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The Chief threw back his head and laughed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;My dear fellow,&rdquo; he said; &ldquo;I&rsquo;m not quite so deep as
+all that. I haven&rsquo;t second sight, you know!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You&rsquo;ve got something devilish like it, sir!&rdquo; said Desmond.
+&ldquo;How on earth did you know that I was at the Palaceum last night?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The Chief smiled grimly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, that&rsquo;s very simple,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;Shall I tell you
+some more about yourself? You sat...&rdquo; he glanced down at the desk in
+front of him,&rdquo;... in Stall E 52 and, after Nur-el-Din&rsquo;s turn,
+Strangwise took you round and introduced you to the lady. In her dressing-room
+you met Mr. Mackwayte and his daughter. After that...&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But,&rdquo; Desmond interrupted quickly, &ldquo;I must have been
+followed by one of your men. Still, I can&rsquo;t see why my movements should
+interest the Secret Service, sir!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The Chief remained silent for a moment. Then he said:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Fate often unexpectedly takes a hand in this game of ours, Okewood. I
+sent for you to come back from France but old man Destiny wouldn&rsquo;t leave
+it at that. Almost as soon as you landed he switched you straight on to a trail
+that I have been patiently following up for months past. That trail
+is...&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The telephone on the desk rang sharply.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Whose trail?&rdquo; Desmond could not forbear to ask as the Chief took
+off the receiver.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Just a minute,&rdquo; the Chief said. Then he spoke into the telephone:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Marigold? Yes. Really? Very well, I&rsquo;ll come straight along now...
+I&rsquo;ll be with you in twenty minutes. Good-bye!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He put down the receiver and rose to his feet.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Okewood,&rdquo; he cried gaily, &ldquo;what do you say to a little
+detective work? That was Marigold of the Criminal Investigation Department...
+he&rsquo;s down at Seven Kings handling this murder case. I asked him to let me
+know when it would be convenient for me to come along and have a look round,
+and he wants me to go now. Two heads are better than one. You&rsquo;d better
+come along!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He pressed a button on the desk.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The swift and silent Matthews appeared.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Matthews,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;when Captain Strangwise comes, please
+tell him I&rsquo;ve been called away and ask him to call back here at two
+o&rsquo;clock to see me.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He paused and laid a lean finger reflectively along his nose.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Are you lunching anywhere, Okewood?&rdquo; he said. Desmond shook his
+head.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Then you will lunch with me, eh? Right. Come along and we&rsquo;ll try
+to find the way to Seven Kings.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The two men threaded the busy corridors to the lift which deposited them at the
+main entrance. A few minutes later the Chief was dexterously guiding his
+Vauxhall car through the crowded traffic of the Strand, Desmond beside him on
+the front seat.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Desmond was completely fogged in his mind. He couldn&rsquo;t see light
+anywhere. He asked himself in vain what possible connection could exist between
+this murder in an obscure quarter of London and the man at his side who, he
+knew, held in his firm hands lines that stretched to the uttermost ends of the
+earth? What kind of an affair was this, seemingly so commonplace that could
+take the Chief&rsquo;s attention from the hundred urgent matters of national
+security that occupied him?
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The Chief seemed absorbed in his driving and Desmond felt it would be useless
+to attempt to draw him out. They wended their way through the city and out into
+the squalid length of the Mile End Road. Then the Chief began to talk.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I hate driving through the City,&rdquo; he exclaimed, &ldquo;but I
+always think it&rsquo;s good for the nerves. Still, I have a feeling that I
+shall smash this old car up some day. That friend of yours, Strangwise, now
+he&rsquo;s a remarkable man! Do you know his story?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;About his escape from Germany?&rdquo; asked Desmond.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The Chief nodded.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;He told me something about it at dinner last night,&rdquo; said Desmond,
+&ldquo;but he&rsquo;s such a modest chap he doesn&rsquo;t seem to like talking
+about it!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;He must have a cool nerve,&rdquo; replied the Chief, &ldquo;he
+doesn&rsquo;t know a word of German, except a few scraps he picked up in camp.
+Yet, after he got free, he made his way alone from somewhere in Hanover clear
+to the Dutch frontier. And I tell you he kept his eyes and ears open!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Was he able to tell you anything good&rdquo; asked Desmond.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The man&rsquo;s just full of information. He couldn&rsquo;t take a note
+of any kind, of course, but he seems to have a wonderful memory. He was able to
+give us the names of almost every unit of troops he came across.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He stopped to skirt a tram, then added suddenly:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Do you know him well, Okewood?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes, I think I do,&rdquo; said Desmond. &ldquo;I lived with him for
+about three months in France, and we got on top-hole together. He&rsquo;s a man
+absolutely without fear.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; agreed the Chief. &ldquo;But what about his judgment? Would
+you call him a well-balanced fellow? Or is he one of these harum-scarum soldier
+of fortune sort of chaps?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I should say he was devilish shrewd,&rdquo; replied the other.
+&ldquo;Strangwise is a very able fellow and a fine soldier. The Brigadier
+thought a lot of him. There&rsquo;s very little about artillery work that
+Strangwise doesn&rsquo;t know. Our Brigadier&rsquo;s a good judge, too... he
+was a gunner himself once, you know.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;m glad to hear you say that,&rdquo; answered the Chief,
+&ldquo;because there are some things he has told us, about the movements of
+troops, particularly, that don&rsquo;t agree in the least with our own
+Intelligence reports. I am an old enough hand at my job to know that very often
+one man may be right where fifty independent witnesses are dead wrong. Yet our
+reports from Germany have been wonderfully accurate on the whole.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He stopped.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Tell me,&rdquo; he asked suddenly, &ldquo;is Strangwise a liar, do you
+think?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Desmond laughed. The question was so very unexpected.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Let me explain what I mean,&rdquo; said the Chief. &ldquo;There is a
+type of man who is quite incapable of telling the plain, unvarnished truth.
+That type of fellow might have the most extraordinary adventure happen to him
+and yet be unable to let it stand on its merits. When he narrates it, he trims
+it up with all kinds of embroidery. Is Strangwise that type?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Desmond thought a moment.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Your silence is very eloquent,&rdquo; said the Chief drily.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Desmond laughed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It&rsquo;s not the silence of consent,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;but if you
+want me to be quite frank about Strangwise, Chief, I don&rsquo;t mind telling
+you I don&rsquo;t like him overmuch. We were very intimate in France. We were
+in some very tight corners together and he never let me down. He showed himself
+to be a very fine fellow, indeed. There are points about him I admire
+immensely. I love his fine physique, his manliness. I&rsquo;m sure he&rsquo;s
+got great strength of character, too. It&rsquo;s because I admire all this
+about him that I think perhaps it&rsquo;s just jealousy on my part when I
+feel...&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What?&rdquo; said the Chief.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well,&rdquo; said Desmond slowly, &ldquo;I feel myself trying to like
+something below the surface in the man. And then I am balked. There seems to be
+something abysmally deep behind the facade, if you know what I mean. If I think
+about it much, it seems to me that there is too much surface about Strangwise
+and not enough foundation! And he smiles... Well, rather often, doesn&rsquo;t
+he?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I know what you mean,&rdquo; said the Chief. &ldquo;I always tell my
+young men to be wary when a man smiles too much. Smiles are sometimes
+camouflage, to cover up something that mustn&rsquo;t be seen underneath!
+Strangwise is a Canadian, isn&rsquo;t he?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I think so,&rdquo; answered Desmond, &ldquo;anyhow, he has lived there.
+But he got his commission over here. He came over some time in 1915, I believe,
+and joined up.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Ah, here we are!&rdquo; cried the Chief, steering the car down a turning
+marked &ldquo;Laleham Villas.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Laleham Villas proved to be an immensely long terrace of small two-story
+houses, each one exactly like the other, the only difference between them lying
+in the color of the front doors and the arrangement of the small strip of
+garden in front of each. The houses stretched away on either side in a vista of
+smoke-discolored yellow brick. The road was perfectly straight and, in the dull
+yellow atmosphere of the winter morning, unspeakably depressing.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The abode of small clerks and employees, Laleham Villas had rendered up, an
+hour before, its daily tribute of humanity to the City-bound trains of the
+Great Eastern Railway. The Mackwayte&rsquo;s house was plainly indicated, about
+200 yards down on the right-hand side, by a knot of errand boys and bareheaded
+women grouped on the side-walk. A large, phlegmatic policeman stood at the
+gate.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You&rsquo;ll like Marigold,&rdquo; said the Chief to Desmond as they got
+out of the car, &ldquo;quite a remarkable man and very sound at his
+work!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+British officers don&rsquo;t number detective inspectors among their habitual
+acquaintances, and the man that came out of the house to meet them was actually
+the first detective that Desmond had ever met. Ever since the Chief had
+mentioned his name, Desmond had been wondering whether Mr. Marigold would be
+lean and pale and bewildering like Mr. Sherlock Holmes or breezy and wiry like
+the detectives in American crook plays.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The man before him did not bear the faintest resemblance to either type. He was
+a well-set up, broad-shouldered person of about forty-five, very carefully
+dressed in a blue serge suit and black overcoat, with a large, even-tempered
+countenance, which sloped into a high forehead. The neatly brushed but thinning
+locks carefully arranged across the top of the head testified to the fact that
+Mr. Marigold had sacrificed most of his hair to the vicissitudes of his
+profession. When it is added that the detective had a small, yellow moustache
+and a pleasant, cultivated voice, there remains nothing further to say about
+Mr. Marigold&rsquo;s external appearance. But there was something so patent
+about the man, his air of reserve, his careful courtesy, his shrewd eyes, that
+Desmond at once recognized him for a type, a cast from a certain specific
+mould. All services shape men to their own fashion. There is the type of
+Guardsman, the type of airman, the type of naval officer. And Desmond decided
+that Mr. Marigold must be the type of detective, though, as I have said, he was
+totally unacquainted with the <i>genus</i>.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Major Okewood, Marigold,&rdquo; said the Chief, &ldquo;a friend of
+mine!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mr. Marigold mustered Desmond in one swift, comprehensive look.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I won&rsquo;t give you my hand, Major,&rdquo; the detective said,
+looking down at Desmond&rsquo;s proffered one, &ldquo;for I&rsquo;m in a filthy
+mess and no error. But won&rsquo;t you come in, sir?&rdquo; he said to the
+Chief and led the way across the mosaic tile pathway to the front door which
+stood open.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I don&rsquo;t think this is anything in your line, sir,&rdquo; said Mr.
+Marigold to the Chief as the three men entered the house, &ldquo;it&rsquo;s
+nothing but just a common burglary. The old man evidently heard a noise and
+coming down, surprised the burglar who lost his head and killed him. The only
+novel thing about the whole case is that the old party was shot with a pistol
+and not bludgeoned, as is usually the case in affairs of this kind. And I
+shouldn&rsquo;t have thought that the man who did it was the sort that carries
+a gun...&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Then you know who did it?&rdquo; asked the Chief quietly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I think I can safely say I do, sir,&rdquo; said Mr. Marigold with the
+reluctant air of one who seldom admits anything to be a fact, &ldquo;I think I
+can go as far as that! And we&rsquo;ve got our man under lock and key!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That&rsquo;s a smart piece of work, Marigold,&rdquo; said the Chief.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, sir,&rdquo; replied the other, &ldquo;you could hardly call it that.
+He just walked into the arms of a constable over there near Goodmayes Station
+with the swag on him. He&rsquo;s an old hand... we&rsquo;ve known him for a
+receiver for years!
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Who is it?&rdquo; asked the Chief, &ldquo;not one of my little friends,
+I suppose, eh, Marigold!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Dear me, no, sir,&rdquo; answered Mr. Marigold, chuckling,
+&ldquo;it&rsquo;s one of old Mackwayte&rsquo;s music-hall pals, name o&rsquo;
+Barney!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap05"></a>CHAPTER V.<br/>
+THE MURDER AT SEVEN KINGS</h2>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;This is Mrs. Chugg, sir,&rdquo; said Mr. Marigold, &ldquo;the charwoman
+who found the body!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The Chief and Desmond stood at the detective&rsquo;s side in the
+Mackwaytes&rsquo; little dining-room. The room was in considerable disorder.
+There was a litter of paper, empty bottles, overturned cruets and other
+<i>débris</i> on the floor, evidence of the thoroughness with which the burglar
+had overhauled the cheap fumed oak sideboard which stood against the wall with
+doors and drawers open. In the corner, the little roll-top desk showed a great
+gash in the wood round the lock where it had been forced. The remains of a meal
+still stood on the table.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mrs. Chugg, a diminutive, white-haired, bespectacled woman in a rusty black
+cape and skirt, was enthroned in the midst of this scene of desolation. She sat
+in an armchair by the fire, her hands in her lap, obviously supremely content
+with the position of importance she enjoyed. At the sound of Mr.
+Marigold&rsquo;s voice, she bobbed up and regarded the newcomers with the air
+of a tragedy queen.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yus mister,&rdquo; she said with the slow deliberation of one who
+thoroughly enjoys repeating an oft-told tale, &ldquo;I found the pore man and a
+horrid turn it give me, too, I declare! I come in early this morning a-purpose
+to turn out these two rooms, the dining-room and the droring-room, same as I
+always do of a Saturday, along of the lidy&rsquo;s horders and wishes. I come
+in &rsquo;ere fust, to pull up the blinds and that, and d&rsquo;reckly I
+switches on the light &lsquo;Burglars!&rsquo; I sez to meself, &lsquo;Burglars!
+That&rsquo;s wot it is!&rsquo; seeing the nasty mess the place was in. Up I
+nips to Miss Mackwayte&rsquo;s room on the first floor and in I bursts.
+&lsquo;Miss,&rsquo; sez I, &lsquo;Miss, there&rsquo;s been burglars in the
+house!&rsquo; and then I sees the pore lamb all tied up there on &rsquo;er
+blessed bed! Lor, mister, the turn it give me and I ain&rsquo;t telling you no
+lies! She was strapped up that tight with a towel crammed in &rsquo;er mouth
+she couldn&rsquo;t &rsquo;ardly dror &rsquo;er breath! I undid &rsquo;er pretty
+quick and the fust thing she sez w&rsquo;en I gets the towl out of her mouth,
+the pore dear, is &lsquo;Mrs. Chugg,&rsquo; she sez all of a tremble as you
+might say, &lsquo;Mrs. Chugg&rsquo; sez she, &lsquo;my father! my
+father!&rsquo; sez she. With that up she jumps but she &rsquo;adn&rsquo;t put
+foot to the floor w&rsquo;en down she drops! It was along of &rsquo;er being
+tied up orl that time, dyer see, mister! I gets &rsquo;er back on the bed.
+&lsquo;You lie still, Miss,&rsquo; says I, &lsquo;and I&rsquo;ll pop in and
+tell your pa to come in to you!&rsquo; Well; I went to the old genelmun&rsquo;s
+room. Empty!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mrs. Chugg paused to give her narrative dramatic effect.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And where did you find Mr. Mackwayte?&rdquo; asked the Chief in such a
+placid voice that Mrs. Chugg cast an indignant glance at him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I was jes&rsquo; going downstairs to see if &rsquo;e was in the kitching
+or out at the back,&rdquo; she continued, unheeding the interruption,
+&ldquo;when there on the landing I sees a foot asticking out from under the
+curting. I pulls back the curting and oh, Lor! oh, dear, oh, dear, the pore
+genelmun, &rsquo;im as never did a bad turn to no one!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Come, come, Mrs. Chugg!&rdquo; said the detective.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The charwoman wiped her eyes and resumed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;&rsquo;E was a-lying on his back in &rsquo;is dressing-gown, &rsquo;is
+face all burnt black, like, and a fair smother o&rsquo; blood. Under &rsquo;is
+hed there was a pool o&rsquo; blood, mister, yer may believe me or
+not...&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mr. Marigold cut in decisively.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Do you wish to see the body, sir?&rdquo; the detective asked the Chief,
+&ldquo;they&rsquo;re upstairs photographing it!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The Chief nodded. He and Desmond followed the detective upstairs, whilst Mrs.
+Chugg resentfully resumed her seat by the fire. On her face was the look of one
+who has cast pearls before swine.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Any finger-prints?&rdquo; asked the Chief in the hall.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, no,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;Barney&rsquo;s far too old a hand for
+that sort o&rsquo; thing!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The landing proved to be a small space, covered with oilcloth and raised by a
+step from the bend made by the staircase leading to the first story. On the
+left-hand side was a window looking on a narrow passage separating the
+Mackwayte house from its neighbors and leading to the back-door. By the window
+stood a small wicker-work table with a plant on it. At the back of the landing
+was a partition, glazed half-way up and a door&mdash;obviously the bath-room.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The curtain had been looped right over its brass rod. The body lay on its back
+at the foot of the table, arms flung outward, one leg doubled up, the other
+with the foot just jutting out over the step leading down to the staircase. The
+head pointed towards the bath-room door. Over the right eye the skin of the
+face was blackened in a great patch and there was a large blue swelling, like a
+bruise, in the centre. There was a good deal of blood on the face which
+obscured the hole made by the entrance of the bullet. The eyes were
+half-closed. A big camera, pointed downwards, was mounted on a high double
+ladder straddling the body and was operated by a young man in a bowler hat who
+went on with his work without taking the slightest notice of the detective and
+his companions.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Close range,&rdquo; murmured Desmond, after glancing at the dead
+man&rsquo;s face, &ldquo;a large calibre automatic pistol, I should
+think!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Why do you think it was a large calibre pistol, Major?&rdquo; asked Mr.
+Marigold attentively.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;ve seen plenty of men killed at close range by revolver and
+rifle bullets out at the front,&rdquo; replied Desmond, &ldquo;but I never saw
+a man&rsquo;s face messed up like this. In a raid once I shot a German at point
+blank range with my revolver, the ordinary Army issue pattern, and I looked him
+over after. But it wasn&rsquo;t anything like this. The only thing I&rsquo;ve
+seen approaching it was one of our sergeants who was killed out on patrol by a
+Hun officer who put his gun right in our man&rsquo;s face. That sergeant was
+pretty badly marked, but...&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He shook his head. Then he added, addressing the detective: &ldquo;Let&rsquo;s
+see the gun! Have you got it?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mr. Marigold shook his head.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;He hadn&rsquo;t got it on him,&rdquo; he answered, &ldquo;he swears he
+never had a gun. I expect he chucked it away somewhere. It&rsquo;ll be our
+business to find it for him!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He smiled rather grimly, then added:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Perhaps you&rsquo;d care to have a look at Miss Mackwayte&rsquo;s room,
+sir!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Is Miss Mackwayte there&rdquo; asked the Chief.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I got her out of this quick,&rdquo; replied Mr. Marigold,
+&ldquo;she&rsquo;s had a bad shock, poor girl, though she gave her evidence
+clearly enough for all that... as far as it goes and that&rsquo;s not much.
+Some friends near by have taken her in! The doctor has given her some bromide
+and says she&rsquo;s got to be kept quiet...&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What&rsquo;s her story!&rdquo; queried the Chief.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;She can&rsquo;t throw much light on the business. She and her father
+reached home from the theatre about a quarter past twelve, had a bit of supper
+in the dining-room and went up to bed before one o&rsquo;clock. Miss Mackwayte
+saw her father go into his room, which is next to hers, and shut the door. The
+next thing she knows is that she woke up suddenly with some kind of a loud
+noise in her ears... that was the report of the pistol, I&rsquo;ve no doubt...
+she thought for a minute it was an air raid. Then suddenly a hand was pressed
+over her mouth, something was crammed into her mouth and she was firmly
+strapped down to the bed.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Did she see the man?&rdquo; asked Desmond.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;She didn&rsquo;t see anything from first to last,&rdquo; answered the
+detective, &ldquo;as far as she is concerned it might have been a woman or a
+black man who trussed her up. It was quite dark in her bedroom and this burglar
+fellow, after binding and gagging her, fastened a bandage across her eyes into
+the bargain. She says she heard him moving about her room and then creep out
+very softly. The next thing she knew was Mrs. Chugg arriving at her bedside
+this morning.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What time did this attack take place?&rdquo; asked the Chief.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;She has no idea,&rdquo; answered the detective. &ldquo;She
+couldn&rsquo;t see her watch and they haven&rsquo;t got a striking clock in the
+house.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But can she make no guess!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, she says she thinks it was several hours before Mrs. Chugg arrived
+in the morning... as much as three hours, she thinks!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And what time did Mrs. Chugg arrive!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;At half-past six!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;About Mackwayte... how long was he dead when they found him? What does
+the doctor say?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;About three hours approximately, but you know, they can&rsquo;t always
+tell to an hour or so!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well,&rdquo; said the Chief slowly, &ldquo;it looks as if one might
+figure the murder as having been committed some time between 3 and 3.30
+a.m.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;My idea exactly,&rdquo; said Mr. Marigold. &ldquo;Shall we go
+upstairs?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He conducted the Chief and Desmond up the short flight of stairs to the first
+story. He pushed open the first door he came to.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Mackwayte&rsquo;s room, on the back,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;bed slept
+in, as you see, old gentleman&rsquo;s clothes on a chair&mdash;obviously he was
+disturbed by some noise made by the burglar and came out to see what was doing!
+And here,&rdquo; he indicated a door adjoining, &ldquo;is Miss
+Mackwayte&rsquo;s room, on the front; as you observe. They don&rsquo;t use the
+two rooms on the second floor, except for box-rooms... one&rsquo;s full of old
+Mackwayte&rsquo;s theatre trunks and stuff. They keep no servant; Mrs. Chugg
+comes in each morning and stays all day. She goes away after supper every
+evening.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Desmond found himself looking into a plainly furnished but dainty bedroom with
+white furniture and a good deal of chintz about. There were some photographs
+and pictures hanging on the walls. The room was spotlessly clean and very tidy.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Desmond remarked on this, asking if the police had put the room straight.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mr. Marigold looked quite shocked.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, no, everything is just as it was when Mrs. Chugg found Miss
+Mackwayte this morning. There&rsquo;s Miss Mackwayte&rsquo;s gloves and handbag
+on the toilet-table just as she left &rsquo;em last night. I wouldn&rsquo;t let
+her touch her clothes even. She went over to Mrs. Appleby&rsquo;s in her
+dressing-gown, in a taxi.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Then Master Burglar didn&rsquo;t burgle this room?&rdquo; asked the
+Chief.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Nothing touched, not even the girl&rsquo;s money,&rdquo; replied
+Marigold.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Then why did he come up here at all?&rdquo; asked Desmond.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Obviously, the old gentleman disturbed him,&rdquo; was the
+detective&rsquo;s reply. &ldquo;Barney got scared and shot the old gentleman,
+then came up here to make sure that the daughter would not give him away before
+he could make his escape. He must have known the report of the gun would wake
+her up.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But are there no clues or finger-prints or anything of that kind here,
+Marigold?&rdquo; asked the Chief.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Not a finger-print anywhere,&rdquo; responded the other, &ldquo;men like
+Barney are born wise to the fingerprint business, sir.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He dipped a finger and thumb into his waistcoat pocket.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Clues? Well, I&rsquo;ve got one little souvenir here which I daresay a
+writer of detective stories would make a good bit of.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He held in his hand a piece of paper folded flat. He unfolded it and disclosed
+a loop of dark hair.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;There!&rdquo; he said mockingly, straightening out the hair and holding
+it up in the light. &ldquo;That&rsquo;s calculated to set one&rsquo;s thoughts
+running all over the place, isn&rsquo;t it? That piece of hair was caught in
+the buckle of one of the straps with which Miss Mackwayte was bound to the bed.
+Miss Mackwayte, I would point out, has brown hair. <i>Whose hair do you think
+that is?</i>&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Desmond looked closely at the strand of hair in the detective&rsquo;s fingers.
+It was long and fine and glossy and jetblack.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The Chief laughed and shook his head.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Haven&rsquo;t an idea, Marigold,&rdquo; he answered,
+&ldquo;Barney&rsquo;s, I should imagine, that is, if he goes about with black
+ringlets falling round his shoulders.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Barney?&rdquo; echoed the detective. &ldquo;Barney&rsquo;s as bald as I
+am. Besides, if you saw his sheet, you&rsquo;d realize that he has got into the
+habit of wearing his hair short!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He carefully rolled the strand of hair up, replaced it in its paper and stowed
+it in his waistcoat pocket.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It just shows how easily one is misled in a matter of this kind,&rdquo;
+he went on. &ldquo;Supposing Barney hadn&rsquo;t got himself nabbed, supposing
+I hadn&rsquo;t been able to find out from Miss Mackwayte her movements on the
+night previous to the murder, that strand of hair might have led me on a fine
+wild goose chase!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But, damn it, Marigold,&rdquo; exclaimed the Chief, laughing, &ldquo;you
+haven&rsquo;t told us whose hair it is?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Why, Nur-el-Din&rsquo;s, of course!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The smile froze on the Chief&rsquo;s lips, the laughter died out of his eyes.
+Desmond was amazed at the change in the man. The languid interest he had taken
+in the different details of the crime vanished. Something seemed to tighten up
+suddenly in his face and manner.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Why Nur-el-Din?&rdquo; he asked curtly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mr. Marigold glanced quickly at him. Desmond remarked that the detective was
+sensible of the change too.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Simply because Miss Mackwayte spent some time in the dancer&rsquo;s
+dressing-room last night, sir,&rdquo; he replied quietly, &ldquo;she probably
+sat at her dressing-table and picked up this hair in hers or in her veil or
+something and it dropped on the bed where one of Master Barney&rsquo;s buckles
+caught it up.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He spoke carelessly but Desmond noticed that he kept a watchful eye on the
+other.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The Chief did not answer. He seemed to have relapsed into the preoccupied mood
+in which Desmond had found him that morning.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I was going to suggest, sir,&rdquo; said Mr. Marigold diffidently,
+&ldquo;if you had the time, you might care to look in at the Yard, and see the
+prisoner. I don&rsquo;t mind telling you that he is swearing by all the tribes
+of Judah that he&rsquo;s innocent of the murder of old Mackwayte. He&rsquo;s
+got an amazing yarn... perhaps you&rsquo;d like to hear it!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mr. Marigold suddenly began to interest Desmond. His proposal was put forward
+so modestly that one would have thought the last thing he believed possible was
+that the Chief should acquiesce in his suggestion. Yet Desmond had the feeling
+that the detective was far from being so disinterested as he wished to seem. It
+struck Desmond that the case was more complicated than Mr. Marigold admitted
+and that the detective knew it. Had Mr. Marigold discovered that the Chief knew
+a great deal more about this mysterious affair than the detective knew himself?
+And was not his attitude of having already solved the problem of the murder,
+his treatment of the Chief as a dilettante criminologist simply an elaborate
+pose, to extract from the Chief information which had not been proffered?
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The Chief glanced at his watch.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Right,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;I think I&rsquo;d like to go along.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I have a good deal to do here still,&rdquo; observed Mr. Marigold,
+&ldquo;so, if you don&rsquo;t mind, I won&rsquo;t accompany you. But perhaps,
+sir, you would like to see me this afternoon?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The Chief swung round on his heel and fairly searched Mr. Marigold with a
+glance from beneath his bushy eyebrows. The detective returned his gaze with an
+expression of supreme innocence.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Why, Marigold,&rdquo; answered the Chief, &ldquo;I believe I should. Six
+o&rsquo;clock suit you?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Certainly, sir,&rdquo; said Mr. Marigold.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Desmond stood by the door, vastly amused by this duel of wits. The Chief and
+Mr. Marigold made a move towards the door, Desmond turned to open it and came
+face to face with a large framed photograph of the Chief hanging on the wall of
+Miss Mackwayte&rsquo;s bedroom.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Why, Chief,&rdquo; he cried, &ldquo;you never told me you knew Miss
+Mackwayte!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The Chief professed to be very taken aback by this question. &ldquo;Dear me,
+didn&rsquo;t I, Okewood?&rdquo; he answered with eyes laughing,
+&ldquo;she&rsquo;s my secretary!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap06"></a>CHAPTER VI.<br/>
+&ldquo;NAME O&rsquo;BARNEY&rdquo;</h2>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Miss Mackwayte telephoned to ask if I could go and see her,&rdquo; said
+the Chief to Desmond as they motored back to White hall, &ldquo;Marigold gave
+me the message just as we were coming out. She asked if I could come this
+afternoon. I&rsquo;m going to send you in my place, Okewood. I&rsquo;ve got a
+conference with the head of the French Intelligence at three, and the Lord
+knows when I shall get away. I&rsquo;ve a notion that you and Miss Mackwayte
+will work very well together.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Certainly,&rdquo; said Desmond, &ldquo;she struck me as being a very
+charming and clever girl. Now I know the source of your information about my
+movements last night!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That you certainly don&rsquo;t!&rdquo; answered the Chief promptly,
+&ldquo;if I thought you did Duff and No.39 should be sacked on the spot!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Then it wasn&rsquo;t Miss Mackwayte who told you?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I haven&rsquo;t seen or heard from Miss Mackwayte since she left my
+office yesterday evening. You were followed!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But why?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll tell you all about it at, lunch!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Bated once more, Desmond retired into his shell. By this he was convinced of
+the utter impossibility of making the Chief vouchsafe any information except
+voluntarily.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mr. Marigold had evidently announced their coming to Scotland Yard, for a very
+urbane and delightful official met them at the entrance and conducted them to a
+room where the prisoner was already awaiting them in charge of a plain clothes
+man. There the official excused himself and retired, leaving them alone with
+the prisoner and his escort.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Barney proved to be a squat, podgy, middle-aged Jew of the familiar East End
+Polish or Russian type. He had little black beady eyes, a round fat white face,
+and a broad squabby Mongol nose. His clothes were exceedingly seedy, and the
+police had confiscated his collar and tie. This absence of neckwear, coupled
+with the fact that the lower part of his face was sprouting with a heavy growth
+of beard, gave him a peculiarly villainous appearance:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He was seated on a chair, his head sunk on his breast. His eyes were hollow,
+and his face overspread with a horrible sickly greenish pallor, the hue of the
+last stage of fear. His hands, resting on his knees, twisted and fiddled
+continually. Every now and then convulsive shudders shook him. The man was
+quite obviously on the verge of a collapse.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+As the Chief and Desmond advanced into the room, the Jew looked up in panic.
+Then he sprang to his feet with a scream and flung himself on his knees,
+crying:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Ah, no! Don&rsquo;t take me away! I ain&rsquo;t done no &rsquo;arm,
+gentlemen! S&rsquo;welp me, gentlemen, I ain&rsquo;t a murderer! I
+swear...&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Get him up!&rdquo; said the Chief in disgust, &ldquo;and, look here,
+can&rsquo;t you give him a drink? I want to speak to him. He&rsquo;s not fit to
+talk rationally in this state!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The detective pushed a bell in the wall, a policeman answered it, and presently
+the prisoner was handed a stiff glass of whiskey and water.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+After Barney had swallowed it, the Chief said:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Now, look here, my man, I want you to tell me exactly what happened last
+night. No fairy tales, remember! I know what you told the police, and if I
+catch you spinning me any yarns on to it, well, it&rsquo;ll only be the worse
+for you. I don&rsquo;t mind telling you, you&rsquo;re in a pretty bad
+mess!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The prisoner put down the glass wearily and wiped his forehead with the back of
+his hand. Though the room was bitterly cold, the perspiration stood out in
+beads on his brow.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I have told the trewth, sir,&rdquo; he said hoarsely, &ldquo;and it goes
+against me, don&rsquo;t it? Hafen&rsquo;t I not gif myself op to the policeman?
+Couldn&rsquo;t I not haf drop the svag and ron away? For sure! And vy
+didn&rsquo;t I not do it? For vy, because of vot I seen in that house.
+I&rsquo;ve &rsquo;ad my bit of trobble mit the police and vy should I tell them
+how I vos op to a game last night if I vas not a-telling the trewth, eh!
+I&rsquo;ve been on the crook, gentlemen, I say it, ja, but I ain&rsquo;t no
+murderer, God choke me I ain&rsquo;t!
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;ve earned gut monney in my time on the &rsquo;alls but life is
+very &rsquo;ardt, and I&rsquo;ve been alvays hongry these days. Yesterday I
+meet old Mac wot I used to meet about the &rsquo;alls I vos workin&rsquo; along
+o&rsquo; my boss... at the agent&rsquo;s it vos were I vos lookin&rsquo; for a
+shop! The perfesh always makes a splash about its salaries, gentlemen, and Mac
+&rsquo;e vos telling me vot a lot o&rsquo; monney he make on the Samuel Circuit
+and &rsquo;ow &rsquo;e &rsquo;ad it at home all ready to put into var savings
+certif&rsquo;kits. I never done a job like this von before, gentlemen, but I
+vos hardt pushed for money, s&rsquo;welp me I vos!
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I left it till late last night because of these air raids... I vanted to
+be sure that ole Mac and &rsquo;is daughter should be asleep. I god in from the
+back of the louse, oi, oi, bot it vos dead easy! through the scollery vindow. I
+cleared op a bagful of stuff in the dining-room... there vosn&rsquo;t, anything
+vorth snatching outer the parlor... and sixty-five quid out of an old cigar-box
+in the desk. The police &rsquo;as got it... I give it all back! I say I haf
+stolen, but murder? No!&rdquo; He paused.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Go on,&rdquo; said the Chief.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The prisoner looked about him in a frightened way.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I vos jus&rsquo; thinking I had better be getting avay, he continued in
+his hoarse, gutteral voice, &rsquo;ven snick.!... I hears a key in the front
+door. I vos, standing by the staircase... I had no time to get out by the vay I
+had kom so I vent opstairs to the landing vere there vos a curtain. I shlip
+behind the curtain and vait! I dare not look out but I listen, I listen.. I
+hear some one go into the dining-room and move about. I open the curtain a
+little way... so!... because I think I vill shlip downstairs vile the other
+party is in the dining-room... and there I sees ole Mac in his dressing-gown
+just coming down from the first floor. The same moment I hear a step in the
+front hall.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I see ole Mac start but he does not stop. He kom right downstairs, and I
+step back behind the curtain ontil I find a door vich I push. I dare not svitch
+on my light but presently I feel the cold edge of a bath with my hands. I stay
+there and vait. Oi, oi, oi, how shall you belief vot I tell?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He broke off trembling.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Go on, Barney,&rdquo; said the detective, &ldquo;can&rsquo;t you see the
+gentlemen are waiting?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The Jew resumed, his voice sinking almost to a whisper.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It vos quite dark behind the curtain but from the bathroom, through the
+open door, I could just see ole Mac standing with his back to me, a-holding the
+curtain. He must haf shlip in there to watch the other who vos komming
+opstairs. Then... then... I hear a step on the stair... a little, soft step...
+then ole Mac he open the curtain and cry &lsquo;Who are you?&rsquo; Bang!
+the... the... other on the stairs he fire a shot. I see the red flash and I
+smell the... the powder not? The other, he does not vait... he just go on
+opstairs and ole Mac is lying there on his back with the blood a-trickling out
+on the oil-cloth. And I, vith my bag on my back, I creep downstair and out by
+the back again, and I ron and ron and then I valks. Gott! how I haf walked! I
+vos so frightened! And then, at last, I go to a policeman and gif &lsquo;myself
+op!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Barney stopped. The tears burst from his eyes and laying his grimy face on his
+arm, he sobbed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The detective patted him on the back.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Pull yourself together, man!&rdquo; he said encouragingly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;This man on the stairs,&rdquo; queried the Chief, &ldquo;did you see
+him?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Ach was!&rdquo; replied the prisoner, turning a tearstained face towards
+him, &ldquo;I haf seen nothing, except old Mac&rsquo;s back vich vos right in
+vront of me, it vos so dark!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But couldn&rsquo;t you see the other person at all, not even the
+outline&rdquo; persisted the Chief.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The prisoner made a gesture of despair.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It vos so dark, I say! Nothing haf I seen! I haf heard only his
+step!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What sort of step? Was it heavy or light or what? Did this person seem
+in a hurry?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;A little light tread... so! won, two! won, two!, and qvick like &rsquo;e
+think &rsquo;e sneak opstairs vithout nobody seeing!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Did he make much noise&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Ach was! hardly at all... the tread, &rsquo;e vos so light like a
+woman&rsquo;s...&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Like a woman&rsquo;s, eh!&rdquo;, repeated the Chief, as if talking to
+himself, &ldquo;Why do you think that?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Because for vy it vos so gentle! The&rsquo; staircase, she haf not
+sqveak as she haf sqveak when I haf creep away!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The Chief turned to the plain clothes man.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You can take him away now, officer,&rdquo; he said.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Barney sprang up trembling.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Not back to the cell,&rdquo; he cried imploringly, &ldquo;I cannot be
+alone. Oh, gentlemen, you vill speak for me! I haf not had trobble vith the
+police this long time! My vife&rsquo;s cousin, he is an elder of the Shool he
+vill tell you &rsquo;ow poor ve haf been...&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But the Chief crossed the room to the door and the detective hustled the
+prisoner away.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Then the official whom they had seen before came in.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Glad I caught you,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;I thought you would care to
+see the post mortem report. The doctor has just handed it in.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The chief waved him off.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I don&rsquo;t think there&rsquo;s any doubt about the cause of
+death,&rdquo; he replied, &ldquo;we saw the body ourselves...&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Quite so,&rdquo; replied the other, &ldquo;but there is something
+interesting about this report all the same. They were able to extract the
+bullet!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh,&rdquo; said the Chief, &ldquo;that ought to tell us
+something!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It does,&rdquo; answered the official. &ldquo;We&rsquo;ve submitted it
+to our small arms expert, and he pronounces it to be a bullet fired by an
+automatic pistol of unusually large calibre.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The Chief looked at Desmond.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You were right there,&rdquo; he said.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And,&rdquo; the official went on, &ldquo;our man says, further, that, as
+far as he knows, there is only one type of automatic pistol that fires a bullet
+as big as this one!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And that is?&rdquo; asked the Chief.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;An improved pattern of the German Mauser pistol,&rdquo; was the
+other&rsquo;s startling reply.
+</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p>
+The Chief tapped a cigarette meditatively on the back of his hand.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Okewood,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;you are the very model of discretion. I
+have put your reticence to a pretty severe test this morning, and you have
+stood it very well. But I can see that you are bristling with questions like a
+porcupine with quills. Zero hour has arrived. You may fire away!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+They were sitting in the smoking-room of the United Service Club. &ldquo;The
+Senior,&rdquo; as men call it, is the very parliament of Britain&rsquo;s
+professional navy and army. Even in these days when war has flung wide the
+portals of the two services to all-comers, it retains a touch of rigidity.
+Famous generals and admirals look down from the lofty walls in silent testimony
+of wars that have been. Of the war that is, you will hear in every cluster of
+men round the little tables. Every day in the hour after luncheon battles are
+fought over again, personalities criticized, and decisions weighed with all the
+vigorous freedom of ward-room or the mess ante-room.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And so to-day, as he sat in his padded leather chair, surveying the
+Chief&rsquo;s quizzing face across the little table where their coffee was
+steaming, Desmond felt the oddness of the contrast between the direct,
+matter-of-fact personalities all around them, and the extraordinary web of
+intrigue which seemed to have spun itself round the little house at Seven
+Kings.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Before he answered the Chief&rsquo;s question, he studied him for a moment
+under cover of lighting a cigarette. How very little, to be sure, escaped that
+swift and silent mind! At luncheon the Chief had scrupulously avoided making,
+the slightest allusion to the thoughts with which Desmond&rsquo;s mind was
+seething. Instead he had told, with the gusto of the born raconteur, a string
+of extremely droll yarns about &ldquo;double crosses,&rdquo; that is, obliging
+gentlemen who will spy for both sides simultaneously, he had come into contact
+with during his long and varied career. Desmond had played up to him and
+repressed the questions which kept rising to his lips. Hence the Chief&rsquo;s
+unexpected tribute to him in the smoking room.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well,&rdquo; said Desmond slowly, &ldquo;there <i>are</i> one or two
+things I should like to know. What am I here for? Why did you have me followed
+last night? How did you know, before we ever went to Seven Kings, that Barney
+did not murder old Mackwayte? And lastly...&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He paused, fearing to be rash; then he risked it:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And lastly, Nur-el-Din?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The Chief leant back in his chair and laughed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;m sure you feel much better now,&rdquo; he said. Then his face
+grew grave and he added:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Your last question answers all the others!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Meaning Nur-el-Din?&rdquo; asked Desmond.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The Chief nodded.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Nur-el-Din,&rdquo; he repeated. &ldquo;That&rsquo;s why you&rsquo;re
+here, that&rsquo;s why I had you followed last night, that&rsquo;s why
+I...&rdquo; he hesitated for the word, &ldquo;let&rsquo;s say, <i>presumed</i>
+(one knows for certain so little in our work) that our friend Barney had
+nothing to do with the violent death of poor old Mackwayte. Nur-el-Din in the
+center, the kernel, the hub of everything!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The Chief leant across the table and Desmond pulled his chair closer.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;There&rsquo;s only one other man in the world can handle this job,
+except you,&rdquo; he began, &ldquo;and that&rsquo;s your brother Francis. Do
+you know where he is, Okewood?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;He wrote to me last from Athens,&rdquo; answered Desmond, &ldquo;but
+that must be nearly two months ago.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The Chief laughed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;His present address is not Athens,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;if you want to
+know, he&rsquo;s serving on a German Staff somewhere at the back of Jerusalem
+the Golden. Frankly, I know you don&rsquo;t care about our work, and I did my
+best to get your brother. He has had his instructions and as soon as he can get
+away he will. That was not soon enough for me. It had to be him or you. So I
+sent for you.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He stopped and cleared his throat. Desmond stared at him. He could hardly
+believe his eyes. This quiet, deliberate man was actually embarrassed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Okewood,&rdquo; the Chief went on, &ldquo;you know I like plain
+speaking, and therefore you won&rsquo;t make the mistake of thinking I&rsquo;m
+trying to flatter you.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Desmond made a gesture.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Wait a moment and hear me out,&rdquo; the Chief went on. &ldquo;What is
+required for this job is a man of great courage and steady nerve. Yes, we have
+plenty of fellows like that. But the man I am looking for must, in addition to
+possessing those qualities, know German and the Germans thoroughly, and when I
+say thoroughly I mean to the very core so that, if needs be, he may be a
+German, think German, act German. I have men in my service who know German
+perfectly and can get themselves up to look the part to the life. But they have
+never been put to the real, the searching test. Not one of them has done what
+you and your brother successfully accomplished. The first time I came across
+you, you had just come out of Germany after fetching your brother away. To have
+lived for weeks in Germany in wartime and to have got clear away is a feat
+which shows that both you and he can be trusted to make a success of one of the
+most difficult and critical missions I have ever had to propose. Francis is not
+here. That&rsquo;s why I want you.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The Chief paused as if weighing something in his mind.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It&rsquo;s not the custom of either service, Okewood,&rdquo; he said,
+&ldquo;to send a man to certain death. You&rsquo;re not in this creepy, crawly
+business of ours. You&rsquo;re a pukka soldier and keen on your job. So I want
+you to know that you are free to turn down this offer of mine here and now, and
+go back to France without my thinking a bit the worse of you.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Would you tell me something about it?&rdquo; asked Desmond.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;m sorry I can&rsquo;t,&rdquo; replied the other. &ldquo;There
+must be only two men in this secret, myself and the fellow who undertakes the
+mission. Of course, it&rsquo;s not certain death. If you take this thing on,
+you&rsquo;ll have a sporting chance for your life, but that&rsquo;s all.
+It&rsquo;s going to be a desperate game played against a desperate opponent.
+Now do you understand why I didn&rsquo;t want you to think I was flattering
+you? You&rsquo;ve got your head screwed on right, I know, but I should hate to
+feel afterwards, if anything went wrong, that you thought I had buttered you up
+in order to entice you into taking the job on!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Desmond took two or three deep puffs of his cigarette and dropped it into the
+ash-tray.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll see you!&rdquo; he said.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The Chief grinned with delight.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;By Jove!&rdquo; he exclaimed, &ldquo;I knew you were my man!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap07"></a>CHAPTER VII.<br/>
+NUR-EL-DIN</h2>
+
+<p>
+The love of romance is merely the nobler form of curiosity. And there was
+something in Desmond Okewood&rsquo;s Anglo-Irish parentage that made him
+fiercely inquisitive after adventure. In him two men were constantly warring,
+the Irishman, eager for romance yet too indolent to go out in search of it, and
+the Englishman, cautious yet intensely vital withal, courting danger for
+danger&rsquo;s sake.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+All his ill-humor of the morning at being snatched away from his work in France
+had evaporated. In the Chief he now saw only the magician who was about to
+unlock to him the realms of Adventure. Desmond&rsquo;s eyes shone with
+excitement as the other, obviously simmering with satisfaction, lit another
+cigarette and began to speak.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The British public, Okewood,&rdquo; he said, hitching his chair closer,
+&ldquo;would like to see espionage in this country rendered impossible. Such an
+ideal state of things is, unfortunately out of the question. Quite on the
+contrary, this country of ours is honeycombed with spies. So it will ever be,
+as long as we have to work with natural means: at present we have no caps of
+invisibility or magician&rsquo;s carpets available.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;As we cannot hope to kill the danger, we do our best to scotch it.
+Personally, my modest ambition is to make espionage as difficult as possible
+for the enemy by knowing as many as possible of his agents and their channels
+of communication, and by keeping him happy with small results, to prevent him
+from finding out the really important things, the disclosure of which would
+inevitably compromise our national safety.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He paused and Desmond nodded.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The extent of our business,&rdquo; the Chief resumed, &ldquo;is so
+large, the issues at stake so vital, that we at the top have to ignore the
+non-essentials and stick to the essentials. By the nonessentials I mean the
+little potty spies, actuated by sheer hunger or mere officiousness, the neutral
+busybody who makes a tip-and-run dash into England, the starving waiter,
+miserably underpaid by some thieving rogue in a neutral country&mdash;or the
+frank swindler who sends back to the Fatherland and is duly paid for long
+reports about British naval movements which he has concocted without setting
+foot outside his Bloomsbury lodgings.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;These folk are dealt with somehow and every now and then one of
+&rsquo;em gets shot, just to show that we aren&rsquo;t asleep, don&rsquo;t you
+know? But spasmodic reports we can afford to ignore. What we are death on is
+anything like a regular news service from this country to Germany; and to keep
+up this steady flow of reliable information is the perpetual striving of the
+men who run the German Secret Service.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;These fellows, my dear Okewood, move in darkness. Very often we have to
+grope after &rsquo;em in darkness, too. <i>They</i> don&rsquo;t get shot, or
+hardly ever; they are far too clever for that. Between us and them it is a
+never-ending series of move and countermove, check and counter-check. Very
+often we only know of their activities by enemy action based on their reports.
+Then there is another leak to be caulked, another rat-hole to be nailed up, and
+so the game goes on. Hitherto I think I may say we have managed to hold our
+own!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The Chief stopped to light another cigarette. Then he resumed but in a lower
+voice.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;During the past month, Okewood,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;a new
+organization has cropped up. The objective of every spy operating in this
+country is, as you may have surmised, naval matters, the movements of the
+Fleet, the military transports, and the food convoys. This new organization has
+proved itself more efficient than any of its predecessors. It specializes in
+the movement of troops to France, and in the journeys of the hospital ships
+across the Channel. Its information is very prompt and extremely accurate, as
+we know too well. There have been some very disquieting incidents in which, for
+once in a way, luck has been on our side, but as long as this gang can work in
+the dark there is the danger of a grave catastrophe. With its thousands of
+miles of sea to patrol, the Navy has to take a chance sometimes, you know!
+Well, on two occasions lately, when chances were taken, <i>the Hun knew we were
+taking a chance</i>, and what is more, <i>when and where we were taking
+it!</i>&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The Chief broke off, then looking Desmond squarely in the eyes, said:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;This is the organization that you&rsquo;re going to beak up!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Desmond raised his eyebrows.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Who is at the head of it?&rdquo; he asked quietly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The Chief, smiled a little bitterly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;By George!&rdquo; he cried, slapping his thigh, &ldquo;you&rsquo;ve rung
+the bell in one. Okewood, I&rsquo;m not a rich man, but I would gladly give a
+year&rsquo;s pay to be able to answer that question. To be perfectly frank with
+you, I don&rsquo;t know who is at the back of this crowd, but...&rdquo; his
+mouth set in a grim line, &ldquo;I&rsquo;m going to know!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He added whimsically:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What&rsquo;s more, you&rsquo;re going to find out for me!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Desmond smiled at the note of assurance in his voice.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I suppose you&rsquo;ve got something to go on?&rdquo; he asked.
+&ldquo;There&rsquo;s Nur-el-Din, for instance. What about her?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That young person,&rdquo; replied the Chief, &ldquo;is to be your
+particular study. If she is not the center of the whole conspiracy, she is, at
+any rate, in the thick of it. It will be part of your job to ascertain the
+exact rôle she is playing.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But what is there against her?&rdquo; queried Desmond.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What is there against her? The bad company she keeps is against her.
+&lsquo;Tell me who your friends are and I&rsquo;ll tell you who you are&rsquo;
+is a maxim that we have to go on in our profession, Okewood. You have met the
+lady. Did you see any of her entourage? Her business manager, a fat Italian who
+calls himself Lazarro, did you notice him? Would you be surprised to hear that
+Lazarro alias Sacchetti alias Le Tardenois is a very notorious international
+spy who after working in the Italian Secret Service in the pay of the Germans
+was unmasked and kicked out of Italy... that was before the war? This pleasant
+gentleman subsequently did five years in the French penal settlements in New
+Caledonia for robbery with violence at Aix-les-Bains... oh, we know a whole lot
+about him! And this woman&rsquo;s other friends! Do you know, for instance,
+where she often spends the week-end? At the country-place of one Bryan Mowbury,
+whose name used to be Bernhard Marburg, a very old hand indeed in the German
+Secret Service. She has identified herself right and left with the German
+espionage service in this country. One day she lunches with a woman spy, whose
+lover was caught and shot by the French. Then she goes out motoring
+with...&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But why in Heaven&rsquo;s name are all these people allowed to run
+loose?&rdquo; broke in Desmond. &ldquo;Do you mean to say you can&rsquo;t
+arrest them?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Arrest &rsquo;em? Arrest &rsquo;em? Of course, we can arrest &rsquo;em.
+But what&rsquo;s the use? They&rsquo;re all small fry, and we have to keep out
+a few lines baited with minnows to catch the Tritons. None of &rsquo;em can do
+any harm: we watch &rsquo;em much too closely for that. Once you&rsquo;ve
+located your spy, the battle&rsquo;s won. It&rsquo;s when he&mdash;or it may be
+a she&mdash;is running loose, that I get peeved!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The Chief sprang impatiently to his feet and strode across the smoking-room,
+which was all but empty by this time, to get a match from a table. He resumed
+his seat with a grunt of exasperation.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I can&rsquo;t see light, Okewood!&rdquo; he sighed, shaking his head.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But is this all you&rsquo;ve got against Nur-el-Din?&rdquo; asked
+Desmond.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No,&rdquo; answered the other slowly, &ldquo;it isn&rsquo;t. If it were,
+I need not have called you in. We would have interned or deported her. No,
+we&rsquo;ve traced back to her a line leading straight from the only member of
+the new organization we have been able to lay by the heels.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Then you&rsquo;ve made an arrest?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The Chief nodded.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;A fortnight ago... a respectable, retired English business man, by name
+of Basil Bellward... taken with the goods on him, as the saying is...&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;An Englishman, by Jove!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It&rsquo;s hardly correct to call him an Englishman, though he&rsquo;s
+posed as an English business man for so long that one is almost justified in
+doing so. As a matter of fact, the fellow is a German named Wolfgang Bruhl and
+it is my belief that he was planted in this country at least a dozen years ago
+solely for the purpose of furnishing him with good, respectable credentials for
+an emergency like this.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But surely if you found evidence of his connection with this gang of
+spies, it should be easy to get a clue to the rest of the crowd?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Not so easy as you think,&rdquo; the Chief replied. &ldquo;The man who
+organized this system of espionage is a master at his craft. He has been
+careful to seal both ends of every connection, that is to say, though we found
+evidence of Master Bellward-Bruhl being in possession of highly confidential
+information relating to the movements of troops, we discovered nothing to show
+whence he received it or how or where he was going to forward it. But we did
+find a direct thread leading straight back to Nur-el-Din.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Really,&rdquo; said Desmond, &ldquo;that rather complicates things for
+her, doesn&rsquo;t it?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It was in the shape of a letter of introduction, in French, without date
+or address, warmly recommending the dancer to our friend, Bellward.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Who is this letter from?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It is simply signed &lsquo;P.&rsquo;, but you shall see it for yourself
+when you get the other documents in the case.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But surely, sir, such a letter might be presented in perfectly good
+faith...&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It might, but not this one. This letter, as an expert has ascertained
+beyond all doubt, is written on German manufactured note-paper of a very
+superior quality;, the writing is stiff and angular and not French: and lastly,
+the French in which it is phrased, while correct, is unusually pompous and
+elaborate.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Then...&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The letter was, in all probability, written by a German!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+There was a moment&rsquo;s silence. Desmond was thinking despairingly of the
+seeming hopelessness of untangling this intricate webwork of tangled threads.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And this murder, sir,&rdquo; he began.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The Chief shrugged his shoulders.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The motive, Okewood, I am searching for the motive. I can see none
+except the highly improbable one of Miss Mackwayte being my confidential
+secretary. In that case why murder the father, a harmless old man who
+didn&rsquo;t even know that his daughter is in my service, why kill him, I ask
+you, and spare the girl? On the other hand, I believe the man Barney&rsquo;s
+story, and can see that Marigold does, too. When I first heard the news of the
+murder over the telephone this morning, I had a kind of intuition that we
+should discover in it a thread leading back to this mesh of espionage. Is it
+merely a coincidence that a hair, resembling Nur-el-Din&rsquo;s, is found
+adhering to the straps with which Barbara Mackwayte was bound? I can&rsquo;t
+think so... and yet...&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But do you believe then, that Nur-el-Din murdered-old Mackwayte? My dear
+Chief, the idea is preposterous...&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The Chief rose from his chair with a sigh.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Nothing is preposterous in our work, Okewood,&rdquo; he replied.
+&ldquo;But it&rsquo;s 3.25, and my French colleague hates to be kept
+waiting.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I thought you were seeing Strangwise, at two?&rdquo; asked Desmond.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I put him off until six o&rsquo;clock,&rdquo; replied the Chief,
+&ldquo;he knows Nur-el-Din, and he may be able to give Marigold some pointers
+about this affair. You&rsquo;re off to see Miss Mackwayte now, I suppose. You
+know where she&rsquo;s staying? Good. Well, I&rsquo;ll say good-bye, Okewood. I
+shan&rsquo;t see you again...&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You won&rsquo;t see me again? How do you mean, sir?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Because you&rsquo;re going back to France!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Going back to France? When?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;By the leave-boat to-night!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Desmond smiled resignedly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;My dear Chief,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;you must be more explicit. What am
+I going back to France for?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Why, now I come to think of it,&rdquo; replied the Chief, &ldquo;I never
+told you. You&rsquo;re going back to France to be killed, of course!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;To be killed!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Desmond looked blankly at the other&rsquo;s blandly smiling face.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Two or three days from now,&rdquo; said the Chief, &ldquo;you will be
+killed in action in France. I thought of making it a shell. But we&rsquo;ll
+have it a machine gun bullet if you like. Whichever you prefer; it&rsquo;s all
+the same to me!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He laughed at the dawn of enlightenment in Desmond&rsquo;s eyes.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I see,&rdquo; said Desmond.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I hope you don&rsquo;t mind,&rdquo; the Chief went on more seriously,
+&ldquo;but I know you have no people to consider except your brother and his
+wife. She&rsquo;s in America, and Francis can&rsquo;t possibly hear about it.
+So you needn&rsquo;t worry on that score. Or do you?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Desmond laughed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No-o-o!&rdquo; he said slowly, &ldquo;but I&rsquo;m rather young to die.
+Is it absolutely necessary for me to disappear?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Absolutely!&rdquo; responded the Chief firmly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But how will we manage it?&rdquo; asked Desmond.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Catch the leave-boat to-night and don&rsquo;t worry. You will receive
+your instructions in due course.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But when shall I see you again?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The Chief chuckled.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Depends entirely on yourself, Okewood,&rdquo; he retorted. &ldquo;When
+you&rsquo;re through with your job, I expect. In the meantime, Miss Mackwayte
+will act between us. On that point also you will be fully instructed. And now I
+must fly!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But I say, sir,&rdquo; Desmond interposed hastily. &ldquo;You
+haven&rsquo;t told me what I am to do. What part am I to play in this business
+anyway?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;To-morrow,&rdquo; said the Chief, buttoning up his coat, &ldquo;you
+become Mr. Basil Bellward!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap08"></a>CHAPTER VIII.<br/>
+THE WHITE PAPER PACKAGE</h2>
+
+<p>
+A taxi was waiting in Pall Mall outside the club and Desmond hailed it, though
+secretly wondering what the driver would think of taking him out to Seven
+Kings. Rather to his surprise, the man was quite affable, took the address of
+the house where Barbara was staying with her friends and bade Desmond
+&ldquo;hop in.&rdquo; Presently, for the second time that day, he was heading
+for the Mile End Road.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+As they zigzagged in and out of the traffic, Desmond&rsquo;s thoughts were busy
+with the extraordinary mission entrusted to him. So he was to sink his own
+identity and don that of an Anglo-German business man, his appearance, accent,
+habits, everything. The difficulties of the task positively made him cold with
+fear. The man must have relations, friends, business acquaintances who would be
+sufficiently familiar with his appearance and manner to penetrate, at any rate
+in the long run, the most effective disguise. What did Bellward look like?
+Where did he live? How was he, Desmond, to disguise himself to resemble him?
+And, above all, when this knotty problem of make-up had been settled, how was
+he to proceed? What should be his first step to pick out from among all the
+millions of London&rsquo;s teeming populace the one obscure individual who
+headed and directed this gang of spies?
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Why hadn&rsquo;t he asked the Chief all these questions? What an annoying man
+the Chief was to deal with to be sure! All said and done, what had he actually
+told Desmond? That there was a German Secret service organization spying on the
+movements of troops to France, that this man, Basil Bellward, who had been
+arrested, was one of the gang and that the dancer, Nur-el-Din, was in some way
+implicated in the affair! And that was the extent of his confidence! On the top
+of all this fog of obscurity rested the dense cloud surrounding the murder of
+old Mackwayte with the unexplained, the fantastic, clue of that single hair
+pointing back to Nur-el-Din.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Desmond consoled himself finally by saying that he would be able too get some
+light on his mission from Barbara Mackwayte, whom he judged to be in the
+Chief&rsquo;s confidence. But here he was doomed to disappointment. Barbara
+could tell him practically nothing save what he already knew, that they were to
+work together in this affair. Like him, she was waiting for her instructions.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Barbara received him in a neat little suburban drawing-room in the house of her
+friends, who lived a few streets away from the Mackwaytes. She was wearing a
+plainly-made black crêpe de chine dress which served to accentuate the extreme
+pallor of her face, the only outward indication of the great shock she had
+sustained. She was perfectly calm and collected, otherwise, and she stopped
+Desmond who would have murmured some phrases of condolence.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Ah, no, please,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;I don&rsquo;t think I can speak
+about it yet.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She pulled a chair over for him and began to talk about the Chief.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;There&rsquo;s not the least need for you to worry,&rdquo; she said with
+a little woeful smile, like a sun-ray piercing a rain-cloud, &ldquo;if the
+Chief says &lsquo;Go back to France and wait for instructions,&rsquo; you may
+be sure that everything is arranged, and you will receive your orders in due
+course. So shall I. That&rsquo;s the Chief all over. Until you know him, you
+think he loves mystery for mystery&rsquo;s sake. It isn&rsquo;t that at all. He
+just doesn&rsquo;t trust us. He trusts nobody!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But that hardly seems fair to us...&rdquo; began Desmond.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It&rsquo;s merely a precaution,&rdquo; replied Barbara, &ldquo;the Chief
+takes no risks. I&rsquo;ve not the least doubt that he has decided to tell you
+nothing whatsoever about your part until you are firmly settled in your new
+role. I&rsquo;m perfectly certain that every detail of your part has already
+been worked out.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, that&rsquo;s not possible,&rdquo; said Desmond. &ldquo;Why, he
+didn&rsquo;t know until an hour ago that I was going to take on this
+job.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Barbara laughed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The Chief has taught me a lot about judging men by their looks,&rdquo;
+she said: &ldquo;Personally, if I&rsquo;d been in the Chief&rsquo;s places I
+should have gone ahead without consulting you, too.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The girl spoke with such directness that there was not the least suggestion of
+a compliment in her remark, but Desmond blushed to the roots of his hair.
+Barbara noticed it and added hastily:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;m not trying to pay you a compliment: I&rsquo;m just judging by
+your type. I believe I can always tell the man that will take on any job,
+however dangerous, and carry it through to the end.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Desmond blushed more furiously than ever.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He made haste to divert the conversation into a safer channel.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well,&rdquo; he said slowly, &ldquo;seeing that you and I were intended
+to work together, it seems to me to be a most extraordinary coincidence our
+meeting like that last night...&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It was more than a coincidence,&rdquo; said Barbara, shaking her dark
+brown head. &ldquo;Forty-eight hours ago I&rsquo;d never heard of you, then the
+Chief gave me a telegram to send to your Divisional General summoning you home,
+after that he told me that we were to work together, and a few hours later I
+run into you in Nur-el-Din&rsquo;s dressing-room...&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She broke off suddenly, her gray eyes big with fear. She darted across the room
+to an ormolu table on which her handbag was lying. With astonishment, Desmond
+watched her unceremoniously spill out the contents on to the table and rake
+hastily amongst the collection of articles which a pretty girl carries round in
+her bag.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Presently she raised herself erect and turning, faced the officer. She was
+trembling as though with cold and when she spoke, her voice was low and husky.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Gone!&rdquo; she whispered.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Have you lost anything&rdquo; Desmond asked anxiously.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;How could I have forgotten it?&rdquo; she went on as though he had not
+spoken, &ldquo;how could I have forgotten it? Nearly twelve hours wasted, and
+it explains everything. What will the Chief think of me!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Slowly she sank down on the sofa where she had been sitting, then, without any
+warning, dropped her head into her hands and burst into tears.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Desmond went over to her.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Please don&rsquo;t cry,&rdquo; he said gently, &ldquo;you have borne up
+so bravely against this terrible blow; you must try and not let it overwhelm
+you.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+All her business-like calm had disappeared now she was that most distracting of
+all pictures of woman, a pretty girl overwhelmed with grief. She crouched
+curled upon the sofa, with shoulders heaving, sobbing as though her heart would
+break.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Perhaps you would like me to leave you?&rdquo; Desmond asked. &ldquo;Let
+me ring for your friends... I am sure you would rather be alone!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She raised a tear-stained face to his, her long lashes glittering.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, no,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;don&rsquo;t go, don&rsquo;t go! I want
+your help. This is such a dark and dreadful business, more than I ever
+realized. Oh, my poor daddy, my poor daddy!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Again she hid her face in her hands and cried whilst Desmond stood erect by her
+aide, compassionate but very helpless.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+After a little, she dabbed her eyes with a tiny square of cambric, and sitting
+up, surveyed the other.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I must go to the Chief at once,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;it is most
+urgent. Would you ring and ask the maid to telephone for a taxi?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I have one outside,&rdquo; answered Desmond. &ldquo;But won&rsquo;t you
+tell me what has happened?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Why,&rdquo; said Barbara, &ldquo;it has only just dawned on me why our
+house was broken into last night and poor daddy so cruelly murdered! Whoever
+robbed the house did not come after our poor little bits of silver or
+daddy&rsquo;s savings in the desk in the dining room. They came after something
+that I had!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And what was that&rdquo; asked Desmond.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Then Barbara told him of her talk with Nur-el-Din in the dancer&rsquo;s
+dressing-room on the previous evening and of the package which Nur-el-Din had
+entrusted to her care.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;This terrible business put it completely out of my head,&rdquo; said
+Barbara. &ldquo;In the presence of the police this morning, I looked over my
+bedroom and even searched my hand-bag which the police sent back to me this
+afternoon without finding that the burglars had stolen anything. It was only
+just now, when we were talking about our meeting in Nur-el-Din&rsquo;s room
+last night, that her little package suddenly flashed across my mind. And then I
+looked through my handbag again and convinced myself that it was not
+there.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But are you sure the police haven&rsquo;t taken it?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Absolutely certain,&rdquo; was the reply. &ldquo;I remember perfectly
+what was in my hand-bag this morning when I went through it, and the same
+things are on that table over there now.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Do you know what was in this package!&rdquo; said Desmond.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Just a small silver box, oblong and quite plain, about so big,&rdquo;
+she indicated the size with her hands, &ldquo;about as large as a
+cigarette-box. Nur-el-Din said it was a treasured family possession of hers,
+and she was afraid of losing it as she traveled about so much. She asked me to
+say nothing about it and to keep it until the war was over or until she asked
+me for it.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Then,&rdquo; said Desmond, &ldquo;this clears Nur-el-Din!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What do you mean,&rdquo; said Barbara, looking up.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Simply that she wouldn&rsquo;t have broken into your place and killed
+your father in order to recover her own package...&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But why on earth should Nur-el-Din be suspected of such a thing?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Have you heard nothing about this young lady from the Chief?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Nothing. I had not thought anything about her until daddy discovered an
+old friend in her last night and introduced me.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The Chief&rsquo;s infernal caution again! thought Desmond, secretly admiring
+the care with which that remarkable man, in his own phrase, &ldquo;sealed both
+ends of every connection.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;If I&rsquo;m to work with this girl,&rdquo; said Desmond to himself,
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;m going to have all the cards on the table here and now,&rdquo;
+so forthwith he told her of the Chief&rsquo;s suspicions of the dancer, the
+letter recommending her to Bellward found when the cheese merchant had been
+arrested, and lastly of the black hair which had been discovered on the thongs
+with which Barbara had been fastened.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And now,&rdquo; Desmond concluded, &ldquo;the very next thing we must do
+is to go to the Chief and tell him about this package of Nur-el-Din&rsquo;s
+that is missing.&rdquo; Barbara interposed quickly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It&rsquo;s no use your coming,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;The Chief
+won&rsquo;t see you. When he has sent a man on his mission, he refuses to see
+him again until the work has been done. If he wishes to send for you or
+communicate with you, he will. But it&rsquo;s useless for you to try and see
+him yourself. You can drop me at the office!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Desmond was inclined to agree with her on this point and said so.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;There is one thing especially that puzzles me, Miss Mackwayte,&rdquo;
+Desmond observed as they drove westward again, &ldquo;and that is, how anyone
+could have known about your having this box of Nur-el-Din&rsquo;s. Was there
+anybody else in the room when she gave you the package?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No,&rdquo; said Barbara, &ldquo;I don&rsquo;t think so. Wait a minute,
+though, Nur-el-Din&rsquo;s maid must have come in very shortly after for I
+remember the opened the door when Captain Strangwise came to tell me daddy was
+waiting to take me home.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Do you remember if Nur-el-Din actually mentioned the package in the
+presence of the maid!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;As far as I can recollect just as the maid opened the door to Captain
+Strangwise, Nur-el-Din was impressing on me again to take great care of the
+package. I don&rsquo;t think she actually mentioned the box but I remember her
+pointing at my bag where I had put the package.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The maid didn&rsquo;t see Nur-el-Din give you the box?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, I&rsquo;m sure of that. The room was empty save for us two. It was
+only just before Captain Strangwise knocked that I noticed Marie arranging
+Nur-el-Din&rsquo;s dresses. She must have come in afterwards without my seeing
+her.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well then, this girl, Marie, didn&rsquo;t see the dancer give you the
+box but she heard her refer to it. Is that right?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes, and, of course, Captain Strangwise...&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What about him?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;He must have heard what Nur-el-Din was saying, too!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Desmond rubbed his chin.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I say, you aren&rsquo;t going to implicate old Strangwise, too, are
+you?&rdquo; he asked.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Barbara did not reflect his smile.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;He seems to know Nur-el-Din pretty well,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;and
+I&rsquo;ll tell you something else, that woman&rsquo;s afraid of your friend,
+the Captain!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What do you mean?&rdquo; asked Desmond.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I was watching her in the glass last night as he was talking to her
+while you and I and daddy were chatting in the corner. I don&rsquo;t know what
+he said to her, but she glanced over her shoulder with a look of terror in her
+eyes. I was watching her face in the glass. She looked positively
+<i>hunted!</i>&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The taxi stopped. Desmond jumped out and helped his companion to alight.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;<i>Au revoir</i>,&rdquo; she said to him, &ldquo;never fear, you and I
+will meet very soon again!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+With that she was gone. Desmond looked at his watch. It pointed to a quarter to
+six.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Now I wonder what time the leave-train starts tonight,&rdquo; he said
+aloud, one foot on the sideboard of the taxi.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;At 7.45, sir,&rdquo; said a voice.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Desmond glanced round him. Then he saw it was the taxi-driver who had
+spoken.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;7.45, eh?&rdquo; said Desmond. &ldquo;From Victoria, I suppose?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes, sir,&rdquo; said the taxi-man.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;By Jove, I haven&rsquo;t much time,&rdquo; ejaculated the officer
+&ldquo;and there are some things I want to get before I go back across the
+Channel. And I shall have to see the Railway Transport Officer about my
+pass.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That&rsquo;s all right, sir,&rdquo; said the taxi-man, &ldquo;I have
+your papers here&rdquo;; he handed Desmond a couple of slips of paper which he
+took from his coat-pocket; &ldquo;those will take you back to France all right,
+I think you&rsquo;ll find!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Desmond looked at the papers: they were quite in order and correctly filled up
+with his name, rank and regiment, and date.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The taxi-man cut short any further question by saying:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;If you&rsquo;ll get into the cab again, sir, I&rsquo;ll drive you where
+you want to go, and then wait while you have your dinner and take you to the
+station. By the way, your dinner&rsquo;s ordered too!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But who the devil are you?&rdquo; asked Desmond in amazement.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;On special service, the same as you, sir!&rdquo; said the man with a
+grin and Desmond understood.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Really, the Chief was extremely thorough.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+They went to the stores in the Haymarket, to Fortnum and Mason&rsquo;s, and
+lastly, to a small, grubby shop at the back of Mayfair where Desmond and his
+brother had bought their cigarettes for years past. Desmond purchased a hundred
+of their favored brand, the Dionysus, as a reserve for his journey back to
+France, and stood chatting over old times with the fat, oily-faced Greek
+manager as the latter tied up his cigarettes into a clean white paper parcel,
+neatly sealed up with red sealing wax.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Then Desmond drove back to the Nineveh Hotel where he left his taxi-driving
+colleague in the courtyard on the understanding that at 7.25 the taxi would be
+waiting to drive him to the station.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Desmond went straight upstairs to his room to put his kit together. In the
+strong, firmly woven web spread by the Chief, he felt as helpless as a fly
+caught in a spider&rsquo;s mesh. He had no idea of what his plans were. He only
+knew that he was going back to France, and that it was his business to get on
+the leave-boat that night.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+As he passed along the thickly carpeted, silent corridor to his room, he saw
+the door of Strangwise&rsquo;s room standing ajar. He pushed open the door and
+walked in unceremoniously. A suitcase stood open on the floor with Strangwise
+bending over it. At his elbow was a table crowded with various parcels, a case
+of razors, different articles of kit, and some books. Desmond halted at the
+door, his box of cigarettes dangling from his finger.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Hullo, Maurice,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;are you off, too?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Strangwise spun round sharply. The blood had rushed to his face, staining it
+with a dark, angry flush.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;My God, how you startled me!&rdquo; he exclaimed rather testily.
+&ldquo;I never heard you come in!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He turned rather abruptly and went on with his packing. He struck Desmond as
+being rather annoyed at the intrusion; the latter had never seen him out of
+temper before.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Sorry if I butted in,&rdquo; said Desmond, sliding his box of cigarettes
+off his finger on to the littered table and sitting down on a chair. &ldquo;I
+came in to say good-bye. I&rsquo;m going back to France to-night!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Maurice looked round quickly. He appeared to be quite his old self again and
+was all smiles now.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;So soon?&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;Why, I thought you were getting a job at
+the War Office!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Desmond shook his head.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Not good enough,&rdquo; he replied, &ldquo;it&rsquo;s back to the
+sandbags for mine. But where are you off to?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Got a bit of leave; the Intelligence folk seem to be through with me at
+last, so they&rsquo;ve given me six weeks!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Going to the country&rdquo; asked Desmond.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Strangwise nodded.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yep,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;down to Essex to see if I can get a few duck
+or snipe on the fens. I wish you were coming with me!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;So do I, old man,&rdquo; echoed Desmond heartily. Then he added in a
+serious voice:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;By the way, I haven&rsquo;t seen you since last night. What a shocking
+affair this is about old Mackwayte, isn&rsquo;t it? Are there any developments,
+do you know?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Strangwise very deliberately fished a cigarette out of his case which was lying
+open on the table and lit it before replying.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;A very dark affair,&rdquo; he said, blowing out a cloud of smoke and
+flicking the match into the grate. &ldquo;You are discreet, I know, Okewood.
+The Intelligence people had me up this morning... to take my evidence...&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Strangwise&rsquo;s surmise about Desmond&rsquo;s discretion was perfectly
+correct. With Desmond Okewood discretion was second nature, and therefore he
+answered with feigned surprise: &ldquo;Your evidence about what? About our
+meeting the Mackwaytes last night?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+After he had spoken he realized he had blundered. Surely, after all, the Chief
+would have told Strangwise about their investigations at Seven Kings. Still...
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No,&rdquo; replied Strangwise, &ldquo;but about Nur-el-Din!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The Chief had kept his own counsel about their morning&rsquo;s work. Desmond
+was glad now that he had dissimulated.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You see, I know her pretty well,&rdquo; Strangwise continued,
+&ldquo;between ourselves, I got rather struck on the lady when she was touring
+in Canada some years ago, and in fact I spent so much more money than I could
+afford on her that I had to discontinue the acquaintance. Then I met her here
+when I got away from Germany a month ago; she was lonely, so I took her about a
+bit. Okewood, I&rsquo;m afraid I was rather indiscreet.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;How do you mean?&rdquo; Desmond asked innocently.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well,&rdquo; said Strangwise slowly, contemplating the end of his
+cigarette, &ldquo;it appears that the lady is involved in certain activities
+which considerably interest our Intelligence. But there, I mustn&rsquo;t say
+any more!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But how on earth is Nur-el-what&rsquo;s her name concerned in this
+murder, Maurice?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Strangwise shrugged his shoulders.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Ah, you&rsquo;d better ask the police. But I tell you she&rsquo;ll be
+getting into trouble if she&rsquo;s not careful!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Throughout this conversation Desmond seemed to hear in his ears Barbara&rsquo;s
+words: &ldquo;That woman&rsquo;s afraid of your friend!&rdquo; He divined that
+for some reason or other, Strangwise wanted to create a bad impression in his
+mind about the dancer. He scanned Maurice&rsquo;s face narrowly. Its
+impenetrability was absolute. There was nothing to be gleaned from those
+careless, smiling features.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well,&rdquo; said Desmond, getting up, &ldquo;<i>nous verrons</i>. I
+shall have to make a bolt for it now if I don&rsquo;t want to miss my train.
+Good-bye, Maurice, and I hope you&rsquo;ll get some birds!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Thanks, old man. Au revoir, and take care of yourself. My salaams to the
+General!&rdquo;.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+They shook hands warmly, then Desmond grabbed his box of cigarettes in its neat
+white wrapper with the bold red seals and hurried off to his room.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Strangwise stood for a moment gazing after him. He was no longer the frank,
+smiling companion of a minute before. His mouth was set hard and his chin stuck
+out at a defiant angle.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He bent over the table and picked up a white paper package sealed with bold red
+seals. He poised it for a moment in his hands while a flicker of a smile stole
+into the narrow eyes and played for an instant round the thin lips. Then, with
+a quick movement, he thrust the little package into the side pocket of his
+tunic and buttoned the flap.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Whistling a little tune, he went on with his packing.
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap09"></a>CHAPTER IX.<br/>
+METAMORPHOSIS</h2>
+
+<p>
+It was a clear, cold night. A knife-edge icy wind blew from the north-east and
+kept the lanyards dismally flapping on the flag-mast over the customs house.
+The leave train lay in the station within a biscuit&rsquo;s throw of the
+quayside and the black, blank Channel beyond, a long line of cheerfully
+illuminated windows that to those returning from leave seemed as the last link
+with home.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The Corporal of Military Police, who stood at the gangway examining the passes,
+stopped Desmond Okewood as the latter held out his pass into the rays of the
+man&rsquo;s lantern.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;There was a message for you, sir,&rdquo; said the Corporal. &ldquo;The
+captain of the Staff boat would h-esteem it a favor, sir, if you would kindly
+go to his cabin immediately on h-arriving on board, sir!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Very good, Corporal!&rdquo; answered the officer and passed up the gang
+plank, enviously regarded by the press of brass-hats and red-tabs who, for the
+most part, had a cramped berth below or cold quarters on deck to look forward
+to.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A seaman directed Desmond to the Captain&rsquo;s cabin. It was built out just
+behind the bridge, a snug, cheery room with bright chintz curtains over the
+carefully screened portholes, a couple of comfortable benches with leather
+seats along the walls, a small bunk, and in the middle of the floor a table set
+out with a bottle of whiskey, a siphon and some glasses together with a box of
+cigars.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The Captain was sitting there chatting to the pilot, a short, enormously broad
+man with a magenta face and prodigious hands which were folded round a smoking
+glass of toddy.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Pick &rsquo;em up? Rescue &rsquo;em?&rdquo; the pilot ejaculated, as
+Desmond walked in, &ldquo;I&rsquo;d let &rsquo;em sink, every man Jack o&rsquo;
+them, the outrageous murderin&rsquo; scoundrels. I don&rsquo;t like to hear you
+a-talking of such nonsense, Cap&rsquo;en!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+On Desmond&rsquo;s entrance the Captain broke off the conversation. He proved
+to be a trimly-built man of about fifty with a grizzled beard, and an air of
+quiet efficiency which is not uncommonly found in seamen. The pilot drained his
+glass and, scrambling to his feet, nodded to Desmond and stumped out into the
+cold night air.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Jawin&rsquo; about the U boats!&rdquo; said the Captain, with a jerk of
+his head towards the cabin door, &ldquo;I don&rsquo;t know what the feelings of
+your men in the trenches are towards Fritz, Major, but I tell you that no
+German will dare set foot in any coast port of the United Kingdom in my
+life-time or yours, either! Accommodation&rsquo;s a bit narrow on board. I
+thought maybe you&rsquo;d care to spend the night up here!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Any orders about me?&rdquo; asked Desmond.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The Captain went a shade deeper mahogany in the face.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh no,&rdquo; he replied, with an elaborate assumption of innocence.
+&ldquo;But won&rsquo;t you mix yourself a drink? And try one of my cigars, a
+present from a skipper friend of mine who sailed into Tilbury from Manila last
+week.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Desmond sat in the snug cabin, puffing a most excellent cigar and sipping his
+whiskey and soda while, amid much shouting of seamen and screaming of
+windlasses, the staff boat got clear. Presently they were gliding past long low
+moles and black, inhospitable lighthouses, threading their way through the dark
+shapes of war craft of all kinds into the open Channel. There was a good deal
+of swell, but the sea was calm, and the vessel soon steadied down to regular
+rise and fall.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+They had been steaming for nearly an hour when, through the open door of the
+cabin, Desmond saw a seaman approach the captain on the bridge. He handed the
+skipper a folded paper.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;From the wireless operator, sir!&rdquo; Desmond heard him say.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The skipper scanned it. Then the engine telegraph rang sharply, there was the
+sound of churning water, and the vessel slowed down. The next moment the
+Captain appeared at the door of the cabin.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;m afraid we&rsquo;re going to lose you, Major,&rdquo; he said
+pleasantly, &ldquo;a destroyer is coming up to take you off. There was a
+wireless from the Admiral about you.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Where are they going to take me, do you know?&rdquo; asked Desmond.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The Captain shook his head.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I haven&rsquo;t an idea. I&rsquo;ve only got to hand you over!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He grinned and added:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Where&rsquo;s your kit?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;In the hold, I expect!&rdquo; answered Desmond. &ldquo;The porter at
+Victoria told me not to worry about it, and that I should find it on the other
+side. And, oh damn it!&mdash;I&rsquo;ve got a hundred cigarettes in my kit,
+too! I bought them specially for the journey!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, take some of my cigars,&rdquo; said the skipper hospitably,
+&ldquo;for your traps&rsquo;ll have to go to France this trip, Major.
+There&rsquo;s no time to get &rsquo;em up now. I&rsquo;ll pass the word to the
+Military Landing Officer over there about &rsquo;em, if you like. He&rsquo;ll
+take care of &rsquo;em for you. Now will you come with me?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Desmond scrambled into his coat and followed the Captain down the steps to the
+deck. A little distance away from the vessel, the long shape of a destroyer was
+dimly visible tossing to and fro in the heavy swell. A ladder had been let down
+over the side of the steamer, and at its foot a boat, manned by a number of
+heavily swathed and muffled forms, was pitching.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A few officers stood by the rail watching the scene with interest. The skipper
+adroitly piloted Desmond past them and fairly thrust him out on to the ladder.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Desmond took the hint and with a hasty &ldquo;Good night&rdquo; to the friendly
+captain, staggered down the swaying ladder and was helped into the boat. The
+boat shoved off, the bell of the engine telegraph on the steamer resounded
+sharply, and the vessel resumed her interrupted voyage whilst the rowing boat
+was headed towards the destroyer. On board the latter vessel an officer met
+Desmond at the rail and piloted him to the ward-room. Almost before they got
+there, the destroyer was under way.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The officer who had welcomed him proved to be the second in command, a joyous
+person who did the honors of the tiny ward-room with the aplomb of a Commander
+in a super-Dreadnought. He mixed Desmond a drink and immediately started to
+converse about life at the front without giving the other a chance of asking
+whither they were bound.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The suspense was not of long duration, however, for in about half an
+hour&rsquo;s time, the destroyer slowed down and Desmond&rsquo;s host vanished.
+When he reappeared, it was to summon Desmond on deck.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+They lay aside a mole by some steps cut in the solid concrete. Here
+Desmond&rsquo;s host took leave of him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;There should be a car waiting for you up there,&rdquo; he said.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+There on top of the mole, exposed to the keen blast of the wind, a large
+limousine was standing. A chauffeur, who looked blue with cold, got down from
+his seat as Desmond emerged from the stairs and touched his cap.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Major Okewood?&rdquo; he asked.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That&rsquo;s my name!&rdquo; said Desmond.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;If you&rsquo;ll get in, sir, we&rsquo;ll start at once!&rdquo; the man
+replied.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Befogged and bewildered, Desmond entered the car, which cautiously proceeded
+along the breakwater, with glimpses of black water and an occasional dim light
+on either hand. They bumped over the railway-lines and rough cobblestones of a
+dockyard, glided through a slumbering town, and so gradually drew out into the
+open country where the car gathered speed and fairly raced along the white,
+winding road. Desmond had not the faintest idea of their whereabouts or
+ultimate destination. He was fairly embarked on the great adventure now, and he
+was philosophically content to let Fate have its way with him. He found himself
+wondering rather indolently what the future had in store.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The car slowed down and the chauffeur switched the headlights on. Their
+blinding glare revealed some white gate-posts at the entrance of a quiet
+country station. Desmond looked at his watch. It was half-past one. The car
+stopped at the entrance to the booking-office where a man in an overcoat and
+bowler was waiting.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;This way, Major, please,&rdquo; said the man in the bowler, and led the
+way into the dark and silent station. At the platform a short train consisting
+of an engine, a Pullman car and a brakesman&rsquo;s van stood, the engine under
+steam. By the glare from the furnace Desmond recognized his companion. It was
+Matthews, the Chief&rsquo;s confidential clerk.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Matthews held open the door of the Pullman for Desmond and followed him into
+the carriage. A gruff voice in the night shouted:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;All right, Charley!&rdquo; a light was waved to and fro, and the special
+pulled out of the echoing station into the darkness beyond.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+In the corner of the Pullman a table was laid for supper. There was a cold
+chicken, a salad, and a bottle of claret. On another table was a large tin box
+and a mirror with a couple of electric lights before it. At this table was
+seated a small man with gray hair studying a large number of photographs.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;If you will have your supper, Major Okewood, sir,&rdquo; said Matthews,
+&ldquo;Mr. Crook here will get to work. We&rsquo;ve not got too much
+time.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The sea air had made Desmond ravenously hungry. He sat down promptly and
+proceeded to demolish the chicken and make havoc of the salad. Also he did full
+justice to the very excellent St. Estephe.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+As he ate he studied Matthews, who was one of those undefinable Englishmen one
+meets in tubes and &rsquo;buses, who might be anything from a rate collector to
+a rat catcher. He had sandy hair plastered limply across his forehead, a small
+moustache, and a pair of watery blue eyes. Mr. Crook, who continued his study
+of his assortment of photographs without taking the slightest notice of
+Desmond, was a much more alert looking individual, with a shock of iron gray
+hair brushed back and a small pointed beard.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Matthew&rsquo;s,&rdquo; said Desmond as he supped, &ldquo;would it be
+indiscreet to ask where we are?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;In Kent, Major,&rdquo; replied Matthews.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What station was that we started from?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Faversham.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And where are we going, might I inquire?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;To Cannon Street, sir!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And from there?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mr. Matthews coughed discreetly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I can&rsquo;t really say, sir, I&rsquo;m sure! A car will meet you there
+and I can go home to bed.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The ends sealed again! thought Desmond. What a man of caution, the Chief!
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And this gentleman here, Matthews?&rdquo; asked Desmond, lighting one of
+the skipper&rsquo;s cigars.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That, sir, is Mr. Crook, who does any little jobs we require in the way
+of make-up. Our expert on resemblances, if I may put it that way, sir, for we
+really do very little in the way of disguises. Mr. Crook is an observer of what
+I may call people&rsquo;s points, sir, their facial appearance, their little
+peculiarities of manner, of speech, of gait. Whenever there is any question of
+a disguise, Mr. Crook is called in to advise as to the possibilities of
+success. I believe I am correct in saying, Crook, that you have been engaged on
+the Major here for some time. Isn&rsquo;t it so?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Crook looked up a minute from his table.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That&rsquo;s right,&rdquo; he said shortly, and resumed his occupation
+of examining the photographs.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And what&rsquo;s your opinion about this disguise of mine?&rdquo;
+Desmond asked him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I can make a good job of you, Major,&rdquo; said the expert, &ldquo;and
+so I reported to the Chief. You&rsquo;ll want to do your hair a bit different
+and let your beard grow, and then, if you pay attention to the lessons I shall
+give you, in a week or two, you&rsquo;ll be this chap here,&rdquo; and he
+tapped the photograph in his hand, &ldquo;to the life.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+So saying he handed Desmond the photograph. It was the portrait of a man about
+forty years of age, of rather a pronounced Continental type, with a short brown
+beard, a straight, rather well-shaped nose and gold-rimmed spectacles. His hair
+was cut <i>en brosse</i>, and he was rather full about the throat and neck.
+Without a word, Desmond stretched out his hand and gathered up a sheaf of other
+photos, police photos of Mr. Basil Bellward, front face and profile seen from
+right and left, all these poses shown on the same picture, some snapshots and
+various camera studies. Desmond shook his head in despair. He was utterly
+unable to detect the slightest resemblance between himself and this rather
+commonplace looking type of business man.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Now if you&rsquo;d just step into the compartment at the end of the
+Pullman, Major,&rdquo; said Crook, &ldquo;you&rsquo;ll find some civilian
+clothes laid out. Would you mind putting them on? You needn&rsquo;t trouble
+about the collar and tie, or coat and waistcoat for the moment. Then
+we&rsquo;ll get along with the work.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The train rushed swaying on through the darkness. Desmond was back in the
+Pullman car in a few minutes arrayed in a pair of dark gray tweed trousers, a
+white shirt and black boots and socks. A cut-away coat and waistcoat of the
+same tweed stuff, a black bowler hat of rather an old-fashioned and staid
+pattern, and a black overcoat with a velvet collar, he left in the compartment
+where he changed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He found that Crook had opened his tin box and set out a great array of grease
+paints, wigs, twists of tow of various colors, and a number of pots and phials
+of washes and unguents together with a whole battery of fine paint brushes. In
+his hand he held a pair of barber&rsquo;s clippers and the tips of a comb and a
+pair of scissors protruded from his vest pocket.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Crook whisked a barber&rsquo;s wrap round Desmond and proceeded, with clippers
+and scissors, to crop and trim his crisp black hair.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Tst-tst&rdquo; he clicked with his tongue. &ldquo;I didn&rsquo;t realize
+your hair was so dark, Major. It&rsquo;ll want a dash of henna to lighten
+it.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The man worked with incredible swiftness. His touch was light and sure, and
+Desmond, looking at his reflection in the glass, wondered to see what fine;
+delicate hands this odd little expert possessed. Matthews sat and smoked in
+silence and watched the operation, whilst the special ran on steadily
+Londonwards.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+When the clipping was done, Crook smeared some stuff on a towel and wrapped it
+round Desmond&rsquo;s head.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That&rsquo;ll brighten your hair up a lot, sir. Now for a crepe beard
+just to try the effect. We&rsquo;ve got to deliver you at Cannon Street ready
+for the job, Mr. Matthews and me, but you won&rsquo;t want to worry with this
+nasty messy beard once you get indoors. You can grow your own beard, and
+I&rsquo;ll pop in and henna it a bit for you every now and then.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+There was the smart of spirit gum on Desmond&rsquo;s cheeks and Crook gently
+applied a strip of tow to his face. He had taken the mirror away so that
+Desmond could no longer see the effect of the gradual metamorphosis.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;A mirror only confuses me,&rdquo; said the expert, breathing hard as he
+delicately adjusted the false beard, &ldquo;I&rsquo;ve got this picture firm in
+my head, and I want to get it transferred to your face. Somehow a mirror puts
+me right off. It&rsquo;s the reality I want.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+As he grew more absorbed in his work, he ceased to speak altogether. He
+finished the beard, trimmed the eyebrows, applied a dash of henna with a brush,
+leaning backwards continually to survey the effect. He sketched in a wrinkle or
+two round the eyes with a pencil, wiped them out, then put them in again. Then
+he fumbled in his tin box, and produced two thin slices of grey rubber.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Sorry,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;I&rsquo;m afraid you&rsquo;ll have to wear
+these inside your cheeks to give the effect of roundness. You&rsquo;ve got an
+oval face and the other man has a round one. I can get the fullness of the
+throat by giving you a very low collar, rather open and a size too large for
+you.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Desmond obediently slipped the two slices of rubber into his mouth and tucked
+them away on either side of his upper row of teeth. They were not particularly
+uncomfortable to wear.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;There&rsquo;s your specs,&rdquo; said Crook, handing him a spectacle
+case, &ldquo;and there&rsquo;s the collar. Now if you&rsquo;ll put on the rest
+of the duds, we&rsquo;ll have a look at you, sir.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Desmond went out and donned the vest and coat and overcoat, and, thus arrayed,
+returned to the Pullman, hat in hand.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Crook called out to him as he entered
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Not so springy in the step, sir, if you please. Remember you&rsquo;re
+forty-three years of age with a Continental upbringing. You&rsquo;ll have to
+walk like a German, toes well turned out and down on the heel every time. So,
+that&rsquo;s better. Now, have a look at yourself!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He turned and touched a blind. A curtain rolled up with a click, disclosing a
+full length mirror immediately opposite Desmond.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Desmond recoiled in astonishment. He could scarcely credit his own eyes. The
+glass must be bewitched, he thought for a moment, quite overwhelmed by the
+suddenness of the shock. For instead of the young face set on a slight athletic
+body that the glass was wont to show him, he saw a square, rather solid man in
+ugly, heavy clothes, with a brown silky beard and gold spectacles. The disguise
+was baffling in its completeness. The little wizard, who had effected this
+change and who now stood by, bashfully twisting his fingers about, had
+transformed youth into middle age. And the bewildering thing was that the
+success of the disguise did not lie so much in the external adjuncts, the false
+beard, the pencilled wrinkles, as in the hideous collar, the thick padded
+clothes, in short, in the general appearance.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+For the first time since his talk with the Chief at the United Service Club,
+Desmond felt his heart grow light within him. If such miracles were possible,
+then he could surmount the other difficulties as well.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Crook,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;I think you&rsquo;ve done wonders. What do
+you say, Matthews?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;ve seen a lot of Mr. Crook&rsquo;s work in my day, sir,&rdquo;
+answered the clerk, &ldquo;but nothing better than this. It&rsquo;s a
+masterpiece, Crook, that&rsquo;s what it is.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;m fairly well satisfied,&rdquo; the expert murmured modestly,
+&ldquo;and I must say the Major carries it off very well. But how goes the
+enemy, Matthews?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It&rsquo;s half past two,&rdquo; replied, the latter, &ldquo;we should
+reach Cannon Street by three. She&rsquo;s running well up to time, I
+think.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;We&rsquo;ve got time for a bit of a rehearsal,&rdquo; said Crook.
+&ldquo;Just watch me, will you please, Major, and I&rsquo;ll try and give you
+an impression of our friend. I&rsquo;ve been studying him at Brixton for the
+past twelve days, day and night almost, you might say, and I think I can convey
+an idea of his manner and walk. The walk is a very important point. Now, here
+is Mr. Bellward meeting one of his friends. Mr. Matthews, you will be the
+friend!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Then followed one of the most extraordinary performances that Desmond had ever
+witnessed. By some trick of the actor&rsquo;s art, the shriveled figure of the
+expert seemed to swell out and thicken, while his low, gentle voice deepened
+into a full, metallic baritone. Of accent in his speech there was none, but
+Desmond&rsquo;s ear, trained to foreigners&rsquo; English, could detect a
+slight Continental intonation, a little roll of the &ldquo;r&rsquo;s,&rdquo; an
+unfamiliar sound about those open &ldquo;o&rsquo;s&rdquo; of the English
+tongue, which are so fatal a trap for foreigners speaking our language. As he
+watched Crook, Desmond glanced from time to time at the photograph of Bellward
+which he had picked up from the table. He had an intuition that Bellward
+behaved and spoke just as the man before him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Then, at Crook&rsquo;s suggestion, Desmond assumed the role of Bellward. The
+expert interrupted him continually.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The hands, Major, the hands, you must <i>not</i> keep them down at your
+sides. That is military! You must move them when you speak! So and so!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Or again:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You speak too fast. Too... too youthfully, if you understand me, sir.
+You are a man of middle age. Life has no further secrets for you. You are
+poised and getting a trifle ponderous. Now try again!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But the train was slackening speed. They were running between black masses of
+squalid houses. As the special thumped over the bridge across the river, Mr.
+Crook gathered up his paints and brushes and photographs and arranged them
+neatly in his black tin box.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+To Desmond he said:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I shall be coming along to give you some more lessons very soon, Major.
+I wish you could see Bellward for yourself: you are very apt at this game, and
+it would save us much time. But I fear that&rsquo;s impossible.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Even before the special had drawn up alongside the platform at Cannon Street,
+Crook and Matthews swung themselves out and disappeared. When the train
+stopped, a young man in a bowler hat presented himself at the door of the
+Pullman.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The car is there, Mr. Bellward, sir!&rdquo; he said, helping Desmond to
+alight. Desmond, preparing to assume his new role, was about to leave the
+carriage when a sudden thought struck him. What about his uniform strewn about
+the compartment where he had changed? He ran back. The compartment was empty.
+Not a trace remained of the remarkable scenes of their night journey.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;This is for you,&rdquo; said the young man, handing Desmond a note as
+they walked down the platform.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Outside the station a motor-car with its noisy throbbing awoke the echoes of
+the darkened and empty courtyard. Desmond waited until he was being whirled
+over the smooth asphalt of the City streets before he opened the letter.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He found a note and a small key inside the envelope.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;On reaching the house to which you will be conveyed,&rdquo; the note
+said, &ldquo;you will remain indoors until further orders. You can devote your
+time to studying the papers you will find in the desk beside the bed. For the
+present you need not fear detection <i>as long as you do not leave the
+house</i>.&rdquo; Then followed a few rough jottings obviously for his
+guidance.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Housekeeper, Martha, half blind, stupid; odd man, John Hill, mostly
+invisible, no risk from either. You are confined to house with heavy chill.
+<i>Do not go out until you get the word.</i>&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The last sentence was twice underlined.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The night was now pitch-dark. Heavy clouds had come up and obscured the stars
+and a drizzle of rain was falling. The car went forward at a good pace and
+Desmond, after one or two ineffectual attempts to make out where they were
+going, was lulled by the steady motion into a deep sleep. He was dreaming
+fitfully of the tossing Channel as he had seen it but a few hours before when
+he came to his senses with a start. He felt a cold draught of air on his face
+and his feet were dead with cold.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A figure stood at the open door of the car. It was the chauffeur.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Here we are, sir,&rdquo; he said.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Desmond stiffly descended to the ground. It was so dark that he could
+distinguish nothing, but he felt the grit of gravel under his feet and he heard
+the melancholy gurgle of running water. He took a step forward and groped his
+way into a little porch smelling horribly of mustiness and damp. As he did so,
+he heard a whirr behind him and the car began to glide off. Desmond shouted
+after the chauffeur. Now that he stood on the very threshold of his adventure,
+he wanted to cling desperately to this last link with his old self. But the
+chauffeur did not or would not hear, and presently the sound of the engine died
+away, leaving Desmond to the darkness, the sad splashing of distant water and
+his own thoughts.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And then, for one brief moment, all his courage seemed to ooze out of him. If
+he had followed his instinct, he would have turned and fled into the night,
+away from that damp and silent house, away from the ceaseless splashing of
+waters, back to the warmth and lights of civilization. But his sense of humor,
+which is very often better than courage, came to his rescue.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I suppose I ought to be in the devil of a rage,&rdquo; he said to
+himself, &ldquo;being kept waiting like this outside my own house! Where the
+deuce is my housekeeper? By Gad, I&rsquo;ll ring the place down!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The conceit amused him, and he advanced further into the musty porch hoping to
+find a bell. But as he did so his ear caught the distant sound of shuffling
+feet. The shuffle of feet drew nearer and presently a beam of light shone out
+from under the door. A quavering voice called out:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Here I am, Mr. Bellward, here I am, sir!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Then a bolt was drawn back, a key turned, and the door swung slowly back,
+revealing an old woman, swathed in a long shawl and holding high in her hand a
+lamp as she peered out into the darkness.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Good evening, Martha,&rdquo; said Desmond, and stepped into the house.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Save for Martha&rsquo;s lamp, the lobby was in darkness, but light was
+streaming into the hall from the half open door of a room leading off it at the
+far end. While Martha, wheezing asthmatically, bolted the front door, Desmond
+went towards the room where the light was and walked in.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It was a small sitting-room, lined with bookshelves, illuminated by an oil lamp
+which stood on a little table beside a chintz-covered settee which had been
+drawn up in front of the dying fire.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+On the settee Nur-el-Din was lying asleep.
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap10"></a>CHAPTER X.<br/>
+D. O. R. A. IS BAFFLED</h2>
+
+<p>
+When Barbara reached the Chief&rsquo;s ante-room she found it full of people.
+Mr. Marigold was there, chatting with Captain Strangwise who seemed to be just
+taking his leave; there was a short, fat, Jewish-looking man, very
+resplendently dressed with a large diamond pin in his cravat and a small,
+insignificant looking gentleman with a gray moustache and the red rosette of
+the Legion of Honor in his button-hole. Matthews came out of the Chief&rsquo;s
+room as Barbara entered the outer office.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Miss Mackwayte,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;we are all so shocked and so
+very, sorry...&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Mr. Matthews,&rdquo; she said hastily in a low voice, &ldquo;never mind
+about that now. I must see the Chief at once. It is most urgent.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Matthews gesticulated with his arm round the room.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;All these people, excepting the officer there, are waiting to see him,
+Miss, and he&rsquo;s got a dinner engagement at eight...&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It is urgent, Mr. Matthews, I tell you. If you won&rsquo;t take my name
+in, I shall go in myself!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Miss Mackwayte, I daren&rsquo;t interrupt him now. Do you know
+who&rsquo;s with him...?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Strangwise crossed the room to where Barbara was standing.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I can guess what brings you here, Miss Mackwayte,&rdquo; he said gently.
+&ldquo;I hope you will allow me to express my condolences...?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The girl shrank back, almost imperceptibly, yet Strangwise, whose eyes were
+fixed on her pale face, noticed the spontaneous recoil. The sunshine seemed to
+fade out of his debonair countenance, and for a moment Barbara Mackwayte saw
+Maurice Strangwise as very few people had ever seen him, stern and cold and
+hard, without a vestige of his constant smile. But the shadow lifted as quickly
+as it had fallen. His face had resumed its habitually engaging expression as he
+murmured:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Believe me, I am truly sorry for you!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Thank you, thank you!&rdquo; Barbara said hastily and brushed past him.
+She walked straight across the room to the door of the Chief&rsquo;s room,
+turned the handle and walked in.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The room was in darkness save for an electric reading lamp on the desk which
+threw a beam of light on the faces of two men thrust close together in eager
+conversation. One was the Chief, the other a face that Barbara knew well from
+the illustrated papers.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At the sound of the door opening, the Chief sprang to his feet.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, it&rsquo;s Miss Mackwayte,&rdquo; he said, and added something in a
+low voice to the other man who had risen to his feet. &ldquo;My dear,&rdquo; he
+continued aloud to Barbara, &ldquo;I will see you immediately; we must not be
+disturbed now. Matthews should have told you.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Chief,&rdquo; cried Barbara, her hands clasped convulsively together,
+&ldquo;you must hear me now. What I have to say cannot wait. Oh, you must hear
+me!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The Chief looked as embarrassed as a man usually looks when he is appealed to
+in a busy moment by an extremely attractive girl.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Miss Mackwayte,&rdquo; he said firmly but with great courtesy,
+&ldquo;you must wait outside. I know how unnerved you are by all that you have
+gone through, but I am engaged just now. I shall be free presently.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It is about my father, Chief,&rdquo; Barbara said in a trembling voice,
+&ldquo;I have found out what they came to get!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Ah!&rdquo; said the Chief and the other man simultaneously.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;We had better hear what she has to say!&rdquo; said the other man,
+&ldquo;but won&rsquo;t you introduce me first?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;This is Sir Bristowe Marr, the First Sea Lord,&rdquo; said the Chief,
+bringing up a chair for Barbara, &ldquo;Miss Mackwayte, my secretary,
+Admiral!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Then in a low impassioned voice Barbara told her tale of the package entrusted
+to her by Nur-el-Din and its disappearance from her bedroom on the night of the
+murder. As she proceeded a deep furrow appeared between the Chief&rsquo;s bushy
+eyebrows and he stared absently at the blotting-pad in front of him. When the
+girl had finished her story, the Chief said:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Lambelet ought to hear this, sir: he&rsquo;s the head of the French
+Intelligence, you know. He&rsquo;s outside now. Shall we have him in? Miss
+Mackwayte shall tell her story, and you can then hear what Lambelet has to say
+about this versatile young dancer.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Without waiting for further permission, he pressed a bell on the desk and
+presently Matthews ushered in the small man with the Legion of Honor whom
+Barbara had seen in the ante-room.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The Chief introduced the Frenchman and in a few words explained the situation
+to him. Then he turned to Barbara:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Colonel Lambelet speaks English perfectly,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;so
+fire away and don&rsquo;t be nervous!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+When she had finished, the Chief said, addressing Lambelet:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What do you make of it, Colonel?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The little Frenchman made an expressive gesture.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Madame has become aware of the interest you have been taking in her
+movements, <i>mon cher</i>. She seized the opportunity of this meeting with the
+daughter of her old friend to get rid of something compromising, a code or
+something of the kind, <i>qui sait?</i> Perhaps this robbery and its attendant
+murder was only an elaborate device to pass on some particularly important
+report of the movements of your ships... <i>qui sait?</i>&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Then you are convinced in your own mind, Colonel, that this woman is a
+spy?&rdquo; The clear-cut voice of the First Sea Lord rang out of the darkness
+of the room outside the circle of light on the desk.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;<i>Mais certainement!</i>&rdquo; replied the Frenchman quietly.
+&ldquo;Listen and you shall hear! By birth she is a Pole, from Warsaw, of good,
+perhaps, even, of noble family. I cannot tell you, for her real name we have
+not been able to ascertain... <i>parbleu</i>, it is impossible, with the Boches
+at Warsaw, <i>hein?</i> We know, however, that at a very early age, under the
+name of <i>la petite Marcelle</i>, she was a member of a troupe of acrobats who
+called themselves The Seven Duponts. With this troupe she toured all over
+Europe. <i>Bien!</i> About ten years ago, she went out to New York as a singer,
+under the name of Marcelle Blondinet, and appeared at various second-class
+theatres in the United States and Canada. Then we lose track of her for some
+years until 1913, the year before the war, when the famous Oriental dancer,
+Nur-el-Din, who has made a <i>grand succès</i> by the splendor of her dresses
+in America and Canada, appears at Brussels, scores a triumph and buys a fine
+mansion in the outskirts of the capital. She produces herself at Paris,
+Bordeaux, Lyons, Marseilles, Madrid, Milan and Rome, but her home in Brussels,
+always she returns there, your understand me, hein? <i>La petite Marcelle</i>
+of The Seven Duponts, Marcelle Blondinet of the <i>café chantant</i>, has
+blossomed out into a star of the first importance.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The Colonel paused and cleared his throat.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;To buy a mansion in Brussels, to run a large and splendid troupe,
+requires money. It is the men who pay for these things, you would say. Quite
+right, but listen who were the friends of Madame Nur-el-Din. Bischoffsberg, the
+German millionaire of Antwerp, von Wurzburg, of Berne... ah ha! you know that
+gentleman, <i>mon cher?</i>&rdquo; he turned, chuckling, to the Chief who
+nodded his acquiescence; &ldquo;Prince Meddelin of the German Embassy in Paris
+and administrator of the German Secret Service funds in France, and so on and
+so on. I will not fatigue you with the list. The direct evidence is coming now.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;When the war broke out in August, 1914, Madame, after finishing her
+summer season in Brussels, was resting in her Brussels mansion. What becomes of
+her? She vanishes.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;She told Samuel, the fellow who runs the Palaceum, that she escaped from
+Brussels!&rdquo; interposed the Chief.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The Frenchman threw his hands above his head.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Escaped, escaped? <i>Ah, oui, par exemple</i>, in a German Staff car. As
+I have told my colleague here,&rdquo; he went on, addressing the Admiral,
+&ldquo;she escaped to Metz, the headquarters of the Army Group commanded by
+the... the... how do you say? the Prince Imperial?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The Crown Prince,&rdquo; rectified the Chief.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Ah, <i>oui</i>,&mdash;the Crown Prince. Messieurs, we have absolute
+testimony that this woman lived for nearly two years either in Metz or Berlin,
+and further, that at Metz, the Crown Prince was a constant visitor at her
+house. She was one of the ladies who nearly precipitated a definite rupture
+between the Crown Prince and his wife. <i>Mon Admiral</i>,&rdquo; he went on,
+addressing the First Sea Lord again, &ldquo;that this woman should be at large
+is a direct menace to the security of this country and of mine. It is only this
+morning that I at length received from Paris the facts which I have just laid
+before you. It is for you to order your action accordingly!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The little Frenchman folded his arms pompously and gazed at the ceiling.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;How does she explain her movements prior to her coming to this
+country&rdquo; the First Sea Lord asked the Chief.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+For an answer the Chief pressed the bell.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Samuel, who engaged her, is outside. You shall hear her story from
+him,&rdquo; he said.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Samuel entered, exuding business acumen, prosperity, geniality. He nodded
+brightly to the Chief and stood expectant.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Ah, Mr. Samuel,&rdquo; said the Chief, &ldquo;I wanted to see you about
+Nur-el-Din. You remember our former conversation on the subject. Where did she
+say she went to when she escaped to Brussels?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;First to Ostend,&rdquo; replied the music-hall proprietor, &ldquo;and
+then, when the general exodus took place from there, to her mother&rsquo;s
+country place near Lyons, a village called Sermoise-aux-Roses.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And what did she say her mother&rsquo;s name was?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Madame Blondinet, sir!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The Frenchman rapped smartly on a little pocketbook which he had produced and
+now held open in his hand.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;There, is a Madame Blondinet who has a large farm near
+Sermoise-aux-Roses,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;and she has a daughter called
+Marcelle, who went to America.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Why then...?&rdquo; began the First Sea Lord.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;<i>Attendez un instant!</i>&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The Colonel held up a plump hand.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Unfortunately for Madame Nur-el-Din, this Marcelle Blondinet spent the
+whole of her childhood, in fact, the whole of her life until she was nineteen
+years of age, on her mother&rsquo;s farm at a time when <i>this</i> Marcelle
+Blondinet was touring Europe with The Seven Duponts. The evidence is absolute.
+Mademoiselle here heard the dancer herself confirm it last night!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Thank you, Mr. Samuel,&rdquo; said the Chief, &ldquo;we shan&rsquo;t
+require you any more. But I&rsquo;m afraid your Nur-el-Din will have to break
+her contract with you.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;She&rsquo;s done that already, sir!&rdquo; said Samuel ruefully.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The Chief sprang to his feet excitedly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Broken it already?&rdquo; he cried. &ldquo;What do you mean? Explain
+yourself! Don&rsquo;t stand there staring at me!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mr. Samuel looked startled out of his life.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;There was a bit of a row between her and the stage manager last night
+about her keeping the stage waiting again,&rdquo; he said; &ldquo;and after
+lunch today she rang up to say she would not appear at the Palaceum to-night or
+any more at all! It&rsquo;s very upsetting for us; and I don&rsquo;t mind
+telling you, gentlemen, that I&rsquo;ve been to my solicitors about
+it...&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And why the blazes didn&rsquo;t you come and tell me?&rdquo; demanded
+the Chief furiously.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, sir, I thought it was only a bit of pique on her part, and I hoped
+to be able to talk the lady round. I know what these stars are!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You&rsquo;ve seen her then?&rdquo; the Chief snapped out.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, I haven&rsquo;t!&rdquo; Mr. Samuel lamented. &ldquo;I&rsquo;ve been
+twice to the Nineveh&mdash;that&rsquo;s where she&rsquo;s stopping&mdash;and
+each time she was out!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The Chief dismissed him curtly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+When the door had closed behind him, the Chief said to the First Sea Lord:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;This is where D.O.R.A. steps in, I think, sir!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Decidedly!&rdquo; replied the Admiral. &ldquo;Will you take the
+necessary steps?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The Chief nodded and pressed the bell. Matthews appeared.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Anything from the Nineveh?&rdquo; he asked.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The lady has not returned, sir!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Anything from Gordon and Duff?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, sir, nothing all day!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The telephone on the desk whirred. The Chief lifted the receiver.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes. Oh, it&rsquo;s you, Gordon? No, you can say it now: this is a
+private line.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He listened at the receiver for a couple of minutes. The room was very still.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;All right, come to the office at once!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The Chief hung up the receiver and turned to the Admiral.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;She&rsquo;s given us the slip for the moment!&rdquo; he said.
+&ldquo;That was Gordon speaking. He and Duff have been shadowing our lady
+friend out of doors for days. She left the hotel on foot after lunch this
+afternoon with my two fellows in her wake. There was a bit of a crush on the
+pavement near Charing Cross and Duff was pushed into the roadway and run over
+by a motor-&rsquo;bus. In the confusion Gordon lost the trail. He&rsquo;s
+wasted all this time trying to pick it up again instead of reporting to me at
+once.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;<i>Zut!</i>&rdquo; cried the Frenchman.
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap11"></a>CHAPTER XI.<br/>
+CREDENTIALS</h2>
+
+<p>
+The sight of Nur-el-Din filled Desmond with alarm. For a moment his mind was
+overshadowed by the dread of detection. He had forgotten all about Mr.
+Crook&rsquo;s handiwork in the train, and his immediate fear was that the
+dancer would awake and recognize him. But then he caught sight of his face in
+the mirror over the mantelpiece. The grave bearded man staring oddly at him out
+of the glass gave him a shock until he realized the metamorphosis that had
+taken place in his personality. The realization served instantly to still his
+apprehension.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Nur-el-Din lay on her side, one hand under her face which was turned away from
+the fire. She was wearing a big black musquash coat, and over her feet she had
+flung a tweed overcoat, apparently one of Mr. Bellward&rsquo;s from the
+hatstand in the hall. Her hat, a very dainty little affair of plain black
+velvet, was skewered with a couple of jewelled hatpins to the upholstery of the
+settee.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Desmond watched her for a moment. Her face looked drawn and tired now that her
+eyelids, with their long sweeping black lashes, were closed, shutting off the
+extraordinary luminosity of her eyes. As he stood silently contemplating her,
+she stirred and moaned in her sleep and muttered some word three or four times
+to herself. Desmond was conscious of a great feeling of compassion for this
+strangely beautiful creature. Knowing as he did of the hundred-eyed monster of
+the British Secret Service that was watching her, he found himself thinking how
+frail, how helpless, how unprotected she looked, lying there in the flickering
+light of the fire.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A step resounded behind him and old Martha shuffled into the room, carefully
+shading the lamp she still carried so that its rays should not fall on the face
+of the sleeper.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I don&rsquo;t know as I&rsquo;ve done right, sir,&rdquo; she mumbled,
+&ldquo;letting the pore lady wait here for you like this, but I couldn&rsquo;t
+hardly help it, sir! She says as how she must see you, and seeing as how your
+first tellygram said you was coming at half-past nine, I lets her stop
+on!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;When did she arrive&rdquo; asked Desmond softly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;About six o&rsquo;clock,&rdquo; answered the old, woman. &ldquo;Walked
+all the way up from Wentfield Station, too, sir, and that cold she was when she
+arrived here, fair blue with the cold she was, pore dear. D&rsquo;reckly she
+open her lips, I sees she&rsquo;s a furrin&rsquo; lady, sir. She asks after you
+and I tells her as how you are away and won&rsquo;t be back till this evening.
+&lsquo;Oh!&rsquo; she says, I then I wait!&rsquo; And in she comes without so
+much as with your leave or by your leave. She told me as how you knew her, sir,
+and were expecting to see her, most important, she said it was, so I hots her
+up a bit o&rsquo; dinner. I hopes as how I didn&rsquo;t do wrong, Mr. Bellward,
+sir!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, no, Martha, not at all!&rdquo; Desmond replied&mdash;at random. He
+was sorely perplexed as to his next move. Obviously the girl could not stay in
+the house. What on earth did she want with him? And could he, at any rate, get
+at the desk and read the papers of which the note spoke and which, he did not
+doubt, were the <i>dossier</i> of the Bellward case, before she awoke? They
+might, at least, throw some light on his relations with the dancer.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;She had her dinner here by the fire,&rdquo; old Martha resumed her
+narrative, &ldquo;and about a quarter past nine comes your second tellygram,
+sir, saying as how you could not arrive till five o&rsquo;clock in the
+morning.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Desmond glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece. The hands pointed to a quarter
+past five! He had lost all count of the time in his peregrinations of the
+night.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I comes in here and tells the young lady as how you wouldn&rsquo;t be
+back last night, sir,&rdquo; the old woman continued, &ldquo;and she says,
+&lsquo;Oh,&rsquo; she says, &lsquo;then, where shall I go?&rsquo; she says.
+&lsquo;Why don&rsquo;t you go home, my dear?&rsquo; says I, &lsquo;and pop
+round and see the master in the morning,&rsquo; I says, thinking the pore young
+lady lives about here. And then she tells me as how she come all the way from
+Lunnon and walked up from the station. As well you know, sir, the last train up
+leaves Wentfield Station at five minutes to nine, and so the pore young lady
+couldn&rsquo;t get back that night. So here she had to stop. I got the spare
+room ready for her and lit a nice fire and all, but she wouldn&rsquo;t go to
+bed not until she had seen you. I do hope as how I&rsquo;ve not done wrong,
+sir. I says to Mr. Hill, I says...&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Desmond held up his hand to restrain her toothless babble. Nur-el-Din had
+stirred and was sitting up, rubbing her eyes. Then she caught sight of Desmond
+and scrambled rather unsteadily to her feet.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Monsieur Bellward?&rdquo; she said in French, &ldquo;oh, how glad I am
+to see you!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;All right, Martha,&rdquo; said Desmond, &ldquo;see that the spare room
+is ready for this lady, and don&rsquo;t go to bed just yet. I shall want you to
+take this lady to her room.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The old woman hobbled away, leaving the two alone. As soon as the door had
+closed behind her, Nur-el-Din exclaimed:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You know me; <i>hein?</i>&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Desmond bowed in the most correct Continental manner.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Who does not know the charming Nur-el-Din?&rdquo; he replied.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No!&rdquo; Nur-el-Din commanded with flashing eyes, &ldquo;no, not that
+name! I am Madame Le Bon, you, understand, a Belgian refugee, from
+Termonde!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Rather taken aback by her imperious manner, Desmond bowed again but said
+nothing.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I received your letter,&rdquo; the dancer resumed, &ldquo;but I did not
+answer it as I did not require your assistance. But now I wish your help. It is
+unfortunate that you were absent from home at the very time I counted upon your
+aid.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She flashed a glance at him as though awaiting an apology.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I am extremely sorry,&rdquo; said Desmond, &ldquo;if I had but
+known...&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Nur-el-Din nodded carelessly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I wish to pass the night here,&rdquo; she went on, &ldquo;in fact, I may
+be here for several days. They are becoming inconvenient in London, you
+understand.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But the theatre, your professional engagements?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Bah, I have left the theatre. I have had enough of these stupid English
+people... they know nothing of art!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Desmond reflected a moment. Nur-el-Din&rsquo;s manner was most perplexing. What
+on earth could induce her to adopt this tone of condescension towards him? It
+nettled him. He resolved to try and find out on what it was based.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I am only too happy to be of assistance to you,&rdquo; he said,
+&ldquo;especially in view of the letter of introduction you sent me, but I must
+tell you plainly that what you ask is impossible.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Impossible?&rdquo; repeated Nur-el-Din, stamping her feet.
+&ldquo;Impossible? Do you know what you are saying?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Perfectly,&rdquo; replied Desmond negligently. &ldquo;Obviously, you
+must stay here for the rest of the night since you cannot return to London
+until the trains start running, but to stay here indefinitely as you propose to
+do is out of the question. People would talk!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Then it is your business to see that they don&rsquo;t!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Your letter of introduction came from one whom I am always anxious to
+oblige,&rdquo; Desmond went on. &ldquo;But the service he is authorized to
+claim from me does not entitle him to jeopardize my other activities.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He drew a breath. It was a long shot. Would it draw her?
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It did. Nur-el-Din fumbled in her bag, produced a leather pocket-book and from
+it produced a slip of paper folded in two.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Read that!&rdquo; she cried, &ldquo;and then you shall apologize!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Desmond took the paper. It was a sheet torn from a book of German military
+field messages. &ldquo;<i>Meldedienst</i>&rdquo; (Message Service) was printed
+in German at the top and there were blanks to be filled in for the date, hour
+and place, and at the bottom a printed form of acknowledgment for the recipient
+to sign.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+In a large ostentatious, upright German handwriting was written what follows:
+</p>
+
+<p class="letter">
+&ldquo;To All Whom it May Concern.
+</p>
+
+<p class="letter">
+&ldquo;The lady who is the bearer of this, whose description is set out
+overleaf, is entitled to the full respect and assistance of the German forces
+on land and sea and in the air, wherever it may be. Her person and property are
+inviolate.<br/>
+    &ldquo;Given At Our Headquarters at Metz
+</p>
+
+<p class="right">
+&ldquo;Friedrich Wilhelm        <br/>
+&ldquo;Kronprinz des    <br/>
+&ldquo;Deutschen Reiches.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Across the signature was the impress of a green stamp, lozenge-shaped,
+inscribed &ldquo;Headquarters of the Fifth Army, General Staff, 21st September,
+1914.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+On the back of the slip was a detailed description of Nur-el-Din.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Desmond bowed and handed the paper back to its owner.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Madame must accept my humble excuses,&rdquo; he murmured, hardly knowing
+what he was saying, so great was his surprise, &ldquo;my house and services are
+at Madame&rsquo;s disposal!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The other letter was from Count Plettenbach, the Prince&rsquo;s A.D.C.,
+whom I think you know!&rdquo; added the dancer in a mollified voice as she
+replaced the slip of paper in its pocketbook and stowed it away in her
+hand-bag. Then, looking up archly at Desmond, she said:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Am I so distasteful, then, to have in your house?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She made a charming picture. Her heavy fur coat had fallen open, disclosing her
+full round throat, very brown against the V-shaped opening of her white silk
+blouse. Her mouth was a perfect cupid&rsquo;s bow, the upper lip slightly drawn
+up over her dazzlingly white teeth. Before Desmond could answer her question,
+if answer were needed, her mood had swiftly changed again. She put her hand
+out, a little brown hand, and laying it on his shoulder, looked up appealingly
+into his eyes.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You will protect me,&rdquo; she said in a low voice, &ldquo;I cannot
+bear this hunted life. From this side, from that, they, are closing in on me,
+and I am frightened, so very frightened. Promise you will keep me from
+harm!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Desmond gazed down into her warm, expressive eyes helplessly. What she asked
+was impossible, he knew, but he was a soldier, not a policeman, he told
+himself, and under his breath he cursed the Chief for landing him in such a
+predicament. To Nur-el-Din he said gently:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Tell me what has happened to frighten you. Who is hunting you? Is it the
+police?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She withdrew her hand with a gesture of contempt.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Bah!&rdquo; she said bitterly. &ldquo;I am not afraid of the
+police.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Then she sank into a reverie, her gaze fixed on the dying embers of the fire.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;All my life has been a struggle,&rdquo; she went on, after a moment,
+&ldquo;first with hunger, then with men, then the police. I am used to a hard
+life. No, it is not the police!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Who is it, then&rdquo; asked Desmond, completely nonplused.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Nur-el-Din let her eyes rest on his face for a moment.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You have honest eyes,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;your eyes are not
+German... pardon me, I would not insult your race... I mean they are different
+from the rest of you. One day, perhaps, those eyes of yours may persuade me to
+answer your question. But I don&rsquo;t know you well enough yet!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She broke off abruptly, shaking her head.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I am tired,&rdquo; she sighed and all her haughty manner returned,
+&ldquo;let the old woman show me to my room. I will take <i>déjeuner</i> with
+you at one o&rsquo;clock.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Desmond bowed and stepping out into the hall, called the housekeeper. Old
+Martha shuffled off with the girl, leaving Desmond staring with vacant eyes
+into the fire. He was conscious of a feeling of exultation, despite his utter
+weariness and craving for sleep. This girl, with her queenly ways, her swiftly
+changing moods, her broad gusts of passion, interested him enormously. If she
+were the quarry, why, then, the chase were worth while! But the end? For a
+brief moment, he had a vision of that frail, clinging figure swaying up against
+some blank wall before a file of levelled rifles.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Then again he seemed to see old Mackwayte lying dead on the landing of the
+house at Seven Kings. Had this frail girl done this unspeakable deed? To send
+her to the gallows or before a firing-squad&mdash;was this to be the end of his
+mission? And the still, small voice of conscience answered: &ldquo;Yes! that is
+what you have come here to do!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Old Martha came shuffling down the staircase. Desmond called to her,
+remembering that he did not yet know where his bedroom was.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Will you light me up to my room, Martha?&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;I want
+to be sure that the sheets are not damp!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+So saying he extinguished the lamp on the table and followed the old woman
+upstairs.
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap12"></a>CHAPTER XII.<br/>
+AT THE MILL HOUSE</h2>
+
+<p>
+Clad in a suit of Mr. Basil Bellward&rsquo;s pyjamas of elaborate blue-flowered
+silk, Desmond lay propped up in bed in Mr. Bellward&rsquo;s luxuriously fitted
+bedroom, sipping his morning coffee, and studying with absorbed interest a
+sheet of blue foolscap. A number of papers lay strewn about the eiderdown
+quilt. At the head of the bed a handsome Sheraton bureau stood open.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+As the French say, Mr. Bellward had refused himself nothing. His bedroom was
+most tastefully furnished. The furniture was mahogany, every piece carefully
+chosen, and the chintz of curtains and upholstery was bright and attractive. A
+most elaborate mahogany wardrobe was fitted into the wall, and Desmond,
+investigating it, had found it to contain a very large assortment of clothes of
+every description, all new or nearly so, and bearing the name of a famous
+tailor of Cork Street. Folding doors, resembling a cupboard, disclosed, when
+open, a marble basin with hot water laid on, while a curtained door in the
+corner of the room gave access to a white tiled bathroom. Mr. Bellward, Desmond
+had reflected after his tour of the room on his arrival, evidently laid weight
+on his personal comfort; for the contrast between the cheerful comfort of his
+bedroom and the musty gloom of the rooms downstairs was very marked.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A bright log fire hissed on the open hearth and the room was pleasantly warm.
+Old Martha&rsquo;s coffee was excellent, and Desmond, very snug in Mr.
+Bellward&rsquo;s comfortable bed, noted with regret that the clock on the
+mantel-shelf marked a quarter to twelve. But then he thought of the tête-à-tête
+luncheon that awaited him at one o&rsquo;clock and his face cleared. He
+didn&rsquo;t mind getting up so much after all.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He fell again to the perusal of the documents which he had found, as indicated
+in the note from headquarters, in the desk by the bed. They were enclosed in
+two envelopes, one large, the other small, both without any superscription. The
+large envelope enclosed Mr. Bellward&rsquo;s dossier which consisted of a
+fairly detailed account of his private life, movements, habits and friends, and
+an account of his arrest. The small envelope contained Desmond&rsquo;s eagerly
+expected orders.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Desmond examined the papers in the large envelope first. From them he
+ascertained that the house in which he found himself was called The Mill House,
+and was situated two and a half miles from the station of Wentfield on the
+Great Eastern Railway in Essex. Mr. Bellward had taken the place some eight
+years before, having moved there from the Surrey hills, but had been wont to
+spend not more than two months in the year there. For the rest of the time he
+traveled abroad, usually passing the winter months on the Riviera, and the
+spring in Switzerland or Italy. The war had brought about a change in his
+habits, and Harrogate, Buxton and Bath had taken the place of the Continental
+resorts which he had frequented in peace time.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+When in residence at The Mill House, Mr. Bellward had gone up to London nearly
+every morning, either walking or going by motor-cycle to the station, and not
+returning until dinner-time in the evening. Sometimes he passed the night in
+London, and on such occasions slept at a small hotel in Jermyn Street. His
+dossier included, a long and carefully compiled list of the people he knew in
+London, mostly men of the rich business set, stockbrokers, manufacturers,
+solicitors, and the like. Against every name was set a note of the exact degree
+of intimacy existing between Bellward and the man in question, and any other
+information that might serve Bellward&rsquo;s impersonator in good stead.
+Desmond laid this list aside for the moment, intending to study it more closely
+at his leisure.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Of intercourse with his neighbors in, the country, Mr. Bellward apparently had
+none. The Mill House stood in a lonely part of the country, remote from the
+more thickly populated centres of Brentwood and Romford, on the edge of a wide
+tract of inhospitable marshland, known as Morstead Fen, intersected by those
+wide deep ditches which in this part of the world are known as dykes. At this
+stage in the report there was a note to the effect that the rector of Wentfield
+had called twice at The Mill House but had not found Mr. Bellward at home, and
+that his visits had not been returned. There were also some opinions apparently
+culled locally regarding the tenant of the Mill House, set out something in
+this wise:&mdash;
+</p>
+
+<p class="letter">
+&ldquo;Landlord of the Red Lion, Wentfield: The gentleman has never been to the
+Red Lion, but sometimes orders my Ford car and always pays regularly.<br/>
+    &ldquo;The Stationmaster at Wentfield: A gentleman who keeps himself to
+himself but very liberal with his money.<br/>
+    &ldquo;Sir Marsham Dykes, of The Chase, Stanning: A damned unsociable
+churlish fellow.<br/>
+    &ldquo;Mr. Tracy Wentfield, of the Channings, Home Green: A very rude man.
+He slammed the front door of the house in my face when I went to ask him for a
+contribution to our Cottage Hospital. It is not my habit to repeat idle gossip,
+but they do say he is a heavy drinker.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+There was a lot more of this sort of thing, and Desmond turned from it with a
+smile to take up the account of Bellward&rsquo;s arrest. It appeared that,
+about a fortnight before, on the eve of the departure for France of a very
+large draft of troops, a telegram was handed in at the East Strand telegraph
+office addressed to Bellward. This telegram ran thus:
+</p>
+
+<p class="letter">
+&ldquo;Bellward, Bellward Hotel, Jermyn Street.<br/>
+    &ldquo;Shipping to you Friday 22,000 please advise correspondents.<br/>
+&ldquo;M<small>ORTIMER</small>.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The authorities were unable to deliver this telegram as no such an hotel as the
+Hotel Bellward was found to exist in Jermyn Street. An examination of the
+address showed clearly that the sender had absent mindedly repeated the
+addressee&rsquo;s name in writing the name of the hotel. An advice was
+therefore addressed to the sender, Mortimer, at the address he had given on the
+back of the form, according to the regulations, to inform him that his telegram
+had not been delivered. It was then discovered that the address given by
+Mortimer was fictitious.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Suspicion being thus aroused, the telegram was forwarded to the Postal
+Censor&rsquo;s department whence it reached the Intelligence Authorities who
+promptly spotted the connection between the wording of the telegram and the
+imminent departure of the drafts, more especially as the dates tallied.
+Thereupon, Mr. Bellward was hunted up and ultimately traced by his
+correspondence to The Mill House. He was not found there, but was eventually
+encountered at his London hotel, and requested to appear before the authorities
+with a view to throwing some light on Mortimer. Under cross-examination
+Bellward flatly denied any knowledge of Mortimer, and declared that a mistake
+had been made. He cited various well known city men to speak for his bona-fides
+and protested violently against the action of the authorities in doubting his
+word. It was ultimately elicited that Bellward was of German birth and had
+never been naturalized, and he was detained in custody while a search was made
+at The Mill House.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The search was conducted with great discretion, old Martha being got out of the
+way before the detectives arrived and a careful watch being kept to avoid any
+chance of interruption. The search had the most fruitful results. Hidden in a
+secret drawer of the Sheraton desk in Bellward&rsquo;s bedroom, was found a
+most elaborate analysis of the movements of the transports to France, extremely
+accurate and right up to date. There was absolutely no indication, however, as
+to whence Bellward received his reports, and how or to whom he forwarded them.
+It was surmised that Mortimer was his informant, but an exhaustive search of
+the post office files of telegrams despatched showed no trace of any other
+telegram from Mortimer to Bellward save the one in the possession of the
+authorities. As for Mortimer, he remained a complete enigma.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+That, summarised, was the gist of the story of Bellward&rsquo;s arrest. The
+report laid great stress on the fact that no one outside half a dozen
+Intelligence men had any knowledge (a) of Bellward being an unnaturalized
+German, (b) of his arrest.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Desmond&rsquo;s orders, which he reserved to the last were short and to the
+point. They consisted of five numbered clauses.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;1. You will have a free hand. The surveillance of the house was
+withdrawn on your arrival and will not be renewed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;2. You will not leave the house until further orders.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;3. You will keep careful note of any communication that may be made to
+you, whether verbal or in writing, of whatever nature it is. When you have
+anything to be forwarded, ring up 700 Slanning on the telephone and give
+Bellward&rsquo;s name. You will hand your report to the first person calling at
+the house thereafter asking for the letter for Mr. Elias.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;4. If help is urgently required, ring up 700 Stanning and ask for Mr.
+Elias. Assistance will be with you within 15 minutes after. This expedient must
+only be used in the last extremity.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;5. Memorize these documents and burn the lot before you leave the
+house.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Handy fellow, Mr. Elias,&rdquo; was Desmond&rsquo;s commentary, as he
+sprang out of bed and made for the bathroom. At a quarter to one he was ready
+dressed, feeling very scratchy and uncomfortable about the beard which he had
+not dared to remove owing to Nur-el-Din&rsquo;s presence in the house. Before
+he left the bedroom, he paused a moment at the desk, the documents of the
+Bellward case in his hands. He had a singularly retentive memory, and he was
+loth to have these compromising papers in the house whilst Nur-el-Din was
+there. He took a quick decision and pitched the whole lot into the fire,
+retaining only the annotated list of Mr. Bellward&rsquo;s friends. This he
+placed in his pocket-book and, after watching the rest of the papers crumble
+away into ashes, went downstairs to lunch.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Nur-el-Din was in the drawing-room, a long room with two high windows which
+gave on a neglected looking garden. A foaming, churning brook wound its way
+through the garden, among stunted bushes and dripping willows, obviously the
+mill-race from which the house took its name. The drawing-room was a bare,
+inhospitable room, studded here and there with uncomfortable looking early
+Victorian armchairs swathed in dust-proof cloths. A fire was making an
+unsuccessful attempt to burn in the open grate.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Nur-el-Din turned as he entered the room. She was wearing a gray cloth
+tailor-made with a white silk, blouse and a short skirt showing a pair of very
+natty brown boots. By contrast with her ugly surroundings she looked fresh and
+dainty. Her eyes were bright and her face as smooth and unwrinkled as a
+child&rsquo;s.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;<i>Bon jour</i>,&rdquo; she cried gaily, &ldquo;ah! but I am
+&rsquo;ungry! It is the air of the country! I love so the country!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I hope you slept well, Madame!&rdquo; said Desmond solicitously, looking
+admiringly at her trim figure.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Like a dead man,&rdquo; she replied with a little laugh, translating the
+French idiom. &ldquo;Shall we make a leetle promenade after the
+<i>déjeuner?</i> And you shall show me your pretty English country,
+<i>voulez-vous?</i> You see, I am dressed for <i>le footing!</i>&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She lifted a little brown foot.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+They had a delightful luncheon together. Old Martha, who proved to be quite a
+passable cook, waited on them. There was some excellent Burgundy and a carafe
+of old brandy with the coffee. Nur-el-Din was in her most gracious and
+captivating mood. She had dropped all her arrogance of their last interview and
+seemed to lay herself out to please. She had a keen sense of humor and
+entertained Desmond vastly by her anecdotes of her stage career, some not a
+little <i>risqué</i>, but narrated with the greatest <i>bonhomie</i>.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But, strongly attracted as he was to the girl, Desmond did not let himself lose
+sight of his ultimate object. He let her run on as gaily as she might but
+steadily, relentlessly he swung the conversation round to her last engagement
+at the Palaceum. He wanted to see if she would make any reference to the murder
+at Seven Kings. If he could only bring in old Mackwayte&rsquo;s name, he knew
+that the dancer <i>must</i> allude to the tragedy.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Then the unexpected happened. The girl introduced the old comedian&rsquo;s name
+herself.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The only pleasant memory I shall preserve of the Palaceum,&rdquo; she
+said in French, &ldquo;is my meeting with an old comrade of my youth. Imagine,
+I had not seen him for nearly twenty years. Monsieur Mackwayte, his name is, we
+used to call him Monsieur Arthur in the old days when I was the child acrobat
+of the Dupont Troupe. Such a charming fellow; and not a bit changed! He was
+doing a deputy turn at the Palaceum on the last night I appeared there! And he
+introduced me to his daughter! <i>Une belle Anglaise!</i> I shall hope to see
+my old friend again when I go back to London!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Desmond stared at her. If this were acting, the most hardened criminal could
+not have carried it off better. He searched the girl&rsquo;s face. It was frank
+and innocent. She ran on about Mackwayte in the old days, his kindliness to
+everyone, his pretty wife, without a shadow of an attempt to avoid an
+unpleasant topic. Desmond began to believe that not only did the girl have
+nothing to do with the tragedy but that actually she knew nothing about it.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Did you see the newspapers yesterday?&rdquo; he asked suddenly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;My friend,&rdquo; said Nur-el-Din, shaking her curls at him. &ldquo;I
+never read your English papers. There is nothing but the war in them. And this
+war!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She gave a little shudder and was silent.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At this moment old Martha, who had left them over their coffee and cigarettes,
+came into the room.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;There&rsquo;s a gentleman called to see you, sir!&rdquo; she said to
+Desmond.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Desmond started violently. He was scarcely used to his new rôle as yet.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Who is it, Martha?&rdquo; he said, mastering his agitation.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Mr. Mortimer!&rdquo; mumbled the old woman in her tired voice, &ldquo;at
+least that&rsquo;s what he said his name was. The gentleman hadn&rsquo;t got a
+card!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Nur-el-Din sprang up from her chair so vehemently that she upset her coffee.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Don&rsquo;t let him come in!&rdquo; she cried in French.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Did you say I was in?&rdquo; Desmond asked the old housekeeper, who was
+staring at the dancer.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Why, yes, sir,&rdquo; the woman answered.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Desmond made a gesture of vexation.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Where is this Mr. Mortimer?&rdquo; he asked
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;In the library, sir!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Tell him I will be with him at once.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Martha hobbled away and Desmond turned to the girl.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You heard what my housekeeper said? The man is here. I shall have to see
+him.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Nur-el-Din, white to the lips, stood by the table, nervously twisting a little
+handkerchief.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;<i>Non, non</i>,&rdquo; she said rapidly, &ldquo;you must not see him.
+He has come to find me. Ah! if he should find out what I have done... you will
+not give me up to this man?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You need not see him,&rdquo; Desmond expostulated gently, &ldquo;I will
+say you are not here! Who is this Mortimer that he should seek to do you
+harm?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;My friend,&rdquo; said the dancer sadly, &ldquo;he is my evil genius. If
+I had dreamt that you knew him I would never have sought refuge in your
+house.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But I&rsquo;ve never set eyes on the man in my life!&rdquo; exclaimed
+Desmond.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The dancer shook her head mournfully at him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Very few of you have, my friend,&rdquo; she replied, &ldquo;but you are
+all under his orders, <i>n&rsquo;est-ce pas?</i>&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Desmond&rsquo;s heart leaped. Was Mortimer&rsquo;s the guiding hand of this
+network of conspiracy?
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;ve trusted you, Monsieur,&rdquo; Nur-el-Din continued in a
+pleading voice, &ldquo;you will respect the laws of hospitality, and hide me
+from this man. You will not give me up! Promise it, my friend?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Desmond felt strangely moved. Was this a callous murderess, a hired spy, who,
+with her great eyes brimming over with tears, entreated his protection so
+simply, so appealingly?
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I promise I will not give you up to him, <i>Mademoiselle!</i>&rdquo; he
+said and hated himself in the same breath for the part he had to play. Then he
+left her still standing by the table, lost in thought.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Desmond walked through the hall to the room in which he had found Nur-el-Din
+asleep on his arrival. His nerves were strung up tight for the impending
+encounter with this Mortimer, whoever, whatever he was. Desmond did not
+hesitate on the threshold of the room. He quietly opened the door and walked
+in.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A man in a black and white check suit with white gaiters stood on the
+hearthrug, his hands tucked behind his back. He had a curiously young-old
+appearance, such as is found in professors and scientists of a certain type.
+This suggestion was probably heightened by the very strong spectacles he wore,
+which magnified his eyes until they looked like large colored marbles. He had a
+heavy curling moustache resembling that affected by the late Lord Randolph
+Churchill. There was a good deal of mud on his boots, showing that he had come
+on foot.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The two men measured one another in a brief but courteous glance. Desmond
+wondered what on earth this man&rsquo;s profession was. He was quite unable to
+place him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Mr. Bellward?&rdquo; said Mortimer, in a pleasant cultivated voice,
+&ldquo;I am pleased to have this opportunity of meeting you personally.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Desmond bowed and muttered something conventional. Mortimer had put out his
+hand but Desmond could not nerve himself to take it. Instead he pushed forward
+a chair.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Thanks,&rdquo; said Mortimer sitting down heavily, &ldquo;I&rsquo;ve had
+quite a walk across the fen. It&rsquo;s pleasant out but damp! I suppose you
+didn&rsquo;t get my letter?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Which letter was that&rdquo; asked Desmond.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Why the one asking you to let me know when you would be back so that we
+might meet at last!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Desmond shook his head.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;I didn&rsquo;t get that one. It must have
+gone astray. As a matter of fact,&rdquo; he added, &ldquo;I only got back this
+morning.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, well then, I am fortunate in my visit,&rdquo; said Mortimer.
+&ldquo;Did everything go off all right?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, yes,&rdquo; Desmond hastened to say, not knowing what he was talking
+about, &ldquo;everything went off all right.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I don&rsquo;t in the least grudge you the holiday,&rdquo; the other
+observed, &ldquo;one should always be careful to pay the last respects to the
+dead. It makes a good impression. That is so important in some
+countries!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He beamed at Desmond through his spectacles.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Was there anything left in your absence?&rdquo; he asked, &ldquo;no,
+there would be nothing; I suppose!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Desmond took a firm resolution. He must know what the man was driving at.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I don&rsquo;t know what you mean,&rdquo; he said bluntly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;God bless my soul!&rdquo; ejaculated Mortimer turning round to stare at
+him through his grotesque glasses. And then he said very deliberately in
+German:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;<i>War niemand da?</i>&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Desmond stood up promptly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What do you want with me?&rdquo; he asked quietly, &ldquo;and why do you
+speak German in my house?&rdquo; Mortimer gazed at him blankly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Excellence, most excellent,&rdquo; he gasped. &ldquo;I love prudence. My
+friend, where are your eyes?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He put a large, firm hand up and touched the upper edge of the left lapel of
+his jacket. Desmond followed his gesture with his eyes and saw the
+other&rsquo;s first finger resting on the shiny glass head of a black pin.
+Almost instinctively Desmond imitated the gesture. His fingers came into
+contact with a glassheaded pin similarly embedded in the upper edge of the
+lapel of his own coat.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Then he understood. This must be the distinguishing badge of this confraternity
+of spies. It was a clever idea, for the black pin was practically invisible,
+unless one looked for it, and even if seen, would give rise to no suspicions.
+It had obviously escaped the notice of the Chief and his merry men, and Desmond
+made a mental resolve to rub this omission well into his superior on the first
+opportunity. He felt he owed the Chief one.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mr. Mortimer cleared his throat, as though to indicate the conclusion of the
+episode. Desmond sat down on the settee.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Nothing came while I was away!&rdquo; he said.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Now that you are back,&rdquo; Mortimer remarked, polishing his glasses
+with a bandanna handkerchief, &ldquo;the service will be resumed. I have come
+to see you, Mr. Bellward,&rdquo; he went on, turning to Desmond,
+&ldquo;contrary to my usual practice, mainly because I wished to confirm by
+personal observation the very favorable opinion I had formed of your ability
+from our correspondence. You have already demonstrated your discretion to me.
+If you continue to show that your prudence is on a level with your zeal,
+believe I shall not prove myself ungrateful.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+So saying he settled his glasses on his nose again.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The action woke Desmond from a brown study. During the operation of wiping his
+spectacles, Mr. Mortimer had given Desmond a glimpse of his eyes in their
+natural state without the protection of those distorting glasses. To his
+intense surprise Desmond had seen, instead of the weak, blinking eyes of
+extreme myopia, a pair of keen piercing eyes with the clear whites of perfect
+health. Those blue eyes, set rather close together, seemed dimly familiar.
+Someone, somewhere, had once looked at him like that.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You are too kind,&rdquo; murmured Desmond, grappling for the thread of
+the conversation.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mortimer did not apparently notice his absentmindedness.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Everything has run smoothly,&rdquo; he resumed, &ldquo;on the lines on
+which we have been working hitherto, but more important work lies before us. I
+have found it necessary to select a quiet rendezvous where I might have an
+opportunity of conferring in person with my associates. The first of these
+conferences will take place very shortly. I count upon your attendance,
+Bellward!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I shall not fail you,&rdquo; replied Desmond. &ldquo;But where is this
+rendezvous of yours, might I ask?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mortimer shot a quick glance at him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You shall know in good time,&rdquo; he answered drily. Then he added:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Do you mind if I have a few words with Nur-el-Din before I go!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The unexpected question caught Desmond off his guard.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Nur-el-Din?&rdquo; he stammered feebly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;She is staying with you, I believe,&rdquo; said Mortimer pleasantly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Desmond shook his head.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;There must be some mistake,&rdquo; he averred stoutly, &ldquo;of course
+I know who you mean, but I have never met the lady. She is not here. What led
+you to suppose she was?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But even as he spoke, his eyes fell on a black object which lay near his arm
+stretched out along the back of the settee. It was a little velvet hat,
+skewered to the upholstery of the settee by a couple of jewelled hat-pins. A
+couple of gaudy cushions lay between it and Mortimer&rsquo;s range of vision
+from the chair in which the latter was sitting. If only Mortimer had not
+spotted it already!
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Desmond&rsquo;s presence of mind did not desert him. On the pretext of settling
+himself more comfortably he edged up another cushion until it rested upon the
+other two, thus effectively screening the hat from Mortimer&rsquo;s view even
+when he should get up.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I wish she were here,&rdquo; Desmond added, smiling, &ldquo;one could
+not have a more delightful companion to share one&rsquo;s solitude, I
+imagine.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The lady has disappeared from London under rather suspicious
+circumstances;&rdquo; Mortimer said, letting his grotesque eyes rest for a
+moment on Desmond&rsquo;s face, &ldquo;to be quite frank with you, my dear
+fellow, she has been indiscreet, and the police are after her.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You don&rsquo;t say!&rdquo; cried Desmond.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Indeed, it is a fact,&rdquo; replied the other, &ldquo;I wish she would
+take you as her model, my dear Bellward. You are the pattern of prudence, are
+you not?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He paused perceptibly and Desmond held his breath.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;She has very few reputable friends,&rdquo; Mortimer continued presently,
+&ldquo;under a cloud as she is, she could hardly frequent the company of her
+old associates, Mowbury and Lazarro and Mrs. Malplaquet, you doubtless know
+whom I mean. I know she has a very strong recommendation to you, so I naturally
+thought&mdash;well, no matter!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He rose and extended his hand.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;<i>Au revoir</i>, Bellward,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;you shall hear from
+me very soon. You&rsquo;ve got a snug little place here, I must say, and
+everything in charming taste. I like your pretty cushions.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The blood flew to Desmond&rsquo;s face and he bent down, on pretense of
+examining the cushions, to hide his confusion.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;They aren&rsquo;t bad,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;I got them at
+Harrod&rsquo;s!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He accompanied Mortimer to the front door and watched him disappear down the
+short drive and turn out of the gate into the road. Then feeling strangely ill
+at ease, he went back to join Nur-el-Din in the dining-room. But only the
+housekeeper was there, clearing the table.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;If you&rsquo;re looking for the young lady, sir,&rdquo; said old Martha,
+&ldquo;she&rsquo;s gone out!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh!&rdquo; said Desmond, with a shade of disappointment in his voice,
+&ldquo;will she be back for tea?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;She&rsquo;s not coming back at all,&rdquo; answered the old woman,
+&ldquo;she told me to tell you she could not stop, sir. And she wouldn&rsquo;t
+let me disturb you, neither, sir.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But did she leave no note or anything for me?&rdquo; asked Desmond.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, sir,&rdquo; answered old Martha as she folded up the cloth.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Gone! Desmond stared gloomily out at the sopping garden with an uneasy feeling
+that he had failed in his duty.
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap13"></a>CHAPTER XIII.<br/>
+WHAT SHAKESPEARE&rsquo;S COMEDIES REVEALED</h2>
+
+<p>
+In a very depressed frame of mind, Desmond turned into the library. As he
+crossed the hall, he noticed how cheerless the house was. Again there came to
+him that odor of mustiness&mdash;of all smells the most eerie and
+drear&mdash;which he had noticed on his arrival. Somehow, as long as Nur-el-Din
+had been there, he had not remarked the appalling loneliness of the place.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A big log fire was blazing cheerfully in the grate, throwing out a bright glow
+into the room which, despite the early hour, was already wreathed in shadows.
+Wearily Desmond pulled a big armchair up to the blaze and sat down. He told
+himself that he must devote every minute of his spare time to going over in his
+mind the particulars he had memorized of Mr. Bellward&rsquo;s habits and
+acquaintanceships. He took the list of Bellward&rsquo;s friends from his
+pocket-book.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But this afternoon he found it difficult to concentrate his attention. His gaze
+kept wandering back to the fire, in whose glowing depths he fancied he could
+see a perfect oval face with pleading eyes and dazzling teeth looking
+appealingly at him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Nur-el-Din! What an entrancing creature she was! What passion lurked in those
+black eyes of hers, in her moods, swiftly changing from gusts of fierce
+imperiousness to gentle airs of feminine charm! What a frail little thing she
+was to have fought her way alone up the ladder from the lowest rung to the very
+top! She must have character and grit, Desmond decided, for he was a young man
+who adored efficiency: to him efficiency spelled success.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But a spy needs grit, he reflected, and Nur-el-Din had many qualities which
+would enable her to win the confidence of men. Hadn&rsquo;t she half-captivated
+him, the would-be spy-catcher, already?
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Desmond laughed ruefully to himself. Indeed, he mused, things looked that way.
+What would the Chief say if he could see his prize young man, his white-headed
+boy, sitting sentimentalizing by the fire over a woman who was, by her own
+confession, practically an accredited German agent? Desmond thrust his chin out
+and shook himself together. He would put the feminine side of Nur-el-Din out of
+his head. He must think of her henceforth only as a member of the band that was
+spotting targets for those sneaking, callous brutes of U-boat commanders.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He went back to the study of the list of Mr. Bellward&rsquo;s friends. But he
+found it impossible to focus his mind upon it. Do what he would, he could not
+rid himself of the sensation that he had failed at the very outset of his
+mission. He was, indeed, he told himself, the veriest tyro at the game. Here he
+had had under his hand in turn Nur-el-Din and Mortimer (who, he made no doubt,
+was the leader of the gang which was so sorely troubling the Chief), and he had
+let both get away without eliciting from either even as much as their address.
+By the use of a little tact, he had counted on penetrating something of the
+mystery enveloping the dancer and her relationship with the gang; for he
+thought he divined that Nur-el-Din was inclined to make him her confidant. With
+the information thus procured, he had hoped to get on to the track of the
+leader of the band.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But that ugly brute; Mortimer, with his goggle eyes, had spoiled everything.
+His appearance had taken Desmond completely by surprise: to tell the truth, it
+had thrown our young man rather off his guard. &ldquo;If only I might have had
+a little longer acquaintance with my part,&rdquo; he reflected bitterly as he
+sat by the fire, &ldquo;I should have been better able to deal with that
+pompous ass!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Afterwards, when thinking over the opening events of this extraordinary episode
+of his career, Desmond rather wondered why he had not followed Mortimer out of
+the house that afternoon and tracked him down to his hiding place. But, as a
+matter of fact, the idea did not occur to him at the time. His orders were
+positive not to leave the house, and he never even thought of breaking
+them&mdash;at any rate, not then.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+His orders, also, it is true, were to report to headquarters any communication
+that might be made to him; but these instructions, at least as far as
+Nur-el-Din&rsquo;s and Mortimer&rsquo;s visits were concerned, he resolved to
+ignore.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+For one thing, he felt angry with the Chief who, he argued rather irrationally,
+ought to have foreseen and prevented Mortimer thus taking him by surprise. The
+Chief liked secrets&mdash;well, for a change, he should be kept in the dark and
+the laugh would be on Desmond&rsquo;s side. For a few minutes after
+Mortimer&rsquo;s departure, Desmond had felt strongly inclined to go to the
+telephone which stood on the desk in the library and ring up Mr. Elias, as he
+should have done, but he resisted this impulse. Now, thinking things over in
+the firelight, he was glad he had refrained. He would ferret out for himself
+the exact part that Nur-el-Din and Mortimer were playing in this band of spies.
+Nothing definite had come of his interviews with them as yet. It would be time
+enough to communicate with Headquarters when he had something positive to
+report.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Then Desmond thrust the paper he had been studying back in his pocket-book and
+jumped up. He felt that the inaction was stifling him. He determined to go for
+a walk round the garden. That, at least, was in the spirit of his orders.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Remembering that he was supposed to be suffering from a chill he donned a heavy
+Ulster of Bellward&rsquo;s which was hanging in the hall and wound a muffler
+round his neck. Then cramming a soft cap on his head (he noted with
+satisfaction that Bellward&rsquo;s hats fitted him remarkably well) he opened
+the front door and stepped outside.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The rain had stopped, but the whole atmosphere reeked of moisture.
+Angry-looking, dirty-brown clouds chased each other across the lowering sky,
+and there was a constant sound of water, trickling and gurgling and splashing,
+in his ears.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+An untidy-looking lawn with a few unkempt and overgrown rhododendron bushes
+dotted here and there ran its length in front of the house and terminated in an
+iron railing which separated the grounds from a little wood. A badly
+water-logged drive, green with grass in places, ran past the lawn in a couple
+of short bends to the front gate. On the other side the drive was bordered by
+what had once been a kitchen garden but was now a howling wilderness of dead
+leaves, mud and gravel with withered bushes and half a dozen black, bare and
+dripping apple trees set about at intervals. At the side of the house the
+kitchen garden stopped and was joined by a flower garden&mdash;at least so
+Desmond judged it to have been by a half ruined pergola which he had noticed
+from the drawing-room windows. Through the garden ran the mill-race which
+poured out of the grounds through a field and under a little bridge spanning
+the road outside.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Desmond followed the drive as far as the front gate. The surrounding country
+was as flat as a pancake, and in almost every field lay great glistening
+patches of water where the land had been flooded by the incessant rain. The
+road on which the house was built ran away on the left to the mist-shrouded
+horizon without another building of any kind in sight. Desmond surmised that
+Morstead Fen lay in the direction in which he was looking. To the right,
+Desmond caught a glimpse of a ghostly spire sticking out of some trees and
+guessed that this was Wentfield Church. In front of him the distant roar of a
+passing train showed where the Great Eastern Railway line lay.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+More depressed than ever by the utter desolation of the scene, Desmond turned
+to retrace his steps to the house. Noticing a path traversing the kitchen
+garden, he followed it. It led to the back of the house, to the door of a kind
+of lean-to shed. The latch yielded on being pressed and Desmond entered the
+place.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He found himself in a fair-sized shed, very well and solidly built of
+pitch-pine, with a glazed window looking out on the garden, a table and a
+couple of chairs, and a large cupboard which occupied the whole of one side of
+the wall of the house against which the shed was built. In a corner of the shed
+stood a very good-looking Douglas motor-cycle, and on a nail on the wall hung a
+set of motor-cyclist&rsquo;s overalls. A few petrol cans, some full, some
+empty, stood against the wall.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Desmond examined the machine. It was in excellent condition, beautifully clean,
+the tank half full of spirits. A little dry sand on the tires showed that it
+had been used fairly recently.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Old man Bellward&rsquo;s motor-bike that he goes to the station
+on,&rdquo; Desmond noted mentally. &ldquo;But what&rsquo;s in the big cupboard,
+I wonder? Tools, I expect!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Then he caught sight of a deep drawer in the table. It was half-open and he saw
+that it contained various tools and spare parts, neatly arranged, each one in
+its appointed place.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He went over to the cupboard and tried it. It was locked. Desmond had little
+respect for Mr. Bellward&rsquo;s property so he went over to the tool drawer
+and selected a stout chisel with which to burst the lock of the cupboard. But
+the cupboard was of oak, very solidly built, and he tried in vain to get a
+purchase for his implement. He leant his left hand against the edge of the
+cupboard whilst with his right he jabbed valiantly with the chisel.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Then an extraordinary thing happened. The whole cupboard noiselessly swung
+outwards while Desmond, falling forward, caught his forehead a resounding bang
+against the edge of the recess in which it moved. He picked himself up in a
+very savage frame of mind&mdash;a severe blow on the head is not the ideal cure
+for hypochondria&mdash;but the flow of objurgatives froze on his lips. For he
+found himself looking into Mr. Bellward&rsquo;s library.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He stepped into the room to see how the cupboard looked from the other side. He
+found that a whole section of bookshelves had swung back with the cupboard, in
+other words that the cupboard in the toolshed and the section of bookshelves
+were apparently all of one piece.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He carefully examined the walls on either side of the recess in the library to
+see how the mechanism worked. The bookshelves were open, made of mahogany, the
+sides elaborately carved with leaves and flowers. Desmond ran his hand down the
+perpendicular section immediately on the right of the recess. About halfway
+down&mdash;to be exact, it was in line with the fifth shelf from the
+floor&mdash;his fingers encountered a little knob which gave under
+pressure&mdash;the heart of a flower which released the section of bookshelves.
+Going back to the shed, Desmond examined the place against which his hand had
+rested as he sought to force the lock of the cupboard. As he expected, he found
+a similar catch let into the surface of the oak, but so cunningly inlaid that
+it could scarce be detected with the naked eye.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Before proceeding further with his investigations, Desmond softly turned the
+lock of the library door. He also shot forward a bolt he found on the inside of
+the door of the shed. He did not want to be interrupted by the housekeeper or
+the odd man.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Then he went back to the library and pulled the cupboard to behind him. It
+moved quite easily into place. He wanted to have a look at the bookshelves; for
+he was curious to know whether the cupboard was actually all of one piece with
+the section of bookshelves as it seemed to be. He was prepared to find that the
+books were merely library dummies, but no! He tried half a dozen shelves at
+random, and every book he pulled out was real.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Desmond was not easily baffled, and he determined to scrutinize every shelf, of
+this particular section in turn. With the aid of one of those step-ladders
+folding into a chair which you sometimes see in libraries, he examined the
+topmost shelves but without result. He took down in turn Macaulay&rsquo;s
+History of England, a handsome edition of the works of Swift, and a set of
+Moliere without getting any nearer the end of his quest.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The fourth shelf from the top was devoted to a library edition of Shakespeare,
+large books bound in red morocco. Desmond, who, by this time was getting cramp
+in the arms from stretching upwards and had made his hands black with dust,
+pulled out a couple of volumes at hazard from the set and found them real books
+like the rest.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, damn!&rdquo; he exclaimed, and had half a mind to abandon the search
+and have a go with hammer and chisel at the cupboard in the shed. By this time
+it was almost dusk in the library, and Desmond, before abandoning the search,
+struck a match to have a final rapid glance over the shelves. The light showed
+him a curious flatness about the backs of the last six volumes of Shakespeare.
+He dropped the match and laid hold of a volume of the Comedies. It resisted. He
+tugged. Still it would not come. Exerting all his strength, he pulled, the
+gilt-lettered backs of the last six volumes came away in his hands in one piece
+and he crashed off the ladder to the ground.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+This time he did not swear. He picked himself up quickly, lit the lamp on the
+table by the window, and brought it over to the bookcase. Where
+Shakespeare&rsquo;s Comedies had stood was now a gaping void with a small key
+stuck in a lock, above a brass handle. Desmond mounted on the steps again and
+eagerly turned the key. Then he grasped the handle and pulled, the section of
+bookshelves swung back like a door, and he found himself face to face with a
+great stack of petrol cans. They lay in orderly piles stretching from the floor
+to the top of the bookshelves near the railing, several tiers deep. At a rough
+computation there must have been several hundred cans in the recess. And they
+were all full.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+In a flash Desmond realized what his discovery signified. The motor-cycle in
+the shed without was the connecting link between Bellward and the man with whom
+he was co-operating in the organization. Under pretext of reading late in his
+library Bellward would send old Martha to bed, and once the house was quiet,
+sally forth by his secret exit and meet his confederate. Even when he was
+supposed to be sleeping in London he could still use the Mill House for a
+rendezvous, entering and leaving by the secret door, and no one a bit the
+wiser. In that desolate part of Essex, the roads are practically deserted after
+dark. Bellward could come and go much as he pleased on his motor-cycle. Were he
+stopped, he always had the excuse ready that he was going to&mdash;or returning
+from the station. The few petrol cans that Desmond had seen openly displayed in
+the shed without seemed to show that Bellward received a small quantity of
+spirit from the Petrol Board to take him to and from the railway.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The cache, so elaborately concealed, however, pointed to long journeys. Did
+Bellward undertake these trips to fetch news or to transmit it? And who was his
+confederate? Whom did he go to meet? Not Mortimer; for he had only corresponded
+with Bellward. Nor was it Nur-el-Din; for she had never met Bellward, either.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Who was it, then?
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap14"></a>CHAPTER XIV.<br/>
+BARBARA TAKES A HAND</h2>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No luck, Mr. Marigold,&rdquo; said the Assistant Provost Marshal,
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;m sorry, but there it is! We&rsquo;ve made every possible
+inquiry about this Private... er...&rdquo; he glanced at the buff-colored leave
+pass in his hand, &ldquo;... this Gunner Barling, but we can&rsquo;t trace him
+so far. He should have gone back to France the afternoon before the day on
+which you found his pass. But he hasn&rsquo;t rejoined his unit. He&rsquo;s
+been posted as an absentee, and the police have been warned. I&rsquo;m afraid
+we can&rsquo;t do any more than that!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The detective looked at the officer with mild reproach in his eyes.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Dear, dear,&rdquo; he replied, &ldquo;and I made sure you&rsquo;d be
+able to trace him with that pass!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He clicked his tongue against his teeth and shook his head.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Dear, dear!&rdquo; he said again.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What&rsquo;s the feller been up to?&rdquo; asked the A.P.M. Detectives
+have a horror of leading questions, and Mr. Marigold shrank visibly before the
+directness of the other&rsquo;s inquiry. Before replying, however, he measured
+the officer with his calm, shrewd eye. Mr. Marigold was not above breaking his
+own rules of etiquette if thereby he might gain a useful ally.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, Captain Beardiston,&rdquo; he answered slowly, &ldquo;I&rsquo;ll
+tell you because I think that you may be able to help me a little bit.
+It&rsquo;s part of your work to look after deserters and absentees and those
+sort o&rsquo; folk, isn&rsquo;t it?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The A.P.M. groaned.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Part of my work?&rdquo; he repeated, &ldquo;it seems to be my whole life
+ever since I came back from the front.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;If you want to know what this young fellow has been up to,&rdquo; said
+Mr. Marigold in his even voice, &ldquo;it&rsquo;s murder, if I&rsquo;m not
+mistaken!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Murder?&rdquo; echoed the other in surprise. &ldquo;Why, not the Seven
+Kings murder, surely?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The detective gave a brisk nod.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That&rsquo;s it,&rdquo; he replied, &ldquo;I&rsquo;m in charge of that
+case, if you follow me. I found that pass in the front garden of the
+Mackwayte&rsquo;s house in Laleham Villas, half trodden into the earth of the
+flower-bed by a heavy boot, a service boot, studded with nails. There had been
+a lot of rain in the night, and it had washed the mosaic-tiled pathway up to
+the front door almost clean. When I was having a look round the garden, I
+picked up this pass, and then I spotted the trace of service boots, a bit
+faint, on the beds. You know the way the nails are set in the issue
+boots?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The officer nodded:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I ought to know that foot-print,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;It&rsquo;s all
+over the roads in northern France.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;We made inquiries through you,&rdquo; the detective resumed, &ldquo;and
+when I found that this Gunner Barling, the owner of the pass, was missing,
+well, you will admit, it looked a bit suspicious.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Still, you know,&rdquo; the A.P.M. objected, &ldquo;this man appears to
+have the most excellent character. He&rsquo;s got a clean sheet; he&rsquo;s
+never gone absent before. And he&rsquo;s been out with his battery almost since
+the beginning of the war.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;m not making any charge against him as yet,&rdquo; answered the
+detective, picking up his hat, &ldquo;but it would interest me very much, very
+much indeed, Captain Beardiston, to have five minutes&rsquo; chat with this
+gunner. And so I ask you to keep a sharp lookout for a man answering to his
+description, and if you come across him, freeze on to him hard, and give me a
+ring on the telephone.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Right you are,&rdquo; said the officer, &ldquo;I&rsquo;ll hold him for
+you, Mr. Marigold. But I hope your suspicions are not well-founded.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+For a brief moment the detective became a human being.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And so do I, if you want to know,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;One can forgive
+those lads who are fighting out there almost anything. I&rsquo;ve got a boy in
+France myself!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A little sigh escaped him, and then Mr. Marigold remembered &ldquo;The
+Yard.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll bid you good-day!&rdquo; he added in his most official voice
+and took his leave.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He walked down the steps by the Duke of York&rsquo;s column and through the
+Horse Guards into Whitehall, seemingly busy with his own thoughts. A sprucely
+dressed gentleman who was engaged in the exciting and lucrative sport of war
+profiteering turned color and hastily swerved out towards the Park as he saw
+the detective crossing the Horse Guards&rsquo; Parade. He was unpleasantly
+reminded of making the acquaintance of Mr. Marigold over a bucketshop a few
+years ago with the result that he had vanished from the eye of his friends for
+eighteen months. He congratulated himself on thinking that Mr. Marigold had not
+seen him, but he would have recognized his mistake could he but have caught
+sight of the detective&rsquo;s face. A little smile flitted across Mr.
+Marigold&rsquo;s lips and he murmured to himself:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Our old friend is looking very prosperous just now. I wonder what
+he&rsquo;s up to?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mr. Marigold didn&rsquo;t miss much.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The detective made his way to the Chief&rsquo;s office. Barbara Mackwayte, in a
+simple black frock with white linen collar and cuffs, was at her old place in
+the ante-room. A week had elapsed since the murder, and the day before, Mr.
+Marigold knew, the mortal remains of poor old Mackwayte had been laid to rest.
+He was rather surprised to see the girl back at work so soon.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She did not speak to him as she showed him into the Chief, but there was a
+question lurking in her gray eyes.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mr. Marigold looked at her and gravely shook his head.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Nothing fresh,&rdquo; he said.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The Chief was unusually exuberant. Mr. Marigold found him surrounded, as was
+his wont, by papers, and a fearsome collection of telephone receivers. He
+listened in silence to Mr. Marigold&rsquo;s account of his failure to trace
+Barling.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Marigold,&rdquo; he said, when the other had finished, &ldquo;we must
+undoubtedly lay hold of this fellow. Let&rsquo;s see now... ah! I have
+it!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He scribbled a few lines on a writing-pad and tossed it across to the
+detective.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;If your friend&rsquo;s innocent,&rdquo; he chuckled,
+&ldquo;that&rsquo;ll fetch him to a dead certainty. If he murdered Mackwayte,
+of course he won&rsquo;t respond. Read it out and let&rsquo;s hear how it
+sounds!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The Chief leaned back in his chair and lit a cigarette while the detective read
+out:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;If Gunner Barling, etcetera, etcetera, will communicate with Messrs.
+Blank and Blank, solicitors, he will hear of something to his advantage.
+Difficulties with the military can be arranged.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But I say, sir,&rdquo; objected Mr. Marigold, &ldquo;the military
+authorities will hardly stand for that last, will they?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Won&rsquo;t they, by Jove&rdquo; retorted the Chief grimly. &ldquo;They
+will if I tell &rsquo;em to. No official soullessness for me; thank you! And
+now, Marigold, just ask Matthews to fill in Barling&rsquo;s regimental number
+and all that and the name and address of the solicitors who do this kind of
+thing for us. And tell him we&rsquo;ll insert the ad. daily until further
+notice in the <i>Mail, Chronicle, Daily News, Sketch, Mirror, Evening
+News</i>...&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And <i>Star</i>,&rdquo; put in Mr. Marigold who had Radical tendencies.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The <i>Star</i>, too, by all means. That ought to cover the extent of
+your pal&rsquo;s newspaper reading, I fancy, eh, Marigold! Right!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He held out a hand in farewell. But Mr. Marigold stood his ground. He was
+rather a slow mover, and there were a lot of things he wanted to discuss with
+the Chief.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I was very sorry to see poor Major Okewood in the casualty list this
+morning, sir,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;I was going to ask you...&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Ah, terrible, terrible!&rdquo; said the Chief. Then he added:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Just tell Miss Mackwayte I want her as you go out, will you?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The detective was used to surprises but the Chief still bowled him out
+occasionally. Before he knew what he was doing, Mr. Marigold found himself in
+the ante-room doing as he was bid.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+As soon as her father&rsquo;s funeral was over; Barbara had insisted on
+returning to work. The whole ghastly business of the murder and the inquest
+that followed seemed to her like a bad dream which haunted her day and night.
+By tacit consent no one in the office had made any further allusion, to the
+tragedy. She had just slipped back into her little niche, prompt, punctual,
+efficient as ever.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, it&rsquo;s not for the letters,&rdquo; the Chief said to her as she
+came in with her notebook and pencil. &ldquo;I&rsquo;m going to give you a
+little trip down to the country this afternoon, Miss Mackwayte... to, Essex...
+the Mill House, Wentfield... you know whom it is you are to see, eh? I&rsquo;m
+getting a little restless as we&rsquo;ve had no reports since he arrived there.
+I had hoped, by this, to have been able to put him on the track of Nur-el-Din,
+but, for the moment, it looks as if we had lost the scent. But you can tell our
+friend all we know about the lady&rsquo;s antecedents&mdash;what we had from my
+French colleague the other day, you know? Let him have all the particulars
+about this Barling case&mdash;you know about that, don&rsquo;t you? Good, and,
+see here, try and find out from our mutual friend what he intends doing. I
+don&rsquo;t want to rush him... don&rsquo;t let him think that... but I should
+rather like to discover whether he has formed any plan. And now you get along.
+There&rsquo;s a good train about three which gets you down to Wentfield in just
+under the hour. Take care of yourself! See you in the morning!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Pressing a bell with one hand and lifting up a telephone receiver with the
+other, the Chief immersed himself again in his work. He appeared to have
+forgotten Miss Mackwayte&rsquo;s very existence.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At a quarter to five that evening, Barbara unlatched the front gate of the Mill
+House and walked up the drive. She had come on foot from the station and the
+exercise had done her good. It had been a deliciously soft balmy afternoon, but
+with the fall of dusk a heavy mist had come creeping up from the sodden,
+low-lying fields and was spreading out over the neglected garden of Mr.
+Bellward&rsquo;s villa as Barbara entered the avenue.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The damp gloom of the place, however, depressed her not at all. She exulted in
+the change of scene and the fresh air; besides, she knew that the presence of
+Desmond Okewood would dispel the vague fears that had hung over her incessantly
+ever since her father&rsquo;s murder. She had only met him twice, she told
+herself when this thought occurred to her, but there was something bracing and
+dependable about him that was just the tonic she wanted.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A porter at the station, who was very intelligent as country porters go, had
+told her the way to the Mill House. The way was not easy to find for there were
+various turns to make but, with the aid of such landmarks as an occasional inn,
+a pond or a barn, given her by the friendly porter, Barbara reached her
+destination. Under the porch she pulled the handle of the bell, all dank and
+glistening with moisture, and heard it tinkle loudly somewhere within the
+house.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+How lonely the place was, thought Barbara with a little shiver! The fog was
+growing thicker every minute and now seemed suspended like a vast curtain
+between her and the drive. Somewhere in the distance she heard the hollow
+gurgling of a stream. Otherwise, there was no sound.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She rang the bell again rather nervously and waited. In her bag she had a
+little torch-light (for she was a practical young person), and taking it out,
+she flashed it on the door. It presented a stolid, impenetrable oaken front.
+She stepped out into the fog and scanned the windows which were already almost
+lost to view. They were dark and forbidding.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Again she tugged at the bell. Again, with a groaning of wires, responded the
+hollow tinkle. Then silence fell once more. Barbara began to get alarmed. What
+had happened to Major Okewood? She had understood that there was no question of
+his leaving the house until the Chief gave him the word. Where, then, was he?
+He was not the man to disobey an order. Rather than believe that, she would
+think that something untoward had befallen him. Had there been foul play here,
+too?
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A sudden panic seized her. She grasped the bell and tugged and tugged until she
+could tug no more. The bell jangled and pealed and clattered reverberatingly
+from the gloomy house, and then, with a jarring of wires, relapsed into
+silence. Barbara beat on the door with her hands, for there was no knocker; but
+all remained still within. Only the dank mist swirled in ever denser about her
+as she stood beneath the dripping porch.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;This won&rsquo;t do!&rdquo; said Barbara, pulling herself together.
+&ldquo;I mustn&rsquo;t get frightened, whatever I do! Major Okewood is very
+well capable of defending himself. What&rsquo;s happened is that the man has
+been called away and the servants have taken advantage of his absence to go
+out! Barbara, my dear, you&rsquo;ll just have to foot it back to the station
+without your tea!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She turned her back on the door and torch in hand, plunged resolutely into the
+fog-bank. The mist was bewilderingly thick. Still, by going slow and always
+keeping the gravel under her feet, she reached the front gate and turned out on
+the road.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Here the mist was worse than ever. She had not taken four paces before she had
+lost all sense of her direction. The gate, the railways, were gone. She was
+groping in a clinging pall of fog.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Her torch was worse than useless. It only illuminated swirling swathes of mist
+and confused her, so she switched it out. In vain she looked about her, trying
+to pick up some landmark to guide her. There was no light, no tree, no house
+visible, nothing but the dank, ghostly mist.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+To some temperaments, Nature has no terrors. Barbara, to whose imagination an
+empty house at dusk had suggested all kinds of unimaginable fears, was not in
+the least frightened by the fog. She only hoped devoutly that a motor-car or a
+trap would not come along behind and run her down for she was obliged to keep
+to the road; the hard surface beneath her feet was her only guide.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She smiled over her predicament as she made her way along. She frequently found
+herself going off the road, more than once into patches of water, with the
+result that in a few minutes her feet were sopping. Still she forged ahead,
+with many vain halts to reconnoitre while the fog, instead of lifting, seemed
+to thicken with every step she took.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+By this time she knew she was completely lost. Coming from the station there
+had been, she remembered, a cross-roads with a sign-board set up on a grass
+patch, about a quarter of a mile from the Mill House. She expected every minute
+to come upon this fork; again and again she swerved out to the left from her
+line of march groping for the sign-post with her hands but she never
+encountered it.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Few sounds came to break in upon the oppressive silence of the mist. Once or
+twice Barbara heard a train roaring along in the distance and, at one of her
+halts, her ear caught the high rising note of a motor engine a long way off.
+Except for these occasional reminders of the proximity of human beings, she
+felt she must be on a desert island instead of less than two score miles from
+London.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Her wrist watch showed her that she had walked for an hour when she heard a dog
+barking somewhere on the left of the road. Presently, she saw a blurred patch
+of radiance apparently on the ground in front of her. So deceptive are lights
+seen through a fog that she was quite taken aback suddenly to come upon a long
+low house with a great beam of light streaming out of the door.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The house was approached by a little bridge across a broad ditch. By the bridge
+stood a tall, massive post upon which a sign squeaked softly as it swayed to
+and fro. The inn was built round three sides of a square, the left-hand side
+being the house itself, the centre, the kitchen, and the right-hand side a
+tumble-down stable and some sheds.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The welcome blaze of light coming from the open door was very welcome to
+Barbara after her, long journey through the mist. She dragged her wet and weary
+feet across the little bridge and went up to the inn-door.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She stood for a moment at the entrance dazzled by the effect of the light on
+her eyes, which were smarting with the fog. She found herself looking into a
+long, narrow, taproom, smelling of stale beer and tobacco fumes, and lit by oil
+lamps suspended in wire frames from the raftered ceiling. The windows were
+curtained in cheerful red rep and the place was pleasantly warmed by a stove in
+one corner. By the stove was a small door apparently leading into the bar, for
+beside it was a window through which Barbara caught a glimpse of beer-engines
+and rows of bottles. Opposite the doorway in which she stood was another door
+leading probably to the back of the house. Down the centre of the room ran a
+long table.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The tap-room was empty when Barbara entered but as she sat down at the table,
+the door opposite opened, and a short, foreign-looking woman came out. She
+stepped dead on seeing the girl: Her face seemed familiar to Barbara.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Good evening&rdquo; said the latter, &ldquo;I&rsquo;ve lost my way in
+the fog and I&rsquo;m very wet. Do you think I could have my shoes and
+stockings dried and get some tea? I...&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;A moment! I go to tell Meester Rass,&rdquo; said the woman with a very
+marked foreign accent and in a frightened kind of voice and slipped out by the
+way she came.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Where have I met that woman before?&rdquo; Barbara asked herself, as she
+crossed to tile stove to get warm. The woman&rsquo;s face seemed to be
+connected in her mind with something unpleasant, something she wanted to
+forget. Then a light dawned on her. Why, it was...
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A shrill cry broke in upon her meditations, a harsh scream of rage. Barbara
+turned quickly and saw Nur-el-Din standing in the centre of the room. She was
+transfigured with passion. Her whole body quivered, her nostrils were dilated,
+her eyes flashed fire, and she pointed an accusing finger at Barbara.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Ah! <i>misérable!</i>&rdquo; she cried in a voice strangled with rage,
+&ldquo;ah! <i>misérable! Te voila enfin!</i>&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A cold chill struck at Barbara&rsquo;s heart. Wherever she went, the hideous
+spectre of the tragedy of her father seemed to follow her. And now Nur-el-Din
+had come to upbraid her with losing the treasure she had entrusted to her.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Nur-el-Din,&rdquo; the girl faltered in a voice broken with tears.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Where is it? Where is the silver box I gave into your charge? Answer me.
+<i>Mais réponds, donc, canaille!</i>&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The dancer stamped furiously with her foot and advanced menacingly on Barbara.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+An undersized; yellow-faced man came quickly out of the small door leading from
+the bar and stood an instant, a helpless witness of the scene, as men are when
+women quarrel.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Nur-el-Din rapped out an order to him in a tongue which was unknown to Barbara.
+It sounded something like Russian. The man turned and locked the door of the
+bar, then stepped swiftly across the room and bolted the outer door.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Barbara recognized the threat that the action implied and it served to steady
+her nerves. She shrank back no longer but drew herself up and waited calmly for
+the dancer to reach her.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The box you gave me,&rdquo; said Barbara very quietly, &ldquo;was stolen
+from me by the person who... who murdered my father!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Nur-el-Din burst into a peal of malicious laughter.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And you?&rdquo; she cried, &ldquo;you are &rsquo;ere to sell it back to
+me, <i>hein</i>, or to get your blood money from your accomplice? Which is
+it?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+On this Barbara&rsquo;s self-control abandoned her.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, how dare you! How dare you!&rdquo; she exclaimed, bursting into
+tears, &ldquo;when that wretched box you made me take was the means of my
+losing the dearest friend I ever had!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Nur-el-Din thrust her face, distorted with passion, into Barbara&rsquo;s. She
+spoke in rapid French, in a low, menacing voice.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Do you think this play-acting will deceive me? Do you think I
+don&rsquo;t know the value of the treasure I was fool enough to entrust to your
+safe keeping? <i>Grand Dieu!</i> I must have been mad not to have remembered
+that no woman could resist the price that they were willing to pay for it! And
+to think what I have risked for it! Is all my sacrifice to have been in
+vain?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Her voice rose to a note of pleading and the tears started from her eyes. Her
+mood changed. She began to wheedle.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Come, <i>ma petite</i>, you will help me recover my little box,
+<i>n&rsquo;est-ce pas?</i> You will find me generous. And I am rich, I have
+great savings. I can...&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Barbara put up her hands and pushed the dancer away from her.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;After what you have said to me to-night,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;I
+wouldn&rsquo;t give you back your box even if I had it.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She turned to the man.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Will you tell me the way to the nearest station&rdquo; she went on,
+&ldquo;and kindly open that door!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The man looked interrogatively at Nur-el-Din who spoke a few words rapidly in
+the language she had used before. Then she cried to Barbara:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You stay here until you tell me what you have done with the box!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Barbara had turned to the dancer when the latter spoke so that she did not
+notice that the man had moved stealthily towards her. Before she could struggle
+or cry out, a hand as big as a spade was clapped over her mouth, she was seized
+in an iron grip and half-dragged, half-carried out of the taproom through the
+small door opposite the front entrance.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The door slammed behind them and Barbara found herself in darkness. She was
+pushed round a corner and down a flight of stairs into some kind of cellar
+which smelt of damp straw. Here the grip on her mouth was released for a second
+but before she could utter more than a muffled cry the man thrust a
+handkerchief into her mouth and effectually gagged her. Then he tied her hands
+and feet together with some narrow ropes that cut her wrists horribly. He
+seemed to be able to see in the dark for, though the place was black as pitch,
+he worked swiftly and skillfully. Barbara felt herself lifted and deposited on
+a bundle of straw. In a little she heard the man&rsquo;s heavy foot-step on the
+stair, there was a crash as of a trap-door falling to, the noise of a bolt.
+Then Barbara fainted.
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap15"></a>CHAPTER XV.<br/>
+MR. BELLWARD IS CALLED TO THE TELEPHONE</h2>
+
+<p>
+A knocking at the door of the library aroused Desmond from his cogitations. He
+hastened to replace the volumes of Shakespeare on their shelf and restore all
+to its former appearance. Then he went to the door and opened it. Old Martha
+stood in the hall.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;If you please, sir,&rdquo; she wheezed, &ldquo;the doctor&rsquo;s
+come!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh,&rdquo; said Desmond, rather puzzled, &ldquo;what doctor?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It&rsquo;s not Dr. Haines from the village, Mr. Bellward, sir,&rdquo;
+said the housekeeper, &ldquo;It&rsquo;s a genel&rsquo;man from Lunnon!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Then Desmond remembered Crook&rsquo;s promise to look him up and guessed it
+must be he. He bade Martha show the doctor in and bring tea for two.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Desmond&rsquo;s surmise was right. The old woman ushered in Crook, looking the
+very pattern of medical respectability, with Harley Street written all over him
+from the crown of his glossy top-hat to the neat brown spats on his feet. In
+his hand he carried a small black bag.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well,&rdquo; he said, surveying Desmond, &ldquo;and how do we find
+ourselves to-day? These chills are nasty things to shake off, my dear
+sir!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, stow that!&rdquo; growled Desmond, who was in little mood for
+joking.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Voice inclined to be laryngeal,&rdquo; said Crook putting down his hat
+and bag on a chair, &ldquo;we shall have to take care of our bronchial tubes!
+We are not so young as we were!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You can drop all that mumming, Crook!&rdquo; snapped Desmond irascibly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Voice rotten,&rdquo; replied Crook calmly surveying him through his
+pince-nez. &ldquo;Really, Major&mdash;I should say, Mr. Bellward&mdash;you must
+take more pains than that. You are talking to me exactly as though I were a
+British Tommy. Tut, tut, this will never do, sir! You must talk thicker, more
+guttural-like, and open the vowels well.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He had dropped his jesting manner altogether and spoke with the deep
+earnestness of the expert airing his pet topic. He was so serious that Desmond
+burst out laughing. It must be said, however, that he laughed as much like a
+German as he knew how. This appeared to mollify Crook who, nevertheless, read
+him a long lecture against ever, for a moment, even when alone, quitting the
+role he was playing. Desmond took it in good part; for he knew the soundness of
+the other&rsquo;s advice.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Then old Martha brought tea, and over the cups and saucers Crook gave Desmond a
+budget of news. He told of the warrant issued for the arrest of Nur-el-Din and
+of the search being made for her.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Desmond heard the news of Nur-el-Din&rsquo;s disappearance from London with
+some consternation. He began to realize that his failure to detain Nur-el-Din
+that afternoon might have incalculable consequences. Sunk in thought, he let
+Crook run on. He was wondering whether he ought to give him a message for the
+Chief, telling him of Nur-el-Din&rsquo;s visit and of her flight on the arrival
+of Mortimer.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Now, Desmond had a good deal of pride, and like most proud people, he was
+inclined to be obstinate. To confess to the Chief that he had let both
+Nur-el-Din and Mortimer slip through his fingers was more than he could face.
+He could not bear to think that the Chief might believe him capable of failure,
+and take independent measures to guard against possible mistakes. Also, in his
+heart of hearts, Desmond was angry with the Chief. He thought the latter had
+acted precipitately in getting out a warrant for Nur-el-Din&rsquo;s arrest
+before he, Desmond, had had time to get into the skin of his part.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+So Desmond heard Crook out and made no comment. When the other asked him if he
+had anything to tell the Chief, he shook his head. He was not to know then the
+consequences which his disobedience of orders was destined to have. If he had
+realized what the result of his obstinacy would be, he would not have hesitated
+to send a full report by Crook&mdash;and this story might never have been
+written!
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But if youth followed reason instead of impulse, the world would stand still.
+Desmond was still at an age at which a man is willing to take on anything and
+anybody, and he was confident of bringing his mission to a successful
+conclusion without any extraneous aid. So Crook, after changing Desmond&rsquo;s
+make-up and giving him a further rehearsal of his role, packed up his pots and
+paints and brushes in his black bag and returned to London with &ldquo;nothing
+to report&rdquo; as the communiqués say.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He repeated his visit every day for the next four days. Crook&rsquo;s arrival
+each afternoon was the only break in the monotony of a life which was rapidly
+becoming unbearable to Desmond&rsquo;s mercurial temperament. He found himself
+looking forward to the wizened little man&rsquo;s visits and for want of better
+employment, he threw himself wholeheartedly into the study of his role under
+the expert&rsquo;s able direction. Desmond&rsquo;s beard had sprouted
+wonderfully, and Crook assured him that, by about the end of the week, the tow
+substitute, which Desmond found a most unmitigated nuisance, would be no longer
+necessary. He also showed his pupil how to paint in the few deft lines about
+the eyes which completed the resemblance between Bellward and his impersonator.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The time hung terribly heavily on Desmond&rsquo;s hands. He had long since
+memorized and destroyed the list of Mr. Bellward&rsquo;s friends. Every morning
+he spent at least an hour before the mirror in his bedroom working up the role.
+With every day he felt more confident of himself; with every day he grew more
+anxious to go to London, and, taking the bull by the horns, boldly visit one of
+Mr. Bellward&rsquo;s acquaintances and test the effect of his disguise.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But no orders came from Headquarters to release him from his confinement.
+Moreover, no word arrived from Nur-el-Din nor did Mortimer send any message or
+call again at the Mill House. The silence of the two conspirators made Desmond
+uneasy. Suppose Mortimer, who, he felt sure, had caught him out lying about
+Nur-el-Din&rsquo;s presence in the house at the time of his visit, had grown
+suspicious! What if Nur-el-Din had succeeded in making good her escape to the
+Continent? He had had his chance of laying hold of both suspects and he had
+failed. Would that chance come again?
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Desmond doubted it. Every morning he awoke long before the dawn and lay awake
+until daylight, his mind racked by these apprehensions. He chafed bitterly at
+his inaction and he plied Crook with questions as to whether he had any orders
+for him. Each time Crook replied in the negative.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+In the library Desmond found an Ordnance map of Essex. His military training
+had given him a good schooling in the use of maps, and he spent many hours
+studying the section of the country about the Mill House, seeking to impress it
+upon his mind against future emergencies.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He was surprised to find how remote the Mill House lay from other habitations.
+Between it and Wentfield station, once Wentfield village was passed, there were
+only a few lonely farms; but to the south there was an absolutely uninhabited
+tract of fen traversed by the road running past the front gate of the Mill
+House. The Mill House was duly marked on the map; with a little blue line
+showing the millrace which Desmond traced to its junction with one of the broad
+dykes intersecting Morstead Fen. The only inhabited house to the south of the
+Bellward villa appeared to be a lonely public house situated on the far edge of
+the fen, a couple of hundred yards away from the road. It was called &ldquo;The
+Dyke Inn.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+One afternoon&mdash;it was the fifth day after Desmond&rsquo;s arrival at
+Bellward&rsquo;s&mdash;Mr. Crook announced that this was to be his last visit.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I go abroad to-night, Mr. Bellward,&rdquo; he said (he always insisted
+on addressing Desmond by his assumed name), &ldquo;a little job o&rsquo; work
+in Switzerland; at Berne, to be precise. Urgent, you might call it, and really,
+sir, you&rsquo;ve made so much progress that I think I can safely leave you.
+And I was to say that you will be able to go out very soon now.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Good!&rdquo; exclaimed Desmond, rubbing his hands together. &ldquo;And
+you think I&rsquo;ll do, Crook, eh?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Crook rubbed his nose meditatively.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll be quite frank with you, Mr. Bellward,&rdquo; he said:
+&ldquo;With a superficial acquaintance, even with an intimate friend, if
+he&rsquo;s as unobservant as most people are, you&rsquo;ll pass muster. But I
+shouldn&rsquo;t like to guarantee anything if you were to meet, say, Mrs.
+Bellward, if the gentleman has got a wife, or his mother. Keep out of a strong
+light; don&rsquo;t show your profile more than you can help, and remember that
+a woman is a heap more observant than a man.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That&rsquo;s my advice to you, sir. And now I&rsquo;ll take my leave!
+You won&rsquo;t want that tow beard any more after to-day.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+That night Desmond slept well and did not awake until the sunshine was
+streaming in between the Venetian blinds in his bedroom. He felt keen and
+vigorous, and he had an odd feeling that something was going to happen to him
+that day.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It was a delicious morning, the air as balmy as spring. As he brushed his hair
+in front of the window, Desmond saw the peewits running about in the sunshine
+on the fields by the road. He made an excellent breakfast and then, lighting a
+pipe, opened the <i>Times</i> which lay folded by his plate.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He turned first, as was his daily habit, to the casualty list. There it was!
+Under the names of the &ldquo;Killed in Action,&rdquo; he read: &ldquo;Okewood,
+Major D. J. P.,&rdquo; followed by the name of his regiment. It gave him an odd
+little shock, though he had looked for the announcement every day; but the
+feeling of surprise was quickly followed by one of relief. That brief line in
+the casualty list meant the severing of all the old ties until he had hunted
+down his quarry.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Now he was ready to start.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He spent the morning in the garden. Here, for the first time, he met Mr. Hill,
+the odd man, who, on seeing him, became intensely busy picking up handfuls of
+leaves and conveying them to a fire which was smouldering in a corner. Desmond
+essayed to enter into conversation with him but the man was so impenetrably
+deaf that Desmond, tiring of bawling, &ldquo;It&rsquo;s a fine day!&rdquo; in
+Mr. Hill&rsquo;s ear, left him and strolled over to the shed where the
+motor-cycle was stored. Here he amused himself for more than an hour in taking
+the machine to pieces and putting it together again. He satisfied himself that
+the bike was in working order and filled up the tank. He had an idea that this
+means of conveyance might come in useful.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The day was so mild that he lunched by the open window with the sunshine
+casting rainbows on the tablecloth through the wine-glasses. He was just
+finishing his coffee when the housekeeper came in and told him he was wanted on
+the telephone.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Desmond sprang from his chair with alacrity. His marching orders at last! he
+thought, as he hurried across the hall to the library.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Hullo!&rdquo; he cried as he picked up the receiver.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Is that Mr. Bellward?&rdquo; answered a nasal voice.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Bellward speaking!&rdquo; said Desmond, wondering who had called him up.
+The voice was a man&rsquo;s but it was not the abrupt clear tones of the Chief
+nor yet Mr. Matthews&rsquo; careful accents.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Madame Le Bon wishes to see you!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Madame Le Bon? thought Desmond. Why, that was the name that Nur-el-Din had
+given him. &ldquo;I am Madame Le Bon, a Belgian refugee,&rdquo; she had said.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Do you know whom I mean?&rdquo; the voice continued.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Certainly,&rdquo; replied Desmond. &ldquo;You will come alone.
+Otherwise, Madame will not see you. You understand? If you do not come alone,
+you will waste your time!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Where are you speaking from?&rdquo; Desmond asked.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;If you will turn to the left on leaving your front gate,&rdquo; the
+voice resumed, &ldquo;and follow the road, a messenger will meet you and take
+you to the lady.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But...&rdquo; Desmond began.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Will you come at once? And alone?&rdquo; the nasal voice broke in
+sharply.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Desmond took a moment&rsquo;s thought. To go was to disobey orders; not to go
+was to risk losing a second chance of meeting Nur-el-Din. To telephone to 700
+Stanning for assistance would bring a hornets&rsquo; nest about his ears; yet
+he might only see the dancer if he went alone. He lost no time in making up his
+mind. The Chief must allow him latitude for meeting emergencies of this kind.
+He would go.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I will come at once,&rdquo; said Desmond.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Good,&rdquo; said the voice and the communication ceased.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Somewhere aloft there sits a sweet little cherub whose especial job is to look
+after the headstrong. It was doubtless this emissary of providence that leant
+down from his celestial seat and whispered in Desmond&rsquo;s ear that it would
+be delightful to walk out across the fen on this sunny afternoon. Desmond was
+in the act of debating whether he would not take the motor-bike, but the
+cherub&rsquo;s winning way clinched it and he plumped for walking.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+In the hall he met the housekeeper who told him she wanted to go into Stanning
+to do some shopping that afternoon. Desmond told her that he himself was going
+out and would not be back for tea. Then, picking a stout blackthorn out of the
+hallstand, he strode down the drive and out into the road.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It was still beautifully fine, but already the golden sunshine was waning and
+there were little wisps and curls of mist stealing low along the fields.
+Desmond turned to the left, on leaving the Mill House, as he was bid and saw
+the road running like a khaki ribbon before him into the misty distance.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Swinging his stick, he strode on rapidly. The road was neglected, broken and
+flinty and very soft. After he had gone about a mile it narrowed to pursue its
+way between two broad ditches lined with pollard willows and brimful of brown
+peaty water. By this time he judged, from his recollection of the map, that he
+must be on Morstead Fen. An interminable waste of sodden, emerald green fields,
+intersected by ditches, stretched away on either hand.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He had walked for half an hour when he made out in the distance a clump of
+trees standing apart and seemingly in the middle of the fields. Then in the
+foreground he descried a gate. A figure was standing by it.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+As he approached the gate he saw it was a small boy. On remarking the stranger,
+the urchin opened the gate and without looking to right or left led off down
+the road towards the clump of trees: Desmond followed at his leisure.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+As they neared the trees, the low red roof of a house detached itself. By this
+time the sun was sinking in a smear of red across a delicately tinted sky. Its
+dying rays held some glittering object high up on the side of the house.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At first Desmond thought it was a window, but presently the light went out,
+kindled again and once more vanished. It was too small for a window, Desmond
+decided, and then, turning the matter over in his mind, as observant people are
+accustomed to do even with trifles, he suddenly realized that the light he had
+seen was the reflection of the sun on a telescope or glasses.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+They were now within a few hundred yards of the house. The road had made a
+right angle turn to the left, but the diminutive guide had quitted it and
+struck out along a very muddy cart track. Shading his eyes, Desmond gazed at
+the house and presently got a glimpse of a figure at a window surveying the
+road through a pair of field glasses. Even as he looked, the figure bobbed down
+and did not reappear.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;They want to be sure I&rsquo;m alone,&rdquo; thought Desmond, and
+congratulated himself on having had the strength of mind to break his orders.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The cart-track led up to a little bridge over a ditch. By the bridge stood a
+tall pole, on the top of which was a blue and gold painted sign-board
+inscribed, &ldquo;The Dyke Inn by J. Rass.&rdquo; The urchin led him across the
+bridge and up to the door of the inn.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+An undersized, yellow-faced man, wearing neither collar nor tie, came to the
+door as they approached. Although of short stature, he was immensely broad with
+singularly long arms. Altogether he had something of the figure of a gorilla,
+Desmond thought on looking at him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The man put a finger up and touched his forelock.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Madame Le Bon is upstairs waiting for you!&rdquo; he said in a nasal
+voice which Desmond recognized as that he had heard on the telephone.
+&ldquo;Please to follow me!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He led the way across a long low tap-room through a door and past the open
+trap-door of a cellar to a staircase. On the first landing, lit by a window
+looking out on a dreary expanse of fen, he halted Desmond.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That&rsquo;s her room,&rdquo; he said, pointing to a door opposite the
+head of the staircase, half a dozen steps up, and so saying, the yellow-faced
+man walked quickly downstairs and left him. Desmond heard his feet echo on the
+staircase and the door of the tap-room slam.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He hesitated a moment. What if this were a trap? Suppose Mortimer, growing
+suspicious, had made use of Nur-el-Din to lure him to an ambush in this lonely
+place? Why the devil hadn&rsquo;t he brought a revolver with him?
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Then Desmond&rsquo;s Irish blood came to his rescue. He gave his head a little
+shake, took a firm hold of his stick which was a stoutish sort of cudgel and
+striding boldly up to the door indicated, tapped.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;<i>Entrez!</i>&rdquo; said a pretty voice that made Desmond&rsquo;s
+heart flutter.
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap16"></a>CHAPTER XVI.<br/>
+THE STAR OF POLAND</h2>
+
+<p>
+The room in which Desmond found Nur-el-Din was obviously the parlor of the
+house. Everything in it spoke of that dreary period in art, the middle years of
+the reign of Victoria the Good. The wall-paper, much mildewed in places, was an
+ugly shade of green and there were dusty and faded red curtains at the windows
+and draping the fireplace. Down one side of the room ran a hideous mahogany
+sideboard, almost as big as a railway station buffet, with a very dirty
+tablecloth. The chairs were of mahogany, upholstered in worn black horsehair
+and there were two pairs of fly-blown steel engravings of the largest size on
+the wall. In the centre of the apartment stood a small round table, covered
+with a much stained red tablecloth and there was a door in the corner.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The dainty beauty of Nur-el-Din made a very forlorn picture amid the unmatched
+savagery of this English interior. The dancer, who was wearing the same
+becoming gray tweed suit in which Desmond had last seen her, was sitting
+sorrowfully at the table when Desmond entered. At the sight of him she sprang
+up and ran to meet him with outstretched hands.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Ah!&rdquo; she cried, &ldquo;<i>comme je suis heureuse de vous voir!</i>
+It is good of you to come!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And then, without any warning, she burst into tears and putting her hands on
+the man&rsquo;s shoulders, hid her head against his chest and sobbed bitterly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Desmond took one of her hands, small and soft and warm, and gently disengaged
+her. His mind was working clearly and rapidly. He felt sure of himself, sure of
+his disguise; if this were an exhibition of woman&rsquo;s wiles, it would find
+him proof; on that he was resolved. Yet, dissolved in tears as she was, with
+her long lashes glistening and her mouth twitching pitifully, the dancer seemed
+to touch a chord deep down in his heart.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Come, come,&rdquo; said Desmond gutturally, with a touch of
+<i>bonhomie</i> in his voice in keeping with his ample girth, &ldquo;you
+mustn&rsquo;t give way like this, my child! What&rsquo;s amiss? Come, sit down
+here and tell me what&rsquo;s the matter.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He made her resume her seat by the table and pulled up one of the horsehair
+chairs for himself. Nur-el-Din wiped her eyes on a tiny lace handkerchief, but
+continued to sob and shudder at intervals.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Marie, my maid,&rdquo; she said in French in a broken voice,
+&ldquo;joined me here to-day. She has told me of this dreadful murder!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Desmond stiffened to attention. His mind swiftly reverted to the last woman he
+had seen cry, to Barbara Mackwayte discovering the loss of the package
+entrusted to her charge by the woman who sat before him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What murder?&rdquo; he asked, striving to banish any trace of interest
+from his voice. He loathed the part he had to play. The dancer&rsquo;s distress
+struck him as genuine.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The murder of Monsieur Mackwayte,&rdquo; said Nur-el-Din, and her tears
+broke forth anew.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I have read of this in the newspapers,&rdquo; said Desmond. &ldquo;I
+remember you told me he was a friend of yours.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Briefly, with many sobs, the dancer told him of the silver box which she had
+entrusted to Barbara Mackwayte&rsquo;s charge.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And now,&rdquo; she sobbed, &ldquo;it is lost and all my sacrifice, all
+my precautions, have been in vain!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But how?&rdquo; asked Desmond. &ldquo;Why should you think this box
+should have been taken? From what I remember reading of this case in the
+English newspapers there was a burglary at the house, but the thief has been
+arrested and the property restored. You have only to ask this Miss&mdash;what
+was the name? ah! yes, Mackwayte for your box and she will restore it!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, no!&rdquo; Nur-el-Din answered wearily, &ldquo;you don&rsquo;t
+understand. This was no burglary. The man who murdered Monsieur Arthur murdered
+him to get my silver box.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But,&rdquo; objected Desmond, &ldquo;a silver box! What value has a
+trifling object like that? My dear young lady, murder is not done for a silver
+box!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, no,&rdquo; Nur-el-Din repeated, &ldquo;you don&rsquo;t understand!
+You don&rsquo;t know what that box contained!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Then she relapsed into silence, plucking idly at the shred of cambric she held
+between her fingers.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Already dusk was falling and the room was full of shadows. The golden radiance
+of the afternoon had died and eerie wraiths of fog were peering-in at the
+window.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Desmond held his peace. He felt he was on the threshold of a confession that
+might rend the veil of mystery surrounding the murder at Seven Kings. He stared
+fixedly at the ugly red tablecloth, conscious that the big eyes of the girl
+were searching his face.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You have honest eyes,&rdquo; she said presently. &ldquo;I told you that
+once before... that night we met at your house... do you remember? Your eyes
+are English. But you are a German, <i>hein?</i>&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;My mother was Irish,&rdquo; said Desmond and felt a momentary relief
+that, for once, he had been able to speak the truth.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I want a friend,&rdquo; the girl resumed wearily, &ldquo;someone that I
+can trust. But I look around and I find no one. You serve the German Empire, do
+you not?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Desmond bowed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But not the House of Hohenzollern?&rdquo; the girl cried, her voice
+trembling with passion.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I am not of the Emperor&rsquo;s personal service, if that is what you
+mean, madame,&rdquo; Desmond returned coldly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Then, since you are not altogether an iron Prussian,&rdquo; Nur-el-Din
+resumed eagerly, &ldquo;you can differentiate. You can understand that there is
+a difference between working for the cause of Germany and for the personal
+business of her princes.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But certainly,&rdquo; answered Desmond, &ldquo;I am not an errand boy
+nor yet a detective. I regard myself as a German officer doing his duty on the
+front. We have many fronts besides the Western and the Eastern. England is one.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Ah,&rdquo; exclaimed the girl, clasping her hands together and looking
+at him with enraptured eyes, &ldquo;I see you understand! My friend, I am much
+tempted to make a confidant of you!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Desmond looked at her but did not speak. Again he felt that silence was now his
+only role. He tried hard to fix his mind on his duty; but the man in him was
+occupied with the woman who looked so appealingly at him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;... but if I do,&rdquo; the girl went on and her voice was hurried and
+anxious, &ldquo;you must swear to me that you will respect my confidence, that
+you will not betray me to the others and that you will, if need be, protect
+me.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Seeing that Desmond remained silent, she hastened to add:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Believe me, what I ask you to do is not in opposition to your duty. My
+friend, for all my surroundings, I am not what I seem. Fate has drawn me into
+the system of which you form part; but, believe me, I know nothing of the
+service to which you and Mortimer and the rest belong!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She spoke with painful earnestness and in a tone so mournful that Desmond felt
+himself profoundly moved. &ldquo;If only she is not acting!&rdquo; he thought,
+and sought to shake himself free from the spell which this girl seemed able to
+cast about him at will.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Promise me that you will respect my confidence and help me!&rdquo; she
+said and held out her hand.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Desmond&rsquo;s big hand closed about hers and he felt an odd thrill of
+sympathy with her as their hands met.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I promise!&rdquo; he said and murmured to himself something very like a
+prayer that he might not be called upon to redeem his word.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She let her eyes rest for a moment on his.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Be careful!&rdquo; she urged warningly, while the ghost of a smile
+flitted across her face. &ldquo;Very soon I may call upon you to make good your
+words!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I promise!&rdquo; he repeated&mdash;and his eyes never left hers.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Then,&rdquo; she cried passionately, &ldquo;find out who has stolen for
+the Crown Prince the Star of Poland at the price of the life of a harmless old
+man!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The Star of Poland!&rdquo; repeated Desmond. &ldquo;What is the Star of
+Poland?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The girl drew herself up proudly and there was a certain dignity about her
+manner as she answered.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I am a Pole,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;and to us Poles, the Star of Poland
+has stood for centuries as a pledge of the restoration of our long-lost
+kingdom. It was the principal jewel of the Polish Coronation sword which
+vanished many hundreds of years ago&mdash;in the thirteenth century, one of my
+compatriots once told me&mdash;and it was one of the most treasured national
+possessions in the Château of our great king, John Sobieski at Villanoff,
+outside Warsaw. My friend, I am not religious, and since my childhood I have
+renounced the ancient faith of my fathers, but, when I think of the
+extraordinary chain of circumstances by which this treasure came into my
+possession, I almost believe that God has chosen me to restore this gem to the
+King of an independent Poland.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Four years ago I was in the United States, a very humble dancer in
+vaudeville of the third or fourth class. When I was appearing at Columbus,
+Ohio, I met a German, a man who had been an officer in the Prussian Guard but
+had come to grief and had been forced to emigrate.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;This man&rsquo;s name was Hans von Schornbeek. Like so many German
+officers who go to America, in his time he had been everything&mdash;waiter,
+lift-man, engine-driver and heaven knows what else, but when I met him he was
+apparently well-off. It was only later on that I knew he was one of your
+principal secret agents in America.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;He praised my talents highly and offered to furnish the capital to start
+me as an Oriental dancer with a large company of my own. There was only one
+condition attaching to his offer, a condition, <i>ma foi!</i> which was not
+disagreeable to me. It was that, after six months tour in the States and
+Canada, I should go to Brussels and settle down there in a house that Herr von
+Schornbeek would present me with.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;<i>Mon ami</i>, in those days, I understood nothing at all of diplomacy.
+I knew only that I was often hungry and that I had a little talent which, were
+it given a chance, might keep me from want. Herr von Schornbeek fulfilled his
+promises to me. I had my company, I did my tour of America and Canada with
+great success and finally I came to Europe and made my debut at Brussels.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I knew Brussels already from the old days. As a half-starved, unhappy
+child with a troupe of acrobats, I had often appeared there. But now I came to
+Brussels as a conqueror. A beautiful villa in the suburb of Laeken was ready to
+receive me and I found that a large credit had been opened in my name at one of
+the principal banks so that I could keep open house.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I think I scarcely realized then the rôle that I was destined to fill by
+the German Secret Service. In all my life before, I had never been happy, I had
+never ceased to struggle for my bare existence, I had never had pretty clothes
+to wear, and motor-cars and servants of my own.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She paused and glanced around her. The room was almost dark; the fog outside
+hung like a veil before the window.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Light the lamp!&rdquo; she begged, &ldquo;I do not like the dark!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Desmond struck a match and kindled an oil lamp, which stood on the sideboard.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Ah! my friend,&rdquo; the girl resumed. &ldquo;I took my fill of life
+with both hands. The year was 1913. Now I know that I was one of the German
+agents for the penetration of Belgium in preparation of what was coming. My
+mission was to make friends among the Belgians and the French and the
+cosmopolitan society of Brussels generally, and invite them to my house where
+your people were waiting to deal with them.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;My pretty villa became the rendezvous for half the rascals of Europe,
+men and women, who used to meet there with all kinds of mysterious Germans.
+Sometimes there was a scandal. Once a Belgian Colonel was found shot in the
+billiard-room; they said it was suicide and the thing was hushed up, but
+<i>dame!</i> now that I know what I know...
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;<i>Enfin!</i> I shut my eyes to it all... it was none of my business...
+and I revelled in my <i>robes</i>, my dancing, my new life of luxury!
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And then the war came. I was at Laeken, resting after a visit to Rome.
+There was a lot of talk about the war amongst the people who came to my house,
+but I did not see how it could affect me, an <i>artiste</i>, and I never read
+the newspapers. My German friends assured me that, in a little while, the
+German army would be at Brussels; that, if I remained quietly at home, all
+would be well. They were very elated and confident, these German friends of
+mine. And rightly; for within a few weeks the Germans entered the city and a
+General quartered himself in my villa. It was he who brought the Crown Prince
+to see me.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;<i>Mon cher</i>, you know this young man and his reputation. I am not
+excusing myself; but all my life had been spent up to then in the
+<i>bas-fonds</i> of society. I had never known what it was to be courted and
+admired by one who had the world at his feet. <i>Parbleu!</i> one does not meet
+a future Emperor every day!
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;<i>Enfin!</i> the Prince carried me with him back to Metz, where he had
+his headquarters. He was very <i>épris</i> with me, but you know his
+temperament! No woman can hold him for more than a few weeks, vain and weak and
+arrogant as he is. But <i>pardon!</i> I was forgetting that you are a good
+German. I fear I offend your susceptibilities...&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Desmond laughed drily.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Madame,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;I hope I have preserved sufficient
+liberty of judgment to have formed my own opinion about our future sovereign.
+Most Germans have...&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;<i>Alors</i>,&rdquo; she broke in fiercely, her voice shaking with
+passion, &ldquo;you know what an ignoble <i>canaille</i> is this young man,
+without even enough decency of feeling to respect the troops of whom he has
+demanded such bloody sacrifices. At Metz we were near enough to the fighting to
+realize the blood and tears of this war. But the Prince thought of nothing, but
+his own amusement. To live as he did, within sound of the guns, with parties
+every night, women and dancing and roulette and champagne suppers&mdash;bah!
+<i>c&rsquo;était trop fort!</i> It awakened in me the love of country which
+lies dormant in all of us. I wanted to help my country, lest I might sink as
+low as he...&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;One day the Prince brought a young officer friend of his to dine with
+me. This officer had come from the Eastern front and had been present at the
+capture of Warsaw. After dinner he took a leather case out of his pocket and
+said to the Prince: &lsquo;I have brought your Imperial Highness a little
+souvenir from Poland!&rsquo; As he spoke he touched a spring and the case flew
+open, displaying an enormous diamond, nearly as big as the great Orloff diamond
+which I have seen at Petrograd, surrounded by five other brilliants, the whole
+set like a star.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;&lsquo;The Star of Poland,&rsquo; said the young officer (the Prince
+called him &lsquo;Erich;&rsquo; I never heard his full name), &lsquo;it comes
+from the long-lost Coronation sword of the Polish kings. I took it for your
+Imperial Highness from the Château of John Sobieski at Villanoff.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I could not take my eyes off the gem. As the Prince held it down under
+the lamp to study it, it shone like an electric light. I had met many of my
+fellow countrymen in America and I had often heard of this jewel, famous in our
+unhappy history.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The Prince, who was gay with champagne, laughed and said:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;&lsquo;These lousy Poles will have no further use for this pretty
+trinket, thanks to our stout German blows, will they, Erich?&rsquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And his friend replied:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;&lsquo;We&rsquo;ll give them a nice new German constitution instead,
+your Imperial Highness!&rsquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The Prince, as I have said, was very merry that night. He let me take
+the jewel from its case and hold it in my hands. Then I fastened it in my hair
+before the mirror and turned to show myself to the Prince and his companion.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;&lsquo;<i>Donnerwetter!</i> said Willie. &lsquo;It looks wonderful in
+your hair, Marcelle!&rsquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Then, as if struck by a sudden thought, he cried:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;&lsquo;Erich! What do you say, Marcelle is a Pole. She shall have the
+Star of Poland and wear it in memory of me!&rsquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The other thought this a famous idea, and so the jewel passed into my
+hands. That same evening I resolved that it should be a sacred duty on my part
+to keep it in safety until I could hand it back to the lawful sovereign of an
+independent Poland.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I was very unhappy at Metz until the Star of Poland came to comfort me.
+When I was alone, I used to take it from its case and feast my eyes upon it. I
+made many attempts to get away, but the Prince would never let me go, though he
+had long since tired of me and I was merely one of his harem of women.
+<i>Pfui!</i>&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She gave an exclamation of disgust.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It was the Crown Princess who eventually came to my rescue,&rdquo; she
+continued. &ldquo;Long-suffering wife as she is, the stories that came to her
+ears from Metz were such that she went to the Emperor and declared that she
+would insist upon a divorce. There was a great scandal. The Prince&rsquo;s
+headquarters were moved and at length I got my release.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I had no money. This was a detail which the Prince overlooked. But I
+wanted to resume my stage work, so, with great difficulty, through the
+influence of the Prince, I obtained a passport to Holland and from there got
+across to England.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I had hoped to turn my back once and for all on my connection with the
+Prince. But your German Secret Service had been warned about me. The Imperial
+Authorities were obviously afraid that I might tell tales out of school.
+Scarcely had I arrived in London when a man who called himself Bryan Mowbury,
+but who looked and spoke like a German, came to see me and said he had been
+instructed to &lsquo;look after me.&rsquo; What that meant, I was soon to
+discover. In a very few days I found that I was under the supervision of your
+Secret Service here. In fact, Mowbury gave me to understand that any
+indiscretion on my part as to my stay at Metz would result in my immediate
+denunciation to the English police as a spy.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;My friend, I had no alternative. I am not German; I am not English; I am
+a Pole. I have good friends in Germany, I have good friends in England, and
+their quarrels are not mine. I held my peace about the past and submitted to
+the incessant watch which Mowbury and his friends kept on my movements.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And then one day I had a letter. It was from Count Plettenbach, the
+Crown Prince&rsquo;s aide-de-camp, as I knew by the hand-writing, for it was
+signed with an assumed name. In this letter the Count, &lsquo;on behalf of a
+mutual friend,&rsquo; as he put it, requested me to hand back to a certain Mr.
+Mortimer, his accredited representative, &lsquo;Erich&rsquo;s present.&rsquo;
+There were cogent reasons, it was added, for this unusual request.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I sent no reply to that letter, although an address in Switzerland was
+given to which an answer might be despatched. I was resolved, come what may,
+not to part with the Star of Poland. When Mortimer came, five days later, I
+told him the jewel was not mine to hand over, that it was part of the regalia
+of Poland and that I would never give it up.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Mortimer replied that the German and Austrian Governments had decided to
+restore the independence of Poland, that probably an Austrian Archduke would be
+made king and that it was essential that the Star of Poland should be restored
+in order to include it in the regalia for the Coronation. But I knew what this
+Austro-German kingdom of Poland was to be, a serf state with not a shadow of
+that liberty for which every Pole is longing. Since I have been in England, I
+have kept in touch with the Polish political organizations in this country.
+Rass, as he calls himself, the landlord of this inn, is one of the most
+prominent of the Polish leaders in England.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Mortimer reasoned with me in vain and finally went away empty-handed.
+But he did not abandon hope. Four successive attempts were made to get the
+jewel away from me. Twice my apartments at the Nineveh Hotel were rifled; once
+my dressing-room at the theatre was entered and searched whilst I was on the
+stage. But I wore the jewel day and night in a little bag suspended by a chain
+from my neck and they never got it from me.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Two days before I came down to your house&mdash;it was the day before
+the murder&mdash;I was hustled by a group of men as I came out of the theatre.
+Fortunately the stage-door keeper came up unexpectedly and the men made off.
+But the encounter frightened me, and I resolved to break my contract with the
+Palaceum and bury myself down here in the country.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But somehow Mortimer learnt of my intention. The next night&mdash;it was
+the night of the murder&mdash;he came to the theatre and warned me against
+trying to elude his vigilance by flight. I have never forgotten his words.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;&lsquo;I can afford to wait,&rsquo; he said, &lsquo;for I shall get what
+I want: I always do. But you have chosen to set yourself against me and you
+will bitterly repent it!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+As though the recollection proved too much for her, Nur-el-Din broke off her
+narrative and covered her face with her hands.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And do you think that Mortimer did this murder?&rdquo; asked Desmond
+gently.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Wearily the girl raised her head.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Either he or one of his accomplices, of whom this girl is one!&rdquo;
+she answered.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But why not have put the jewel in a bank or one of the safe deposits?
+Surely it was risky to have entrusted it to a girl of whom you knew
+nothing?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;My friend,&rdquo;, said the dancer, &ldquo;I was desperate. Mortimer
+sees and knows all. This unexpected meeting with the daughter of my old friend
+seemed at the moment like a heaven-sent chance to place the jewel, unknown to
+him, in safe hands. I felt that as long as I carried it on me, my life was in
+constant danger. It was only to-day, when I heard of the murder, that it dawned
+on me how indiscreet I had been. I might have guessed, since Miss Mackwayte
+knew Mortimer&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Miss Mackwayte knows Mortimer?&rdquo; echoed Desmond in stupefaction.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But certainly,&rdquo; replied Nur-el-Din. &ldquo;Was it not I
+myself&mdash;&rdquo; She broke off suddenly with terror in her eyes.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Ah, no!&rdquo; she whispered. &ldquo;It is enough. Already I have said
+too much...&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Desmond was about to speak when the door opened and a foreign-looking maid,
+whom Desmond remembered to have seen in the dancer&rsquo;s dressing-room, came
+in. She went swiftly to her mistress and whispered something in her ear.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The dancer sprang to her feet.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;A little moment... you will excuse me...&rdquo; she cried to Desmond and
+ran from the room. The maid followed her, leaving Desmond alone.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Presently, the sound of Nur-el-Din&rsquo;s voice raised high in anger struck on
+his ears. He stole softly to the door and opened it. Before him lay the
+staircase deserted. He tiptoed down the stairs to the first landing and
+listened. The murmur of voices reached him indistinctly from the room below.
+Then he heard Nur-el-Din crying out again in anger.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He craned his ear over the well of the staircase, turning his face to the
+window which stood on the landing. The window gave on a small yard with a gate
+over which a lamp was suspended and beyond it the fen now swathed in fog. The
+dancer&rsquo;s maid stood beneath the lamp in earnest conversation with a man
+in rough shooting clothes who held a gun under his arm. As Desmond looked the
+man turned his head so that the rays of the lamp fell full upon his face. To
+his unspeakable consternation and amazement, Desmond recognized Strangwise.
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap17"></a>CHAPTER XVII.<br/>
+MR. BELLWARD ARRANGES A BRIDGE EVENING</h2>
+
+<p>
+Oblivious of the voices in the room below, Desmond stood with his face pressed
+against the glass of the window. Was Strangwise staying at &ldquo;The Dyke
+Inn&rdquo;? Nothing was more probable; for the latter had told him that he was
+going to spend his leave shooting in Essex, and Morstead Fen must abound in
+snipe and duck.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But he and Strangwise must not meet. Desmond was chary of submitting his
+disguise to the other&rsquo;s keen, shrewd eyes. Strangwise knew Nur-el-Din:
+indeed, the dancer might have come to the inn to be with him. If he recognized
+Desmond and imparted his suspicions to the dancer, the game world be up; on the
+other hand, Desmond could not take him aside and disclose his identity; for
+that would be breaking faith with the Chief. There was nothing for it, he
+decided, but flight.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Yet how could he get away unobserved? There was no exit from the staircase by
+the door into the tap-room where Nur-el-Din was, and to go through the tap-room
+was to risk coming face to face with Strangwise.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+So Desmond remained where he was by the window and watched. Presently, the
+woman turned and began to cross the yard, Strangwise, carrying his gun,
+following her. Desmond waited until he heard a door open somewhere below and
+then he acted.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Beside the window ran an old lead water-pipe which drained the roof above his
+head. On a level with the sill of the landing below, this pipe took a sharp
+turn to the left and ran diagonally down to a tall covered-in water-butt that
+stood on the flat roof of an outhouse in the little yard.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Desmond raised the window very gently and tested the pipe with his hand. It
+seemed rather insecure and shook under his pressure. With his eye he measured
+the distance from the sill to the pipe; it was about four feet. Desmond
+reckoned that, if the pipe would hold, by getting out of the window and hanging
+on to the sill, he might, by a pendulum-like motion, gain sufficient impulse to
+swing his legs across the diagonally-running pipe, then transfer his hands and
+so slide down to the outhouse roof.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He wasted no time in debating the chances of the pipe collapsing under his
+weight. All his life it had been his practice to take a risk, for such is the
+Irish temperament&mdash;if the object to be attained in any way justified it;
+and he was determined to avoid at all costs the chance of a meeting with
+Strangwise. The latter had probably read the name of Okewood in that
+morning&rsquo;s casualty list, but Desmond felt more than ever that he
+distrusted the man, and his continued presence in the neighborhood of
+Nur-el-Din gravely preoccupied him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He stood a moment by the open window and listened. The murmur of voices went on
+in the taproom, but from another part of the house he heard a deep laugh and
+knew it to be Strangwise&rsquo;s. Trusting to Providence that the roof of the
+outhouse would be out of sight of the yard door, Desmond swung his right leg
+over the window-sill and followed it with the other, turning his back on the
+yard. The next moment he was dangling over the side of the house.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Then from the yard below he heard Strangwise call:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Rufus! Rufus!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A heavy footstep sounded on the flags. Desmond remained perfectly still. The
+strain on his arms was tremendous. If Strangwise should go as far as the gate,
+so as to get clear of the yard, he must infallibly see that figure clinging to
+the window-sill.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Where the devil is that doggy&rdquo; said Strangwise. Then he whistled,
+and called again:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Rufus! Rufus!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Desmond made a supreme effort to support the strain on his muscles. The veins
+stood out at his temples and he felt the blood singing in his ears. Another
+minute and he knew he must drop. He no longer had the power to swing himself up
+to the window ledge again.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A bark rang out in the courtyard, followed by the patter of feet. Desmond heard
+Strangwise speak to the dog and reenter the house. Then silence fell again.
+With a tremendous effort Desmond swung his legs athwart the pipe, gripped it
+with his right hand, then his left, and very gently commenced to let himself
+down. The pipe quivered beneath his weight, but it held fast and in a minute he
+was standing on the roof of the outhouse, cautiously peering through the dank
+fog that hung about the yard.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Screening himself from view behind the tall waterbutt, he reconnoitred the back
+of the inn. The upper part of the house was shrouded in darkness, but a broad
+beam of light from a half-open door and a tall window on the ground floor cleft
+the pall of fog. The window showed a snug little bar with Strangwise standing
+by the counter, a glass in his hand. As Desmond watched him, he heard a muffled
+scream from somewhere within the house. Strangwise heard it too, for Desmond
+saw him put his glass down on the bar and raise his head sharply. There
+followed a dull crash from the interior of the inn and the next moment the
+yellow-faced man, whom Desmond judged to be Rass, stepped into the circle of
+light inside the window. He said something to Strangwise with thumb jerked
+behind him, whereupon the latter clapped him, as though in approval, on the
+shoulder, and both hurried out together.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Puzzled though he was by the scene he had just witnessed, Desmond did not dare
+to tarry longer. The roof of the outhouse was only some ten feet from the
+ground, an easy drop. He let himself noiselessly down and landing on his feet
+without mishap, darted out of the yard gate. As he did so, he heard the inn
+door open and Strangwise&rsquo;s voice cry out:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Who&rsquo;s that?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But Desmond heeded not. He dashed out upon the fen. Before he had gone a dozen
+paces the fog had swallowed up inn and all. Out of the white pall behind him he
+heard confused shouts as he skirted swiftly round the house and reached the
+road.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Once he had gained the freedom of the highway; Desmond breathed again. The
+dense fog that enveloped him, the hard road beneath his feet, gave him a sense
+of security that he had missed as long as he was in the atmosphere of that
+lonely, sinister place. He struck out at a good pace for home, intent upon one
+thing, namely, to send an immediate summons for help to surround the Dyke Inn
+and all within it. Nur-el-Din, it was clear, whether a spy or no (and Desmond
+believed her story), was the only person who could throw any light on the
+mysterious circumstances surrounding old Mackwayte&rsquo;s murder. Besides, her
+arrest would safeguard her against further machinations on the part of
+Mortimer, though Desmond suspected that the latter, now that he had secured the
+jewel, would leave the dancer in peace. As for Strangwise, it would be for him
+to explain as best he could his continued association with a woman for whose
+arrest a warrant had been issued.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Desmond let himself in with his key. The housekeeper had returned and was
+laying the dinner-table. In the library the curtains were drawn and a fire
+burned brightly in the grate. The room looked very snug and cosy by contrast
+with the raw weather outside.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Desmond shut and locked the door and then went to the telephone at the desk.
+&ldquo;Ring up 700 Stanning&rdquo;&mdash;he repeated his instructions to
+himself &ldquo;and ask for Mr. Elias. Assistance&rsquo;ll be with you within
+fifteen minutes afterwards.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+By the clock on the mantelpiece it was a quarter to seven. If aid arrived
+promptly, with a car they could be at the Dyke Inn by a quarter past seven.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The telephone gave no sign of life. Desmond impatiently jerked the receiver
+hook up and down. This time, at least, he would not fail, he told himself.
+Before he went to bed that night Nur-el-Din, her maid, Rass, and if needs be,
+Strangwise (who needed a lesson to teach him discretion), should be in custody.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Still no reply.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Hullo! Hullo!&rdquo; cried Desmond, depressing the hook repeatedly.
+&ldquo;Hullo, Exchange!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But there was no answer. Then it struck Desmond that the line was dead: his ear
+detected none of that busy whirr which is heard in the telephone when one is
+waiting to get a number.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He spent five minutes in vain attempts to obtain a reply, then abandoned the
+endeavor in disgust.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I shall have to take the motor-bike and go over to Stunning,&rdquo; he
+said to himself, &ldquo;how I shall find my way there in this fog, the Lord
+only knows! And I don&rsquo;t know whom to apply to when I get there. The
+police-station, I suppose!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He unlocked the door and rang for Martha.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I have to go over to Stunning, Martha,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;I will try
+and be back for dinner at eight!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He had no intention of accompanying the party to the Dyke Inn. He must preserve
+his incognito until Mortimer, the main quarry, had been run down.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He filled his case from the box of cigarettes on the table and thrust a box of
+matches into his pocket to light his head-lamp. Then, taking a cap from the
+hat-stand, he opened the front door. Even as he did so a big open car slowed
+down throbbing outside the porch. A man sprang out and advanced into the light
+streaming from the front door into the eddying mist. It was Mortimer.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Fortune,&rdquo; thought Desmond, &ldquo;has broken her rule. She has
+given me a second chance!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well met, Bellward!&rdquo; cried Mortimer, blinking at the other through
+his thick glasses. &ldquo;Tut, tut! What a night! You were never going out, I
+swear.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Already Desmond had decided in his mind the course of action he would pursue.
+For the moment he must let the party at the Dyke Inn slide in favor of the
+bigger catch. He must slip away later and have another try at the telephone and
+if it were still out of order, he must endeavor to overpower Mortimer and then
+go for assistance himself. On a night like this it was useless to think of
+employing a half-blind old dolt like Martha to take a message. As for the odd
+man, he lived at Wakefield, and went away at dusk every evening.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+So Desmond muttered some plausible lie about wanting to have a look at the
+weather and cordially invited Mortimer in.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You will stay for dinner&rdquo; he said.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Gladly,&rdquo; replied the other, sinking with a grunt into the settee.
+&ldquo;And I should be glad if we might dine early.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Desmond raised his eyebrows.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;... Because,&rdquo; Mortimer resumed, &ldquo;I have ventured to ask a
+few friends round here to... to have an evening at bridge. Doubtless, you have
+cards, eh?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Desmond pointed to a card-table standing in the corner with several packs of
+cards and markers. Then he rang and told the housekeeper that they would dine
+as soon as possible.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The coming fortnight,&rdquo; said Mortimer, tucking his napkin into his
+collar as they sat at the dinner table, &ldquo;is pregnant with great events.
+No less than ten divisions are, I understand, to be transferred to the other
+side. I have waited to communicate with you until I had confirmation of this
+report. But now that the matter has been decided, it only remains for us to
+perfect our arrangements for communicating these plans to our friends beyond
+the North Sea. Therefore, I thought a friendly bridge evening at the hospitable
+home of our dear colleague Bellward would be in place.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He smiled affably and bent over his soup-plate.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I shall be delighted to receive our friends,&rdquo; Desmond replied,
+&ldquo;a glass of sherry?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Thank you,&rdquo; said Mortimer.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I shall have to provide a few refreshments,&rdquo; said Desmond.
+&ldquo;May I ask how many guests I may expect?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mortimer reckoned on his fingers.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Let&rsquo;s see,&rdquo; he answered, &ldquo;there&rsquo;s Max,
+that&rsquo;s one, and Madame Malplaquet, that&rsquo;s two. No. 13 and Behrend
+makes four and myself, five!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And Madame Nur-el-Din?&rdquo; queried Desmond innocently, but inwardly
+quaking at his rashness.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mortimer genially shook a finger at him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Sly dog!&rdquo; he chuckled, &ldquo;you&rsquo;re one too many for me in
+that quarter, I see! I know all about your tête-à-tête with our charming young
+friend this afternoon!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Desmond felt the blood rush to his face. He thought of Nur-el-Din&rsquo;s
+words: &ldquo;Mortimer sees and knows all.&rdquo; He picked up his sherry glass
+and drained it to cover his confusion.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;... It was hardly gallant of you to bolt so suddenly and leave the
+lady!&rdquo; Mortimer added.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+<i>How much did this uncanny creature know?</i>
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Without waiting for him to reply, Mortimer went on.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I suppose she told you a long story of my persecution, eh, Bellward? You
+needn&rsquo;t shake your head. I taxed her with it and she admitted as
+much.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I had no idea that you were staying at the Dyke Inn!&rdquo; said Desmond
+at a venture.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;My friend,&rdquo; replied Mortimer, lowering his voice, &ldquo;your fair
+charmer is showing a decided inclination to make a nuisance of herself. I have
+had to keep an eye on her. It&rsquo;s been a very serious inconvenience to my
+plans, I can assure you. But you haven&rsquo;t answered my question. What sent
+you away in such a hurry this afternoon? and in so romantic a fashion? By the
+window, was it not?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Through sheer apprehension, Desmond was now keyed up to a kind of desperate
+audacity. The truth is sometimes a very effective weapon in the game of bluff,
+and Desmond determined to employ it.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I saw someone I didn&rsquo;t want to meet,&rdquo; he replied.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Ah!&rdquo; said Mortimer, &ldquo;who was that, I wonder? The Dyke Inn
+could hardly be described as a frequented resort, I imagine!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The entry of old Martha to change the plates prevented Desmond from replying.
+He used the brief respite to review the situation. He would tell Mortimer the
+truth. They were man to man now and he cared nothing even if the other should
+discover the fraud that had been practised upon him. Come what might, Mortimer,
+dead or alive, should be delivered up to justice that night.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The housekeeper left the room and Desmond spoke.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I saw an officer I knew in the courtyard,&rdquo; he said.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, Strangwise, I suppose!&rdquo; said Mortimer carelessly.
+&ldquo;There&rsquo;s nothing to fear from him, Bellward. He&rsquo;s of the beef
+and beer and no brains stamp of British officer. But how do you know
+Strangwise?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I met him at the Nineveh Hotel in town one night,&rdquo; replied
+Desmond. &ldquo;I don&rsquo;t care about meeting officers, however, and
+that&rsquo;s a fact!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mortimer looked at him keenly for a brief instant. &ldquo;What prudence!&rdquo;
+he cried. &ldquo;Bellward, you are the very model of what a secret agent should
+be! This pheasant is delicious!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He turned the conversation into a different channel but Desmond could not
+forget that brief searching look. His mind was in a turmoil of half-digested
+facts, of semi-completed deductions. He wanted to go away somewhere alone and
+think out this mystery and disentangle each separate web of this baffling skein
+of intrigue.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He must focus his attention on Mortimer and Nur-el-Din. If Mortimer and
+Strangwise were both staying at the Dyke Inn, then they were probably
+acquainted. Strangwise knew Nur-el-Din, too, knew her well; for Desmond
+remembered how familiarly they had conversed together that night in the
+dancer&rsquo;s dressing-room at the Palaceum. Strangwise knew Barbara Mackwayte
+also. Nur-el-Din had introduced them, Desmond remembered, on that fateful night
+when he had accompanied Strangwise to the Palaceum. Strange, how he was
+beginning to encounter the man Strangwise at every turn in this sinister
+affair.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And then, with a shock that struck him like a blow in the face, Desmond
+recalled Barbara&rsquo;s parting words to him in the taxi. He remembered how
+she had told him of seeing Nur-el-Din&rsquo;s face in the mirror as the dancer
+was talking to Strangwise that night at the Palaceum, and of the look of terror
+in the girl&rsquo;s eyes. Nur-el-Din was terrified of Mortimer; for so much she
+had admitted to Desmond that very afternoon; she was terrified of Strangwise,
+too, it seemed, of this Strangwise who, like Mortimer, kept appearing at every
+stage of this bewildering affair. What confession had been on
+Nur-el-Din&rsquo;s lips when she had broken off that afternoon with the cry:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Already I have said too much!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Thereafter Desmond&rsquo;s eyes were never long absent from Mortimer&rsquo;s
+face, scrutinizing each feature in turn, the eyes, set rather close together,
+grotesquely shielded by the thick spectacles, the narrow cheeks, the rather
+cynical mouth half hidden by the heavy, drooping moustache, the broad forehead
+broken by a long lock of dark hair brushed out flat in a downward direction
+from an untidy, unkempt crop.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+They talked no more of Strangwise or of Nur-el-Din. The rest of dinner was
+passed in conversation of a general order in which Mr. Mortimer showed himself
+to great advantage. He appeared to be a widely traveled, well-read man, with a
+fund of dry, often rather grim humor. And all the time Desmond watched,
+watched, unobtrusively but unceasingly, looking out for something he was
+confident of detecting through the suave, immobile mask of this brilliant
+conversationalist.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Skillfully, almost imperceptibly, Desmond edged the talk on to the war. In this
+domain, too, Mortimer showed himself a man of broad views, of big,
+comprehensive ideas. Towards the strategy and tactics of the two sides, he
+adopted the attitude of an impartial onlooker, but in his comments he proved
+himself to have a thorough grasp of the military situation. He talked freely
+and ably of such things as tanks, the limited objective in the attack and the
+decentralization of responsibility in the field.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Encouraged by his volubility, for he was a man who delighted in conversation,
+Desmond gradually gave the talk a personal turn. But willing as Mortimer showed
+himself to discuss the war generally, about his personal share he was as mute
+as a fish. Try as he would Desmond could get nothing out of him. Again and
+again, he brought the conversation round to personal topics; but every time his
+companion contrived to switch it back to general lines.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At last Desmond risked a direct question. By this time a pint of Pommery and
+Gréno was tingling in his veins and he felt he didn&rsquo;t care if the roof
+fell in.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Ever since Nur-el-Din told me you were of the Crown Prince&rsquo;s
+personal service,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;I have been devoured with curiosity to
+know what you were doing before you came to England. Were you at Metz with his
+Imperial Highness? Did you see the assault at Verdun? Were you present at the
+capture of the Fort of Douaumont?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mortimer shook his head, laughing, and held up a deprecating hand.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Professional discretion, my dear fellow, professional discretion!&rdquo;
+he retorted. &ldquo;You know what it is!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Then lowering his voice, he added:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Between ourselves the less said about my connection with Master Willie
+the better. Our colleagues are already restless at what they consider my
+neglect of my professional work. They attribute it to the wiles of Nur-el-Din.
+They may if they like and I don&rsquo;t propose to disillusion them. You
+understand, Bellward?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+His voice was commanding and he bent his brows at Desmond, who hastened to
+protest that his discretion in the matter would be absolute.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+When they had had their coffee and Mortimer was contentedly puffing one of
+Bellward&rsquo;s excellent double Coronas, Desmond rose from the table.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;If you will excuse me a minute,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;I will just go
+across to the library and see if my housekeeper has put all in order for our
+guests!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Instantly Mortimer got up from the table.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;By all means,&rdquo; he said, and emptied his glass of brandy,
+&ldquo;so, I will come with you!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mortimer meant to stick to him, thought Desmond; that was evident. Then an idea
+struck him. Why should he not telephone in Mortimer&rsquo;s presence? To ask
+for Mr. Elias was in no way incriminating and if help came promptly, Mortimer
+could be secured and the other spies pounced upon in their turn as they
+arrived.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Therefore, as soon as they reached the library, Desmond walked over to the desk
+and picked up the telephone receiver from its hook.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Excuse me,&rdquo; he said to Mortimer, &ldquo;I had forgotten I had to
+ring up Stanning!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, dear,&rdquo; said Mortimer from his place on the hearth rug where he
+was warming his coat tails in front of the fire, &ldquo;isn&rsquo;t that
+unfortunate? I wish I had known! Tut, tut, how annoying for you!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The telephone seemed quite dead.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I don&rsquo;t understand!&rdquo; said Desmond to Mortimer.
+&ldquo;What&rsquo;s annoying?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The telephone, my dear Bellward,&rdquo;&mdash;Mortimer spoke in a
+pompous voice&mdash;&ldquo;the telephone is the symbol of the age in which we
+live, the age of publicity but also of indiscretion. It is almost as indiscreet
+to have a telephone in your house as to keep a diary. Therefore, in view of our
+little party here this evening, to prevent us from being disturbed in any way,
+I took the liberty of... of severing the connection... temporarily, mind you,
+only temporarily; it shall be restored as soon as we break up. I have some
+small acquaintance with electrical engineering.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Desmond was silent. Disappointment had deprived him for the moment of the power
+of speech. It was to be man to man then, after all. If he was to secure
+Mortimer and the rest of the gang that night, he must do it on his own. He
+could not hope for aid. The prospect did not affright him. If Mortimer could
+have seen the other&rsquo;s eyes at that moment he might have remarked a light
+dancing in them that was not solely of Messrs. Pommery and Gréno&rsquo;s
+manufacture.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;If I had known you wanted to use the instrument, my dear fellow,&rdquo;
+Mortimer continued in his bland voice, &ldquo;I should certainly have waited
+until you had done your business!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Pray don&rsquo;t mention it,&rdquo; replied Desmond, &ldquo;you do well
+to be prudent, Mr. Mortimer!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mortimer shot a sudden glance at him. Desmond met it with a frank, easy smile.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;m a devil for prudence myself!&rdquo; he observed brightly.
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap18"></a>CHAPTER XVIII.<br/>
+THE GATHERING OF THE SPIES</h2>
+
+<p>
+Action, or the promise of action, always acted on Desmond Okewood like a nerve
+tonic. His visit to the inn, followed by the fencing with Mortimer at dinner,
+had galvanized his nerves jaded with the inaction of the preceding days. He
+averted his eyes from the future, he put the past resolutely away. He bent his
+whole attention on the problem immediately before him&mdash;how to carry off
+the role of Bellward in front of four strangers, one of whom, at least, he
+thought, must know the man he was impersonating; how to extract as much
+information as possible about the gang and its organization before uncovering
+his hand; finally, how to overpower the four men and the one woman when the
+moment had come to strike.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mortimer and he were in the library. By Desmond&rsquo;s direction old Martha
+had put out two bridge tables and cards. A tantalus stand with siphons and
+glasses, an assortment of different colored liqueurs in handsome cut-glass
+carafes and some plates of sandwiches stood on a side-table. At
+Mortimer&rsquo;s suggestion Desmond had told the housekeeper that, once the
+guests had arrived, she might go to bed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The library was very still. There was no sound except for the solemn ticking of
+the clock on the mantelpiece or the occasional rustle of the evening paper in
+Mortimer&rsquo;s hand as he stood in front of the fire. Desmond was sitting on
+the settee, tranquilly smoking, studying Mortimer and thinking out the problem
+before him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He measured Mortimer with his eye. The latter was a bigger man than Desmond in
+every way and Desmond suspected that he was even stronger than he looked.
+Desmond wondered whether he should try and overpower him then and there. The
+other was almost certain to carry a revolver, he thought, while he was unarmed.
+Failure, he knew, would ruin everything. The gang would disperse to the four
+winds of heaven while as for Mr. Bellward&mdash;well, he would certainly be
+&ldquo;for it,&rdquo; as the soldiers say.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+No, he must hold his hand until the meeting had taken place. This was the first
+conference that Mortimer had summoned, and Desmond intended to see that it
+should be the last. But first he meant to find out all there was to know about
+the working of the gang.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He resolved to wait and see what the evening would bring forth. The telephone
+was &ldquo;a washout&rdquo;: the motor-cycle was now his only chance to summon
+aid for he knew it was hopeless to think of tackling single-handed odds of four
+to one (to say nothing of the lady in the case). It must be his business to
+<i>make</i> an opportunity to slip away on the motor-bike to Stanning. Ten
+minutes to get there, five minutes to deliver his message at the police station
+(if the Chief&rsquo;s people made their headquarters there), and ten minutes to
+get back if they had a car. Could he leave the meeting for 25 minutes without
+arousing suspicions? He doubted it; but it must be. There was no other way. And
+then with a shock that made him cold with fear he remembered Mortimer&rsquo;s
+motor-car.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+If, during his absence, anything occurred to arouse their suspicions, the whole
+crowd could pile into the car and be away long before Desmond could be back
+with help. The fog had lifted and it was a clear night outside. The car would
+have to be got rid of before he left the house, that was all about it. But how?
+A means to that end must also be discovered as the evening progressed. By the
+way, what had Mortimer done with his car?
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A very faint throbbing somewhere outside answered Desmond&rsquo;s unspoken
+question.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mortimer flung aside his paper.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Isn&rsquo;t that a car?&rdquo; he asked, &ldquo;that&rsquo;ll be they. I
+sent Max to Wentfield station to meet our friends!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+There was the sound of voices, of bustle in the hall. Then the door opened and
+a man came in. Desmond had a brief moment of acute suspense. Was he supposed to
+know him?
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He was a short, ugly fellow with immensely broad shoulders, a heavy puffy face,
+a gross, broad nose, and a tooth-brush moustache. He might have been a butcher
+to look at. In the top edge of his coat lapel, he wore a small black pin with a
+glass head.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, Max,&rdquo; said Mortimer. &ldquo;Have you brought them
+all?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The man was mustering Desmond with a suspicious, unfriendly stare.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;My friend, Bellward!&rdquo; said Mortimer, clapping Desmond on the
+shoulder. &ldquo;You&rsquo;ve heard of Bellward, Max!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And to Desmond&rsquo;s surprise he made some passes in the air.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The man&rsquo;s mien underwent a curious change. He became cringing; almost
+overawed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Reelly,&rdquo; he grunted, &ldquo;reelly now! You don&rsquo;t siy! Glad
+to know yer, mister, I&rsquo;m shore!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He spoke with a vile snuffing cockney accent, and thrust out his hand to
+Desmond. Then he added to Mortimer:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;There&rsquo;s three on &rsquo;em. That&rsquo;s the count, ain&rsquo;t
+it? I lef&rsquo; the car outside on the drive!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At this moment two more of the guests entered: One was a tall, emaciated
+looking man of about fifty who seemed to be in the last stages of consumption;
+the other a slightly built young fellow with a shock of black hair brushed back
+and an olive complexion. He wore pince-nez and looked like a Russian
+revolutionary. They, too, wore the badge of the brotherhood&mdash;the black pin
+in the coat lapel.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Goot efening, Mr. Mortimer,&rdquo; said the tall man in a guttural
+voice, &ldquo;this is Behrend&rdquo;&mdash;he indicated the young man by his
+side&mdash;&ldquo;you haft not meet him no?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Then, leaving Behrend to shake hands with Mortimer, he literally rushed at
+Desmond and shook him by the hand exactly as though he were working a pump
+handle.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;My tear Pellward,&rdquo; he cried, &ldquo;it is a hondred year since I
+haf see you, not? And how are the powers!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He lowered his voice and gazed mysteriously at him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Desmond, at a loss what to make of this extraordinary individual, answered at
+random:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The powers? Still fighting, I believe!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The tall man stared open-mouthed at him for a moment. Then, clapping his hands
+together, he burst into a high-pitched cackle of laughter.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;A joke,&rdquo; he yelled, &ldquo;a mos&rsquo; excellent joke! I must
+tell this to Minna. My vriend, I haf not mean the great Powers.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He looked dramatically about him, then whispered:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I mean, the oggult!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Desmond, who was now quite out of his depth, wagged his head solemnly at the
+other as though to indicate that, his occult powers were something not to be
+lightly mentioned. He had no fear of the tall man, at any rate. He placed
+<i>him</i> as a very ordinary German, a common type in the Fatherland,
+simple-minded, pedantic, inquisitive, and a prodigious bore withal but
+dangerous, for of this stuff German discipline kneads militarists.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But the door opened again to admit the last of the guests. A woman entered.
+Desmond was immediately struck by the contrast she presented to the others,
+Mortimer with his goggle eyes and untidy hair, Max, gross and bestial, Behrend,
+Oriental and shifty, and the scarecrow figure of the tall man.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Despite her age, which must have been nearly sixty, she still retained traces
+of beauty. Her features were very regular, and she had a pair of piercing black
+eyes of undimmed brightness. Her gray hair was tastefully arranged, and she
+wore a becoming black velvet gown with a black lace scarf thrown across the
+shoulders. A white silk rose was fastened to her bodice by a large black pin
+with a glass head.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Directly she appeared, the tall man shouted to her in German.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Sag&rsquo; mal, Minna...&rdquo; he began.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mortimer turned on him savagely.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Hold your tongue, No. 13,&rdquo; he cried, &ldquo;are you mad? What the
+devil do you mean by it? You know the rules!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+By way of reply, &ldquo;No. 13&rdquo; broke into a regular frenzy of coughing
+which left him gasping for breath.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Pardon! I haf&rsquo; forgot!&rdquo; he wheezed out between the spasms.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The woman went over to Mortimer and put out her gloved hand.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I am Mrs. Malplaquet,&rdquo; she said in a pleasant voice. &ldquo;And
+you are Mr. Mortimer, I think!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mortimer bowed low over her hand.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Madame, I am charmed to meet one of whom I have heard nothing but
+praise,&rdquo; he said.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Verry pretty!&rdquo; replied Mrs. Malplaquet smiling. &ldquo;They tell
+me you have a great way with the ladies, my dear sir!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But,&rdquo; she went on, &ldquo;I am neglecting our host, my dear Mr.
+Bellward. How are you, my friend? How well you are looking... so young... so
+fresh! I declare you seem to have got five years younger!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The keen black eyes searched Desmond&rsquo;s face. He felt horribly
+uncomfortable. The woman&rsquo;s eyes were like gimlets boring right into him.
+He suddenly felt that his disguise was a poor one. He remembered Crook&rsquo;s
+warning to be wary of women, and he inwardly quailed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I am so glad to meet you again!&rdquo; he murmured. He didn&rsquo;t like
+Mrs. Malplaquet&rsquo;s eyes. They assorted strangely with the rest of her
+gentle and refined appearance. They were hard and cruel, those black eyes. They
+put him in mind of a snake.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It is so long since I&rsquo;ve seen you,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;that
+positively your voice seems to have changed.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That&rsquo;s because I have a cold,&rdquo; said Desmond.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Fiddlesticks!&rdquo; retorted the lady, &ldquo;the <i>timbre</i> is
+quite different! Bellward, I believe you&rsquo;re in love! Don&rsquo;t tell me
+you&rsquo;ve been running after that hank of hair that Mortimer is so devoted
+to!&rdquo; She glanced in Mortimer&rsquo;s direction, but that gentleman was
+engaged in earnest conversation with Behrend and the tall man.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Whom do you meant&rdquo; asked Desmond.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Where are your eyes, man?&rdquo; rapped out Mrs. Malplaquet. &ldquo;The
+dancer woman, of course, Nur-el-what-do-you-call-it. There&rsquo;s the devil of
+a row brewing about the way our friend over there is neglecting us to run after
+the minx. They&rsquo;re getting sharp in this country,
+Bellward&mdash;I&rsquo;ve lived here for forty years so I know what I&rsquo;m
+talking about&mdash;and we can&rsquo;t afford to play any tricks. Mortimer will
+finish by bringing destruction on every one of us. And I shall tell him so
+tonight. And so will No. 13! And so will young Behrend! You ought to hear
+Behrend about it!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mrs. Malplaquet began to interest Desmond. She was obviously a woman of
+refinement, and he was surprised to find her in this odd company. By dint of
+careful questioning, he ascertained the fact that she lived in London, at a
+house on Campden Hill. She seemed to know a good many officers, particularly
+naval men.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;ve been keeping my eyes open as I promised, Bellward,&rdquo; she
+said, &ldquo;and I believe I&rsquo;ve got hold of a likely subject for
+you&mdash;a submarine commander he is, and very psychic. When will you come and
+meet him at my house?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mortimer&rsquo;s voice, rising above the buzz of conversation, checked his
+reply.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;If you will all sit down,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;we&rsquo;ll get down to
+business.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Despite all distractions, Desmond had been watching for this summons. He had
+marked down for himself a chair close to the door. For this he now made, after
+escorting Mrs. Malplaquet to the settee where she sat down beside Behrend. Max
+took the armchair on the left of the fireplace; while No. 13 perched himself
+grotesquely on a high music-stool, his long legs curled round the foot.
+Mortimer stood in his former position on the hearth, his back to the fire.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A very odd-looking band! Desmond commented to himself but he thought he could
+detect in each of the spies a certain ruthless fanaticism which experience
+taught him to respect as highly dangerous. And they all had hard eyes!
+</p>
+
+<p>
+When they were seated, Mortimer said:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;About the 14th of this month the British Admiralty will begin the work
+of shipping to France ten divisions of American troops now training in this
+country. The most extraordinary precautions are being taken to complete this
+huge undertaking with success. It seems to me that the moment has come for us
+to demonstrate the efficiency of our new organization.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He looked round at his audience but no one said a word. Desmond felt very
+distinctly that there was a hostile atmosphere against Mortimer in that room.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I asked you to come here to-night,&rdquo; Mortimer went on, &ldquo;to
+discuss the plans for sending prompt and accurate information regarding the
+movements of these transports to the other side. I warn you that this time our
+mode of procedure will have to be radically different from the methods we have
+pursued on former occasions. To expend our energies in collecting information
+at half a dozen different ports of war will be waste of time. The direction of
+the whole of this enterprise lies in the hands of one man at the
+Admiralty.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Behrend, who had struck Desmond as a rather taciturn young man, shook his head
+dubiously.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That makes things very difficult,&rdquo; he remarked.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Wait,&rdquo; replied Mortimer. &ldquo;I agree, it is very difficult, the
+more so as I have reason to believe that the authorities have discovered the
+existence of our organization.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mrs. Malplaquet and Behrend turned to one another simultaneously.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What did I say?&rdquo; said Behrend.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I told you so,&rdquo; said the lady.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Therefore,&rdquo; Mortimer resumed, &ldquo;our former activities on the
+coast will practically be paralyzed. We shall have to confine our operations to
+London while Max and Mr. Behrend here will be entrusted with the task of
+getting the news out to our submarines.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+No. 13 broke in excitedly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Vork in London, vork in London!&rdquo; he cried. &ldquo;It is too
+dangerous, my vriend. Vot do I know of London? Portsmouth&rdquo; (he called it
+Portsmouse), &ldquo;Sout&rsquo;ampton, the Isle of Vight... good... it is my
+province. But, London... it is senseless!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mortimer turned his gig-lamps on the interrupter.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You will take your orders from me as before,&rdquo; he said quietly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Behrend adjusted his pince-nez.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No. 13 is perfectly right,&rdquo; he remarked, &ldquo;he knows his
+territory, and he should be allowed to work there.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You, too,&rdquo; Mortimer observed in the same calm tone as before,
+&ldquo;will take your orders from me!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+With a quick gesture the young man dashed his long black hair out of his eyes.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Maybe,&rdquo; he replied, &ldquo;but only as long as I feel sure that
+your orders are worth following.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Do you dare...&rdquo; began Mortimer, shouting.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;... At present,&rdquo; the other continued, as though Mortimer had not
+spoken. &ldquo;I don&rsquo;t feel at all sure that they are.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The atmosphere was getting a trifle heated, thought Desmond. If he judged
+Mortimer aright, he was not the man to let himself be dictated to by anybody.
+He was wondering how the scene would end when suddenly something caught his eye
+that took his mind right away from the events going forward in the room.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Opposite him, across the library, was a French window across which the curtains
+had been drawn. One of the curtains, however, had got looped up on a chair so
+that there was a gap at the bottom of the window showing the pane.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+In this gap was a face pressed up against the glass. To his astonishment
+Desmond recognized the weather-beaten features of the odd man, Mr. John Hill.
+The face remained there only for a brief instant. The next moment it was gone
+and Desmond&rsquo;s attention was once more claimed by the progress of the
+conference.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Do I understand that you refuse to serve under me any longer?&rdquo;
+Mortimer was saying to Behrend, who had risen from the settee and stood facing
+him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;As long as you continue to behave as you are doing at present,&rdquo;
+replied the other, &ldquo;you may understand that!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mortimer made a quick dive for his pocket. In an instant Max had jumped at him
+and caught his arm.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Don&rsquo;t be a fool!&rdquo; he cried, &ldquo;for Gawd&rsquo;s sake,
+put it away, carn&rsquo;t yer? D &rsquo;you want the &rsquo;ole ruddy plice
+abart our ears?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll have no disobedience of orders,&rdquo; roared Mortimer,
+struggling with the other. In his fist he had a big automatic pistol. It was a
+prodigious weapon, the largest pistol that Desmond had ever seen.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;He threatened him, he threatened him!&rdquo; screamed No. 13 jumping
+about on his stool.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Take it away from him, Max, for Heaven&rsquo;s sake!&rdquo; cried the
+lady.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Everybody was talking at once. The noise was so loud that Desmond wondered
+whether old Martha would hear the din. He sat in his chair by the door, a
+silent witness of the scene. Then suddenly, at the height of the hubbub, he
+heard the faint humming of a motor-car. It lasted for perhaps thirty seconds,
+then gradually died away.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What did it mean?&rdquo; he asked himself. The only living being he knew
+of outside was John Hill, the odd man, whose face he had just seen; the only
+car was Mortimer&rsquo;s. Had the odd man gone off in Mortimer&rsquo;s car? He
+was thankful to note that, in the din, none save him seemed to have heard the
+car.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+By this time Mortimer had put up his pistol and Mrs. Malplaquet was speaking.
+Her remarks were effective and very much to the point. She upbraided Mortimer
+with his long and mysterious absences which she attributed to his infatuation
+for Nur-el-Din and complained bitterly of the dancer&rsquo;s imprudence in
+consorting openly with notorious folk like Lazarro and Bryan Mowbury.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I went to the girl myself,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;and begged her to be
+more circumspect. But Madame would not listen to advice; Madame was doubtless
+sure of her position with our revered leader, and thought she could reject the
+friendly counsel of one old enough to be her mother. Behrend and Max and No. 13
+there&mdash;all of us&mdash;are absolutely agreed that we are not going on with
+this sort of thing any longer. If you are to remain in charge of our
+organization, Mr. Mortimer, we want to know where you are to be found and how
+you spend your time. In short, we want to be sure that you are not playing a
+game that most of us have at different times played on subordinate agents... I
+mean, that when the crisis comes, we fall into the trap and <i>you</i> walk
+away. You had better realize once and for all that we are too old hands for
+that sort of trick.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Here Max took up the thread. &ldquo;Mrs. Malplaquet had put it very strite, so
+she &rsquo;ad, and wot he wanted to know was what Mortimer &rsquo;ad to
+siy?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mortimer was very suave in his reply; a bad sign, thought Desmond, for it
+indicated that he was not sure of himself. He was rather vague, spoke about a
+vitally important mission that he had had to fulfil but which he had now
+brought to a successful conclusion, so that he was at length free to devote his
+whole attention once more to the great task in hand.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Behrend brought his fist crashing down on the arm of the settee.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Words, words,&rdquo; he cried, &ldquo;it won&rsquo;t do for me.
+Isn&rsquo;t there a man in the room besides me? You, Bellward, or you, Max, or
+you, No.13? Haven&rsquo;t you got any guts any of you? Are you going to sit
+here and listen to the soft soap of a fellow who has probably sent better men
+than himself to their death with tripe of this kind? It may do for you, but by
+the Lord, it won&rsquo;t do for me!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mortimer cleared his throat uneasily.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Our host is silent,&rdquo; said Mrs. Malplaquet, &ldquo;what does Mr.
+Bellward think about it?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Desmond spoke up promptly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I think it would be very interesting to hear something further about
+this mission of Mortimer&rsquo;s,&rdquo; he observed:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mortimer cast him a glance of bitter malice.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well,&rdquo; he said, after a pause, &ldquo;you force my hand. I shall
+tell you of this mission of mine and I shall show you the evidence, because it
+seems essential in the interests of our organization. But I assure you I shall
+not forget this want of confidence you have shown in me; and I shall see that
+you don&rsquo;t forget it, either!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+As he spoke, he glared fiercely at Desmond through his glasses.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Let&rsquo;s hear about the precious mission,&rdquo; jeered Behrend,
+&ldquo;let&rsquo;s see the evidence. The threats&rsquo;ll keep!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Then Mortimer told them of how the Star of Poland came into Nur-el-Din&rsquo;s
+possession, and of the Crown Prince&rsquo;s embarrassment when the German
+authorities claimed it for the regalia of the new Kingdom of Poland.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The Crown Prince,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;summoned me to him in person
+and gave me the order to make my way to England immediately and recover the gem
+at all costs and by any means. Did I whine or snivel about being sent to my
+death as some of you were doing just now? No! That is not the way of the
+Prussian Guard...&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The Prussian Guard?&rdquo; cried No. 13 in an awed voice. &ldquo;Are you
+also of the Prussian Guard, comrade?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He had risen from his seat and there was something almost of majesty about his
+thin, ungainly figure as he drew himself to his full height.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Ay, comrade, I was,&rdquo; replied Mortimer.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Then,&rdquo; cried No. 13, &ldquo;you are...&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No names, comrade,&rdquo; warned Mortimer, &ldquo;no names, I
+beg!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No names, no names!&rdquo; repeated the other and relapsed into his seat
+in a reverie.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;How I got to England,&rdquo; Mortimer continued, &ldquo;matters nothing;
+how I fulfilled my mission is neither here nor there. But I recovered the gem
+and the proof...&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He thrust a hand into the inner pocket of his coat and plucked out a white
+paper package sealed up with broad red seals.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Desmond held his breath. It was the white paper package, exactly as Barbara had
+described.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Look at it well, Behrend,&rdquo; said Mortimer, holding it up for the
+young man to see, &ldquo;it cost me a man&rsquo;s life to get that. If it had
+sent twenty men to their death, I should have had it just the same!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mrs. Malplaquet clapped her hands, her eyes shining.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Bravo, bravo!&rdquo; she exclaimed, &ldquo;that&rsquo;s the spirit!
+That&rsquo;s the way to talk, Mortimer!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Cut it out,&rdquo; snarled Behrend, &ldquo;and let&rsquo;s see the
+goods!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+All had left their seats and were gathered in a group about Mortimer as he
+began to break the gleaming red wag seals. One by one he burst them, the white
+paper slipped off and disclosed... a box of cigarettes.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mortimer stood gazing in stupefaction at the gaudy green and gold lettering of
+the box. Then, running his thumb-nail swiftly along the edge of the box, he
+broke the paper wrapping, the box burst open and a shower of cigarettes fell to
+the ground.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;So that&rsquo;s your Star of Poland, is it?&rdquo; cried Behrend in a
+mocking voice.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Wot &rsquo;ave yer done wiv&rsquo; the sparklers, eh?&rdquo; demanded
+Max, catching Mortimer roughly by the arm.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But Mortimer stood, aimlessly shaking the empty box in front of him, as though
+to convince himself that the gem was not there. Behrend fell on his knees and
+raked the pile of cigarettes over and over with his fingers.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Nothing there!&rdquo; he shouted angrily, springing to his feet.
+&ldquo;It&rsquo;s all bluff! He&rsquo;s bluffing to the end! See, he
+doesn&rsquo;t even attempt to find his famous jewel! He knows it isn&rsquo;t
+there!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But Mortimer paid no heed. He was staring straight in front of him, a strangely
+woe-begone figure with his thatch of untidy hair and round goggle eyes. Then
+the cigarette box fell to the floor with a crash as Mortimer&rsquo;s hands
+dropped, with, a hopeless gesture, to his sides.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Barbara Mackwayte!&rdquo; he whispered in a low voice, not seeming to
+realize that he was speaking aloud, &ldquo;so that&rsquo;s what she wanted with
+Nur-el-Din!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Desmond was standing at Mortimer&rsquo;s elbow and caught the whisper. As he
+heard Mortimer speak Barbara&rsquo;s name, he had a sudden premonition that his
+own unmasking was imminent, though he understood as little of the purport of
+the other&rsquo;s remark as of the pile of cigarettes lying on the carpet. As
+Mortimer turned to look at him, Desmond nerved himself to meet the
+latter&rsquo;s gaze. But Mortimer&rsquo;s face wore the look of a desperate
+man. There was no recognition in his eyes.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Not so with Desmond. Perhaps the bitterness of his disappointment had made
+Mortimer careless, perhaps the way in which he had pronounced Barbara&rsquo;s
+name struck a familiar chord in Desmond&rsquo;s memory. The unkempt hair
+brushed down across the forehead, the thick glasses, the heavy moustache still
+formed together an impenetrable mask which Desmond&rsquo;s eyes failed to
+pierce. But now he recalled the voice. As Mortimer looked at him, the truth
+dawned on Desmond and he knew that the man standing beside him was Maurice
+Strangwise, his comrade-in-arms in France.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At that very moment a loud crash rang through the room, a cold blast of damp
+air came rushing in and the lamp on the table flared up wildly, flickered an
+instant and went out, leaving the room in darkness save for the glow of the
+fire.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A deep voice cried:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;May I ask what you are all doing in my house?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The secret door of the bookshelves had swung back and there, framed in the
+gaping void, Desmond saw the dark figure of a man.
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap19"></a>CHAPTER XIX.<br/>
+THE UNINVITED GUEST</h2>
+
+<p>
+There are moments in life when the need for prompt action is so urgent that
+thought, decision and action must be as one operation of the brain. In the
+general consternation following on the dramatic appearance of this uninvited
+guest, Desmond had a brief respite in which to think over his position.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Should he make a dash for it or stay where he was and await developments?
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Without a second&rsquo;s hesitation; he decided on the latter course. With the
+overpowering odds against him it was more than doubtful whether he could ever
+reach the library door. Besides, to go was to abandon absolutely all hope of
+capturing the gang; for his flight would warn the conspirators that the game
+was up. On the other hand, the new-comer might be an ally, perhaps an emissary
+of the Chief&rsquo;s. The strange behavior of the odd man had shown that
+something was afoot outside of which those in the library were unaware. Was the
+uninvited guest the <i>deus ex machina</i> who was to help him, Desmond, out of
+his present perilous fix?
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Meanwhile the stranger had stepped into the room, drawing the secret door to
+behind him. Desmond heard his heavy step and the dull thud of the partition
+swinging into place. The sound seemed to break the spell that hung over the
+room.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mortimer was the first to recover his presence of mind. Crying out to No. 13 to
+lock the door leading into the hall, he fumbled for a moment at the table.
+Desmond caught the noise of a match being scratched and the next moment the
+library was again bathed in the soft radiance of the lamp.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Picking up the light, Mortimer strode across to the stranger.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What do <i>you</i> want here&rdquo; he demanded fiercely, &ldquo;and who
+the devil...&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He broke off without completing his sentence, drawing back in amazement. For
+the rays of the lamp fell upon the pale face of a stoutish, bearded man,
+veering towards middle age standing in front of Mortimer. And the face was the
+face of the stoutish, bearded man, veering towards middle age, who stood in the
+shadow a few paces <i>behind</i> Mortimer. Each man was a complete replica of
+the other, save that the face of the new arrival was thin and haggard with that
+yellowish tinge which comes from long confinement.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+As Mortimer staggered back, the uninvited guest recoiled in his turn. He was
+staring fixedly across the room at his double who met his gaze firmly, erect,
+tense, silent. The others looked in sheer stupefaction from one to the other of
+the two Mr. Bellwards. For nearly a minute the only sound in the room was the
+deep ticking of the clock, counting away the seconds separating him from
+eternity, Desmond thought.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It was Mrs. Malplaquet who broke the silence. Suddenly her nerves snapped under
+the strain, and she screamed aloud.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;A&mdash;ah!&rdquo; she cried, &ldquo;look! There are two of them! No,
+no, it can&rsquo;t be!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And she sank half fainting on the sofa.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Behrend whipped out a pistol from his hip pocket and thrust it in
+Mortimer&rsquo;s face.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Is this another of your infernal surprise packets?&rdquo; he demanded
+fiercely.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+All the spies seemed on a sudden to be armed, Desmond noted, all, that is, save
+Mrs. Malplaquet who lay cowering on the settee. Mortimer had pulled out his
+super-Mauser; No. 13, who was guarding the door, had a revolver in his hand,
+and Behrend, as has been stated, was threatening Mortimer with his Browning.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Now Max advanced threateningly into the room, a long seaman&rsquo;s knife in
+his hand..
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Put that blarsted shooting-iron awiy!&rdquo; he snarled at Mortimer,
+&ldquo;and tell us wot&rsquo;s the little gime, will yer! Come on,
+egpline!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+With absolute self-possession Mortimer turned from the stranger to Desmond.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I think it is up to the twins to explain,&rdquo; he said almost
+nonchalantly, &ldquo;suppose we hear what this gentleman, who arrived so
+surprisingly through the book-shelves, has to say?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Though threatened with danger from two sides, from the gang and possibly, as
+far as he knew, from the stranger, Mortimer was perfectly calm. Desmond never
+admired Maurice Strangwise more than in that moment. All eyes now turned
+questioningly towards the new arrival. As for Desmond he drew back as far as he
+dared into the shadow. He knew he was in the direst peril; but he was not
+afraid for himself. He was crushed to the ground by the sickening feeling that
+he was going to be beaten, that the gang were going to slip through his fingers
+after all... and he was powerless to prevent it.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He guessed at once what had happened. Bellward must have escaped from custody;
+for there was no disguise about this pale, flustered creature who had the cowed
+look of a hunted man in his eyes. He must have come to the Mill House to get
+his motorcycle; for he surely would have known that the villa would be the
+first place to which the police would follow him up.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Desmond saw a little ray of hope. If&mdash;it was a very big
+if&mdash;Bellward&rsquo;s flight were discovered promptly, the police might be
+expected to reach the Mill House very soon behind him. Bellward must have come
+straight there; for he had not even taken the very elementary precaution of
+shaving off his beard. That made Desmond think that he must have escaped some
+time that evening after the barbers&rsquo; shops were closed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+With thumping heart, with bated breath, he waited for what was to come. In a
+very little while, he told himself, the truth must come out. His only chance
+was to try and bluff his way out of this appalling dilemma and above all, at
+all costs&mdash;this was the essential fact which, he told himself, he must
+keep steadfastly before his eyes&mdash;not to lose sight of Mortimer whatever
+happened.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Bellward&rsquo;s voice&mdash;and its tones showed Desmond what an accomplished
+mime Crook had been&mdash;broke the silence.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I have nothing to explain,&rdquo; he said, turning from the sofa where
+he had been exchanging a few words in an undertone with Mrs. Malplaquet,
+&ldquo;this is my house. That is sufficient explanation for my presence here, I
+imagine. But I confess I am curious to know what this person&rdquo;&mdash;he
+indicated Desmond&mdash;&ldquo;is doing in <i>my</i> clothes, if I mistake not,
+giving what I take to be a very successful impersonation of myself.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Then Desmond stepped boldly out of the shadow into the circle of light thrown
+by the lamp.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I don&rsquo;t know what you all think,&rdquo; he said firmly, &ldquo;but
+it seems to me singularly unwise for us to stand here gossiping when there is a
+stranger amongst us. I fail to understand the motive of this gentleman in
+breaking into <i>my</i> house by <i>my</i> private door, wearing <i>my</i>
+clothes, if I am to believe my eyes; but I clearly realize the danger of
+admitting strangers to a gathering of this kind.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Quite right,&rdquo; agreed Behrend, nodding his head in assent.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You have had one singular surprise to-night already,&rdquo; Desmond
+resumed, &ldquo;in the matter of the jewel which our respected leader was about
+to show us: if you recollect, our friend was only prevented from giving us the
+explanation which he certainly owed us over his little hoax by the arrival, the
+most timely arrival, of his confederate...&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Confederate?&rdquo; shouted Mortimer, &ldquo;what the devil do you mean
+by that?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes, confederate,&rdquo; Desmond repeated. &ldquo;Max, Behrend, Mrs.
+Malplaquet, all of you, look at this wretched fellow&rdquo;&mdash;he pointed a
+finger of scorn at Bellward&mdash;&ldquo;trembling with fright at the role that
+has been thrust upon him, to force his way into our midst, to give his
+accomplice the tip to clear out before the police arrive.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Stop!&rdquo; exclaimed Mortimer, raising his pistol. Behrend caught his
+hand.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;We&rsquo;ll hear <i>you</i> in a minute!&rdquo; he said.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Let him finish!&rdquo; said Mrs. Malplaquet, and there was a certain
+ominous quietness in her tone that startled Desmond.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+As for Bellward, he remained silent, with arms folded, listening very intently.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Doubtless, this double of mine,&rdquo; continued Desmond in a mocking
+voice, &ldquo;is the bearer of the Star of Poland, the wonderful jewel which
+has required our beloved leader to devote so much of his time to a certain
+charming lady. Bah! are you going to let a man like this,&rdquo; and he pointed
+to Mortimer disdainfully with his hand, &ldquo;a man who puts you in the
+fighting line while he amuses himself in the rear, are you going to let this
+false friend, this bogus spy, cheat you like this? My friends, my advice to
+you, if you don&rsquo;t want to have another and yet more disagreeable
+surprise, is to make sure that this impudent imposter is not here for the
+purpose of selling us all!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He raised his voice until it rang through the room, at the same time looking
+round the group at the faces of the spies to see how his harangue had worked
+upon their feelings. Max and Behrend, he could see, were on his side; No. 13
+was obviously, undecided; Mortimer and Bellward were, of course, against him;
+Mrs. Malplaquet sat with her hands in her lap, her eyes cast down, giving no
+sign.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It&rsquo;s high time...&rdquo; Mortimer began violently but Mrs.
+Malplaquet put up her hand and checked him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Better hear Bellward!&rdquo; she said softly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I know nothing of what has been taking place in my absence,&rdquo; he
+said, &ldquo;either here or outside. I only know that I escaped from the escort
+that was taking me back from Scotland Yard to Brixton Prison this evening and
+that the police are hard on my track. I have delayed too long as, it is. Every
+one of us in this room, with the exception of the traitor who is amongst
+us&rdquo;&mdash;he pointed a finger in denunciation at Desmond&mdash;&ldquo;is
+in the most imminent peril as long as we stay here. The rest of you can please
+yourselves. I&rsquo;m off!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He turned and pressed the spring. The book shelves swung open. Behrend sprang
+forward.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Not so fast,&rdquo; he cried. &ldquo;You don&rsquo;t leave this room
+until we know who you are!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And he covered him with his pistol.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Fool!&rdquo; exclaimed Bellward who had stopped on the threshold of the
+secret door, &ldquo;do you want to trap the lot of us! Tell him, Minna,&rdquo;
+he said to Mrs. Malplaquet, &ldquo;and for Heaven&rsquo;s sake, let us be
+gone!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mrs. Malplaquet stood up.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;This is Basil Bellward,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;see, he&rsquo;s wearing
+the ring I gave him, a gold snake with emerald eyes! And now,&rdquo; she cried,
+raising her voice shrilly, &ldquo;before we go, kill that man!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And she pointed at Desmond.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Bellward had seized her by the arm and was dragging her through the opening in
+the shed when a shrill whistle resounded from the garden. Without any warning
+Mortimer swung round and fired point-blank at Desmond. But Desmond had stooped
+to spring at the other and the bullet went over his head. With ears singing
+from the deafening report of the pistol in the confined space, with the acrid
+smell of cordite in his nostrils, Desmond leapt at Mortimer&rsquo;s throat,
+hoping to bear him to the ground before he could shoot again. As he sprang he
+heard the crash of glass and a loud report. Someone cried out sharply
+&ldquo;Oh!&rdquo; as though in surprise and fell prone between him and his
+quarry; then he stumbled and at the same time received a crashing blow on the
+head. Without a sound he dropped to the ground across a body that twitched a
+little and then lay still.
+</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p>
+Somewhere in the far, far distance Desmond heard a woman crying&mdash;long
+drawn-out wailing lamentations on a high, quavering note. He had a dull, hard
+pain in his head which felt curiously stiff. Drowsily he listened for a time to
+the woman&rsquo;s sobbing, so tired, so curiously faint that he scarcely cared
+to wonder what it signified. But at last it grated on him by its insistency and
+he opened his eyes to learn the cause of it.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+His bewildered gaze fell upon what seemed to him a gigantic, ogre-like face, as
+huge, as grotesque, as a pantomime mask. Beside it was a light, a brilliant
+light, that hurt his eyes.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Then a voice, as faint as a voice on a long distance telephone, said:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, how are you feeling?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The voice was so remote that Desmond paid no attention to it. But he was rather
+surprised to hear a voice reply, a voice that came from his own lips, curiously
+enough:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Fine!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+So he opened his eyes again to ascertain the meaning of this phenomenon. This
+time the ogre-like face came into focus, and Desmond saw a man with a tumbler
+in his hand bending over him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That&rsquo;s right,&rdquo; said the man, looking very intently at him,
+&ldquo;feel a bit better, eh? Got a bit of a crack, what? Just take a mouthful
+of brandy... I&rsquo;ve got it here!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Desmond obediently swallowed the contents of the glass that the other held to
+his lips. He was feeling horribly weak, and very cold. His collar and shirt
+were unbuttoned, and his neck and shoulders were sopping wet with water. On his
+ears still fell the wailing of the woman.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Corporal,&rdquo; said the man bending over him, &ldquo;just go and tell
+that old hag to hold her noise! She&rsquo;ll have to go out of the house if she
+can&rsquo;t be quiet!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Desmond opened his eyes again. He was lying on the settee in the library. A
+tall figure in khaki, who had been stirring the fire with his boot, turned at
+the doctor&rsquo;s summons and left the room. On the table the lamp was still
+burning but its rays were neutralized by the glare of a crimson dawn which
+Desmond could see flushing the sky through the shattered panes of the French
+window. In the centre of the floor lay a long object covered by a tablecloth,
+beside it a table overturned with a litter of broken glass strewn about the
+carpet.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The woman&rsquo;s sobbing ceased. The corporal came back into the room.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;She&rsquo;ll be quiet now, sir,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;I told her to get
+you and the gentlemen a cup o&rsquo; tea.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Then, to Desmond, he said:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Nasty ding you got, sir! My word, I thought they&rsquo;d done for you
+when I come in at the winder!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The telephone on the desk tingled sharply. The door opened at the same moment
+and a shabby little old man with sandy side whiskers and moleskin trousers came
+briskly in.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+His appearance had a curious effect on the patient on the settee. Despite the
+doctor&rsquo;s restraining hand, he struggled into a sitting position, staring
+in bewilderment at the shabby old man who had gone straight to the telephone
+and lifted the receiver. And well might Desmond stare; for here was Mr. John
+Hill, the odd man, talking on the telephone. And his voice...
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well?&rdquo; said the man at the telephone, curtly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes, speaking. You&rsquo;ve got her, eh? Good. What&rsquo;s that? Well,
+that&rsquo;s something. No trace of the others? Damn!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He slammed down the receiver and turned to face the settee.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Francis!&rdquo; cried Desmond.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And then he did a thing highly unbecoming in a field officer. He burst into
+tears.
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap20"></a>CHAPTER XX.<br/>
+THE ODD MAN</h2>
+
+<p>
+Desmond and Francis Okewood sat in the dining-room of the Mill House finishing
+an excellent breakfast of ham and eggs and coffee which old Martha had prepared
+for them.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Francis was still wearing Mr. John Hill&rsquo;s greasy jacket and moleskins,
+but the removal of the sandy whiskers and a remarkable wig, consisting of a
+bald pate with a fringe of reddish hair, had gone far to restore him to the
+semblance of his former self.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Desmond was feeling a good deal better. His head had escaped the full force of
+the smashing blow dealt at him by Strangwise with the butt of his pistol. He
+had instinctively put up his arm to defend his face and the thickly padded
+sleeve of Bellward&rsquo;s jacket had broken the force of the blow. Desmond had
+avoided a fractured skull at the price of an appalling bruise on the right
+forearm and a nasty laceration of the scalp.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Francis had resolutely declined to enlighten him as to the events of the night
+until both had breakfasted. After despatching the corporal of military police
+to hurry the housekeeper on with the breakfast, Francis had taken his brother
+straight to the dining-room, refusing to let him ask the questions which
+thronged his brain until they had eaten and drunk. Only when all the ham and
+eggs had disappeared, did Francis, lighting one of Mr. Bellward&rsquo;s cigars,
+consent to satisfy his brother&rsquo;s curiosity.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It was only yesterday morning,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;that I landed at
+Folkstone from the Continent. How I got the Chief&rsquo;s message recalling me
+and how I made my escape through the Turkish lines to Allenby&rsquo;s
+headquarters is a long story which will keep. The Chief had a car waiting for
+me at Folkstone and I reached London in time to lunch with him. We had a long
+talk and he gave me carte blanche to jump into this business now, when and
+where I thought I could best help you.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Desmond smiled bitterly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The Chief couldn&rsquo;t trust me to make good on my own, I
+suppose,&rdquo; he said.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The Chief had a very good idea of the character of the people you had to
+deal with, Des.,&rdquo; retorted Francis, &ldquo;and he was a trifle
+apprehensive that the role you were playing might lead to complications,
+supposing the gang were to see through your impersonation. He&rsquo;s a
+wonderful man, that, Des., and he was dead right&mdash;as he always is.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But how?&rdquo; asked Desmond. &ldquo;Did the crowd spot me?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No,&rdquo; answered the other; &ldquo;but it was your disguise which was
+responsible for the escape of Strangwise&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What?&rdquo; cried Desmond. &ldquo;He&rsquo;s escaped after all!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Francis nodded.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;got clear away and left no trace. Wait a
+minute and you shall hear! When I have told my story, you shall tell yours and
+between us, we&rsquo;ll piece things together!
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, when I left the Chief yesterday, I came down here. The description
+of Mr. John Hill, your odd man, rather tickled my fancy. I wanted badly to get
+at you for a quiet chat and it seemed to me that if I could borrow Mr.
+Hill&rsquo;s appearance for a few hours now and then I might gain access to you
+without rousing any suspicion. You see, I knew that old Hill left here about
+dusk every afternoon, so I guessed the coast would be clear.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Clarkson&rsquo;s fitted me out with the duds and the make-up and I got
+down to Wentfield by half-past six. The fog was so infernally thick that it
+took me more than an hour to get here on foot. It must have been close on eight
+o&rsquo;clock when I pushed open your front gate. I thought of going boldly
+into the kitchen and asking for you, but, fortunately, I decided to have a
+preliminary prowl round the place. Through a chink in the curtains of the
+library I saw you and a stranger talking together. The stranger was quite
+unknown to me; but one thing about him I spotted right off. I saw that he was
+disguised; so I decided to hang about a bit and await developments.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I loafed around in the fog for about half an hour. Then I heard a car
+coming up the drive. I hid myself in the rhododendron bush opposite the front
+door and saw two men and a woman get out. They hurried into the house, so that
+I didn&rsquo;t have a chance of seeing their faces. But I got a good, glimpse
+of the chauffeur as he bent down to turn out the headlights. And, yes, I knew
+him!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Max, they called him,&rdquo; said Desmond.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;His name was Mirsky when last I saw him,&rdquo; answered Francis,
+&ldquo;and mine was Apfelbaum, if you want to know. He was a German agent in
+Russia and as ruthless and unscrupulous a rascal as you&rsquo;ll find anywhere
+in the German service. I must say I never thought he&rsquo;d have the nerve to
+show his face in this country, though I believe he&rsquo;s a Whitechapel Jew
+born and bred. However, there he was and the sight of his ugly mug told me that
+something was doing. But like a fool I decided to hang on a bit and watch,
+instead of going right off in that car and fetching help from Stanning.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It was just as well you waited,&rdquo; said Desmond, &ldquo;for if
+you&rsquo;d gone off at once they must have heard the car and the fat would
+have been in the fire straight away!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And he told Francis of the loud dispute among the confederates in the library,
+the noise of which had effectually covered the sound of the departing ear.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Francis laughed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;From my observation post outside,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;I could only
+see you, Des, and that blackguard, Mug, as you two were sitting opposite the
+window. I couldn&rsquo;t see more than the feet of the others. But your face
+told me the loud voices which reached me even outside meant that a crisis of
+some sort was approaching, so I thought it was time to be up and doing. So I
+sneaked round to the front of the house, got the engine of the car going and
+started off down the drive.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I had the very devil of a job to get to Stanning. Ever since
+you&rsquo;ve been down here, the Chief has had special men on duty day and
+night at the police-station there. I didn&rsquo;t dare stop to light the
+head-lamps and as a result the first thing I did was to charge the front gate
+and get the back wheel so thoroughly jammed that it took me the best part of
+twenty minutes to get the blooming car clear. When at last I got to the
+station, I found that Matthews, the Chief&rsquo;s man, you know, had just
+arrived by car from London with a lot of plain-clothes men and some military
+police. He was in the very devil of a stew. He told me that Bellward had
+escaped, that the Chief was out of town for the night and ungetatable, and that
+he (Matthews) had come down on his own to prevent the gaff being blown on you
+and also to recapture Mr. Bellward if he should be mad enough to make for his
+old quarters.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I told Matthews of the situation up at the Mill House. Neither of us was
+able to understand why you had not telephoned for assistance&mdash;we only
+discovered later that the telephone had been disconnected&mdash;but I went bail
+that you were up against a very stiff proposition. I told Matthews that, by
+surrounding the house, we might capture the whole gang.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Matthews is a cautious cuss and he wanted a good deal of persuading, so
+we lost a lot of time. In the end, he wouldn&rsquo;t take my advice to rush
+every available man to the scene, but only consented to take two plainclothes
+men and two military police. He was so precious afraid of upsetting your
+arrangements. The Chief, it appears, had warned everybody against doing that.
+So we all piled into the car and I drove them back to the Mill House.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;This time I left the car at the front gate and we went up to the house
+on foot. We had arranged that Matthews and one of the military police, both
+armed, should stay and guard the car, while the two plainclothes men and the
+other military policeman, the corporal here, should accompany me to the house.
+Matthews believed my yarn that we were only going to &lsquo;investigate.&rsquo;
+What I intended to do in reality was to round up the whole blessed lot.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I put one of the plain-clothes men on the front door and the other round
+at the back of the house. Their orders were to stop anybody who came out and at
+the same time to whistle for assistance. The corporal and I went to our old
+observation post outside the library window.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The moment I glanced into the room I knew that matters had reached a
+climax. I saw you&mdash;looking pretty blue, old man&mdash;facing that woman
+who seemed to be denouncing you. Max stood beside you with a pistol, and beside
+him was our friend, Mortimer, with a regular whopper of an automatic. Before I
+had time to move, the plain-clothes man at the back of the house whistled. He
+had found the secret door with Bellward and the woman coming out of it.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Then I saw Mortimer fire point-blank at you. I had my gun out in a
+second, but I was afraid of shooting, for fear of hitting you as you went for
+the other man.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But the corporal at my side wasn&rsquo;t worrying much about you. Just
+as you jumped he put up his gun and let fly at Mortimer with a sense of
+discrimination which does him infinite credit. He missed Mortimer, but plugged
+Max plumb through the forehead and my old friend dropped in his tracks right
+between you and the other fellow. On that we hacked our way through the French
+window. The corporal found time to have another shot and laid out a tall,
+odd-looking man...&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No. 13,&rdquo; elucidated Desmond.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;... When we got inside we found him dead across the threshold of the
+door leading into the hall. Behrend we caught hiding in a brush cupboard by the
+back stairs. As for the others&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Gone?&rdquo; queried Desmond with a sudden sinking at his heart.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Francis nodded.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;We didn&rsquo;t waste any time getting through that window,&rdquo; he
+said, &ldquo;but the catch was stiff and the broken glass was deuced
+unpleasant. Still, we were too late. You were laid out on the floor; Mortimer,
+Bellward and the lady had made their lucky escape. And the secret door showed
+us how they had gone...&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But I thought you had a man posted at the back?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Would you believe it? When the shooting began, the infernal idiot must
+rush round to our assistance, so, of course, Mortimer and Co., nipping out by
+the secret door, got clear away down the drive. But that is not the worst.
+Matthews gave them the car!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No!&rdquo; said Desmond incredulously.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;He did, though,&rdquo; answered Francis. &ldquo;Mind you, Mortimer had
+had the presence of mind to throw off his disguise. He presented himself to
+Matthews as Strangwise. Matthews knows Strangwise quite well: he has often seen
+him with the Chief.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;&lsquo;My God, Captain Strangwise,&rsquo; says Matthews, as the trio
+appeared, &lsquo;What&rsquo;s happened?&rsquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;&lsquo;You&rsquo;re wanted up at the house immediately, Matthews,&rsquo;
+says Strangwise quite excitedly. &lsquo;We&rsquo;re to take the car and go for
+assistance.&rsquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Matthews had a look at Strangwise&rsquo;s companions, and seeing
+Bellward, of course, takes him for you. As for the lady, she had a black lace
+muffler wound about her face.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;&lsquo;Miss Mackwayte&rsquo;s coming with us, Matthews,&rsquo;
+Strangwise says, seeing Matthews look at the lady. That removed the last of any
+lurking suspicions that old Matthews might have had. He left the military
+policeman at the gate and tore off like mad up the drive while Strangwise and
+the others jumped into the car and were away before you could say
+&lsquo;knife.&rsquo; The military policeman actually cranked up the car for
+them!
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;When Matthews burst into the library with the story of you and
+Strangwise and Miss Mackwayte having gone off for help in our only car, I knew
+we had been sold. You were there, knocked out of time on the floor, in your
+disguise as Bellward, so I knew that the man with Strangwise was the real
+Bellward and I consequently deduced that Strangwise was Mortimer and
+consequently the very man we had to catch.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;We were done brown. If we had had a little more time to think things
+out, we should have found that motor-bike and I would have gone after the trio
+myself. But my first idea was to summon aid. I tried to telephone without
+success and then we found the wire cut outside. Then I had the idea of pumping
+Behrend. I found him quite chatty and furious against Mortimer, whom he accused
+of having sold them. He told us that the party would be sure to make for the
+Dyke Inn, as Nur-el-Din was there.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;By this time Strangwise and his party had got at least an hour clear
+start of us. I had set a man to repair the telephone and in the meantime was
+thinking of sending another on foot to Stanning to fetch one of our cars. Then
+I found the motor-bike and despatched one of the military policemen on it to
+Stanning.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;In about half an hour&rsquo;s time he was back with a car in which were
+Gordon and Harrison and some more military police. I put Matthews in charge of
+the party and sent them off to the Dyke Inn, though I felt pretty sure we were
+too late to catch the trio. That was really the reason I stayed behind;
+besides, I wanted to look after you. I got a turn when I saw you spread out all
+over the carpet, old man, I can tell you.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Desmond, who had listened with the most eager attention, did not speak for a
+minute. The sense of failure was strong upon him. How he had bungled it all!
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Look here,&rdquo; he said presently in a dazed voice, &ldquo;you said
+just now that Matthews mistook Mrs. Malplaquet for Miss Mackwayte. Why should
+Matthews think that Miss Mackwayte was down here? Did she come down with
+you?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Francis looked at him quickly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That crack on the head makes you forget things,&rdquo; he said.
+&ldquo;Don&rsquo;t you remember Miss Mackwayte coming down here to see you
+yesterday afternoon? Matthews thought she had stayed on...&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Desmond shook his head.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;She&rsquo;s not been here,&rdquo; he replied. &ldquo;I&rsquo;m quite
+positive about that!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Francis sprang to his feet.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Surely you must be mistaken,&rdquo; he said in tones of concern.
+&ldquo;The Chief sent her down yesterday afternoon on purpose to see you. She
+reached Wentfield Station all right; because the porter told Matthews that she
+asked him the way to the Mill House.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+An ominous foreboding struck chill at Desmond&rsquo;s heart. He held his
+throbbing head for an instant. Someone had mentioned Barbara that night in the
+library but who was it? And what had he said?
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Ah! of course, it was Strangwise. &ldquo;So that&rsquo;s what she wanted with
+Nur-el-Din!&rdquo; he had said.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Desmond felt it all coming back to him now. Briefly he told Francis of his
+absence from the Mill House in response to the summons from Nur-el-Din, of his
+interview with the dancer and her story of the Star of Poland, of his hurried
+return just in time to meet Mortimer, and of Mortimer&rsquo;s enigmatical
+reference to the dancer in the library that night.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Fancis looked graver and graver as the story proceeded. Desmond noted it and
+reproached himself most bitterly with his initial failure to inform the Chief
+of the visits of Nur-el-Din and Mortimer to the Mill House. When he had
+finished speaking, he did not look at Francis, but gazed mournfully out of the
+window into the chilly drizzle of a sad winter&rsquo;s day.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I don&rsquo;t like the look of it at all, Des,&rdquo; said his brother
+shaking his head, &ldquo;but first we must make sure that there has been no
+misunderstanding about Miss Mackwayte. You say your housekeeper was already
+here when you came back from the Dyke Inn. She may have seen her. Let&rsquo;s
+have old Martha in!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Between fright, bewilderment and indignation at the invasion of the house, old
+Martha was, if anything, deafer and more stupid than usual. After much
+interrogation they had to be satisfied with her repeated assertion that
+&ldquo;she &rsquo;adn&rsquo;t seen no young lady&rdquo; and allowed her to
+hobble back to her kitchen.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The two brothers stared at one another blankly. Francis was the first to speak.
+His eyes were shining and his manner was rather tense.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Des,&rdquo; he asked; &ldquo;what do you make of it? From what
+Strangwise let fall in the library here tonight, it seems probable that Miss
+Mackwayte, instead of coming here to see you as she was told&mdash;or she may
+have called during your absence&mdash;went to the Dyke Inn and saw Nur-el-Din.
+The muffed cry you heard at the inn suggests foul play to me and that suspicion
+is deepened in my mind by the fact that Matthews found Nur-el-Din at the Dyke
+Inn, as he reported to me by telephone just now; but he says nothing about Miss
+Mackwayte. Des, I fear the worst for that poor girl if she has fallen into the
+hands of that gang!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Desmond remained silent for a moment. He was trying to piece things together as
+best as his aching head would allow. Both Nur-el-Din and Strangwise were after
+the jewel. Nur-el-Din believed that afternoon that Strangwise had it, while
+Strangwise, on discovering his loss, had seemed to suggest that Barbara
+Mackwayte had recovered it.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Either Strangwise or Nur-el-Din, perhaps both of them,&rdquo; said
+Desmond, &ldquo;must know what has become of Miss Mackwayte.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And he explained his reasoning to Francis. His brother nodded quickly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Then Nur-el-Din shall tell us,&rdquo; he answered sternly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;They&rsquo;ve arrested her?&rdquo; asked Desmond with a sudden pang.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; said Francis curtly. But too late to prevent a crime being
+committed. When Matthews and his party arrived, they found Nur-el-Din in the
+very act of leaving the inn. The landlord, Rass, was lying dead on the floor of
+the tap-room with a bullet through the temple. That looks to me, Des, as though
+Nur-el-Din had recovered the jewel!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But Rass is a compatriot of hers,&rdquo; Desmond objected.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But he was also an inconvenient witness of her dealings with
+Strangwise,&rdquo; retorted Francis. &ldquo;If either Nur-el-Din or Strangwise
+have regained possession of the Star of Poland, Des, I fear the worst for
+Barbara Mackwayte. Come in!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The corporal stood, saluting, at the door.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Mr. Matthews on the telephone, sir!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Francis hurried away, leaving Desmond to his thoughts, which were not of the
+most agreeable. Had he been wrong in thinking Nur-el-Din a victim? Was he,
+after all, nothing but a credulous fool who had been hoodwinked by a pretty
+woman&rsquo;s play-acting? And had he sacrificed Barbara Mackwayte to his
+obstinacy and his credulousness?
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Francis burst suddenly into the room.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Des,&rdquo; he cried, &ldquo;they&rsquo;ve found Miss Mackwayte&rsquo;s
+hat on the floor of the tap-room... it is stained with blood...&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Desmond felt himself growing pale:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And the girl herself,&rdquo; he asked thickly, &ldquo;what of
+her?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Francis shook his head.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Vanished,&rdquo; he replied gravely. &ldquo;Vanished utterly.
+Desmond,&rdquo; he added, &ldquo;we must go over to the Dyke Inn at
+once!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap21"></a>CHAPTER XXI.<br/>
+THE BLACK VELVET TOQUE</h2>
+
+<p>
+Across Morsted Fen the day was breaking red and sullen. The brimming dykes,
+fringed with bare pollards, and the long sheets of water spread out across the
+lush meadows, threw back the fiery radiance of the sky from their gleaming
+surface. The tall poplars about the Dyke Inn stood out hard and clear in the
+ruddy light; beyond them the fen, stretched away to the flaming horizon gloomy
+and flat and desolate, with nothing higher than the stunted pollards visible
+against the lurid background.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Upon the absolute silence of the scene there presently broke the steady humming
+of a car. A great light, paled by the dawn, came bobbing and sweeping, along
+the road that skirted the fen&rsquo;s edge. A big open car drew up by the track
+and branched, off to the inn. Its four occupants consulted together for an
+instant and then alighted. Three of them were in plain clothes; the other was a
+soldier. The driver was also in khaki.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;They&rsquo;re astir, Mr. Matthews,&rdquo; said one, of the plain clothes
+men, pointing towards the house, &ldquo;see, there&rsquo;s a light in the
+inn!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+They followed the direction of his finger and saw a beam of yellow light
+gleaming from among the trees.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Get your guns out, boys!&rdquo; said Matthews. &ldquo;Give them a chance
+to put their hands up, and if they don&rsquo;t obey, shoot!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Very swiftly but very quietly, the four men picked their way over the miry
+track to the little bridge leading to the yard in front of the inn. The light
+they had remarked shone from the inn door, a feeble, flickering light as of an
+expiring candle.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Matthews, who was leading, halted and listened. Everything was quite still.
+Above their head the inn sign groaned uneasily as it was stirred by the fresh
+morning breeze.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You, Gordon,&rdquo; whispered Matthews to the man behind him&mdash;they
+had advanced in Indian file&mdash;&ldquo;take Bates and go round to the back.
+Harrison will go in by the front with me.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Even as he spoke a faint noise came from the interior of the house. The four
+men stood stock-still and listened. In the absolute stillness of the early
+morning, the sound fell distinctly on their ears. It was a step&mdash;a light
+step&mdash;descending the stairs.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Gordon and the soldier detached themselves from the party as Matthews and the
+other plain clothes man crossed the bridge swiftly and went up to the inn door.
+Hardly had Matthews got his foot on the stone step of the threshold than, a
+piercing shriek resounded from the room quite close at hand. The next minute a
+flying figure burst out of the door and fell headlong into the arms of Matthews
+who was all but overbalanced by the force of the impact.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He closed with the figure and grappled it firmly. His arms encountered a frail,
+light body, shaking from head to foot, enveloped in a cloak of some soft, thick
+material.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It&rsquo;s a woman!&rdquo; cried Matthews.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It&rsquo;s Nur-el-Din!&rdquo; exclaimed his companion in the same
+breath, seizing the woman by the arm.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The dancer made no attempt to escape. She stood with bowed head, trembling
+violently, in a cowering, almost a crouching posture.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Harrison, who had the woman by the arm, had turned her head so that he could
+see her face. She was deathly pale and her black eyes were wide open, the
+pupils dilated. Her teeth were chattering in her head. She seemed incapable of
+speech or motion.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Nur-el-Din?&rdquo; exclaimed Matthews in accents of triumph.
+&ldquo;Bring her in, Harrison, and let&rsquo;s have a look at her!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But the woman recoiled in terror. She arched her body stiff, like a child in a
+passion, and strained every muscle to remain where she was cowering by the
+inn-door.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Come on, my girl,&rdquo; said the man not unkindly, &ldquo;don&rsquo;t
+you &rsquo;ear wot the Guv&rsquo;nor sez! In you go!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Then the girl screamed aloud.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, no!&rdquo; she cried, &ldquo;not in that house! For the love of God,
+don&rsquo;t take me back into that room! Ah! For pity&rsquo;s sake, let me stay
+outside! Take me to prison but not, not into that house again!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She half fell on her knees in the mire, pleading, entreating, her body shaken
+by sobs.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Then Harrison, who was an ex-Guardsman and a six-footer at that, plucked her
+off her feet and carried her, still struggling, still imploring with piteous
+cries, over the threshold into the house: Matthews followed behind.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The shutters of the tap-room were still closed. Only a strip of the dirty
+floor, strewn with sawdust, was illuminated by a bar of reddish light from the
+daybreak outside. On the table a candle, burnt down to the socket of its brass
+candlestick, flared and puttered in a riot of running wax. Half in the bar of
+daylight from outside, half in the darkness beyond the open door, against which
+the flickering candlelight struggled feebly, lay the body of a yellow-faced,
+undersized man with a bullet wound through the temple.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Without effort Harrison deposited his light burden on her feet by the table.
+Instantly, the girl fled, like some frightened animal of the woods, to the
+farthest corner of the room. Here she dropped sobbing on her knees, rocking
+herself to and fro in a sort of paroxysm of hysteria. Harrison moved quickly
+round the table after her; but he was checked by a cry from Matthews who was
+kneeling by the body.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Let her be,&rdquo; said Matthews, &ldquo;she&rsquo;s scared of this and
+no wonder! Come here a minute, Harrison, and see if you know, this chap!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Harrison crossed the room and looked down at the still figure. He whistled
+softly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;My word!&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;but he copped it all right, sir! Ay, I
+know him well enough! He&rsquo;s Rass, the landlord of this pub, that&rsquo;s
+who he is, as harmless a sort of chap as ever was! Who did it, d&rsquo;you
+think, sir?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Matthews, who had been going through the dead man&rsquo;s pockets, now rose to
+his feet.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Nothing worth writing home about there,&rdquo; he said half aloud. Then
+to Harrison, he added: &ldquo;That&rsquo;s what we&rsquo;ve got to discover...
+hullo, who&rsquo;s this?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The door leading from the bar to the tap-room was thrust open. Gordon put his
+head in.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I left Bates on guard outside, sir,&rdquo; he said in answer to an
+interrogatory glance from Matthews, &ldquo;I&rsquo;ve been all over the ground
+floor and there&rsquo;s not a soul here...&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He checked himself suddenly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;God bless my soul!&rdquo; he exclaimed, his eyes on the figure crouching
+in the corner, &ldquo;you don&rsquo;t mean to say you&rsquo;ve got her? A
+pretty dance she led Dug and myself! Well, sir, it looks to me like a good
+night&rsquo;s work!&rdquo;.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Matthews smiled a self-satisfied smile.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I fancy the Chief will be pleased,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;though the
+rest of &rsquo;em seem to have given us the slip. Gordon, you might take a look
+upstairs&mdash;that door in the corner leads to the upper rooms, I
+fancy&mdash;whilst I&rsquo;m telephoning to Mr. Okewood. He must know about
+this without delay. You, Harrison, keep an eye on the girl!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He went through the door leading into the bar, and they heard him speaking on
+the telephone which hung on the wall behind the counter. He returned presently
+with a white tablecloth which he threw over the prostrate figure on the floor.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Then he turned to the dancer.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Stand up,&rdquo; he said sternly, &ldquo;I want to speak to you.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Nur-el-Din cast a frightened glance over her shoulder at the floor beside the
+table where Rass lay. On seeing the white pall that hid him from view, she
+became somewhat reassured. She rose unsteadily to her feet and stood facing
+Matthews.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;In virtue of the powers conferred upon me by the Defence of the Realm
+Acts, I arrest you for espionage... Matthews rolled off in glib, official
+gabble the formula of arrest ending with the usual caution that anything the
+prisoner might say might be used against her at her trial. Then he said to
+Harrison:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Better put them on her, Harrison!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The plain clothes man took a pace forward and touched the dancer&rsquo;s
+slender wrists, there was a click and she was handcuffed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Now take her in there,&rdquo; said Matthews pointing to the bar.
+&ldquo;There&rsquo;s no exit except by this room. And don&rsquo;t take your
+eyes off her. You understand? Mr. Okewood will be along presently with a female
+searcher.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Sir!&rdquo; said the plain clothes man with military precision and
+touched the dancer on the shoulder. Without a word she turned and followed him
+into the bar.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Gordon entered by the door at the end of the room.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;d like you to have a look upstairs, sir,&rdquo; he said to
+Matthews, &ldquo;there&rsquo;s not a soul in the house, but somebody has been
+locked up in one of the rooms. The door is still locked but one of the panels
+has been forced out. I think you ought to see it!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The two men passed out of the tap-room together, and mounted the stairs. On the
+landing Matthews paused a moment to glance out of the window on to the bleak
+and inhospitable fen which was almost obscured from view by a heavy drizzle of
+rain.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Brr!&rdquo; said Mr. Matthews, &ldquo;what a horrible place!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Looking up the staircase from the landing, they could see that one of the
+panels of the door facing the head of the stairs had been pressed out and lay
+on the ground. They passed up the stairs and Matthews, putting one arm and his
+head through the opening, found himself gazing into that selfsame ugly sitting
+room where Desmond had talked with Nur-el-Din.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A couple of vigorous heaves burst the fastening of the door. The sitting-room
+was in the wildest confusion. The doors of the sideboard stood wide with its
+contents scattered higgledy-piggledy on the carpet. A chest of drawers in the
+corner had been ransacked, some of the drawers having been taken bodily out and
+emptied on the floor.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The door leading to the inner room stood open and showed that a similar search
+had been conducted there as well. The inner room proved to be a bare
+white-washed place, very plainly furnished as a bedroom. On the floor stood a
+small attaché case, and beside it a little heap of miscellaneous articles such
+as a woman would take away with her for a weekend, a crêpe-de-chine nightdress,
+a dainty pair of bedroom slippers and some silver-mounted toilet fittings. From
+these things Matthews judged that this had been Nur-el-Din&rsquo;s bedroom.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The two men spent a long time going through the litter with which the floor in
+the bedroom and sitting room was strewed. But their labors were vain, and they
+turned their attention to the remaining rooms, of which there were three.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The first room they visited, adjoining Nur-el-Din&rsquo;s bedroom, was scarcely
+better than an attic. It contained in the way of furniture little else than a
+truckle-bed, a washstand, a table and a chair. Women&rsquo;s clothes were
+hanging on hooks behind the door. The place looked like a servant&rsquo;s
+bedroom.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+They pursued their search. Across the corridor two rooms stood side by side.
+One proved to be Rass&rsquo;s. His clothes lay about the room, and on a table
+in the corner, where writing materials stood, were various letters and bills
+made out in his name.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The other room had also been occupied; for the bed was made and turned back for
+the night and there were clean towels on the washstand. But there was no clue
+as to its occupant save for a double-barreled gun which stood in the corner. It
+had evidently been recently used; for fresh earth was adhering to the stock and
+the barrel, though otherwise clean, showed traces of freshly-burnt powder.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+There being nothing further to glean upstairs, the two men went down to the
+tap-room again. As Matthews came through the door leading from the staircase
+his eye caught a dark object which lay on the floor under the long table. He
+fished it out with his stick.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It was a small black velvet toque with a band of white and black silk flowers
+round it. In one part the white flowers were besmeared with a dark brown stain.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Matthews stared at the little hat in his hand with puckered brows. Then he
+called to Gordon.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Do you know that hat?&rdquo; he asked, holding it up for the man to see.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Gordon shook his head.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I might have seen it,&rdquo; he replied, &ldquo;but I don&rsquo;t take
+much account of such things, Mr. Matthews, being a married man...&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Tut, tut,&rdquo; fussed Matthews, &ldquo;I think you have seen it. Come,
+think of the office for a minute!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Of the office?&rdquo; repeated Gordon. Then he exclaimed suddenly:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Miss Mackwayte!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Exactly,&rdquo; answered Matthews, &ldquo;it&rsquo;s her hat, I recall
+it perfectly. She wore it very often to the office. Look at the blood on
+it!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He put the hat down on the table and ran into the bar where Nur-el-Din sat
+immobile on her chair, wrapped in a big overcoat of some soft blanket cloth in
+dark green, her chin sunk on her breast.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Matthews called up the Mill House and asked for Francis Okewood. When he
+mentioned the finding of Barbara Mackwayte&rsquo;s hat, the dancer raised her
+head and cast a frightened glance at Matthews. But she said nothing and when
+Matthews turned from the telephone to go back to the tap-room she had resumed
+her former listless attitude.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Matthews and Gordon made a thorough search of the kitchen and back premises
+without finding anything of note. They had just finished when the sound of a
+car outside attracted their attention. On the road beyond the little bridge
+outside the inn Francis and Desmond Okewood were standing, helping a woman to
+alight. Francis was still wearing his scarecrow-like apparel, while Desmond,
+with his beard and pale face and bandaged head, looked singularly unlike the
+trim Brigade Major who had come home on leave only a week or so before.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Matthews went out to meet them and, addressing the woman&mdash;a brisk-looking
+person--as Mrs. Butterworth, informed her that it was shocking weather. Then he
+led the way into the inn.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The first thing that Desmond saw was the little toque with the brown stain on
+its flowered band lying on the table. Francis picked it up, turned it over and
+laid it down again.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Where did you find it?&rdquo; he asked Matthews. The latter informed him
+of the circumstances of the discovery. Then Francis, sending the searcher in to
+Nur-el-Din in the bar, pointed to the body on the floor.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Let&rsquo;s have a look at that!&rdquo; he said.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Matthews removed the covering and the three men gazed at the set face of the
+dead man. There was a clean bullet wound in the right temple. Matthews showed
+the papers he had taken off the body and exchanged a few, words in a low tone
+with Francis. There is something about the presence of death which impels
+respect whatever the circumstances.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Five minutes later Mrs. Butterworth came out of the bar. In her hands she held
+a miscellaneous assortment of articles, a small gold chain purse, a pair of
+gloves, a gold cigarette case, a tiny handkerchief, and a long blue envelope.
+She put all the articles down on the tables save the envelope which she handed
+to Francis.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;This was in the lining of her overcoat, sir,&rdquo; she said.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Francis took the envelope and broke the seal. He drew out half a dozen sheets
+of thin paper, folded lengthwise. Leisurely he unfolded them, but he had hardly
+glanced at the topmost sheet than he turned to the next and the next until he
+had run through the whole bunch. Desmond, peering over his shoulder, caught a
+glimpse of rows of figures, very neatly set out in a round hand and knew that
+he was looking at a message in cipher code.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The door at the end of the tap-room was flung open and a soldier came in
+quickly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He stopped irresolute on seeing the group.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, Bates,&rdquo; said Matthews.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;There&rsquo;s a woman lying dead in the cellar back yonder,&rdquo; said
+the man, jerking his thumb over his shoulder.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The cellar?&rdquo; cried Matthews.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes, sir... I think you must ha&rsquo; overlooked it.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Francis, Desmond and Matthews exchanged a brief glance. A name was on the lips
+of each one of them but none dared speak it. Then, leaving Harrison and Mrs.
+Butterworth with Nur-el-Din, the three men followed the soldier and hurriedly
+quitted the room.
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap22"></a>CHAPTER XXII.<br/>
+WHAT THE CELLAR REVEALED</h2>
+
+<p>
+On opening the door at the farther end of the tap-room they saw before them a
+trap-door standing wide with a shallow flight of wooden steps leading to the
+darkness below. Bates pointed with his foot to a square of linoleum which lay
+on one side.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That was covering the trap,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;I wouldn&rsquo;t
+ha&rsquo; noticed nothing out of the ordinary myself only I slipped, see, and
+kicked this bit o&rsquo; ilecloth away and there was the ring of the trap
+staring me in the face, as you might say. Show us a light here, Gordon!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Gordon handed him an electric torch. He flashed it down the stair. It fell upon
+something like a heap of black clothes huddled up at the foot of the ladder.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Is it Miss Mackwayte?&rdquo; whispered Francis to his brother.
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;ve never seen her, you know!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I can&rsquo;t tell,&rdquo; Desmond whispered back, &ldquo;until I see
+her face.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He advanced to descend the ladder but Matthews was before him. Producing an
+electric torch from his pocket, Matthews slipped down the stair with Gordon
+close behind. There was a pause, so tense that it seemed an eternity to
+Desmond, as he waited half-way down the ladder with the musty smell of the
+cellar in his nostrils. Then Matthews cried:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It&rsquo;s not her!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Let me look!&rdquo; Gordon broke in. Then Desmond heard him exclaim.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It&rsquo;s Nur-el-Din&rsquo;s French maid! It&rsquo;s Marie...
+she&rsquo;s been stabbed in the back!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Desmond suddenly felt rather sick. This progress from one deed of violence to
+another revolted him. The others crowded into the cellar; but he did not follow
+them. He remained at the top of the trap, leaning against the wall, trying to
+collect his thoughts.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Barbara Mackwayte was now his sole preoccupation. If anything had happened to
+her,&mdash;it was through his fault alone; for he began to feel sure she must
+have come to the Mill House in his absence. What then had become of her? The
+blood-stained toque pointed to foul play. But if they had murdered her, what
+had they done with the body?
+</p>
+
+<p>
+His thoughts flew back to his interview with Nur-el-Din upstairs on the
+previous afternoon. He remembered the entrance of the maid and the
+dancer&rsquo;s hurried exit. Might not Marie have come to tell her that Barbara
+Mackwayte was below asking for her? It was very shortly after this interruption
+that, crouching on the roof of the shed, he had heard that muffled cry from the
+house and seen Rass enter the bar and speak with Strangwise. He had seen, too,
+the maid, Marie, in earnest conversation with Strangwise by the back gate on
+the fen. Had both Marie and Rass been in league with Strangwise against the
+dancer? And had Nur-el-Din discovered their treachery? His mind refused to
+follow these deductions to their logical sequence; for, black as things looked
+against Nur-el-Din, he could not bring himself to believe her a murderess.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But now there were footsteps on the ladder. They were all coming out of the
+cellar again. As soon as Francis saw Desmond&rsquo;s face, he caught his
+brother by the arm and said:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The open air for you, my boy! You look as if you&rsquo;d seen a ghost! I
+should have remembered all you&rsquo;ve gone through!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He walked him quickly through the tap-room and out through the inn door into
+the yard.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The rain had ceased and the sun was making a brave attempt to shine through the
+clouds. The cold air did Desmond good and after a turn or two in the yard, arm
+in arm with Francis, he felt considerably better.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Where is Miss Mackwayte?&rdquo; he asked.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Des,&rdquo; said his brother, &ldquo;I don&rsquo;t know and I
+don&rsquo;t want to cross-examine Nur-el-Din in there until I have reasoned out
+some theory which will fit Miss Mackwayte in her place in this horrible affair.
+The men have gone to search the outhouses and precincts of the inn to see if
+they can find any traces of her body, but I don&rsquo;t think they will find
+anything. I believe that Miss Mackwayte is alive.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Alive?&rdquo; said Desmond.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The blood on that toque of hers might have been Rass&rsquo;s. There is a
+good deal of blood on the floor. You see, I still think Miss Mackwayte&rsquo;s
+safety depends on that jewel not being recovered by either Strangwise or
+Nur-el-Din. Strangwise, we know, has lost the jewel and there is no trace of it
+here: moreover, we know that, as late as yesterday afternoon, Nur-el-Din did
+not have it. Therefore, she cannot have sent it away! I am inclined to believe,
+too, that Strangwise, before going over to the Mill House last night, carried
+off Miss Mackwayte somewhere with the aid of Rass and Marie, who were evidently
+his accomplices, in order to find out from her where the jewel is
+concealed...&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But Miss Mackwayte cannot know what has become of it,&rdquo; objected
+Desmond.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Maybe not,&rdquo; retorted his brother, &ldquo;but both Strangwise and
+Nur-el-Din know that the jewel was originally entrusted to her charge.
+Nur-el-Din did not, it is true, tell Miss Mackwayte what the silver box
+contained but the latter may have found out, at least the dancer might suppose
+so; while Strangwise might think the same. Therefore, both Strangwise and
+Nur-el-Din had an interest in detaining Miss Mackwayte, and I think Strangwise
+forestalled the dancer. When Nur-el-Din discovered it, both Rass and her maid
+paid the penalty of their betrayal.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+They walked once up and down the yard before Desmond replied.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Francis,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;you remember Nur-el-Din&rsquo;s
+story&mdash;I told it to you just as I had it from her.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Perfectly,&rdquo; answered his brother.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well,&rdquo; Desmond went on deliberately, &ldquo;I think that story
+gives us the right measure of Nur-el-Din&rsquo;s, character. She may be vain,
+she may be without morals, she may be weak, she may be an adventuress, but
+she&rsquo;s not a murderess. If anything, she&rsquo;s a victim!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Francis laughed shortly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Victim be damned!&rdquo; he cried. &ldquo;Man alive,&rdquo; he went on,
+&ldquo;how can you talk such nonsense in face of the evidence, with this
+bloody-minded woman&rsquo;s victims hardly cold yet? But, horrible as these
+murders are, the private squabbles of this gang of spies represent neither your
+interest nor mine in this case. For us the fact remains that Nur-el-Din,
+besides being a monster of iniquity, is the heart and soul and vitals of the
+whole conspiracy!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Jaded and nervous, Desmond felt a quick sting of resentment at his
+brother&rsquo;s tone. Why should Francis thus lay down the law to him about
+Nur-el-Din? Francis knew nothing of the girl or her antecedents while he,
+Desmond, flattered himself that he had at least located the place she occupied
+in this dark conspiracy. And he cried out vehemently:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You&rsquo;re talking like a fool! I grant you that Nur-el-Din has been
+mixed up with this spy crowd; but she herself stands absolutely apart from the
+organization...&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Half a minute!&rdquo; put in Francis, &ldquo;aren&rsquo;t you forgetting
+that blue envelope we took off her just now?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What about it?&rdquo; asked Desmond sharply.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Merely this; the cipher is in five figure groups, addressed to a four
+figure group and signed by a six figure group...&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That happens to be the current secret code of the German Great General
+Staff. If you were to tap a German staff message out in France to-day, ten to
+one it would be in that code. Curious coincidence, isn&rsquo;t it?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+When one is angry, to be baffled in argument does not have a sedative effect as
+a rule. If we were all philosophers it might; but being merely human beings,
+cold reason acts on the inflamed temperament as a red rag is said to affect a
+bull.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Desmond, sick with the sense of failure and his anxiety about Barbara, was in
+no mood to listen to reason. The cold logic of his brother infuriated him
+mainly because Desmond knew that Francis was right.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I don&rsquo;t care a damn for the evidence,&rdquo; vociferated Desmond;
+&ldquo;It may look black against Nur-el-Din; I daresay it does; but I have met
+and talked to this girl and I tell you again that she is not a principal in
+this affair but a victim!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You talk as if you were in love with the woman!&rdquo; Francis said
+mockingly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Desmond went rather white.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;If pity is a form of love,&rdquo; he replied in a low voice, &ldquo;then
+I am, for God knows I never pitied any woman as I pity Nur-el-Din! Only you, I
+suppose,&rdquo; he added bitterly, &ldquo;are too much of the policeman,
+Francis, to appreciate anything like that!&rdquo; Hot tempers run in families
+and Francis flared up on the instant.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I may be a policeman, as you say,&rdquo; he retorted, &ldquo;but
+I&rsquo;ve got enough sense of my duty, I hope, not to allow sentimentality to
+interfere with my orders!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It was a shrewd thrust and it caught Desmond on the raw.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;m sick of arguing here,&rdquo; he said hotly, &ldquo;if
+you&rsquo;re so mighty clever, you&rsquo;d better shoot Nur-el-Din first and
+arrest Strangwise afterwards. Then you&rsquo;ll find out which of us two is
+right!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He turned on his heel and started for the little bridge leading out onto the
+fen.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Francis stood still a moment watching him, then ran after him. He caught up
+with Desmond as the latter reached the bridge.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Desmond!&rdquo; he said, pleadingly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, go to hell!&rdquo; retorted the other savagely, whereupon Francis
+turned his back on him and walked back to the inn.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A car had stopped by the bridge and a man was getting out of it as Desmond
+moved towards the fen. The next moment he found himself face to face with the
+Chief.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The Chief&rsquo;s face was hard and cold and stern. There was a furrow between
+his eyes which deepened when he recognized Desmond.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well,&rdquo; he said curtly, &ldquo;and where is my secretary?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I don&rsquo;t know,&rdquo; Desmond faltered.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Why are you here, then?&rdquo; came back in that hard, uncompromising
+voice.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Desmond was about to reply; but the other checked him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I know all you have to say,&rdquo; he resumed, &ldquo;but no excuse you
+can offer can explain away the disappearance of Miss Mackwayte. Your orders
+were formal to remain at home. You saw fit to disobey them and thereby, maybe,
+sent Miss Mackwayte to her death. No!&rdquo; he added, seeing that Desmond was
+about to expostulate, &ldquo;I want to hear nothing from you. However obscure
+the circumstances of Miss Mackwayte&rsquo;s disappearance may be, one fact is
+perfectly clear, namely, that she went to the Mill House, as she was ordered
+and you were not there. For no man or woman in my service ever dares to disobey
+an order I have given.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Chief...&rdquo; Desmond broke in, but again that inexorable voice
+interposed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I will hear nothing from you,&rdquo; said the Chief, &ldquo;it is a rule
+of mine never to interfere with my men in their work or to see them until their
+mission has been successfully completed. When you have found Miss Mackwayte I
+will hear you but not before!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Desmond drew himself up.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;In that case, sir,&rdquo; he said stiffly, &ldquo;I will bid you good
+morning. And I trust you will hear from me very soon again!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He walked over to one of the cars waiting outside the inn, spoke a word to the
+driver and got in. The driver started the engine and presently the car was
+bumping slowly along the muddy track to the main road.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The Chief stood looking after him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well,&rdquo; he murmured to himself. &ldquo;I soaked it into him pretty
+hard; but he took it like a brick. I do believe he&rsquo;ll find her
+yet!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He shook his head sagely and continued on his way across the yard.
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap23"></a>CHAPTER XXIII.<br/>
+MRS. MALPLAQUET GOES DOWN TO THE CELLAR</h2>
+
+<p>
+In the age of chivalry woman must have been built of sterner stuff than the
+girl of to-day. At least, we read in medieval romance of fair ladies who, after
+being knocked down by a masterful suitor and carried off across his saddle bow
+thirty or forty miles, are yet able to appear, cold but radiantly beautiful, at
+the midnight wedding and the subsequent marriage feast.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But this is a romance of the present day, the age of nerves and high velocity.
+Barbara Mackwayte, strong and plucky as she was, after being half throttled and
+violently thrown into the cellar of the Dyke Inn, suddenly gave way under the
+strain and conveniently evaded facing the difficulties of her position by
+fainting clear away.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The precise moment when she came out of her swoon she never knew. The cellar
+was dark; but it was nothing compared to the darkness enveloping her mind. She
+lay there on the damp and mouldy straw, hardly able, scarcely wanting, to move,
+overwhelmed by the extraordinary adventure which had befallen her. Was this to
+be the end of the pleasant trip into the country on which she had embarked so
+readily only a few hours before? She tried to remember that within twenty miles
+of her were policemen and taxis and lights and all the attributes of our
+present day civilization; but her thoughts always returned, with increasing
+horror, to that undersized yellow-faced man in the room above, to the face of
+Nur-el-Din, dark and distorted with passion.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A light shining down the cellar stairs drew her attention to the entrance. The
+woman she had already seen and in whom she now recognized Marie, the
+dancer&rsquo;s maid, was descending, a tray in her hand. She placed the tray on
+the ground without a word, then went up the stairs again and fetched the lamp.
+She put the lamp down by the tray and, stooping, cut the ropes that fastened
+Barbara&rsquo;s hands and feet.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;So, Mademoiselle,&rdquo; she said, drawing herself erect with a grunt,
+&ldquo;your supper: some tea and meat!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She pulled a dirty deal box from a corner of the cellar and put the tray upon
+it. Then she rose to her feet and sat down. The maid watched Barbara narrowly
+while she ate a piece of bread and drank the tea.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;At least,&rdquo; thought Barbara to herself, &ldquo;they don&rsquo;t
+mean to starve me!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The tea was hot and strong; and it did her good. It seemed to clear her
+faculties, too; for her brain began to busy itself with the problem of escaping
+from her extraordinary situation.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Mademoiselle was a leetle too clevaire,&rdquo; said the maid with an
+evil leer,&mdash;&ldquo;she would rob Madame, would she? She would play the
+<i>espionne, hein? Eh bien, ma petite</i>, you stay &rsquo;ere ontil you say
+what you lave done wiz ze box of Madame!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Why do you say I have stolen the box?&rdquo; protested Barbara,
+&ldquo;when I tell you I know nothing of it. It was stolen from me by the man
+who killed my father. More than that I don&rsquo;t know. You don&rsquo;t surely
+think I would conspire to kill&rdquo; her voice trembled&mdash;&ldquo;my
+father, to get possession of this silver box that means nothing to me!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Marie laughed cynically.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;<i>Ma foi</i>,&rdquo; she cried, &ldquo;when one is a spy, one will stop
+at nothing! But <i>tiens</i>, here is Madame!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Nur-el-Din picked her way carefully down the steps, the yellow-faced man behind
+her. He had a pistol in his hand. The dancer said something in French to her
+maid who picked up the tray and departed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Now, Mademoiselle,&rdquo; said Nur-el-Din, &ldquo;you see this pistol.
+Rass here will use it if you make any attempt to escape. You understand me,
+<i>hein?</i> I come to give you a las&rsquo; chance to say where you &rsquo;ave
+my box...&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Barbara looked at the dancer defiantly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;ve told you already I know nothing about it. You, if any one,
+should be better able to say what has become of it...&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;<i>Quoi?</i>&rdquo; exclaimed Nur-el-Din in genuine surprise,
+&ldquo;<i>comment?</i>&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Because,&rdquo; said Barbara, &ldquo;a long black hair&mdash;one of your
+hairs&mdash;was found adhering to the straps with which I was fastened!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;<i>Tiens!</i>&rdquo; said the dancer, her black eyes wide with surprise,
+&ldquo;<i>tiens!</i>&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She was silent for a minute, lost in thought. The man, Rass, suddenly cocked
+his ear towards the staircase and said something to Nur-el-Din in the same
+foreign tongue which Barbara had heard them employ before.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The dancer made a gesture, bidding him to be silent.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;He was at my dressing-table that night;&rdquo; she murmured in French,
+as though to herself, &ldquo;then it was he who did it!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She spoke rapidly to Barbara.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;This man who tied you up... you didn&rsquo;t see him?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Barbara shook her head.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I could see nothing; I don&rsquo;t even know that it was a man. He
+seized me so suddenly that in the dark I could distinguish nothing... it might
+have been a woman... yourself, for instance, for all I know!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Nur-el-Din clasped her hands together.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It was he, himself, then,&rdquo; she whispered, &ldquo;I might have
+known. Yet he has not got it here!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Heavy footsteps resounded in the room above. Rass cried out something swiftly
+to the dancer, thrust the pistol into her hands, and dashed up the ladder. The
+next moment there was a loud report followed by the thud of a heavy body
+falling. Somewhere in the rooms above a woman screamed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Nur-el-Din&rsquo;s hands flew to her face and the pistol crashed to the ground.
+Two men appeared at the head of the cellar stairs. One was Strangwise, in
+uniform, the other was Bellward.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;They&rsquo;re both here!&rdquo; said Strangwise over his shoulder to
+Bellward.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Ah, thank God, you&rsquo;ve come!&rdquo; cried Barbara, running to the
+foot of the ladder.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Strangwise brushed past her and caught Nur-el-Din by the arm.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Run her upstairs,&rdquo; he said quickly to Bellward who had followed
+behind him, &ldquo;and lock her in her room. I&rsquo;ve seen to the rest. You,
+Miss Mackwayte,&rdquo; he added to Barbara, &ldquo;you will come with
+us!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Barbara was staring in fascination at Bellward. She had never believed that any
+disguise could be so baffling, so complete; Major Okewood, she thought, looked
+like a different man.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But Bellward had grasped the dancer by the two arms and forced her up the
+stairs in front of him. Nur-el-Din seemed too overcome with terror to utter a
+sound.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, don&rsquo;t be so rough with her, Major Okewood!&rdquo; entreated
+Barbara, &ldquo;you&rsquo;ll hurt her!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She had her back turned to Strangwise so she missed the very remarkable change
+that came over his features at her words.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Okewood,&rdquo; he whispered but too low for the girl to distinguish the
+words, &ldquo;Okewood? I might have guessed! I might have guessed!&rdquo; Then
+he touched Barbara lightly on the shoulder.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Come,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;we must be getting upstairs. We have much
+to do!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He gently impelled her towards the ladder up which Bellward and Nur-el-Din had
+already disappeared. At the top, he took the lead and conducted Barbara into
+the taproom. A single candle stood on the table, throwing a wan light into the
+room. Rass lay on his back in the centre of the floor, one hand doubled up
+under him, one knee slightly drawn up.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Barbara started back in horror.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Is he... is he...&rdquo; she stammered, pointing at the limp still form.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Strangwise nodded.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;A spy!&rdquo; he said gravely, &ldquo;we were well rid of him. Go over
+there in the corner where you won&rsquo;t see it. Stay!&rdquo; he added, seeing
+how pale the girl had become, &ldquo;you shall have some brandy!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He produced a flask and measured her out, a portion in the cup. Suddenly, the
+door leading from the bar opened and a woman came into the room. Her black
+velvet dress, her gray hair and general air of distinction made her a bizarre
+figure in that squalid room lit by the guttering candle.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Time we were off!&rdquo; she said to Strangwise, &ldquo;Bellward&rsquo;s
+just coming down!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;There&rsquo;s the maid...&rdquo; began Strangwise, looking meaningly at
+Barbara.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The woman in black velvet cast a questioning glance at him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Strangwise nodded.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll do it,&rdquo; said the woman promptly, &ldquo;if you&rsquo;ll
+call her down!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Strangwise went to the other door of the tap-room and called:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Marie!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+There was a step outside and the maid came in, pale and trembling.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Your mistress wants you; she is downstairs in the cellar,&rdquo; he said
+pleasantly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Marie hesitated an instant and surveyed the group.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;<i>Non, non</i>,&rdquo; she said nervously, &ldquo;<i>je n&rsquo;veux
+pas descendre!</i>&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Strangwise smiled, showing his teeth.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No need to be frightened, <i>ma fille</i>,&rdquo; he replied.
+&ldquo;Madame here will go down with you!&rdquo; and he pointed to the woman in
+black velvet.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+This seemed to reassure the maid and she walked across the room to the door,
+the woman following her. As the latter passed Strangwise he whispered a word in
+her ear.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, no,&rdquo; answered the other, &ldquo;I prefer my own way,&rdquo;
+and she showed him something concealed in her hand.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The two women quitted the room together, leaving Strangwise and Barbara alone
+with the thing on the floor. Strangwise picked up a military great-coat which
+was hanging over the back of a chair and put it on, buttoning it all the way up
+the front and turning up the collar about the neck. Then he crammed a cap on
+his head and stood listening intently.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A high, gurgling scream, abruptly checked, came through the open door at the
+farther end of the room.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Barbara sprang up from the chair into which she had sunk.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;<i>What was that?</i>&rdquo; she asked, whispering.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Strangwise did not reply. He was still listening, a tall, well set-up figure in
+the long khaki great-coat.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But those two women are alone in the cellar,&rdquo; exclaimed Barbara,
+&ldquo;they are being murdered! Ah! what was that?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A gentle thud resounded from below.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A man came in through the door leading from the bar:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He had a fat, smooth-shaven face, heavily jowled.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;All ready, Bellward?&rdquo; asked Strangwise carelessly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Barbara stared at the man thus addressed. She saw that he was wearing the same
+clothes as the man who had come down into the cellar with Strangwise but the
+beard was gone. And the man she saw before her was not Desmond Okewood.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Without waiting to reason out the metamorphosis, she ran towards Bellward.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;They&rsquo;re murdering those two women down in the cellar,&rdquo; she
+cried, &ldquo;oh, what has happened? Won&rsquo;t you go down and see?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Bellward shook her off roughly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Neat work!&rdquo; said Strangwise.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;She&rsquo;s a wonder with the knife!&rdquo; agreed the other.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Barbara stamped her foot.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;If neither of you men have the courage to go down,&rdquo; she cried,
+&ldquo;then I&rsquo;ll go alone! As for you, Captain Strangwise, a British
+officer...&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She never finished the sentence. Strangwise caught her by the shoulder and
+thrust the cold barrel of a pistol in her face.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Stay where you are!&rdquo; he commanded. &ldquo;And if you scream I
+shoot!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Barbara was silent, dumb with horror and bewilderment, rather than with fear. A
+light shone through the open door at the end of the tap-room and the woman in
+black velvet appeared, carrying a lamp in her hand. She was breathing rather
+hard and her carefully arranged gray hair was a little untidy; but she was
+quite calm and self-possessed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;We haven&rsquo;t a moment to lose!&rdquo; she said, putting the lamp
+down on the table and blowing it out.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Bellward, give me my cloak!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Bellward advanced with a fur cloak and wrapped it about her shoulders.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You are the perfect artiste, Minna,&rdquo; he said.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Practise makes perfect!&rdquo; replied Mrs. Malplaquet archly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Strangwise had flung open the door leading to the front yard. A big limousine
+stood outside.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Come on,&rdquo; he said impatiently, &ldquo;don&rsquo;t stand there
+gossiping you two!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Then Barbara revolted.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll not go!&rdquo; she exclaimed, &ldquo;you can do what you like
+but I&rsquo;ll stay where I am! Murderers...&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh,&rdquo; said Strangwise wearily, &ldquo;bring her along,
+Bellward!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Bellward and the woman seized the girl one by each arm and dragged her to the
+car. Strangwise had the door open and between them they thrust her in. Bellward
+and the woman mounted after her while Strangwise, after starting the engine,
+sprang into the driving-seat outside. With a low hum the big car glided forth
+into the cold, starry night.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+From the upper floor of the Dyke Inn came the sound of a woman&rsquo;s
+terrified sobs. Below there reigned the silence of death.
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap24"></a>CHAPTER XXIV.<br/>
+THE TWO DESERTERS</h2>
+
+<p>
+Desmond drove to Wentfield Station in an angry and defiant mood. He was
+incensed against Francis, incensed against the Chief, yet, if the truth were
+told, most of all incensed against himself.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Not that he admitted it for a moment. He told himself that he was very hardly
+used. He had undergone considerable danger in the course of discharging a
+mission which was none of his seeking, and he had met with nothing but taunts
+from his brother and abuse from the Chief.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I wash my hands of the whole thing,&rdquo; Desmond declared, as he paced
+the platform at Wentfield waiting for his train. &ldquo;As Francis is so
+precious cocksure about it all, let him carry on in my place! He&rsquo;s
+welcome to the Chief&rsquo;s wiggings! The Chief won&rsquo;t get me to do his
+dirty work again in a hurry! That&rsquo;s flat!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Yet all the while the little gimlet that men call conscience was patiently
+drilling its way through the wall of obduracy behind which Desmond&rsquo;s
+wounded pride had taken cover. Rail as he would against his hard treatment at
+the hands of the Chief, he knew perfectly well that he could never wash his
+hands of his mission until Barbara Mackwayte had been brought back into safety.
+This thought kept thrusting itself forward into the foreground of his mind; and
+he had to focus his attention steadfastly on his grievances to push it back
+again.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But we puny mortals are all puppets in the hands of Fate. Even as the train was
+bearing Desmond, thus rebellious, Londonwards, Destiny was already pulling the
+strings which was to force the &ldquo;quitter&rdquo; back into the path he had
+forsaken. For this purpose Fate had donned the disguise of a dirty-faced man in
+a greasy old suit and a spotted handkerchief in lieu of collar... but of him
+presently.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+On arriving at Liverpool Street, Desmond, painfully conscious of his unkempt
+appearance, took a taxi to a Turkish bath in the West End. There his first care
+was to submit himself to the hands of the barber who, after a glance at his
+client&rsquo;s bandaged head, muddy clothes and shaggy beard, coughed ominously
+and relapsed into a most unbarber-like reserve.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Desmond heard the cough and caught the look of commiseration on the man&rsquo;s
+face.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I rather think I want a shave!&rdquo; he said, weakly. &ldquo;I rather
+think you do, sir!&rdquo; replied the man, busy with his lather.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;... Had a nasty accident,&rdquo; murmured Desmond, &ldquo;I fell down
+and cut my head...&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;We&rsquo;re used to that here, sir,&rdquo; answered the barber,
+&ldquo;but the bath&rsquo;ll make you as right as, rain. W&rsquo;y we &rsquo;ad
+a genel&rsquo;man in &rsquo;ere, only lars&rsquo; week it was, as
+&rsquo;adn&rsquo;t been &rsquo;ome for five days and nights and the coat mos
+tore off &rsquo;is back along with a bit of turn-up &rsquo;e&rsquo;d &rsquo;at
+one o&rsquo; them night clubs. And drunk!... w&rsquo;y &rsquo;e went to bite
+the rubber, so they wos tellin&rsquo; me! But, bless you, &rsquo;e &rsquo;ad a
+nice shave and a couple of hours in the bath and a bit of a nap; we got him his
+clothes as was tore mended up fine for &rsquo;im and &rsquo;e went &rsquo;ome
+as sober as a judge and as fresh as a daisy!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Desmond had it in his mind to protest against this material interpretation of
+his disreputable state; but the sight in the mirror of his ignominiously
+scrubby and battered appearance silenced him. The barber&rsquo;s explanation
+was as good as any, seeing that he himself could give no satisfactory account
+of the circumstances which had reduced him to his sorry pass. So Desmond held
+his peace though he felt constrained to reject the barber&rsquo;s offer of a
+pick-me-up.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+From the shaving saloon, Desmond sent a messenger out for some clothes, and for
+the next three hours amused himself by exhausting the resources of the Turkish
+bath. Finally, about the hour of noon, he found himself, considerably
+refreshed, swathed in towel, reposing on a couch, a cup of coffee at his elbow
+and that morning&rsquo;s <i>Daily Telegraph</i> spread out before him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Advertisements, so the experts say, are printed on the front and back of
+newspapers in order to catch the eye of the indolent, on the chance that having
+exhausted the news, they may glance idly over the front and back of the paper
+before laying it aside. So Desmond, before he even troubled to open his paper,
+let his gaze wander down the second column of the front page whence issue daily
+those anguishing appeals, mysterious messages, heart-rending entreaties and
+barefaced begging advertisements which give this column its characteristic
+name.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+There his eye fell on an advertisement couched in the following terms:
+</p>
+
+<p class="letter">
+&ldquo;If Gunner Martin Barling, 1820th Battery, R.F.C., will communicate with
+Messrs. Mills &amp; Cheyne, solicitors 130 Bedford Row, W. C., he will hear of
+something to his advantage. Difficulties with the military can be
+arranged.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Desmond read this advertisement over once and then, starting at the beginning,
+read it over again. Gunner Barling... the name conjured up a picture of a
+jolly, sun-burned man, always very spick and span, talking the strange lingo of
+our professional army gleaned from India, Aden, Malta and the Rock, the type of
+British soldier that put the Retreat from Mons into the history books for all
+time.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Advertisements like this; Desmond reflected dreamily, meant legacies as a rule;
+he was glad of it, for the sake of Barling whom he hadn&rsquo;t seen since the
+far-away days of Aldershot before the war.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Buzzer&rdquo; Barling was the brother of one Private Henry Barling who
+had been Desmond&rsquo;s soldier-servant. He derived the nickname of
+&ldquo;Buzzer&rdquo; from the fact that he was a signaller. As the vicissitudes
+of service had separated the two brothers for many years, they had profited by
+the accident of finding themselves at the same station to see as much of one
+another as possible, and Desmond had frequently come across the gunner at his
+quarters in barracks. Henry Barling had gone out to France with Desmond but a
+sniper in the wood at Villers Cotterets had deprived Desmond of the best
+servant and the truest friend he had ever had. Now here was Henry&rsquo;s
+brother cropping up again. Desmond hoped that &ldquo;Buzzer&rdquo; Barling
+would see the advertisement, and half asleep, formed a mental resolve to cut
+out the notice and send it to the gunner who, he felt glad to think, was still
+alive. The rather curiously worded reference to difficulties with the military
+must mean, Desmond thought, that leave could be obtained for Martin Barling to
+come home and collect his legacy.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At this point the <i>Daily Telegraph</i> fell to the ground and Desmond went
+off to sleep. When he awoke, the afternoon hush had fallen upon the bath. He
+seemed to be the only occupant of the cubicles. His clothes which had arrived
+from the shop during his slumbers, were very neatly laid out on a couch
+opposite him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He dressed himself leisurely. The barber was quite right. The bath had made a
+new man of him. Save for a large bump on the back of his head he was none the
+worse for Strangwise&rsquo;s savage blow. The attendant having packed
+Bellward&rsquo;s apparel in the suit-case in which Desmond&rsquo;s clothes had
+come from the club, Desmond left the suit-case in the man&rsquo;s charge and
+strolled out into the soft air of a perfect afternoon. He had discarded his
+bandage and in his well fitting blue suit and brown boots he was not
+recognizable as the scrubby wretch who had entered the bath six hours before.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Desmond strolled idly along the crowded streets in the sunshine. He was rather
+at a loss as to what his next move should be. Now that his mental freshness was
+somewhat restored, his thoughts began to busy themselves again with the
+disappearance of Barbara Mackwayte. He was conscious of a guilty feeling
+towards Barbara. It was not so much the blame he laid upon himself for not
+being at the Mill House to meet her when she came as the sense that he had been
+unfaithful to the cause of her murdered father.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Now that he was away from Nur-el-Din with her pleading eyes and pretty
+gestures, Desmond&rsquo;s thoughts turned again to Barbara Mackwayte. As he
+walked along Piccadilly, he found himself contrasting the two women as he had
+contrasted them that night he had met them in Nur-el-Din&rsquo;s dressing room
+at the Palaceum. And, with a sense of shame; he became aware of how much he had
+succumbed to the dancer&rsquo;s purely sensual influence; for away from her he
+found he could regain his independence of thought and action.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The thought of Barbara in the hands of that woman with the cruel eyes or a
+victim to the ruthlessness of Strangwise made Desmond cold with apprehension.
+If they believed the girl knew where the jewel had disappeared to, they would
+stop at nothing to force a confession from her; Desmond was convinced of that.
+But what had become of the trio?
+</p>
+
+<p>
+In vain he cast about him for a clue. As far as he knew, the only London
+address that Strangwise had was the Nineveh; and he was as little likely to
+return there as Bellward was to make his way to his little hotel in Jermyn
+Street. There remained Mrs. Malplaquet who, he remembered, had told him of her
+house at Campden Hill.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+For the moment, Desmond decided, he must put both Strangwise and Bellward out
+of his calculations. The only direction in which he could start his inquiries
+after Barbara Mackwayte pointed towards Campden Hill and Mrs. Malplaquet.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The delightful weather suggested to his mind the idea of walking out to Campden
+Hill to pursue his investigations on the spot. So he made his way across the
+Park into Kensington Gardens heading for the pleasant glades of Notting Hill.
+In the Bayswater Road he turned into a postoffice and consulted the London
+Directory. He very quickly convinced himself that among the hundreds of
+thousands of names compiled by Mr. Kelly&rsquo;s indefatigable industry Mrs.
+Malplaquet&rsquo;s was not to be found. Neither did the street directory show
+her as the tenant of any of the houses on Campden Hill.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I don&rsquo;t know that there is a more pleasant residential quarter of London
+than the quiet streets and gardens that straggle over this airy height. The
+very steepness of the slopes leading up from the Kensington High Street on the
+one side and from Holland Park Avenue on the other effectually preserves the
+atmosphere of old-world languor which envelops this retired spot. The hill,
+with its approaches so steep as to suggest to the imaginative the pathway
+winding up some rock-bound fastness of the Highlands, successfully defies
+organ-grinders and motor-buses and other aspirants to the membership in the
+great society for the propagation of street noises. As you near the summit, the
+quiet becomes more pronounced until you might fancy yourself a thousand
+leagues, instead of as many yards, removed from the busy commerce of Kensington
+or the rather strident activity of Notting Hill.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+So various in size and condition are the houses that it is as though they had
+broken away from the heterogeneous rabble of bricks and mortar that makes up
+the Royal Borough of Kensington, and run up in a crowd to the summit of the
+hill to look down contemptuously upon their less fortunate brethren in the
+plain. On Campden Hill there are houses to suit all purses and all tastes from
+the vulgar mansion with its private garden to the little one-story stable that
+Art (which flourishes in these parts) and ten shillings worth of paint has
+converted into a cottage.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+For half an hour Desmond wandered in a desultory fashion along the quiet roads
+of natty houses with brightly painted doors and shining brass knockers. He had
+no definite objective; but he hoped rather vaguely to pick up some clue that
+might lead him to Mrs. Malplaquet&rsquo;s. He walked slowly along surveying the
+houses and scrutinizing the faces of the passers-by who were few and far
+between, yet without coming any nearer the end of his search.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It was now growing dusk. Enthroned on the summit of the hill the water-tower
+stood out hard and clear against the evening sky. Desmond, who had lost his
+bearings somewhat in the course of his wanderings, came to a full stop
+irresolutely, where two streets crossed, thinking that he would retrace his
+footsteps to the main-road on the chance of picking up a taxi to take him back
+to town. He chose one of the streets at random; but it proved to be a crescent
+and brought him back practically to the spot he had started from. Thereupon, he
+took the other and followed it up, ignoring various side-turnings which he
+feared might be pitfalls like the last: But the second road was as bad as the
+first. It was a <i>cul de sac</i> and brought Desmond face to face with a blank
+wall.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He turned and looked about him for somebody of whom to ask the way. But the
+street was entirely deserted. He seemed to be on the very summit of the hill;
+for all the roads were a-tilt. Though the evening was falling fast, no light
+appeared in any of the houses and the street lamps were yet unlit. Save for the
+distant bourdon of the traffic which rose to his ears like the beating of the
+surf, the breeze rustling the bushes in the gardens was the only sound.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Desmond started to walk back slowly the way he had come. Presently, his eyes
+caught the gleam of a light from above a front door. When he drew level with
+it, he saw that a gas-jet was burning in the fanlight over the entrance to a
+neat little two-story house which stood by itself in a diminutive garden. As by
+this time he was thoroughly sick of wandering aimlessly about, he went up to
+the neat little house and rang the bell.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A maid-servant in a cap and apron who seemed to be drawn to the scale of the
+house, such an insignificant little person she was, opened the door.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, sir,&rdquo; she exclaimed when she saw him, &ldquo;was it about the
+rooms?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And she pointed up at the fan-light where, for the first time, Desmond noticed
+a printed card with the inscription-:
+</p>
+
+<p class="center">
+&ldquo;Furnished Rooms to Let.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The servant&rsquo;s unexpected question put an idea into Desmond&rsquo;s head.
+He could not return to the club, he reflected, since he was supposed to be
+killed in action. Why not take a room in this house in the heart of the
+enemy&rsquo;s country and spend some days on the watch for Mrs. Malplaquet or
+for any clue that might lead him to her?
+</p>
+
+<p>
+So Desmond answered, yes, it was about the rooms he had come.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Promising that she would tell &ldquo;the missus,&rdquo; the little servant
+showed him into a tiny sitting-room, very clean and bright, with blue cretonne
+curtains and a blue carpet and an engraving of &ldquo;King Cophetua and The
+Beggar Maid&rdquo; over the mantelpiece. Directly you came into the room,
+everything in it got up and shouted &ldquo;Tottenham Court Road.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Then the door opened and, with a great tinkling and rustling, a stoutish,
+brisk-looking woman sailed in. The tinkling proceeded from the large amount of
+cheap jewelry with which she was adorned; the rustling from a black and shiny
+glacé silk dress. With every movement she made the large drops she wore in her
+ears chinked and were answered by a melodious chime from the charm bangles she
+had on her wrists.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She measured Desmond in a short glance and his appearance seemed to please her
+for she smiled as she said in rather a mincing voice:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;My (she pronounced it &lsquo;may&rsquo;) maid said you wished to see the
+rooms!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Desmond intimated that such was his desire.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Pray be seated,&rdquo; said the little woman: &ldquo;You will
+understand, I&rsquo;m sure, that ay am not in the habit of taking in paying
+guests, but may husband being at the front, ay have a bedroom and this
+sitting-room free and ay thought...&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She stopped and looked sharply at Desmond.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You are an officer, I think&rdquo; she asked.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Desmond bowed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;May husband is also an officer,&rdquo; replied the woman, &ldquo;Captain
+Viljohn-Smythe; you may have met him. No? Of course, had you not been of
+commissioned rank, ay should not...&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She trailed off vaguely.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Desmond inquired her terms and surprised her somewhat by accepting them on the
+spot.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But you have not seen the bedroom!&rdquo; protested Mrs. Viljohn-Smythe.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I will take it on trust,&rdquo; Desmond replied, &ldquo;and here,&rdquo;
+he added, pulling out his note-case, &ldquo;is a week&rsquo;s rent in advance.
+I&rsquo;ll go along now and fetch my things. By the way,&rdquo; he went on,
+&ldquo;I know some people here at Campden Hill but very foolishly, I&rsquo;ve
+mislaid the address. Malplaquet... Mrs. Malplaquet. Do you happen to know her
+house?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Ay know most of the naice people living round about here,&rdquo; replied
+the lady, &ldquo;but for the moment, ay cannot recollect... was it one of the
+larger houses on the hill, do you know?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;m afraid I don&rsquo;t know,&rdquo; said Desmond. &ldquo;You
+see, I&rsquo;ve lost the address!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Quayte!&rdquo; returned Mrs. Viljohn-Smythe. &ldquo;Ay can&rsquo;t say
+ay know the name!&rdquo; she added.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+However, she consented to consult the handmaiden, who answered to the name of
+Gladays, as to Mrs. Malplaquet&rsquo;s address, but she was as ignorant as her
+mistress.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Promising to return in the course of the evening with his things and having
+received exact instructions as to the shortest way to Holland Park Avenue,
+Desmond took his leave. He felt that he had embarked on a wild goose chase;
+for, even if the fugitives had made their way to Mrs. Malplaquet&rsquo;s (which
+was more than doubtful) he imagined they would take care to lie very low so
+that his chances of coming across any of them were of the most meager.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Following the directions he had received, he made his way easily back to the
+main road. He halted under a street-lamp to catch the eye of any passing taxi
+which might happen to be disengaged. A dirty faced man in a greasy old suit and
+a spotted handkerchief knotted about his throat came slouching along the
+pavement, keeping close to the wall. On catching sight of Desmond&rsquo;s face
+by the light of the lamp, he stopped irresolutely and then advanced slowly
+towards him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Excuse me, sir!&rdquo; he said falteringly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Desmond looked round at the sound of the man&rsquo;s voice and seeing a typical
+street loafer, asked the fellow to get him a taxi.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It <i>is</i> Captain Okewood,&rdquo; said the loafer, &ldquo;you
+don&rsquo;t remember me, sir?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Desmond looked at the dirty, rather haggard face with its unshaven chin and
+shook his head.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I don&rsquo;t think I do,&rdquo; he answered, &ldquo;though you seem to
+know <i>my</i> name!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The vagrant fumbled in his pocket for a minute and extracting a scrap of paper,
+unfolded it and held it out to Desmond.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That&rsquo;s me, sir!&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;and, oh, sir! if you would
+kindly help me with a word of good advice, just for old times&rsquo; sake,
+I&rsquo;d be very grateful!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Desmond took the scrap of paper which the man tendered and held it so as to
+catch the rays of the lamp. It was a fragment torn from a newspaper. He had
+hardly set eyes on the cutting than he stretched out his hand to the vagrant.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Why, Gunner Barling,&rdquo; he cried, &ldquo;I didn&rsquo;t know you!
+How on earth do you come to be in this state?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The man looked shamefacedly down on the ground.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;m a deserter, sir!&rdquo; he said in a low voice.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Are you, by George?&rdquo; replied Desmond, &ldquo;and now I come to
+think of it, so am I!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap25"></a>CHAPTER XXV.<br/>
+TO MRS. MALPLAQUET&rsquo;S</h2>
+
+<p>
+Clasping Barbara&rsquo;s wrist in a bony grip, Mrs. Malplaquet sat at the
+girl&rsquo;s side in the back seat of the limousine whilst Bellward placed
+himself on the seat opposite. The car was powerfully engined; and, once the
+cart track up to the inn was passed and the main road reached, Strangwise
+opened her out.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+By the track leading to the inn the high road made a right angle turn to the
+right. This turn they took, leaving the Mill House away in the distance to the
+left of them, and, after skirting the fen for some way and threading a maze of
+side roads, presently debouched on a straight, broad road.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Dazed and shaken by her experiences, Barbara lost all count of time, but after
+running for some time through the open country in the gray light of dawn, they
+reached the edge of those long tentacles of bricks and mortar which London
+thrusts out from her on every side. The outer fringes of the metropolis were
+still sleeping as the great car roared by. The snug &ldquo;High Streets,&rdquo;
+the red brick &ldquo;Parades&rdquo; and &ldquo;Broadways,&rdquo; with their
+lines of houses with blinds drawn, seemed to have their eyes shut, so blank, so
+somnolent was their aspect.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+With their lamps alight, the first trams were gliding out to begin the new day,
+as the big car swiftly traversed the eastern suburbs of London. To Barbara, who
+had had her home at Seven Kings, there was something familiar about the streets
+as they flickered by; but her powers of observation were dulled, so great was
+the sense of helplessness that weighed her down.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+High-booted scavengers with curious snake-like lengths of hose on little
+trolleys were sluicing the asphalt as the limousine snorted past the Mansion
+House into Poultney and Cheapside. The light was growing clearer now; the tube
+stations were open and from time to time a motor-bus whizzed by.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Barbara stirred restlessly and Mrs. Malplaquet&rsquo;s grip on her wrist
+tightened.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Where are you taking me?&rdquo; the girl said.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mrs. Malplaquet spoke a single word.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Bellward!&rdquo; she said in a gentle voice; but it was a voice of
+command.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Bellward leaned forward.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Look at me, Miss Mackwayte!&rdquo; he said.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+There was a curious insistence in his voice that made Barbara obey. She
+struggled for a moment against the impulse to do his bidding; for some agency
+within her told her to resist the summons. But an irresistible force seemed to
+draw her eyes to his. Bellward did not move. He simply leaned forward a little,
+his hands on his knees, and looked at her. Barbara could not see his eyes, for
+the light in the car was still dim, but inch by inch they captured hers.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She looked at the black outline of his head and instantly was conscious of a
+wave of magnetic power that transmitted itself from his will to hers. She would
+have cried out, have struggled, have sought to break away; but that invisible
+dance held her as in a vice. A little gasp broke from her lips; but that was
+all.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;So!&rdquo; said Bellward with the little sigh of a man who has just
+accomplished some bodily effort, &ldquo;so! you will keep quiet now and do as I
+tell you. You understand?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+No reply came from the girl. She had thrust her head forward and was gazing
+fixedly at the man. Bellward leaned towards the girl until his stubbly hair
+actually touched her soft brown curls. He was gazing intently at her eyes.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He was apparently well satisfied with his inspection, for he gave a sigh of
+satisfaction and turned to Mrs. Malplaquet.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;She&rsquo;ll give no more trouble now!&rdquo; he remarked airily.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Ah! Bellward,&rdquo; sighed Mrs. Malplaquet, &ldquo;you&rsquo;re
+incomparable! What an undefeatable combination you and I would have made if
+we&rsquo;d met twenty years sooner!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And she threw him a coquettish glance.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Ah, indeed!&rdquo; returned Bellward pensively. &ldquo;But a night like
+this makes me feel twenty years older, Minna. He&rsquo;s a daredevil, this
+Strangwise. Imagine going back to that infernal inn when the police might have
+broken in on us any minute. But he is a determined chap. He doesn&rsquo;t seem
+to know what it is to be beaten. He wanted to make sure that Nur-el-Din had not
+recovered the jewel from him, though he declares that it has never left him day
+or night since he got possession of it. He fairly made hay of her room back at
+the inn there.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well,&rdquo; said Mrs. Malplaquet rather spitefully, &ldquo;he seems to
+be beaten this time. He hasn&rsquo;t found his precious Star of Poland.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No,&rdquo; answered the man reflectively, &ldquo;but I think he
+will!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mrs. Malplaquet laughed shrilly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And how, may I ask? From what Strangwise told me himself, the thing has
+utterly vanished. And he doesn&rsquo;t seem to have any clue as to who has
+taken it!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Perhaps not,&rdquo; replied Bellward, who appeared to have a high
+opinion of Strangwise, &ldquo;but, like all Germans, our friend is thorough. If
+he does not see the direct road, he proceeds by a process of elimination until
+he hits upon it. He did not expect to find the jewel in Nur-el-Din&rsquo;s
+room; he told me as much himself, but he searched because he is thorough in
+everything. Do you know why he really went back to the Dyke Inn?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Why?&rdquo; asked Mrs. Malplaquet.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;To secure our young friend here,&rdquo; answered Bellward with a glance
+at Barbara.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mrs. Malplaquet made a little grimace to bid him to be prudent in what he said
+before the girl.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Bah!&rdquo; the man laughed, &ldquo;you understand nothing of what we
+are saying, do you?&rdquo; he said, addressing Barbara.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The girl moved uneasily.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I understand nothing of what you are saying,&rdquo; she replied in a
+strained voice.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;This girl was the last person to have the jewel before
+Strangwise,&rdquo; Bellward said, continuing his conversation with Mrs.
+Malplaquet, &ldquo;and she is employed at the Headquarters of the Secret
+Service. Strangwise was satisfied that nobody connected him with the theft of
+the silver box which Nur-el-Din gave to this girl until our young lady here
+appeared at the Dyke Inn yesterday afternoon. Nur-el-Din played his game for
+him by detaining the girl. Strangwise believes&mdash;and I must say I agree
+with him&mdash;that probably two persons know where the Star of Poland is. One
+is this girl...&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The other being the late Mr. Bellward?&rdquo; queried Mrs. Malplaquet.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Precisely. The late Mr. Bellward or Major Desmond Okewood!&rdquo; said
+Bellward. &ldquo;Between him and this girl here I think we ought to be able to
+recover Strangwise&rsquo;s lost property for him!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But you haven&rsquo;t got Okewood yet!&rdquo; observed the lady in a
+mocking voice.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The man looked evilly at her, his heavy, fat chin set square.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But we shall get him, never fear. With a little bird-lime as attractive
+as this&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He broke off and jerked his head in the direction of Barbara.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;... I shall do the rest!&rdquo; he added.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Ah!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mrs. Malplaquet drew a deep sigh of admiration.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That&rsquo;s a clever idea. He is so <i>rusé</i>, this Strangwise. You
+are quite right, Bellward, he never admits himself beaten. And he never is! But
+tell me,&rdquo; she added, &ldquo;what about Nur-el-Din? They&rsquo;ll nab her,
+eh?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Unless our British friends are even more inefficient than I believe them
+to be, they most certainly will,&rdquo; he replied.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And then?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Bellward shrugged his shoulders and spread wide his hands.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;A little morning ceremony at the Tower,&rdquo; he answered,
+&ldquo;unless these idiotic English are too sentimental to execute a
+woman...&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The car was running down the long slope to Paddington Station. It drew up at
+the entrance to the booking office, and Strangwise, springing from the
+driver&rsquo;s seat, flung open the door.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Come on!&rdquo; he cried, &ldquo;we must look sharp or we&rsquo;ll miss
+our train!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He dragged a couple of bags off the roof and led the way into the station. In
+the booking-hall he inquired of a porter what time the express left for Bath,
+then went to the ticket office and took four first-class tickets to that place.
+Meanwhile, the car remained standing empty in the carriageway.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Strangwise led his little party up some stairs and across a long bridge, down
+some stairs and up some stairs again, emerging, finally, at the Bakerloo Tube
+Station. There he despatched Bellward to fetch a taxi.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Taxis are rare in the early hours of the morning in war-time and Bellward was
+gone fully twenty minutes. Strangwise fidgeted continually, drawing out his
+watch repeatedly and casting many anxious glances this way and that.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+His nervous demeanor began to affect Mrs. Malplaquet, who had linked her arm
+affectionately in Barbara&rsquo;s. The girl remained absolutely apathetic.
+Indeed, she seemed almost as one in a trance.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Aren&rsquo;t we going to Bath?&rdquo; at length demanded Mrs. Malplaquet
+of Strangwise.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Don&rsquo;t ask questions!&rdquo; snapped the latter.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But the car?&rdquo; asked the lady.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Hold your tongue!&rdquo; commanded the officer; and Mrs. Malplaquet
+obeyed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Then Mr. Bellward returned with the news that he had at last got a taxi.
+Strangwise turned to Bellward.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Can Minna and the girl go to Campden Hill alone?&rdquo; he asked.
+&ldquo;Or will the girl try and break away, do you think?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Bellward held up his hand to enjoin silence.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You will go along with Mrs. Malplaquet,&rdquo; he said to Barbara in his
+low purring voice, &ldquo;you will stay with her until I come. You
+understand?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I will go with Mrs. Malplaquet!&rdquo; the girl replied in the same dull
+tone as before.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Upon my word,&rdquo; exclaimed Mrs. Malplaquet, &ldquo;you might have
+told me that we were going to my own place...&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But Strangwise shut her up.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Bellward and I will come on by tube... it is safer,&rdquo; he said,
+&ldquo;hurry, hurry! We must all be under cover by eight o&rsquo;clock... we
+have no time to lose!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap26"></a>CHAPTER XXVI.<br/>
+THE MAN IN THE SUMMER-HOUSE</h2>
+
+<p>
+The hour of the theatre rush was long since over and its passing had
+transformed the taxi-drivers from haughty autocrats to humble suppliants. One
+taxi after another crawled slowly past the street corner where Desmond had
+stood for over an hour in deep converse with Gunner Barling, but neither
+flaunting flag nor appealingly uplifted finger attracted the slightest
+attention from the athletic-looking man who was so earnestly engaged in talk
+with a tramp. But at last the conversation was over; the two men separated and
+the next taxi passing thereafter picked up a fare.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At nine o&rsquo;clock the next morning Desmond appeared for breakfast in his
+sitting-room at Santona Road; for such was the name of the street in which his
+new rooms were situated. When he had finished his meal, he summoned Gladys and
+informed her that he would be glad to speak to Mrs. Viljohn-Smythe. That lady
+having duly answered the summons, Desmond asked whether, in consideration of
+terms to be mutually agreed upon, she could accommodate his soldier servant. He
+explained that the last-named was of the most exemplary character and threw out
+a hint of the value of a batman for such tasks as the cleaning of the family
+boots and the polishing of brass or silver.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The landlady made no objections and half an hour later a clean and
+respectable-looking man arrived whom Desmond with difficulty recognized as the
+wretched vagrant of the previous evening. This was, indeed, the Gunner Barling
+he used to know, with his smooth-shaven chin and neat brown moustache waxed at
+the ends and characteristic &ldquo;quiff&rdquo; decorating his brow. And so
+Desmond and his man installed themselves at Santona Road.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The house was clean and comfortable, and Mrs. Viljohn-Smythe, for all her
+&ldquo;refaynement,&rdquo; as she would have called it, proved herself a
+warm-hearted, motherly soul. Desmond had a small but comfortably furnished
+bedroom at the top of the house, on the second floor, with a window which
+commanded a view of the diminutive garden and the back of a row of large houses
+standing on the lower slopes of the hill. So precipitous was the fall of the
+ground, indeed, that Desmond could look right into the garden of the house
+backing on Mrs. Viljohn-Smythe&rsquo;s. This garden had a patch of well-kept
+green sward in the centre with a plaster nymph in the middle, while in one
+corner stood a kind of large summer-house or pavilion built on a slight
+eminence, with a window looking into Mrs. Viljohn-Smythe&rsquo;s&rsquo; back
+garden.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+In accordance with a plan of action he had laid down in his mind, Desmond took
+all his meals at his rooms. The rest of the day he devoted to walking about the
+streets of Campden Hill and setting on foot discreet inquiries after Mrs.
+Malplaquet amongst the local tradespeople.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+For three or four days he carried out this arrangement without the slightest
+success. He dogged the footsteps of more than one gray-haired lady of
+distinguished appearance without lighting upon his quarry. He bestowed largesse
+on the constable on point duty, on the milkman and the baker&rsquo;s young
+lady; but none of them had ever heard of Mrs. Malplaquet or recognized her from
+Desmond&rsquo;s description.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+On the morning of the fourth day Desmond returned to lunch, dispirited and
+heart-sick. He had half a mind to abandon his quest altogether and to go and
+make his peace with the Chief and ask to be sent back to France. He ate his
+lunch and then, feeling that it would be useless to resume his aimless patrol
+of the streets, lit a cigar and strolled out into the little back-garden.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It was a fine, warm afternoon, and already the crocuses were thrusting their
+heads out of the neat flower-beds as if to ascertain whether the spring had
+really arrived. There was, indeed, a pleasant vernal scent in the air.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;A fine day!&rdquo; said a voice.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Desmond looked up. At the open window of the summerhouse of the garden backing
+on Mrs. Viljohn-Smythe&rsquo;s, his elbows resting on the pitch-pine frame, was
+a middle-aged man. A cigarette was in his mouth and from his hands dangled a
+newspaper. He had a smooth-shaven, heavily-jowled face and a large pair of
+tortoise-shell spectacles on his nose.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Desmond remembered to have seen the man already looking out of a window
+opposite his on one of the upper floors of the house. In reply to a casual
+inquiry, Mrs. Viljohn-Smythe had informed him that the house was a nursing home
+kept by a Dr. Radcombe, a nerve specialist.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It is quite like spring!&rdquo; replied Desmond, wondering if this were
+the doctor. Doctors get about a good deal and Dr. Radcombe might be able to
+tell him something about Mrs. Malplaquet.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I think we have seen one another in the mornings sometimes,&rdquo; said
+the heavily-jowled man, &ldquo;though I have noticed that you are an earlier
+riser than I am. But when one is an invalid&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You are one of Dr. Radcombe&rsquo;s patients, then!&rdquo; said Desmond.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I am,&rdquo; returned the other, &ldquo;a great man, that, my dear sir.
+I doubt if there is his equal for diagnosis in the kingdom.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;He has lived here for some years, I suppose?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh yes!&rdquo; answered the man, &ldquo;in fact, he is one of the oldest
+and most-respected residents of Kensington, I believe!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I am rather anxious to find some friends of mine who live about
+here,&rdquo; Desmond remarked, quick to seize his opportunity, &ldquo;I wonder
+whether your doctor could help me...&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;m sure he could,&rdquo; the man replied, &ldquo;the doctor knows
+everybody...&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The name&mdash;&rdquo; began Desmond, but the other checked him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Please don&rsquo;t ask me to burden my memory with names,&rdquo; he
+protested. &ldquo;I am here for a complete rest from over-work, and loss of
+memory is one of my symptoms. But look here; why not come over the wall and
+step inside the house with me? Dr. Radcombe is there and will, I am sure, be
+delighted to give you any assistance in his power!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Desmond hesitated.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Really,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;it seems rather unconventional. Perhaps
+the doctor would object...&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Object&rdquo; said the heavily-jowled man, &ldquo;tut, tut, not at all.
+Come on, I&rsquo;ll give you a hand up!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He thrust out a large, white hand. Desmond was about to grasp it when he saw
+gleaming on the third finger a gold snake ring with emerald eyes&mdash;the ring
+that Mrs. Malplaquet had given Bellward. He was about to draw back but the man
+was too quick for him. Owing to the slope of the ground the window of the
+summer-house was on a level with Desmond&rsquo;s throat. The man&rsquo;s two
+hands shot out simultaneously. One grasped Desmond&rsquo;s wrist in a steel
+grip whilst the other fastened itself about the young man&rsquo;s throat,
+squeezing the very breath out of his body. It was done so quickly that he had
+no time to struggle, no time to shout. As Bellward seized him, another arm was
+shot out of the window. Desmond felt himself gripped by the collar and lifted,
+by a most amazing effort of strength, bodily over the wall.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+His brain swimming with the pressure on his throat, he struggled but feebly to
+recover his freedom. However, as Desmond was dropped heavily on to the grass on
+the other side of the wall, Bellward&rsquo;s grip relaxed just for a second and
+in that instant Desmond made one desperate bid for liberty. He fell in a
+crouching position and, as he felt Bellward loosen his hold for a second with
+the jerk of his victim&rsquo;s fall, Desmond straightened himself up suddenly,
+catching his assailant a violent blow with his head on the point of the chin.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Bellward fell back with a crash on to the timber flooring of the pavilion.
+Desmond heard his head strike the boards with a thud, heard a muttered curse.
+He found himself standing in a narrow lane, less than three feet wide, which
+ran between the garden wall and the summer-house; for the pavilion, erected on
+a slight knoll surrounded by turf, was not built against the wall as is usually
+the case with these structures.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+In this narrow space Desmond stood irresolute for the merest fraction of a
+second. It was not longer; for, directly after Bellward had crashed backwards,
+Desmond heard a light step reverberate within the planks of the summerhouse.
+His most obvious course was to scramble back over the wall again into safety,
+in all thankfulness at having escaped so violent an attack. But he reflected
+that Bellward was here and that surely meant that the others were not far off.
+In that instant as he heard the stealthy footstep cross the floor of the
+summer-house, Desmond resolved he would not leave the garden until he had
+ascertained whether Barbara Mackwayte was there.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Desmond decided that he would stay where he was until he no longer heard that
+footstep on the planks within; for then the person inside the summer-house
+would have reached the grass at the door. Desmond remembered the arm which had
+shot out beside Bellward at the window and swung him so easily off his feet. He
+knew only one man capable of achieving that very respectable muscular
+performance; for Desmond weighed every ounce of twelve stone. That man was
+Maurice Strangwise.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+As soon as the creaking of the timbers within ceased, Desmond moved to the left
+following the outer wall of the pavilion. On the soft green sward his feet made
+no sound. Presently he came to a window which was let in the side of the
+summerhouse opposite the window from which Bellward had grappled with him.
+Raising his eyes to the level of the sill, Desmond took a cautious peep. He
+caught a glimpse of the face of Maurice Strangwise, brows knit, nostrils
+dilated, the very picture of venomous, watchful rancor.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Strangwise had halted and was now looking back over the wall into Mrs.
+Viljohn-Smythe&rsquo;s back garden. Was it possible, Desmond wondered, that he
+could believe that Desmond had scrambled back over the wall? Strangwise
+remained motionless, his back now fully turned to Desmond, peering into the
+other garden.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The garden in which the summer-house stood was oblong in shape and more than
+twice as broad as it was long. The pavilion was not more than forty yards from
+the back entrance of the house. Desmond weighed in his mind the possibility of
+being able to dash across those forty yards, the turf deadening the sound of
+his feet, before Strangwise turned round again. The entrance to the back of the
+house was through a door in the side of the house, to which two or three
+wrought-iron steps gave access. Once he had gained the steps Desmond calculated
+that the side of the house would shelter him from Strangwise&rsquo;s view. He
+turned these things over in his mind in the twinkling of an eye; for all his
+life he had been used to quick decision and quick action. To cover those forty
+yards across the open in one bound was, he decided, too much to risk; for he
+must at all costs gain access to the house and discover, if possible, whether
+Barbara Mackwayte were confined within, before he was caught.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Then his eye fell on the plaster nymph in the middle of the grass. She was a
+stoutly-built female, life-size, standing upon a solid-looking pedestal fully
+four feet broad. Desmond measured the distance separating him from the nymph.
+It was not more than twenty yards at the outside and the pedestal would conceal
+him from the eyes of Strangwise if the latter should turn round before he had
+made his second bound and reached the steps at the side of the house.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He peeped through the window again. Strangwise stood in his old attitude gazing
+over the garden wall. Then Desmond acted. Taking long strides on the points of
+his toes, he gained the statue and crouched down behind it. Even as he started,
+he heard a loud grunt from the inside of the summerhouse and from his cover
+behind the nymph saw Strangwise turn quickly and enter the summerhouse. On that
+Desmond sprang to his feet again, heedless of whether he was seen from the
+house, ran lightly across the grass and reached the steps at the side of the
+house.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The door stood ajar.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He stood still on the top step and listened for a moment. The house was wrapped
+in silence. Not a sign of life came from within.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But now he heard voices from the garden and they were the voices of two angry
+men, raised in altercation. As he listened, they drew nearer.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Desmond tarried no longer. He preferred the unknown perils which that silent
+house portended to the real danger advancing from the garden. He softly pushed
+the door open and slipped into the house.
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap27"></a>CHAPTER XXVII.<br/>
+THE RED LACQUER ROOM</h2>
+
+<p>
+The side-door led into a little white passage with a green baize door at the
+end. A staircase, which from its white-washed treads, Desmond judged to be the
+back stairs, gave on the passage. Calculating that the men in the garden would
+be certain to use the main staircase, Desmond took the back stairs which, on
+the first landing, brought him face to face with a green baize door, similar in
+every respect to that on the floor below.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He pushed this door open and listened. Hearing nothing he passed on through it.
+He found himself in a broad corridor on to which gave the main staircase from
+below and its continuation to the upper floors. Three rooms opened on to this
+corridor, a large drawing-room, a small study and what was obviously the
+doctor&rsquo;s consulting room, from the operating table and the array of
+instruments set out in glass cases. The rooms were empty and Desmond was about
+to return to the back stairs and proceed to the next floor when his attention
+was caught by a series of framed photographs with which the walls of the
+corridor were lined.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+These were groups of doctors taken at various medical congresses. You will find
+such photographs in many doctors&rsquo; houses. Below each group were neatly
+printed the names of the persons therein represented. Anxious to see what
+manner of man was this Doctor Radcombe in whose house spies were apparently at
+liberty to consort with impunity, Desmond looked for his name.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+There it was&mdash;Dr. A. J. Radcombe. But, on looking at the figure above the
+printed line, what was his astonishment to recognize the angular features and
+drooping moustache of &ldquo;No. 13&rdquo;!
+</p>
+
+<p>
+There was no possible mistake about it. The photographs were excellent and
+Desmond had no difficulty in identifying the eccentric-looking German in each
+of them. So this was Mrs. Malplaquet&rsquo;s house, was it? A nursing-home run
+by &ldquo;No. 13,&rdquo; who in addition to being a spy, would seem to have
+been a nerve specialist as well. In this guise, no doubt, he had made trips to
+the South of England which had gained for him that intimate acquaintance with
+Portsmouth and Southsea of which he had boasted at the gathering in the
+library. In this capacity, moreover, he had probably met Bellward whose
+&ldquo;oggult&rdquo; powers, to which &ldquo;No. 13&rdquo; had alluded, seem to
+point to mesmerism and kindred practices in which German neurasthenic research
+has made such immense progress.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Pondering over his surprising discovery, Desmond pursued his way to the floor
+above. Here, too, was a green baize door which opened on to a corridor. Desmond
+walked quickly along it, glancing in, as he passed, at the open doors of two or
+three bedrooms. Just beyond where the staircase crossed the corridor were two
+doors, both of which were closed. The one was a white door and might have been
+a bathroom; the other was enameled a brilliant, glossy red.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The second floor was as silent and deserted as the corridor below. But just as
+Desmond passed the head of the main staircase he heard the sound of voices. He
+glanced cautiously down the well of the stairs and saw Strangwise and Bellward
+talking together. Bellward was on the stairs while Strangwise stood in the
+corridor.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It&rsquo;s our last chance,&rdquo; Strangwise was saying.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, no,&rdquo; Bellward replied heatedly, &ldquo;I tell you it is
+madness. We must not delay a minute. For Heaven&rsquo;s sake, leave the girl
+alone and let&rsquo;s save ourselves.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What?&rdquo; cried Strangwise, &ldquo;and abandon Minna!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Minna is well able to look after herself,&rdquo; answered Bellward in a
+sulky voice, &ldquo;it&rsquo;s a question of <i>sauve qui peut</i> now... every
+man for himself!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No!&rdquo; said Strangwise firmly, &ldquo;we&rsquo;ll wait for Minna,
+Bellward. You exaggerate the danger. I tell you I was at the garden wall within
+a few seconds of our friend laying you out, and I saw no sign of him in his
+garden. It was a physical impossibility for him to have got over the wall and
+back into the house in the time. And in his garden there&rsquo;s nowhere to
+hide. It&rsquo;s as bare as the Sahara!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But, good Heavens!&rdquo; cried Bellward, throwing his hands excitedly
+above his head, &ldquo;the man can&rsquo;t dissolve into thin air. He&rsquo;s
+gone back to the house, I tell you, and the police will be here at any minute.
+You know he&rsquo;s not in our garden; for you searched every nook and corner
+of it yourself. Okewood may be too clever for you, Strangwise; but he&rsquo;s
+not a magician!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No,&rdquo; said Strangwise sternly, &ldquo;he is not.&rdquo; And he
+added in a low voice:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That&rsquo;s why I am convinced that he is in this house!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Desmond felt his heart thump against his ribs.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Bellward seemed surprised for he cried quickly:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What? Here?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Strangwise nodded.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You stand here gossiping with that man loose in the house?&rdquo;
+exclaimed Bellward vehemently, &ldquo;why the next thing we know the fellow
+will escape us again!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, no, he won&rsquo;t&rdquo; retorted the other. &ldquo;Every window on
+the ground floor is barred... this is a home for neurasthenics, you know, and
+that is sometimes a polite word for a lunatic, my friend... and the doors, both
+front and back are locked. The keys are here!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Desmond heard a jingle as Strangwise slapped his pocket.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;All the same,&rdquo; the latter went on, &ldquo;it is as well to be
+prepared for a sudden change of quarters. That&rsquo;s why I want you to finish
+off the girl at once. Come along, we&rsquo;ll start now...&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, no!&rdquo; declared Bellward. &ldquo;I&rsquo;m far too upset. You
+seem to think you can turn me on and off like you do the gas!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, as you like,&rdquo; said Strangwise, &ldquo;but the sooner we
+clear up this thing the better. I&rsquo;m going to see if our clever young
+friend has taken refuge in the servants&rsquo; quarters upstairs. He&rsquo;s
+not on this floor, that&rsquo;s certain!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Desmond drew back in terror. He heard the green baize door on the floor below
+swing back as Strangwise went out to the back stairs and Bellward&rsquo;s heavy
+step ascended the main staircase. There was something so horribly sinister in
+that firm, creaking tread as it mounted towards him that for the moment he lost
+his head. He looked round wildly for a place of concealment; but the corridor
+was bare. Facing him was the red enamel door. Boldly he turned the handle and
+walked in, softly closing the door behind him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It was as though he had stepped into another world. The room in which he found
+himself was a study in vivid red emphasized by black. Red and black; these were
+the only colors in the room. The curtains, which were of black silk, were
+drawn, though it was not yet dark outside, and from the ceiling was suspended a
+lamp in the shape of a great scarlet bowl which cast an eerie red light on one
+of the most bizarre apartments that Desmond had ever seen.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It was a lacquer room in the Chinese style, popularized by the craze for
+barbaric decoration introduced by Bakst and the Russian Ballet into England.
+The walls were enameled the same brilliant glossy red as the door and hung at
+intervals with panels of magnificent black and gold lacquer work. The table
+which ran down the centre of the room was of scarlet and gold lacquer like the
+fantastically designed chairs and the rest of the furniture. The heavy carpet
+was black.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Desmond did not take in all these details at once; for his attention was
+immediately directed to a high-backed armchair covered in black satin which
+stood with its back to the door. He stared at this chair; for, peeping out
+above the back, making a splash of deep golden brown against the black sheen of
+the upholstery, was a mass of curls... Barbara Mackwayte&rsquo;s hair.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+As he advanced towards the girl, she moaned in a high, whimpering voice:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, no, not again! Let me sleep! Please, please, leave me alone!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Desmond sprang to her side.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Barbara!&rdquo; he cried and never noticed that he called her by her
+Christian name.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Barbara Mackwayte sat in the big black armchair, facing the black-curtained
+window. Her face was pale and drawn, and there were black circles under her
+eyes. There was a listless yet highly-strung look about her that you see in
+people who habitually take drugs.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She heeded not the sound of his voice. It was as though he had not spoken. She
+only continued to moan and mutter, moving her body about uneasily as a child
+does when its sleep is disturbed by nightmares. Then, to his inexpressible
+horror, Desmond saw that her feet were bound with straps to the legs of the
+chair. Her arms were similarly tethered to the arms of the chair, but her hands
+had been left free.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Barbara!&rdquo; said Desmond softly, &ldquo;you know me! I&rsquo;m
+Desmond Okewood! I&rsquo;ve come to take you home!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The word &ldquo;home&rdquo; seemed to catch the girl&rsquo;s attention; for now
+she turned her head and looked at the young man. The expression in her eyes,
+wide and staring, was horrible; for it was the look of a tortured animal.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Desmond was bending to unbind the straps that fastened Barbara&rsquo;s arms
+when he heard a step outside the door. The curtains in front of the window were
+just beside him. They were long and reached to the floor. Without a
+second&rsquo;s hesitation he slipped behind them and found himself in the
+recess of a shallow bow window.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The bow window was in three parts and the central part was open wide at the
+bottom. It gave on a little balcony which was in reality the roof of a bow
+window of one of the rooms on the floor below. Desmond promptly scrambled out
+of the window and letting himself drop on to the balcony crouched down below
+the sill.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A door opened in the room he had just left. He heard steps moving about and
+cupboards opened and shut. Then, there was the sound of curtains being drawn
+back and a voice said just above him:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;He&rsquo;s not here! I tell you the fellow&rsquo;s not in the house! Now
+perhaps you&rsquo;ll believe me!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The balcony was fairly deep and it was growing dusk; but Desmond could scarcely
+hope to escape detection if Bellward, for he had recognized his voice, should
+think of leaning out of the window and looking down upon the balcony. With his
+coat collar turned up to hide the treacherous white of his linen, Desmond
+pressed himself as close as possible against the side of the house and waited
+for the joyful cry that would proclaim that he had been discovered. There was
+no possible means of escape; for the balcony stood at an angle of the house
+with no windows or water-pipes anywhere within reach, to give him a foothold,
+looking out on an inhospitable and gloomy area.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Whether Bellward, who appeared bent only on getting away from the house without
+delay, examined the balcony or not, Desmond did not know; but after the agony
+of suspense had endured for what seemed to him an hour, he heard Strangwise
+say:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It&rsquo;s no good, Bellward! I&rsquo;m not satisfied! And until I
+<i>am</i> satisfied that Okewood is not here, I don&rsquo;t leave this house.
+And that&rsquo;s that!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Bellward swore savagely.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;We&rsquo;ve searched the garden and not found him: we&rsquo;ve ransacked
+the house from top to bottom without result. The fellow&rsquo;s not here; but
+by God, he&rsquo;ll be here presently with a bunch of police, and then
+it&rsquo;ll be too late! For the last time, Strangwise, will you clear
+out?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+There was a moment&rsquo;s pause. Then Desmond heard Strangwise&rsquo;s clear,
+calm voice.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;There&rsquo;s a balcony there... below the window, I mean.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;ve looked,&rdquo; replied Bellward, &ldquo;and he&rsquo;s not
+there. You can see for yourself!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The moment of discovery had arrived. To Desmond the strain seemed unbearable
+and to alleviate it, he began to count, as one counts to woo sleep. One! two!
+three! four! He heard a grating noise as the window was pushed further up.
+Five! six! seven! eight!
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Strange!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Strangwise muttered the word just above Desmond&rsquo;s head. Then, to his
+inexpressible relief, he heard the other add:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;He&rsquo;s not there!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And Desmond realized that the depth of the balcony had saved him. Short of
+getting out of the window, as he had done, the others could not see him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The two men returned to the room and silence fell once more. Outside on the
+damp balcony in the growing darkness Desmond was fighting down the impulse to
+rush in and stake all in one desperate attempt to rescue the girl from her
+persecutors. But he was learning caution; and he knew he must bide his time.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Some five minutes elapsed during which Desmond could detect no definite sound
+from the red lacquer room except the occasional low murmur of voices. Then,
+suddenly, there came a high, quavering cry from the girl.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Desmond raised himself quickly erect, his ear turned so as to catch every sound
+from the room. The girl wailed again, a plaintive, tortured cry that seemed to
+issue forth unwillingly from her.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;My God!&rdquo; said Desmond to himself, &ldquo;I can&rsquo;t stand
+this!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+His head was level with the sill of the window which was fortunately broad.
+Getting a good grip on the rough cement with his hands, he hoisted himself up
+on to the sill, by the sheer force of his arms alone, sat poised there for an
+instant, then very lightly and without any noise, clambered through the window
+and into the room. Even as he did so, the girl cried out again.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I can&rsquo;t! I can&rsquo;t!&rdquo; she wailed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Every nerve in Desmond&rsquo;s body was tingling with rage. The blood was hotly
+throbbing against his temples and he was literally quivering all over with
+fury. But he held himself in check. This time he must not fail. Both those men
+were armed, he knew. What chance could he, unarmed as he was, have against
+them? He must wait, wait, that they might not escape their punishment.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Steadying the black silk curtains with his hands, he looked through the narrow
+chink where the two panels met. And this was what he saw.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Barbara Mackwayte was still in the chair; but they had unfastened her arms
+though her feet were still bound. She had half-risen from her seat. Her body
+was thrust forward in a strained, unnatural attitude; her eyes were wide open
+and staring; and there was a little foam on her lips. There was something
+hideously deformed, horribly unlife-like about her. Though her eyes were open,
+her look was the look of the blind; and, like the blind, she held her head a
+little on one side as though eager not to miss the slightest sound.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Bellward stood beside her, his face turned in profile to Desmond. His eyes were
+dilated and the sweat stood out in great beads on his forehead and trickled in
+broad lanes of moisture down his heavy cheeks. He was half-facing the girl and
+every time he bent towards her, she tugged and strained at her bonds as though
+to follow him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You say he has been here. Where is he? Where is he? You shall tell me
+where he is.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Bellward was speaking in a strange, vibrating voice. Every question appeared to
+be a tremendous nervous effort. Desmond, who was keenly sensitive to matters
+psychic, could almost feel the magnetic power radiating from the man. In the
+weird red light of the room, he could see the veins standing out like whipcords
+on the back of Bellward&rsquo;s hands.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Tell me where he is? I command you!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The girl wailed out again in agony and writhed in her bonds. Her voice rose to
+a high, gurgling scream.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;There!&rdquo; she cried, pointing with eyes staring, lips parted,
+straight at the curtains behind which Desmond stood.
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap28"></a>CHAPTER XXVIII.<br/>
+AN OFFER FROM STRANGWISE</h2>
+
+<p>
+Desmond sprang for the window; but it was too late. Strangwise who had not
+missed a syllable of the interrogatory was at the curtains in a flash. As he
+plucked the hangings back, Desmond made a rush for him; but Strangwise, wary as
+ever, kept his head and, drawing back, jabbed his great automatic almost in the
+other&rsquo;s face.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And then Desmond knew the game was up.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Barbara had collapsed in her chair. Her face was of an ivory pallor and she
+seemed to have fallen back into the characteristic hypnotic trance. As for
+Bellward, he had dropped on to a sofa, a loose mass, exhausted but missing
+nothing of what was going forward, though, for the moment, he seemed too spent
+to take any active part in the proceedings. In the meantime Strangwise, his
+white, even teeth bared in a quiet smile, was very steadily looking at his
+prisoner.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, Desmond,&rdquo; he said at last, &ldquo;here&rsquo;s a pleasant
+surprise! I thought you were dead!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Desmond said nothing. He was not a coward as men go; but he was feeling
+horribly afraid just then. The deviltry of the scene he had just witnessed had
+fairly unmanned him. The red and black setting of the room had a suggestion of
+Oriental cruelty in its very garishness. Desmond looked from Strangwise, cool
+and smiling, to Bellward, gross and beastly, and from the two men to Barbara,
+wan and still and defenceless. And he was afraid.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Then Bellward scrambled clumsily to his feet, plucking a revolver from his
+inside pocket as he did so.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You sneaking rascal,&rdquo; he snarled, &ldquo;we&rsquo;ll teach you to
+play your dirty tricks on us!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He raised the pistol; but Strangwise stepped between the man and his victim.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Kill him!&rdquo; cried Bellward, &ldquo;and let&rsquo;s be rid of him
+once and for all!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What&rdquo; said Strangwise. &ldquo;Kill Desmond? Ah, no, my friend, I
+don&rsquo;t think so!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And he added drily:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;At least not quite yet!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But you must be mad,&rdquo; exclaimed Bellward, toying impatiently with
+his weapon, &ldquo;you let him escape through your fingers before! I know his
+type. A man like him is only safe when he&rsquo;s dead. And if you
+won&rsquo;t...&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Now, Bellward,&rdquo; said Strangwise not budging but looking the other
+calmly in the eye, &ldquo;you&rsquo;re getting excited, you know.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But Bellward muttered thickly:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Kill him! That&rsquo;s all I ask. And let&rsquo;s get out of here! I
+tell you it isn&rsquo;t safe! Minna can shift for herself!&rdquo; he added
+sulkily.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;As she has always done!&rdquo; said a voice at the door. Mrs. Malplaquet
+stood there, a very distinguished looking figure in black with a handsome set
+of furs.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But who&rsquo;s this?&rdquo; she asked, catching sight of Desmond, as
+she flashed her beady black eyes round the group. Of Barbara she took not the
+slightest notice. Desmond remarked it and her indifference shocked him
+profoundly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Of course, you don&rsquo;t recognize him!&rdquo; said Strangwise.
+&ldquo;This is Major Desmond Okewood, more recently known as Mr. Basil
+Bellward!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The woman evinced no surprise.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;So!&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;I thought we&rsquo;d end by getting him.
+Well, Strangwise, what are we waiting for? Is our friend to live for
+ever?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That&rsquo;s what I want to know!&rdquo; bellowed Bellward savagely.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I have not finished with our friend here!&rdquo; observed Strangwise.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, no,&rdquo; cried Mrs. Malplaquet quickly, Strangwise,
+&ldquo;you&rsquo;ve had your lesson. You&rsquo;ve lost the jewel and
+you&rsquo;re not likely to get it back unless you think that this young man has
+come here with it on him. Do you want to lose your life, the lives of all of
+us, as well? Come, come, the fellow&rsquo;s no earthly good to us! And
+he&rsquo;s a menace to us all as long as he&rsquo;s alive!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Minna,&rdquo; said Strangwise, &ldquo;you must trust me.
+Besides...&rdquo; he leaned forward and whispered something in her ear.
+&ldquo;Now,&rdquo; he resumed aloud, &ldquo;you shall take Bellward downstairs
+and leave me to have a little chat with our friend here.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+To Bellward he added:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Minna will tell you what I said. But first,&rdquo; he pointed to Barbara
+who remained apparently lifeless in her chair, &ldquo;bring her round. And then
+I think she&rsquo;d better go to bed.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But what about the treatment to-night&rdquo; asked Mrs. Malplaquet.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Strangwise smiled mysteriously.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;m not sure that any further treatment will be required,&rdquo;
+he said.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+In the meantime, Bellward had leaned over the girl and with a few passes of his
+hand had brought her back to consciousness. She sat up, one hand pressed to her
+face, and looked about her in a dazed fashion. On recognizing Desmond she gave
+a little cry.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Take her away!&rdquo; commanded Strangwise.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Bellward had unfastened the ropes binding her feet, and he and Mrs. Malplaquet
+between them half-dragged, half-lifted the girl (for she was scarcely able to
+walk) from the room.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+When the door had closed behind them, Strangwise pointed to a chair and pulled
+out his cigarette case. &ldquo;Sit down, Desmond,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;and
+let&rsquo;s talk. Will you smoke?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He held out his case. A cigarette was the one thing for which Desmond craved.
+He took one and lit it. Strangwise sat down on the other side of a curiously
+carved ebony table, his big automatic before him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I guess you&rsquo;re sharp enough to know when you&rsquo;re beaten,
+Desmond,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;You&rsquo;ve put up a good fight and until this
+afternoon you were one up on me. I&rsquo;ll grant you that. And I don&rsquo;t
+mind admitting that you&rsquo;ve busted up my little organization&mdash;for the
+present at any rate. But I&rsquo;m on top now and you&rsquo;re in our power,
+old man.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well,&rdquo; replied Desmond shortly, &ldquo;what are you going to do
+about it?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;m going to utilize my advantage to the best I know how,&rdquo;
+retorted Strangwise, snapping the words, &ldquo;that&rsquo;s good strategy,
+isn&rsquo;t it, Desmond? That&rsquo;s what Hamley and all the military writers
+teach, isn&rsquo;t it? And I&rsquo;m going to be frank with you. I suppose you
+realize that your life hung by a thread in this very room only a minute ago. Do
+you know why I intervened to save you?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Desmond smiled. All his habitual serenity was coming back to him. He found it
+hard to realize that this old brother officer of his, blowing rings of
+cigarette smoke at him across the table, was an enemy.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I don&rsquo;t suppose it was because of the love you bear me,&rdquo;
+replied Desmond.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And he rubbed the bump on his head.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Strangwise noted the action and smiled.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Listen here,&rdquo; he resumed, planking his hands down on the table and
+leaning forward, &ldquo;I&rsquo;m ready and anxious to quit this spying
+business. It was only a side line with me anyway. My main object in coming to
+this country was to recover possession of that diamond star. Once I&rsquo;ve
+got it back, I&rsquo;m through with England...&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But not with the army,&rdquo; Desmond broke in, &ldquo;thank God,
+we&rsquo;ve got a swift way with traitors in this country!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Quite so,&rdquo; returned the other, &ldquo;but you see, my friend, the
+army hasn&rsquo;t got me. And I have got you! But let us drop talking
+platitudes,&rdquo; he went on. &ldquo;I&rsquo;m no great hand at driving a
+bargain, Desmond&mdash;few army men are, you know&mdash;so I won&rsquo;t even
+attempt to chaffer with you. I shall tell you straight out what I am ready to
+offer. You were given the job of breaking up this organization, weren&rsquo;t
+you?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Desmond was silent. He was beginning to wonder what Strangwise was driving at.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, you needn&rsquo;t trouble to deny it. I never spotted you, I admit,
+even when the real Bellward turned up: that idea of putting your name in the
+casualty list as &lsquo;killed&rsquo; was a masterstroke; for I never looked to
+find you alive and trying to put it across me. But to return to what I was
+saying&mdash;your job was to smash my little system, and if you pull it off,
+it&rsquo;s a feather in your cap. Well, you&rsquo;ve killed two of my people
+and you&rsquo;ve arrested the ringleader.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Meaning Behrend?&rdquo; asked Desmond.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Behrend be hanged! I mean Nur-el-Din!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Nur-el-Din was not the ringleader,&rdquo; said Desmond, &ldquo;as well
+you know, Strangwise!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Your employers evidently don&rsquo;t share your views, Desmond,&rdquo;
+he replied, &ldquo;all the documents were found on Nur-el-Din!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Bah!&rdquo; retorted Desmond, &ldquo;and what of it? Mightn&rsquo;t they
+have been planted on her in order to get her arrested to draw the suspicion
+away from the real criminal, yourself?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Strangwise laughed a low, mellow laugh.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You&rsquo;re devilish hard to convince,&rdquo; he remarked.
+&ldquo;Perhaps you&rsquo;ll change your mind about it when I tell you that
+Nur-el-Din was sentenced to death by a general court-martial yesterday
+afternoon.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The blow struck Desmond straight between the eyes. The execution of spies
+followed hard on their conviction, he knew. Was he too late?
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Has... has she... has the sentence already been carried out?&rdquo; he
+asked hoarsely.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Strangwise shrugged his shoulders.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;My information didn&rsquo;t go as far as that!&rdquo; he replied.
+&ldquo;But I expect so. They don&rsquo;t waste much time over these matters,
+old man! You see, then,&rdquo; he continued, &ldquo;you&rsquo;ve got the
+ringleader, and you shall have the other two members of the organization and
+save your own life into the bargain if you will be reasonable and treat with
+me.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Desmond looked straight at him; and Strangwise averted his eyes.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Let me get this right,&rdquo; said Desmond slowly. &ldquo;You let me go
+free&mdash;of course, I take it that my liberty includes the release of Miss
+Mackwayte as well&mdash;and in addition, you hand over to me your two
+accomplices, Bellward and the Malplaquet woman. That is your offer, isn&rsquo;t
+it? Well, what do you want from me in exchange?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The Star of Poland!&rdquo; said Strangwise in a low voice.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But,&rdquo; Desmond began. He was going to add &ldquo;I haven&rsquo;t
+got it,&rdquo; but checked himself in time. Why should he show his hand?
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Strangwise broke in excitedly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Man,&rdquo; he cried, &ldquo;it was grandly done. When first I
+discovered the gem, I opened the package in which the silver box was wrapped
+and took the jewel from its case to make sure that it was there. Then I sealed
+it up again, silver box and all, with the firm intention that no other hand
+should break the seals but the hand of His Imperial Highness the Crown Prince
+when I reported to him that I had fulfilled my mission. So you will understand
+that I was loth to open it to satisfy those blockheads that evening at the Mill
+House.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I carried the package on me night and day and I could hardly believe my
+eyes when I discovered that a box of cigarettes had been substituted for the
+silver casket containing the jewel. I then suspected that Barbara Mackwayte, in
+collusion with Nur-el-Din, whom she had visited at the Dyke Inn that evening,
+had played this trick on me. But before I escaped from the Mill House I picked
+up one of the cigarettes which fell from the box when I broke the seals. Ah!
+There you made a slip, Desmond. When I looked at the cigarette I found it was a
+&lsquo;Dionysus&rsquo;&mdash;your own particular brand&mdash;why, I have smoked
+dozens of them with you in France. The sight of the familiar name reminded me
+of you and then I remembered your unexpected visit to me at the Nineveh when I
+was packing up to go away on leave the evening you were going back to France. I
+remembered that I had put the package with the jewel on my table for a moment
+when I was changing my tunic. Your appearance drove it out of my head for the
+time, and you utilized the chance to substitute a similar package for mine. It
+was clever, Desmond, &rsquo;pon my word it was a stroke of genius, a master
+coup which in my country would have placed you at the very top of the tree in
+the Great General Staff!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Desmond listened to this story in amazement. He did not attempt to speculate on
+the different course events would have taken had he but known that the
+mysterious jewel which had cost old Mackwayte his life, had been in his,
+Desmond&rsquo;s, possession from the very day on which he had assumed the guise
+and habiliments of Mr. Bellward. He was racking his brains to think what he had
+done with the box of cigarettes he had purchased at the Dionysus shop on the
+afternoon of the day he had taken the leave train back to France.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He remembered perfectly buying the cigarettes for the journey. But he
+didn&rsquo;t have them on the journey; for the captain of the leave boat had
+given him some cigars as Desmond had nothing to smoke. And then with a flash he
+remembered. He had packed the cigarettes in his kit&mdash;his kit which had
+gone over to France in the hold of the leave boat? And to think that there was
+a £100,000 jewel in charge of the M.L.O. at a French port!
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The idea tickled Desmond&rsquo;s sense of humor and he smiled.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Come,&rdquo; cried Strangwise, &ldquo;you&rsquo;ve heard my terms. This
+jewel, this Star of Poland, it is nothing to you or your Government. You
+restore it to me and I won&rsquo;t even ask you for a safe conduct back to
+Germany. I&rsquo;ll just slide out and it will be as if I had never been to
+England at all. As for my organization, you, Desmond Okewood, have blown it
+sky-high!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He stretched out his hand to Desmond as though he expected the other to produce
+the gem from his pocket. But Desmond rose to his feet and struck the hand
+contemptuously on one side. The smile had vanished from his face.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Are you sure that is all you have to say to me?&rdquo; he asked.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Strangwise had stood up as well.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Why, yes!&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;I think so!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, then,&rdquo; said Desmond firmly, &ldquo;just listen to me for a
+moment! Here&rsquo;s my answer. You&rsquo;ve lost the jewel for good and all,
+and you will never get it back. Your offer to betray your accomplices to me in
+exchange for the Star of Poland is an empty one; for your accomplices will be
+arrested with you. And lastly I give you my word that I shall make it my
+personal duty to see that you are not shot by clean-handed British soldiers,
+but strung up by the neck by the common hangman&mdash;as the murderer that you
+are!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Strangwise&rsquo;s face underwent an extraordinary change. His suavity
+vanished, his easy smile disappeared and he looked balefully across the table
+as the other fearlessly confronted him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;If you are a German, as you seem to be,&rdquo; Desmond went on,
+&ldquo;then I tell you I shall never have guessed it until this interview
+between us. But a man who can murder a defenceless old man and torture a young
+girl and then propose to sell his pals to a British officer at the price of
+that officer&rsquo;s honor can only be a Hun! And you seem to be a pretty fine
+specimen of your race!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Strangwise mastered his rising passion by an obvious effort; but his face was
+evil as he spoke.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I put that Malplaquet woman off by appealing to her avarice,&rdquo; he
+said, &ldquo;I&rsquo;ve promised her and Bellward a thousand pounds apiece as
+their share of my reward for recovering the jewel. I only have to say the word,
+Okewood, and your number&rsquo;s up! And you may as well know that Bellward
+will try his hand on you before he kills you. If that girl had known where the
+Star of Poland was, Bellward would have had it out of her! Three times a day
+he&rsquo;s put her into the hypnotic sleep. I warn you, you won&rsquo;t like
+the interrogatory!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The door flew open and Bellward came in. He went eagerly to Strangwise.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, have you got it!&rdquo; he demanded.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Have you anything further to say, Desmond?&rdquo; asked Strangwise.
+&ldquo;Perhaps you would care to reconsider your decisions?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Desmond shook his head.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You&rsquo;ve had my answer!&rdquo; he said doggedly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Then, my friend,&rdquo; said Strangwise to Bellward, &ldquo;after dinner
+you shall try your hand on this obstinate fool. But first we&rsquo;ll take him
+upstairs.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He was close beside Desmond and as he finished speaking he suddenly caught him
+by the throat and forced him back into the chair to which Barbara had been
+tethered. To struggle was useless, and Desmond suffered them to bind his arms
+and feet to the arms and legs of the chair. Then the two men picked him up,
+chair and all, and bore him from the room upstairs to the third floor. There
+they carried him into a dark room where they left him, turning the key in the
+lock as they went away.
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap29"></a>CHAPTER XXIX.<br/>
+DOT AND DASH</h2>
+
+<p>
+For a long time after the retreating footsteps of Strangwise and Bellward had
+died away, Desmond sat listless, preoccupied with his thoughts. They were
+somber enough. The sinister atmosphere of the house, weighing upon him, seemed
+to deepen his depression.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+About his own position he was not concerned at all. This is not an example of
+unselfishness it is simply an instance of the force of discipline which trains
+a man to reckon the cause as everything and himself as naught. And Desmond was
+haunted by the awful conviction that he had at length reached the end of his
+tether and that nothing could now redeem the ignominious failure he had made of
+his mission.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He had sacrificed Barbara Mackwayte; he had sacrificed Nur-el-Din; he had not
+even been clever enough to save his own skin. And Strangwise, spy and murderer,
+had escaped and was now free to reorganize his band after he had put Barbara
+and Desmond out of the way.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The thought was so unbearable that it stung Desmond into action. Strangwise
+should not get the better of him, he resolved, and he had yet this brief
+interval of being alone in which he might devise some scheme to rescue Barbara
+and secure the arrest of Strangwise and his accomplices. But how?
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He raised his head and looked round the room. The curtains had not been drawn
+and enough light came into the room from the outside to enable him to
+distinguish the outlines of the furniture. It was a bedroom, furnished in
+rather a massive style, with some kind of thick, soft carpet into which the
+feet sank.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Desmond tested his bonds. He was very skillfully tied up. He fancied that with
+a little manipulation he might contrive to loosen the rope round his right arm,
+for one of the knots had caught in the folds of his coat. The thongs round his
+left arm and two legs were, however, so tight that he thought he had but little
+chance of ridding himself of them, even should he get his right arm free; for
+the knots were tied at the back under the seat of the chair in such a way that
+he could not reach them.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He, therefore, resigned himself to conducting operations in the highly
+ridiculous posture in which he found himself, that is to say, with a large
+arm-chair attached to him, rather like a snail with its house on its back.
+After a certain amount of maneuvering he discovered that, by means of a kind of
+slow, lumbering crawl, he was able to move across the ground. It might have
+proved a noisy business on a parquet floor; but Desmond moved only a foot or
+two at a time and the pile carpet deadened the sound.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+They had deposited him in his chair in the centre of the room near the big
+brass bedstead. After ten minutes&rsquo; painful crawling he had reached the
+toilet table which stood in front of the window with a couple of electric
+candles on either side of the mirror. He moved the toilet table to one side,
+then bumped steadily across the carpet until he had reached the window. And
+then he gave a little gasp of surprise.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He found himself looking straight at the window of his own bedroom at Mrs.
+Viljohn-Smythe&rsquo;s. There was no mistaking it. The electric light was
+burning and the curtains had not yet been drawn. He could see the black and
+pink eiderdown on his bed and the black lining of the chintz curtains. Then he
+remembered the slope of the hill. He must be in the room from which he had seen
+Bellward looking out.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The sight of the natty bedroom across the way moved Desmond strangely. It
+seemed to bring home to him for the first time the extraordinary position in
+which he found himself, a prisoner in a perfectly respectable suburban house in
+a perfectly respectable quarter of London, in imminent danger of a violent
+death.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He wouldn&rsquo;t give in without a struggle. Safety stared him in the face,
+separated only by a hundred yards of grass and shrub and wall. He instinctively
+gripped the arms of the chair to raise himself to get a better view from the
+window, forgetting he was bound. The ropes cut his arms cruelly and brought him
+back to earth.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He tested again the thongs fastening his right arm. Yes! they were undoubtedly
+looser than the others. He pulled and tugged and writhed and strained. Once in
+his struggles he crashed into the toilet table and all but upset one of the
+electric candles which slid to the table&rsquo;s very brink and was saved, as
+by a miracle, from falling to the floor. He resumed his efforts, but with less
+violence. It was in vain. Though the ropes about his right arm were fairly
+loose, the wrist was solidly fastened to the chair, and do what he would, he
+could not wrest it free. He clawed desperately with his fingers and thumb, but
+all in vain.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+In the midst of his struggles he was arrested by the sound of whistling.
+Somebody in the distance outside was whistling, clearly and musically, a
+quaint, jingling sort of jig that struck familiarly on Desmond&rsquo;s ear.
+Somehow it reminded him of the front. It brought with it dim memory of the
+awakening to the early morning chill of a Nissen hut, the smell of damp earth,
+the whirr of aircraft soaring through the morning sky, the squeak of flutes,
+the roll of drums... why, it was the Grand Reveillé, that ancient military air
+which every soldier knows.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He stopped struggling and peered cautiously out into the dusk. The time for
+darkening the windows must be at hand, he thought, for in most of the houses
+the blinds were already drawn. Here and there, however, an oblong of yellow
+light showed up against the dark mass of the houses on the upper slopes of the
+hill. The curtains of his bedroom at Mrs. Viljohn-Smythe&rsquo;s were not yet
+drawn and the light still burned brightly above the bed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The whistling continued with occasional interruptions as though the whistler
+were about some work or other. And then suddenly &ldquo;Buzzer&rdquo; Barling,
+holding something in one hand and rubbing violently with the other, stepped
+into the patch of light between the window and the bed in Desmond&rsquo;s
+bedroom.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Desmond&rsquo;s heart leaped within him. Here was assistance close at hand.
+Mechanically he sought to raise his hand to open the window, but an agonising
+twinge reminded him of his thongs. He swiftly reviewed in his mind the means of
+attracting the attention of the soldier opposite. Whatever he was going to do,
+he must do quickly; for the fact that people were beginning to darken their
+windows showed that it must be close on half-past six, and about seven
+o&rsquo;clock, Barling, after putting out Desmond&rsquo;s things, was
+accustomed to go out for the evening.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Should he shout? Should he try and break the window? Desmond rejected both
+these suggestions. While it was doubtful whether Barling would hear the noise
+or, if he heard it, connect it with Desmond, it was certain that Strangwise and
+Bellward would do both and be upon Desmond without a moment&rsquo;s delay.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Then Desmond&rsquo;s eye fell upon the electric candle which had slid to the
+very edge of the table. It was mounted in a heavy brass candle-stick and the
+switch was in the pedestal, jutting out over the edge of the table in the
+position in which the candle now stood. The candle was clear of the mirror and
+there was nothing between it and the window. Desmond&rsquo;s brain took all
+this in at a glance. That glance showed him that Providence was being good to
+him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A couple of jerks of the chair brought him alongside the table. Its edge was
+practically level with the arms of the chair so that, by getting into the right
+position, he was able to manipulate the switch with his fingers. And then,
+thanking God and the Army Council for the recent signalling course he had
+attended, he depressed the switch with a quick, snapping movement and jerked it
+up again, sending out the dots and dashes of the Morse code.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;B-A-R-L-I-N-G&rdquo; he spelt out, slowly and laboriously, it is true;
+for he was not an expert.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+As he worked the switch, he looked across at the illuminated window of the room
+in which Barling stood, with bent head, earnestly engaged upon his polishing.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;B-a-r-l-i-n-g-ack-ack-ack-B-a-r-l-i-n-g-ack-ack-ack&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The light flickered up and down in long and short flashes. Still
+&ldquo;Buzzer&rdquo; Barling trilled away at the &ldquo;Grand Reveillé&rdquo;
+nor raised his eyes from his work.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Desmond varied the call:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;O-K-E-W-O-O-D T-O B-A-R-L-I-N-G&rdquo; he flashed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He repeated the call twice and was spelling it out for the third time when
+Desmond saw the &ldquo;Buzzer&rdquo; raise his head.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The whistling broke off short.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;O-k-e-w-o-o-d t-o B-a-r-l-i-n-g&rdquo; flickered the light.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The next moment the bedroom opposite was plunged in darkness. Immediately
+afterwards the light began to flash with bewildering rapidity. But Desmond
+recognized the call.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I am ready to take your message,&rdquo; it said.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;S-t-r-a-n-g-w-i-s-e h-a-s g-o-t m-e ack-ack-ack,&rdquo; Desmond flashed
+back, &ldquo;f-e-t-c-h h-e-l-p a-t o-n-c-e ack-ack-ack: d-o-n-t r-e-p-l-y;
+ack-ack-ack; s-e-n-d o-n-e d-o-t o-n-e d-a-s-h t-o s-h-o-w y-o-u
+u-n-d-e-r-s-t-a-n-d ack-ack-ack!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+For he was afraid lest the light flashing from the house opposite might attract
+the attention of the men downstairs.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He was very slow and he made many mistakes, so that it was with bated breath
+that, after sending his message, he watched the window opposite for the reply.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It came quickly. A short flash and a long one followed at once. After that the
+room remained in darkness. With a sigh of relief Desmond, as quietly as
+possible, manoeuvred the dressing-table back into place and then jerked the
+chair across the carpet to the position where Strangwise and Bellward had left
+him in the middle of the floor:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It was here that the two men found him, apparently asleep, when they came up
+half-an-hour later. They carried him down to the red lacquer room again.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, Desmond!&rdquo; said Strangwise, when their burden had been
+deposited on the floor under the crimson lamp.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, Maurice?&rdquo; answered the other.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Strangwise noticed that Desmond had addressed him by his Christian name for the
+first time since he had been in the house and his voice was more friendly when
+he spoke again.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I see you&rsquo;re going to be sensible, old man,&rdquo; he said.
+&ldquo;Believe me, it&rsquo;s the only thing for you to do. You&rsquo;re going
+to give up the Star of Poland, aren&rsquo;t you?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, no, Maurice, I&rsquo;m not,&rdquo; replied Desmond in a frank, even
+voice. &ldquo;I&rsquo;ve told you what I&rsquo;m going to do. I&rsquo;m going
+to hand you over to the people at Pentonville to hang as a murderer. And I
+shouldn&rsquo;t be at all surprised if they didn&rsquo;t run up old Bellward
+there alongside of you!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Strangwise shook his head at him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You are very ill-advised to reject my offer, Desmond,&rdquo; he said,
+&ldquo;for it simply means that I can do nothing more for you. Our friend
+Bellward now assumes the direction of affairs. I don&rsquo;t think you can
+realize what you are letting yourself in for. You appear to have been dabbling
+in Intelligence work. Perhaps it would interest you to hear something about
+this, our latest German method for extracting accurate information from
+reluctant or untruthful witnesses. Bellward, perhaps you would enlighten
+him.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Bellward smiled grimly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It is a blend,&rdquo; he explained glibly, &ldquo;of that extreme form
+of cross-examination which the Americans call &lsquo;the third degree&rsquo;
+and hypnotic treatment. Many people, as you are doubtless aware, are less
+responsive to hypnotic influence than others. An intensified course of the
+third degree and lack of sleep renders such refractory natures extraordinarily
+susceptible to mesmeric treatment. It prepares the ground as it were!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Bellward coughed and looked at Desmond over his tortoise-shell spectacles which
+he had put on again.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The method has had its best results when practised on women,&rdquo; he
+resumed. &ldquo;Our people in Holland have found it very successful in the case
+of female spies who come across the Belgian frontier. But some women&mdash;Miss
+Barbara, for example&mdash;seem to have greater powers of resistance than
+others. We had to employ a rather drastic form of the third degree for her,
+didn&rsquo;t we, Strangwise?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He laughed waggishly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And you&rsquo;ll be none too easy either,&rdquo; he added.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You beasts,&rdquo; cried Desmond, &ldquo;but just you wait, your turn
+will come!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yours first, however,&rdquo; chuckled Bellward. &ldquo;I rather fancy
+you <i>will</i> think us beasts by the time we have done with you, my young
+friend!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Then he turned to Strangwise.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Where&rsquo;s Minna?&rdquo; he asked.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;With the girl.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Is the girl sleeping?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Strangwise nodded.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;She wanted it,&rdquo; he replied, &ldquo;no sleep for four days... I
+tell you it takes some constitution to hold out against that!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well,&rdquo; said Bellward, rubbing the palms of his hands together,
+&ldquo;as we&rsquo;re not likely to be disturbed, I think we&rsquo;ll make a
+start!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He advanced a pace to where Desmond sat trussed up, hand and foot, in his
+chair. Bellward&rsquo;s eyes were large and luminous, and as Desmond glanced
+rather nervously at the face of the man approaching him, he was struck by the
+compelling power they seemed to emit.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Desmond bent his head to avoid the insistent gaze. But in a couple of quick
+strides Bellward was at his side and stooping down, had thrust his face right
+into his victim&rsquo;s. Bellward&rsquo;s face was so close that Desmond felt
+his warm breath on his cheek whilst those burning eyes seemed to stab through
+his closed eyelids and steadily, stealthily, draw his gaze.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Resolutely Desmond held his head, averted. All kinds of queer ideas were racing
+through his brain, fragments of nursery rhymes, scenes from his regimental life
+in India, memories of the front, which he had deliberately summoned up to keep
+his attention distracted from those merciless eyes, like twin search-lights
+pitilessly playing on his face.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Bellward could easily have taken Desmond by the chin and forced his face up
+until his eyes came level with the other&rsquo;s. But he offered no violence of
+any kind. He remained in his stooping position, his face thrust forward, so
+perfectly still that Desmond began to be tormented by a desire to risk a rapid
+peep just to see what the mesmerist was doing.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He put the temptation aside. He must keep his eyes shut, he told himself. But
+the desire increased, intensified by the strong attraction radiating from
+Bellward, and finally Desmond succumbed. He opened his eyes to dart a quick
+glance at Bellward and found the other&rsquo;s staring eyes, with pupils
+distended, fixed on his. And Desmond felt his resistance ebb. He tried to avert
+his gaze; but it was too late. That basilisk glare held him fast.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+With every faculty of his mind he fought against the influence which was
+slowly, irresistibly, shackling his brain. He laughed, he shouted defiance at
+Bellward and Strangwise, he sang snatches of songs. But Bellward never moved a
+muscle. He seemed to be in a kind of cataleptic trance, so rigid his body, so
+unswerving his stare.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The lights in the room seemed to be growing dim. Bellward&rsquo;s eyeballs
+gleamed redly in the dull crimson light flooding the room. Desmond felt himself
+longing for some violent shock that would disturb the hideous stillness of the
+house. His own voice was sounding dull and blunted in his ears. What was the
+use of struggling further? He might as well give up...
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A loud crash, the sound of a door slamming, reechoed through the house. The
+room shook. The noise brought Desmond back to his senses and at the same time
+the chain binding him to Bellward snapped. For Bellward started and raised his
+head and Strangwise sprang to the door. Then Desmond heard the door burst open,
+there was the deafening report of a pistol, followed by another, and Bellward
+crashed forward on his knees with a sobbing grunt. As Desmond had his back to
+the door he could see nothing of what was taking place, but some kind of
+violent struggle was going on; for he heard the smash of glass as a piece of
+furniture was upset.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Then suddenly the room seemed full of people. The thongs binding his hands and
+feet fell to the ground. &ldquo;Buzzer&rdquo; Barling stood at his side.
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap30"></a>CHAPTER XXX.<br/>
+HOHENLINDEN TRENCH</h2>
+
+<p>
+A man broke quickly away from the throng of people pressing into the room. It
+was Francis. The Chief and Mr. Marigold were close at his heels.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Des,&rdquo; cried Francis, &ldquo;ah! thank God! you are all
+right!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Desmond looked in a dazed fashion from one to the other. The rapid transition
+from the hush of the room to the scene of confusion going on around him had
+left him bewildered. His glance traveled from the faces of the men gathered
+round his chair to the floor. The sight of Bellward, very still, hunched up
+with his face immersed in the thick black carpet, seemed to recall something to
+his mind.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Barbara!&rdquo; he murmured in a strained voice.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;She&rsquo;s all right!&rdquo; replied his brother, &ldquo;we found her
+on the bed in a room on the floor below sleeping the sleep of the just. The
+woman&rsquo;s vanished, though. I&rsquo;m afraid she got away! But who&rsquo;s
+this?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He pointed to &ldquo;Buzzer&rdquo; Barling who stood stiffly at attention
+beside Desmond&rsquo;s chair.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Ay, who are you, young fellow&rdquo; repeated Mr. Marigold coming up
+close to the soldier. &ldquo;Ask him!&rdquo; said Desmond, raising his arm,
+&ldquo;he knows!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The group around the door had broken up. Strangwise, his wrists handcuffed
+together, his hair dishevelled and his collar torn, stood there between two
+plain clothes men. And at him Desmond pointed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Strangwise was staring at the straight, square figure of the gunner, awkwardly
+attired in one of Desmond&rsquo;s old suits. Berling&rsquo;s frank, honest eyes
+returned the other&rsquo;s gaze unflinchingly. But Strangwise was obviously
+taken aback, though only for the moment. The flush that mounted to his cheek
+quickly died down, leaving him as cool and impassive as ever.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Do you know this man!&rdquo; the Chief, asked sternly, addressing
+Strangwise.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Certainly,&rdquo; retorted Strangwise, &ldquo;it&rsquo;s Gunner Barling,
+one of the Brigade signallers!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mr. Marigold gave a keen glance at the soldier.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;So you&rsquo;re Barling, eh?&rdquo; he muttered as though talking to
+himself, &ldquo;ah! this is getting interesting!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; said Desmond, &ldquo;this is Gunner Barling. Have a good
+look at him, Strangwise. It is he who summoned these gentlemen to my
+assistance. It is he who&rsquo;s going to tell them who and what you
+are!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Turning to the Chief he added with a touch of formality: &ldquo;May Gunner
+Barling tell his story, sir?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;By all means,&rdquo; replied the Chief. &ldquo;I am all attention. But
+first let this fellow be removed.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And beckoning to two of his men; he pointed to the body of Bellward.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Is he dead&rdquo; asked Desmond.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The Chief shook his head.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;He drew a bead on one of my men as we came in,&rdquo; he answered,
+&ldquo;and got a bullet through the chest for his pains. We&rsquo;ll have to
+cure him of this gunshot wound so as to get him ready to receive
+another!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He laughed a grim dry laugh at his little joke.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Now, Barling,&rdquo; said Desmond, when Bellward had been borne away,
+&ldquo;I want you to tell these gentlemen the story of the raid on the
+Hohenlinden trench.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Barling glanced rather self-consciously about him. But the look of intense,
+almost nervous watchfulness on the face of Maurice Strangwise seemed to
+reassure him. And when he spoke, he spoke straight at Strangwise.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;Major Okewood here, what I used to know
+along of my brother being his servant, says as how you gentlemen&rsquo;ll make
+it all right about my stoppin&rsquo; absent if I tells you what I know about
+this orficer. Tell it I will and gladly; for it was all along of him that I
+spoiled a clean sheet of eighteen years&rsquo; service, gentlemen.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;When we was down Arras way a few months ago the infantry was
+a-goin&rsquo; to do a raid, see? And the Captain here was sent along of the
+infantry party to jine up a line back to the &rsquo;tillery brigade
+headquarters. Well, he took me and another chap, name o&rsquo;
+Macdonald&mdash;Bombardier he was&mdash;along with him as signallers.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;This was a daylight raid, d&rsquo;ye see, gentlemen? Our chaps went over
+at four o&rsquo;clock in the afternoon. They was to enter a sort o&rsquo; bulge
+in the German front line wot they called Hohenlinden Trench, bomb the Gers. out
+o&rsquo; that, push on to the support line and clear out that and then come
+back. The rocket to fetch &rsquo;em home was to go up forty minutes after they
+started.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, me and Mac&mdash;that&rsquo;s the Bombardier&mdash;went over with
+th&rsquo; officer here just behind the raiding party. O&rsquo; course Fritz
+knew we was comin&rsquo; for it was broad daylight, and that clear you could
+see for miles over the flats. First thing we knew Fritz had put down a
+roarin&rsquo;, tearin&rsquo; barrage, and we hadn&rsquo;t gone not twenty yards
+before ole Mac. cops one right on the nut; about took his head off, it did. So
+me and the captain we goes on alone and drops all nice and comfortable in the
+trench, and I starts getting my line jined up.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It was a longish job but I got the brigade line goin&rsquo; at last. Our
+chaps had cleared out the front line and was off down the communication
+trenches to the support. What with machine-guns rattlin&rsquo; and bombs
+a-goin&rsquo; off down the trench and Fritz&rsquo;s barrage all over the shop
+the row was that awful we had to buzz every single word.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;There was a bit of a house like, a goodish way in front, X farm, they
+called it, and presently the Brigade tells the Captain, who was buzzin&rsquo;
+to them, to register B battery on to the farm.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;&lsquo;I can&rsquo;t see the farm nohow from here,&rsquo; sez the
+Captain. I could see it as plain as plain, and I pointed it out to him. But no!
+he couldn&rsquo;t see it.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;&lsquo;I&rsquo;ll crawl out of the trench a bit, gunner,&rsquo; sez he
+to me, &lsquo;you sit tight,&rsquo; he sez, &lsquo;I&rsquo;ll let you know when
+to follow!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;With that he up and out o&rsquo; the trench leavin&rsquo; me and the
+instruments behind all among the dead Gers., and our lads had killed a tidy
+few. It was pretty lonely round about w&rsquo;ere I was; for our chaps had all
+gone on and was bombin&rsquo; the Gers., like they was a lot o&rsquo; rabbits,
+up and down the support line.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I followed the Captain with me eye, gentlemen, and I&rsquo;m blessed if
+he didn&rsquo;t walk straight across the open and over the support trench. Then
+he drops into a bit of a shell-hole and I lost sight of him. Well, I waited and
+waited and no sign of th&rsquo; orficer. The rocket goes up and our lads begin
+to come back with half a dozen Huns runnin&rsquo; in front of them with their
+hands up. Some of the chaps as they passed me wanted to know if I was
+a-goin&rsquo; to stay there all night! And the Brigade buzzin&rsquo; like mad
+to talk to the Captain.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I sat in that blessed trench till everybody had cleared out. Then,
+seeing as how not even the docket had brought th&rsquo; orficer back, I sez to
+myself as how he must ha&rsquo; stopped one. So I gets out of the trench and
+starts crawling across the top towards the place where I see the Captain
+disappear. As I got near the support line the ground went up a little and then
+dropped, so I got a bit of a view on to the ground ahead. And then I sees the
+Captain here!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Buzzer Barling stopped. All had listened to his story with the deepest
+interest, especially Strangwise, who never took his eyes off the gunner&rsquo;s
+brown face. Some men are born story-tellers and there was a rugged
+picturesqueness about Barling&rsquo;s simple narrative which conjured up in the
+minds of his hearers the picture of the lonely signaller cowering in the
+abandoned trench among the freshly slain, waiting for the officer who never
+came back.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It&rsquo;s not a nice thing to have to say about an orficer,&rdquo; the
+gunner presently continued, &ldquo;and so help me God, gentlemen, I kep&rsquo;
+my mouth shut about it until... until...&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He broke off and looked quickly at Desmond.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Keep that until the end, Barling,&rdquo; said Desmond, &ldquo;finish
+about the raid now!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, as I was sayin&rsquo;, gentlemen, I was up on a bit of hillock
+near Fritz&rsquo;s support line when I sees the Captain here. He was
+settin&rsquo; all comfortable in a shell-hole, his glasses in his hand,
+chattin&rsquo; quite friendly like with two of the Gers. orficers, I reckoned
+they was, along o&rsquo; the silver lace on their collars. One was
+wearin&rsquo; one o&rsquo; them coal-scuttle helmets, t&rsquo;other a little
+flat cap with a shiny peak. And the Captain here was a-pointin&rsquo; at our
+lines and a-wavin&rsquo; his hand about like he was a-tellin&rsquo; the two
+Fritzes all about it, and the chap in the coal-scuttle hat was a-writin&rsquo;
+it all down in a book.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Barling paused. He was rather flushed and his eyes burned brightly in his
+weather-beaten face.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Eighteen year I done in the Royal Regiment,&rdquo; he went on, and his
+voice trembled a little, &ldquo;and me father a battery sergeant-major before
+me, and I never thought to see one of our orficers go over to the enemy. Fritz
+was beginnin&rsquo; to come back to his front line: I could see their
+coal-scuttle hats a-bobbin&rsquo; up and down the communication trenches, so I
+crawled back the way I come and made a bolt for our lines.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I meant to go straight to the B.C. post and report wot I seen to the
+Major. But I hadn&rsquo;t the heart to, gentlemen, when I was up against it. It
+was an awful charge to bring against an orficer, d&rsquo;you see? I told myself
+I didn&rsquo;t know but what the Captain hadn&rsquo;t been taken prisoner and
+was makin&rsquo; the best of it, w&rsquo;en I see him, stuffin&rsquo; the
+Fritzes up with a lot o&rsquo; lies. And so I jes&rsquo; reported as how
+th&rsquo; orficer &rsquo;ad crawled out of the trench and never come back. And
+then this here murder happened...&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mr. Marigold turned to the Chief.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;If you remember, sir,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;I found this man&rsquo;s
+leave paper in the front garden of the Mackwayte&rsquo;s house at Laleham
+Villas, Seven Kings, the day after the murder. There are one or two questions I
+should like to put...&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No need to arsk any questions,&rdquo; said Barling. &ldquo;I&rsquo;ll
+tell you the whole story meself, mister. I was on leave at the time, due to go
+back to France the next afternoon. I&rsquo;d been out spending the
+evenin&rsquo; at my niece&rsquo;s wot&rsquo;s married and livin&rsquo; out
+Seven Kings way. Me and her man wot works on the line kept it up a bit late
+what with yarnin&rsquo; about the front an&rsquo; that and it must a&rsquo;
+been nigh on three o&rsquo;clock w&rsquo;en I left him to walk back to the
+Union Jack Club where I had a bed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;There&rsquo;s a corfee-stall near their road and the night bein&rsquo;
+crool damp I thought as how a nice cup o&rsquo; corfee&rsquo;d warm me up afore
+I went back to the Waterloo Bridge Road. I had me cup o&rsquo; corfee and was
+jes&rsquo; a-payin&rsquo; the chap what has the pitch w&rsquo;en a fellow
+passes by right in the light o&rsquo; the lamp on the stall. It was th&rsquo;
+orficer here, in plain clothes&mdash;shabby-like he was dressed&mdash;but I
+knew him at once.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;&lsquo;Our orficers don&rsquo;t walk about these parts after midnight
+dressed like tramps,&rsquo; I sez to meself, and rememberin&rsquo; what I seen
+at the Hohenlinden Trench I follows him...&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Just a minute!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The Chief&rsquo;s voice broke in upon the narrative.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Didn&rsquo;t you know, Barling, hadn&rsquo;t you heard, about Captain
+Strangwise&rsquo;s escape from a German prisoners of war camp?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, sir!&rdquo; replied the gunner.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;There was a good deal about it in the papers.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;ve not got much eddication, sir,&rdquo; said Barling,
+&ldquo;that&rsquo;s w&rsquo;y I never took the stripe and I don&rsquo;t take
+much account of the newspapers an&rsquo; that&rsquo;s a fact!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, go on!&rdquo; the Chief bade him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It was pretty dark in the streets and I follered him along without his
+seeing me into the main-road and then down a turnin&rsquo;...&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Laleham Villas,&rdquo; prompted Mr. Marigold.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I wasn&rsquo;t payin&rsquo; much attention to were he was leadin&rsquo;
+me,&rdquo; said Barling, &ldquo;what I wanted to find out was what he was up
+to! Presently he turned in at a gate. I was closer up than I meant to be, and
+he swung in so sudden that I had to drop quick and crouch behind the masonry of
+the front garden wall. My leave pass must a&rsquo; dropped out o&rsquo; my
+pocket and through the railin&rsquo;s into the garden.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, the front door must a&rsquo; been on the jar for th&rsquo; orficer
+here just pushes it open and walks in, goin&rsquo; very soft like. I
+crep&rsquo; in the front gate and got as far as the door w&rsquo;ich was
+a-standin&rsquo; half open. I could &rsquo;ear the stair creakin&rsquo; under
+&rsquo;im and I was just wonderin&rsquo; whether I should go into the house
+w&rsquo;en I hears a bang and wi&rsquo; that someone comes aflyin&rsquo; down
+the stairs, dodges through the front hall and out at the back. I see him come
+scramblin&rsquo; over the back gate and was a-goin&rsquo; to stop him
+thinkin&rsquo; it was th&rsquo; orficer here w&rsquo;en I sees it is a tubby
+little chap, not big like the Captain. And then it come over me quite
+sudden-like that burglary and murder had been done in the house and wot would I
+say if a p&rsquo;liceman come along? So I slipped off and went as hard as I
+could go back to the old Union Jack Club.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The next mornin&rsquo; I found I&rsquo;d lost me leave paper. I was
+afraid to go and report it in case it had been picked up, and they&rsquo;d run
+me in for this murder job. That&rsquo;s how I come to desert, gentlemen, and
+spoilt a eighteen years&rsquo; conduct sheet without a entry over this
+murderin&rsquo; spy here!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Gunner Barling broke off abruptly as though he had committed himself to a
+stronger opinion than discipline would allow. It was the Chief who broke the
+silence following the termination of the gunner&rsquo;s story.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Strangwise,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;hadn&rsquo;t you better tell us who
+you are?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;He&rsquo;s an officer of the Prussian Guard,&rdquo; Desmond said,
+&ldquo;and he was sent over here by the German secret service organization in
+the United States to get a commission in the British Army. When a good man was
+wanted to recover the Star of Poland for the Crown Prince, the secret service
+people in Berlin sent word to Strangwise (who was then serving with the gunners
+in France) to get himself captured. The German military authorities duly
+reported him a prisoner of war and then let him &lsquo;escape&rsquo; as&rsquo;
+the easiest and least suspicious means of getting him back to London!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The Chief smiled genially.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That&rsquo;s a dashed clever idea,&rdquo; he observed shrewdly,
+&ldquo;&rsquo;pon my word, that&rsquo;s bright! That&rsquo;s very bright! I
+should like to compliment the man who thought of that!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Then you may address your compliments to me, Chief,&rdquo; said
+Strangwise.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The Chief turned and looked at him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;ve met many of your people in my time, Strangwise,&rdquo; he
+said, &ldquo;but I don&rsquo;t know you! Who are you?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Strangwise laughed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Ask Nur-el-Din,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;that is to say, if you
+haven&rsquo;t shot her yet!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And if we have?&rdquo; asked the Chief.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Desmond sprang up.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It isn&rsquo;t possible!&rdquo; he cried. &ldquo;Why, the woman&rsquo;s
+a victim, not a principal! Chief...&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What if we have?&rdquo; asked the Chief again.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A curious change had come over the prisoner. His jaunty air had left him and
+there was an apprehensive look in his eyes.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I would have saved her if I could have,&rdquo; Strangwise said,
+&ldquo;but she played me false over the jewel. She imperiled the success of my
+mission. You English have no idea of discipline. To us Prussian officers an
+order stands above everything else. There is nothing we would not sacrifice to
+obey our orders. And my order was to recover the Star of Poland for His
+Imperial Highness the Crown Prince, Lieutenant Colonel in the Regiment to which
+I have the honor to belong, the First Regiment of Prussian Foot Guards. But
+Nur-el-Din plotted with our friend here and with that little fool upstairs to
+upset my plans, and I had no mercy on her. I planted those documents in her
+dress&mdash;or rather Bellward did&mdash;to draw suspicion away from me. I
+thought you English would be too flabby to execute a woman; but I reckoned on
+you putting the girl away for some years to come. I would have shot her as I
+shot Rass if...&rdquo; His voice trembled and he was silent.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;If what?&rdquo; asked the Chief.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;If she hadn&rsquo;t been my wife,&rdquo; said Strangwise.
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap31"></a>CHAPTER XXXI.<br/>
+THE £100,000 KIT</h2>
+
+<p>
+It was a clear, crisp morning with a sparkle of frost on jetty and breakwater.
+The English Channel stretched flashing like a living sheet of glass to the
+filmy line marking the coast of France, as serene and beautiful in its calm as
+it is savage and cruel in its anger. It was high tide; but only a gentle murmur
+came from the little waves that idly beat upon the shore in front of the
+bungalow.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A girl lay in a deck chair on the verandah, well wrapped up against the eager
+air. But the fresh breeze would not be denied and, foiled by the nurse&rsquo;s
+vigilance of its intents against the patient, it revenged itself by blowing
+havoc among the soft brown curls which peeped out from under the girl&rsquo;s
+hat.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She turned to the man at her side.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Look!&rdquo; she said, and pointed seawards with her finger.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A convoy of vessels was standing out to sea framed in the smoke-blurs of the
+escorting destroyers. Ugly, weatherbeaten craft were the steamers with trails
+of smoke blown out in the breeze behind them. They rode the sea&rsquo;s highway
+with confidence, putting their trust in the unseen power that swept the road
+clear for them.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Transports, aren&rsquo;t they?&rdquo; asked the man.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But he scarcely looked at the transports. He was watching the gleam of the sun
+on the girl&rsquo;s brown hair and contrasting the deep gray of her eyes with
+the ever-changing hues of the sea.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; replied the girl. &ldquo;It&rsquo;s the third day
+they&rsquo;ve gone across! By this time next week there&rsquo;ll be ten fresh
+divisions in France. How <i>secure</i> they look steaming along! And to think
+they owe it all to you!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The man laughed and flushed up.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;From the strictly professional standpoint the less said about me the
+better,&rdquo; he said.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What nonsense you talk!&rdquo; cried the girl. &ldquo;When the Chief was
+down to see me yesterday, he spoke of nothing but you. &lsquo;They beat him,
+but he won out!&rsquo; he said, &lsquo;they shook him off but he went back and
+found &rsquo;em!&rsquo; He told me it was a case of grit versus
+violence&mdash;and grit won. In all the time I&rsquo;ve known the Chief,
+I&rsquo;ve never heard him talk so much about one man before. Do you
+know,&rdquo; Barbara went on, looking up at Desmond, &ldquo;I think
+you&rsquo;ve made the Chief feel a little bit ashamed of himself. And that I
+may tell you is a most extraordinary achievement!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Do you think you&rsquo;re strong enough to hear some news?&rdquo; asked
+Desmond after a pause.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Of course,&rdquo; replied the girl. &ldquo;But I think I can guess it.
+It&rsquo;s about Strangwise, isn&rsquo;t it?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Desmond nodded.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;He was shot yesterday morning,&rdquo; he replied. &ldquo;I&rsquo;m glad
+they did it in France. I was terrified lest they should want me to go to
+it.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Why?&rdquo; asked the girl with a suspicion of indignation in her voice,
+&ldquo;he deserved no mercy.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No,&rdquo; replied Desmond slowly, &ldquo;he was a bad fellow&mdash;a
+Prussian through and through. He murdered your poor father, he shot Rass, he
+instigated the killing of the maid, Marie, he was prepared to sacrifice his own
+wife even, to this Prussian God of militarism which takes the very soul out of
+a man&rsquo;s body and puts it into the hands of his superior officer. And yet,
+and yet, when one has soldiered with a man, Barbara, and roughed it with him
+and been shelled and shot at with him, there seems to be a bond of sympathy
+between you and him for ever after. And he was a brave man, Barbara, cruel and
+unscrupulous, I admit, but there was no fear in him, and I can&rsquo;t help
+admiring courage. I seem to think of him as two men&mdash;the man I soldiered
+with and the heartless brute who watched while that beast Bellward...&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He broke off as a spasm of pain crossed the girl&rsquo;s face. &ldquo;I shall
+remember the one and forget the other,&rdquo; he concluded simply.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Tell me,&rdquo; said the girl suddenly, &ldquo;who <i>was</i>
+Strangwise?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;After he was arrested and just before they were going to take him
+off,&rdquo; Desmond said, &ldquo;he asked to be allowed to say a word privately
+to the Chief. We were all sent away and he told the Chief his real name. He
+thought he was going to be hanged, you see, and while he never shrank from any
+crime in the fulfilment of his mission, he was terrified of a shameful death.
+He begged the Chief to see that his real name was not revealed for the disgrace
+that his execution would bring upon his family. Curiously Prussian attitude of
+mind, isn&rsquo;t it?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And what did the Chief say?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I don&rsquo;t know; but he was mighty short with him, I expect.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And what was Strangwise&rsquo;s real name?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;When he told us that Nur-el-Din was his wife, I knew at once who he was.
+His name is Hans von Schornbeek. He was in the Prussian Foot Guards, was turned
+out for some reason or other and went to America where, after a pretty rough
+time, he was taken on by the German secret service organization. He was working
+for them when he met Nur-el-Din. They were married out there and, realizing the
+possibilities of using her as a decoy in the secret service, he sent her to
+Brussels where the Huns were very busy getting ready for war. He treated her
+abominably; but the girl was fond of him in her way and even when she was in
+fear of her life from this man she never revealed to me the fact that he was
+Hans von Schornbeek and her husband.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Barbara sat musing for a while, her eyes on the restless sea.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;How strange it is,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;to think that they are all
+dispersed now... and the transports are sailing securely to France. Two were
+killed at the Mill House, Behrend committed suicide in prison, Bellward died in
+hospital, Mrs. Malplaquet has disappeared, and now Strangwise has gone. There
+only remains...&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She cast a quick glance at Desmond but he was gazing seaward at the smoke of
+the transports smudging the horizon.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What are they going to do with Nur-el-Din?&rdquo; she asked rather
+abruptly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Didn&rsquo;t the Chief tell you?&rdquo; said Desmond.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;He only asked me what I had to say in the matter as I had had to suffer
+at her hands. But I told him I left the matter entirely to him. I said I took
+your point of view that Nur-el-Din was the victim of her husband...&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That was generous of you, Barbara,&rdquo; Desmond said gently.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She sighed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Daddy knew her as a little girl,&rdquo; she answered, &ldquo;and he was
+so pleased to see her again that night. She never had a chance. I hope
+she&rsquo;ll get one now!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;They&rsquo;re going to intern her, I believe,&rdquo; said Desmond,
+&ldquo;until the end of the war; they could do nothing else, you know. But she
+will be well looked after, and I think she will be safer in our charge than if
+she were allowed to remain at liberty. The German Secret Service has had a bad
+knock, you know. Somebody has got to pay for it!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I know,&rdquo; the girl whispered, &ldquo;and it frightens me.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You poor child!&rdquo; said Desmond, &ldquo;you&rsquo;ve had a rough
+time. But it&rsquo;s all over now. And that reminds me, Barney is coming up for
+sentence to-day; they charged him with murder originally; but Marigold kept on
+getting him remanded until they were able to alter the charge to one of
+burglary. He&rsquo;ll probably get two years&rsquo; hard labor, Marigold
+says.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Poor Barney!&rdquo; said Barbara, &ldquo;I wish they would let him go
+free. All these weeks the mystery of poor Daddy&rsquo;s death has so weighed
+upon my mind that now it has been cleared up I feel as though one day I might
+be happy again. And I want everybody to be happy, too!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Barbara,&rdquo; said Desmond and took her hand.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Barbara calmly withdrew it from his grasp and brushed an imaginary curl out of
+her eye.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Any news of your hundred thousand pound kit?&rdquo; she asked, by way of
+turning the conversation.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;By Jove,&rdquo; said Desmond, &ldquo;there was a letter from Cox&rsquo;s
+at the club this morning but I was so rushed to catch my train that I shoved it
+in my pocket and forgot all about it. I wrote and asked them weeks ago to get
+my kit back from France. Here we are!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He pulled a letter out of his pocket, slit open the envelope and took out a
+printed form. Barbara, propping herself up with one hand on his shoulder,
+leaned over him to read the communication. This is what she read.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;We are advised,&rdquo; the form ran, &ldquo;that a Wolseley valise
+forwarded to you on the 16th inst. from France has been lost by enemy action.
+We are enclosing a compensation form which...&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But neither troubled to read further.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Gone to the bottom, by Jove!&rdquo; cried Desmond. &ldquo;But
+isn&rsquo;t it strange,&rdquo; he went on, &ldquo;to think of the Star of
+Poland lying out there on the bed of the Channel? Well, I&rsquo;m not so sure
+that it isn&rsquo;t the best place for it. It won&rsquo;t create any further
+trouble in this world at least!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Poor Nur-el-Din!&rdquo; sighed the girl.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+They sat awhile in silence together and watched the gulls circling unceasingly
+above the receding tide.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You&rsquo;re leaving here to-morrow then?&rdquo; said Desmond presently.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Barbara nodded
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And going back to your work with the Chief?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Barbara nodded again.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It&rsquo;s not good enough,&rdquo; cried Desmond. &ldquo;This is no job
+for a girl like you, Barbara. The strain is too much; the risks are too great.
+Besides, there&rsquo;s something I wanted to say...&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Barbara stopped him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Don&rsquo;t say it!&rdquo; she bade him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But you don&rsquo;t know what I was going to say!&rdquo; he protested.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Barbara smiled a little happy smile.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Barbara...&rdquo; Desmond began.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Her hand still rested on his shoulder and he put his hand over hers. For a
+brief moment she let him have his way.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Then she withdrew her hand.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Desmond,&rdquo; she said, looking at him with kindly eyes, &ldquo;we
+both have work to do...&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;We have,&rdquo; replied the man somberly, &ldquo;and mine&rsquo;s at the
+front!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The girl shook her head.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No!&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;Henceforward it&rsquo;s where the Chief
+sends you!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Desmond set his jaw obstinately.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I may have been a Secret Service agent by accident,&rdquo; he answered,
+&ldquo;but I&rsquo;m a soldier by trade. My place is in the
+fighting-line!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The Secret Service has its fighting-line, too,&rdquo; Barbara replied,
+&ldquo;though the war correspondents don&rsquo;t write about it. It never gets
+a mention in despatches, and Victoria Crosses don&rsquo;t come its way. The
+newspapers don&rsquo;t publish its casualty list, though you and I know that
+it&rsquo;s a long one. A man slips quietly away and never comes back, and after
+a certain lapse of time we just mark him off the books and there&rsquo;s an end
+of it. But it&rsquo;s a great service; and you&rsquo;ve made your mark in it.
+The Chief wants men like you. You&rsquo;ll have to stay!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Desmond was about to speak; but the girl stopped him. &ldquo;What do you and I
+matter,&rdquo; she asked, &ldquo;when the whole future of England is at stake!
+If you are to give of your best to this silent game of ours, you must be free
+with no responsibilities and no ties, with nothing that will ever make you
+hesitate to take a supreme risk. And I never met a man that dared more freely
+than you!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, please...&rdquo; said Desmond and got up.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He stood gazing seawards for a while.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Then he glanced at his watch.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I must be going back to London,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;I have to see the
+Chief at four this afternoon. And you know why!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The girl nodded.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What will you tell him?&rdquo; she asked. &ldquo;Will you accept his
+offer to remain on in the Secret Service?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Desmond looked at her ruefully.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You&rsquo;re so eloquent about it,&rdquo; he said slowly, &ldquo;that I
+think I must!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Smiling, she gave him her hand. Desmond held it for an instant in his.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Then, without another word, he turned and strode off towards the winding white
+road that led to the station.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Barbara watched him until a turn in the road hid him from her sight. Then she
+pulled out her handkerchief.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Good Heavens, girl!&rdquo; she said to herself, &ldquo;I believe
+you&rsquo;re crying!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK OKEWOOD OF THE SECRET SERVICE ***</div>
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+The Project Gutenberg E-text of Okewood of the Secret Service, by Valentine Williams
+</TITLE>
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+Project Gutenberg's Okewood of the Secret Service, by Valentine Williams
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.net
+
+
+Title: Okewood of the Secret Service
+
+Author: Valentine Williams
+
+Posting Date: March 23, 2009 [EBook #2417]
+Release Date: December, 2000
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK OKEWOOD OF THE SECRET SERVICE ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Polly Stratton.  HTML version by Al Haines.
+
+
+
+
+
+</pre>
+
+
+<BR><BR>
+
+<H1 ALIGN="center">
+OKEWOOD OF THE SECRET SERVICE
+</H1>
+
+<BR>
+
+<H3 ALIGN="center">
+by
+</H3>
+
+<H2 ALIGN="center">
+Valentine Williams
+</H2>
+
+<H4 ALIGN="center">
+(pseud. Douglas Valentine)
+</H4>
+
+<BR><BR><BR>
+
+<H2 ALIGN="center">
+CONTENTS
+</H2>
+
+<TABLE ALIGN="center" WIDTH="80%">
+
+<TR>
+<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">I.&nbsp;&nbsp;</TD>
+<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top">
+<A HREF="#chap01">THE DEPUTY TURN</A></TD>
+</TR>
+
+<TR>
+<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">II.&nbsp;&nbsp;</TD>
+<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top">
+<A HREF="#chap02">CAPTAIN STRANGWISE ENTERTAINS A GUEST</A></TD>
+</TR>
+
+<TR>
+<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">III.&nbsp;&nbsp;</TD>
+<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top">
+<A HREF="#chap03">MR. MACKWAYTE MEETS AN OLD FRIEND</A></TD>
+</TR>
+
+<TR>
+<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">IV.&nbsp;&nbsp;</TD>
+<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top">
+<A HREF="#chap04">MAJOR OKEWOOD ENCOUNTERS A NEW TYPE</A></TD>
+</TR>
+
+<TR>
+<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">V.&nbsp;&nbsp;</TD>
+<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top">
+<A HREF="#chap05">THE MURDER AT SEVEN KINGS</A></TD>
+</TR>
+
+<TR>
+<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">VI.&nbsp;&nbsp;</TD>
+<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top">
+<A HREF="#chap06">"NAME O'BARNEY"</A></TD>
+</TR>
+
+<TR>
+<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">VII.&nbsp;&nbsp;</TD>
+<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top">
+<A HREF="#chap07">NUR-EL-DIN</A></TD>
+</TR>
+
+<TR>
+<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">VIII.&nbsp;&nbsp;</TD>
+<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top">
+<A HREF="#chap08">THE WHITE PAPER PACKAGE</A></TD>
+</TR>
+
+<TR>
+<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">IX.&nbsp;&nbsp;</TD>
+<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top">
+<A HREF="#chap09">METAMORPHOSIS</A></TD>
+</TR>
+
+<TR>
+<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">X.&nbsp;&nbsp;</TD>
+<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top">
+<A HREF="#chap10">D. O. R. A. IS BAFFLED</A></TD>
+</TR>
+
+<TR>
+<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XI.&nbsp;&nbsp;</TD>
+<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top">
+<A HREF="#chap11">CREDENTIALS</A></TD>
+</TR>
+
+<TR>
+<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XII.&nbsp;&nbsp;</TD>
+<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top">
+<A HREF="#chap12">AT THE MILL HOUSE</A></TD>
+</TR>
+
+<TR>
+<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XIII.&nbsp;&nbsp;</TD>
+<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top">
+<A HREF="#chap13">WHAT SHAKESPEARE'S COMEDIES REVEALED</A></TD>
+</TR>
+
+<TR>
+<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XIV.&nbsp;&nbsp;</TD>
+<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top">
+<A HREF="#chap14">BARBARA TAKES A HAND</A></TD>
+</TR>
+
+<TR>
+<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XV.&nbsp;&nbsp;</TD>
+<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top">
+<A HREF="#chap15">MR. BELLWARD IS CALLED TO THE TELEPHONE</A></TD>
+</TR>
+
+<TR>
+<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XVI.&nbsp;&nbsp;</TD>
+<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top">
+<A HREF="#chap16">THE STAR OF POLAND</A></TD>
+</TR>
+
+<TR>
+<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XVII.&nbsp;&nbsp;</TD>
+<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top">
+<A HREF="#chap17">MR. BELLWARD ARRANGES A BRIDGE EVENING</A></TD>
+</TR>
+
+<TR>
+<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XVIII.&nbsp;&nbsp;</TD>
+<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top">
+<A HREF="#chap18">THE GATHERING OF THE SPIES</A></TD>
+</TR>
+
+<TR>
+<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XIX.&nbsp;&nbsp;</TD>
+<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top">
+<A HREF="#chap19">THE UNINVITED GUEST</A></TD>
+</TR>
+
+<TR>
+<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XX.&nbsp;&nbsp;</TD>
+<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top">
+<A HREF="#chap20">THE ODD MAN</A></TD>
+</TR>
+
+<TR>
+<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XXI.&nbsp;&nbsp;</TD>
+<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top">
+<A HREF="#chap21">THE BLACK VELVET TOQUE</A></TD>
+</TR>
+
+<TR>
+<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XXII.&nbsp;&nbsp;</TD>
+<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top">
+<A HREF="#chap22">WHAT THE CELLAR REVEALED</A></TD>
+</TR>
+
+<TR>
+<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XXIII.&nbsp;&nbsp;</TD>
+<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top">
+<A HREF="#chap23">MRS. MALPLAQUET GOES DOWN TO THE CELLAR</A></TD>
+</TR>
+
+<TR>
+<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XXIV.&nbsp;&nbsp;</TD>
+<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top">
+<A HREF="#chap24">THE TWO DESERTERS</A></TD>
+</TR>
+
+<TR>
+<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XXV.&nbsp;&nbsp;</TD>
+<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top">
+<A HREF="#chap25">TO MRS. MALPLAQUET'S</A></TD>
+</TR>
+
+<TR>
+<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XXVI.&nbsp;&nbsp;</TD>
+<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top">
+<A HREF="#chap26">THE MAN IN THE SUMMER HOUSE</A></TD>
+</TR>
+
+<TR>
+<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XXVII.&nbsp;&nbsp;</TD>
+<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top">
+<A HREF="#chap27">THE RED LACQUER ROOM</A></TD>
+</TR>
+
+<TR>
+<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XXVIII.&nbsp;&nbsp;</TD>
+<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top">
+<A HREF="#chap28">AN OFFER FROM STRANGWISE</A></TD>
+</TR>
+
+<TR>
+<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XXIX.&nbsp;&nbsp;</TD>
+<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top">
+<A HREF="#chap29">DOT AND DASH</A></TD>
+</TR>
+
+<TR>
+<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XXX.&nbsp;&nbsp;</TD>
+<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top">
+<A HREF="#chap30">HOHENLINDEN TRENCH</A></TD>
+</TR>
+
+<TR>
+<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XXXI.&nbsp;&nbsp;</TD>
+<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top">
+<A HREF="#chap31">THE 100,000 POUND KIT</A></TD>
+</TR>
+
+</TABLE>
+
+<BR><BR><BR>
+
+<A NAME="chap01"></A>
+<H3 ALIGN="center">
+CHAPTER I. THE DEPUTY TURN
+</H3>
+
+<P>
+Mr. Arthur Mackwayte slipped noiselessly into the dining-room and
+took his place at the table. He always moved quietly, a look of
+gentle deprecation on his face as much as to say: "Really, you
+know, I can't help being here: if you will just overlook me this
+time, by and by you won't notice I'm there at all!" That was how
+he went through life, a shy, retiring little man, quiet as a
+mouse, gentle as a dove, modesty personified.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+That is, at least, how Mr. Arthur Mackwayte struck his friends in
+private life. Once a week, however, he fairly screamed at the
+public from the advertisement columns of "The Referee":
+"Mackwayte, in his Celebrated Kerbstone Sketches. Wit! Pathos!
+Tragedy!!! The Epitome of London Life. Universally Acclaimed as
+the Greatest Portrayer of London Characters since the late Chas.
+Dickens. In Tremendous Demand for Public Dinners. The Popular
+Favorite. A Few Dates still Vacant. 23, Laleham Villas, Seven
+Kings. 'Phone" and so on.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+But only professionally did Mr. Mackwayte thus blow his own
+trumpet, and then in print alone. For the rest, he had nothing
+great about him but his heart. A long and bitter struggle for
+existence had left no hardness in his smooth-shaven flexible
+face, only wrinkles. His eyes were gray and keen and honest, his
+mouth as tender as a woman's.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+His daughter, Barbara, was already at table pouring out the
+tea&mdash;high tea is still an institution in music-hall circles. Mr.
+Mackwayte always gazed on this tall, handsome daughter of his
+with amazement as the great miracle of his life. He looked at her
+now fondly and thought how.... how distinguished, yes, that was
+the word, she looked in the trim blue serge suit in which she
+went daily to her work at the War Office.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Rations a bit slender to-night, daddy," she said, handing him his
+cup of tea, "only sardines and bread and butter and cheese. Our
+meatless day, eh?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"It'll do very well for me, Barbara, my dear," he answered in his
+gentle voice, "there have been times when your old dad was glad
+enough to get a cup of tea and a bite of bread and butter for his
+supper. And there's many a one worse off than we are today!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Any luck at the agent's, daddy?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Mr. Mackwayte shook his head.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"These revues are fair killing the trade, my dear, and that's a
+fact. They don't want art to-day, only rag-time and legs and all
+that. Our people are being cruelly hit by it and that's a fact.
+Why, who do you think I ran into at Harris' this morning? Why,
+Barney who used to work with the great Charles, you know, my
+dear. For years he drew his ten pound a week regular. Yet there
+he was, looking for a job the same as the rest of us. Poor
+fellow, he was down on his luck!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Barbara looked up quickly.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Daddy, you lent him money...."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Mr. Mackwayte looped extremely uncomfortable.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Only a trifle, my dear, just a few shillings.... to take him
+over the week-end.... he's getting something.... he'll repay me,
+I feel sure...."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"It's too bad of you, daddy," his daughter said severely. "I gave
+you that ten shillings to buy yourself a bottle of whiskey. You
+know he won't pay you back. That Barney's a bad egg!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Things are going bad with the profession," replied Mr. Mackwayte.
+"They don't seem to want any of us old stagers today, Barbara!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Now, daddy, you know I don't allow you to talk like that. Why,
+you are only just finished working.... the Samuel Circuit, too!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Barbara looked up at the old man quickly.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Only, four weeks' trial, my dear.... they didn't want me, else
+they would have given me the full forty weeks. No, I expect I am
+getting past my work. But it's hard on you child...."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Barbara sprang up and placed her hand across her father's mouth.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"I won't have you talk like that, Mac"&mdash;that was her pet name for
+him&mdash;"you've worked hard all your life and now it's my turn. Men
+have had it all their own way before this war came along: now
+women are going to have a look in. Presently' when I get to be
+supervisor of my section and they raise my pay again, you will be
+able to refuse all offers of work. You can go down to Harris with
+a big cigar in your mouth and patronize him, daddy..."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The telephone standing on the desk in the corner of the cheap
+little room tingled out sharply. Barbara rose and went across to
+the desk. Mr. Mackwayte thought how singularly graceful she
+looked as she stood, very slim, looking at him whimsically across
+the dinner-table, the receiver in her hand.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Then a strange thing happened. Barbara quickly put the receiver
+down on the desk and clasped her hands together, her eyes opened
+wide in amazement.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Daddy," she cried, "it's the Palaceum... the manager's office...
+they want you urgently! Oh, daddy, I believe it is an
+engagement!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Mr. Mackwayte rose to his feet in agitation, a touch of color
+creeping into his gray cheeks.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Nonsense, my dear!" he answered, "at this time of night! Why,
+it's past eight... their first house is just finishing... they
+don't go engaging people at this time of day... they've got other
+things to think of!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+He went over to the desk and picked up the receiver.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Mackwayte speaking!" he said, with a touch of stage majesty in
+his voice.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Instantly a voice broke in on the other end of the wire, a
+perfect torrent of words.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Mackwayte? Ah! I'm glad I caught you at home. Got your props
+there? Good. Hickie of Hickie and Flanagan broke his ankle during
+their turn at the first house just now, and I want you to take
+their place at the second house. Your turn's at 9.40: it's a
+quarter past eight now: I'll have a car for you at your place at
+ten to nine sharp. Bring your band parts and lighting directions
+with you... don't forget! You get twenty minutes, on! Right!
+Goodbye!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"The Palaceum want me to deputize for Hickie and Flanagan, my
+dear," he said a little tremulously' "9.40... the second house...
+it's... it's very unexpected!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Barbara ran up and throwing her arms about his neck, kissed him.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"How splendid!" she exclaimed, "the Palaceum, daddy! You've never
+had an engagement like this before... the biggest hall in
+London...!!
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Only for a night, my dear"' said Mr. Mackwayte modestly.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"But if they like you, daddy, if it goes down... what will you
+give them, daddy?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Mr. Mackwayte scratched his chin.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"It's the biggest theatre in London"' he mused, "It'll have to be
+broad effects... and they'll want something slap up modern, my
+dear, I'm thinking..."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"No, no, daddy" his daughter broke in vehemently "they want the
+best. This is a London audience, remember, not a half-baked
+provincial house. This is London, Mac, not Wigan! And Londoners
+love their London! You'll give 'em the old London horse bus
+driver, the sporting cabby, and I believe you'll have time to
+squeeze in the hot potato man..."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Well, like your poor dear mother, I expect you know what's the
+best I've got" replied Mr. Mackwayte, "but it'll be a bit awkward
+with a strange dresser... I can't get hold of Potter at this
+time, of night... and a stranger is sure to mix up my wigs and
+things..."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Why, daddy, I'm going with you to put out your things..."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"But a lady clerk in the War Office, Barbara... a Government
+official, as you might say... go behind at a music-hall... it
+don't seem proper right, my dear!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Nonsense, Mac. Where Is your theatre? Come along. We'll have to
+try and get a taxi!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"They're sending a car at ten to nine, my dear!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Good gracious! what swells we are! And it's half-past eight
+already! Who is on the bill with you?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"My dear, I haven't an idea... I'm not very well up in the London
+programmes' I'm afraid... but it is sure to be a good programme.
+The Palaceum is the only house that's had the courage to break
+away from this rotten revue craze!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Barbara was in the hall now, her arms plunged to the shoulder in
+a great basket trunk that smelt faintly of cocoa-butter. Right
+and left she flung coats and hats and trousers and band parts,
+selecting with a sure eye the properties which Mr. Mackwayte
+would require for the sketches he would play that evening. In the
+middle of it all the throbbing of a car echoed down the quiet
+road outside. Then there came a ring at the front door.
+</P>
+
+<HR ALIGN="center" WIDTH="60%">
+
+<P>
+At half-past nine that night, Barbara found herself standing
+beside her father in the wings of the vast Palaceum stage. Just
+at her back was the little screened-off recess where Mr.
+Mackwayte was to make the quick changes that came in the course
+of his turn. Here, since her arrival in the theatre, Barbara had
+been busy laying out coats and hats and rigs and grease-paints on
+the little table below the mirror with its two brilliant electric
+bulbs, whilst Mr. Mackwayte was in his dressing-room upstairs
+changing into his first costume.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Now, old Mackwayte stood at her elbow in his rig-out as an old
+London bus-driver in the identical, characteristic clothes which
+he had worn for this turn for the past 25 years. He was far too
+old a hand to show any nervousness he might feel at the ordeal
+before him. He was chatting in undertones in his gentle,
+confidential way to the stage manager.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+All around them was that curious preoccupied stillness hush of
+the power-house which makes the false world of the stage so
+singularly unreal by contrast when watched from the back. The
+house was packed from floor to ceiling, for the Palaceum's policy
+of breaking away from revue and going back to Mr. Mackwayte
+called "straight vaudeville" was triumphantly justifying itself.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Standing in the wings, Barbara could almost feel the electric
+current running between the audience and the comedian who, with
+the quiet deliberation of the finished artist, was going through
+his business on the stage. As he made each of his carefully
+studied points, he paused, confident of the vast rustle of
+laughter swelling into a hurricane of applause which never failed
+to come from the towering tiers of humanity before him,
+stretching away into the roof where the limelights blazed and
+spluttered. Save for the low murmur of voices at her side, the
+silence behind the scenes was absolute. No one was idle. Everyone
+was at his post, his attention concentrated on that diminutive
+little figure in the ridiculous clothes which the spot-lights
+tracked about the stage.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+It was the high-water mark of modern music-hall development. The
+perfect smoothness of the organization gave Barbara a great
+feeling of contentment for she knew how happy her father must be.
+Everyone had been so kind to him. "I shall feel a stranger
+amongst the top-liners of today, my dear," he had said to her in
+the car on their way to the hall. She had had no answer ready for
+she had feared he spoke the truth.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Yet everyone they had met had tried to show them that Arthur
+Mackwayte was not forgotten. The stage-door keeper had known him
+in the days of the old Aquarium and welcomed him by name. The
+comedian who preceded Mr. Mackwayte and who was on the stage at
+that moment had said, "Hullo, Mac! Come to give us young 'uns
+some tips?" And even now the stage manager was talking over old
+days with her father.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"You had a rough but good schooling, Mac," he was saying, "but,
+by Jove, it gave us finished artists. If you saw the penny
+reading line that comes trying to get a job here... and gets it,
+by Gad!... it'd make you sick. I tell you I have my work cut out
+staving them off! It's a pretty good show this week, though, and
+I've given you a good place, Mac... you're in front of
+Nur-el-Din!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Nur-el-Din?" repeated Mr. Mackwayte' "what is it, Fletcher? A
+conjurer?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Good Lord' man' where have you been living?" replied Fletcher.
+"Nur-el-Din is the greatest vaudeville proposition since Lottie
+Collins. Conjurer! That's what she is, too, by Jove! She's the
+newest thing in Oriental dancers... Spaniard or something...
+wonderful clothes, what there is of 'em... and jewelry... wait
+till you see her!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Dear me"' said Mr. Mackwayte' "I'm afraid I'm a bit behind the
+times. Has she been appearing here long?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"First appearance in London, old man' and she's made good from
+the word 'Go!' She's been in Paris and all over the Continent,
+and America, too, I believe, but she had to come to me to soar to
+the top of the bill. I saw at once where she belonged! She's a
+real artiste, temperament, style and all that sort of thing and a
+damn good producer into the bargain! But the worst devil that
+ever escaped out of hell never had a wickeder temper! She and I
+fight all the time! Not a show, but she doesn't keep the stage
+waiting! But I won! I won't have her prima donna tricks in this
+theatre and so I've told her! Hullo, Georgie's he's finishing..."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The great curtain switched down suddenly, drowning a cascade of
+applause, and a bundle of old clothes, twitching nerves, liquid
+perspiration and grease paint hopped off the stage into the
+centre of the group. An electric bell trilled, the limelights
+shut off, with a jerk that made the eyes ache, a back-cloth
+soared aloft and another glided down into its place, the comedian
+took two, three, four calls, then vanished into a horde of dim
+figures scuttling about in the gloom.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+An electric bell trilled again and deep silence fell once more,
+broken only by the hissing of the lights.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"You ought to stop behind after your turn and see her, Mac," the
+stage manager's voice went on evenly. "All right, Jackson! On you
+go, Mac!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Barbara felt her heart jump. Now for it, daddy!
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The great curtain mounted majestically and Arthur Mackwayte,
+deputy turn, stumped serenely on to the stage.
+</P>
+
+<BR><BR><BR>
+
+<A NAME="chap02"></A>
+<H3 ALIGN="center">
+CHAPTER II. CAPTAIN STRANGWISE ENTERTAINS A GUEST
+</H3>
+
+<P>
+It was the slack hour at the Nineveh Hotel. The last groups about
+the tea-tables in the Palm Court had broken up, the Tzigane
+orchestra had stacked its instruments together on its little
+platform and gone home, and a gentle calm rested over the great
+hotel as the forerunner of the coming dinner storm.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The pre-dinner hour is the uncomfortable hour of the modern hotel
+de luxe. The rooms seem uncomfortably hot, the evening paper
+palls, it is too early to dress for dinner, so one sits yawning
+over the fire, longing for a fireside of one's own. At least that
+is how it strikes one from the bachelor standpoint, and that is
+how it appeared to affect a man who was sitting hunched up in a
+big arm-chair in the vestibule of the Ninevah Hotel on this
+winter afternoon.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+His posture spoke of utter boredom. He sprawled length in his
+chair, his long legs stretched out in front of him, his, eyes
+half-closed, various editions of evening papers strewn about the
+ground at his feet. He was a tall, well-groomed man, and his
+lithe, athletic figure looked very well in its neat uniform.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+A pretty little woman who sat at one of the writing desks in the
+vestibule glanced at him more once. He was the sort of man that
+women look at with interest. He had a long, shrewd, narrow head,
+the hair dark and close-cropped, a big, bold, aquiline nose, and
+a firm masterful chin, dominated by a determined line of mouth
+emphasised by a thin line of moustache. He would have been very
+handsome but for his eyes, which, the woman decided as she
+glanced at him, were set rather too close together. She thought
+she would prefer him as he was now, with his eyes glittering in
+the fire-light through their long lashes.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+But what was most apparent was the magnificent physical fitness
+of the man. His was the frame of the pioneer, the man of the
+earth's open spaces and uncharted wilds. He looked as hard as
+nails, and the woman murmured to herself, as she went on with her
+note, "On leave from the front."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Presently, the man stirred, stretched himself and finally sat up.
+Then he started, sprang to his feet, and strode easily across the
+vestibule to the reception desk. An officer was standing there in
+a worn uniform, a very shabby kit-bag by his side, a dirty old
+Burberry over his arm.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Okewood!" said the young man and touched the other on the
+shoulder, "isn't it Desmond Okewood?  By Jove, I am glad to see
+you!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The new-comer turned quickly.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Why, hullo," he said, "if it isn't Maurice Strangwise! But, good
+heavens, man, surely I saw your name in the casualty list...
+missing, wasn't it?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Yep!" replied the other smiling, "that's so! It's a long story
+and it'll keep! But tell me about yourself... this," he kicked
+the kit-bag with the toe of his boot, "looks like a little leave!
+Just in from France?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+He smiled again, baring his firm, white teeth, and looking at him
+Desmond suddenly remembered, as one recalls a trifle, his trick
+of smiling. It was a frank enough smile but... well, some people
+smile too much.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Got in just now by the leave train," answered Desmond.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"How much leave have you got?" asked Strangwise.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Well," said the other, "it's a funny thing, but I don't know!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Say, are they giving unlimited leave over there now?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Desmond laughed.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Hardly," he replied. "But the War Office just applied for me to
+come over and here I am! What they want me for, whether it's to
+advise the War Council or to act as Quartermaster to the Jewish
+Battalion I can't tell you! I shan't know until tomorrow morning!
+In the meantime I'm going to forget the war for this evening!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"What are you going to do to-night?" asked Strangwise.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Desmond began to check off on his fingers.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Firstly, I'm going to fill the biggest bath in this hotel with
+hot water, get the biggest piece of Pears' soap in London, and
+jump in: Then, if my tailor hasn't betrayed me, I'm going to put
+on dress clothes, and whilst I am dressing summon Julien (if he's
+maitre d'hotel here) to a conference, then I'm going to eat the
+best dinner that this pub can provide. Then..."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Strangwise interrupted him.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"The bath is on you, if you like," he said, "but the dinner's on
+me and a show afterwards. I'm at a loose end, old man, and so are
+you, so we'll hit up together! We'll dine in the restaurant here
+7.30, and Julien shall come up to your room so this you can order
+the dinner. Is it a go?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Rather," laughed Desmond, "I'll eat your dinner, Maurice, and
+you shall tell me how you managed; to break out of the casualty
+list into the Nineveh Hotel. But what do all these anxious-looking
+gentry want?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The two officers turned to confront a group of four men who were
+surveying them closely. One of them, a fat, comfortable looking
+party with grizzled hair, on seeing Desmond, walked up to him.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Hullo!" said Desmond, "it's Tommy Spencer! How are you, Spencer?
+What's the betting in Fleet Street on the war lasting another
+five years?  Have you come to interview me?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The tubby little man beamed and shook hands effusively.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Glad to see you looking so well, Major," he said, "It's your
+friend we want..."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"What? Strangwise? Here, Maurice, come meet my friend Tommy
+Spencer of the "Daily Record," whom I haven't seen since we went
+on manoeuvres together down at Aldershot! Captain Strangwise,
+Tommy Spencer! Now, then, fire away; Spencer!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Strangwise smiled and shook his head.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"I'm very pleased to know your friend, Desmond," he said, "but,
+you know, I can't talk! I had the strictest orders from the War
+Office... It's on account of the other fellows, you know..."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Desmond looked blankly at him. Then he&mdash;turned to Spencer.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"You must let me into this, Spencer," he said, "what's old
+Maurice been up to? Has he been cashiered for wearing shoes or
+what?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Spencer's manner became a trifle formal.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Captain Strangwise has escaped from a prisoners' of war camp in
+Germany, Major," he said, "we've been trying to get hold of him
+for days! He's the talk of London!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Desmond turned like a shot.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Maurice!" he cried, "'pon my soul, I'm going to have an
+interesting evening... why, of course, you are just the sort of
+fellow to do a thing like that. But, Spencer, you know, it won't
+do... fellows are never allowed to talk to the newspaper men
+about matters of this kind. And if you're a good fellow, Spencer,
+you won't even say that you have seen Strangwise here... you'll
+only get him into trouble!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The little man looked rather rueful.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Oh, of course, Major, if you put it that way," he said.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"... And you'll use your influence to make those other fellows
+with you drop it, will you, Spencer? And then come along to the
+bar and we'll haven a drink for old times' sake!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Spencer seemed doubtful about the success of his representations
+to his colleagues but he obediently trotted away. Apparently, he
+succeeded in his mission for presently he joined the two officers
+alone in the American Bar.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"I haven't seen Strangwise for six months, Spencer," said Desmond
+over his second cocktail. "Seeing him reminds me how astonishing
+it is the way fellows drop apart in war. Old Maurice was attached
+to the Brigade of which I am the Brigade Major as gunner officer,
+and we lived together for the best part of three months, wasn't
+it, Maurice? Then he goes back to his battery and the next thing
+I hear of him is that he is missing. And then I'm damned if he
+doesn't turn up here!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Spencer cocked an eye at Strangwise over him Martini.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"I'd like to hear your story, despite the restrictions," he said.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Strangwise looked a trifle embarrassed.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Maybe I'll tell you one day," he replied in his quiet way,
+"though, honestly, there's precious little to tell..."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Desmond marked his confusion and respected him for it. He rushed
+in to the rescue.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Spencer," he said abruptly, "what's worth seeing in London? We
+are going to a show to-night. I want to be amused, mark you, not
+elevated!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Nur-el-Din at the Palaceum," replied the reporter.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"By Jove, we'll go there," said Desmond, turning to Maurice.
+"Have you ever seen her? I'm told she's perfectly marvelous..."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"It's an extraordinarily artistic turn," said Spencer, "and
+they're doing wonderful business at the Palaceum. You'd better go
+and see the show soon, though, for they tell me the lady is
+leaving the programme."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"No!" exclaimed Strangwise so suddenly that Desmond turned round
+and stared at him. "I thought she was there for months yet..."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"They don't want her to go," answered Spencer, "she's a perfect
+gold-mine to them but I gather the lady is difficult... in fact,
+to put it bluntly she's making such a damn nuisance of herself
+with her artistic temperament that they can't get on with her at
+all."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Do you know this lady of the artistic temperament, Maurice?"
+asked Desmond.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Strangwise hesitated a moment.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"I met her in Canada a few years ago," he said slowly, "she was a
+very small star then. She's a very handsome and attractive girl,
+in spite of our friend's unfavorable verdict. There's something
+curiously real about her dancing, too, that you don't find in
+this sort of show as a rule!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+He stopped a moment, then added abruptly:
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"We'll go along to the Palaceum to-night, if you like, Desmond,"
+and Desmond joyfully acquiesced. To one who has been living for
+weeks in an ill-ventilated pill-box on the Passchendaele Ridge,
+the lights and music and color of a music-hall seem as a
+foretaste of Paradise.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+And that was what Desmond Okewood thought as a few hours later he
+found himself with Maurice Strangwise in the stalls of the vast
+Palaceum auditorium. In the unwonted luxury of evening clothes he
+felt clean and comfortable, and the cigar he way smoking was the
+climax of one of Julien's most esoteric efforts.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The cards on either side of the proscenium opening bore the
+words: "Deputy Turn." On the stage wad a gnarled old man with
+ruddy cheeks and a muffler a seedy top hat on his head, a
+coaching whip in his hand, the old horse bus-driver of London in
+his habit as he had lived. The old fellow stood there and just
+talked to the audience of a fine sporting class of men that
+petrol has driven from the streets, without exaggerated humor or
+pathos. Desmond, himself a born Cockney, at once fell under the
+actor's spell and found all memories of the front slipping away
+from him as the old London street characters succeeded one
+another on the stage. Then the orchestra blared out, the curtain
+descended, and the house broke into a great flutter of applause.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Desmond, luxuriating in his comfortable stall puffed at his cigar
+and fell into a pleasant reverie.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+He was contrasting the ghastly nightmare of mud and horrors from
+which he had only just emerged with the scene of elegance, of
+civilization; around him.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Suddenly, his attention became riveted on the stage. The
+atmosphere of the theatre had changed. Always quick at picking up
+"influences," Desmond instantly sensed a new mood in the throngs
+around him. A presence was in the theatre, an instinct-awakening,
+a material influence. The great audience was strangely hushed.
+The air was heavy with the tent of incense. The stringed
+instruments and oboes in the orchestra were wandering into
+rhythmic dropped.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Maurice touched his elbow.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"There she is!" he said.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Desmond felt inclined to shake him off roughly. The interruption
+jarred on him. For he was looking at this strangely beautiful
+girl with her skin showing very brown beneath a wonderful silver
+tiara-like headdress, and in the broad interstices of a
+cloth-of-silver robe with short, stiffly wired-out skirt. She was
+seated, an idol, on a glittering black throne, at her feet with
+their tapering dyed nails a fantastically attired throng of
+worshipers.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The idol stirred into life, the music of the orchestra died away.
+Then a tom-tom began to beat its nervous pulse-stirring throb,
+the strident notes of a reed-pipe joined in and the dancer,
+raised on her toes on the dais, began to sway languorously to and
+fro. And so she swayed and swayed with sinuously curving limbs
+while the drums throbbed out faster with ever-shortening beats,
+with now and then a clash of brazen cymbals that was torture to
+overwrought nerves.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The dancer was the perfection of grace. Her figure was lithe and
+supple as a boy's. There was a suggestion of fire and strength
+and agility about her that made one think of a panther as she
+postured there against a background of barbaric color. The grace
+of her movements, the exquisite blending of the colors on the
+stage, the skillful grouping of the throng of worshipers, made up
+a picture which held the audience spellbound and in silence until
+the curtain dropped.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Desmond turned to find Strangwise standing up.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"I thought of just running round behind the scenes for a few
+minutes," he said carelessly.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"What, to see Nur-el-Din? By Jove, I'm coming, too!" promptly
+exclaimed Desmond.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Strangwise demurred. He didn't quite know if he could take him:
+there might be difficulties: another time... But Desmond got up
+resolutely.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"I'll be damned if you leave me behind, Maurice," he laughed, "of
+course I'm coming, too! She's the most delightful creature I've
+ever set eyes on!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+And so it ended by them going through the pass-door together.
+</P>
+
+<BR><BR><BR>
+
+<A NAME="chap03"></A>
+<H3 ALIGN="center">
+CHAPTER III. MR. MACKWAYTE MEETS AN OLD FRIEND
+</H3>
+
+<P>
+That night Nur-el-Din kept the stage waiting for five minutes. It
+was a climax of a long series of similar unpardonable crimes in
+the music-hall code. The result was that Mr. Mackwayte, after
+taking four enthusiastic "curtains," stepped off the stage into a
+perfect pandemonium.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+He found Fletcher, the stage manager, livid with rage, surrounded
+by the greater part of the large suite with which the dancer
+traveled. There was Madame's maid, a trim Frenchwoman, Madame's
+business manager, a fat, voluble Italian, Madame's secretary, an
+olive-skinned South American youth in an evening coat with velvet
+collar, and Madame's principal male dancer in a scanty Egyptian
+dress with grotesquely painted face. They were all talking at the
+same time, and at intervals Fletcher muttered hotly: "This time
+she leaves the bill or I walk out of the theatre!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Then a clear voice cried:
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Me voila!" and a dainty apparition in an ermine wrap tripped
+into the centre of the group, tapped the manager lightly on the
+shoulder and said:
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Allons! I am ready!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Mr. Mackwayte's face creased its mask of paint into a thousand
+wrinkles. For, on seeing him, the dancer's face lighted up, and,
+running to him with hands outstretched, she cried:
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Tiens! Monsieur Arthur!" while he ejaculated:
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Why, it's little Marcelle!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+But now the stage manager interposed. He whisked Madame's wrap
+off her with one hand and with the other, firmly propelled her on
+to the stage. She let him have his way with a merry smile, dark
+eyes and white teeth flashing, but as she went she said to Mr.
+Mackwayte:
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"My friend, wait for me! Et puis nous causerons! We will 'ave a
+talk, nest-ce pas?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"A very old friend of mine, my dear," Mr. Mackwayte said to
+Barbara when, dressed in his street clothes, he rejoined her in
+the wings where she stood watching Nur-el-Din dancing. "She was
+an acrobat in the Seven Duponts, a turn that earned big money in
+the old days. It must be... let's see... getting on for twenty
+years since I last set eyes on her. She was a pretty kid in those
+days! God bless my soul! Little Marcelle a big star! It's really
+most amazing!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Directly she was off the stage, Nur-el-Din cams straight to Mr.
+Mackwayte, pushing aside her maid who was waiting with her wrap.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"My friend," she cooed in her pretty broken English, "I am so
+glad, so glad to see you. And this is your girl... ah! she 'as
+your eyes, Monsieur Arthur, your nice English gray eyes! Such a
+big girl... ah! but she make me feel old!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+She laughed, a pretty gurgling laugh, throwing back her head so
+that the diamond collar she was wearing heaved and flashed.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"But you will come to my room, hein?" she went on. "Marie, my
+wrap!" and she led the way to the lift.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Nur-el-Din's spacious dressing-room seemed to be full of people
+and flowers. All her little court was assembled amid a perfect
+bower of hot-house blooms and plants. Head and shoulders above
+everybody else in the room towered the figure of an officer in
+uniform, with him another palpable Englishman in evening dress.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Desmond Okewood thought he had never seen anything in his life
+more charming than the picture the dancer made as she came into
+the room. Her wrap had fallen open and beneath the broad bars of
+her cloth-of-silver dress her bosom yet rose and fell after the
+exertions of her dance. A jet black curl had strayed out from
+beneath her lofty silver head-dress, and she thrust it back in
+its place with one little brown bejeweled hand whilst she
+extended the other to Strangwise.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Tiens, mon capitaine!" she said. Desmond was watching her
+closely, fascinated by her beauty, but noticed an unwilling,
+almost a hostile tone, in her voice.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Strangwise was speaking in his deep voice.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Marcelle," he said, "I've brought a friend who is anxious to
+meet you. Major Desmond Okewood! He and I soldiered together in
+France!" The dancer turned her big black eyes full on Desmond as
+she held out her hand to him.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Old friends, new friends," she cried, clapping, her hands like a
+child, "I love friends. Captaine, here is a very old friend," she
+said to Strangwise as Mr. Mackwayte and Barbara came into the
+rooms, "Monsieur Arthur Mackwayte and 'is daughter. I 'ave know
+Monsieur Arthur almos' all my life. And, Mademoiselle, permit me?
+I introduce le Captaine Strangwise and 'is friend... what is the
+name? Ah, Major Okewood!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Nur-el-Din sank into a bergere chair beside her great mirror.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"There are too many in this room," she cried, "there is no air!
+Lazarro, Ramiro, all of you, go outside, my friends!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+As Madame's entourage surged out, Strangwise said:
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"I hear you are leaving the Palaceum, Marcelle!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+He spoke so low that Mr. Mackwayte and Barbara, who were talking
+to Desmond, did not hear. Marcelle, taking off her heavy
+head-dress, answered quickly:
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Who told you that?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Never mind," replied Strangwise. "But you never told me you were
+going. Why didn't you?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+His voice was stern and hard now, very different from his usual
+quiet and mellow tones. But he was smiling.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Marcelle cast a glance over her shoulder. Barbara was looking
+round the room and caught the reflection of the dancer's face in
+a mirror hanging on the wall. To her intense astonishment, she
+saw a look of despair, almost of terror, in Nur-el-Din's dark
+eyes. It was like the frightened stare of some hunted beast.
+Barbara was so much taken aback that she instinctively glanced
+over her shoulder at the door, thinking that the dancer had seen
+something there to frighten her. But the door was shut. When
+Barbara looked into the mirror again, she saw only the reflection
+of Nur-el-Din's pretty neck and shoulders. The dancer was talking
+again in low tones to Strangwise.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+But Barbara swiftly forgot that glimpse of the dancer's face in
+the glass. For she was very happy. Happiness, like high spirits,
+is eminently contagious, and the two men at her side were
+supremely content.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Her father's eyes were shining with his little success fit, of
+the evening: on the way upstairs Fletcher had held out hopes to
+him of a long engagement at the Palaceum while as for the other,
+he was radiant with the excitement of his first night in town
+after long months of campaigning.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+He was thinking that his leave had started most propitiously.
+After a man has been isolated for months amongst muddy
+masculinity, the homeliest woman will find favor in his eyes. And
+to neither of these women, in whose presence he so unexpected
+found himself within a few hours of landing in England, could the
+epithet "homely" be applied. Each represented a distinct type of
+beauty in herself, and Desmond, as he chatted with Barbara, was
+mentally contrasting the two women. Barbara, tall and slim and
+very healthy, with her braided brown hair, creamy complexion and
+gray eyes, was essentially English. She was the typical woman of
+England, of England of the broad green valleys and rolling downs
+and snuggling hamlets, of England of the white cliffs gnawed by
+the restless ocean, The other was equally essentially a woman of
+the South. Her dark eyes, her upper lip just baring her firm
+white teeth, spoke of hot Latin or gypsy blood surging in her
+veins. Hers was the beauty of the East, sensuous, arresting,
+conjuring up pictures of warm, perfumed nights, the thrumming of
+guitars, a great yellow moon hanging low behind the palms.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Barbara!" called Nur-el-Din from the dressing table. Mr.
+Mackwayte had joined her there and was chatting to Strangwise.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"You will stay and talk to me while I change n'est-ce pas? Your
+papa and these gentlemen are going to drink a whiskey-soda with
+that animal Fletcher... quel homme terrible... and you shall join
+them presently."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The men went out, leaving Barbara alone with the dancer. Barbara
+noticed how tired Nur-el-Din was looking. Heir pretty, childish
+ways seemed to have evaporated with her high spirits. Her face
+was heavy and listless. There were lines round heir eyes, and her
+mouth had a hard, drawn look.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Child," she said, "give me, please, my peignoir... it is behind
+the door,... and, I will get this paint off my face!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Barbara fetched the wrapper and sat down beside the dancer. But
+Nur-el-Din did not move. She seemed to be thinking. Barbara saw
+the hunted look she had already observed in her that evening
+creeping over her face again.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"It is a hard life; this life of ours, a life of change, ma
+petite! A great artiste has no country, no home, no fireside! For
+the past five years I have been roaming about the world! Often I
+think I will settle down, but the life holds me!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+She took up from her dressing-table a little oblong plain silver
+box.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"I want to ask you a favor, ma petite Barbara!" she said. "This
+little box is a family possession of mine: I have had it for many
+years. The world is so disturbed to-day that life is not safe for
+anybody who travels as much as I do! You have a home, a safe home
+with your dear father! He was telling me about it! Will you take
+this little box and keep it safely for me until... until... the
+war is over... until I ask you for it?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Yes, of course," said Barbara, "if you wish it, though, what
+with these air raids, I don't know that London is particularly
+safe, either."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Ah! that is good of you," cried Nur-el-Din, "anyhow, the little
+box is safer with you than with me. See, I will wrap it up and
+seal it, and then you will take it home with you, n'est-ce pas?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+She opened a drawer and swiftly hunting among its contents
+produced a sheet, of white paper, and some sealing-wax. She
+wrapped the box in the paper and sealed it up, stamping the seals
+with a camel signet ring she drew off her finger. Then she handed
+the package to Barbara.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+There was a knock at the door. The maid, noiselessly arranging
+Madame's dresses in the corner opened it.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"You will take care of it well for me," the dancer said to
+Barbara, and her voice vibrated with a surprising eagerness, "you
+will guard it preciously until I come for it..." She laughed and
+added carelessly: "Because it is a family treasure, a life
+mascotte of mine, hein?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Then they heard Strangwise's deep voice outside.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Nur-el-Din started.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Le Captaine is there, Madame," said the French maid, "'e say
+Monsieur Mackwayte ask for Mademoiselle!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The dancer thrust a little hand from the folds of her silken
+kimono.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Au revoir, ma petite," she said, "we shall meet again. You will
+come and see me, nest-ce pas? And say nothing to anybody
+about..." she pointed to Barbara's bag where the little package
+was reposing, "it shall be a secret between us, hein? Promise me
+this, mon enfant!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Of course, I promise, if you like!" said Barbara, wonderingly.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+At half-past eight the next morning Desmond Okewood found himself
+in the ante-room of the Chief of the Secret Service in a cross
+and puzzled mood. The telephone at his bedside had roused him at
+8 a.m. from the first sleep he had had in a real bed for two
+months. In a drowsy voice he had protested that he had an
+appointment at the War Office at 10 o'clock, but a curt voice had
+bidden him dress himself and come to the Chief forthwith. Here he
+was, accordingly, breakfastless, his chin smarting from a hasty
+shave. What the devil did the Chief want with him anyhow? He
+wasn't in the Secret Service, though his brother, Francis, was.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+A voice broke in upon his angry musing.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Come in, Okewood!" it said.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The Chief stood at the door of his room, a broad-shouldered
+figure in a plain jacket suit. Desmond had met him before. He
+knew him for a man of many questions but of few confidences, yet
+his recollection of him was of a suave, imperturbable
+personality. To-day, however, the Chief seemed strangely
+preoccupied. There was a deep line between his bushy eyebrows as
+he bent them at Desmond, motioning him to a chair. When he spoke,
+his manner was very curt.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"What time did you part from the Mackwaytes at the theatre last
+night?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Desmond was dumbfounded. How on earth did the Chief know about
+his visit to the Palaceum? Still, he was used to the omniscience
+of the British Intelligence, so he answered promptly:
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"It was latish, sir; about midnight, I think!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"They went home to Seven Kings alone!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Yes, sir, in a taxi!" Desmond replied.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The Chief contemplated his blotting-pad gloomily. Desmond knew it
+for a trick of his when worried.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Did you have a good night?" he said to Desmond, suddenly.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Yes," he said, not in the least understanding the drift of the
+question. "... though I didn't mean to get up quite so early!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The Chief ignored this sally.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Nothing out of the ordinary happened during the night, I
+suppose?" he asked again.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Desmond shook his head.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Nothing that I know of, sir," he said.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Seen Strangwise this morning?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Desmond gasped for breath. So the Chief knew about him meeting
+Strangwise, too!
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"No, sir!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+A clerk put his head in at the door.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Well, Matthews!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Captain Strangwise will be along very shortly, sir," he said.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The Chief looked up quickly.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Ah, he's all right then! Good."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"And, sir," Matthews added, "Scotland Yard telephoned to say that
+the doctor is with Miss Mackwayte now."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Desmond started up.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Is Miss Mackwayte ill?" he exclaimed.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The Chief answered slowly, as Matthews withdrew: "Mr. Mackwayte
+was found murdered at his house early this morning!"
+</P>
+
+<BR><BR><BR>
+
+<A NAME="chap04"></A>
+<H3 ALIGN="center">
+CHAPTER IV. MAJOR OKEWOOD ENCOUNTERS A NEW TYPE
+</H3>
+
+<P>
+There is a sinister ring about the word "murder," which reacts
+upon even the most hardened sensibility. Edgar Allan Poe, who was
+a master of the suggestive use of words, realized this when he
+called the greatest detective story ever written "The Murders in
+the Rue Morgue." From the very beginning of the war, Desmond had
+seen death in all its forms but that word "murdered," spoken with
+slow emphasis in the quiet room, gave him an ugly chill feeling
+round the heart that he had never experienced on the battlefield.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Murdered!" Desmond repeated dully and sat down. He felt stunned.
+He was not thinking of the gentle old man cruelly done to death
+or of the pretty Barbara prostrate with grief. He was overawed by
+the curious fatality that had plucked him from the horrors of
+Flanders only to plunge him into a tragedy at home.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Yes," said the Chief bluntly, "by a burglar apparently&mdash;the
+house was ransacked!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Chief," he broke out, "you must explain. I'm all at sea! Why did
+you send for me? What have you got to do with criminal cases,
+anyway? Surely, this is a Scotland Yard matter!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The Chief shook his head.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"I sent for you in default of your brother, Okewood!" he said.
+"You once refused an offer of mine to take you into my service,
+but this time I had to have you, so I got the War Office to
+wire..."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Then my appointment for ten o'clock to-day was with you?"
+Desmond exclaimed in astonishment.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The Chief nodded.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"It was," he said curtly.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"But," protested Desmond feebly, "did you know about this murder
+beforehand!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The Chief threw back his head and laughed.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"My dear fellow," he said; "I'm not quite so deep as all that. I
+haven't second sight, you know!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"You've got something devilish like it, sir!" said Desmond.  "How
+on earth did you know that I was at the Palaceum last night?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The Chief smiled grimly.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Oh, that's very simple," he said. "Shall I tell you some more
+about yourself?  You sat..." he glanced down at the desk in front
+of him,"... in Stall E 52 and, after Nur-el-Din's turn,
+Strangwise took you round and introduced you to the lady. In her
+dressing-room you met Mr. Mackwayte and his daughter. After
+that..."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"But," Desmond interrupted quickly, "I must have been followed by
+one of your men. Still, I can't see why my movements should
+interest the Secret Service, sir!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The Chief remained silent for a moment. Then he said:
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Fate often unexpectedly takes a hand in this game of ours,
+Okewood. I sent for you to come back from France but old man
+Destiny wouldn't leave it at that. Almost as soon as you landed
+he switched you straight on to a trail that I have been patiently
+following up for months past. That trail is..."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The telephone on the desk rang sharply.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Whose trail?" Desmond could not forbear to ask as the Chief took
+off the receiver.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Just a minute," the Chief said. Then he spoke into the
+telephone:
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Marigold? Yes. Really? Very well, I'll come straight along
+now... I'll be with you in twenty minutes. Good-bye!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+He put down the receiver and rose to his feet.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Okewood," he cried gaily, "what do you say to a little detective
+work? That was Marigold of the Criminal Investigation
+Department... he's down at Seven Kings handling this murder case.
+I asked him to let me know when it would be convenient for me to
+come along and have a look round, and he wants me to go now. Two
+heads are better than one. You'd better come along!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+He pressed a button on the desk.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The swift and silent Matthews appeared.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Matthews," he said, "when Captain Strangwise comes, please tell
+him I've been called away and ask him to call back here at two
+o'clock to see me."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+He paused and laid a lean finger reflectively along his nose.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Are you lunching anywhere, Okewood?" he 'said. Desmond shook his
+head.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Then you will lunch with me, eh? Right. Come along and we'll try
+to find the way to Seven Kings."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The two men threaded the busy corridors to the lift which
+deposited them at the main entrance. A few minutes later the
+Chief was dexterously guiding his Vauxhall car through the
+crowded traffic of the Strand, Desmond beside him on the front
+seat.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Desmond was completely fogged in his mind. He couldn't see light
+anywhere. He asked himself in vain what possible connection could
+exist between this murder in an obscure quarter of London and the
+man at his side who, he knew, held in his firm hands lines that
+stretched to the uttermost ends of the earth? What kind of an
+affair was this, seemingly so commonplace that could take the
+Chief's attention from the hundred urgent matters of national
+security that occupied him?
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The Chief seemed absorbed in his driving and Desmond felt it
+would be useless to attempt to draw him out. They wended their
+way through the city and out into the squalid length of the Mile
+End Road. Then the Chief began to talk.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"I hate driving through the City," he exclaimed, "but I always
+think it's good for the nerves. Still, I have a feeling that I
+shall smash this old car up some day. That friend of yours,
+Strangwise, now he's a remarkable man!  Do you know his story?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"About his escape from Germany?" asked Desmond.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The Chief nodded.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"He told me something about it at dinner last night," said
+Desmond, "but he's such a modest chap he doesn't seem to like
+talking about it!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"He must have a cool nerve," replied the Chief, "he doesn't know
+a word of German, except a few scraps he picked up in camp. Yet,
+after he got free, he made his way alone from somewhere in
+Hanover clear to the Dutch frontier. And I tell you he kept his
+eyes and ears open!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Was he able to tell you anything good" asked Desmond.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"The man's just full of information. He couldn't take a note of
+any kind, of course, but he seems to have a wonderful memory. He
+was able to give us the names of almost every unit of troops he
+came across."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+He stopped to skirt a tram, then added suddenly:
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Do you know him well, Okewood?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Yes, I think I do," said Desmond. "I lived with him for about
+three months in France, and we got on top-hole together. He's a
+man absolutely without fear."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Yes," agreed the Chief. "But what about his judgment? Would you
+call him a well-balanced fellow? Or is he one of these
+harum-scarum soldier of fortune sort of chaps?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"I should say he was devilish shrewd," replied the other.
+"Strangwise is a very able fellow and a fine soldier. The
+Brigadier thought a lot of him. There's very little about
+artillery work that Strangwise doesn't know. Our Brigadier's a
+good judge, too... he was a gunner himself once, you know."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"I'm glad to hear you say that," answered the Chief, "because
+there are some things he has told us, about the movements of
+troops, particularly, that don't agree in the least with our own
+Intelligence reports. I am an old enough hand at my job to know
+that very often one man may be right where fifty independent
+witnesses are dead wrong. Yet our reports from Germany have been
+wonderfully accurate on the whole."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+He stopped.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Tell me," he asked suddenly, "is Strangwise a liar, do you
+think?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Desmond laughed. The question was so very unexpected.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Let me explain what I mean," said the Chief. "There is a type of
+man who is quite incapable of telling the plain, unvarnished
+truth. That type of fellow might have the most extraordinary
+adventure happen to him and yet be unable to let it stand on its
+merits. When he narrates it, he trims it up with all kinds of
+embroidery. Is Strangwise that type?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Desmond thought a moment.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Your silence is very eloquent," said the Chief drily.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Desmond laughed.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"It's not the silence of consent," he said, "but if you want me
+to be quite frank about Strangwise, Chief, I don't mind telling
+you I don't like him overmuch. We were very intimate in France.
+We were in some very tight corners together and he never let me
+down. He showed himself to be a very fine fellow, indeed. There
+are points about him I admire immensely. I love his fine
+physique, his manliness. I'm sure he's got great strength of
+character, too. It's because I admire all this about him that I
+think perhaps it's just jealousy on my part when I feel..."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"What?" said the Chief.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Well," said Desmond slowly, "I feel myself trying to like
+something below the surface in the man. And then I am balked.
+There seems to be something abysmally deep behind the facade, if
+you know what I mean. If I think about it much, it seems to me
+that there is too much surface about Strangwise and not enough
+foundation! And he smiles... Well, rather often, doesn't he?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"I know what you mean," said the Chief. "I always tell my young
+men to be wary when a man smiles too much. Smiles are sometimes
+camouflage, to cover up something that mustn't be seen
+underneath! Strangwise is a Canadian, isn't he?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"I think so," answered Desmond, "anyhow, he has lived there. But
+he got his commission over here. He came over some time in 1915,
+I believe, and joined up."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Ah, here we are!" cried the Chief, steering the car down a
+turning marked "Laleham Villas."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Laleham Villas proved to be an immensely long terrace of small
+two-story houses, each one exactly like the other, the only
+difference between them lying in the color of the front doors and
+the arrangement of the small strip of garden in front of each.
+The houses stretched away on either side in a vista of
+smoke-discolored yellow brick. The road was perfectly straight
+and, in the dull yellow atmosphere of the winter morning,
+unspeakably depressing.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The abode of small clerks and employees, Laleham Villas had
+rendered up, an hour before, its daily tribute of humanity to the
+City-bound trains of the Great Eastern Railway. The Mackwayte's
+house was plainly indicated, about 200 yards down on the
+right-hand side, by a knot of errand boys and bareheaded women
+grouped on the side-walk. A large, phlegmatic policeman stood at
+the gate.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"You'll like Marigold," said the Chief to Desmond as they got out
+of the car, "quite a remarkable man and very sound at his work!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+British officers don't number detective inspectors among their
+habitual acquaintances, and the man that came out of the house to
+meet them was actually the first detective that Desmond had ever
+met. Ever since the Chief had mentioned his name, Desmond had
+been wondering whether Mr. Marigold would be lean and pale and
+bewildering like Mr. Sherlock Holmes or breezy and wiry like the
+detectives in American crook plays.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The man before him did not bear the faintest resemblance to
+either type. He was a well-set up, broad-shouldered person of
+about forty-five, very carefully dressed in a blue serge suit and
+black overcoat, with a large, even-tempered countenance, which
+sloped into a high forehead. The neatly brushed but thinning
+locks carefully arranged across the top of the head testified to
+the fact that Mr. Marigold had sacrificed most of his hair to the
+vicissitudes of his profession. When it is added that the
+detective had a small, yellow moustache and a pleasant,
+cultivated voice, there remains nothing further to say about Mr.
+Marigold's external appearance. But there was something so patent
+about the man, his air of reserve, his careful courtesy, his
+shrewd eyes, that Desmond at once recognized him for a type, a
+cast from a certain specific mould. All services shape men to
+their own fashion. There is the type of Guardsman, the type of
+airman, the type of naval officer. And Desmond decided that Mr.
+Marigold must be the type of detective, though, as I have said,
+he was totally unacquainted with the genus.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Major Okewood, Marigold," said the Chief, "a friend of mine!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Mr. Marigold mustered Desmond in one swift, comprehensive look.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"I won't give you my hand, Major," the detective said, looking
+down at Desmond's proffered one, "for I'm in a filthy mess and no
+error. But won't you come in, sir?" he said to the Chief and led
+the way across the mosaic tile pathway to the front door which
+stood open.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"I don't think this is anything in your line, sir," said Mr.
+Marigold to the Chief as the three men entered the house, "it's
+nothing but just a common burglary. The old man evidently heard a
+noise and coming down, surprised the burglar who lost his head
+and killed him. The only novel thing about the whole case is that
+the old party was shot with a pistol and not bludgeoned, as is
+usually the case in affairs of this kind. And I shouldn't have
+thought that the man who did it was the sort that carries a
+gun..."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Then you know who did it?" asked the Chief quietly.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"I think I can safely say I do, sir," said Mr. Marigold with the
+reluctant air of one who seldom admits anything to be a fact, "I
+think I can go as far as that! And we've got our man under lock
+and key!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"That's a smart piece of work, Marigold," said the Chief.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"No, sir," replied the other, "you could hardly call it that. He
+just walked into the arms of a constable over there near
+Goodmayes Station with the swag on him. He's an old hand... we've
+known him for a receiver for years!
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Who is it?" asked the Chief, "not one of my little friends, I
+suppose, eh, Marigold!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Dear me, no, sir," answered Mr. Marigold, chuckling, "it's one
+of old Mackwayte's music-hall pals, name o' Barney!"
+</P>
+
+<BR><BR><BR>
+
+<A NAME="chap05"></A>
+<H3 ALIGN="center">
+CHAPTER V. THE MURDER AT SEVEN KINGS
+</H3>
+
+<P>
+"This is Mrs. Chugg, sir," said Mr. Marigold, "the charwoman who
+found the body!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The Chief and Desmond stood at the detective's side in the
+Mackwaytes' little dining-room. The room was in considerable
+disorder. There was a litter of paper, empty bottles, overturned
+cruets and other debris on the floor, evidence of the
+thoroughness with which the burglar had overhauled the cheap
+fumed oak sideboard which stood against the wall with doors and
+drawers open. In the corner, the little roll-top desk showed a
+great gash in the wood round the lock where it had been forced.
+The remains of a meal still stood on the table.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Mrs. Chugg, a diminutive, white-haired, bespectacled woman in a
+rusty black cape and skirt, was enthroned in the midst of this
+scene of desolation. She sat in an armchair by the fire, her
+hands in her lap, obviously supremely content with the position
+of importance she enjoyed. At the sound of Mr. Marigold's voice,
+she bobbed up and regarded the newcomers with the air of a
+tragedy queen.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Yus mister," she said with the slow deliberation of one who
+thoroughly enjoys repeating an oft-told tale, "I found the pore
+man and a horrid turn it give me, too, I declare! I come in early
+this morning a-purpose to turn out these two rooms, the
+dining-room and the droring-room, same as I always do of a
+Saturday, along of the lidy's horders and wishes. I come in 'ere
+fust, to pull up the blinds and that, and d'reckly I switches on
+the light 'Burglars!' I sez to meself, 'Burglars! That's wot it
+is!' seeing the nasty mess the place was in. Up I nips to Miss
+Mackwayte's room on the first floor and in I bursts. 'Miss,' sez
+I, 'Miss, there's been burglars in the house!' and then I sees
+the pore lamb all tied up there on 'er blessed bed! Lor, mister,
+the turn it give me and I ain't telling you no lies! She was
+strapped up that tight with a towel crammed in 'er mouth she
+couldn't 'ardly dror 'er breath! I undid 'er pretty quick and the
+fust thing she sez w'en I gets the towl out of her mouth, the
+pore dear, is 'Mrs. Chugg,' she sez all of a tremble as you might
+say, 'Mrs. Chugg' sez she, 'my father! my father!' sez she. With
+that up she jumps but she 'adn't put foot to the floor w'en down
+she drops! It was along of 'er being tied up orl that time, dyer
+see, mister! I gets 'er back on the bed. 'You lie still, Miss,'
+says I, 'and I'll pop in and tell your pa to come in to you!'
+Well; I went to the old genelmun's room. Empty!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Mrs. Chugg paused to give her narrative dramatic effect.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"And where did you find Mr. Mackwayte?" asked the Chief in such a
+placid voice that Mrs. Chugg cast an indignant glance at him.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"I was jes' going downstairs to see if 'e was in the kitching or
+out at the back," she continued, unheeding the interruption,
+"when there on the landing I sees a foot asticking out from under
+the curting. I pulls back the curting and oh, Lor! oh, dear, oh,
+dear, the pore genelmun, 'im as never did a bad turn to no one!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Come, come, Mrs. Chugg!" said the detective.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The charwoman wiped her eyes and resumed.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"'E was a-lying on his back in 'is dressing-gown, 'is face all
+burnt black, like, and a fair smother o' blood. Under 'is hed
+there was a pool o' blood, mister, yer may believe me or not..."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Mr. Marigold cut in decisively.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Do you wish to see the body, sir?" the detective asked the
+Chief, "they're upstairs photographing it!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The Chief nodded. He and Desmond followed the detective upstairs,
+whilst Mrs. Chugg resentfully resumed her seat by the fire. On
+her face was the look of one who has cast pearls before swine.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Any finger-prints?" asked the Chief in the hall.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Oh, no," he said, "Barney's far too old a hand for that sort o'
+thing!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The landing proved to be a small space, covered with oilcloth and
+raised by a step from the bend made by the staircase leading to
+the first story. On the left-hand side was a window looking on a
+narrow passage separating the Mackwayte house from its neighbors
+and leading to the back-door. By the window stood a small
+wicker-work table with a plant on it. At the back of the landing
+was a partition, glazed half-way up and a door&mdash;obviously the
+bath-room.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The curtain had been looped right over its brass rod. The body
+lay on its back at the foot of the table, arms flung outward, one
+leg doubled up, the other with the foot just jutting out over the
+step leading down to the staircase. The head pointed towards the
+bath-room door. Over the right eye the skin of the face was
+blackened in a great patch and there was a large blue swelling,
+like a bruise, in the centre. There was a good deal of blood on
+the face which obscured the hole made by the entrance of the
+bullet. The eyes were half-closed. A big camera, pointed
+downwards, was mounted on a high double ladder straddling the
+body and was operated by a young man in a bowler hat who went on
+with his work without taking the slightest notice of the
+detective and his companions.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Close range," murmured Desmond, after glancing at the dead man's
+face, "a large calibre automatic pistol, I should think!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Why do you think it was a large calibre pistol, Major?" asked
+Mr. Marigold attentively.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"I've seen plenty of men killed at close range by revolver and
+rifle bullets out at the front," replied Desmond, "but I never
+saw a man's face messed up like this. In a raid once I shot a
+German at point blank range with my revolver, the ordinary Army
+issue pattern, and I looked him over after. But it wasn't
+anything like this. The only thing I've seen approaching it was
+one of our sergeants who was killed out on patrol by a Hun
+officer who put his gun right in our man's face. That sergeant
+was pretty badly marked, but..."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+He shook his head. Then he added, addressing the detective:
+"Let's see the gun! Have you got it?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Mr. Marigold shook his head.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"He hadn't got it on him," he answered, "he swears he never had a
+gun. I expect he chucked it away somewhere. It'll be our business
+to find it for him!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+He smiled rather grimly, then added:
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Perhaps you'd care to have a look at Miss Mackwayte's room,
+sir!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Is Miss Mackwayte there" asked the Chief.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"I got her out of this quick," replied Mr. Marigold, "she's had a
+bad shock, poor girl, though she gave her evidence clearly enough
+for all that... as far as it goes and that's not much. Some
+friends near by have taken her in! The doctor has given her some
+bromide and says she's got to be kept quiet..."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"What's her story!" queried the Chief.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"She can't throw much light on the business. She and her father
+reached home from the theatre about a quarter past twelve, had a
+bit of supper in the dining-room and went up to bed before one
+o'clock. Miss Mackwayte saw her father go into his room, which is
+next to hers, and shut the door. The next thing she knows is that
+she woke up suddenly with some kind of a loud noise in her
+ears... that was the report of the pistol, I've no doubt... she
+thought for a minute it was an air raid. Then suddenly a hand was
+pressed over her mouth, something was crammed into her mouth and
+she was firmly strapped down to the bed."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Did she see the man?" asked Desmond.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"She didn't see anything from first to last," answered the
+detective, "as far as she is concerned it might have been a woman
+or a black man who trussed her up. It was quite dark in her
+bedroom and this burglar fellow, after binding and gagging her,
+fastened a bandage across her eyes into the bargain. She says she
+heard him moving about her room and then creep out very softly.
+The next thing she knew was Mrs. Chugg arriving at her bedside
+this morning."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"What time did this attack take place?" asked the Chief.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"She has no idea," answered the detective. "She couldn't see her
+watch and they haven't got a striking clock in the house."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"But can she make no guess!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Well, she says she thinks it was several hours before Mrs. Chugg
+arrived in the morning... as much as three hours, she thinks!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"And what time did Mrs. Chugg arrive!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"At half-past six!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"About Mackwayte... how long was he dead when they found him?
+What does the doctor say?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"About three hours approximately, but you know, they can't always
+tell to an hour or so!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Well," said the Chief slowly, "it looks as if one might figure
+the murder as having been committed some time between 3 and 3.30
+a.m."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"My idea exactly," said Mr. Marigold. "Shall we go upstairs?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+He conducted the Chief and Desmond up the short flight of stairs
+to the first story. He pushed open the first door he came to.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Mackwayte's room, on the back," he said, "bed slept in, as you
+see, old gentleman's clothes on a chair&mdash;obviously he was
+disturbed by some noise made by the burglar and came out to see
+what was doing! And here," he indicated a door adjoining, "Mis
+Miss Mackwayte's room, on the front; as you observe. They don't
+use the two rooms on the second floor, except for box-rooms... one's
+full of old Mackwayte's theatre trunks and stuff. They keep
+no servant; Mrs. Chugg comes in each morning and stays all day.
+She goes away after supper every evening."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Desmond found himself looking into a plainly furnished but dainty
+bedroom with white furniture and a good deal of chintz about.
+There were some photographs and pictures hanging on the walls.
+The room was spotlessly clean and very tidy.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Desmond remarked on this, asking if the police had put the room
+straight.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Mr. Marigold looked quite shocked.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Oh, no, everything is just as it was when Mrs. Chugg found Miss
+Mackwayte this morning. There's Miss Mackwayte's gloves and
+handbag on the toilet-table just as she left 'em last night. I
+wouldn't let her touch her clothes even. She went over to Mrs.
+Appleby's in her dressing-gown, in a taxi."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Then Master Burglar didn't burgle this room?" asked the Chief.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Nothing touched, not even the girl's money," replied Marigold.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Then why did he come up here at all?" asked Desmond.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Obviously, the old gentleman disturbed him," was the detective's
+reply. "Barney got scared and shot the old gentleman, then came
+up here to make sure that the daughter would not give him away
+before he could make his escape. He must have known the report of
+the gun would wake her up."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"But are there no clues or finger-prints or anything of that kind
+here, Marigold?" asked the Chief.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Not a finger-print anywhere," responded the other, "men like
+Barney are born wise to the fingerprint business, sir."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+He dipped a finger and thumb into his waistcoat pocket.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Clues? Well, I've got one little souvenir here which I daresay a
+writer of detective stories would make a good bit of."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+He held in his hand a piece of paper folded flat. He unfolded it
+and disclosed a loop of dark hair.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"There!" he said mockingly, straightening out the hair and
+holding it up in the light. "That's calculated to set one's
+thoughts running all over the place, isn't it? That piece of hair
+was caught in the buckle of one of the straps with which Miss
+Mackwayte was bound to the bed. Miss Mackwayte, I would point
+out, has brown hair. Whose hair do you think that is?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Desmond looked closely at the strand of hair in the detective's
+fingers. It was long and fine and glossy and jetblack.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The Chief laughed and shook his head.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Haven't an idea, Marigold," he answered, "Barney's, I should
+imagine, that is, if he goes about with black ringlets falling
+round his shoulders."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Barney?" echoed the detective. "Barney's as bald as I am.
+Besides, if you saw his sheet, you'd realize that he has got into
+the habit of wearing his hair short!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+He carefully rolled the strand of hair up, replaced it in its
+paper and stowed it in his waistcoat pocket.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"It just shows how easily one is misled in a matter of this
+kind," he went on. "Supposing Barney hadn't got himself nabbed,
+supposing I hadn't been able to find out from Miss Mackwayte her
+movements on the night previous to the murder, that strand of
+hair might have led me on a fine wild goose chase!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"But, damn it, Marigold," exclaimed the Chief, laughing, "you
+haven't told us whose hair it is?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Why, Nur-el-Din's, of course!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The smile froze on the Chief's lips, the laughter died out of his
+eyes. Desmond was amazed at the change in the man. The languid
+interest he had taken in the different details of the crime
+vanished. Something seemed to tighten up suddenly in his face and
+manner.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Why Nur-el-Din?" he asked curtly.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Mr. Marigold glanced quickly at him. Desmond remarked that the
+detective was sensible of the change too.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Simply because Miss Mackwayte spent some time in the dancer's
+dressing-room last night, sir," he replied quietly, "she probably
+sat at her dressing-table and picked up this hair in hers or in
+her veil or something and it dropped on the bed where one of
+Master Barney's buckles caught it up."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+He spoke carelessly but Desmond noticed that he kept a watchful
+eye on the other.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The Chief did not answer. He seemed to have relapsed into the
+preoccupied mood in which Desmond had found him that morning.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"I was going to suggest, sir," said Mr. Marigold diffidently, "if
+you had the time, you might care to look in at the Yard, and see
+the prisoner. I don't mind telling you that he is swearing by all
+the tribes of Judah that he's innocent of the murder of old
+Mackwayte. He's got an amazing yarn... perhaps you'd like to hear
+it!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Mr. Marigold suddenly began to interest Desmond. His proposal was
+put forward so modestly that one would have thought the last
+thing he believed possible was that the Chief should acquiesce in
+his suggestion. Yet Desmond had the feeling that the detective
+was far from being so disinterested as he wished to seem. It
+struck Desmond that the case was more complicated than Mr.
+Marigold admitted and that the detective knew it. Had Mr.
+Marigold discovered that the Chief knew a great deal more about
+this mysterious affair than the detective knew himself? And was
+not his attitude of having already solved the problem of the
+murder, his treatment of the Chief as a dilettante criminologist
+simply an elaborate pose, to extract from the Chief information
+which had not been proffered?
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The Chief glanced at his watch.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Right," he said, "I think I'd like to go along."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"I have a good deal to do here still," observed Mr. Marigold,
+"so, if you don't mind, I won't accompany you. But perhaps, sir,
+you would like to see me this afternoon?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The Chief swung round on his heel and fairly searched Mr.
+Marigold with a glance from beneath his bushy eyebrows. The
+detective returned his gaze with an expression of supreme
+innocence.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Why, Marigold," answered the Chief, "I believe I should. Six
+o'clock suit you?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Certainly, sir," said Mr. Marigold.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Desmond stood by the door, vastly amused by this duel of wits.
+The Chief and Mr. Marigold made a move towards the door, Desmond
+turned to open it and came face to face with a large framed
+photograph of the Chief hanging on the wall of Miss Mackwayte's
+bedroom.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Why, Chief," he cried, "you never told me you knew Miss
+Mackwayte!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The Chief professed to be very taken aback by this question.
+"Dear me, didn't I, Okewood?" he answered with eyes laughing,
+"she's my secretary!"
+</P>
+
+<BR><BR><BR>
+
+<A NAME="chap06"></A>
+<H3 ALIGN="center">
+CHAPTER VI. "NAME O'BARNEY"
+</H3>
+
+<P>
+"Miss Mackwayte telephoned to ask if I could go and see, her,"
+said the Chief to Desmond as they motored back to White hall,
+"Marigold gave me the message just as we were coming out. She
+asked if I could come this afternoon. I'm going to send you in my
+place, Okewood. I've got a conference with the head of the French
+Intelligence at three, and the Lord knows when I shall get away.
+I've a notion that you and Miss Mackwayte will work very well
+together."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Certainly," said Desmond, "she struck me as being a very
+charming and clever girl. Now I know the source of your
+information about my movements last night!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"That you certainly don't!" answered the Chief promptly, "if I
+thought you did Duff and No.39 should be sacked on the spot!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Then it wasn't Miss Mackwayte who told you?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"I haven't seen or heard from Miss Mackwayte since she left my
+office yesterday evening. You were followed!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"But why?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"I'll tell you all about it at, lunch!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Bated once more, Desmond retired into his shell. By this he was
+convinced of the utter impossibility of making the Chief
+vouchsafe any information except voluntarily.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Mr. Marigold had evidently announced their coming to Scotland
+Yard, for a very urbane and delightful official met them at the
+entrance and conducted them to a room where the prisoner was
+already awaiting them in charge of a plain clothes man. There the
+official excused himself and retired, leaving them alone with the
+prisoner and his escort.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Barney proved to be a squat, podgy, middle-aged Jew of the
+familiar East End Polish or Russian type. He had little black
+beady eyes, a round fat white face, and a broad squabby Mongol
+nose. His clothes were exceedingly seedy, and the police had
+confiscated his collar and tie. This absence of neckwear, coupled
+with the fact that the lower part of his face was sprouting with
+a heavy growth of beard, gave him a peculiarly villainous
+appearance:
+</P>
+
+<P>
+He was seated on a chair, his head sunk on his breast. His eyes
+were hollow, and his face overspread with a horrible sickly
+greenish pallor, the hue of the last stage of fear. His hands,
+resting on his knees, twisted and fiddled continually. Every now
+and then convulsive shudders shook him. The man was quite
+obviously on the verge of a collapse.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+As the Chief and Desmond advanced into the room, the Jew looked
+up in panic. Then he sprang to his feet with a scream and flung
+himself on his knees, crying:
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Ah, no! Don't take me away! I ain't done no 'arm, gentlemen!
+S'welp me, gentlemen, I ain't a murderer! I swear..."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Get him up!" said the Chief in disgust, "and, look here, can't
+you give him a drink? I want to speak to him. He's not fit to
+talk rationally in this state!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The detective pushed a bell in the wall, a policeman answered it,
+and presently the prisoner was handed a stiff glass of whiskey
+and water.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+After Barney had swallowed it, the Chief said:
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Now, look here, my man, I want you to tell me exactly what
+happened last night. No fairy tales, remember! I know what you
+told the police, and if I catch you spinning me any yarns on to
+it, well, it'll only be the worse for you. I don't mind telling
+you, you're in a pretty bad mess!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The prisoner put down the glass wearily and wiped his forehead
+with the back of his hand. Though the room was bitterly cold, the
+perspiration stood out in beads on his brow.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"I have told the trewth, sir," he said hoarsely, "and it goes
+against me, don't it? Hafen't I not gif myself op to the
+policeman? Couldn't I not haf drop the svag and ron away? For
+sure! And vy didn't I not do it? For vy, because of vot I seen in
+that house. I've 'ad my bit of trobble mit the police and vy
+should I tell them how I vos op to a game last night if I vas not
+a-telling the trewth, eh! I've been on the crook, gentlemen, I
+say it, ja, but I ain't no murderer, God choke me I ain't!
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"I've earned gut monney in my time on the 'alls but life is very
+'ardt, and I've been alvays hongry these days. Yesterday I meet
+old Mac wot I used to meet about the 'alls I vos workin' along o'
+my boss... at the agent's it vos were I vos lookin' for a shop!
+The perfesh always makes a splash about its salaries, gentlemen,
+and Mac 'e vos telling me vot a lot o' monney he make on the
+Samuel Circuit and 'ow 'e 'ad it at home all ready to put into
+var savings certif'kits. I never done a job like this von before,
+gentlemen, but I vos hardt pushed for money, s'welp me I vos!
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"I left it till late last night because of these air raids... I
+vanted to be sure that ole Mac and 'is daughter should be asleep.
+I god in from the back of the louse, oi, oi, bot it vos dead
+easy! through the scollery vindow. I cleared op a bagful of stuff
+in the dining-room... there vosn't, anything vorth snatching
+outer the parlor... and sixty-five quid out of an old cigar-box
+in the desk. The police 'as got it... I give it all back! I say I
+haf stolen, but murder? No!" He paused.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Go on," said the Chief.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The prisoner looked about him in a frightened way.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"I vos jus' thinking I had better be getting avay, he continued
+in his hoarse, gutteral voice, 'ven snick.!... I hears a key in
+the front door. I vos, standing by the staircase... I had no time
+to get out by the vay I had kom so I vent opstairs to the landing
+vere there vos a curtain. I shlip behind the curtain and vait! I
+dare not look out but I listen, I listen.. I hear some one go
+into the dining-room and move about. I open the curtain a little
+way... so!... because I think I vill shlip downstairs vile the
+other party is in the dining-room... and there I sees ole Mac in
+his dressing-gown just coming down from the first floor. The same
+moment I hear a step in the front hall.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"I see ole Mac start but he does not stop. He kom right
+downstairs, and I step back behind the curtain ontil I find a
+door vich I push. I dare not svitch on my light but presently I
+feel the cold edge of a bath with my hands. I stay there and
+vait. Oi, oi, oi, how shall you belief vot I tell?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+He broke off trembling.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Go on, Barney," said the detective, "can't you see the gentlemen
+are waiting?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The Jew resumed, his voice sinking almost to a whisper.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"It vos quite dark behind the curtain but from the bathroom,
+through the open door, I could just see ole Mac standing with his
+back to me, a-holding the curtain. He must haf shlip in there to
+watch the other who vos komming opstairs. Then... then... I hear
+a step on the stair... a little, soft step... then ole Mac he
+open the curtain and cry 'Who are you?' Bang! the... the... other
+on the stairs he fire a shot. I see the red flash and I smell
+the... the powder not? The other, he does not vait... he just go
+on opstairs and ole Mac is lying there on his back with the blood
+a-trickling out on the oil-cloth. And I, vith my bag on my back,
+I creep downstair and out by the back again, and I ron and ron
+and then I valks. Gott! how I haf walked! I vos so frightened!
+And then, at last, I go to a policeman and gif 'myself op!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Barney stopped. The tears burst from his eyes and laying his
+grimy face on his arm, he sobbed.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The detective patted him on the back.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Pull yourself together, man!" he said encouragingly.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"This man on the stairs," queried the Chief, "did you see him?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Ach was!" replied the prisoner, turning a tearstained face
+towards him, "I haf seen nothing, except old Mac's back vich vos
+right in vront of me, it vos so dark!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"But couldn't you see the other person at all, not even the
+outline" persisted the Chief.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The prisoner made a gesture of despair.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"It vos so dark, I say! Nothing haf I seen! I haf heard only his
+step!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"What sort of step I Pas it heavy or light or what? Did this
+person seem in a hurry?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"A little light tread... so! won, two! won, two!, and qvick like
+'e think 'e sneak opstairs vithout nobody seeing!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Did he make much noise"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Ach was! hardly at all... the tread, 'e vos so light like a
+woman's..."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Like a woman's, eh!", repeated the Chief, as if talking to
+himself, "Why do you think that?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Because for vy it vos so gentle! The' staircase, she haf not
+sqveak as she haf sqveak when I haf creep away!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The Chief turned to the plain clothes man.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"You can take him away now, officer," he said.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Barney sprang up trembling.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Not back to the cell," he cried imploringly, "I cannot be alone.
+Oh, gentlemen, you vill speak for me! I haf not had trobble vith
+the police this long time! My vife's cousin, he is an elder of
+the Shool he vill tell you 'ow poor ve haf been..."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+But the Chief crossed the room to the door and the detective
+hustled the prisoner away.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Then the official whom they had seen before came in.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Glad I caught you," he said. "I thought you would care to see
+the post mortem report. The doctor has just handed it in."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The chief waved him off.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"I don't think there's any doubt about the cause of death," he
+replied, "we saw the body ourselves..."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Quite so," replied the other, "but there is something
+interesting about this report all the same. They were able to
+extract the bullet!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Oh," said the Chief, "that ought to tell us something!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"It does," answered the official. "We've submitted it to our
+small arms expert, and he pronounces it to be a bullet fired by
+an automatic pistol of unusually large calibre."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The Chief looked at Desmond.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"You were right there," he said.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"And," the official went on, "our man says, further, that, as far
+as he knows, there is only one type of automatic pistol that
+fires a bullet as big as this one!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"And that is?" asked the Chief.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"An improved pattern of the German Mauser pistol," was the
+other's startling reply.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The Chief tapped a cigarette meditatively on the back of his
+hand.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Okewood," he said, "you are the very model of discretion. I have
+put your reticence to a pretty severe test this morning, and you
+have stood it very well. But I can see that you are bristling
+with questions like a porcupine with quills. Zero hour has
+arrived. You may fire away!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+They were sitting in the smoking-room of the United Service Club.
+"The Senior," as men call it, is the very parliament of Britain's
+professional navy and army. Even in these days when war has flung
+wide the portals of the two services to all-comers, it retains a
+touch of rigidity. Famous generals and admirals look down from
+the lofty walls in silent testimony of wars that have been. Of
+the war that is, you will hear in every cluster of men round the
+little tables. Every day in the hour after luncheon battles are
+fought over again, personalities criticized, and decisions
+weighed with all the vigorous freedom of ward-room or the mess
+ante-room.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+And so to-day, as he sat in his padded leather chair, surveying
+the Chief's quizzing face across the little table where their
+coffee was steaming, Desmond felt the oddness of the contrast
+between the direct, matter-of-fact personalities all around them,
+and the extraordinary web of intrigue which seemed to have spun
+itself round the little house at Seven Kings.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Before he answered the Chief's question, he studied him for a
+moment under cover of lighting a cigarette. How very little, to
+be sure, escaped that swift and silent mind! At luncheon the
+Chief had scrupulously avoided making, the slightest allusion to
+the thoughts with which Desmond's mind was seething. Instead he
+had told, with the gusto of the born raconteur, a string of
+extremely droll yarns about "double crosses," that is, obliging
+gentlemen who will spy for both sides simultaneously, he had come
+into contact with during his long and varied career. Desmond had
+played up to him and repressed the questions which kept rising to
+his lips. Hence the Chief's unexpected tribute to him in the
+smoking room.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Well," said Desmond slowly, "there are one or two things I
+should like to know. What am I here for? Why did you have me
+followed last night? How did you know, before we ever went to
+Seven Kings, that Barney did not murder old Mackwayte? And
+lastly..."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+He paused, fearing to be rash; then he risked it:
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"And lastly, Nur-el-Din?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The Chief leant back in his chair and laughed.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"I'm sure you feel much better now," he said. Then his face grew
+grave and he added:
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Your last question answers all the others!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Meaning Nur-el-Din?" asked Desmond.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The Chief nodded.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Nur-el-Din," he repeated. "That's why you're here, that's why I
+had you followed last night, that's why I..." he hesitated for
+the word, "let's say, presumed (one knows for certain so little
+in our work) that our friend Barney had nothing to do with the
+violent death of poor old Mackwayte. Nur-el-Din in the center,
+the kernel, the hub of everything!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The Chief leant across the table and Desmond pulled his chair
+closer.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"There's only one other man in the world can handle this job,
+except you," he began, "and that's your brother Francis. Do you
+know where he is, Okewood?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"He wrote to me last from Athens," answered Desmond, "but that
+must be nearly two months ago."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The Chief laughed.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"His present address is not Athens," he said, "if you want to
+know, he's serving on a German Staff somewhere at the back of
+Jerusalem the Golden. Frankly, I know you don't care about our
+work, and I did my best to get your brother. He has had his
+instructions and as soon as he can get away he will. That was not
+soon enough for me. It had to be him or you. So I sent for you."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+He stopped and cleared his throat. Desmond stared at him. He
+could hardly believe his eyes. This quiet, deliberate man was
+actually embarrassed.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Okewood," the Chief went on, "you know I like plain speaking,
+and therefore you won't make the mistake of thinking I'm trying
+to flatter you."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Desmond made a gesture.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Wait a moment and hear me out," the Chief went on. "What is
+required for this job is a man of great courage and steady nerve.
+Yes, we have plenty of fellows like that. But the man I am
+looking for must, in addition to possessing those qualities, know
+German and the Germans thoroughly, and when I say thoroughly I
+mean to the very core so that, if needs be, he may be a German,
+think German, act German. I have men in my service who know
+German perfectly and can get themselves up to look the part to
+the life. But they have never been put to the real, the searching
+test. Not one of them has done what you and your brother
+successfully accomplished. The first time I came across you, you
+had just come out of Germany after fetching your brother away. To
+have lived for weeks in Germany in wartime and to have got clear
+away is a feat which shows that both you and he can be trusted to
+make a success of one of the most difficult and critical missions
+I have ever had to propose. Francis is not here. That's why I
+want you."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The Chief paused as if weighing something in his mind.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"It's not the custom of either service, Okewood," he said, "to
+send a man to certain death. You're not in this creepy, crawly
+business of ours. You're a pukka soldier and keen on your job. So
+I want you to know that you are free to turn down this offer of
+mine here and now, and go back to France without my thinking a
+bit the worse of you."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Would you tell me something about it?" asked Desmond.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"I'm sorry I can't," replied the other. "There must be only two
+men in this secret, myself and the fellow who undertakes the
+mission. Of course, it's not certain death. If you take this
+thing on, you'll have a sporting chance for your life, but that's
+all. It's going to be a desperate game played against a desperate
+opponent. Now do you understand why I didn't want you to think I
+was flattering you? You've got your head screwed on right, I
+know, but I should hate to feel afterwards, if anything went
+wrong, that you thought I had buttered you up in order to entice
+you into taking the job on!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Desmond took two or three deep puffs of his cigarette and dropped
+it into the ash-tray.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"I'll see you!" he said.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The Chief grinned with delight.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"By Jove!" he exclaimed, "I knew you were my man!"
+</P>
+
+<BR><BR><BR>
+
+<A NAME="chap07"></A>
+<H3 ALIGN="center">
+CHAPTER VII. NUR-EL-DIN
+</H3>
+
+<P>
+The love of romance is merely the nobler form of curiosity. And
+there was something in Desmond Okewood's Anglo-Irish parentage
+that made him fiercely inquisitive after adventure. In him two
+men were constantly warring, the Irishman, eager for romance yet
+too indolent to go out in search of it, and the Englishman,
+cautious yet intensely vital withal, courting danger for danger's
+sake.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+All his ill-humor of the morning at being snatched away from his
+work in France had evaporated. In the Chief he now saw only the
+magician who was about to unlock to him the realms of Adventure.
+Desmond's eyes shone with excitement as the other, obviously
+simmering with satisfaction, lit another cigarette and began to
+speak.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"The British public, Okewood," he said, hitching his chair
+closer, "would like to see espionage in this country rendered
+impossible. Such an ideal state of things is, unfortunately out
+of the question. Quite on the contrary, this country of ours is
+honeycombed with spies. So it will ever be, as long as we have to
+work with natural means: at present we have no caps of
+invisibility or magician's carpets available.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"As we cannot hope to kill the danger, we do our best to scotch
+it. Personally, my modest ambition is to make espionage as
+difficult as possible for the enemy by knowing as many as
+possible of his agents and their channels of communication, and
+by keeping him happy with small results, to prevent him from
+finding out the really important things, the disclosure of which
+would inevitably compromise our national safety."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+He paused and Desmond nodded.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"The extent of our business," the Chief resumed, "is so large,
+the issues at stake so vital, that we at the top have to ignore
+the non-essentials and stick to the essentials. By the
+nonessentials I mean the little potty spies, actuated by sheer
+hunger or mere officiousness, the neutral busybody who makes a
+tip-and-run dash into England, the starving waiter, miserably
+underpaid by some thieving rogue in a neutral country&mdash;or the
+frank swindler who sends back to the Fatherland and is duly paid
+for long reports about British naval movements which he has
+concocted without setting foot outside his Bloomsbury lodgings.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"These folk are dealt with somehow and every now and then one of
+'em gets shot, just to show that we aren't asleep, don't you
+know? But spasmodic reports we can afford to ignore. What we are
+death on is anything like a regular news service from this
+country to Germany; and to keep up this steady flow of reliable
+information is the perpetual striving of the men who run the
+German Secret Service.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"These fellows, my dear Okewood, move in darkness. Very often we
+have to grope after 'em in darkness, too. They don't get shot, or
+hardly ever; they are far too clever for that. Between us and
+them it is a never-ending series of move and countermove, check
+and counter-check. Very often we only know of their activities by
+enemy action based on their reports. Then there is another leak
+to be caulked, another rat-hole to be nailed up, and so the game
+goes on. Hitherto I think I may say we have managed to hold our
+own!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The Chief stopped to light another cigarette. Then he resumed but
+in a lower voice.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"During the past month, Okewood," he said, "a new organization
+has cropped up. The objective of every spy operating in this
+country is, as you may have surmised, naval matters, the
+movements of the Fleet, the military transports, and the food
+convoys. This new organization has proved itself more efficient
+than any of its predecessors. It specializes in the movement of
+troops to France, and in the journeys of the hospital ships
+across the Channel. Its information is very prompt and extremely
+accurate, as we know too well. There have been some very
+disquieting incidents in which, for once in a way, luck has been
+on our side, but as long as this gang can work in the dark there
+is the danger of a grave catastrophe. With its thousands of miles
+of sea to patrol, the Navy has to take a chance sometimes, you
+know! Well, on two occasions lately, when chances were taken, the
+Hun knew we were taking a chance, and what is more, when and
+where we were taking it!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The Chief broke off, then looking Desmond squarely in the eyes,
+said:
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"This is the organization that you're going to beak up!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Desmond raised his eyebrows.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Who is at the head of it?" he asked quietly.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The Chief, smiled a little bitterly.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"By George!" he cried, slapping his thigh, "you've rung the bell
+in one. Okewood, I'm not a rich man, but I would gladly give a
+year's pay to be able to answer that question. To be perfectly
+frank with you, I don't know who is at the back of this crowd,
+but..." his mouth set in a grim line, "I'm going to know!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+He added whimsically:
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"What's more, you're going to find out for me!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Desmond smiled at the note of assurance in his voice.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"I suppose you've got something to go on?" he asked. "There's
+Nur-el-Din, for instance. What about her?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"That young person," replied the Chief, "is to be your particular
+study. If she is not the center of the whole conspiracy, she is,
+at any rate, in the thick of it. It will be part of your job to
+ascertain the exact role she is playing."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"But what is there against her?" queried Desmond.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"What is there against her? The bad company she keeps is against
+her. 'Tell me who your friends are and I'll tell you who you are'
+is a maxim that we have to go on in our profession, Okewood. You
+have met the lady. Did you see any of her entourage? Her business
+manager, a fat Italian who calls himself Lazarro, did you notice
+him? Would you be surprised to hear that Lazarro alias Sacchetti
+alias Le Tardenois is a very notorious international spy who
+after working in the Italian Secret Service in the pay of the
+Germans was unmasked and kicked out of Italy... that was before
+the war? This pleasant gentleman subsequently did five years in
+the French penal settlements in New Caledonia for robbery with
+violence at Aix-les-Bains... oh, we know a whole lot about him!
+And this woman's other friends! Do you know, for instance, where
+she often spends the week-end? At the country-place of one Bryan
+Mowbury, whose name used to be Bernhard Marburg, a very old hand
+indeed in the German Secret Service. She has identified herself
+right and left with the German espionage service in this country.
+One day she lunches with a woman spy, whose lover was caught and
+shot by the French. Then she goes out motoring with..."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"But why in Heaven's name are all these people allowed to run
+loose?" broke in Desmond. "Do you mean to say you can't arrest
+them?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Arrest 'em? Arrest 'em? Of course, we can arrest 'em. But what's
+the use? They're all small fry, and we have to keep out a few
+lines baited with minnows to catch the Tritons. None of 'em can
+do any harm: we watch 'em much too closely for that. Once you've
+located your spy, the battle's won. It's when he&mdash;or it may be a
+she&mdash;is running loose, that I get peeved!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The Chief sprang impatiently to his feet and strode across the
+smoking-room, which was all but empty by this time, to get a
+match from a table. He resumed his seat with a grunt of
+exasperation.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"I can't see light, Okewood!" he sighed, shaking his head.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"But is this all you've got against Nur-el-Din?" asked Desmond.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"No," answered the other slowly, "it isn't. If it were, I need
+not have called you in. We would have interned or deported her.
+No, we've traced back to her a line leading straight from the
+only member of the new organization we have been able to lay by
+the heels."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Then you've made an arrest?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The Chief nodded.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"A fortnight ago... a respectable, retired English business man,
+by name of Basil Bellward... taken with the goods on him, as the
+saying is..."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"An Englishman, by Jove!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"It's hardly correct to call him an Englishman, though he's posed
+as an English business man for so long that one is almost
+justified in doing so. As a matter of fact, the fellow is a
+German named Wolfgang Bruhl and it is my belief that he was
+planted in this country at least a dozen years ago solely for the
+purpose of furnishing him with good, respectable credentials for
+an emergency like this."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"But sorely if you found evidence of his connection with this
+gang of spies, it should be easy to get a clue to the rest of the
+crowd?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Not so easy as you think," the Chief replied. "The man who
+organized this system of espionage is a master at his craft. He
+has been careful to seal both ends of every connection, that is
+to say, though we found evidence of Master Bellward-Bruhl being
+in possession of highly confidential information relating to the
+movements of troops, we discovered nothing to show whence he
+received it or how or where he was going to forward it. But we
+did find a direct thread leading straight back to Nur-el-Din."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Really," said Desmond, "that rather complicates things for her,
+doesn't it?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"It was in the shape of a letter of introduction, in French,
+without date or address, warmly recommending the dancer to our
+friend, Bellward."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Who is this letter from?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"It is simply signed 'P.', but you shall see it for yourself when
+you get the other documents in the case."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"But surely, sir, such a letter might be presented in perfectly
+good faith..."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"It might, but not this one. This letter, as an expert has
+ascertained beyond all doubt, is written on German manufactured
+note-paper of a very superior quality;, the writing is stiff and
+angular and not French: and lastly, the French in which it is
+phrased, while correct, is unusually pompous and elaborate."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Then..."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"The letter was, in all probability, written by a German!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+There was a moment's silence. Desmond was thinking despairingly
+of the seeming hopelessness of untangling this intricate webwork
+of tangled threads.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"And this murder, sir," he began.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The Chief shrugged his shoulders.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"The motive, Okewood, I am searching for the motive. I can see
+none except the highly improbable one of Miss Mackwayte being my
+confidential secretary. In that case why murder the father, a
+harmless old man who didn't even know that his daughter is in my
+service, why kill him, I ask you, and spare the girl? On the
+other hand, I believe the man Barney's story, and can see that
+Marigold does, too. When I first heard the news of the murder
+over the telephone this morning, I had a kind of intuition that
+we should discover in it a thread leading back to this mesh of
+espionage. Is it merely a coincidence that a hair, resembling
+Nur-el-Din's, is found adhering to the straps with which Barbara
+Mackwayte was bound? I can't think so... and yet..."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"But do you believe then, that Nur-el-Din murdered-old Mackwayte?
+My dear Chief, the idea is preposterous..."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The Chief rose from his chair with a sigh.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Nothing is preposterous in our work, Okewood," he replied. "But
+it's 3.25, and my French colleague hates to be kept waiting."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"I thought you were seeing Strangwise, at two?" asked Desmond.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"I put him off until six o'clock," replied the Chief, "he knows
+Nur-el-Din, and he may be able to give Marigold some pointers
+about this affair. You're off to see Miss Mackwayte now, I
+suppose. You know where she's staying? Good. Well, I'll say
+good-bye, Okewood. I shan't see you again..."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"You won't see me again? How do you mean, sir?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Because you're going back to France!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Going back to France? When?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"By the leave-boat to-night!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Desmond smiled resignedly.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"My dear Chief," he said, "you must be more explicit. What am I
+going back to France for?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Why, now I come to think of it," replied the Chief, "I never
+told you. You're going back to France to be killed, of course!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"To be killed!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Desmond looked blankly at the other's blandly smiling face.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Two or three days from now," said the Chief, "you will be killed
+in action in France. I thought of making it a shell. But we'll
+have it a machine gun bullet if you like. Whichever you prefer;
+it's all the same to me!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+He laughed at the dawn of enlightenment in Desmond's eyes.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"I see," said Desmond.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"I hope you don't mind," the Chief went on more seriously, "but I
+know you have no people to consider except your brother and his
+wife. She's in America, and Francis can't possibly hear about it.
+So you needn't worry on that score. Or do you?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Desmond laughed.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"No-o-o!" he said slowly, "but I'm rather young to die. Is it
+absolutely necessary for me to disappear?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Absolutely!" responded the Chief firmly.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"But how will we manage it?" asked Desmond.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Catch the leave-boat to-night and don't worry. You will receive
+your instructions in due course."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"But whey shall I see you again?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The Chief chuckled.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Depends entirely on yourself, Okewood," he retorted. "When
+you're through with your job, I expect. In the meantime, Miss
+Mackwayte will act between us. On that point also you will be
+fully instructed. And now I must fly!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"But I say, sir," Desmond interposed hastily. "You haven't told
+me what I am to do. What part am I to play in this business
+anyway?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"To-morrow," said the Chief, buttoning up his goat, "you become
+Mr. Basil Bellward!"
+</P>
+
+<BR><BR><BR>
+
+<A NAME="chap08"></A>
+<H3 ALIGN="center">
+CHAPTER VIII. THE WHITE PAPER PACKAGE
+</H3>
+
+<P>
+A taxi was waiting in Pall Mall outside the club and Desmond
+hailed it, though secretly wondering what the driver would think
+of taking him out to Seven Kings. Rather to his surprise, the man
+was quite affable, took the address of the house where Barbara
+was staying with her friends and bade Desmond "hop in."
+Presently, for the second time that day, he was heading for the
+Mils End Road.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+As they zigzagged in and out of the traffic, Desmond's thoughts
+were busy with the extraordinary mission entrusted to him. So he
+was to sink his own identity and don that of an Anglo-German
+business man, his appearance, accent, habits, everything. The
+difficulties of the task positively made him cold with fear. The
+man must have relations, friends, business acquaintances who
+would be sufficiently familiar with his appearance and manner to
+penetrate, at any rate in the long run, the most effective
+disguise. What did Bellward look like? Where did lie live? How
+was he, Desmond, to disguise himself to resemble him? And, above
+all, when this knotty problem of make-up had been settled, how
+was he to proceed? What should be his first step to pick out from
+among all the millions of London's teeming populace the one
+obscure individual who headed and directed this gang of spies?
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Why hadn't he asked the Chief all these questions? What an
+annoying man the Chief was to deal with to be sure! All said and
+done, what had he actually told Desmond? That there was a German
+Secret service organization spying on the movements of troops to
+France, that this man, Basil Bellward, who had been arrested, was
+one of the gang and that the dancer, Nur-el-Din, was in some way
+implicated in the affair! And that was the extent of his
+confidence! On the top of all this fog of obscurity rested the
+dense cloud surrounding the murder of old Mackwayte with the
+unexplained, the fantastic, clue of that single hair pointing
+back to Nur-el-Din.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Desmond consoled himself finally by saying that the would be able
+too get some light on his mission from Barbara Mackwayte, whom he
+judged to be in the Chief's confidence. But here he was doomed to
+disappointment. Barbara could tell him practically nothing save
+what he already knew, that they were to work together in this
+affair. Like him, she was waiting for her instructions.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Barbara received him in a neat little suburban drawing-room in
+the house of her friends, who lived a few streets away from the
+Mackwaytes. She was wearing a plainly-made black crepe de chine
+dress which served to accentuate the extreme pallor of her face,
+the only outward indication of the great shock she had sustained.
+She was perfectly calm and collected, otherwise, and she stopped
+Desmond who would have murmured some phrases of condolence.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Ah, no, please," she said, "I don't think I can speak about it
+yet."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+She pulled a chair over for him arid began to talk about the
+Chief.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"There's not the least need for you to worry," she said with a
+little woeful smile, like a sun-ray piercing a rain-cloud, "if
+the Chief says 'Go back to France and wait for instructions,' you
+may be sure that everything is arranged, and you will receive
+your orders in due course. So shall I. That's the Chief all over.
+Until you know him, you think he loves mystery for mystery's
+sake. It isn't that at all. He just doesn't trust us. He trusts
+nobody!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"But that hardly semis fair to us..." began Desmond.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"It's merely a precaution," replied Barbara, "the Chief takes no
+risks. I've not the least doubt that he has decided to tell you
+nothing whatsoever about your part until you are firmly settled
+in your new role. I'm perfectly certain that every detail of your
+part has already been worked out."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Oh, that's not possible," said Desmond. "Why, he didn't know
+until an hour ago that I was going to take on this job."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Barbara laughed.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"The Chief has taught me a lot about judging men by their looks,"
+she said: "Personally, if I'd been in the Chief's places I should
+have gone ahead without consulting you, too."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The girl spoke with such directness that there was not the least
+suggestion of a compliment in her remark, but Desmond blushed to
+the roots of his hair. Barbara noticed it and added hastily:
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"I'm not trying to pay you a compliment: I'm just judging by your
+type. I believe I can always tell the man that will take on any
+job, however dangerous, and carry it through to the end."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Desmond blushed more furiously than ever.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+He made haste to divert the conversation into a safer channel.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Well," he said slowly, "seeing that you and I were intended to
+work together, it seems to me to be a most extraordinary
+coincidence our meeting like that last night..."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"It was more than a coincidence," said Barbara, shaking her dark
+brown head. "Forty-eight hours ago I'd never heard of you, then
+the Chief gave me a telegram to send to your Divisional General
+summoning you home, after that he told me that we were to work
+together, and a few hours later I run into you in Nur-el-Din's
+dressing-room..."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+She broke off suddenly, her gray eyes big with fear. She darted
+across the room to an ormolu table as which her handbag was
+lying. With astonishment, Desmond watched her unceremoniously
+spill out the contents on to the table and rake hastily amongst
+the collection of articles which a pretty girl carries round in
+her bag.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Presently she raised herself erect and turning, faced the
+officer. She was trembling as though with cold and when she
+spoke, her voice was low and husky.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Gone!" she whispered.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Have you lost anything" Desmond asked anxiously.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"How could I have forgotten it?" she went on as though he had not
+spoken, "how could I have forgotten it? Nearly twelve hours
+wasted, and it explains everything. What will the Chief think of
+me!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Slowly she sank down on the sofa where she had been sitting,
+then, without any warning, dropped her head into her hands and
+burst into tears.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Desmond went over to her.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Please don't cry," he said gently, "you have borne up so bravely
+against this terrible blow; you must try and not let it overwhelm
+you."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+All her business-like calm had disappeared now she was that most
+distracting of all pictures of woman, a pretty girl overwhelmed
+with grief. She crouched curled upon the sofa, with shoulders
+heaving, sobbing as though her heart would break.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Perhaps you would like me to leave you?" Desmond asked. "Let me
+ring for your friends... I am sure you would rather be alone!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+She raised a tear-stained face to his, her long lashes
+glittering.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"No, no," she said, "don't go, don't go! I want your help. This
+is such a dark and dreadful business, more than I ever realized.
+Oh, my poor daddy, my poor daddy!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Again she hid her face in her hands and cried whilst Desmond
+stood erect by her aide, compassionate but very helpless.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+After a little, she dabbed her eyes with a tiny square of
+cambric, and sitting up, surveyed the other.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"I must go to the Chief at once," she said, "it is most urgent.
+Would you ring and ask the maid to telephone for a taxi?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"I have one outside," answered Desmond. "But won't you tell me
+what has happened?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Why," said Barbara, "it has only just dawned on me why our house
+was broken into last night and poor daddy so cruelly murdered!
+Whoever robbed the house did not come after our poor little bits
+of silver or daddy's savings in the desk in the dining room. They
+came after something that I had!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"And what was that" asked Desmond.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Then Barbara told him of her talk with Nur-el-Din in the dancer's
+dressing-room on the previous evening and of the package which
+Nur-el-Din had entrusted to her care.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"This terrible business put it completely out of my head," said
+Barbara. "In the presence of the police this morning, I looked
+over my bedroom and even searched my hand-bag which the police
+sent back to me this afternoon without finding that the burglars
+had stolen anything. It was only just now, when we were talking
+about our meeting in Nur-el-Din's room last night, that her
+little package suddenly flashed across my mind. And then I looked
+through my handbag again and convinced myself that it was not
+there."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"But are you sure the police haven't taken it?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Absolutely certain," was the reply. "I remember perfectly what
+was in my hand-bag this morning when I went through it, and the
+same things are on that table over there now."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Do you know what was in this package!" said Desmond.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Just a small silver box, oblong and quite plain, about so big,"
+she indicated the size with her hands, "about as large as a
+cigarette-box. Nur-el-Din said it was a treasured family
+possession of hers, and she was afraid of losing it as she
+traveled about so much. She asked me to say nothing about it and
+to keep it until the war was over or until she asked me for it."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Then," said Desmond, "this clears Nur-el-Din!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"What do you mean," said Barbara, looking up.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Simply that she wouldn't have broken into year place and killed
+your father in order to recover her own package..."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"But why on earth should Nur-el-Din be suspected of such a
+thing?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Have you heard nothing about this young lady from the Chief?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Nothing. I had not thought anything about her until daddy
+discovered an old friend in her last night and introduced me."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The Chief's infernal caution again! thought Desmond, secretly
+admiring the care with which that remarkable man, in his own
+phrase, "sealed both ends of every connection."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"If I'm to work with this girl," said Desmond to himself, "I'm
+going to have all the cards on the table here and now," so
+forthwith he told her of the Chief's suspicions of the dancer,
+the letter recommending her to Bellward found when the cheese
+merchant had been arrested, and lastly of the black hair which
+had been discovered on the thongs with which Barbara had been
+fastened.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"And now," Desmond concluded, "the very next thing we must do is
+to go to the Chief and tell him about this package of
+Nur-el-Din's that is missing." Barbara interposed quickly.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"It's no use your coming," she said. "The Chief won't see you.
+When he has sent a man on his mission, he refuses to see him
+again until the work has been done. If he wishes to send for you
+or communicate with you, he will. But it's useless for you to try
+and see him yourself. You can drop me at the office!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Desmond was inclined to agree with her on this point and said so.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"There is one thing especially that puzzles me, Miss Mackwayte,"
+Desmond observed as they drove westward again, "and that is, how
+anyone could have known about your having this box of
+Nur-el-Din's. Was there anybody else in the room when she gave
+you the package?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"No," said Barbara, "I don't think so. Wait a minute, though,
+Nur-el-Din's maid must have come in very shortly after for I
+remember the opened the door when Captain Strangwise came to tell
+me daddy was waiting to take me home."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Do you remember if Nur-el-Din actually mentioned the package in
+the presence of the maid!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"As far as I can recollect just as the maid opened the door to
+Captain Strangwise, Nur-el-Din was impressing on me again to take
+great care of the package. I don't think she actually mentioned
+the box but I remember her pointing at my bag where I had put the
+package."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"The maid didn't see Nur-el-Din give you the box?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"No, I'm sure of that. The room was empty save for us two. It was
+only just before Captain Strangwise knocked that I noticed Marie
+arranging Nur-el-Din's dresses. She must have come in afterwards
+without my seeing her."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Well then, this girl, Marie, didn't see the dancer give you the
+box but she heard her refer to it. Is that right?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Yes, and, of course, Captain Strangwise..."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"What about him?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"He must have heard what Nur-el-Din was saying, too!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Desmond rubbed his chin.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"I say, you aren't going to implicate old Strangwise, too, are
+you?" he asked.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Barbara did not reflect his smile.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"He seems to know Nur-el-Din pretty well," she said, "and I'll
+tell you something else, that woman's afraid of your friend, the
+Captain!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"What do you mean?" asked Desmond.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"I was watching her in the glass last night as he was talking to
+her while you and I and daddy were chatting in the corner. I
+don't know what he said to her, but she glanced over her shoulder
+with a look of terror in her eyes. I was watching her face in the
+glass. She looked positively hunted!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The taxi stopped. Desmond jumped out and helped his companion to
+alight.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Au revoir." she said to him, "never fear, you and I will meet
+very soon again!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+With that she was gone. Desmond looked at his watch. It pointed
+to a quarter to six.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Now I wonder what time the leave-train starts tonight," he said
+aloud, one foot on the sideboard of the taxi.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"At 7.45, sir," said a voice.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Desmond glanced round him. Then he saw it was the taxi-driver
+who had spoken.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"7.45, eh?" said Desmond. "From Victoria, I suppose?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Yes, sir," said the taxi-man.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"By Jove, I haven't much time," ejaculated the officer "and there
+are some things I want to get before I go back across the
+Channel. And I shall have to see the Railway Transport Officer
+about my pass."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"That's all right, sir," said the taxi-man, "I have your papers
+here"; he handed Desmond a couple of slips of paper which he took
+from his coat-pocket; "those will take yon back to France all
+right, I think you'll find!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Desmond looked at the papers: they were quite in order and
+correctly filled up with his name, rank and regiment, and date.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The taxi-man cut short any further question by saying:
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"If you'll get into the cab again, sir, I'll drive you where you
+want to go, and then wait while you have your dinner and take you
+to the station. By the way, your dinner's ordered too!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"But who the devil are you?" asked Desmond in amazement.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"On special service, the same as yon, sir!" said the man with a
+grin and Desmond understood.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Really, the Chief was extremely thorough.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+They went to the stores in the Haymarket, to Fortnum and Mason's,
+and lastly, to a small, grubby shop at the back of Mayfair where
+Desmond and his brother had bought their cigarettes for years
+past. Desmond purchased a hundred of their favored brand, the
+Dionysus, as a reserve for his journey back to France, and stood
+chatting over old times with the fat, oily-faced Greek manager as
+the latter tied up his cigarettes into a clean white paper
+parcel, neatly sealed up with red sealing wax.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Then Desmond drove back to the Nineveh Hotel where he left his
+taxi-driving colleague in the courtyard on the understanding that
+at 7.25 the taxi would be waiting to drive him to the station.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Desmond went straight upstairs to his room to put his kit
+together. In the strong, firmly woven web spread by the Chief, he
+felt as helpless as a fly caught in a spider's mesh. He had no
+idea of what his plans were. He only knew that he was going back
+to France, and that it was his business to get on the leave-boat
+that night.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+As he passed along the thickly carpeted, silent corridor to his
+room, he saw the door of Strangwise's room standing ajar. He
+pushed open the door and walked in unceremoniously. A suitcase
+stood open on the floor with Strangwise bending over it. At his
+elbow was a table crowded with various parcels, a case of razors,
+different articles of kit, and some books. Desmond halted at the
+door, his box of cigarettes dangling from his finger.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Hullo, Maurice," he said, "are you off, too?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Strangwise spun round sharply. The blood had fished to his face,
+staining it with a dark, angry flush.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"My God, how you startled me!" he exclaimed rather testily. "I
+never heard you come in!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+He turned rather abruptly and went on with his packing. He struck
+Desmond as being rather annoyed at the intrusion; the latter had
+never seen him out of temper before.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Sorry if I butted in," said Desmond, sliding his box of
+cigarettes off his finger on to the littered table and sitting
+down on a chair. "I came in to say good-bye. I'm going back to
+France to-night!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Maurice looked round quickly. He appeared to be quite his old
+self again and was all smiles now.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"So soon?" he said. "Why, I thought you were getting a job at the
+War Office!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Desmond shook his head.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Not good enough," he replied, "it's back to the sandbags for
+mine. But where are you off to?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Got a bit of leave; the Intelligence folk seem to be through
+with me at last, so they've given me six weeks!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Going to the country" asked Desmond.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Strangwise nodded.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Yep," he said, "down to Essex to see if I can get a few duck or
+snipe on the fens. I wish you were coming with me!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"So do I, old man," echoed Desmond heartily. Then he added in a
+serious voice:
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"By the way, I haven't seen you since last night. What a shocking
+affair this is about old Mackwayte, isn't it? Are there any
+developments, do you know?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Strangwise very deliberately fished a cigarette out of his case
+which was lying open on the table and lit it before replying.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"A very dark affair," he said, blowing out a cloud of smoke and
+flicking the match into the grate. "You are discreet, I know,
+Okewood. The Intelligence people had me up this morning... to
+take my evidence..."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Strangwise's surmise about Desmond's discretion was perfectly
+correct. With Desmond Okewood discretion was second nature, and
+therefore he answered with feigned surprise: "Your evidence about
+what? About our meeting the Mackwaytes last night?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+After he had spoken he realized he had blundered. Surely, after
+all, the Chief would have told Strangwise about their
+investigations at Seven Kings. Still...
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"No," replied Strangwise, "but about Nur-el-Din!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The Chief had kept his own counsel about their morning's work.
+Desmond was glad now that he had dissimulated.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"You see, I know her pretty well," Strangwise continued, "between
+ourselves, I got rather struck on the lady when she was touring
+in Canada some years ago, and in fact I spent so much more money
+that I could afford on her that I had to discontinue the
+acquaintance. Then I met her here when I got away from Germany a
+month ago; she was lonely, so I took her about a bit. Okewood,
+I'm afraid I was rather indiscreet."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"How do you mean?" Desmond asked innocently.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Well," said Strangwise slowly, contemplating the end of his
+cigarette, "it appears that the lady is involved in certain
+activities which considerably interest our Intelligence. But
+there, I mustn't say any more!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"But how on earth is Nur-el-what's her name concerned in this
+murder, Maurice?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Strangwise shrugged his shoulders.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Ah, you'd better ask the police. But I tell you she'll be
+getting into trouble if she's not careful!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Throughout this conversation Desmond seemed to hear in his ears
+Barbara's words: "That woman's afraid of your friend!" He divined
+that for some reason or other, Strangwise wanted to create a bad
+impression in his mind about the dancer. He scanned Maurice's
+face narrowly. Its impenetrability was absolute. There was
+nothing to be gleaned from those careless, smiling features.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Well," said Desmond, getting up, "nous verrons. I shall have to
+make a bolt for it now if I don't want to miss my train.
+Good-bye, Maurice, and I hope you'll get some birds!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Thanks, old man. Au revoir, and take care of yourself. My
+salaams to the General!".
+</P>
+
+<P>
+They shook hands warmly, then Desmond grabbed his box of
+cigarettes in its neat white wrapper with the bold red seals and
+hurried off to his room.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Strangwise stood for a moment gazing after him. He was no longer
+the frank, smiling companion of a minute before. His mouth was
+set hard and his chin stuck out at a defiant angle.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+He bent over the table and picked up a white paper package sealed
+with bold red seals. He poised it for a moment in his hands while
+a flicker of a smile stole into the narrow eyes and played for an
+instant round the thin lips. Then, with a quick movement, he
+thrust the little package into the side pocket of his tunic and
+buttoned the flap.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Whistling a little tune, he went on with his packing.
+</P>
+
+<BR><BR><BR>
+
+<A NAME="chap09"></A>
+<H3 ALIGN="center">
+CHAPTER IX. METAMORPHOSIS
+</H3>
+
+<P>
+It was a clear, cold night. A knife-edge icy wind blew from the
+north-east and kept the lanyards dismally flapping on the
+flag-mast over the customs house. The leave train lay in the
+station within a biscuit's throw of the quayside and the black,
+blank Channel beyond, a long line of cheerfully illuminated
+windows that to those returning from leave seemed as the last
+link with home.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The Corporal of Military Police, who stood at the gangway
+examining the passes, stopped Desmond Okewood as the latter held
+out his pass into the rays of the man's lantern.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"There was a message for you, sir," said the Corporal. "The
+captain of the Staff boat would h-esteem it a favor, sir, if you
+would kindly go to his cabin immediately on h-arriving on board,
+sir!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Very good, Corporal!" answered the officer and passed up the
+gang plank, enviously regarded by the press of brass-hats and
+red-tabs who, for the most part, had a cramped berth below or
+cold quarters on deck to look forward to.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+A seaman directed Desmond to the Captain's cabin. It was built
+out just behind the bridge, a snug, cheery room with bright
+chintz curtains over the carefully screened portholes, a couple
+of comfortable benches with leather seats along the walls, a
+small bunk, and in the middle of the floor a table set out with a
+bottle of whiskey, a siphon and some glasses together with a box
+of cigars.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The Captain was sitting there chatting to the pilot, a short,
+enormously broad man with a magenta face and prodigious hands
+which were folded round a smoking glass of toddy.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Pick 'em up? Rescue 'em?" the pilot ejaculated, as Desmond
+walked in, "I'd let 'em sink, every man Jack o' them, the
+outrageous murderin' scoundrels. I don't like to hear you
+a-talking of such nonsense, Cap'en!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+On Desmond's entrance the Captain broke off the conversation. He
+proved to be a trimly-built man of about fifty with a grizzled
+beard, and au air of quiet efficiency which is not uncommonly
+found in seamen. The pilot drained his glass and, scrambling to
+his feet, nodded to Desmond and stumped out into the cold night
+air.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Jawin' about the U boats!" said the Captain, with a jerk of his
+head towards the cabin door, "I don't know what the feelings of
+your men in the trenches are towards Fritz, Major, but I tell you
+that no German will dare set foot in any coast port of the United
+Kingdom in my life-time or yours, either! Accommodation's a bit
+narrow on board. I thought maybe you'd care to spend the night up
+here!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Any orders about me?" asked Desmond.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The Captain went a shade deeper mahogany in the face.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Oh no," he replied, with an elaborate assumption of innocence.
+"But won't you mix yourself a drink? And try one of my cigars, a
+present from a skipper friend of mine who sailed into Tilbury
+from Manila last week."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Desmond sat in the snug cabin, puffing a most excellent cigar
+and sipping his whiskey and soda while, amid much shouting of
+seamen and screaming of windlasses, the staff boat got clear.
+Presently they were gliding past long low moles and black,
+inhospitable lighthouses, threading their way through the dark
+shapes of war craft of all kinds into the open Channel. There was
+a good deal of swell, but the sea was calm, and the vessel soon
+steadied down to regular rise and fall.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+They had been steaming for nearly an hour when, through the open
+door of the cabin, Desmond saw a seaman approach the captain on
+the bridge. He handed the skipper a folded paper.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"From the wireless operator, sir!" Desmond heard him say.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The skipper scanned it. Then the engine telegraph rang sharply,
+there was the sound of churning water, and the vessel slowed
+down. The next moment the Captain appeared at the door of the
+cabin.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"I'm afraid we're going to lose you, Major," he said pleasantly,
+"a destroyer is coming up to take you off. There was a wireless
+from the Admiral about you."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Where are they going to take me, do you know?" asked Desmond.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The Captain shook his head.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"I haven't an idea. I've only got to hand you over!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+He grinned and added:
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Where's your kit?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"In the hold, I expect!" answered Desmond. "The porter at
+Victoria told me not to worry about it, and that I should find it
+on the other side. And, oh damn it!&mdash;I've got a hundred
+cigarettes in my kit, too! I bought them specially for the
+journey!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Well, take some of my cigars," said the skipper hospitably, "for
+your traps'll have to go to France this trip, Major. There's no
+time to get 'em up now. I'll pass the word to the Military
+Landing Officer over there about 'em, if you like. He'll take
+care of 'em for you. Now will you come with me?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Desmond scrambled into his coat and followed the Captain down the
+steps to the deck. A little distance away from the vessel, the
+long shape of a destroyer was dimly visible tossing to and fro in
+the heavy swell. A ladder had been let down over the side of the
+steamer, and at its foot a boat, manned by a number of heavily
+swathed and muffled forms, was pitching.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+A few officers stood by the rail watching the scene with
+interest. The skipper adroitly piloted Desmond past them and
+fairly thrust him out on to the ladder.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Desmond took the hint and with a hasty "Good night" to the
+friendly captain, staggered down the swaying ladder and was
+helped into the boat. The boat shoved off, the bell of the engine
+telegraph on the steamer resounded sharply, and the vessel
+resumed her interrupted voyage whilst the rowing boat was headed
+towards the destroyer. On board the latter vessel an officer met
+Desmond at the rail and piloted him to the ward-room. Almost
+before they got there, the destroyer was under way.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The officer who had welcomed him proved to be the second in
+command, a joyous person who did the honors of the tiny ward-room
+with the aplomb of a Commander in a super-Dreadnought. He mixed
+Desmond a drink and immediately started to converse about life at
+the front without giving the other a chance of asking whither
+they were bound.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The suspense was not of long duration, however, for in about half
+an hour's time, the destroyer slowed down and Desmond's host
+vanished. When he reappeared, it was to summon Desmond on deck.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+They lay aside a mole by some steps cut in the solid concrete.
+Here Desmond's host took leave of him.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"There should be a car waiting for you up there," he said.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+There on top of the mole, exposed to the keen blast of the wind,
+a large limousine was standing. A chauffeur, who looked blue with
+cold, got down from his seat as Desmond emerged from the stairs
+and touched his cap.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Major Okewood?" he asked.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"That's my name!" said Desmond.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"If you'll get in, sir, we'll start at once!" the man replied.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Befogged and bewildered, Desmond entered the car, which
+cautiously proceeded along the breakwater, with glimpses of black
+water and an occasional dim light on either hand. They bumped
+over the railway-lines and rough cobblestones of a dockyard,
+glided through a slumbering town, and so gradually drew out into
+the open country where the car gathered speed and fairly raced
+along the white, winding road. Desmond had not the faintest idea
+of their whereabouts or ultimate destination. He was fairly
+embarked on the great adventure now, and he was philosophically
+content to let Fate have its way with him. He found himself
+wondering rather indolently what the future had in store.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The car slowed down and the chauffeur switched the headlights on.
+Their blinding glare revealed some white gate-posts at the
+entrance of a quiet country station. Desmond looked at his watch.
+It was half-past one. The car stopped at the entrance to the
+booking-office where a man in an overcoat and bowler was waiting.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"This way, Major, please," said the man in the bowler, and led
+the way into the dark and silent station. At the platform a short
+train consisting of an engine, a Pullman car and a brakesman's
+van stood, the engine under steam. By the glare from the furnace
+Desmond recognized his companion. It was Matthews, the Chief's
+confidential clerk.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Matthews held open the door of the Pullman for Desmond and
+followed him into the carriage. A gruff voice in the night
+shouted:
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"All right, Charley!" a light was waved to and fro, and the
+special pulled out of the echoing station into the darkness
+beyond.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+In the corner of, the Pullman a table was laid for supper. There
+was a cold chicken, a salad, and a bottle of claret. On another
+table was a large tin box and a mirror with a couple of electric
+lights before it. At this table was seated a small man with gray
+hair studying a large number of photographs.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"If you will have your supper, Major Okewood, sir," said
+Matthews, "Mr. Crook here will get to work. We've not got too
+much time."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The sea air had made Desmond ravenously hungry. He sat down
+promptly and proceeded to demolish the chicken and make havoc of
+the salad. Also he did full justice to the very excellent St.
+Estephe.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+As he ate he studied Matthews, who was one of those undefinable
+Englishmen one meets in tubes and 'buses, who might be anything
+from a rate collector to a rat catcher. He had sandy hair
+plastered limply across his forehead, a small moustache, and a
+pair of watery blue eyes. Mr. Crook, who continued his study of
+his assortment of photographs without taking the slightest notice
+of Desmond, was a much more alert looking individual, with a
+shock of iron gray hair brushed back and a small pointed beard.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Matthew's," said Desmond as he supped, "would it be indiscreet
+to ask where we are?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"In Kent, Major," replied Matthews.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"What station was that we started from?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Faversham."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"And where are we going, might I inquire?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"To Cannon Street, sir!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"And from there?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Mr. Matthews coughed discreetly.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"I can't really say, sir, I'm sure! A car will meet you there and
+I can go home to bed."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The ends sealed again! thought Desmond. What a man of caution,
+the Chief!
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"And this gentleman here, Matthews?" asked Desmond, lighting one
+of the skipper's cigars.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"That, sir, is Mr. Crook, who does any little jobs we require in
+the way of make-up. Our expert on resemblances, if I may put it
+that way, sir, for we really do very little in the way of
+disguises. Mr. Crook is an observer of what I may call people's
+points, sir, their facial appearance, their little peculiarities
+of manner, of speech, of gait. Whenever there is any question of
+a disguise, Mr. Crook is called in to advise as to the
+possibilities of success. I believe I am correct in saying,
+Crook, that you have been engaged on the Major here for some
+time. Isn't it so?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Crook looked up a minute from his table.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"That's right," he said shortly, and resumed his occupation of
+examining the photographs.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"And what's your opinion about this disguise of mine?" Desmond
+asked him.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"I can make a good job of you, Major," said the expert, "and so I
+reported to the Chief. You'll want to do your hair a bit
+different and let your beard grow, and then, if you pay attention
+to the lessons I shall give you, in a week or two, you'll be this
+chap here," and he tapped the photograph in his hand, "to the
+life."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+So saying he handed Desmond the photograph. It was the portrait
+of a man about forty years of age, of rather a pronounced
+Continental type, with a short brown beard, a straight, rather
+well-shaped nose and gold-rimmed spectacles. His hair was cut en
+brosse, and he was rather full about the throat and neck. Without
+a word, Desmond stretched out his hand and gathered up a sheaf of
+other photos, police photos of Mr. Basil Bellward, front face and
+profile seen from right and left, all these poses shown on the
+same picture, some snapshots and various camera studies. Desmond
+shook his head in despair. He was utterly unable to detect the
+slightest resemblance between himself and this rather commonplace
+looking type of business man.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Now if you'd just step into the compartment at the end of the
+Pullman, Major," said Crook, "you'll find some civilian clothes
+laid out. Would you mind putting them on? You needn't trouble
+about the collar and tie, or coat and waistcoat for the moment.
+Then we'll get along with the work."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The train rushed swaying on through the darkness. Desmond was
+back in the Pullman car in a few minutes arrayed in a pair of
+dark gray tweed trousers, a white shirt and black boots and
+socks. A cut-away coat and waistcoat of the same tweed stuff, a
+black bowler hat of rather an old-fashioned and staid pattern,
+and a black overcoat with a velvet collar, he left in the
+compartment where he changed.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+He found that Crook had opened his tin box and set out a great
+array of grease paints, wigs, twists of tow of various colors,
+and a number of pots and phials of washes and unguents together
+with a whole battery of fine paint brushes. In his hand he held a
+pair of barber's clippers and the tips of a comb and a pair of
+scissors protruded from his vest pocket.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Crook whisked a barber's wrap round Desmond and proceeded, with
+clippers and scissors, to crop and trim his crisp black hair.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Tst-tst" he clicked with his tongue. "I didn't realize your hair
+was so dark, Major. It'll want a dash of henna to lighten it."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The man worked with incredible swiftness. His touch was light and
+sure, and Desmond, looking at his reflection in the glass,
+wondered to see what fine; delicate hands this odd little expert
+possessed. Matthews sat and smoked in silence and watched the
+operation, whilst the special ran on steadily Londonwards.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+When the clipping was done, Crook smeared some stuff on a towel
+and wrapped it round Desmond's head.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"That'll brighten your hair up a lot, sir. Now for a crepe beard
+just to try the effect. We've got to deliver you at Cannon Street
+ready for the job, Mr. Matthews and me, but you won't want to
+worry with this nasty messy beard once you get indoors. You can
+grow your own beard, and I'll pop in and henna it a bit for you
+every now and then."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+There was the smart of spirit gum on Desmond's cheeks and Crook
+gently applied a strip of tow to his face. He had taken the
+mirror away so that Desmond could no longer see the effect of the
+gradual metamorphosis.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"A mirror only confuses me," said the expert, breathing hard as
+he delicately adjusted the false beard, "I've got this picture
+firm in my head, and I want to get it transferred to your face.
+Somehow a mirror puts me right off. It's the reality I want."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+As he grew more absorbed in his work, he ceased to speak
+altogether. He finished the beard, trimmed the eyebrows, applied
+a dash of henna with a brush, leaning backwards continually to
+survey the effect. He sketched in a wrinkle or two round the eyes
+with a pencil, wiped them out, then put them in again. Then he
+fumbled in his tin box, and produced two thin slices of grey
+rubber.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Sorry," he said, "I'm afraid you'll have to wear these inside
+your cheeks to give the effect of roundness. You've got an oval
+face and the other man has a round one. I can get the fullness of
+the throat by giving you a very low collar, rather open and a
+size too large for you."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Desmond obediently slipped the two slices of rubber into his
+mouth and tucked them away on either side of his upper row of
+teeth. They were not particularly uncomfortable to wear.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"There's your specs," said Crook, handing him a spectacle case,
+"and there's the collar. Now if you'll put on the rest of the
+duds, we'll have a look at you, sir."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Desmond went out and donned the vest and coat and overcoat, and,
+thus arrayed, returned to the Pullman, hat in hand.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Crook called out to him as he entered
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Not so springy in the step, sir, if you please. Remember you're
+forty-three years of age with a Continental upbringing. You'll
+have to walk like a German, toes well turned out and down on the
+heel every time. So, that's better. Now, have a look at
+yourself!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+He turned and touched a blind. A curtain rolled up with a click,
+disclosing a full length mirror immediately opposite Desmond.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Desmond recoiled in astonishment. He could scarcely credit his
+own eyes. The glass must be bewitched, he thought for a moment,
+quite overwhelmed by the suddenness of the shock. For instead of
+the young face set on a slight athletic body that the glass was
+wont to show him, he saw a square, rather solid man in ugly,
+heavy clothes, with a brown silky beard and gold spectacles. The
+disguise was baffling in its completeness. The little wizard, who
+had effected this change and who now stood by, bashfully twisting
+his fingers about, had transformed youth into middle age. And the
+bewildering thing was that the success of the disguise did not
+lie so much in the eternal adjuncts, the false beard, the
+pencilled wrinkles, as in the hideous collar, the thick padded
+clothes, in short, in the general appearance.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+For the first time since his talk with the Chief at the United
+Service Club, Desmond felt his heart grow light within him. If
+such miracles were possible, then he could surmount the other
+difficulties as well.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Crook," he said, "I think you've done wonders. What do you say,
+Matthews?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"I've seen a lot of Mr. Crook's work in my day, sir," answered
+the clerk, "but nothing better than this. It's a masterpiece,
+Crook, that's what it is."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"I'm fairly well satisfied," the expert murmured modestly, "and I
+must say the Major carries it off very well. But how goes the
+enemy, Matthews?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"It's half past two," replied, the latter, "we should reach
+Cannon Street by three. She's running well up to time, I think."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"We've got time for a bit of a rehearsal," said Crook. "Just
+watch me, will you please, Major, and I'll try and give you an
+impression of our friend. I've been studying him at Brixton for
+the past twelve days, day and night almost, you might say, and I
+think I can convey an idea of his manner and walk. The walk is a
+very important point. Now, here is Mr. Bellward meeting one of
+his friends. Mr. Matthews, you will be the friend!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Then followed one of the most extraordinary performances that
+Desmond had ever witnessed. By some trick of the actor's art, the
+shriveled figure of the expert seemed to swell out and thicken,
+while his low, gentle voice deepened into a full, metallic
+baritone. Of accent in his speech there was none, but Desmond's
+ear, trained to foreigners' English, could detect a slight
+Continental intonation, a little roll of the "r's," an unfamiliar
+sound about those open "o's" of the English tongue, which are so
+fatal a trap for foreigners speaking our language. As he watched
+Crook, Desmond glanced from time to time at the photograph of
+Bellward which he had picked up from the table. He had an
+intuition that Bellward behaved and spoke just as the man before
+him.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Then, at Crook's suggestion, Desmond assumed the role of
+Bellward. The expert interrupted him continually.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"The hands, Major, the hands, you must not keep them down at your
+sides. That is military! You must move them when you speak! So
+and so!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Or again:
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"You speak too fast. Too... too youthfully, if you understand me,
+sir. You are a man of middle age. Life has no further secrets for
+you. You are poised and getting a trifle ponderous. Now try
+again!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+But the train was slackening speed. They were running between
+black masses of squalid houses. As the special thumped over the
+bridge across the river, Mr. Crook gathered up his paints and
+brushes and photographs and arranged them neatly in his black tin
+box.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+To Desmond he said:
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"I shall be coming along to give you some more lessons very soon,
+Major. I wish you could see Bellward for yourself: you are very
+apt at this game, and it would save us much time. But I fear
+that's impossible."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Even before the special had drawn up alongside the platform at
+Cannon Street, Crook and Matthews swung themselves out and
+disappeared. When the train stopped, a young man in a bowler hat
+presented himself at the door of the Pullman.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"The car is there, Mr. Bellward, sir!" he said, helping Desmond
+to alight. Desmond, preparing to assume his new role, was about
+to leave the carriage when a sudden thought struck him. What
+about his uniform strewn about the compartment where he had
+changed? He ran back. The compartment was empty. Not a trace
+remained of the remarkable scenes of their night journey.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"This is for you," said the young man, handing Desmond a note as
+they walked down the platform.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Outside the station a motor-car with its noisy throbbing awoke
+the echoes of the darkened and empty courtyard. Desmond waited
+until he was being whirled over the smooth asphalt of the City
+streets before he opened the letter.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+He found a note and a small key inside the envelope.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"On reaching the house to which you will be conveyed," the note
+said, "you will remain indoors until further orders. You can
+devote your time to studying the papers you will find in the desk
+beside the bed. For the present you need not fear detection as
+long as you do not leave the house." Then followed a few rough
+jottings obviously for his guidance.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Housekeeper, Martha, half blind, stupid; odd man, John Hill,
+mostly invisible, no risk from either. You are confined to house
+with heavy chill. Do not go out until you get the word."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The last sentence was twice underlined.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The night was now pitch-dark. Heavy clouds had come up and
+obscured the stars and a drizzle of rain was falling. The car
+went forward at a good pace and Desmond, after one or two
+ineffectual attempts to make out where they were going, was
+lulled by the steady motion into a deep sleep. He was dreaming
+fitfully of the tossing Channel as he had seen it but a few hours
+before when he came to his senses with a start. He felt a cold
+draught of air on his face and his feet were dead with cold.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+A figure stood at the open door of the car. It was the chauffeur.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Here we are, sir," he said.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Desmond stiffly descended to the ground. It was so dark that he
+could distinguish nothing, but he felt the grit of gravel under
+his feet and he heard the melancholy gurgle of running water. He
+took a step forward and groped his way into a little porch
+smelling horribly of mustiness and damp. As he did so, he heard a
+whirr behind him and the car began to glide off. Desmond shouted
+after the chauffeur. Now that he stood on the very threshold of
+his adventure, he wanted to cling desperately to this last link
+with his old self. But the chauffeur did not or would not hear,
+and presently the sound of the engine died away, leaving Desmond
+to the darkness, the sad splashing of distant water and his own
+thoughts.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+And then, for one brief moment, all his courage seemed to ooze
+out of him. If he had followed his instinct, he would have turned
+and fled into the night, away from that damp and silent house,
+away from the ceaseless splashing of waters, back to the warmth
+and lights of civilization. But his sense of humor, which is very
+often better than courage, came to his rescue.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"I suppose I ought to be in the devil of a rage," he said to
+himself, "being kept waiting like this outside my own house!
+Where the deuce is my housekeeper? By Gad, I'll ring the place
+down!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The conceit amused him, and he advanced further into the musty
+porch hoping to find a bell. But as he did so his ear caught the
+distant sound of shuffling feet. The shuffle of feet drew nearer
+and presently a beam of light shone out from under the door. A
+quavering voice called out:
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Here I am, Mr. Bellward, here I am, sir!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Then a bolt was drawn back, a key turned, and the door swung
+slowly back, revealing an old woman, swathed in a long shawl and
+holding high in her hand a lamp as she peered out into the
+darkness.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Good evening, Martha," said Desmond, and stepped into the house.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Save for Martha's lamp, the lobby was in darkness, but light was
+streaming into the hall from the half open door of a room leading
+off it at the far end. While Martha, wheezing asthmatically,
+bolted the front door, Desmond went towards the room where the
+light was and walked in.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+It was a small sitting-room, lined with bookshelves, illuminated
+by an oil lamp which stood on a little table beside a
+chintz-covered settee which had been drawn up in front of the
+dying fire.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+On the settee Nur-el-Din was lying asleep.
+</P>
+
+<BR><BR><BR>
+
+<A NAME="chap10"></A>
+<H3 ALIGN="center">
+CHAPTER X. D. O. R. A. IS BAFFLED
+</H3>
+
+<P>
+When Barbara reached the Chief's ante-room she found it full of
+people. Mr. Marigold was there, chatting with Captain Strangwise
+who seemed to be just taking his leave; there was a short, fat,
+Jewish-looking man, very resplendently dressed with a large
+diamond pin in his cravat and a small, insignificant looking
+gentleman with a gray moustache and the red rosette of the Legion
+of Honor in his button-hole. Matthews came out of the Chief's
+room as Barbara entered the outer office.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Miss Mackwayte," he said, "we are all so shocked and so very,
+sorry..."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Mr. Matthews," she said hastily in a low voice, "never mind
+about that now. I must see the Chief at once. It is most urgent."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Matthews gesticulated with his arm round the room.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"All these people, excepting the officer there, are waiting to
+see him, Miss, and he's got a dinner engagement at eight..."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"It is urgent, Mr. Matthews, I tell you. If you won't take my
+name in, I shall go in myself!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Miss Mackwayte, I daren't interrupt him now. Do you know who's
+with him...?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Strangwise crossed the room to where Barbara was standing.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"I can guess what brings you here, Miss Mackwayte," he said
+gently. "I hope you will allow me to express my condolences...?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The girl shrank back, almost imperceptibly, yet Strangwise, whose
+eyes were fixed on her pale face, noticed the spontaneous recoil.
+The sunshine seemed to fade out of his debonair countenance, and
+for a moment Barbara Mackwayte saw Maurice Strangwise as very few
+people had ever seen him, stern and cold and hard, without a
+vestige of his constant smile. But the shadow lifted as quickly
+as it had fallen. His face had resumed its habitually engaging
+expression as he murmured:
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Believe me, I am truly sorry for you!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Thank you, thank you!" Barbara said hastily and brushed past
+him. She walked straight across the room to the door of the
+Chief's room, turned the handle and walked in.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The room was in darkness save for an electric reading lamp on the
+desk which threw a beam of light on the faces of two men thrust
+close together in eager conversation. One was the Chief, the
+other a face that Barbara knew well from the illustrated papers.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+At the sound of the door opening, the Chief sprang to his feet.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Oh, it's Miss Mackwayte," he said, and added something in a low
+voice to the other man who had risen to his feet. "My dear," he
+continued aloud to Barbara, "I will see you immediately; we must
+not be disturbed now. Matthews should have told you."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Chief," cried Barbara, her hands clasped convulsively together,
+"you must hear me now. What I have to say cannot wait. Oh, you
+must hear me!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The Chief looked as embarrassed as a man usually looks when he is
+appealed to in a busy moment by an extremely attractive girl.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Miss Mackwayte," he said firmly but with great courtesy, "you
+must wait outside. I know how unnerved you are by all that you
+have gone through, but I am engaged just now. I shall be free
+presently."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"It is about my father, Chief," Barbara said in a trembling
+voice, "I have found out what they came to get!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Ah!" said the Chief and the other man simultaneously.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"We had better hear what she has to say!" said the other man,
+"but won't you introduce me first?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"This is Sir Bristowe Marr, the First Sea Lord," said the Chief,
+bringing up a chair for Barbara, "Miss Mackwayte, my secretary,
+Admiral!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Then in a low impassioned voice Barbara told her tale of the
+package entrusted to her by Nur-el-Din and its disappearance from
+her bedroom on the night of the murder. As she proceeded a deep
+furrow appeared between the Chief's bushy eyebrows and he stared
+absently at the blotting-pad in front of him. When the girl had
+finished her story, the Chief said:
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Lambelet ought to hear this, sir: he's the head of the French
+Intelligence, you know. He's outside now. Shall we have him in?
+Miss Mackwayte shall tell her story, and you can then hear what
+Lambelet has to say about this versatile young dancer."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Without waiting for further permission, he pressed a bell on the
+desk and presently Matthews ushered in the small man with the
+Legion of Honor whom Barbara had seen in the ante-room.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The Chief introduced the Frenchman and in a few words explained
+the situation to him. Then he turned to Barbara:
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Colonel Lambelet speaks English perfectly," he said, "so fire
+away and don't be nervous!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+When she had finished, the Chief said, addressing Lambelet:
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"What do you make of it, Colonel?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The little Frenchman made an expressive gesture.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Madame has become aware of the interest you have been taking in
+her movements, mon cher. She seized the opportunity of this
+meeting with the daughter of her old friend to get rid of
+something compromising, a code or something of the kind, qui
+sait? Perhaps this robbery and its attendant murder was only an
+elaborate device to pass on some particularly important report of
+the movements of your ships... qui sait?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Then you are convinced in your own mind, Colonel, that this
+woman is a spy?" The clear-cut voice of the First Sea Lord rang
+out of the darkness of the room outside the circle of light on
+the desk.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Mail certainement!" replied the Frenchman quietly. "Listen and
+you shall hear! By birth she is a Pole, from Warsaw, of good,
+perhaps, even, of noble family. I cannot tell you, for her real
+name we have not been able to ascertain... parbleu, it is
+impossible, with the Boches at Warsaw, hein? We know, however,
+that at a very early age, under the name of la petite Marcelle,
+she was a member of a troupe of acrobats who called themselves
+The Seven Duponts. With this troupe she toured all over Europe.
+Bien! About ten years ago, she went out to New York as a singer,
+under the name of Marcelle Blondinet, and appeared at various
+second-class theatres in the United States and Canada. Then we
+lose track of her for some years until 1913, the year before the
+war, when the famous Oriental dancer, Nur-el-Din, who has made a
+grand success by the splendor of her dresses in America and
+Canada, appears at Brussels, scores a triumph and buys a fine
+mansion in the outskirts of the capital. She produces herself at
+Paris, Bordeaux, Lyons, Marseilles, Madrid, Milan and Rome, but
+her home in Brussels, always she returns there, your understand
+me, hein? La petite Marcelle of The Seven Duponts, Marcelle
+Blondinet of the cafe chantant, has blossomed out into a star of
+the first importance."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The Colonel paused and cleared his throat.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"To buy a mansion in Brussels, to run a large and splendid
+troupe, requires money. It is the men who pay for these things,
+you would say. Quite right, but listen who were the friends of
+Madame Nur-el-Din. Bischoffsberg, the German millionaire of
+Antwerp, von Wurzburg, of Berne... ah ha! you know that
+gentleman, mon cher?" he turned, chuckling, to the Chief who
+nodded his acquiescence; "Prince Meddelin of the German Embassy
+in Paris and administrator of the German Secret Service funds in
+France, and so on and so on. I will not fatigue you with the
+list. The direct evidence is coming now.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"When the war broke out in August, 1914, Madame, after finishing
+her summer season in Brussels, was resting in her Brussels
+mansion. What becomes of her? She vanishes."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"She told Samuel, the fellow who runs the Palaceum, that she
+escaped from Brussels!" interposed the Chief.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The Frenchman threw his hands above his head.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Escaped, escaped? Ah, oui, par exemple, in a German Staff car.
+As I have told my colleague here," he went on, addressing the
+Admiral, "she escaped to Metz, the headquarters of the Army Group
+commanded by the... the... how do you say? the Prince Imperial?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"The Crown Prince," rectified the Chief.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Ah, oui,&mdash;the Crown Prince. Messieurs, we have absolute
+testimony that this woman lived for nearly two years either in
+Metz or Berlin, and further, that at Metz, the Crown Prince was a
+constant visitor at her house. She was one of the ladies who
+nearly precipitated a definite rupture between the Crown Prince
+and his wife. Mon Admiral," he went on, addressing the First Sea
+Lord again, "that this woman should be at large is a direct menace
+to the security of this country and of mine. It is only this
+morning that I at length received from Paris the facts which I
+have just laid before you. It is for you to order your action
+accordingly!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The little Frenchman folded his arms pompously and gazed at the
+ceiling.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"How does she explain her movements prior to her coming to this
+country" the First Sea Lord asked the Chief.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+For an answer the Chief pressed the bell.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Samuel, who engaged her, is outside. You shall hear her story
+from him," he said.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Samuel entered, exuding business acumen, prosperity, geniality.
+He nodded brightly to the Chief and stood expectant.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Ah, Mr. Samuel," said the Chief, "I wanted to see you about
+Nur-el-Din. You remember our former conversation on the subject.
+Where did she say she went to when she escaped to Brussels?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"First to Ostend," replied the music-hall proprietor, "and then,
+when the general exodus took place from there, to her mother's
+country place near Lyons, a village called Sermoise-aux-Roses."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"And what did she say her mother's name was?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Madame Blondinet, sir!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The Frenchman rapped smartly on a little pocketbook which he had
+produced and now held open in his hand.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"There, is a Madame Blondinet who has a large farm near
+Sermoise-aux-Roses," he said, "and she has a daughter called
+Marcelle, who went to America."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Why then...?" began the First Sea Lord.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Attendez un instant!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The Colonel held up a plump hand.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Unfortunately for Madame Nur-el-Din, this Marcelle Blondinet
+spent the whole of her childhood, in fact, the whole of her life
+until she was nineteen years of age, on her mother's farm at a
+time when this Marcelle Blondinet was touring Europe with The
+Seven Duponts. The evidence is absolute. Mademoiselle here heard
+the dancer herself confirm it last night!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Thank you, Mr. Samuel," said the Chief, "we shan't require you
+any more. But I'm afraid your Nur-el-Din will have to break her
+contract with you."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"She's done that already, sir!" said Samuel ruefully.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The Chief sprang to his feet excitedly.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Broken it already?" he cried. "What do you mean? Explain
+yourself! Don't stand there staring at me!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Mr. Samuel looked startled out of his life.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"There was a bit of a row between her and the stage manager last
+night about her keeping the stage waiting again," he said; "and
+after lunch today she rang up to say she would not appear at the
+Palaceum to-night or any more at all! It's very upsetting for us;
+and I don't mind telling you, gentlemen, that I've been to my
+solicitors about it..."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"And why the blazes didn't you come and tell me?" demanded the
+Chief furiously.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Well, sir, I thought it was only a bit of pique on her part, and
+I hoped to be able to talk the lady round. I know what these
+stars are!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"You've seen her then?" the Chief snapped out.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"No, I haven't!" Mr. Samuel lamented. "I've been twice to the
+Nineveh&mdash;that's where she's stopping&mdash;and each time she was out!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The Chief dismissed him curtly.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+When the door had closed behind him, the Chief said to the First
+Sea Lord:
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"This is where D.O.R.A. steps in, I think, sir!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Decidedly!" replied the Admiral. "Will you take the necessary
+steps?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The Chief nodded and pressed the bell. Matthews appeared.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Anything from the Nineveh?" he asked.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"The lady has not returned, sir!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Anything from Gordon and Duff?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"No, sir, nothing all day!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The telephone on the desk whirred. The Chief lifted the receiver.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Yes. Oh, it's you, Gordon? No, you can say it now: this is a
+private line."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+He listened at the receiver for a couple of minutes. The room was
+very still.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"All right, come to the office at once!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The Chief hung up the receiver and turned to the Admiral.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"She's given us the slip for the moment!" he said. "That was
+Gordon speaking. He and Duff have been shadowing our lady friend
+out of doors for days. She left the hotel on foot after lunch
+this afternoon with my two fellows in her wake. There was a bit
+of a crush on the pavement near Charing Cross and Duff was pushed
+into the roadway and run over by a motor-'bus. In the confusion
+Gordon lost the trail. He's wasted all this time trying to pick
+it up again instead of reporting to me at once."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Zut!" cried the Frenchman.
+</P>
+
+<BR><BR><BR>
+
+<A NAME="chap11"></A>
+<H3 ALIGN="center">
+CHAPTER XI. CREDENTIALS
+</H3>
+
+<P>
+The sight of Nur-el-Din filled Desmond with alarm. For a moment
+his mind was overshadowed by the dread of detection. He had
+forgotten all about Mr. Crook's handiwork in the train, and his
+immediate fear was that the dancer would awake and recognize him.
+But then he caught sight of his face in the mirror over the
+mantelpiece. The grave bearded man staring oddly at him out of
+the glass gave him a shock until he realized the metamorphosis
+that had taken place in his personality. The realization served
+instantly to still his apprehension.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Nur-el-Din lay on her side, one hand under her face which was
+turned away from the fire. She was wearing a big black musquash
+coat, and over her feet she had flung a tweed overcoat,
+apparently one of Mr. Bellward's from the hatstand in the hall.
+Her hat, a very dainty little affair of plain black velvet, was
+skewered with a couple of jewelled hatpins to the upholstery of
+the settee.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Desmond watched her for a moment. Her face looked drawn and tired
+now that her eyelids, with their long sweeping black lashes, were
+closed, shutting off the extraordinary luminosity of her eyes. As
+he stood silently contemplating her, she stirred and moaned in
+her sleep and muttered some word three or four times to herself.
+Desmond was conscious of a great feeling of compassion for this
+strangely beautiful creature. Knowing as he did of the
+hundred-eyed monster of the British Secret Service that was
+watching her, he found himself thinking how frail, how helpless,
+how unprotected she looked, lying there in the flickering light
+of the fire.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+A step resounded behind him and old Martha shuffled into the
+room, carefully shading the lamp she still carried so that its
+rays should not fall on the face of the sleeper.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"I don't know as I've done right, sir," she mumbled, "letting the
+pore lady wait here for you like this, but I couldn't hardly help
+it, sir! She says as how she must see you, and seeing as how your
+first tellygram said you was coming at half-past nine, I lets her
+stop on!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"When did she arrive" asked Desmond softly.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"About six o'clock," answered the old, woman. "Walked all the way
+up from Wentfield Station, too, sir, and that cold she was when
+she arrived here, fair blue with the cold she was, pore dear.
+D'reckly she open her lips, I sees she's a furrin' lady, sir. She
+asks after you and I tells her as how you are away and won't be
+back till this evening. 'Oh!' she says, I then I wait!' And in
+she comes without so much as with your leave or by your leave.
+She told me as how you knew her, sir, and were expecting to see
+her, most important, she said it was, so I hots her up a bit o'
+dinner. I hopes as how I didn't do wrong, Mr. Bellward, sir!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Oh, no, Martha, not at all!" Desmond replied&mdash;at random. He was
+sorely perplexed as to his next move. Obviously the girl could
+not stay in the house. What on earth did she want with him? And
+could he, at any rate, get at the desk and read the papers of
+which the note spoke and which, he did not doubt, were the
+dossier of the Bellward case, before she awoke? They might, at
+least, throw some light on his relations with the dancer.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"She had her dinner here by the fire," old Martha resumed her
+narrative, "and about a quarter past nine comes your second
+tellygram, sir, saying as how you could not arrive till five
+o'clock in the morning."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Desmond glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece. The hands
+pointed to a quarter past five! He had lost all count of the time
+in his peregrinations of the night.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"I comes in here and tells the young lady as how you wouldn't be
+back last night, sir," the old woman continued, "and she says,
+'Oh,' she says, 'then, where shall I go?' she says. 'Why don't
+you go home, my dear?' says I, 'and pop round and see the master
+in the morning,' I says, thinking the pore young lady lives about
+here. And then she tells me as how she come all the way from
+Lunnon and walked up from the station. As well you know, sir, the
+last train up leaves Wentfield Station at five minutes to nine,
+and so the pore young lady couldn't get back that night. So here
+she had to stop. I got the spare room ready for her and lit a
+nice fire and all, but she wouldn't go to bed not until she had
+seen you. I do hope as how I've not done wrong, sir. I says to
+Mr. Hill, I says..."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Desmond held up his hand to restrain her toothless babble.
+Nur-el-Din had stirred and was sitting up, rubbing her eyes. Then
+she caught sight of Desmond and scrambled rather unsteadily to
+her feet.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Monsieur Bellward?" she said in French, "oh, how glad I am to
+see you!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"All right, Martha," said Desmond, "see that the spare room is
+ready for this lady, and don't go to bed just yet. I shall want
+you to take this lady to her room."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The old woman hobbled away, leaving the two alone. As soon as the
+door had closed behind her, Nur-el-Din exclaimed:
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"You know me; hein!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Desmond bowed in the most correct Continental manner.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Who does not know the charming Nur-el-Din?" he replied.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"No!" Nur-el-Din commanded with flashing eyes, "no, not that
+name! I am Madame Le Bon, you, understand, a Belgian refugee,
+from Termonde!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Rather taken aback by her imperious manner, Desmond bowed again
+but said nothing.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"I received your letter," the dancer resumed, "but I did not
+answer it as I did not require your assistance. But now I wish
+your help. It is unfortunate that you were absent from home at
+the very time I counted upon your aid."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+She flashed a glance at him as though awaiting an apology.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"I am extremely sorry," said Desmond, "if I had but known..."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Nur-el-Din nodded carelessly.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"I wish to pass the night here," she went on, "in fact, I may be
+here for several days. They are becoming inconvenient in London,
+you understand."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"But the theatre, your professional engagements?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Bah, I have left the theatre. I have had enough of these stupid
+English people... they know nothing of art!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Desmond reflected a moment. Nur-el-Din's manner was most
+perplexing. What on earth could induce her to adopt this tone of
+condescension towards him? It nettled him. He resolved to try and
+find out on what it was based.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"I am only too happy to be of assistance to you," he said,
+"especially in view of the letter of introduction you sent me,
+but I must tell you plainly that what you ask is impossible."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Impossible?" repeated Nur-el-Din, stamping her feet.
+"Impossible? Do you know what you are saying?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Perfectly," replied Desmond negligently. "Obviously, you must
+stay here for the rest of the night since you cannot return to
+London until the trains start running, but to stay here
+indefinitely as you propose to do is out of the question. People
+would talk!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Then it is your business to see that they don't!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Your letter of introduction came from one whom I am always
+anxious to oblige," Desmond went on. "But the service he is
+authorized to claim from me does not entitle him to jeopardize my
+other activities."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+He drew a breath. It was a long shot. Would it draw her?
+</P>
+
+<P>
+It did. Nur-el-Din fumbled in her bag, produced a leather
+pocket-book and from it produced a slip of paper folded in two.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Read that!" she cried, "and then you shall apologize!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Desmond took the paper. It was a sheet torn from a book of German
+military field messages. "Meldedienst" (Message Service) was
+printed in German at the top and there were blanks to be filled
+in for the date, hour and place, and at the bottom a printed form
+of acknowledgment for the recipient to sign.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+In a large ostentatious, upright German handwriting was written
+what follows:
+</P>
+
+<BR>
+
+<P CLASS="letter">
+"To All Whom it May Concern.
+</P>
+
+<P CLASS="letter">
+"The lady who is the bearer of this, whose description is set out
+overleaf, is entitled to the full respect and assistance of the
+German forces on land and sea and in the air, wherever it may be.
+Her person and property are inviolate.
+</P>
+
+<P CLASS="letter">
+  "Given At Our Headquarters at Metz<BR>
+  "Friedrich Wilhelm                             "Kronprinz des<BR>
+                                             "Deutschen Reiches."<BR>
+</P>
+
+<BR>
+
+<P>
+Across the signature was the impress of a green stamp,
+lozenge-shaped, inscribed "Headquarters of the Fifth Army,
+General Staff, 21st September, 1914."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+On the back of the slip was a detailed description of Nur-el-Din.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Desmond bowed and handed the paper back to its owner.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Madame must accept my humble excuses," he murmured, hardly
+knowing what he was saying, so great was his surprise, "my house
+and services are at Madame's disposal!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"The other letter was from Count Plettenbach, the Prince's
+A.D.C., whom I think you know!" added the dancer in a mollified
+voice as she replaced the slip of paper in its pocketbook and
+stowed it away in her hand-bag. Then, looking up archly at
+Desmond, she said:
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Am I so distasteful, then, to have in your house?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+She made a charming picture. Her heavy fur coat had fallen open,
+disclosing her full round throat, very brown against the V-shaped
+opening of her white silk blouse. Her mouth was a perfect cupid's
+bow, the upper lip slightly drawn up over her dazzlingly white
+teeth. Before Desmond could answer her question, if answer were
+needed, her mood had swiftly changed again. She put her hand out,
+a little brown hand, and laying it on his shoulder, looked up
+appealingly into his eyes.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"You will protect me," she said in a low voice, "I cannot bear
+this hunted life. From this side, from that, they, are closing in
+on me, and I am frightened, so very frightened. Promise you will
+keep me from harm!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Desmond gazed down into her warm, expressive eyes helplessly.
+What she asked was impossible, he knew, but he was a soldier, not
+a policeman, he told himself, and under his breath he cursed the
+Chief for landing him in such a predicament. To Nur-el-Din he
+said gently:
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Tell me what has happened to frighten you. Who is hunting you?
+Is it the police?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+She withdrew her hand with a gesture of contempt.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Bah!" she said bitterly. "I am not afraid of the police."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Then she sank into a reverie, her gaze fixed on the dying embers
+of the fire.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"All my life has been a struggle," she went on, after a moment,
+"first with hunger, then with men, then the police. I am used to
+a hard life. No, it is not the police!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Who is it, then" asked Desmond, completely nonplused.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Nur-el-Din let her eyes rest on his face for a moment.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"You have honest eyes," she said, "your eyes are not German...
+pardon me, I would not insult your race... I mean they are
+different from the rest of you. One day, perhaps, those eyes of
+yours may persuade me to answer your question. But I don't know
+you well enough yet!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+She broke off abruptly, shaking her head.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"I am tired," she sighed and all her haughty manner returned,
+"let the old woman show me to my room. I will take dejeuner with
+you at one o'clock."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Desmond bowed and stepping out into the hall, called the
+housekeeper. Old Martha shuffled off with the girl, leaving
+Desmond staring with vacant eyes into the fire. He was conscious
+of a feeling of exultation, despite his utter weariness and
+craving for sleep. This girl, with her queenly ways, her swiftly
+changing moods, her broad gusts of passion, interested him
+enormously. If she were the quarry, why, then, the chase were
+worth while! But the end? For a brief moment, he had a vision of
+that frail, clinging figure swaying up against some blank wall
+before a file of levelled rifles.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Then again he seemed to see old Mackwayte lying dead on the
+landing of the house at Seven Kings. Had this frail girl done
+this unspeakable deed? To send her to the gallows or before a
+firing-squad&mdash;was this to be the end of his mission? And the
+still, small voice of conscience answered: "Yes! that is what
+you have come here to do!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Old Martha came shuffling down the staircase. Desmond called to
+her, remembering that he did not yet know where his bedroom was.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Will you light me up to my room, Martha?" he said, "I want to be
+sure that the sheets are not damp!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+So saying he extinguished the lamp on the table and followed the
+old woman upstairs.
+</P>
+
+<BR><BR><BR>
+
+<A NAME="chap12"></A>
+<H3 ALIGN="center">
+CHAPTER XII. AT THE MILL HOUSE
+</H3>
+
+<P>
+Clad in a suit of Mr. Basil Bellward's pyjamas of elaborate
+blue-flowered silk, Desmond lay propped up in bed in Mr.
+Bellward's luxuriously fitted bedroom, sipping his morning
+coffee, and studying with absorbed interest a sheet of blue
+foolscap. A number of papers lay strewn about the eiderdown
+quilt. At the head of the bed a handsome Sheraton bureau stood
+open.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+As the French say, Mr. Bellward had refused himself nothing. His
+bedroom was most tastefully furnished. The furniture was
+mahogany, every piece carefully chosen, and the chintz of
+curtains and upholstery was bright and attractive. A most
+elaborate mahogany wardrobe was fitted into the wall, and
+Desmond, investigating it, had found it to contain a very large
+assortment of clothes of every description, all new or nearly so,
+and bearing the name of a famous tailor of Cork Street. Folding
+doors, resembling a cupboard, disclosed, when open, a marble
+basin with hot water laid on, while a curtained door in the
+corner of the room gave access to a white tiled bathroom. Mr.
+Bellward, Desmond had reflected after his tour of the room on his
+arrival, evidently laid weight on his personal comfort; for the
+contrast between the cheerful comfort of his bedroom and the
+musty gloom of the rooms downstairs was very marked.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+A bright log fire hissed on the open hearth and the room was
+pleasantly warm. Old Martha's coffee was excellent, and Desmond,
+very snug in Mr. Bellward's comfortable bed, noted with regret
+that the clock on the mantel-shelf marked a quarter to twelve.
+But then he thought of the tete-a-tete luncheon that awaited him
+at one o'clock and his face cleared. He didn't mind getting up so
+much after all.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+He fell again to the perusal of the documents which he had found,
+as indicated in the note from headquarters, in the desk by the
+bed. They were enclosed in two envelopes, one large, the other
+small, both without any superscription. The large envelope
+enclosed Mr. Bellward's dossier which consisted of a fairly
+detailed account of his private life, movements, habits and
+friends, and an account of his arrest. The small envelope
+contained Desmond's eagerly expected orders.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Desmond examined the papers in the large envelope first. From
+them he ascertained that the house in which he found himself was
+called The Mill House, and was situated two and a half miles from
+the station of Wentfield on the Great Eastern Railway in Essex.
+Mr. Bellward had taken the place some eight years before, having
+moved there from the Surrey hills, but had been wont to spend not
+more than two months in the year there. For the rest of the time
+he traveled abroad, usually passing the winter months on the
+Riviera, and the spring in Switzerland or Italy. The war had
+brought about a change in his habits, and Harrogate, Buxton and
+Bath had taken the place of the Continental resorts which he had
+frequented in peace time.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+When in residence at The Mill House, Mr. Bellward had gone up to
+London nearly every morning, either walking or going by
+motor-cycle to the station, and not returning until dinner-time
+in the evening. Sometimes he passed the night in London, and on
+such occasions slept at a small hotel in Jermyn Street. His
+dossier included, a long and carefully compiled list of the
+people he knew in London, mostly men of the rich business set,
+stockbrokers, manufacturers, solicitors, and the like. Against
+every name was set a note of the exact degree of intimacy
+existing between Bellward and the man in question, and any other
+information that might serve Bellward's impersonator in good
+stead. Desmond laid this list aside for the moment, intending to
+study it more closely at his leisure.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Of intercourse with his neighbors in, the country, Mr. Bellward
+apparently had none. The Mill House stood in a lonely part of the
+country, remote from the more thickly populated centres of
+Brentwood and Romford, on the edge of a wide tract of
+inhospitable marshland, known as Morstead Fen, intersected by
+those wide deep ditches which in this part of the world are known
+as dykes. At this stage in the report there was a note to the
+effect that the rector of Wentfield had called twice at The Mill
+House but had not found Mr. Bellward at home, and that his visits
+had not been returned. There were also some opinions apparently
+culled locally regarding the tenant of the Mill House, set out
+something in this wise:&mdash;
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Landlord of the Red Lion, Wentfield: The gentleman has never
+been to the Red Lion, but sometimes orders my Ford car and always
+pays regularly.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"The Stationmaster at Wentfield: A gentleman who keeps himself to
+himself but very liberal with his money.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Sir Marsham Dykes, of The Chase, Stanning: A damned unsociable
+churlish fellow.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Mr. Tracy Wentfield, of the Channings, Home Green: A very rude
+man. He slammed the front door of the house in my face when I
+went to ask him for a contribution to our Cottage Hospital. It is
+not my habit to repeat idle gossip, but they do say he is a heavy
+drinker."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+There was a lot more of this sort of thing, and Desmond turned
+from it with a smile to take up the account of Bellward's arrest.
+It appeared that, about a fortnight before, on the eve of the
+departure for France of a very large draft of troops, a telegram
+was handed in at the East Strand telegraph office addressed to
+Bellward. This telegram ran thus:
+</P>
+
+<BR>
+
+<PRE>
+  "Bellward, Bellward Hotel, Jermyn Street.
+  "Shipping to you Friday 22,000 please advise correspondents.
+                                 "Mortimer."
+</PRE>
+
+<BR>
+
+<P>
+The authorities were unable to deliver this telegram as no
+such an hotel as the Hotel Bellward was found to exist in Jermyn
+Street. An examination of the address showed clearly that the
+sender had absent mindedly repeated the addressee's name in
+writing the name of the hotel. An advice was therefore addressed
+to the sender, Mortimer, at the address he had given on the back
+of the form, according to the regulations, to inform him that his
+telegram had not been delivered. It was then discovered that the
+address given by Mortimer was fictitious.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Suspicion being thus aroused, the telegram was forwarded to the
+Postal Censor's department whence it reached the Intelligence
+Authorities who promptly spotted the connection between the
+wording of the telegram and the imminent departure of the drafts,
+more especially as the dates tallied. Thereupon, Mr. Bellward was
+hunted up and ultimately traced by his correspondence to The Mill
+House. He was not found there, but was eventually encountered at
+his London hotel, and requested to appear before the authorities
+with a view to throwing some light on Mortimer. Under
+cross-examination Bellward flatly denied any knowledge of
+Mortimer, and declared that a mistake had been made. He cited
+various well known city men to speak for his bona-fides and
+protested violently against the action of the authorities in
+doubting his word. It was ultimately elicited that Bellward was
+of German birth and had never been naturalized, and he was
+detained in custody while a search was made at The Mill House.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The search was conducted with great discretion, old Martha being
+got out of the way before the detectives arrived and a careful
+watch being kept to avoid any chance of interruption. The search
+had the most fruitful results. Hidden in a secret drawer of the
+Sheraton desk in Bellward's bedroom, was found a most elaborate
+analysis of the movements of the transports to France, extremely
+accurate and right up to date. There was absolutely no
+indication, however, as to whence Bellward received his reports,
+and how or to whom he forwarded them. It was surmised that
+Mortimer was his informant, but an exhaustive search of the post
+office files of telegrams despatched showed no trace of any other
+telegram from Mortimer to Bellward save the one in the possession
+of the authorities. As for Mortimer, he remained a complete
+enigma.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+That, summarised, was the gist of the story of Bellward's arrest.
+The report laid great stress on the fact that no one outside half
+a dozen Intelligence men had any knowledge (a) of Bellward being
+an unnaturalized German, (b) of his arrest.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Desmond's orders, which he reserved to the last ere short and to
+the point. They consisted of five numbered clauses.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"1. You will have a free hand. The surveillance of the house was
+withdrawn on your arrival and will not be renewed.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"2. You will not leave the house until further orders.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"3. You will keep careful note of any communication that may be
+made to you, whether verbal or in writing, of whatever nature it
+is. When you have anything to be forwarded, ring up 700 Slanning
+on the telephone and give Bellward's name. You will hand your
+report to the first person calling at the house thereafter asking
+for the letter for Mr. Elias.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"4. If help is urgently required, ring up 700 Stanning and ask
+for Mr. Elias. Assistance will be with you within 15 minutes
+after. This expedient must only be used in the last extremity.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"5. Memorize these documents and burn the lot before you leave
+the house."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Handy fellow, Mr. Elias," was Desmond's commentary, as he sprang
+out of bed and made for the bathroom. At a quarter to one he was
+ready dressed, feeling very scratchy and uncomfortable about the
+beard which he had not dared to remove owing to Nur-el-Din's
+presence in the house. Before he left the bedroom, he paused a
+moment at the desk, the documents of the Bellward case in his
+hands. He had a singularly retentive memory, and he was loth to
+have these compromising papers in the house whilst Nur-el-Din was
+there. He took a quick decision and pitched the whole lot into
+the fire, retaining only the annotated list of Mr. Bellward's
+friends. This he placed in his pocket-book and, after watching
+the rest of the papers crumble away into ashes, went downstairs
+to lunch.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Nur-el-Din was in the drawing-room, a long room with two high
+windows which gave on a neglected looking garden. A foaming,
+churning brook wound its way through the garden, among stunted
+bushes and dripping willows, obviously the mill-race from which
+the house took its name. The drawing-room was a bare,
+inhospitable room, studded here and there with uncomfortable
+looking early Victorian armchairs swathed in dust-proof cloths. A
+fire was making an unsuccessful attempt to burn in the open
+grate.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Nur-el-Din turned as he entered the room. She was wearing a gray
+cloth tailor-made with a white silk, blouse and a short skirt
+showing a pair of very natty brown boots. By contrast with her
+ugly surroundings she looked fresh and dainty. Her eyes were
+bright and her face as smooth and unwrinkled as a child's.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Bon jour," she cried gaily, "ah! but I am 'ungry!  It is the air
+of the country!  I love so the country!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"I hope you slept well, Madame!" said Desmond solicitously,
+looking admiringly at her trim figure.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Like a dead man," she replied with a little laugh, translating
+the French idiom. "Shall we make a leetle promenade after the
+dejeuner? And you shall show me your pretty English country,
+voulez-vous? You see, I am dressed for le footing!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+She lifted a little brown foot.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+They had a delightful luncheon together. Old Martha, who proved
+to be quite a passable cook, waited on them. There was some
+excellent Burgundy and a carafe of old brandy with the coffee.
+Nur-el-Din was in her most gracious and captivating mood. She had
+dropped all her arrogance of their last interview and seemed to
+lay herself out to please. She had a keen sense of humor and
+entertained Desmond vastly by her anecdotes of her stage career,
+some not a little risque, but narrated with the greatest
+bon-homie.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+But, strongly attracted as he was to the girl, Desmond did not
+let himself lose sight of his ultimate object. He let her run on
+as gaily as she might but steadily, relentlessly he swung the
+conversation round to her last engagement at the Palaceum. He
+wanted to see if she would make any reference to the murder at
+Seven Kings. If he could only bring in old Mackwayte's name, he
+knew that the dancer must allude to the tragedy.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Then the unexpected happened. The girl introduce the old
+comedian's name herself.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"The only pleasant memory I shall preserve of the Palaceum," she
+said in French, "is my meeting with an old comrade of my youth.
+Imagine, I had not seen him for nearly twenty years. Monsieur
+Mackwayte, his name is, we used to call him Monsieur Arthur in
+the old days when I was the child acrobat of the Dupont Troupe.
+Such a charming fellow; and not a bit changed!  He was doing a
+deputy turn at the Palaceum on the last night I appeared there!
+And he introduced me to his daughter! Une belle Anglaise! I shall
+hope to see my old friend again when I go back to London!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Desmond stared at her. If this were acting, the most hardened
+criminal could not have carried it off better. He searched the
+girl's face. It was frank and innocent. She ran on about
+Mackwayte in the old days, his kindliness to everyone, his pretty
+wife, without a shadow of an attempt to avoid an unpleasant
+topic. Desmond began to believe that not only did the girl have
+nothing to do with the tragedy but that actually she knew nothing
+about it.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Did you see the newspapers yesterday?" he asked suddenly.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"My friend," said Nur-el-Din, shaking her curls at him. "I never
+read your English papers. There is nothing but the war in them.
+And this war!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+She gave a little shudder and was silent.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+At this moment old Martha, who had left them over their coffee
+and cigarettes, came into the room.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"There's a gentleman called to see you, sir!" she said to
+Desmond.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Desmond started violently. He was scarcely used to his new role
+as yet.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Who is it, Martha?" he said, mastering his agitation.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Mr. Mortimer!" mumbled the old woman in her tired voice, "at
+least that's what he said his name was. The gentleman hadn't got
+a card!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Nur-el-Din sprang up from her chair so vehemently that she upset
+her coffee.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Don't let him come in!" she cried in French.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Did you say I was in?" Desmond asked the old housekeeper, who
+was staring at the dancer.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Why, yes, sir," the woman answered.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Desmond made a gesture of vexation.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Where is this Mr. Mortimer?" he asked
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"In the library, sir!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Tell him I will be with him at once."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Martha hobbled away and Desmond turned to the girl.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"You heard what my housekeeper said? The man is here. I shall
+have to see him."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Nur-el-Din, white to the lips, stood by the table, nervously
+twisting a little handkerchief.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Non, non," she said rapidly, "you must not see him. He has come
+to find me. Ah! if he should find out what I have done... you
+will not give me up to this man?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"You need not see him," Desmond expostulated gently, "I will say
+you are not here! Who is this Mortimer that he should seek to do
+you harm?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"My friend," said the dancer sadly, "he is my evil genius. If I
+had dreamt that you knew him I would never have sought refuge in
+your house."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"But I've never set eyes on the man in my life!" exclaimed
+Desmond.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The dancer shook her head mournfully at him.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Very few of you have, my friend," she replied, "but you are all
+under his orders, nest-ce pas?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Desmond's heart leaped. Was Mortimer's the guiding hand of this
+network of conspiracy?
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"I've trusted you, Monsieur," Nur-el-Din continued in a pleading
+voice, "you will respect the laws of hospitality, and hide me
+from this man. You will not give me up! Promise it, my friend?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Desmond felt strangely moved. Was this a callous murderess, a
+hired spy, who, with her great eyes brimming over with tears,
+entreated his protection so simply, so appealingly?
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"I promise I will not give you up to him, Mademoiselle!" he said
+and hated himself in the same breath for the part he had to play.
+Then he left her still standing by the table, lost in thought.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Desmond walked through the hall to the room in which he had found
+Nur-el-Din asleep on his arrival. His nerves were strung up tight
+for the impending encounter with this Mortimer, whoever, whatever
+he was. Desmond did not hesitate on the threshold of the room. He
+quietly opened the door and walked in.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+A man in a black and white check suit with white gaiters stood on
+the hearthrug, his hands tucked behind his back. He had a
+curiously young-old appearance, such as is found in professors
+and scientists of a certain type. This suggestion was probably
+heightened by the very strong spectacles he wore, which magnified
+his eyes until they looked like large colored marbles. He had a
+heavy curling moustache resembling that affected by the late Lord
+Randolph Churchill. There was a good deal of mud on his boots,
+showing that he had come on foot.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The two men measured one another in a brief but courteous glance.
+Desmond wondered what on earth this man's profession was. He was
+quite unable to place him.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Mr. Bellward?" said Mortimer, in a pleasant cultivated voice, "I
+am pleased to have this opportunity of meeting you personally."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Desmond bowed and muttered something conventional. Mortimer had
+put out his hand but Desmond could not nerve himself to take it.
+Instead he pushed forward a chair.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Thanks," said Mortimer sitting down heavily, "I've had quite a
+walk across the fen. It's pleasant out but damp! I suppose you
+didn't get my letter?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Which letter was that" asked Desmond.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Why the one asking you to let me know when you would be back so
+that we might meet at last!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Desmond shook his head.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"No," he said, "I didn't get that one. It must have gone astray.
+As a matter of fact," he added, "I only got back this morning."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Oh, well then, I am fortunate in my visit," said Mortimer. "Did
+everything go off all right?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Oh, yes," Desmond hastened to say, not knowing what he was
+talking about, "everything went off all right."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"I don't in the least grudge you the holiday," the other
+observed, "one should always be careful to pay the last respects
+to the dead. It makes a good impression. That is so important in
+some countries!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+He beamed at Desmond through his spectacles.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Was there anything left in your absence?" he asked, "no, there
+would be nothing; I suppose!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Desmond took a firm resolution. He must know what the man was
+driving at.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"I don't know what you mean," he said bluntly.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"God bless my soul!" ejaculated Mortimer turning round to stare
+at him through his grotesque glasses. And then he said very
+deliberately in German:
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"War niemand da?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Desmond stood up promptly.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"What do you want with me?" he asked quietly, "and why do you
+speak German in my house?" Mortimer gazed at him blankly.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Excellence, most excellent," he gasped. "I love prudence. My
+friend, where are your eyes?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+He put a large, firm hand up and touched the upper edge of the
+left lapel of his jacket. Desmond followed his gesture with his
+eyes and saw the other's first finger resting on the shiny glass
+head of a black pin. Almost instinctively Desmond imitated the
+gesture. His fingers came into contact with a glassheaded pin
+similarly embedded in the upper edge of the lapel of his own
+coat.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Then he understood. This must be the distinguishing badge of this
+confraternity of spies. It was a clever idea, for the black pin
+was practically invisible, unless one looked for it, and even if
+seen, would give rise to no suspicions. It had obviously escaped
+the notice of the Chief and his merry men, and Desmond made a
+mental resolve to rub this omission well into his superior on the
+first opportunity. He felt he owed the Chief one.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Mr. Mortimer cleared his throat, as though to indicate the
+conclusion of the episode. Desmond sat down on the settee.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Nothing came while I was away!" he said.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Now that you are back," Mortimer remarked, polishing his glasses
+with a bandanna handkerchief, "the service will be resumed. I
+have come to see you, Mr. Bellward," he went on, turning to
+Desmond, "contrary to my usual practice, mainly because I wished
+to confirm by personal observation the very favorable opinion I
+had formed of your ability from our correspondence. You have
+already demonstrated your discretion to me. If you continue to
+show that your prudence is on a level with your zeal, believe I
+shall not prove myself ungrateful."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+So saying he settled his glasses on his nose again.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The action woke Desmond from a brown study. During the operation
+of wiping his spectacles, Mr. Mortimer had given Desmond a
+glimpse of his eyes in their natural state without the protection
+of those distorting glasses. To his intense surprise Desmond had
+seen, instead of the weak, blinking eyes of extreme myopia, a
+pair of keen piercing eyes with the clear whites of perfect
+health. Those blue eyes, set rather close together, seemed dimly
+familiar. Someone, somewhere, had once looked at him like that.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"You are too kind," murmured Desmond, grappling for the thread of
+the conversation.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Mortimer did not apparently notice his absentmindedness.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Everything has run smoothly," he resumed, "on the lines on which
+we have been working hitherto, but more important work lies
+before us. I have found it necessary to select a quiet rendezvous
+where I might have an opportunity of conferring in person with my
+associates. The first of these conferences will take place very
+shortly. I count upon your attendance, Bellward!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"I shall not fail you," replied Desmond. "But where is this
+rendezvous of yours, might I ask?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Mortimer shot a quick glance at him.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"You shall know in good time," he answered drily. Then he added:
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Do you mind if I have a few words with Nur-el-Din before I go!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The unexpected question caught Desmond off his guard.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Nur-el-Din?" he stammered feebly.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"She is staying with you, I believe," said Mortimer pleasantly.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Desmond shook his head.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"There must be some mistake," he averred stoutly, "of course I
+know who you mean, but I have never met the lady. She is not
+here. What led you to suppose she was?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+But even as he spoke, his eyes fell on a black object which lay
+near his arm stretched out along the back of the settee. It was a
+little velvet hat, skewered to the upholstery of the settee by a
+couple of jewelled hat-pins. A couple of gaudy cushions lay
+between it and Mortimer's range of vision from the chair in which
+the latter was sitting. If only Mortimer had not spotted it
+already!
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Desmond's presence of mind did not desert him. On the pretext of
+settling himself more comfortably he edged up another cushion
+until it rested upon the other two, thus effectively screening
+the hat from Mortimer's view even when he should get up.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"I wish she were here," Desmond added, smiling, "one could not
+have a more delightful companion to share one's solitude, I
+imagine."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"The lady has disappeared from London under rather suspicious
+circumstances;" Mortimer said, letting his grotesque eyes rest
+for a moment on Desmond's face, "to be quite frank with you, my
+dear fellow, she has been indiscreet, and the police are after
+her."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"You don't say!" cried Desmond.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Indeed, it is a fact," replied the other, "I wish she would take
+you as her model, my dear Bellward. You are the pattern of
+prudence, are you not?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+He paused perceptibly and Desmond held his breath.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"She has very few reputable friends," Mortimer continued
+presently, "under a cloud as she is, she could hardly frequent
+the company of her old associates, Mowbury and Lazarro and Mrs.
+Malplaquet, you doubtless know whom I mean. I know she has a very
+strong recommendation to you, so I naturally thought&mdash;well, no
+matter!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+He rose and extended his hand.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Au revoir, Bellward," he said, "you shall hear from me very
+soon. You've got a snug little place here, I must say, and
+everything in charming taste. I like your pretty cushions."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The blood flew to Desmond's face and he bent down, on pretense of
+examining the cushions, to hide his confusion.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"They aren't bad," he said, "I got them at Harrod's!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+He accompanied Mortimer to the front door and watched him
+disappear down the short drive and turn out of the gate into the
+road. Then feeling strangely ill at ease, he went back to join
+Nur-el-Din in the dining-room. But only the housekeeper was
+there, clearing the table.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"If you're looking for the young lady, sir," said old Martha,
+"she's gone out!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Oh!" said Desmond, with a shade of disappointment in his voice,
+"will she be back for tea?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"She's not coming back at all," answered the old woman, "she told
+me to tell you she could not stop, sir. And she wouldn't let me
+disturb you, neither, sir."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"But did she leave no note or anything for me?" asked Desmond.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"No, sir," answered old Martha as she folded up the cloth.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Gone! Desmond stared gloomily out at the sopping garden with an
+uneasy feeling that he had failed in his duty.
+</P>
+
+<BR><BR><BR>
+
+<A NAME="chap13"></A>
+<H3 ALIGN="center">
+CHAPTER XIII. WHAT SHAKESPEARE'S COMEDIES REVEALED
+</H3>
+
+<P>
+In a very depressed frame of mind, Desmond turned into the
+library. As he crossed the hall, he noticed how cheerless the
+house was. Again there came to him that odor of mustiness&mdash;of all
+smells the most eerie and drear&mdash;which he had noticed on his
+arrival. Somehow, as long as Nur-el-Din had been there, he had
+not remarked the appalling loneliness of the place.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+A big log fire was blazing cheerfully in the grate, throwing out
+a bright glow into the room which, despite the early hour, was
+already wreathed in shadows. Wearily Desmond pulled a big
+armchair up to the blaze and sat down. He told himself that he
+must devote every minute of his spare time to going over in his
+mind the particulars he had memorized of Mr. Bellward's habits
+and acquaintanceships. He took the list of Bellward's friends
+from his pocket-book.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+But this afternoon he found it difficult to concentrate his
+attention. His gaze kept wandering back to the fire, in whose
+glowing depths he fancied he could see a perfect oval face with
+pleading eyes and dazzling teeth looking appealingly at him.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Nur-el-Din! What an entrancing creature she was! What passion
+lurked in those black eyes of hers, in her moods, swiftly
+changing from gusts of fierce imperiousness to gentle airs of
+feminine charm! What a frail little thing she was to have fought
+her way alone up the ladder from the lowest rung to the very top!
+She must have character and grit, Desmond decided, for he was a
+young man who adored efficiency: to him efficiency spelled
+success.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+But a spy needs grit, he reflected, and Nur-el-Din had many
+qualities which would enable her to win the confidence of men.
+Hadn't she half-captivated him, the would-be spy-catcher,
+already?
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Desmond laughed ruefully to himself. Indeed, he mused, things
+looked that way. What would the Chief say if he could see his
+prize young man, his white-headed boy, sitting sentimentalizing
+by the fire over a woman who was, by her own confession,
+practically an accredited German agent? Desmond thrust his chin
+out and shook himself together. He would put the feminine side of
+Nur-el-Din out of his head. He must think of her henceforth only
+as a member of the band that was spotting targets for those
+sneaking, callous brutes of U-boat commanders.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+He went back to the study of the list of Mr. Bellward's friends.
+But he found it impossible to focus his mind upon it. Do what he
+would, he could not rid himself of the sensation that he had
+failed at the very outset of his mission. He was, indeed, he told
+himself, the veriest tyro at the game. Here he had had under his
+hand in turn Nur-el-Din and Mortimer (who, he made no doubt, was
+the leader of the gang which was so sorely troubling the Chief),
+and he had let both get away without eliciting from either even
+as much as their address. By the use of a little tact, he had
+counted on penetrating something of the mystery enveloping the
+dancer and her relationship with the gang; for he thought he
+divined that Nur-el-Din was inclined to make him her confidant.
+With the information thus procured, he had hoped to get on to the
+track of the leader of the band.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+But that ugly brute; Mortimer, with his goggle eyes, had spoiled
+everything. His appearance had taken Desmond completely by
+surprise: to tell the truth, it had thrown our young man rather
+off his guard. "If only I might have had a little longer
+acquaintance with my part," he reflected bitterly as $e sat by
+the fire, "I should have been better able to deal with that
+pompous ass!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Afterwards, when thinking over the opening events of this
+extraordinary episode of his career, Desmond rather wondered why
+he had not followed Mortimer out of the house that afternoon and
+tracked him down to his hiding place. But, as a matter of fact,
+the idea did not occur to him at the time. His orders were
+positive not to leave the house, and he never even thought of
+breaking them&mdash;at any rate, not then.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+His orders, also, it is true, were to report to headquarters any
+communication that might be made to him; but these instructions,
+at least as far as Nur-el-Din's and Mortimer's visits were
+concerned, he resolved to ignore.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+For one thing, he felt angry with the Chief who, he argued rather
+irrationally, ought to have foreseen and prevented Mortimer thus
+taking him by surprise. The Chief liked secrets&mdash;well, for a
+change, he should be kept in the dark and the laugh would be on
+Desmond's side. For a few minutes after Mortimer's departure,
+Desmond had felt strongly inclined to go to the telephone which
+stood on the desk in the library and ring up Mr. Elias, as he
+should have done, but he resisted this impulse. Now, thinking
+things over in the firelight, he was glad he had refrained. He
+would ferret out for himself the exact part that Nur-el-Din and
+Mortimer were playing in this band of spies. Nothing definite had
+come of his interviews with them as yet. It would be time enough
+to communicate with Headquarters when he had something positive
+to report.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Then Desmond thrust the paper he had been studying back in his
+pocket-book and jumped up. He felt that the inaction was stifling
+him. He determined to go for a walk round the garden. That, at
+least, was in the spirit of his orders.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Remembering that he was supposed to be suffering from a chill he
+donned a heavy Ulster of Bellward's which was hanging in the hall
+and wound a muffler round his neck. Then cramming a soft cap on
+his head (he noted with satisfaction that Bellward's hats fitted
+him remarkably well) he opened the front door and stepped
+outside.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The rain had stopped, but the whole atmosphere reeled of
+moisture. Angry-looking, dirty-brown clouds chased each other
+across the lowering sky, and there was a constant sound of water,
+trickling and gurgling and splashing, in his ears.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+An untidy-looking lawn with a few unkempt and overgrown
+rhododendron bushes dotted here and there ran its length in front
+of the house and terminated in an iron railing which separated
+the grounds from a little wood. A badly water-logged drive, green
+with grass in places, ran past the lawn in a couple of short
+bends to the front gate. On the other side the drive was bordered
+by what had once been a kitchen garden but was now a howling
+wilderness of dead leaves, mud and gravel with withered bushes
+and half a dozen black, bare and dripping apple trees set about
+at intervals. At the side of the house the kitchen garden stopped
+and was joined by a flower garden&mdash;at least so Desmond judged it
+to have been by a half ruined pergola which he had noticed from
+the drawing-room windows. Through the garden ran the mill-race
+which poured out of the grounds through a field and under a
+little bridge spanning the road outside.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Desmond followed the drive as far as the front gate. The
+surrounding country was as flat as a pancake, and in almost every
+field lay great glistening patches of water where the land had
+been flooded by the incessant rain. The road on which the house
+was built ran away on the left to the mist-shrouded horizon
+without another building of any kind in sight. Desmond surmised
+that Morstead Fen lay in the direction in which he was looking.
+To the right, Desmond caught a glimpse of a ghostly spire
+sticking out of some trees and guessed that this was Wentfield
+Church. In front of him the distant roar of a passing train
+showed where the Great Eastern Railway line lay.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+More depressed than ever by the utter desolation of the scene,
+Desmond turned to retrace his steps to the house. Noticing a path
+traversing the kitchen garden, he followed it. It led to the back
+of the house, to the door of a kind of lean-to shed. The latch
+yielded on being pressed and Desmond entered the place.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+He found himself in a fair-sized shed, very well and solidly
+built of pitch-pine, with a glazed window looking out on the
+garden, a table and a couple of chairs, and a large cupboard
+which occupied the whole of one side of the wall of the house
+against which the shed was built. In a corner of the shed stood a
+very good-looking Douglas motor-cycle, and on a nail on the wall
+hung a set of motor-cyclist's overalls. A few petrol cans, some
+full, some empty, stood against the wall.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Desmond examined the machine. It was in excellent condition,
+beautifully clean, the tank half full of spirits. A little dry
+sand on the tires showed that it had been used fairly recently.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Old man Bellward's motor-bike that he goes to the station on,"
+Desmond noted mentally. "But what's in the big cupboard, I
+wonder? Tools, I expect!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Then he caught sight of a deep drawer in the table. It was
+half-open and he saw that it contained various tools and spare
+parts, neatly arranged, each one in its appointed place.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+He went over to the cupboard and tried it. It was locked. Desmond
+had little respect for Mr. Bellward's property so he went over to
+the tool drawer and selected a stout chisel with which to burst
+the lock of the cupboard. But the cupboard was of oak, very
+solidly built, and he tried in vain to get a purchase for his
+implement. He leant his left hand against the edge of the
+cupboard whilst with his right he jabbed valiantly with the
+chisel.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Then an extraordinary thing happened. The whole cupboard
+noiselessly swung outwards while Desmond, falling forward, caught
+his forehead a resounding bang against the edge of the recess in
+which it moved. He picked himself up in a very savage frame of
+mind&mdash;a severe blow on the head is not the ideal cure for
+hypochondria&mdash;but the flow of objurgatives froze on his lips. For
+he found himself looking into Mr. Bellward's library.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+He stepped into the room to see how the cupboard looked from the
+other side. He found that a whole section of bookshelves had
+swung back with the cupboard, in other words that the cupboard in
+the toolshed and the section of bookshelves were apparently all
+of one piece.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+He carefully examined the walls on either side of the recess in
+the library to see how the mechanism worked. The bookshelves were
+open, made of mahogany, the sides elaborately carved with leaves
+and flowers. Desmond ran his hand down the perpendicular section
+immediately on the right of the recess. About halfway down&mdash;to be
+exact, it was in line with the fifth shelf from the floor&mdash;his
+fingers encountered a little knob which gave under pressure&mdash;the
+heart of a flower which released the section of bookshelves.
+Going back to the shed, Desmond examined the place against which
+his hand had rested as he sought to force the lock of the
+cupboard. As he expected, he found a similar catch let into the
+surface of the oak, but so cunningly inlaid that it could scarce
+be detected with the naked eye.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Before proceeding further with his investigations, Desmond softly
+turned the lock of the library door. He also shot forward a bolt
+he found on the inside of the door of the shed. He did not want
+to be interrupted by the housekeeper or the odd man.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Then he went back to the library and pulled the cupboard to
+behind him. It moved quite easily into place. He wanted to have a
+look at the bookshelves; for he was curious to know whether the
+cupboard was actually all of one piece with the section of
+bookshelves as it seemed to be. He was prepared to find that the
+books were merely library dummies, but no! He tried half a dozen
+shelves at random, and every book he pulled out was real.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Desmond was not easily baled, and he determined to scrutinize
+every shelf, of this particular section in turn. With the aid of
+one of those step-ladders folding into a chair which you
+sometimes see in libraries, he examined the topmost shelves but
+without result. He took down in turn Macaulay's History of
+England, a handsome edition of the works of Swift, and a set of
+Moliere without getting any nearer the end of his quest.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The fourth shelf from the top was devoted to a library edition of
+Shakespeare, large books bound in red morocco. Desmond, who, by
+this time was getting cramp in the arms from stretching upwards
+and had made his hands black with dust, pulled out a couple of
+volumes at hazard from the set and found them real books like the
+rest.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Oh, damn!" he exclaimed, and had half a mind to abandon the
+search and have a go with hammer and chisel at the cupboard in
+the shed. By this time it was almost dusk in the library, and
+Desmond, before abandoning the search, struck a match to have a
+final rapid glance over the shelves. The light showed him a
+curious flatness about the backs of the last six volumes of
+Shakespeare. He dropped the match and laid hold of a volume of
+the Comedies. It resisted. He tugged. Still it would not come.
+Exerting all his strength, he pulled, the gilt-lettered backs of
+the last six volumes came away in his hands in one piece and he
+crashed off the ladder to the ground.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+This time he did not swear. He picked himself up quickly, lit the
+lamp on the table by the window, and brought it over to the
+bookcase. Where Shakespeare's Comedies had stood was now a gaping
+void with a small key stuck in a lock, above a brass handle.
+Desmond mounted on the steps again and eagerly turned the key.
+Then he grasped the handle and puled, the section of bookshelves
+swung back like a door, and he found himself face to face with a
+great stack of petrol cans. They lay in orderly piles stretching
+from the floor to the top of the bookshelves near the railing,
+several tiers deep. At a rough computation there must have been
+several hundred cans in the recess. And they were all full.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+In a flash Desmond realized what his discovery signified. The
+motor-cycle in the shed without was the connecting link between
+Bellward and the man with whom he was co-operating in the
+organization. Under pretext of reading late in his library
+Bellward would send old Martha to bed, and once the house was
+quiet, sally forth by his secret exit and meet his confederate.
+Even when he was supposed to be sleeping in London he could still
+use the Mill House for a rendezvous, entering and leaving by the
+secret door, and no one a bit the wiser. In that desolate part of
+Essex, the roads are practically deserted after dark. Bellward
+could come and go much as he pleased on his motor-cycle. Were he
+stopped, he always had the excuse ready that he was going to&mdash;or
+returning from the station. The few petrol cans that Desmond had
+seen openly displayed in the shed without seemed to show that
+Bellward received a small quantity of spirit from the Petrol
+Board to take him to and from the railway.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The cache, so elaborately concealed, however, pointed to long
+journeys. Did Bellward undertake these trips to fetch news or to
+transmit it? And who was his confederate? Whom did he go to meet?
+Not Mortimer; for he had only, corresponded with Bellward. Nor
+was it Nur-el-Din; for she had never met Bellward, either.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Who was it, then?
+</P>
+
+<BR><BR><BR>
+
+<A NAME="chap14"></A>
+<H3 ALIGN="center">
+CHAPTER XIV. BARBARA TAKES A HAND
+</H3>
+
+<P>
+"No luck, Mr. Marigold," said the Assistant Provost Marshal, "I'm
+sorry, but there it is! We've made every possible inquiry about
+this Private... er..." he glanced at the buff-colored leave pass
+in his hand, "... this Gunner Barling, but we can't trace him so
+far. He should have gone back to France the afternoon before the
+day on which you found his pass. But he hasn't rejoined his unit.
+He's been posted as an absentee, and the police have been warned.
+I'm afraid we can't do any more than that!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The detective looked at the officer with mild reproach in his
+eyes.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Dear, dear," he replied, "and I made sure you'd be able to trace
+him with that pass!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+He clicked his tongue against his teeth and shook his head.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Dear, dear!" he said again.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"What's the feller been up to?" asked the A.P.M. Detectives have
+a horror of leading questions, and Mr. Marigold shrank visibly
+before the directness of the other's inquiry. Before replying,
+however, he measured the officer with his calm, shrewd eye. Mr.
+Marigold was not above breaking his own rules of etiquette if
+thereby he might gain a useful ally.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Well, Captain Beardiston," he answered slowly,
+"I'll tell you because I think that you may be able to help me a
+little bit. It's part of your work to look after deserters and
+absentees and those sort o' folk, isn't it?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The A.P.M. groaned.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Part of my work?" he repeated, "it seems to be my whole life
+ever since I came back from the front."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"If you want to know what this young fellow has been up to," said
+Mr. Marigold in his even voice, "it's murder, if I'm not
+mistaken!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Murder?" echoed the other in surprise. "Why, not the Seven Kings
+murder, surely?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The detective gave a brisk nod.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"That's it," he replied, "I'm in charge of that case, if you
+follow me. I found that pass in the front garden of the
+Mackwayte's house in Laleham Villas, half trodden into the earth
+of the flower-bed by a heavy boot, a service boot, studded with
+nails. There had been a lot of rain in the night, and it had
+washed the mosaic-tiled pathway up to the front door almost
+clean. When I was having a look round the garden, I picked up
+this pass, and then I spotted the trace of service boots, a bit
+faint, on the beds. You know the way the nails are set in the
+issue boots?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The officer nodded:
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"I ought to know that foot-print," he said. "It's all over the
+roads in northern France."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"We made inquiries through you," the detective resumed, "and when
+I found that this Gunner Barling, the owner of the pass, was
+missing, well, you will admit, it looked a bit suspicious."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Still, you know," the A.P.M. objected, "this man appears to have
+the most excellent character. He's got a clean sheet; he's never
+gone absent before. And he's been out with his battery almost
+since the beginning of the war."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"I'm not making any charge against him as yet," answered the
+detective, picking up his hat, "but it would interest me very
+much, very much indeed, Captain Beardiston, to have five minutes'
+chat with this gunner. And so I ask you to keep a sharp lookout
+for a man answering to his description, and if you come across
+him, freeze on to him hard, and give me a ring on the telephone."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Right you are," said the officer, "I'll hold him for you, Mr.
+Marigold. But I hope your suspicions are not well-founded."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+For a brief moment the detective became a human being.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"And so do I, if you want to know," he said. "One can forgive
+those lads who are fighting out there almost anything. I've got a
+boy in France myself!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+A little sigh escaped him, and then Mr. Marigold remembered "The
+Yard."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"I'll bid you good-day!" he added in his most official voice and
+took his leave.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+He walked down the steps by the Duke of York's column and through
+the Horse Guards into Whitehall, seemingly busy with his own
+thoughts. A sprucely dressed gentleman who was engaged in the
+exciting and lucrative sport of war profiteering turned color and
+hastily swerved out towards the Park as he saw the detective
+crossing the Horse Guards' Parade. He was unpleasantly reminded
+of making the acquaintance of Mr. Marigold over a bucketshop a
+few years ago with the result that he had vanished from the eye
+of his friends for eighteen months. He congratulated himself on
+thinking that Mr. Marigold had not seen him, but he would have
+recognized his mistake could he but have caught sight of the
+detective's face. A little smile flitted across Mr. Marigold's
+lips and he murmured to himself:
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Our old friend is looking very prosperous just now. I wonder
+what he's up to?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Mr. Marigold didn't miss much.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The detective made his way to the Chief's office. Barbara
+Mackwayte, in a simple black frock with white linen collar and
+cuffs, was at her old place in the ante-room. A week had elapsed
+since the murder, and the day before, Mr. Marigold knew, the
+mortal remains of poor old Mackwayte had been laid to rest. He
+was rather surprised to see the girl back at work so soon.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+She did not speak to him as she showed him into the Chief, but
+there was a question lurking in her gray eyes.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Mr. Marigold looked at her and gravely shook his head.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Nothing fresh," he said.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The Chief was unusually exuberant. Mr. Marigold found him
+surrounded, as was his wont, by papers, and a fearsome collection
+of telephone receivers. He listened in silence to Mr. Marigold's
+account of his failure to trace Barling.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Marigold," he said, when the other had finished, "we must
+undoubtedly lay hold of this fellow. Let's see now... ah! I have
+it!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+He scribbled a few lines on a writing-pad and tossed it across to
+the detective.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"If your friend's innocent," he chuckled, "that'll fetch him to a
+dead certainty. If he murdered Mackwayte, of course he won't
+respond. Read it out and let's hear how it sounds!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The Chief leaned back in his chair and lit a cigarette while the
+detective read out:
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"If Gunner Barling, etcetera, etcetera, will communicate with
+Messrs. Blank and Blank, solicitors, he will hear of something to
+his advantage. Difficulties with the military can be arranged."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"But I say, sir," objected Mr. Marigold, "the military
+authorities will hardly stand for that last, will they?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Won't they, by Jove" retorted the Chief grimly. "They will if I
+tell 'em to. No official soullessness for me; thank you! And now,
+Marigold, just ask Matthews to fill in Barling's regimental
+number and all that and the name and address of the solicitors
+who do this kind of thing for us. And tell him we'll insert the
+ad. daily until further notice in the Mail, Chronicle, Daily
+News, Sketch, Mirror, Evening News..."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"And Star," put in Mr. Marigold who had Radical tendencies.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"The Star, too, by all means. That ought to cover the extent of
+your pal's newspaper reading, I fancy, eh, Marigold! Right!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+He held out a hand in farewell. But Mr. Marigold stood his
+ground. He was rather a slow mover, and there were a lot of
+things he wanted to discuss with the Chief.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"I was very sorry to see poor Major Okewood in the casualty list
+this morning, sir," he said. "I was going to ask you..."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"All terrible, terrible!" said the Chief. Then he added:
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Just tell Miss Mackwayte I want her as you go out, will you?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The detective was used to surprises but the Chief still bowled
+him out occasionally. Before he knew what he was doing, Mr.
+Marigold found himself in the ante-room doing as he was bid.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+As soon as her father's funeral was over; Barbara had insisted on
+returning to work. The whole ghastly business of the murder and
+the inquest that followed seemed to her like a bad dream which
+haunted her day and night. By tacit consent no one in the office
+had made any further allusion, to the tragedy. She had just
+slipped back into her little niche, prompt, punctual, efficient
+as ever.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"No, it's not for the letters," the Chief said to her as she came
+in with her notebook and pencil. "I'm going to give you a little
+trip down to the country this afternoon, Miss Mackwayte... to,
+Essex... the Mill House, Wentfield... you know whom it is you are
+to see, eh? I'm getting a little restless as we've had no reports
+since he arrived there. I had hoped, by this, to have been able
+to put him on the track of Nur-el-Din, but, for the moment, it
+looks as if we had lost the scent. But you can tell our friend
+all we know about the lady's antecedents&mdash;what we had from my
+French colleague the other day, you know? Let him have all the
+particulars about this Barling case&mdash;you know about that, don't
+you? Good, and, see here, try and find out from our mutual friend
+what he intends doing. I don't want to rush him... don't let him
+think that... but I should rather like to discover whether he has
+formed any plan. And now you get along. There's a good train
+about three which gets you down to Wentfield in just under the
+hour. Take care of yourself! See you in the morning!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Pressing a bell with one hand and lifting up a telephone receiver
+with the other, the Chief immersed himself again in his work. He
+appeared to have forgotten Miss Mackwayte's very existence.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+At a quarter to five that evening, Barbara unlatched the front
+gate of the Mill House and walked up the drive. She had come on
+foot from the station and the exercise had done her good. It had
+been a deliciously soft balmy afternoon, but with the fall of
+dusk a heavy mist had come creeping up from the sodden, low-lying
+fields and was spreading out over the neglected garden of Mr.
+Bellward's villa as Barbara entered the avenue.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The damp gloom of the place, however, depressed her not at all.
+She exulted in the change of scene and the fresh air; besides,
+she knew that the presence of Desmond Okewood would dispel the
+vague fears that had hung over her incessantly ever since her
+father's murder. She had only met him twice, she told herself
+when this thought occurred to her, but there was something
+bracing and dependable about him that was just the tonic she
+wanted.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+A porter at the station, who was very intelligent as country
+porters go, had told her the way to the Mill House. The way was
+not easy to find for there were various turns to make but, with
+the aid of such landmarks as an occasional inn, a pond or a barn,
+given her by the friendly porter, Barbara reached her
+destination. Under the porch she pulled the handle of the bell,
+all dank and glistening with moisture, and heard it tinkle loudly
+somewhere within the house.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+How lonely the place was, thought Barbara with a little shiver!
+The fog was growing thicker every minute and now seemed suspended
+like a vast curtain between her and the drive. Somewhere in the
+distance she heard the hollow gurgling of a stream. Otherwise,
+there was no sound.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+She rang the bell again rather nervously and waited. In her bag
+she had a little torch-light (for she was a practical young
+person), and taking it out, she flashed it on the door. It
+presented a stolid, impenetrable oaken front. She stepped out
+into the fog and scanned the windows which were already almost
+lost to view. They were dark and forbidding.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Again she tugged at the bell. Again, with a groaning of wires,
+responded the hollow tinkle. Then silence fell once more. Barbara
+began to get alarmed. What had happened to Major Okewood? She had
+understood that there was no question of his leaving the house
+until the Chief gave him the word. Where, then, was he? He was
+not the man to disobey an order. Rather than believe that, she
+would think that something untoward had befallen him. Had there
+been foul play here, too?
+</P>
+
+<P>
+A sudden panic seized her. She grasped the bell and tugged and
+tugged until she could tug no more. The bell jangled and pealed
+and clattered reverberatingly from the gloomy house, and then,
+with a jarring of wires, relapsed into silence. Barbara beat on
+the door with her hands, for there was no knocker; but all
+remained still within. Only the dank mist swirled in ever denser
+about her as she stood beneath the dripping porch.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"This won't do!" said Barbara, pulling herself together. "I
+mustn't get frightened, whatever I do! Major Okewood is very well
+capable of defending himself. What's happened is that the man has
+been called away and the servants have taken advantage of his
+absence to go out! Barbara, my dear, you'll just have to foot it
+back to the station without your tea!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+She turned her back on the door and torch in hand, plunged
+resolutely into the fog-bank. The mist was bewilderingly thick.
+Still, by going slow and always keeping the gravel under her
+feet, she reached the front gate and turned out on the road.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Here the mist was worse than ever. She had not taken four paces
+before she had lost all sense of her direction. The gate, the
+railways, were gone. She was groping in a clinging pall of fog.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Her torch was worse than useless. It only illuminated swirling
+swathes of mist and confused her, so she switched it out. In vain
+she looked about her, trying to pick up some landmark to guide
+her. There was no light, no tree, no house visible, nothing but
+the dank, ghostly mist.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+To some temperaments, Nature has no terrors. Barbara, to whose
+imagination an empty house at dusk had suggested all kinds of
+unimaginable fears, was not in the least frightened by the fog.
+She only hoped devoutly that a motor-car or a trap would not come
+along behind and run her down for she was obliged to keep to the
+road; the hard surface beneath her feet was her only guide.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+She smiled over her predicament as she made her way along. She
+frequently found herself going off the road, more than once into
+patches of water, with the result that in a few minutes her feet
+were sopping. Still she forged ahead, with many vain halts to
+reconnoitre while the fog, instead of lifting, seemed to thicken
+with every step she took.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+By this time she knew she was completely lost. Coming from the
+station there had been, she remembered, a cross-roads with a
+sign-board set up on a grass patch, about a quarter of a mile
+from the Mill House. She expected every minute to come upon this
+fork; again and again she swerved out to the left from her line
+of march groping for the sign-post with her hands but she never
+encountered it.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Few sounds came to break in upon the oppressive silence of the
+mist. Once or twice Barbara heard a train roaring along in the
+distance and, at one of her halts, her ear caught the high rising
+note of a motor engine a long way off. Except for these
+occasional reminders of the proximity of human beings, she felt
+she must be on a desert island instead of less than two score
+miles from London.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Her wrist watch showed her that she had walked for an hour when
+she heard a dog barking somewhere on the left of the road.
+Presently, she saw a blurred patch of radiance apparently on the
+ground in front of her. So deceptive are lights seen through a
+fog that she was quite taken aback suddenly to come upon a long
+low house with a great beam of light streaming out of the door.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The house was approached by a little bridge across a broad ditch.
+By the bridge stood a tall, massive post upon which a sign
+squeaked softly as it swayed to and fro. The inn was built round
+three sides of a square, the left-hand side being the house
+itself, the centre, the kitchen, and the right-hand side a
+tumble-down stable and some sheds.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The welcome blaze of light coming from the open door was very
+welcome to Barbara after her, long journey through the mist. She
+dragged her wet and weary feet across the little bridge and went
+up to the inn-door.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+She stood for a moment at the entrance dazzled by the effect of
+the light on her eyes, which were smarting with the fog. She
+found herself looking into a long, narrow, taproom, smelling of
+stale beer and tobacco fumes, and lit by oil lamps suspended in
+wire frames from the raftered ceiling. The windows were curtained
+in cheerful red rep and the place was pleasantly warmed by a
+stove in one corner. By the stove was a small door apparently
+leading into the bar, for beside it was a window through which
+Barbara caught a glimpse of beer-engines and rows of bottles.
+Opposite the doorway in which she stood was another door leading
+probably to the back of the house. Down the centre of the room
+ran a long table.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The tap-room was empty when Barbara entered but as she sat down
+at the table, the door opposite opened, and a short,
+foreign-looking woman came out. She stepped dead on seeing the
+girl: Her face seemed familiar to Barbara.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Good evening" said the latter, "I've lost my way in the fog and
+I'm very wet. Do you think I could have my shoes and stockings
+dried and get some tea? I..."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"A moment! I go to tell Meester Rass," said the woman with a very
+marked foreign accent and in a frightened kind of voice and
+slipped out by the way she came.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Where have I met that woman before?" Barbara asked herself, as
+she crossed to tile stove to get warm. The woman's face seemed to
+be connected in her mind with something unpleasant, something she
+wanted to forget. Then a light dawned on her. Why, it was...
+</P>
+
+<P>
+A shrill cry broke in upon her meditations, a harsh scream of
+rage. Barbara turned quickly and saw Nur-el-Din standing in the
+centre of the room. She was transfigured with passion. Her whole
+body quivered, her nostrils were dilated, her eyes flashed fire,
+and she pointed an accusing finger at Barbara.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Ah! miserable!" she cried in a voice strangled with rage, "ah!
+miserable! Te voile enrol."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+A cold chill struck at Barbara's heart. Wherever she went, the
+hideous spectre of the tragedy of her father seemed to follow
+her. And now Nur-el-Din had come to upbraid her with losing the
+treasure she had entrusted to her.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Nur-el-Din," the girl faltered in a voice broken with tears.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Where is it I Where is the silver box I gave into your charge?
+Answer me. Mais reponds, donc, canaille!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The dancer stamped furiously with her foot and advanced
+menacingly on Barbara.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+An undersized; yellow-faced man came quickly out of the small
+door leading from the bar and stood an instant, a helpless
+witness of the scene, as men are when women quarrel.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Nur-el-Din rapped out an order to him in a tongue which was
+unknown to Barbara. It sounded something like Russian. The man
+turned and locked the door of the bar, then stepped swiftly
+across the room and bolted the outer door.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Barbara recognized the threat that the action implied and it
+served to steady her nerves. She shrank back no longer but drew
+herself up and waited calmly for the dancer to reach her.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"The box you gave me," said Barbara very quietly, "was stolen
+from me by the person who... who murdered my father!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Nur-el-Din burst into a peal of malicious laughter.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"And you?" she cried, "you are 'ere to sell it back to me, hein,
+or to get your blood money from your accomplice? Which is it?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+On this Barbara's self-control abandoned her.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Oh, how dare you! How dare you!" she exclaimed, bursting into
+tears, "when that wretched box you made me take was the means of
+my losing the dearest friend I ever had!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Nur-el-Din thrust her face, distorted with passion, into
+Barbara's. She spoke in rapid French, in a low, menacing voice.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Do you think this play-acting will deceive me? Do you think I
+don't know the value of the treasure I was fool enough to entrust
+to your safe keeping? Grand Dieu! I must have been mad not to
+have remembered that no woman could resist the price that they
+were willing to pay for it! And to think what I have risked for
+it! Is all my sacrifice to have been in vain?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Her voice rose to a note of pleading and the tears started from
+her eyes. Her mood changed. She began to wheedle.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Come, ma petite, you will help me recover my little box,
+n'est-ce pas? You will find me generous. And I am rich, I have
+great savings. I can..."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Barbara put up her hands and pushed the dancer away from her.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"After what you have said to me to-night," she said, "I wouldn't
+give you back your box even if I had it."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+She turned to the man.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Will you tell me the way to the nearest station" she went on,
+"and kindly open that door!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The man looked interrogatively at Nur-el-Din who spoke a few
+words rapidly in the language she had used before. Then she cried
+to Barbara:
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"You stay here until you tell me what you have done with the
+box!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Barbara had turned to the dancer when the latter spoke so that
+she did not notice that the man had moved stealthily towards her.
+Before she could struggle or cry out, a hand as big as a spade
+was clapped over her mouth, she was seized in an iron grip and
+half-dragged, half-carried out of the taproom through the small
+door opposite the front entrance.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The door slammed behind them and Barbara found herself in
+darkness. She was pushed round a corner and down a flight of
+stairs into some kind of cellar which smelt of damp straw. Here
+the grip on her mouth was released for a second but before she
+could utter more than a muffled cry the man thrust a handkerchief
+into her mouth and effectually gagged her. Then he tied her hands
+and feet together with some narrow ropes that cut her wrists
+horribly. He seemed to be able to see in the dark for, though the
+place was black as pitch, he worked swiftly and skillfully.
+Barbara felt herself lifted and deposited on a bundle of straw.
+In a little she heard the man's heavy foot-step on the stair,
+there was a crash as of a trap-door falling to, the noise of a
+bolt. Then Barbara fainted.
+</P>
+
+<BR><BR><BR>
+
+<A NAME="chap15"></A>
+<H3 ALIGN="center">
+CHAPTER XV. MR. BELLWARD IS CALLED TO THE TELEPHONE
+</H3>
+
+<P>
+A knocking at the door of the library aroused Desmond from his
+cogitations. He hastened to replace the volumes of Shakespeare on
+their shelf and restore all to its former appearance. Then he
+went to the door and opened it. Old Martha stood in the hall.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"If you please, sir," she wheezed, "the doctor's come!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Oh," said Desmond, rather puzzled, "what doctor?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"It's not Dr. Haines from the village, Mr. Bellward, sir," said
+the housekeeper, "It's a genel'man from Lunnon!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Then Desmond remembered Crook's promise to look him up and
+guessed it must be he. He bade Martha show the doctor in and
+bring tea for two.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Desmond's surmise was right. The old woman ushered in Crook,
+looking the very pattern of medical respectability, with Harley
+Street written all over him from the crown of his glossy top-hat
+to the neat brown spats on his feet. In his hand he carried a
+small black bag.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Well," he said, surveying Desmond, "and how do we find ourselves
+to-day? These chills are nasty things to shake off, my dear sir!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Oh, stow that!" growled Desmond, who was in little mood for
+joking.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Voice inclined to be laryngeal," said Crook putting down his hat
+and bag on a chair, "we shall have to take care of our bronchial
+tubes! We are not so young as we were!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"You can drop all that mumming, Crook!" snapped Desmond
+irascibly.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Voice rotten," replied Crook calmly surveying him through his
+pince-nez. "Really, Major&mdash;I should say, Mr. Bellward&mdash;you must
+take more pains than that. You are talking to me exactly as
+though I were a British Tommy. Tut, tut, this will never do, sir!
+You must talk thicker, more guttural-like, and open the vowels
+well."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+He had dropped his jesting manner altogether and spoke with the
+deep earnestness of the expert airing his pet topic. He was so
+serious that Desmond burst out laughing. It must be said,
+however, that he laughed as much like a German as he knew how.
+This appeared to mollify Crook who, nevertheless, read him a long
+lecture against ever, for a moment, even when alone, quitting the
+role he was playing. Desmond took it in good part; for he knew
+the soundness of the other's advice.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Then old Martha brought' tea, and over the cups and saucers Crook
+gave Desmond a budget of news. He told of the warrant issued for
+the arrest of Nur-el-Din and of the search being made for her.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Desmond heard the news of Nur-el-Din's disappearance from London
+with some consternation. He began to realize that his failure to
+detain Nur-el-Din that afternoon might have incalculable
+consequences. Sunk in thought, he let Crook run on. He was
+wondering whether he ought to give him a message for the Chief,
+telling him of Nur-el-Din's visit and of her flight on the
+arrival of Mortimer.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Now, Desmond had a good deal of pride, and like most proud
+people, he was inclined to be obstinate. To confess to the Chief
+that he had let both Nur-el-Din and Mortimer slip through his
+fingers was more than he could face. He could not bear to think
+that the Chief might believe him capable of failure, and take
+independent measures to guard against possible mistakes. Also, in
+his heart of hearts, Desmond was angry with the Chief. He thought
+the latter had acted precipitately in getting out a warrant for
+Nur-el-Din's arrest before he, Desmond, had had time to get into
+the skin of his part.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+So Desmond heard Crook out and made no comment. When the other
+asked him if he had anything to tell the Chief, he shook his
+head. He was not to know then the consequences which his
+disobedience of orders was destined to have. If he had realized
+what the result of his obstinacy would be, he would not have
+hesitated to send a full report by Crook&mdash;and this story might
+never have been written!
+</P>
+
+<P>
+But if youth followed reason instead of impulse, the world would
+stand still. Desmond was still at an age at which a man is
+willing to take on anything and anybody, and he was confident of
+bringing his mission to a successful conclusion without any
+extraneous aid. So Crook, after changing Desmond's make-up and
+giving him a further rehearsal of his role, packed up his pots
+and paints and brushes in his black bag and returned to London
+with "nothing to report" as the communiques say.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+He repeated his visit every day for the next four days. Crook's
+arrival each afternoon was the only break in the monotony of a
+life which was rapidly becoming unbearable to Desmond's mercurial
+temperament. He found himself looking forward to the wizened
+little man's visits and for want of better employment, he threw
+himself wholeheartedly into the study of his role under the
+expert's able direction. Desmond's beard had sprouted
+wonderfully, and Crook assured him that, by about the end of the
+week, the tow substitute, which Desmond found a most unmitigated
+nuisance, would be no longer necessary. He also showed his pupil
+how to paint in the few deft lines about the eyes which completed
+the resemblance between Bellward and his impersonator.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The time hung terribly heavily on Desmond's hands. He had long
+since memorized and destroyed the list of Mr. Bellward's friends.
+Every morning he spent at least an hour before the mirror in his
+bedroom working up the role. With every day he felt more
+confident of himself; with every day he grew more anxious to go
+to London, and, taking the bull by the horns, boldly visit one of
+Mr. Bellward's acquaintances and test the effect of his disguise.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+But no orders came from Headquarters to release him from his
+confinement. Moreover, no word arrived from Nur-el-Din nor did
+Mortimer send any message or call again at the Mill House. The
+silence of the two conspirators made Desmond uneasy. Suppose
+Mortimer, who, he felt sure, had caught him out lying about
+Nur-el-Din's presence in the house at the time of his visit, had
+grown suspicious! What if Nur-el-Din had succeeded in making good
+her escape to the Continent? He had had his chance of laying hold
+of both suspects and he had failed. Would that chance come again?
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Desmond doubted it. Every morning he awoke long before the dawn
+and lay awake until daylight, his mind racked by these
+apprehensions. He chafed bitterly at his inaction and he plied
+Crook with questions as to whether he had any orders for him.
+Each time Crook replied in the negative.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+In the library Desmond found an Ordnance map of Essex. His
+military training had given him a good schooling in the use of
+maps, and he spent many hours studying the section of the country
+about the Mill House, seeking to impress it upon his mind against
+future emergencies.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+He was surprised to find how remote the Mill House lay from other
+habitations. Between it and Wentfield station, once Wentfield
+village was passed, there were only a few lonely farms; but to
+the south there was an absolutely uninhabited tract of fen
+traversed by the road running past the front gate of the Mill
+House. The Mill House was duly marked on the map; with a little
+blue line showing the millrace which Desmond traced to its
+junction with one of the broad dykes intersecting Morstead Fen.
+The only inhabited house to the south of the Bellward villa
+appeared to be a lonely public house situated on the far edge of
+the fen, a couple of hundred yards away from the road. It was
+called "The Dyke Inn."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+One afternoon&mdash;it was the fifth day after Desmond's arrival at
+Bellward's&mdash;Mr. Crook announced that this was to be his last
+visit.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"I go abroad to-night, Mr. Bellward," he said (he always insisted
+on addressing Desmond by his assumed name), "a little job o' work
+in Switzerland; at Berne, to be precise. Urgent, you might call
+it, and really, sir, you've made so much progress that I think I
+can safely leave you. And I was to say that you will be able to
+go out very soon now."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Good!" exclaimed Desmond, rubbing his hands together. "And you
+think I'll do, Crook, eh?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Crook rubbed his nose meditatively.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"I'll be quite frank with you, Mr. Bellward," he said: "With a
+superficial acquaintance, even with an intimate friend, if he's
+as unobservant as most people are, you'll pass muster. But I
+shouldn't like to guarantee anything if you were to meet, say,
+Mrs. Bellward, if the gentleman has got a wife, or his mother.
+Keep out of a strong light; don't show your profile more than you
+can help, and remember that a woman is a heap more observant than
+a man.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"That's my advice to you, sir. And now I'll take my leave! You
+won't want that tow beard any more after to-day."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+That night Desmond slept well and did not awake until the
+sunshine was streaming in between the Venetian blinds in his
+bedroom. He felt keen and vigorous, and he had an odd feeling
+that something was going to happen to him that day.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+It was a delicious morning, the air as balmy as spring. As he
+brushed his hair in front of the window, Desmond saw the peewits
+running about in the sunshine on the fields by the road. He made
+an excellent breakfast and then, lighting a pipe, opened the
+Times which lay folded by his plate.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+He turned first, as was his daily habit, to the casualty list.
+There it was! Under the names of the "Killed in Action," he read:
+"Okewood, Major D. J. P.," followed by the name of his regiment.
+It gave him an odd little shock, though he had looked for the
+announcement every day; but the feeling of surprise was quickly
+followed by one of relief. That brief line in the casualty list
+meant the severing of all the old ties until he had hunted down
+his quarry.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Now he was ready to start.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+He spent the morning in the garden. Here, for the first time, he
+met Mr. Hill, the odd man, who, on seeing him, became intensely
+busy picking up handfuls of leaves and conveying them to a fire
+which was smouldering in a corner. Desmond essayed to enter into
+conversation with him but the man was so impenetrably deaf that
+Desmond, tiring of bawling, "It's a fine day!" in Mr. Hill's ear,
+left him and strolled over to the shed where the motor-cycle was
+stored. Here he amused himself for more than an hour in taking
+the machine to pieces and putting it together again. He satisfied
+himself that the bike was in working order and filled up the
+tank. He had an idea that this means of conveyance might come in
+useful.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The day was so mild that he lunched by the open window with the
+sunshine casting rainbows can the tablecloth through the
+wine-glasses. He was just finishing his coffee when the
+housekeeper came in and told him he was wanted on the telephone.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Desmond sprang from his chair with alacrity. His marching orders
+at last! he thought, as he hurried across the hall to the
+library.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Hullo!" he cried as he picked up the receiver.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Is that Mr. Bellward?" answered a nasal voice.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Bellward speaking!" said Desmond, wondering who had called him
+up. The voice was a man's but it was not the abrupt clear tones
+of the Chief nor yet Mr. Matthews' careful accents.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Madame Le Bon wishes to see you!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Madame Le Bon? thought Desmond. Why, that was the name that
+Nur-el-Din had given him. "I am Madame Le Bon, a Belgian
+refugee," she had said.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Do you know whom I mean?" the voice continued.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Certainly," replied Desmond.  "You will come alone. Otherwise,
+Madame will not see you. You understand? If you do not come
+alone, you will waste your time!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Where are you speaking from?" Desmond asked.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"If you will turn to the left on leaving your front gate," the
+voice resumed, "and follow the road, a messenger will meet you
+and take you to the lady."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"But..." Desmond began.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Will you come at once? And alone?" the nasal voice broke in
+sharply.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Desmond took a moment's thought. To go was to disobey orders; not
+to go was to risk losing a second chance of meeting Nur-el-Din.
+To telephone to 700 Stanning for assistance would bring a
+hornets' nest about his ears; yet he might only see the dancer if
+he went alone. He lost no time in making up his mind. The Chief
+must allow him latitude for meeting emergencies of this kind. He
+would go.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"I will come at once," said Desmond.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Good," said the voice and the communication ceased.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Somewhere aloft there sits a sweet little cherub whose especial
+job is to look after the headstrong. It was doubtless this
+emissary of providence that leant down from his celestial seat
+and whispered in Desmond's ear that it would be delightful to
+walk out across the fen on this sunny afternoon. Desmond was in
+the act of debating whether he would not take the motor-bike, but
+the cherub's winning way clinched it and he plumped for walking.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+In the hall he met the housekeeper who told him she wanted to go
+into Stanning to do some shopping that afternoon. Desmond told
+her that he himself was going out and would not be back for tea.
+Then, picking a stout blackthorn out of the hallstand, he strode
+down the drive and out into the road.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+It was still beautifully fine, but already the golden sunshine
+was waning and there were little wisps and curls of mist stealing
+low along the fields. Desmond turned to the left, on leaving the
+Mill House, as he was bid and saw the road running like a khaki
+ribbon before him into the misty distance.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Swinging his stick, he strode on rapidly. The road was neglected,
+broken and flinty and very soft. After he had gone about a mile
+it narrowed to pursue its way between two broad ditches lined
+with pollard willows and brimful of brown peaty water. By this
+time he judged, from his recollection of the map, that he must be
+on Morstead Fen. An interminable waste of sodden, emerald green
+fields, intersected by ditches, stretched away on either hand.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+He had walked for half an hour when he made out in the distance a
+clump of trees standing apart and seemingly in the middle of the
+fields. Then in the foreground he descried a gate. A figure was
+standing by it.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+As he approached the gate he saw it was a small boy. On remarking
+the stranger, the urchin opened the gate and without looking to
+right or left led off down the road towards the clump of trees:
+Desmond followed at his leisure.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+As they neared the trees, the low red roof of a house detached
+itself. By this time the sun was sinking in a smear of red across
+a delicately tinted sky. Its dying rays held some glittering
+object high up on the side of the house.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+At first Desmond thought it was a window, but presently the light
+went out, kindled again and once more vanished. It was too small
+for a window, Desmond decided, and then, turning the matter over
+in his mind, as observant people are accustomed to do even with
+trifles, he suddenly realized that the light he had seen was the
+reflection of the sun on a telescope or glasses.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+They were now within a few hundred yards of the house. The road
+had made a right angle turn to the left, but the diminutive guide
+had quitted it and struck out along a very muddy cart track.
+Shading his eyes, Desmond gazed at the house and presently got a
+glimpse of a figure at a window surveying the road through a pair
+of field glasses. Even as he looked, the figure bobbed down and
+did not reappear.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"They want to be sure I'm alone," thought Desmond, and
+congratulated himself on having had the strength of mind to break
+his orders.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The cart-track led up to a little bridge over a ditch. By the
+bridge stood a tall pole, on the top of which was a blue and gold
+painted sign-board inscribed, "The Dyke Inn by J. Rass." The
+urchin led him across the bridge and up to the door of the inn.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+An undersized, yellow-faced man, wearing neither collar nor tie,
+came to the door as they approached. Although of short stature,
+he was immensely broad with singularly long arms. Altogether he
+had something of the figure of a gorilla, Desmond thought on
+looking at him.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The man put a finger up and touched his forelock.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Madame Le Bon is upstairs waiting for you!" he said in a nasal
+voice which Desmond recognized as that he had heard on the
+telephone. "Please to follow me!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+He led the way across a long low tap-room through a door and past
+the open trap-door of a cellar to a staircase. On the first
+landing, lit by a window looking out on a dreary expanse of fen,
+he halted Desmond.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"That's her room," he said, pointing to a door opposite the head
+of the staircase, half a dozen steps up, and so saying, the
+yellow-faced man walked quickly downstairs and left him. Desmond
+heard his feet echo on the staircase and the door of the tap-room
+slam.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+He hesitated a moment. What if this were a trap? Suppose
+Mortimer, growing suspicious, had made use of Nur-el-Din to lure
+him to an ambush in this lonely place? Why the devil hadn't he
+brought a revolver with him?
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Then Desmond's Irish blood came to his rescue. He gave his head a
+little shake, took a firm hold of his stick which was a stoutish
+sort of cudgel and striding boldly up to the door indicated,
+tapped.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Entrez!" said a pretty voice that made Desmond's heart flutter.
+</P>
+
+<BR><BR><BR>
+
+<A NAME="chap16"></A>
+<H3 ALIGN="center">
+CHAPTER XVI. THE STAR OF POLAND
+</H3>
+
+<P>
+The room in which Desmond found Nur-el-Din was obviously the
+parlor of the house. Everything in it spoke of that dreary period
+in art, the middle years of the reign of Victoria the Good. The
+wall-paper, much mildewed in places, was an ugly shade of green
+and there were dusty and faded red curtains at the windows and
+draping the fireplace. Down one side of the room ran a hideous
+mahogany sideboard, almost as big as a railway station buffet,
+with a very dirty tablecloth. The chairs were of mahogany,
+upholstered in worn black horsehair and there were two pairs of
+fly-blown steel engravings of the largest size on the wall. In
+the centre of the apartment stood a small round table, covered
+with a much stained red tablecloth and there was a door in the
+corner.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The dainty beauty of Nur-el-Din made a very forlorn picture amid
+the unmatched savagery of this English interior. The dancer, who
+was wearing the same becoming gray tweed suit in which Desmond
+had last seen her, was sitting sorrowfully at the table when
+Desmond entered. At the sight of him she sprang up and ran to
+meet him with outstretched hands.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Ah!" she cried, "comme je suis heureuse de vows voir! It is good
+of you to come!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+And then, without any warning, she burst into tears and putting
+her hands on the man's shoulders, hid her head against his chest
+and sobbed bitterly.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Desmond took one of her hands, small and soft and warm, and
+gently disengaged her. His mind was working clearly and rapidly.
+He felt sure of himself, sure of his disguise; if this were an
+exhibition of woman's wiles, it would find him proof; on that he
+was resolved. Yet, dissolved in tears as she was, with her long
+lashes glistening and her mouth twitching pitifully, the dancer
+seemed to touch a chord deep down in his heart.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Come, come," said Desmond gutturally, with a touch of bonhomie
+in his voice in keeping with his ample girth, "you mustn't give
+way like this, my child! What's amiss? Come, sit down here and
+tell me what's the matter."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+He made her resume her seat by the table and pulled up one of the
+horsehair chairs for himself. Nur-el-Din wiped her eyes on a tiny
+lace handkerchief, but continued to sob and shudder at intervals.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Marie, my maid," she said in French in a broken voice, "joined
+me here to-day. She has told me of this dreadful murder!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Desmond stiffened to attention. His mind swiftly reverted to the
+last woman he had seen cry, to Barbara Mackwayte discovering the
+loss of the package entrusted to her charge by the woman who sat
+before him.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"What murder?" he asked, striving to banish any trace of interest
+from his voice. He loathed the part he had to play. The dancer's
+distress struck him as genuine.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"The murder of Monsieur Mackwayte," said Nur-el-Din, and her
+tears broke forth anew.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"I have read of this in the newspapers," said Desmond. "I
+remember you told me he was a friend of yours."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Briefly, with many sobs, the dancer told him of the silver box
+which she had entrusted to Barbara Mackwayte's charge.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"And now," she sobbed, "it is lost and all my sacrifice, all my
+precautions, have been in vain!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"But how?" asked Desmond. "Why should you think this box should
+have been taken? From what I remember reading of this case in the
+English newspapers there was a burglary at the house, but the
+thief has been arrested and the property restored. You have only
+to ask this Miss&mdash;what was the name? ah! yes, Mackwayte for your
+box and she will restore it!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"No, no!" Nur-el-Din answered wearily, "you don't understand.
+This was no burglary. The man who murdered Monsieur Arthur
+murdered him to get my silver box."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"But," objected Desmond, "a silver box! What value has a trifling
+object like that? My dear young lady, murder is not done for a
+silver box!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"No, no," Nur-el-Din repeated, "you don't understand! You don't
+know what that box contained!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Then she relapsed into silence, plucking idly at the shred of
+cambric she held between her fingers.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Already dusk was falling and the room was full of shadows. The
+golden radiance of the afternoon had died and eerie wraiths of
+fog were peering-in at the window.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Desmond held his peace. He felt he was on the threshold of a
+confession that might rend the veil of mystery surrounding the
+murder at Seven Kings. He stared fixedly at the ugly red
+tablecloth, conscious that the big eyes of the girl were
+searching his face.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"You have honest eyes," she said presently. "I told you that once
+before... that night we met at your house... do you remember?
+Your eyes are English. But you are a German, hein?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"My mother was Irish," said Desmond and felt a momentary relief
+that, for once, he had been able to speak the truth.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"I want a friend," the girl resumed wearily, "someone that I can
+trust. But I look around and I find no one. You serve the German
+Empire, do you not?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Desmond bowed.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"But not the House of Hohenzollern?" the girl cried, her voice
+trembling with passion.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"I am not of the Emperor's personal service, if that is what you
+mean, madame," Desmond returned coldly.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Then, since you are not altogether an iron Prussian," Nur-el-Din
+resumed eagerly, "you can differentiate. You can understand that
+there is a difference between working for the cause of Germany
+and for the personal business of her princes."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"But certainly," answered Desmond, "I am not an errand boy nor
+yet a detective. I regard myself as a German officer doing his
+duty on the front. We have many fronts besides the Western and
+the Eastern. England is one.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Ah," exclaimed the girl, clasping her hands together and looking
+at him with enraptured eyes, "I see you understand! My friend, I
+am much tempted to make a confidant of you!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Desmond looked at her but did not speak. Again he felt that
+silence was now his only role. He tried hard to fix his mind on
+his duty; but the man in him was occupied with the woman who
+looked so appealingly at him.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"... but if I do," the girl went on and her voice was hurried and
+anxious, "you must swear to me that you will respect my
+confidence, that you will not betray me to the others and that
+you will, if need be, protect me."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Seeing that Desmond remained silent, she hastened to add:
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Believe me, what I ask you to do is not in opposition to your
+duty. My friend, for all my surroundings, I am not what I seem.
+Pate has drawn me into the system of which you form part; but,
+believe me, I know nothing of the service to which you and
+Mortimer and the rest belong!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+She spoke with painful earnestness and in a tone so mournful that
+Desmond felt himself profoundly moved. "If only she is not
+acting!" he thought, and sought to shake himself free from the
+spell which this girl seemed able to cast about him at will.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Promise me that you will respect my confidence and help me!" she
+said and held out her hand.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Desmond's big hand closed about hers and he felt an odd thrill of
+sympathy with her as their hands met.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"I promise!" he said and murmured to himself something very like
+a prayer that he might not be called upon to redeem his word.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+She let her eyes rest for a moment on his.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Be careful!" she urged warningly, while the ghost of a smile
+flitted across her face. "Very soon I may call upon you to make
+good your words!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"I promise!" he repeated&mdash;and his eyes never left hers.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Then," she cried passionately, "find out who has stolen for the
+Crown Prince the Star of Poland at the price of the life of a
+harmless old man!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"The Star of Poland!" repeated Desmond. "What is the Star of
+Poland?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The girl drew herself up proudly and there was a certain dignity
+about her manner as she answered.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"I am a Pole," she said, "and to us Poles, the Star of Poland has
+stood for centuries as a pledge of the restoration of our
+long-lost kingdom. It was the principal jewel of the Polish
+Coronation sword which vanished many hundreds of years ago&mdash;in
+the thirteenth century, one of my compatriots once told me&mdash;and
+it was one of the most treasured national possessions in the
+Chateau of our great king, John Sobieski at Villanoff, outside
+Warsaw. My friend, I am not religious, and since my childhood I
+have renounced the ancient faith of my fathers, but, when I think
+of the extraordinary chain of circumstances by which this
+treasure came into my possession, I almost believe that God has
+chosen me to restore this gem to the King of an independent
+Poland.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Four years ago I was in the United States, a very humble dancer
+in vaudeville of the third or fourth class. When I was appearing
+at Columbus, Ohio, I met a German, a man who had been an officer
+in the Prussian Guard but had come to grief and had been forced
+to emigrate.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"This man's name was Hans von Schornbeek. Like so many German
+officers who go to America, in his time he had been
+everything&mdash;waiter, lift-man, engine-driver and heaven knows what
+else, but when I met him he was apparently well-off. It was only
+later on that I knew he was one of your principal secret agents
+in America.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"He praised my talents highly and offered to furnish the capital
+to start me as an Oriental dancer with a large company of my own.
+There was only one condition attaching to his offer, a condition,
+ma foi! which was not disagreeable to me. It was that, after six
+months tour in the States and Canada, I should go to Brussels and
+settle down there in a house that Herr von Schornbeek would
+present me with.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Mon ami, in those days, I understood nothing at all of
+diplomacy. I knew only that I was often hungry and that I had a
+little talent which, were it given a chance, might keep me from
+want. Herr von Schornbeek fulfilled his promises to me. I had my
+company, I did my tour of America and Canada with great success
+and finally I came to Europe and made my debut at Brussels.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"I knew Brussels already from the old days. As a half-starved,
+unhappy child with a troupe of acrobats, I had often appeared
+there. But now I came to Brussels as a conqueror. A beautiful
+villa in the suburb of Laeken was ready to receive me and I found
+that a large credit had been opened in my name at one of the
+principal banks so that I could keep open house.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"I think I scarcely realized then the role that I was destined to
+fill by the German Secret Service. In all my life before, I had
+never been happy, I had never ceased to struggle for my bare
+existence, I had never had pretty clothes to wear, and motor-cars
+and servants of my own."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+She paused and glanced around her. The room was almost dark; the
+fog outside hung like a veil before the window.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Light the lamp!" she begged, "I do not like the dark!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Desmond struck a match and kindled an oil lamp, which stood on
+the sideboard.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Ah! my friend," the girl resumed. "I took my fill of life with
+both hands. The year was 1913. Now I know that I was one of the
+German agents for the penetration of Belgium in preparation of
+what was coming. My mission was to make friends among the
+Belgians and the French and the cosmopolitan society of Brussels
+generally, and invite them to my house where your people were
+waiting to deal with them.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"My pretty villa became the rendezvous for half the rascals of
+Europe, men and women, who used to meet there with all kinds of
+mysterious Germans. Sometimes there was a scandal. Once a Belgian
+Colonel was found shot in the billiard-room; they said it was
+suicide and the thing was hushed up, but dame! now that I know
+what I know...
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Enfin! I shut my eyes to it all... it was none of my business...
+and I revelled in my robes, my dancing, my new life of luxury!
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"And then the war came. I was at Laeken, resting after a visit to
+Rome. There was a lot of talk about the war amongst the people
+who came to my house, but I did not see how it could affect me,
+an artiste, and I never read the newspapers. My German friends
+assured me that, in a little while, the German army would be at
+Brussels; that, if I remained quietly at home, all would be well.
+They were very elated and confident, these German friends of
+mine. And rightly; for within a few weeks the Germans entered the
+city and a General quartered himself in my villa. It was he who
+brought the Crown Prince to see me.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Mon cher, you know this young man and his reputation. I am not
+excusing myself; but all my life had been spent up to then in the
+bas-fonds of society. I had never known what it was to be courted
+and admired by one who had the world at his feet. Parbleu! one
+does not meet a future Emperor every day!
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Enfin! the Prince carried me with him back to Metz, where he had
+his headquarters. He was very epris with me, but you know his
+temperament! No woman can hold him for more than a few weeks,
+vain and weak and arrogant as he is. But pardon! I was forgetting
+that you are a good German. I fear I offend your
+susceptibilities..."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Desmond laughed drily.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Madame," he said, "I hope I have preserved sufficient liberty of
+judgment to have formed my own opinion about our future
+sovereign. Most Germans have..."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Alors," she broke in fiercely, her voice shaking with passion,
+"you know what an ignoble canaille is this young man, without
+even enough decency of feeling to respect the troops of whom he
+has demanded such bloody sacrifices. At Metz we were near enough
+to the fighting to realize the blood and tears of this war. But
+the Prince thought of nothing, but his own amusement. To live as
+he did, within sound of the guns, with parties every night, women
+and dancing and roulette and champagne suppers&mdash;bah! c'etait trop
+fort! It awakened in me the love of country which lies dormant in
+all of us. I wanted to help my country, lest I might sink as low
+as he..."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"One day the Prince brought a young officer friend of his to dine
+with me. This officer had come from the Eastern front and had
+been present at the capture of Warsaw. After dinner he took a
+leather case out of his pocket and said to the Prince: 'I have
+brought your Imperial Highness a little souvenir from Poland!' As
+he spoke he touched a spring and the case flew open, displaying
+an enormous diamond, nearly as big as the great Orloff diamond
+which I have seen at Petrograd, surrounded by five other
+brilliants, the whole set like a star.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"'The Star of Poland,' said the young officer (the Prince called
+him 'Erich;' I never heard his full name), 'it comes from the
+long-lost Coronation sword of the Polish kings. I took it for
+your Imperial Highness from the Chateau of John Sobieski at
+Villanoff.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"I could not take my eyes off the gem. As the Prince held it down
+under the lamp to study it, it shone like an electric light. I
+had met many of my fellow countrymen in America and I had often
+heard of this jewel, famous in our unhappy history.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"The Prince, who was gay with champagne, laughed and said:
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"'These lousy Poles will have no further use for this pretty
+trinket, thanks to our stout German blows, will they, Erich?'
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"And his friend replied:
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"'We'll give them a nice new German constitution instead, your
+Imperial Highness!'
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"The Prince, as I have said, was very merry that night. He let me
+take the jewel from its case and hold it in my hands. Then I
+fastened it in my hair before the mirror and turned to show
+myself to the Prince and his companion.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"'Donnerwetter! said Willie. 'It looks wonderful in your hair,
+Marcelle!'
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Then, as if struck by a sudden thought, he cried:
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"'Erich! What do you say, Marcelle is a Pole. She shall have the
+Star of Poland and wear it in memory of me!'
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"The other thought this a famous idea, and so the jewel passed
+into my hands. That same evening I resolved that it should be a
+sacred duty on my part to keep it in safety until I could hand it
+back to the lawful sovereign of an independent Poland.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"I was very unhappy at Metz until the Star of Poland came to
+comfort me. When I was alone, I used to take it from its case and
+feast my eyes upon it. I made many attempts to get away, but the
+Prince would never let me go, though he had long since tired of
+me and I was merely one of his harem of women. Pfui!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+She gave an exclamation of disgust.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"It was the Crown Princess who eventually came to my rescue," she
+continued. "Long-suffering wife as she is, the stories that came
+to her ears from Metz were such that she went to the Emperor and
+declared that she would insist upon a divorce. There was a great
+scandal. The Prince's headquarters were moved and at length I got
+my release.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"I had no money. This was a detail which the Prince overlooked.
+But I wanted to resume my stage work, so, with great difficulty,
+through the influence of the Prince, I obtained a passport to
+Holland and from there got across to England.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"I had hoped to turn my back once and for all on my connection
+with the Prince. But your German Secret Service had been warned
+about me. The Imperial Authorities were obviously afraid that I
+might tell tales out of school. Scarcely had I arrived in London
+when a man who called himself Bryan Mowbury, but who looked and
+spoke like a German, came to see me and said he had been
+instructed to 'look after me.' What that meant, I was soon to
+discover. In a very few days I found that I was under the
+supervision of your Secret Service here. In fact, Mowbury gave me
+to understand that any indiscretion on my part as to my stay at
+Metz would result in my immediate denunciation to the English
+police as a spy.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"My friend, I had no alternative. I am not German; I am not
+English; I am a Pole. I have good friends in Germany, I have good
+friends in England, and their quarrels are not mine. I held my
+peace about the past and submitted to the incessant watch which
+Mowbury and his friends kept on my movements.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"And then one day I had a letter. It was from Count Plettenbach,
+the Crown Prince's aide-de-camp, as I knew by the hand-writing,
+for it was signed with an assumed name. In this letter the Count,
+'on behalf of a mutual friend,' as he put it, requested me to
+hand back to a certain Mr. Mortimer, his accredited
+representative, 'Erich's present.' There were cogent reasons, it
+was added, for this unusual request.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"I sent no reply to that letter, although an address in
+Switzerland was given to which an answer might be despatched. I
+was resolved, come what may, not to part with the Star of Poland.
+When Mortimer came, five days later, I told him the jewel was not
+mine to hand over, that it was part of the regalia of Poland and
+that I would never give it up.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Mortimer replied that the German and Austrian Governments had
+decided to restore the independence of Poland, that probably an
+Austrian Archduke would be made king and that it was essential
+that the Star of Poland should be restored in order to include it
+in the regalia for the Coronation. But I knew what this
+Austro-German kingdom of Poland was to be, a serf state with not
+a shadow of that liberty for which every Pole is longing. Since I
+have been in England, I have kept in touch with the Polish
+political organizations in this country. Rass, as he calls
+himself, the landlord of this inn, is one of the most prominent
+of the Polish leaders in England.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Mortimer reasoned with me in vain and finally went away
+empty-handed. But he did not abandon hope. Four successive
+attempts were made to get the jewel away from me. Twice my
+apartments at the Nineveh Hotel were rifled; once my
+dressing-room at the theatre was entered and searched whilst I
+was on the stage. But I wore the jewel day and night in a little
+bag suspended by a chain from my neck and they never got it from
+me.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Two days before I came down to your house&mdash;it was the day before
+the murder&mdash;I was hustled by a group of men as I came out of the
+theatre. Fortunately the stage-door keeper came up unexpectedly
+and the men made off. But the encounter frightened me, and I
+resolved to break my contract with the Palaceum and bury myself
+down here in the country.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"But somehow Mortimer learnt of my intention. The next night&mdash;it
+was the night of the murder&mdash;he came to the theatre and warned me
+against trying to elude his vigilance by flight. I have never
+forgotten his words.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"'I can afford to wait,' he said, 'for I shall get what I want: I
+always do. But you have chosen to set yourself against me and you
+will bitterly repent it!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+As though the recollection proved too much for her, Nur-el-Din
+broke off her narrative and covered her face with her hands.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"And do you think that Mortimer did this murder?" asked Desmond
+gently.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Wearily the girl raised her head.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Either he or one of his accomplices, of whom this girl is one!"
+she answered.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"But why not have put the jewel in a bank or one of the safe
+deposits? Surely it was risky to have entrusted it to a girl of
+whom you knew nothing?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"My friend,", said the dancer, "I was desperate. Mortimer sees
+and knows all. This unexpected meeting with the daughter of my
+old friend seemed at the moment like a heaven-sent chance to
+place the jewel, unknown to him, in safe hands. I felt that as
+long as I carried it on me, my life was in constant danger. It
+was only to-day, when I heard of the murder, that it dawned on me
+how indiscreet I had been. I might have guessed, since Miss
+Mackwayte knew Mortimer&mdash;"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Miss Mackwayte knows Mortimer?" echoed Desmond in stupefaction.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"But certainly," replied Nur-el-Din. "Was it not I myself&mdash;" She
+broke off suddenly with terror in her eyes.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Ah, no!" she whispered. "It is enough. Already I have said too
+much..."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Desmond was about to speak when the door opened and a
+foreign-looking maid, whom Desmond remembered to have seen in the
+dancer's dressing-room, came in. She went swiftly to her mistress
+and whispered something in her ear.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The dancer sprang to her feet.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"A little moment... you will excuse me..." she cried to Desmond
+and ran from the room. The maid followed her, leaving Desmond
+alone.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Presently, the sound of Nur-el-Din's voice raised high in anger
+struck on his ears. He stole softly to the door and opened it.
+Before him lay the staircase deserted. He tiptoed down the stairs
+to the first landing and listened. The murmur of voices reached
+him indistinctly from the room below. Then he heard Nur-el-Din
+crying out again in anger.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+He craned his ear over the well of the staircase, turning his
+face to the window which stood on the landing. The window gave on
+a small yard with a gate over which a lamp was suspended and
+beyond it the fen now swathed in fog. The dancer's maid stood
+beneath the lamp in earnest conversation with a man in rough
+shooting clothes who held a gun under his arm. As Desmond looked
+the man turned his head so that the rays of the lamp fell full
+upon his face. To his unspeakable consternation and amazement,
+Desmond recognized Strangwise.
+</P>
+
+<BR><BR><BR>
+
+<A NAME="chap17"></A>
+<H3 ALIGN="center">
+CHAPTER XVII. MR. BELLWARD ARRANGES A BRIDGE EVENING
+</H3>
+
+<P>
+Oblivious of the voices in the room below, Desmond stood with his
+face pressed against the glass of the window. Was Strangwise
+staying at "The Dyke Inn"? Nothing was more probable; for the
+latter had told him that he was going to spend his leave shooting
+in Essex, and Morstead Fen must abound in snipe and duck.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+But he and Strangwise must not meet. Desmond was chary of
+submitting his disguise to the other's keen, shrewd eyes.
+Strangwise knew Nur-el-Din: indeed, the dancer might have come to
+the inn to be with him. If he recognized Desmond and imparted his
+suspicions to the dancer, the game world be up; on the other
+hand, Desmond could not take him aside and disclose his identity;
+for that would be breaking faith with the Chief. There was
+nothing for it, he decided, but flight.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Yet how could he get away unobserved? There was no exit from the
+staircase by the door into the tap-room where Nur-el-Din was, and
+to go through the tap-room was to risk coming face to face with
+Strangwise.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+So Desmond remained where he was by the window and watched.
+Presently, the woman turned and began to cross the yard,
+Strangwise, carrying his gun, following her. Desmond waited until
+he heard a door open somewhere below and then he acted.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Beside the window ran an old lead water-pipe which drained the
+roof above his head. On a level with the sill of the landing
+below, this pipe took a sharp turn to the left and ran diagonally
+down to a tall covered-in water-butt that stood on the fiat roof
+of an outhouse in the little yard.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Desmond raised the window very gently and tested the pipe with
+his hand. It seemed rather insecure and shook under his pressure.
+With his eye he measured the distance from the sill to the pipe;
+it was about four feet. Desmond reckoned that, if the pipe would
+hold, by getting out of the window and hanging on to the sill, he
+might, by a pendulum-like motion, gain sufficient impulse to
+swing his legs across the diagonally-running pipe, then transfer
+his hands and so slide down to the outhouse roof.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+He wasted no time in debating the chances of the pipe collapsing
+under his weight. All his life it had been his practice to take a
+risk, for such is the Irish temperament&mdash;if the object to be
+attained in any way justified it; and he was determined to avoid
+at all costs the chance of a meeting with Strangwise. The latter
+had probably read the name of Okewood in that morning's casualty
+list, but Desmond felt more than ever that he distrusted the man,
+and his continued presence in the neighborhood of Nur-el-Din
+gravely preoccupied him.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+He stood a moment by the open window and listened. The murmur of
+voices went on in the taproom, but from another part of the house
+he heard a deep laugh and knew it to be Strangwise's. Trusting to
+Providence that the roof of the outhouse would be out of sight of
+the yard door, Desmond swung his right leg over the window-sill
+and followed it with the other, turning his back on the yard. The
+next moment he was dangling over the side of the house.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Then from the yard below he heard Strangwise call:
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Rufus! Rufus!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+A heavy footstep sounded on the flags. Desmond remained perfectly
+still. The strain on his arms was tremendous. If Strangwise
+should go as far as the gate, so as to get clear of the yard, he
+must infallibly see that figure clinging to the window-sill.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Where the devil is that doggy" said Strangwise. Then he
+whistled, and called again:
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Rufus! Rufus!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Desmond made a supreme effort to support the strain on his
+muscles. The veins stood out at his temples and he felt the blood
+singing in his ears. Another minute and he knew he must drop. He
+no longer had the power to swing himself up to the window ledge
+again.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+A bark rang out in the courtyard, followed by the patter of feet.
+Desmond heard Strangwise speak to the dog and reenter the house.
+Then silence fell again. With a tremendous effort Desmond swung
+his legs athwart the pipe, gripped it with his right hand, then
+his left, and very gently commenced to let himself down. The pipe
+quivered beneath his weight, but it held fast and in a minute he
+was standing on the roof of the outhouse, cautiously peering
+through the dank fog that hung about the yard.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Screening himself from view behind the tall waterbutt, he
+reconnoitred the back of the inn. The upper part of the house was
+shrouded in darkness, but a broad beam of light from a half-open
+door and a tall window on the ground floor cleft the pall of fog.
+The window showed a snug little bar with Strangwise standing by
+the counter, a glass in his hand. As Desmond watched him, he
+heard a muffled scream from somewhere within the house.
+Strangwise heard it too, for Desmond saw him put his glass down
+on the bar and raise his head sharply. There followed a dull
+crash from the interior of the inn and the next moment the
+yellow-faced man, whom Desmond judged to be Rass, stepped into
+the circle of light inside the window. He said something to
+Strangwise with thumb jerked behind him, whereupon the latter
+clapped him, as though in approval, on the shoulder, and both
+hurried out together.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Puzzled though he was by the scene he had just witnessed, Desmond
+did not dare to tarry longer. The roof of the outhouse was only
+some ten feet from the ground, an easy drop. He let himself
+noiselessly down and landing on his feet without mishap, darted
+out of the yard gate. As he did so, he heard the inn door open
+and Strangwise's voice cry out:
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Who's that?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+But Desmond heeded not. He dashed out upon the fen. Before he had
+gone a dozen paces the fog had swallowed up inn and all. Out of
+the white pall behind him he heard confused shouts as he skirted
+swiftly round the house and reached the road.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Once he had gained the freedom of the highway; Desmond breathed
+again. The dense fog that enveloped him, the hard road beneath
+his feet, gave him a sense of security that he had missed as long
+as he was in the atmosphere of that lonely, sinister place. He
+struck out at a good pace for home, intent upon one thing,
+namely, to send an immediate summons for help to surround the
+Dyke Inn and all within it. Nur-el-Din, it was clear, whether a
+spy or no (and Desmond believed her story), was the only person
+who could throw any light on the mysterious circumstances
+surrounding old Mackwayte's murder. Besides, her arrest would
+safeguard her against further machinations on the part of
+Mortimer, though Desmond suspected that the latter, now that he
+had secured the jewel, would leave the dancer in peace. As for
+Strangwise, it would be for him to explain as best he could his
+continued association with a woman for whose arrest a warrant had
+been issued.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Desmond let himself in with his key. The housekeeper had returned
+and was laying the dinner-table. In the library the curtains were
+drawn and a fire burned brightly in the grate. The room looked
+very snug and cosy by contrast with the raw weather outside.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Desmond shut and locked the door and then went to the telephone
+at the desk. "Ring up 700 Stanning"&mdash;he repeated his instructions
+to himself "and ask for Mr. Elias. Assistance'll be with you
+within fifteen minutes afterwards."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+By the clock on the mantelpiece it was a quarter to seven. If aid
+arrived promptly, with a car they could be at the Dyke Inn by a
+quarter past seven.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The telephone gave no sign of life. Desmond impatiently jerked
+the receiver hook up and down. This time, at least, he would not
+fail, he told himself. Before he went to bed that night
+Nur-el-Din, her maid, Rass, and if needs be, Strangwise (who
+needed a lesson to teach him discretion), should be in custody.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Still no reply.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Hullo! Hullo!" cried Desmond, depressing the hook repeatedly.
+"Hullo, Exchange!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+But there was no answer. Then it struck Desmond that the line was
+dead: his ear detected none of that busy whirr which is heard in
+the telephone when one is waiting to get a number.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+He spent five minutes in vain attempts to obtain a reply, then
+abandoned the endeavor in disgust.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"I shall have to take the motor-bike and go over to Stunning," he
+said to himself, "how I shall find my way there in this fog, the
+Lord only knows! And I don't know whom to apply to when I get
+there. The police-station, I suppose!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+He unlocked the door and rang for Martha.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"I have to go over to Stunning, Martha," he said, "I will try and
+be back for dinner at eight!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+He had no intention of accompanying the party to the Dyke Inn. He
+must preserve his incognito until Mortimer, the main quarry, had
+been run down.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+He filled his case from the box of cigarettes on the table and
+thrust a box of matches into his pocket to light his head-lamp.
+Then, taking a cap from the hat-stand, he opened the front door.
+Even as he did so a big open car slowed down throbbing outside
+the porch. A man sprang out and advanced into the light streaming
+from the front door into the eddying mist. It was Mortimer.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Fortune," thought Desmond, "has broken her rule. She has given
+me a second chance!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Well met, Bellward!" cried Mortimer, blinking at the other
+through his thick glasses. "Tut, tut! What a night! You were
+never going out, I swear."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Already Desmond had decided in his mind the course of action he
+would pursue. For the moment he must let the party at the Dyke
+Inn slide in favor of the bigger catch. He must slip away later
+and have another try at the telephone and if it were still out of
+order, he must endeavor to overpower Mortimer and then go for
+assistance himself. On a night like this it was useless to think
+of employing a half-blind old dolt like Martha to take a message.
+As for the odd man, he lived at Wakefield, and went away at dusk
+every evening.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+So Desmond muttered some plausible lie about wanting to have a
+look at the weather and cordially invited Mortimer in.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"You will stay for dinner" he said.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Gladly," replied the other, sinking with aunt into the settee.
+"And I should be glad if we might dine early."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Desmond raised his eyebrows.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"... Because," Mortimer resumed, "I have ventured to ask a few
+friends round here to... to have an evening at bridge. Doubtless,
+you have cards, eh?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Desmond pointed to a card-table standing in the corner with
+several packs of cards and markers. Then he rang and told the
+housekeeper that they would dine as soon as possible.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"The coming fortnight," said Mortimer, tucking his napkin into
+his collar as they sat at the dinner table, "is pregnant with
+great events. No less than ten divisions are, I understand, to be
+transferred to the other side. I have waited to communicate with
+you until I had confirmation of this report. But now that the
+matter has been decided, it only remains for us to perfect our
+arrangements for communicating these plans to our friends beyond
+the North Sea. Therefore, I thought a friendly bridge evening at
+the hospitable home of our dear colleague Bellward would be in
+place."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+He smiled affably and bent over his soup-plate.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"I shall be delighted to receive our friends," Desmond replied,
+"a glass of sherry?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Thank you," said Mortimer.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"I shall have to provide a few refreshments," said Desmond. "May
+I ask how many guests I may expect?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Mortimer reckoned on his fingers.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Let's see," he answered, "there's Max, that's one, and Madame
+Malplaquet, that's two. No. 13 and Behrend makes four and myself,
+five!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"And Madame Nur-el-Din?" queried Desmond innocently, but inwardly
+quaking at his rashness.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Mortimer genially shook a finger at him.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Sly dog!" he chuckled, "you're one too many for me in that
+quarter, I see! I know all about your tete-a-tete with our
+charming young friend this afternoon!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Desmond felt the blood rush to his face. He thought of
+Nur-el-Din's words: "Mortimer sees and knows all." He picked up
+his sherry glass and drained it to cover his confusion.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"... It was hardly gallant of you to bolt so suddenly and leave
+the lady!" Mortimer added.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+How much did this uncanny creature know?
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Without waiting for him to reply, Mortimer went on.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"I suppose she told you a long story of my persecution, eh,
+Bellward? You needn't shake your head. I taxed her with it and
+she admitted as much."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"I had no idea that you were staying at the Dyke Inn!" said
+Desmond at a venture.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"My friend," replied Mortimer, lowering his voice, "your fair
+charmer is showing a decided inclination to make a nuisance of
+herself. I have had to keep an eye on her. It's been a very
+serious inconvenience to my plans, I can assure you. But you
+haven't answered my question. What sent you away in such a hurry
+this afternoon? and in so romantic a fashion? By the window, was
+it not?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Through sheer apprehension, Desmond was now keyed up to a kind of
+desperate audacity. The truth is sometimes a very effective
+weapon in the game of bluff, and Desmond determined to employ it.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"I saw someone I didn't want to meet," he replied.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Ah!" said Mortimer, "who was that, I wonder? The Dyke Inn could
+hardly be described as a frequented resort, I imagine!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The entry of old Martha to change the plates prevented Desmond
+from replying. He used the brief respite to review the situation.
+He would tell Mortimer the truth. They were man to man now and he
+cared nothing even if the other should discover the fraud that
+had been practised upon him. Come what might, Mortimer, dead or
+alive, should be delivered up to justice that night.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The housekeeper left the room and Desmond spoke.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"I saw an officer I knew in the courtyard," he said.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Oh, Strangwise, I suppose!" said Mortimer carelessly. "There's
+nothing to fear from him, Bellward. He's of the beef and beer and
+no brains stamp of British officer. But how do you know
+Strangwise?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"I met him at the Nineveh Hotel in town one night," replied
+Desmond. "I don't care about meeting officers, however, and
+that's a fact!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Mortimer looked at him keenly for a brief instant. "What
+prudence!" he cried. "Bellward, you are the very model of what a
+secret agent should be! This pheasant is delicious!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+He turned the conversation into a different channel but Desmond
+could not forget that brief searching look. His mind was in a
+turmoil of half-digested facts, of semi-completed deductions. He
+wanted to go away somewhere alone and think out this mystery and
+disentangle each separate web of this baffling skein of intrigue.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+He must focus his attention on Mortimer and Nur-el-Din. If
+Mortimer and Strangwise were both staying at the Dyke Inn, then
+they were probably acquainted. Strangwise knew Nur-el-Din, too,
+knew her well; for Desmond remembered how familiarly they had
+conversed together that night in the dancer's dressing-room at
+the Palaceum. Strangwise knew Barbara Mackwayte also. Nur-el-Din
+had introduced them, Desmond remembered, on that fateful night
+when he had accompanied Strangwise to the Palaceum. Strange, how
+he was beginning to encounter the man Strangwise at every turn in
+this sinister affair.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+And then, with a shock that struck him like a blow in the face,
+Desmond recalled Barbara's parting words to him in the taxi. He
+remembered how she had told him of seeing Nur-el-Din's face in
+the mirror as the dancer was talking to Strangwise that night at
+the Palaceum, and of the look of terror in the girl's eyes.
+Nur-el-Din was terrified of Mortimer; for so much she had
+admitted to Desmond that very afternoon; she was terrified of
+Strangwise, too, it seemed, of this Strangwise who, like
+Mortimer, kept appearing at every stage of this bewildering
+affair. What confession had been on Nur-el-Din's lips when she
+had broken off that afternoon with the cry:
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Already I have said too much!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Thereafter Desmond's eyes were never long absent from Mortimer's
+face, scrutinizing each feature in turn, the eyes, set rather
+close together, grotesquely shielded by the thick spectacles, the
+narrow cheeks, the rather cynical mouth half hidden by the heavy,
+drooping moustache, the broad forehead broken by a long lock of
+dark hair brushed out flat in a downward direction from an
+untidy, unkempt crop.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+They talked no more of Strangwise or of Nur-el-Din. The rest of
+dinner was passed in conversation of a general order in which Mr.
+Mortimer showed himself to great advantage. He appeared to be a
+widely traveled, well-read man, with a fund of dry, often rather
+grim humor. And all the time Desmond watched, watched,
+unobtrusively but unceasingly, looking out for something he was
+confident of detecting through the suave, immobile mask of this
+brilliant conversationalist.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Skillfully, almost imperceptibly, Desmond edged the talk on to
+the war. In this domain, too, Mortimer showed himself a man of
+broad views, of big, comprehensive ideas. Towards the strategy
+and tactics of the two sides, he adopted the attitude of an
+impartial onlooker, but in his comments he proved himself to have
+a thorough grasp of the military situation. He talked freely and
+ably of such things as tanks, the limited objective in the attack
+and the decentralization of responsibility in the field.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Encouraged by his volubility, for he was a man who delighted in
+conversation, Desmond gradually gave the talk a personal turn.
+But willing as Mortimer showed himself to discuss the war
+generally, about his personal share he was as mute as a fish. Try
+as he would Desmond could get nothing out of him. Again and
+again, he brought the conversation round to personal topics; but
+every time his companion contrived to switch it back to general
+lines.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+At last Desmond risked a direct question. By this time a pint of
+Pommery and Greno was tingling in his veins and he felt he didn't
+care if the roof fell in.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Ever since Nur-el-Din told me yon were of the Crown Prince's
+personal service," he said, "I have been devoured with curiosity
+to know what you were doing before you came to England. Were you
+at Metz with his Imperial Highness? Did you see the assault at
+Verdun? Were you present at the capture of the Fort of
+Douaumont?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Mortimer shook his head, laughing, and held up a deprecating
+hand.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Professional discretion, my dear fellow, professional
+discretion!" he retorted. "You know what it is!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Then lowering his voice, he added:
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Between ourselves the less said about my connection with Master
+Willie the better. Our colleagues are already restless at what
+they consider my neglect of my professional work. They attribute
+it to the wiles of Nur-el-Din. They may if they like and I don't
+propose to disillusion them. You understand, Bellward?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+His voice was commanding and he bent his brows at Desmond, who
+hastened to protest that his discretion in the matter would be
+absolute.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+When they had had their coffee and Mortimer was contentedly
+puffing one of Bellward's excellent double Coronas, Desmond rose
+from the table.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"If you will excuse me a minute," he said, "I will just go across
+to the library and see if my housekeeper has put all in order for
+our guests!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Instantly Mortimer got up from the table.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"By all means," he said, and emptied his glass of brandy, "so, I
+will come with you!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Mortimer meant to stick to him, thought Desmond; that was
+evident. Then an idea struck him. Why should he not telephone in
+Mortimer's presence? To ask for Mr. Elias was in no way
+incriminating and if help came promptly, Mortimer could be
+secured and the other spies pounced upon in their turn as they
+arrived.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Therefore, as soon as they reached the library, Desmond walked
+over to the desk and picked up the telephone receiver from its
+hook.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Excuse me," he said to Mortimer, "I had forgotten I had to ring
+up Stanning!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Oh, dear," said Mortimer from his place on the hearth rug where
+he was warming his coat tails in front of the fire, "isn't that
+unfortunate? I wish I had known! Tut, tut, how annoying for you!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The telephone seemed quite dead.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"I don't understand!" said Desmond to Mortimer. "What's
+annoying?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"The telephone, my dear Bellward,"&mdash;Mortimer spoke in a pompous
+voice&mdash;"the telephone is the symbol of the age in which we live,
+the age of publicity but also of indiscretion. It is almost as
+indiscreet to have a telephone in your house as to keep a diary.
+Therefore, in view of our little party here this evening, to
+prevent us from being disturbed in any way, I took the liberty
+of... of severing the connection... temporarily, mind you, only
+temporarily; it shall be restored as soon as we break up. I have
+some small acquaintance with electrical engineering."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Desmond was silent. Disappointment had deprived him for the
+moment of the power of speech. It was to be man to man then,
+after all. If he was to secure Mortimer and the rest of the gang
+that night, he must do it on his own. He could not hope for aid.
+The prospect did not affright him. If Mortimer could have seen
+the other's eyes at that moment he might have remarked a light
+dancing in them that was not solely of Messrs. Pommery and
+Greno's manufacture.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"If I had known you wanted to use the instrument, my dear
+fellow," Mortimer continued in his bland voice, "I should
+certainly have waited until you had done your business!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Pray don't mention it," replied Desmond, "you do well to be
+prudent, Mr. Mortimer!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Mortimer shot a sudden glance at him. Desmond met it with a
+frank, easy smile.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"I'm a devil for prudence myself!" he observed brightly.
+</P>
+
+<BR><BR><BR>
+
+<A NAME="chap18"></A>
+<H3 ALIGN="center">
+CHAPTER XVIII. THE GATHERING OF THE SPIES
+</H3>
+
+<P>
+Action, or the promise of action, always acted on Desmond Okewood
+like a nerve tonic. His visit to the inn, followed by the fencing
+with Mortimer at dinner, had galvanized his nerves jaded with the
+inaction of the preceding days. He averted his eyes from the
+future, he put the past resolutely away. He bent his whole
+attention on the problem immediately before him&mdash;how to carry off
+the role of Bellward in front of four strangers, one of whom, at
+least, he thought, must know the man he was impersonating; how to
+extract as much information as possible about the gang and its
+organization before uncovering his hand; finally, how to
+overpower the four men and the one woman when the moment had come
+to strike.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Mortimer and he were in the library. By Desmond's direction old
+Martha had put out two bridge tables and cards. A tantalus stand
+with siphons and glasses, an assortment of different colored
+liqueurs in handsome cut-glass carafes and some plates of
+sandwiches stood on a side-table. At Mortimer's suggestion
+Desmond had told the housekeeper that, once the guests had
+arrived, she might go to bed.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The library was very still. There was no sound except for the
+solemn ticking of the clock on the mantelpiece or the occasional
+rustle of the evening paper in Mortimer's hand as he stood in
+front of the fire. Desmond was sitting on the settee, tranquilly
+smoking, studying Mortimer and thinking out the problem before
+him.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+He measured Mortimer with his eye. The latter was a bigger man
+than Desmond in every way and Desmond suspected that he was even
+stronger than he looked. Desmond wondered whether he should try
+and overpower him then and there. The other was almost certain to
+carry a revolver, he thought, while he was unarmed. Failure, he
+knew, would ruin everything. The gang would disperse to the four
+winds of heaven while as for Mr. Bellward&mdash;well, he would
+certainly be "for it," as the soldiers say.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+No, he must hold his hand until the meeting had taken place. This
+was the first conference that Mortimer had summoned, and Desmond
+intended to see that it should be the last. But first he meant to
+find out all there was to know about the working of the gang.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+He resolved to wait and see what the evening would bring forth.
+The telephone was "a washout": the motor-cycle was now his only
+chance to summon aid for he knew it was hopeless to think of
+tackling single-handed odds of four to one (to say nothing of the
+lady in the case). It must be his business to make an opportunity
+to slip away on the motor-bike to Stanning. Ten minutes to get
+there, five minutes to deliver his message at the police station
+(if the Chief's people made their headquarters there), and ten
+minutes to get back if they had a car. Could he leave the meeting
+for 25 minutes without arousing suspicions? He doubted it; but it
+must be. There was no other way. And then with a shock that made
+him cold with fear he remembered Mortimer's motor-car.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+If, during his absence, anything occurred to arouse their
+suspicions, the whole crowd could pile into the car and be away
+long before Desmond could be back with help. The fog had lifted
+and it was a clear night outside. The car would have to be got
+rid of before he left the house, that was all about it. But how?
+A means to that end must also be discovered as the evening
+progressed. By the way, what had Mortimer done with his car?
+</P>
+
+<P>
+A very faint throbbing somewhere outside answered Desmond's
+unspoken question.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Mortimer flung aside his paper.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Isn't that a car?" he asked, "that'll be they. I sent Max to
+Wentfield station to meet our friends!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+There was the sound of voices, of bustle in the hall. Then the
+door opened and a man came in. Desmond had a brief moment of
+acute suspense. Was he supposed to know him?
+</P>
+
+<P>
+He was a short, ugly fellow with immensely broad shoulders, a
+heavy puffy face, a gross, broad nose, and a tooth-brush
+moustache. He might have been a butcher to look at. In the top
+edge of his coat lapel, he wore a small black pin with a glass
+head.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Well, Max," said Mortimer. "Have you brought them all?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The man was mustering Desmond with a suspicious, unfriendly
+stare.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"My friend, Bellward!" said Mortimer, clapping Desmond on the
+shoulder. "You've heard of Bellward, Max!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+And to Desmond's surprise he made some passes in the air.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The man's mien underwent a curious change. He became cringing;
+almost overawed.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Reelly," he grunted, "reelly now! You don't siy! Glad to know
+yer, mister, I'm shore!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+He spoke with a vile snuffing cockney accent, and thrust out his
+hand to Desmond. Then he added to Mortimer:
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"There's three on 'em. That's the count, ain't it? I lef' the car
+outside on the drive!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+At this moment two more of the guests entered: One was a tall,
+emaciated looking man of about fifty who seemed to be in the last
+stages of consumption; the other a slightly built young fellow
+with a shock of black hair brushed back and an olive complexion.
+He wore pince-nez and looked like a Russian revolutionary. They,
+too, wore the badge of the brotherhood&mdash;the black pin in the coat
+lapel.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Goot efening, Mr. Mortimer," said the tall man in a guttural
+voice, "this is Behrend"&mdash;he indicated the young man by his
+side&mdash;"you haft not meet him no?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Then, leaving Behrend to shake hands with Mortimer, he literally
+rushed at Desmond and shook him by the hand exactly as though he
+were working a pump handle.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"My tear Pellward," he cried, "it is a hondred year since I haf
+see you, not? And how are the powers!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+He lowered his voice and gazed mysteriously at him.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Desmond, at a loss what to make of this extraordinary individual,
+answered at random:
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"The powers? Still fighting, I believe!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The tall man stared open-mouthed at him for a moment. Then,
+clapping his hands together, he burst into a high-pitched cackle
+of laughter.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"A joke," he yelled, "a mos' excellent joke! I must tell this to
+Minna. My vriend, I haf not mean the great Powers."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+He looked dramatically about him, then whispered:
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"I mean, the oggult!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Desmond, who was now quite out of his depth, wagged his head
+solemnly at the other as though to indicate that, his occult
+powers were something not to be lightly mentioned. He had no fear
+of the tall man, at any rate. He placed him as a very ordinary
+German, a common type in the Fatherland, simple-minded, pedantic,
+inquisitive, and a prodigious bore withal but dangerous, for of
+this stuff German discipline kneads militarists.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+But the door opened again to admit the last of the guests. A
+woman entered. Desmond was immediately struck by the contrast she
+presented to the others, Mortimer with his goggle eyes and untidy
+hair, Max, gross and bestial, Behrend, Oriental and shifty, and
+the scarecrow figure of the tall man.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Despite her age, which must have been nearly sixty, she still
+retained traces of beauty. Her features were very regular, and
+she had a pair of piercing black eyes of undimmed brightness. Her
+gray hair was tastefully arranged, and she wore a becoming black
+velvet gown with a black lace scarf thrown across the shoulders.
+A white silk rose was fastened to her bodice by a large black pin
+with a glass head.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Directly she appeared, the tall man shouted to her in German.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Sag' mal, Minna..." he began.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Mortimer turned on him savagely.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Hold your tongue, No. 13," he cried, "are you mad? What the
+devil do you mean by it? You know the rules!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+By way of reply, "No. 13" broke into a regular frenzy of coughing
+which left him gasping for breath.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Pardon! I haf' forgot!" he wheezed out between the spasms.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The woman went over to Mortimer and put out tier gloved hand.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"I am Mrs. Malplaquet," she said in a pleasant voice. "And you
+are Mr. Mortimer, I think!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Mortimer bowed low over her hand.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Madame, I am charmed to meet one of whom I have heard nothing
+but praise," he said.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Verry pretty!" replied Mrs. Malplaquet smiling. "They tell me
+you have a great way with the ladies, my dear sir!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"But," she went on, "I am neglecting our host, my dear Mr.
+Bellward. How are you, my friend? How well you are looking... so
+young... so fresh! I declare you seem to have got five years
+younger!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The keen black eyes searched Desmond's face. He felt horribly
+uncomfortable. The woman's eyes were like gimlets boring right
+into him. He suddenly felt that his disguise was a poor one. He
+remembered Crook's warning to be wary of women, and he inwardly
+quailed.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"I am so glad to meet you again!" he murmured. He didn't like
+Mrs. Malplaquet's eyes. They assorted strangely with the rest of
+her gentle and refined appearance. They were hard and cruel,
+those black eyes. Thy put him in mind of a snake.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"It is so long since I've seen you," she said, "that positively
+your voice seems to have changed."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"That's because I have a cold," said Desmond.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Fiddlesticks!" retorted the lady, "the timbre is quite
+different! Bellward, I believe you're in love! Don't tell me
+you've been running after that hank of hair that Mortimer is so
+devoted to!" She glanced in Mortimer's direction, but that
+gentleman was engaged in earnest conversation with Behrend and
+the tall man.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Whom do you meant" asked Desmond.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Where are your eyes, man?" rapped out Mrs. Malplaquet. "The
+dancer woman, of course, Nur-el-what-do-you-call-it. There's the
+devil of a row brewing about the way our friend over there is
+neglecting us to run after the minx. They're getting sharp in
+this country, Bellward&mdash;I've lived here for forty years so I know
+what I'm talking about&mdash;and we can't afford to play any tricks.
+Mortimer will finish by bringing destruction on every one of us.
+And I shall tell him so tonight. And so will No. 13! And so will
+young Behrend! You ought to hear Behrend about it!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Mrs. Malplaquet began to interest Desmond. She was obviously a
+woman of refinement, and he was surprised to find her in this odd
+company. By dint of careful questioning, he ascertained the fact
+that she lived in London, at a house on Campden Hill. She seemed
+to know a good many officers, particularly naval men.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"I've been keeping my eyes open as I promised, Bellward," she
+said, "and I believe I've got hold of a likely subject for you&mdash;a
+submarine commander he is, and very psychic. When will you come
+and meet him at my house?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Mortimer's voice, rising above the buzz of conversation, checked
+his reply.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"If you will all sit down," he said, "we'll get down to
+business."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Despite all distractions, Desmond had been watching for this
+summons. He had marked down for himself a chair close to the
+door. For this he now made, after escorting Mrs. Malplaquet to
+the settee where she sat down beside Behrend. Max took the
+armchair on the left of the fireplace; while No. 13 perched
+himself grotesquely on a high music-stool, his long legs curled
+round the foot. Mortimer stood in his former position on the
+hearth, his back to the fire.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+A very odd-looking band! Desmond commented to himself but he
+thought he could detect in each of the spies a certain ruthless
+fanaticism which experience taught him to respect as highly
+dangerous. And they all had hard eyes!
+</P>
+
+<P>
+When they were seated, Mortimer said:
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"About the 14th of this month the British Admiralty will begin
+the work of shipping to France ten divisions of American troops
+now training in this country. The most extraordinary precautions
+are being taken to complete this huge undertaking with success.
+It seems to me that the moment has come for us to demonstrate the
+efficiency of our new organization."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+He looked round at his audience but no one said a word. Desmond
+felt very distinctly that there was a hostile atmosphere against
+Mortimer in that room.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"I asked you to come here to-night," Mortimer went on, "to
+discuss the plans for sending prompt and accurate information
+regarding the movements of these transports to the other side. I
+warn you that this time our mode of procedure will have to be
+radically different from the methods we have pursued on former
+occasions. To expend our energies in collecting information at
+half a dozen different ports of war will be waste of time. The
+direction of the whole of this enterprise lies in the hands of
+one man at the Admiralty."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Behrend, who had struck Desmond as a rather taciturn young man,
+shook his head dubiously.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"That makes things very difficult," he remarked.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Wait," replied Mortimer. "I agree, it is very difficult, the
+more so as I have reason to believe that the authorities have
+discovered the existence of our organization."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Mrs. Malplaquet and Behrend turned to one another simultaneously.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"What did I say?" said Behrend.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"I told you so," said the lady.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Therefore," Mortimer resumed, "our former activities on the
+coast will practically be paralyzed. We shall have to confine our
+operations to London while Max and Mr. Behrend here will be
+entrusted with the task of getting the news out to our
+submarines."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+No. 13 broke in excitedly.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Vork in London, vork in London!" he cried. "It is too dangerous,
+my vriend. Vot do I know of London? Portsmouth" (he called it
+Portsmouse), "Sout'ampton, the Isle of Vight... good... it is my
+province. But, London... it is senseless!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Mortimer turned his gig-lamps on the interrupter.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"You will take your orders from me as before," he said quietly.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Behrend adjusted his pince-nez.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"No. 13 is perfectly right," he remarked, "he knows his
+territory, and he should be allowed to work there."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"You, too," Mortimer observed in the same calm tone as before,
+"will take your orders from me!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+With a quick gesture the young man dashed his long black hair out
+of his eyes.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Maybe," he replied, "but only as long as I feel sure that your
+orders are worth following.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Do you dare..." began Mortimer, shouting.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"... At present," the other continued, as though Mortimer had not
+spoken. "I don't feel at all sure that they are."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The atmosphere was getting a trifle heated, thought Desmond. If
+he judged Mortimer aright, he was not the man to let himself be
+dictated to by anybody. He was wondering how the scene would end
+when suddenly something caught his eye that took his mind right
+away from the events going forward in the room.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Opposite him, across the library, was a French window across
+which the curtains had been drawn. One of the curtains, however,
+had got looped up on a chair so that there was a gap at the
+bottom of the window showing the pane.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+In this gap was a face pressed up against the glass. To his
+astonishment Desmond recognized the weather-beaten features of
+the odd man, Mr. John Hill. The face remained there only for a
+brief instant. The next moment it was gone and Desmond's
+attention was once more claimed by the progress of the
+conference.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Do I understand that you refuse to serve under we any longer?"
+Mortimer was saying to Behrend, who had risen from the settee and
+stood facing him.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"As long as you continue to behave as you are doing at present,"
+replied the other, "you may understand that!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Mortimer made a quick dive for his pocket. In an instant Max had
+jumped at him and caught his arm.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Don't be a fool!" he cried, "for Gawd's sake, put it away,
+carn't yer? D 'you want the 'ole ruddy plice abart our ears?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"I'll have no disobedience of orders," roared Mortimer,
+struggling with the other. In his fist he had a big automatic
+pistol. It was a prodigious weapon, the largest pistol that
+Desmond had ever seen.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"He threatened him, he threatened him!" screamed No. 13 jumping
+about on his stool.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Take it away from him, Max, for Heaven's sake!" cried the lady.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Everybody was talking at once. The noise was so loud that Desmond
+wondered whether old Martha would hear the din. He sat in his
+chair by the door, a silent witness of the scene. Then suddenly,
+at the height of the hubbub, he heard the faint humming of a
+motor-car. It lasted for perhaps thirty seconds, then gradually
+died away.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"What did it mean?" he asked himself. The only living being he
+knew of outside was John Hill, the odd man, whose face he had
+just seen; the only car was Mortimer's. Had the odd man gone off
+in Mortimer's car? He was thankful to note that, in the din, none
+save him seemed to have heard the car.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+By this time Mortimer had put up his pistol and Mrs. Malplaquet
+was speaking. Her remarks were effective and very much to the
+point. She upbraided Mortimer with his long and mysterious
+absences which she attributed to his infatuation for Nur-el-Din
+and complained bitterly of the dancer's imprudence in consorting
+openly with notorious folk like Lazarro and Bryan Mowbury.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"I went to the girl myself," she said, "and begged her to be more
+circumspect. But Madame would not listen to advice; Madame was
+doubtless sure of her position with our revered leader, and
+thought she could reject the friendly counsel of one old enough
+to be her mother. Behrend and Max and No. 13 there&mdash;all of
+us&mdash;are absolutely agreed that we are not going on with this sort
+of thing any longer. If you are to remain in charge of our
+organization, Mr. Mortimer, we want to know where you are to be
+found and how you spend your time. In short, we want to be sure
+that you are not playing a game that most of us have at different
+times played on subordinate agents... I mean, that when the
+crisis comes, we fall into the trap and you walk away. You had
+better realize once and for all that we are too old hands for
+that sort of trick."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Here Max took up the thread. "Mrs. Malplaquet had put it very
+strite, so she 'ad, and wot he wanted to know was what Mortimer
+'ad to siy?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Mortimer was very suave in his reply; a bad sign, thought
+Desmond, for it indicated that he was not sure of himself. He was
+rather vague, spoke about a vitally important mission that he had
+had to fulfil but which he had now brought to a successful
+conclusion, so that he was at length free to devote his whole
+attention once more to the great task in hand.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Behrend brought his fist crashing down on the arm of the settee.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Words, words," he cried, "it won't do for me. Isn't there a man
+in the room besides me? You, Bellward, or you, Max, or you,
+No.13? Haven't you got any guts any of You? Are you going to sit
+here and listen to the soft soap of a fellow who has probably
+sent better men than himself to their death with tripe of this
+kind? It may do for you, but by the Lord, it won't do for me!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Mortimer cleared his throat uneasily.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Our host is silent," said Mrs. Malplaquet, "what does Mr.
+Bellward think about it?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Desmond spoke up promptly.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"I think it would be very interesting to hear something further
+about this mission of Mortimer's," he observed:
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Mortimer cast him a glance of bitter malice.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Well," he said, after a pause, "you force my hand. I shall tell
+you of this mission of mine and I shall show you the evidence,
+because it seems essential in the interests of our organization.
+But I assure you I shall not forget this want of confidence you
+have shown in me; and I shall see that you don't forget it,
+either!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+As he spoke, he glared fiercely at Desmond through his glasses.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Let's hear about the precious mission," jeered Behrend, "let's
+see the evidence. The threats'll keep!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Then Mortimer told them of how the Star of Poland came into
+Nur-el-Din's possession, and of the Crown Prince's embarrassment
+when the German authorities claimed it for the regalia of the new
+Kingdom of Poland.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"The Crown Prince," he said, "summoned me to him in person and
+gave me the order to make my way to England immediately and
+recover the gem at all costs and by any means. Did I whine or
+snivel about being sent to my death as some of you were doing
+just now? No! That is not the way of the Prussian Guard..."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"The Prussian Guard?" cried No. 13 in an awed voice. "Are you also
+of the Prussian Guard, comrade?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+He had risen from his seat and there was something almost of
+majesty about his thin, ungainly figure as he drew himself to his
+full height.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Ay, comrade, I was," replied Mortimer.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Then," cried No. 13, "you are..."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"No names, comrade," warned Mortimer, "no names, I beg!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"No names, no names!" repeated the other and relapsed into his
+seat in a reverie.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"How I got to England," Mortimer continued, "matters nothing; how
+I fulfilled my mission is neither here nor there. But I recovered
+the gem and the proof..."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+He thrust a hand into the inner pocket of his coat and plucked
+out a white paper package sealed up with broad red seals.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Desmond held his breath. It was the white paper package, exactly
+as Barbara had described.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Look at it well, Behrend," said Mortimer, holding it up for the
+young man to see, "it cost me a man's life to get that. If it had
+sent twenty men to their death, I should have had it just the
+same!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Mrs. Malplaquet clapped her hands, her eyes shining.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Bravo, bravo!" she exclaimed, "that's the spirit! That's the way
+to talk, Mortimer!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Cut it out," snarled Behrend, "and let's see the goods!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+All had left their seats and were gathered in a group about
+Mortimer as he began to break the gleaming red wag seals. One by
+one he burst them, the white paper slipped off and disclosed... a
+box of cigarettes.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Mortimer stood gazing in stupefaction at the gaudy green and gold
+lettering of the box. Then, running his thumb-nail swiftly along
+the edge of the box, he broke the paper wrapping, the box burst
+open and a shower of cigarettes fell to the ground.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"So that's your Star of Poland, is it?" cried Behrend in a
+mocking voice.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Wot 'ave yer done wiv' the sparklers, eh?" demanded Max,
+catching Mortimer roughly by the arm.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+But Mortimer stood, aimlessly shaking the empty box in front of
+him, as though to convince himself that the gem was not there.
+Behrend fell on his knees and raked the pile of cigarettes over
+and over with his fingers.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Nothing there!" he shouted angrily, springing to his feet. "It's
+all bluff! He's bluffing to the end! See, he doesn't even attempt
+to find his famous jewel! He knows it isn't there!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+But Mortimer paid no heed. He was staring straight in front of
+him, a strangely woe-begone figure with his thatch of untidy hair
+and round goggle eyes. Then the cigarette box fell to the floor
+with a crash as Mortimer's hands dropped, with, a hopeless
+gesture, to his sides.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Barbara Mackwayte!" he whispered in a low voice, not seeming to
+realize that he was speaking aloud, "so that's what she wanted
+with Nur-el-Din!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Desmond was standing at Mortimer's elbow and caught the whisper.
+As he heard Mortimer speak Barbara's name, he had a sudden
+premonition that his own unmasking was imminent, though he
+understood as little of the purport of the other's remark as of
+the pile of cigarettes lying on the carpet. As Mortimer turned to
+look at him, Desmond nerved himself to meet the latter's gaze.
+But Mortimer's face wore the look of a desperate man. There was
+no recognition in his eyes.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Not so with Desmond. Perhaps the bitterness of his disappointment
+had made Mortimer careless, perhaps the way in which he had
+pronounced Barbara's name struck a familiar chord in Desmond's
+memory. The unkempt hair brushed down across the forehead, the
+thick glasses, the heavy moustache still formed together an
+impenetrable mask which Desmond's eyes failed to pierce. But now
+he recalled the voice. As Mortimer looked at him, the truth
+dawned on Desmond and he knew that the man standing beside him
+was Maurice Strangwise, his comrade-in-arms in France.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+At that very moment a loud crash rang through the room, a cold
+blast of damp air came rushing in and the lamp on the table
+flared up wildly, flickered an instant and went out, leaving the
+room in darkness save for the glow of the fire.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+A deep voice cried:
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"May I ask what you are all doing in my house?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The secret door of the bookshelves had swung back and there,
+framed in the gaping void, Desmond saw the dark figure of a man.
+</P>
+
+<BR><BR><BR>
+
+<A NAME="chap19"></A>
+<H3 ALIGN="center">
+CHAPTER XIX. THE UNINVITED GUEST
+</H3>
+
+<P>
+There are moments in life when the need for prompt action is so
+urgent that thought, decision and action must be as one operation
+of the brain. In the general consternation following on the
+dramatic appearance of this uninvited guest, Desmond had a brief
+respite in which to think over his position.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Should he make a dash for it or stay where he was and await
+developments?
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Without a second's hesitation; he decided on the latter course.
+With the overpowering odds against him it was more than doubtful
+whether he could ever reach the library door. Besides, to go was
+to abandon absolutely all hope of capturing the gang; for his
+flight would warn the conspirators that the game was up. On the
+other hand, the new-comer might be an ally, perhaps an emissary
+of the Chief's. The strange behavior of the odd man had shown
+that something was afoot outside of which those in the library
+were unaware. Was the uninvited guest the deus ex machina who was
+to help him, Desmond, out of his present perilous fix?
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Meanwhile the stranger had stepped into the room, drawing the
+secret door to behind him. Desmond heard his heavy step and the
+dull thud of the partition swinging into place. The sound seemed
+to break the spell that hung over the room.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Mortimer was the first to recover his presence of mind. Crying
+out to No. 13 to lock the door leading into the hall, he fumbled
+for a moment at the table. Desmond caught the noise of a match
+being scratched and the next moment the library was again bathed
+in the soft radiance of the lamp.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Picking up the light, Mortimer strode across to the stranger.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"What do you want here" he demanded fiercely, "and who the
+devil..."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+He broke off without completing his sentence, drawing back in
+amazement. For the rays of the lamp fell upon the pale face of a
+stoutish, bearded man, veering towards middle age standing in
+front of Mortimer. And the face was the face of the stoutish,
+bearded man, veering towards middle age, who stood in the shadow
+a few paces behind Mortimer. Each man was a complete replica of
+the other, save that the face of the new arrival was thin and
+haggard with that yellowish tinge which comes from long
+confinement.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+As Mortimer staggered back, the uninvited guest recoiled in his
+turn. He was staring fixedly across the room at his double who
+met his gaze firmly, erect, tense, silent. The others looked in
+sheer stupefaction from one to the other of the two Mr.
+Bellwards. For nearly a minute the only sound in the room was the
+deep ticking of the clock, counting away the seconds separating
+him from eternity, Desmond thought.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+It was Mrs. Malplaquet who broke the silence. Suddenly her nerves
+snapped under the strain, and she screamed aloud.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"A&mdash;ah!" she cried, "look! There are two of them! No, no, it
+can't be!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+And she sank half fainting on the sofa.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Behrend whipped out a pistol from his hip pocket and thrust it in
+Mortimer's face.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Is this another of your infernal surprise packets?" he demanded
+fiercely.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+All the spies seemed on a sudden to be armed, Desmond noted, all,
+that is, save Mrs. Malplaquet who lay cowering on the settee.
+Mortimer had pulled out his super-Mauser; No. 13, who was
+guarding the door, had a revolver in his hand, and Behrend, as
+has been stated, was threatening Mortimer with his Browning.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Now Max advanced threateningly into the room, a long seaman's
+knife in his hand..
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Put that blarsted shooting-iron awiy!" he snarled at Mortimer,
+"and tell us wot's the little gime, will yer! Come on, egpline!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+With absolute self-possession Mortimer turned from the stranger
+to Desmond.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"I think it is up to the twins to explain," he said almost
+nonchalantly, "suppose we hear what this gentleman, who arrived
+so surprisingly through the book-shelves, has to say?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Though threatened with danger from two sides, from the gang and
+possibly, as far as he knew, from the stranger, Mortimer was
+perfectly calm. Desmond never admired Maurice Strangwise more
+than in that moment. All eyes now turned questioningly towards
+the new arrival. As for Desmond he drew back as far as he dared
+into the shadow. He knew he was in the direst peril; but he was
+not afraid for himself. He was crushed to the ground by the
+sickening feeling that he was going to be beaten, that the gang
+were going to slip through his fingers after all... and he was
+powerless to prevent it.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+He guessed at once what had happened. Bellward must have escaped
+from custody; for there was no disguise about this pale,
+flustered creature who had the cowed look of a hunted man in his
+eyes. He must have come to the Mill House to get his motorcycle;
+for he surely would have known that the villa would be the first
+place to which the police would follow him up.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Desmond saw a little ray of hope. If&mdash;it was a very big
+if&mdash;Bellward's flight were discovered promptly, the police might
+be expected to reach the Mill House very soon behind him.
+Bellward must have come straight there; for he had not even taken
+the very elementary precaution of shaving off his beard. That
+made Desmond think that he must have escaped some time that
+evening after the barbers' shops were closed.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+With thumping heart, with bated breath, he waited for what was to
+come. In a very little while, he told himself, the truth must
+come out. His only chance was to try and bluff his way out of
+this appalling dilemma and above all, at all costs&mdash;this was the
+essential fact which, he told himself, he must keep steadfastly
+before his eyes&mdash;not to lose sight of Mortimer whatever happened.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Bellward's voice&mdash;and its tones showed Desmond what an
+accomplished mime Crook had been&mdash;broke the silence.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"I have nothing to explain," he said, turning from the sofa where
+he had been exchanging a few words in an undertone with Mrs.
+Malplaquet, "this is my house. That is sufficient explanation for
+my presence here, I imagine. But I confess I am curious to know
+what this person"&mdash;he indicated Desmond&mdash;"is doing in my clothes,
+if I mistake not, giving what I take to be a very successful
+impersonation of myself."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Then Desmond stepped boldly out of the shadow into the circle of
+light thrown by the lamp.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"I don't know what you all think," he said firmly, "but it seems
+to me singularly unwise for us to stand here gossiping when there
+is a stranger amongst us. I fail to understand the motive of this
+gentleman in breaking into my house by my private door, wearing
+my clothes, if I am to believe my eyes; but I clearly realize the
+danger of admitting strangers to a gathering of this kind."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Quite right," agreed Behrend, nodding his head in assent.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"You have had one singular surprise to-night already," Desmond
+resumed, "in the matter of the jewel which our respected leader
+was about to show us: if you recollect, our friend was only
+prevented from giving us the explanation which he certainly owed
+us over his little hoax by the arrival, the most timely arrival,
+of his confederate..."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Confederate?" shouted Mortimer, "what the devil do you mean by
+that?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Yes, confederate," Desmond repeated. "Max, Behrend, Mrs.
+Malplaquet, all of you, look at this wretched fellow"&mdash;he pointed
+a finger of scorn at Bellward&mdash;"trembling with fright at the role
+that has been thrust upon him, to force his way into our midst,
+to give his accomplice the tip to clear out before the police
+arrive."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Stop!" exclaimed Mortimer, raising his pistol. Behrend caught
+his hand.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"We'll hear you in a minute!" he said.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Let him finish!" said Mrs. Malplaquet, and there was a certain
+ominous quietness in her tone that startled Desmond.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+As for Bellward, he remained silent, with arms folded, listening
+very intently.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Doubtless, this double of mine," continued Desmond in a mocking
+voice, "is the bearer of the Star of Poland, the wonderful jewel
+which has required our beloved leader to devote so much of his
+time to a certain charming lady. Bah! are you going to let a man
+like this," and he pointed to Mortimer disdainfully with his
+hand, "a man who puts you in the fighting line while he amuses
+himself in the rear, are you going to let this false friend, this
+bogus spy, cheat you like this? My friends, my advice to you, if
+you don't want to have another and yet more disagreeable
+surprise, is to make sure that this impudent imposter is not here
+for the purpose of selling us all!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+He raised his voice until it rang through the room, at the same
+time looking round the group at the faces of the spies to see how
+his harangue had worked upon their feelings. Max and Behrend, he
+could see, were on his side; No. 13 was obviously, undecided;
+Mortimer and Bellward were, of course, against him; Mrs.
+Malplaquet sat with her hands in her lap, her eyes cast down,
+giving no sign.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"It's high time..." Mortimer began violently but Mrs. Malplaquet
+put up her hand and checked him.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Better hear Bellward!" she said softly.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"I know nothing of what has been taking place in my absence," he
+said, "either here or outside. I only know that I escaped from
+the escort that was taking me back from Scotland Yard to Brixton
+Prison this evening and that the police are hard on my track. I
+have delayed too long as, it is. Every one of us in this room,
+with the exception of the traitor who is amongst us"&mdash;he pointed
+a finger in denunciation at Desmond&mdash;"is in the most imminent
+peril as long as we stay here. The rest of you can please
+yourselves. I'm off!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+He turned and pressed the spring. The book shelves swung open.
+Behrend sprang forward.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Not so fast," he cried. "You don't leave this room until we
+know who you are!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+And he covered him with his pistol.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Fool!" exclaimed Bellward who had stopped on the threshold of
+the secret door, "do you want to trap the lot of us! Tell him,
+Minna," he said to Mrs. Malplaquet, "and for Heaven's sake, let
+us be gone!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Mrs. Malplaquet stood up.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"This is Basil Bellward," she said, "see, he's wearing the ring I
+gave him, a gold snake with emerald eyes! And now," she cried,
+raising her voice shrilly, "before we go, kill that man!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+And she pointed at Desmond.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Bellward had seized her by the arm and was dragging her through
+the opening in the shed when a shrill whistle resounded from the
+garden. Without any warning Mortimer swung round and fired
+point-blank at Desmond. But Desmond had stooped to spring at the
+other and the bullet went over his head. With ears singing from
+the deafening report of the pistol in the confined space, with
+the acrid smell of cordite in his nostrils, Desmond leapt at
+Mortimer's throat, hoping to bear him to the ground before he
+could shoot again. As he sprang he heard the crash of glass and a
+loud report. Someone cried out sharply "Oh!" as though in
+surprise and fell prone between him and his quarry; then he
+stumbled and at the same time received a crashing blow on the
+head. Without a sound he dropped to the ground across a body that
+twitched a little and then lay still.
+</P>
+
+<HR ALIGN="center" WIDTH="60%">
+
+<P>
+Somewhere in the far, far distance Desmond heard a woman
+crying&mdash;long drawn-out wailing lamentations on a high, quavering
+note. He had a dull, hard pain in his head which felt curiously
+stiff. Drowsily he listened for a time to the woman's sobbing, so
+tired, so curiously faint that he scarcely cared to wonder what
+it signified. But at last it grated on him by its insistency and
+he opened his eyes to learn the cause of it.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+His bewildered gaze fell upon what seemed to him a gigantic,
+ogre-like face, as huge, as grotesque, as a pantomime mask.
+Beside it was a light, a brilliant light, that hurt his eyes.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Then a voice, as faint as a voice on a long distance telephone,
+said:
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Well, how are you feeling?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The voice was so remote that Desmond paid no attention to it. But
+he was rather surprised to hear a voice reply, a voice that came
+from his own lips, curiously enough:
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Fine!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+So he opened his eyes again to ascertain the meaning of this
+phenomenon. This time the ogre-like face came into focus, and
+Desmond saw a man with a tumbler in his hand bending over him.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"That's right," said the man, looking very intently at him, "feel
+a bit better, eh? Got a bit of a crack, what? Just take a
+mouthful of brandy... I've got it here!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Desmond obediently swallowed the contents of the glass that the
+other held to his lips. He was feeling horribly weak, and very
+cold. His collar and shirt were unbuttoned, and his neck and
+shoulders were sopping wet with water. On his ears still fell the
+wailing of the woman.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Corporal," said the man bending over him, "just go and tell that
+old hag to hold her noise! She'll have to go out of the house if
+she can't be quiet!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Desmond opened his eyes again. He was lying on the settee in the
+library. A tall figure in khaki, who had been stirring the fire
+with his boot, turned at the doctor's summons and left the room.
+On the table the lamp was still burning but its rays were
+neutralized by the glare of a crimson dawn which Desmond could
+see flushing the sky through the shattered panes of the French
+window. In the centre of the floor lay a long object covered by a
+tablecloth, beside it a table overturned with a litter of broken
+glass strewn about the carpet.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The woman's sobbing ceased. The corporal came back into the room.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"She'll be quiet now, sir," he said, "I told her to get you and
+the gentlemen a cup o' tea."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Then, to Desmond, he said:
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Nasty ding you got, sir! My word, I thought they'd done for you
+when I come in at the winder!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The telephone on the desk tingled sharply. The door opened at the
+same moment and a shabby little old man with sandy side whiskers
+and moleskin trousers came briskly in.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+His appearance had a curious effect on the patient on the settee.
+Despite the doctor's restraining hand, he struggled into a
+sitting position, staring in bewilderment at the shabby old man
+who had gone straight to the telephone and lifted the receiver.
+And well might Desmond stare; for here was Mr. John Hill, the odd
+man, talking on the telephone. And his voice...
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Well?" said the man at the telephone, curtly.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Yes, speaking. You've got her, eh? Good. What's that? Well,
+that's something. No trace of the others? Damn!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+He slammed down the receiver and turned to face the settee.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Francis!" cried Desmond.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+And then he did a thing highly unbecoming in a field officer. He
+burst into tears.
+</P>
+
+<BR><BR><BR>
+
+<A NAME="chap20"></A>
+<H3 ALIGN="center">
+CHAPTER XX. THE ODD MAN
+</H3>
+
+<P>
+Desmond and Francis Okewood sat in the dining-room of the Mill
+House finishing an excellent breakfast of ham and eggs and coffee
+which old Martha had prepared for them.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Francis was still wearing Mr. John Hill's greasy jacket and
+moleskins, but the removal of the sandy whiskers and a remarkable
+wig, consisting of a bald pate with a fringe of reddish hair, had
+gone far to restore him to the semblance of his former self.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Desmond was feeling a good deal better. His head had escaped the
+full force of the smashing blow dealt at him by Strangwise with
+the butt of his pistol. He had instinctively put up his arm to
+defend his face and the thickly padded sleeve of Bellward's
+jacket had broken the force of the blow. Desmond had avoided a
+fractured skull at the price of an appalling bruise on the right
+forearm and a nasty laceration of the scalp.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Francis had resolutely declined to enlighten him as to the events
+of the night until both had breakfasted. After despatching the
+corporal of military police to hurry the housekeeper on with the
+breakfast, Francis had taken his brother straight to the
+dining-room, refusing to let him ask the questions which thronged
+his brain until they had eaten and drunk. Only when all the ham
+and eggs had disappeared, did Francis, lighting one of Mr.
+Bellward's cigars, consent to satisfy his brother's curiosity.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"It was only yesterday morning," he said, "that I landed at
+Folkstone from the Continent. How I got the Chief's message
+recalling me and how I made my escape through the Turkish lines
+to Allenby's headquarters is a long story which will keep. The
+Chief had a car waiting for me at Folkstone and I reached London
+in time to lunch with him. We had a long talk and he gave me
+carte blanche to jump into this business now, when and where I
+thought I could best help you."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Desmond smiled bitterly.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"The Chief couldn't trust me to make good on my own, I suppose,"
+he said.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"The Chief had a very good idea of the character of the people
+you had to deal with, Des.," retorted Francis, "and he was a
+trifle apprehensive that the role you were playing might lead to
+complications, supposing the gang were to see through your
+impersonation. He's a wonderful man, that, Des., and he was dead
+right&mdash;as he always is."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"But how?" asked Desmond. "Did the crowd spot me?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"No," answered the other; "but it was your disguise which was
+responsible for the escape of Strangwise&mdash;"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"What?" cried Desmond. "He's escaped after all!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Francis nodded.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Yes," he said, "got clear away and left no trace. Wait a minute
+and you shall hear! When I have told my story, you shall tell
+yours and between us, we'll piece things together!
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Well, when I left the Chief yesterday, I came down here. The
+description of Mr. John Hill, your odd man, rather tickled my
+fancy. I wanted badly to get at you for a quiet chat and it
+seemed to me that if I could borrow Mr. Hill's appearance for a
+few hours now and then I might gain access to you without rousing
+any suspicion. You see, I knew that old Hill left here about dusk
+every afternoon, so I guessed the coast would be clear.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Clarkson's fitted me out with the duds and the make-up and I got
+down to Wentfield by half-past six. The fog was so infernally
+thick that it took me more than an hour to get here on foot. It
+must have been close on eight o'clock when I pushed open your
+front gate. I thought of going boldly into the kitchen and asking
+for you, but, fortunately, I decided to have a preliminary prowl
+round the place. Through a chink in the curtains of the library I
+saw you and a stranger talking together. The stranger was quite
+unknown to me; but one thing about him I spotted right off. I saw
+that he was disguised; so I decided to hang about a bit and await
+developments.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"I loafed around in the fog for about half an hour. Then I heard
+a car coming up the drive. I hid myself in the rhododendron bush
+opposite the front door and saw two men and a woman get out. They
+hurried into the house, so that I didn't have a chance of seeing
+their faces. But I got a good, glimpse of the chauffeur as he
+bent down to turn out the headlights. And, yes, I knew him!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Max, they called him," said Desmond.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"His name was Mirsky when last I saw him," answered Francis, "and
+mine was Apfelbaum, if you want to know. He was a German agent in
+Russia and as ruthless and unscrupulous a rascal as you'll find
+anywhere in the German service. I must say I never thought he'd
+have the nerve to show his face in this country, though I believe
+he's a Whitechapel Jew born and bred. However, there he was and
+the sight of his ugly mug told me that something was doing. But
+like a fool I decided to hang on a bit and watch, instead of
+going right off in that car and fetching help from Stanning."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"It was just as well you waited," said Desmond, "for if you'd
+gone off at once they must have heard the car and the fat would
+have been in the fire straight away!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+And he told Francis of the loud dispute among the confederates in
+the library, the noise of which had effectually covered the sound
+of the departing ear.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Francis laughed.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"From my observation post outside," he said, "I could only see
+you, Des, and that blackguard, Mug, as you two were sitting
+opposite the window. I couldn't see more than the feet of the
+others. But your face told me the loud voices which reached me
+even outside meant that a crisis of some sort was approaching, so
+I thought it was time to be up and doing. So I sneaked round to
+the front of the house, got the engine of the car going and
+started off down the drive.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"I had the very devil of a job to get to Stanning. Ever since
+you've been down here, the Chief has had special men on duty day
+and night at the police-station there. I didn't dare stop to
+light the head-lamps and as a result the first thing I did was to
+charge the front gate and get the back wheel so thoroughly jammed
+that it took me the best part of twenty minutes to get the
+blooming car clear. When at last I got to the station, I found
+that Matthews, the Chief's man, you know, had just arrived by car
+from London with a lot of plain-clothes men and some military
+police. He was in the very devil of a stew. He told me that
+Bellward had escaped, that the Chief was out of town for the
+night and ungetatable, and that he (Matthews) had come down on
+his own to prevent the gaff being blown on you and also to
+recapture Mr. Bellward if he should be mad enough to make for his
+old quarters.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"I told Matthews of the situation up at the Mill House. Neither
+of us was able to understand why you had not telephoned for
+assistance&mdash;we only discovered later that the telephone had been
+disconnected&mdash;but I went bail that you were up against a very
+stiff proposition. I told Matthews that, by surrounding the
+house, we might capture the whole gang.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Matthews is a cautious cuss and he wanted a good deal of
+persuading, so we lost a lot of time. In the end, he wouldn't
+take my advice to rush every available man to the scene, but only
+consented to take two plainclothes men and two military police.
+He was so precious afraid of upsetting your arrangements. The
+Chief, it appears, had warned everybody against doing that. So we
+all piled into the car and I drove them back to the Mill House.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"This time I left the car at the front gate and we went up to the
+house on foot. We had arranged that Matthews and one of the
+military police, both armed, should stay and guard the car, while
+the two plainclothes men and the other military policeman, the
+corporal here, should accompany me to the house. Matthews
+believed my yarn that we were only going to 'investigate.' What I
+intended to do in reality was to round up the whole blessed lot.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"I put one of the plain-clothes men on the front door and the
+other round at the back of the house. Their orders were to stop
+anybody who came out and at the same time to whistle for
+assistance. The corporal and I went to our old observation post
+outside the library window.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"The moment I glanced into the room I knew that matters had
+reached a climax. I saw you&mdash;looking pretty blue, old man&mdash;facing
+that woman who seemed to be denouncing you. Max stood beside you
+with a pistol, and beside him was our friend, Mortimer, with a
+regular whopper of an automatic. Before I had time to move, the
+plain-clothes man at the back of the house whistled. He had found
+the secret door with Bellward and the woman coming out of it.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Then I saw Mortimer fire point-blank at you. I had my gun out in
+a second, but I was afraid of shooting, for fear of hitting you
+as you went for the other man.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"But the corporal at my side wasn't worrying much about you. Just
+as you jumped he put up his gun and let fly at Mortimer with a
+sense of discrimination which does him infinite credit. He missed
+Mortimer, but plugged Max plumb through the forehead and my old
+friend dropped in his tracks right between you and the other
+fellow. On that we hacked our way through the French window. The
+corporal found time to have another shot and laid out a tall,
+odd-looking man..."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"No. 13," elucidated Desmond.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"... When we got inside we found him dead across the threshold of
+the door leading into the hall. Behrend we caught hiding in a
+brush cupboard by the back stairs. As for the others&mdash;"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Gone?" queried Desmond with a sudden sinking at his heart.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Francis nodded.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"We didn't waste any time getting through that window," he said,
+"but the catch was stiff and the broken glass was deuced
+unpleasant. Still, we were too late. You were laid out on the
+floor; Mortimer, Bellward and the lady had made their lucky
+escape. And the secret door showed us how they had gone..."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"But I thought you had a man posted at the back?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Would you believe it? When the shooting began, the infernal
+idiot must rush round to our assistance, so, of course, Mortimer
+and Co., nipping out by the secret door, got clear away down the
+drive. But that is not the worst. Matthews gave them the car!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"No!" said Desmond incredulously.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"He did, though," answered Francis. "Mind you, Mortimer had had
+the presence of mind to throw off his disguise. He presented
+himself to Matthews as Strangwise. Matthews knows Strangwise
+quite well: he has often seen him with the Chief.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"'My God, Captain Strangwise,' says Matthews, as the trio
+appeared, 'What's happened?'
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"'You're wanted up at the house immediately, Matthews,' says
+Strangwise quite excitedly. 'We're to take the car and go for
+assistance.'
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Matthews had a look at Strangwise's companions, and seeing
+Bellward, of course, takes him for you. As for the lady, she had
+a black lace muffler wound about her face.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"'Miss Mackwayte's coming with us, Matthews,' Strangwise says,
+seeing Matthews look at the lady. That removed the last of any
+lurking suspicions that old Matthews might have had. He left the
+military policeman at the gate and tore off like mad up the drive
+while Strangwise and the others jumped into the car and were away
+before you could say 'knife.' The military, policeman actually
+cranked up the car for them!
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"When Matthews burst into the library with the story of you and
+Strangwise and Miss Mackwayte having gone off for help in our
+only car, I knew we had been sold. You were there, knocked out of
+time on the floor, in your disguise as Bellward, so I knew that
+the man with Strangwise was the real Bellward and I consequently
+deduced that Strangwise was Mortimer and consequently the very
+man we had to catch.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"We were done brown. If we had had a little more time to think
+things out, we should have found that motor-bike and I would have
+gone after the trio myself. But my first idea was to summon aid.
+I tried to telephone without success and then we found the wire
+cut outside. Then I had the idea of pumping Behrend. I found him
+quite chatty and furious against Mortimer, whom he accused of
+having sold them. He told us that the party would be sure to make
+for the Dyke Inn, as Nur-el-Din was there.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"By this time Strangwise and his party had got at least an hour
+clear start of us. I had set a man to repair the telephone and in
+the meantime was thinking of sending another on foot to Stanning
+to fetch one of our cars. Then I found the motor-bike and
+despatched one of the military policemen on it to Stanning.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"In about half an hour's time he was back with a car in which
+were Gordon and Harrison and some more military police. I put
+Matthews in charge of the party and sent them off to the Dyke
+Inn, though I felt pretty sure we were too late to catch the
+trio. That was really the reason I stayed behind; besides, I
+wanted to look after you. I got a turn when I saw you spread out
+all over the carpet, old man, I can tell you."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Desmond, who had listened with the most eager attention, did not
+speak for a minute. The sense of failure was strong upon him. How
+he had bungled it all!
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Look here," he said presently in a dazed voice, "you said just
+now that Matthews mistook Mrs. Malplaquet for Miss Mackwayte. Why
+should Matthews think that Miss Mackwayte was down here? Did she
+come down with you?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Francis looked at him quickly.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"That crack on the head makes you forget things," he said. "Don't
+you remember Miss Mackwayte coming down here to see you yesterday
+afternoon Matthews thought she had stayed on..."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Desmond shook his head.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"She's not been here," he replied. "I'm quite positive about that!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Francis sprang to his feet.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Surely you must be mistaken," he said in tones of concern. "The
+Chief sent her down yesterday afternoon on purpose to see you.
+She reached Wentfield Station all right; because the porter told
+Matthews that she asked him the way to the Mill House."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+An ominous foreboding struck chill at Desmond's heart. He held
+his throbbing head for an instant. Someone had mentioned Barbara
+that night in the library but who was it? And what had he said?
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Ah! of course, it was Strangwise. "So that's what she wanted with
+Nur-el-Din!" he had said.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Desmond felt it all coming back to him now. Briefly he told
+Francis of his absence from the Mill House in response to the
+summons from Nur-el-Din, of his interview with the dancer and her
+story of the Star of Poland, of his hurried return just in time
+to meet Mortimer, and of Mortimer's enigmatical reference to the
+dancer in the library that night.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Fancis looked graver and graver as the story proceeded. Desmond
+noted it and reproached himself most bitterly with his initial
+failure to inform the Chief of the visits of Nur-el-Din and
+Mortimer to the Mill House. When he had finished speaking, he did
+not look at Francis, but gazed mournfully out of the window into
+the chilly drizzle of a sad winter's day.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"I don't like the look of it at all, Des," said his brother
+shaking his head, "but first we must make sure that there has
+been no misunderstanding about Miss Mackwayte. You say your
+housekeeper was already here when you came back from the Dyke
+Inn. She may have seen her. Let's have old Martha in!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Between fright, bewilderment and indignation at the invasion of
+the house, old Martha was, if anything, deafer and more stupid
+than usual. After much interrogation they had to be satisfied
+with her repeated assertion that "she 'adn't seen no young lady"
+and allowed her to hobble back to her kitchen.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The two brothers stared at one another blankly. Francis was the
+first to speak. His eyes were shining and his manner was rather
+tense.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Des," he asked; "what do you make of it? From what Strangwise
+let fall in the library here tonight, it seems probable that Miss
+Mackwayte, instead of coming here to see you as she was told&mdash;or
+she may have called during your absence&mdash;went to the Dyke Inn and
+saw Nur-el-Din. The muffed cry you heard at the inn suggests foul
+play to me and that suspicion is deepened in my mind by the fact
+that Matthews found Nur-el-Din at the Dyke Inn, as he reported to
+me by telephone just now; but he says nothing about Miss
+Mackwayte. Des, I fear the worst for that poor girl if she has
+fallen into the hands of that gang!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Desmond remained silent for a moment. He was trying to piece
+things together as best as his aching head would allow. Both
+Nur-el-Din and Strangwise were after the jewel. Nur-el-Din
+believed that afternoon that Strangwise had it, while Strangwise,
+on discovering his loss, had seemed to suggest that Barbara
+Mackwayte had recovered it.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Either Strangwise or Nur-el-Din, perhaps both of them," said
+Desmond, "must know what has become of Miss Mackwayte."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+And he explained his reasoning to Francis. His brother nodded
+quickly.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Then Nur-el-Din shall tell us," he answered sternly.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"They've arrested her?" asked Desmond with a sudden pang.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Yes," said Francis curtly. But too late to prevent a crime being
+committed. When Matthews and his party arrived, they found
+Nur-el-Din in the very act of leaving the inn. The landlord,
+Rass, was lying dead on the floor of the tap-room with a bullet
+through the temple. That looks to me, Des, as though Nur-el-Din
+had recovered the jewel!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"But Rass is a compatriot of hers," Desmond objected.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"But he was also an inconvenient witness of her dealings with
+Strangwise," retorted Francis. "If either Nur-el-Din or
+Strangwise have regained possession of the Star of Poland, Des, I
+fear the worst for Barbara Mackwayte. Come in!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The corporal stood, saluting, at the door.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Mr. Matthews on the telephone, sir!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Francis hurried away, leaving Desmond to his thoughts, which were
+not of the most agreeable. Had he been wrong in thinking
+Nur-el-Din a victim? Was he, after all, nothing but a credulous
+fool who had been hoodwinked by a pretty woman's play-acting? And
+had he sacrificed Barbara Mackwayte to his obstinacy and his
+credulousness?
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Francis burst suddenly into the room.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Des," he cried, "they've found Miss Mackwayte's hat on the floor
+of the tap-room... it is stained with blood..."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Desmond felt himself growing pale:
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"And the girl herself," he asked thickly, "what of her?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Francis shook his head.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Vanished," he replied gravely. "Vanished utterly.
+Desmond," he added, "we must go over to the Dyke Inn at once!"
+</P>
+
+<BR><BR><BR>
+
+<A NAME="chap21"></A>
+<H3 ALIGN="center">
+CHAPTER XXI. THE BLACK VELVET TOQUE
+</H3>
+
+<P>
+Across Morsted Fen the day was breaking red and sullen. The
+brimming dykes, fringed with bare pollards, and the long sheets
+of water spread out across the lush meadows, threw back the fiery
+radiance of the sky from their gleaming surface. The tall
+poplars about the Dyke Inn stood out hard and clear in the ruddy
+light; beyond them the fen, stretched away to the flaming horizon
+gloomy and flat and desolate, with nothing higher than the
+stunted pollards visible against the lurid background.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Upon the absolute silence of the scene there presently broke the
+steady humming of a car. A great light, paled by the dawn, came
+bobbing and sweeping, along the road that skirted the fen's edge.
+A big open car drew up by the track and branched, off to the inn.
+Its four occupants consulted together for an instant and then
+alighted. Three of them were in plain clothes; the other was a
+soldier. The driver was also in khaki.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"They're astir, Mr. Matthews," said one, of the plain clothes
+men, pointing towards the house, "see, there's a light in the
+inn!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+They followed the direction of his finger and saw a beam of
+yellow light gleaming from among the trees.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Get your guns out, boys!" said Matthews. "Give them a chance to
+put their hands up, and if they don't obey, shoot!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Very swiftly but very quietly, the four men picked their way over
+the miry track to the little bridge leading to the yard in front
+of the inn. The light they had remarked shone from the inn door,
+a feeble, flickering light as of an expiring candle.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Matthews, who was leading, halted and listened. Everything was
+quite still. Above their head the inn sign groaned uneasily as it
+was stirred by the fresh morning breeze.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"You, Gordon," whispered Matthews to the man behind him&mdash;they had
+advanced in Indian file&mdash;"take Bates and go round to the back.
+Harrison will go in by the front with me."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Even as he spoke a faint noise came from the interior of the
+house. The four men stood stock-still and listened. In the
+absolute stillness of the early morning, the sound fell
+distinctly on their ears. It was a step&mdash;a light step&mdash;descending
+the stairs.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Gordon and the soldier detached themselves from the party as
+Matthews and the other plain clothes man crossed the bridge
+swiftly and went up to the inn door. Hardly had Matthews got his
+foot on the stone step of the threshold than, a piercing shriek
+resounded from the room quite close at hand. The next minute a
+flying figure burst out of the door and fell headlong into the
+arms of Matthews who was all but overbalanced by the force of the
+impact.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+He closed with the figure and grappled it firmly. His arms
+encountered a frail, light body, shaking from head to foot,
+enveloped in a cloak of some soft, thick material.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"It's a woman!" cried Matthews.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"It's Nur-el-Din!" exclaimed his companion in the same breath,
+seizing the woman by the arm.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The dancer made no attempt to escape. She stood with bowed head,
+trembling violently, in a cowering, almost a crouching posture.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Harrison, who had the woman by the arm, had turned her head so
+that he could see her face. She was deathly pale and her black
+eyes were wide open, the pupils dilated. Her teeth were
+chattering in her head. She seemed incapable of speech or motion.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Nur-el-Din?" exclaimed Matthews in accents of triumph. "Bring
+her in, Harrison, and let's have a look at her!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+But the woman recoiled in terror. She arched her body stiff, like
+a child in a passion, and strained every muscle to remain where
+she was cowering by the inn-door.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Come on, my girl," said the man not unkindly, "don't you 'ear
+wot the Guv'nor sez! In you go!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Then the girl screamed aloud.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"No, no!" she cried, "not in that house! For the love of God,
+don't take me back into that room! Ah! For pity's sake, let me
+stay outside! Take me to prison but not, not into that house
+again!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+She half fell on her knees in the mire, pleading, entreating, her
+body shaken by sobs.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Then Harrison, who was an ex-Guardsman and a six-footer at that,
+plucked her off her feet and carried her, still struggling, still
+imploring with piteous cries, over the threshold into the house:
+Matthews followed behind.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The shutters of the tap-room were still closed. Only a strip of
+the dirty floor, strewn with sawdust, was illuminated by a bar of
+reddish light from the daybreak outside. On the table a candle,
+burnt down to the socket of its brass candlestick, flared and
+puttered in a riot of running wag. Half in the bar of daylight
+from outside, half in the darkness beyond the open door, against
+which the flickering candlelight struggled feebly, lay the body
+of a yellow-faced, undersized man with a bullet wound through the
+temple.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Without effort Harrison deposited his light burden on her feet by
+the table. Instantly, the girl fled, like some frightened animal
+of the woods, to the farthest corner of the room. Here she
+dropped sobbing on her knees, rocking herself to and fro in a
+sort of paroxysm of hysteria. Harrison moved quickly round the
+table after her; but he was checked by a cry from Matthews who
+was kneeling by the body.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Let her be," said Matthews, "she's scared of this and no wonder!
+Come here a minute, Harrison, and see if you know, this chap!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Harrison crossed the room and looked down at the still figure. He
+whistled softly.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"My word!" he said, "but he copped it all right, sir! Ay, I know
+him well enough! He's Rass, the landlord of this pub, that's who
+he is, as harmless a sort of chap as ever was! Who did it, d'you
+think, sir?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Matthews, who had been going through the dead man's pockets, now
+rose to his feet.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Nothing worth writing home about there," he said half aloud.
+Then to Harrison, he added: "That's what we've got to
+discover... hullo, who's this?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The door leading from the bar to the tap-room was thrust open.
+Gordon put his head in.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"I left Bates on guard outside, sir," he said in answer to an
+interrogatory glance from Matthews, "I've been all over the
+ground floor and there's not a soul here..."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+He checked himself suddenly.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"God bless my soul!" he exclaimed, his eyes on the figure
+crouching in the corner, "you don't mean to say you've got her? A
+pretty dance she led Dug and myself! Well, sir, it looks to me
+like a good night's work!".
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Matthews smiled a self-satisfied smile.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"I fancy the Chief will be pleased," he said, "though the rest of
+'em seem to have given us the slip. Gordon, you might take a look
+upstairs&mdash;that door in the corner leads to the upper rooms, I
+fancy whilst I'm telephoning to Mr. Okewood. He must know about
+this without delay. You, Harrison, keep an eye on the girl!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+He went through the door leading into the bar, and they heard him
+speaking on the telephone which hung on the wall behind the
+counter. He returned presently with a white tablecloth which he
+threw over the prostrate figure on the floor.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Then he turned to the dancer.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Stand up," he said sternly, "I want to speak to you."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Nur-el-Din cast a frightened glance over her shoulder at the
+floor beside the table where Rass lay. On seeing the white pall
+that hid him from view, she became somewhat reassured. She rose
+unsteadily to her feet and stood facing Matthews.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"In virtue of the powers conferred upon me by the Defence of the
+Realm Acts, I arrest you foil espionage... Matthews rolled off in
+glib, official gabble the formula of arrest ending with the usual
+caution that anything the prisoner might say might be used
+against her at her trial. Then he said to Harrison:
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Better put them on her, Harrison!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The plain clothes man took a pace forward and touched the
+dancer's slender wrists, there was a click and she was
+handcuffed.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Now take her in there," said Matthews pointing to the bar.
+"There's no exit except by this room. And don't take your eyes
+off her. You understand? Mr. Okewood will be along presently with
+a female searcher."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Sir!" said the plain clothes man with military precision and
+touched the dancer on the shoulder. Without a word she turned and
+followed him into the bar.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Gordon entered by the door at the end of the room.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"I'd like you to have a look upstairs, sir," he said to Matthews,
+"there's not a soul in the house, but somebody has been locked up
+in one of the rooms. The door is still locked but one of the
+panels has been forced out. I think you ought to see it!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The two men passed out of the tap-room together, and mounted the
+stairs. On the landing Matthews paused a moment to glance out of
+the window on to the bleak and inhospitable fen which was almost
+obscured from view by a heavy drizzle of rain.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Brr!" said Mr. Matthews, "what a horrible place!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Looking up the staircase from the landing, they could see that
+one of the panels of the door facing the head of the stairs had
+been pressed out and lay on the ground. They passed up the stairs
+and Matthews, putting one arm and his head through the opening,
+found himself gazing into that selfsame ugly sitting room where
+Desmond had talked with Nur-el-Din.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+A couple of vigorous heaves burst the fastening of the door. The
+sitting-room was in the wildest confusion. The doors of the
+sideboard stood wide with its contents scattered
+higgledy-piggledy on the carpet. A chest of drawers in the corner
+had been ransacked, some of the drawers having been taken bodily
+out and emptied on the floor.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The door leading to the inner room stood open and showed that a
+similar search had been conducted there as well. The inner room
+proved to be a bare white-washed place, very plainly furnished as
+a bedroom. On the floor stood a small attache case, and beside it
+a little heap of miscellaneous articles such as a woman would
+take away with her for a weekend, a crepe-de-chine nightdress, a
+dainty pair of bedroom slippers and some silver-mounted toilet
+fittings. From these things Matthews judged that this had been
+Nur-el-Din's bedroom.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The two men spent a long time going through the litter with which
+the floor in the bedroom and sitting room was strewed. But their
+labors were vain, and they turned their attention to the
+remaining rooms, of which there were three.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The first room they visited, adjoining Nur-el-Din's bedroom, was
+scarcely better than an attic. It contained in the way of
+furniture little else than a truckle-bed, a washstand, a table
+and a chair. Women's clothes were hanging on hooks behind the
+door. The place looked like a servant's bedroom.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+They pursued their search. Across the corridor two rooms stood
+side by side. One proved to be Rass's. His clothes lay about the
+room, and on a table in the corner, where writing materials
+stood, were various letters and bills made out in his name.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The other room had also been occupied; for the bed was made and
+turned back for the night and there were clean towels on the
+washstand. But there was no clue as to its occupant save for a
+double-barreled gun which stood in the corner. It had evidently
+been recently used; for fresh earth was adhering to the stock and
+the barrel, though otherwise clean, showed traces of
+freshly-burnt powder.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+There being nothing further to glean upstairs, the two men went
+down to the tap-room again. As Matthews came through the door
+leading from the staircase his eye caught a dark object which lay
+on the floor under the long table. He fished it out with his
+stick.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+It was a small black velvet toque with a band of white and black
+silk flowers round it. In one part the white flowers were
+besmeared with a dark brown stain.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Matthews stared at the little hat in his hand with puckered
+brows. Then he called to Gordon.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Do you know that hat?" he asked, holding it up for the man to
+see.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Gordon shook his head.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"I might have seen it," he replied, "but I don't take much
+account of such things, Mr. Matthews, being a married man..."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Tut, tut," fussed Matthews, "I think you have seen it. Come,
+think of the office for a minute!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Of the office?" repeated Gordon. Then he exclaimed suddenly:
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Miss Mackwayte!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Exactly," answered Matthews, "it's her hat, I recall it
+perfectly. She wore it very often to the office. Look at the
+blood on it!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+He put the hat down on the table and ran into the bar where
+Nur-el-Din sat immobile on her chair, wrapped in a big overcoat
+of some soft blanket cloth in dark green, her chin sunk on her
+breast.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Matthews called up the Mill House and asked for Francis Okewood.
+When he mentioned the finding of Barbara Mackwayte's hat, the
+dancer raised her head and cast a frightened glance at Matthews.
+But she said nothing and when Matthews turned from the telephone
+to go back to the tap-room she had resumed her former listless
+attitude.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Matthews and Gordon made a thorough search of the kitchen and
+back premises without finding anything of note. They had just
+finished when the sound of a car outside attracted their
+attention. On the road beyond the little bridge outside the inn
+Francis and Desmond Okewood were standing, helping a woman to
+alight. Francis was still wearing his scarecrow-like apparel,
+while Desmond, with his beard and pale face and bandaged head,
+looked singularly unlike the trim Brigade Major who had come home
+on leave only a week or so before.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Matthews went out to meet them and, addressing the woman&mdash;a
+brisk-looking person-as Mrs. Butterworth, informed her that it
+was shocking weather. Then he led the way into the inn.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The first thing that Desmond saw was the little toque with the
+brown stain on its flowered band lying on the table. Francis
+picked it up, turned it over and land it down again.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Where did you find it?" he asked Matthews. The latter informed
+him of the circumstances of the discovery. Then Francis, sending
+the searcher in to Nur-el-Din in the bar, pointed to the body on
+the floor.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Let's have a look at that!" he said.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Matthews removed the covering and the three men gazed at the set
+face of the dead man. There was a clean bullet wound in the right
+temple. Matthews showed the papers he had taken off the body and
+exchanged a few, words in a low tone with Francis. There is
+something about the presence of death which impels respect
+whatever the circumstances.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Five minutes later Mrs. Butterworth came out of the bar. In her
+hands she held a miscellaneous assortment of articles, a small
+gold chain purse, a pair of gloves, a gold cigarette case, a tiny
+handkerchief, and a long blue envelope. She put all the articles
+down on the tables save the envelope which she handed to Francis.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"This was in the lining of her overcoat, sir," she said.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Francis took the envelope and broke the seal. He drew out half a
+dozen sheets of thin paper, folded lengthwise. Leisurely he
+unfolded them, but he had hardly glanced at the topmost sheet
+than he turned to the next and the next until he had run through
+the whole bunch. Desmond, peering over his shoulder, caught a
+glimpse of rows of figures, very neatly set out in a round hand
+and knew that he was looking at a message in cipher code.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The door at the end of the tap-room was flung open and a soldier
+came in quickly.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+He stopped irresolute on seeing the group.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Well, Bates," said Matthews.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"There's a woman lying dead in the cellar back yonder," said the
+man, jerking his thumb over his shoulder.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"The cellar?" cried Matthews.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Yes, sir... I think you must ha' overlooked it."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Francis, Desmond and Matthews exchanged a brief glance. A name
+was on the lips of each one of them but none dared speak it.
+Then, leaving Harrison and Mrs. Butterworth with Nur-el-Din, the
+three men followed the soldier and hurriedly quitted the room.
+</P>
+
+<BR><BR><BR>
+
+<A NAME="chap22"></A>
+<H3 ALIGN="center">
+CHAPTER XXII. WHAT THE CELLAR REVEALED
+</H3>
+
+<P>
+On opening the door at the farther end of the tap-room they saw
+before them a trap-door standing wide with a shallow flight of
+wooden steps leading to the darkness below. Bates pointed with
+his foot to a square of linoleum which lay on one side.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"That was covering the trap," he said, "I wouldn't ha' noticed
+nothing out of the ordinary myself only I slipped, see, and
+kicked this bit o' ilecloth away and there was the ring of the
+trap staring me in the face, as you might say. Show us a light
+here, Gordon!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Gordon handed him an electric torch. He flashed it down the
+stair. It fell upon something like a heap of black clothes
+huddled up at the foot of the ladder.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Is it Miss Mackwayte?" whispered Francis to his brother. "I've
+never seen her, you know!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"I can't tell," Desmond whispered back, "until I see her face."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+He advanced to descend the ladder but Matthews was before him.
+Producing an electric torch from his pocket, Matthews slipped
+down the stair with Gordon close behind. There was a pause, so
+tense that it seemed an eternity to Desmond, as he waited
+half-way down the ladder with the musty smell of the cellar in
+his nostrils. Then Matthews cried:
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"It's not her!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Let me look!" Gordon broke in. Then Desmond heard him exclaim.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"It's Nur-el-Din's French maid! It's Marie... she's been stabbed
+in the back!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Desmond suddenly felt rather sick. This progress from one deed of
+violence to another revolted him. The others crowded into the
+cellar; but he did not follow them. He remained at the top of the
+trap, leaning against the wall, trying to collect his thoughts.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Barbara Mackwayte was now his sole preoccupation. If anything had
+happened to her,&mdash;it was through his fault alone; for he began to
+feel sure she must have come to the Mill House in his absence.
+What then had become of her? The blood-stained toque pointed to
+foul play. But if they had murdered her, what had they done with
+the body?
+</P>
+
+<P>
+His thoughts flew back to his interview with Nur-el-Din upstairs
+on the previous afternoon. He remembered the entrance of the maid
+and the dancer's hurried exit. Might not Marie have come to tell
+her that Barbara Mackwayte was below asking for her? It was very
+shortly after this interruption that, crouching on the roof of
+the shed, he had heard that muffled cry from the house and seen
+Rass enter the bar and speak with Strangwise. He had seen, too,
+the maid, Marie, in earnest conversation with Strangwise by the
+back gate on the fen. Had both Marie and Rass been in league with
+Strangwise against the dancer? And had Nur-el-Din discovered
+their treachery? His mind refused to follow these deductions to
+their logical sequence; for, black as things looked against
+Nur-el-Din, he could not bring himself to believe her a
+murderess.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+But now there were footsteps on the ladder. They were all coming
+out of the cellar again. As soon as Francis saw Desmond's face,
+he caught his brother by the arm and said:
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"The open air for you, my boy! You look as if you'd seen a ghost!
+I should have remembered all you've gone through!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+He walked him quickly through the tap-room and out through the
+inn door into the yard.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The rain had ceased and the sun was making a brave attempt to
+shine through the clouds. The cold air did Desmond good and
+after a turn or two in the yard, arm in arm with Francis, he felt
+considerably better.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Where is Miss Mackwayte?" he asked.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Des," said his brother, "I don't know and I don't want to
+cross-examine Nur-el-Din in there until I have reasoned out some
+theory which will fit Miss Mackwayte in her place in this
+horrible affair. The men have gone to search the outhouses and
+precincts of the inn to see if they can find any traces of her
+body, but I don't think they will find anything. I believe that
+Miss Mackwayte is alive."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Alive?" said Desmond.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"The blood on that toque of hers might have been Rass's. There is
+a good deal of blood on the floor. You see, I still think Miss
+Mackwayte's safety depends on that jewel not being recovered by
+either Strangwise or Nur-el-Din. Strangwise, we know, has lost
+the jewel and there is no trace of it here: moreover, we know
+that, as late as yesterday afternoon, Nur-el-Din did not have it.
+Therefore, she cannot have sent it away! I am inclined to
+believe, too, that Strangwise, before going over to the Mill
+House last night, carried off Miss Mackwayte somewhere with the
+aid of Rass and Marie, who were evidently his accomplices, in
+order to find out from her where the jewel is concealed..."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"But Miss Mackwayte cannot know what has become of it," objected
+Desmond.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Maybe not," retorted his brother, "but both Strangwise and
+Nur-el-Din know that the jewel was originally entrusted to her
+charge. Nur-el-Din did not, it is true, tell Miss Mackwayte what
+the silver box contained but the latter may have found out, at
+least the dancer might suppose so; while Strangwise might think
+the same. Therefore, both Strangwise and Nur-el-Din had an
+interest in detaining Miss Mackwayte, and I think Strangwise
+forestalled the dancer. When Nur-el-Din discovered it, both Rass
+and her maid paid the penalty of their betrayal."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+They walked once up and down the yard before Desmond replied.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Francis," he said, "you remember Nur-el-Din's story&mdash;I told it
+to you just as I had it from her."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Perfectly," answered his brother.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Well," Desmond went on deliberately, "I think that story gives
+us the right measure of Nur-el-Din's, character. She may be vain,
+she may be without morals, she may be weak, she may be an
+adventuress, but she's not a murderess. If anything, she's a
+victim!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Francis laughed shortly.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Victim be damned!" he cried. "Man alive," he went on, "how can
+you talk such nonsense in face of the evidence, with this
+bloody-minded woman's victims hardly cold yet? But, horrible as
+these murders are, the private squabbles of this gang of spies
+represent neither your interest nor mine in this case. For us the
+fact remains that Nur-el-Din, besides being a monster of
+iniquity, is the heart and soul and vitals of the whole
+conspiracy!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Jaded and nervous, Desmond felt a quick sting of resentment at
+his brother's tone. Why should Francis thus lay down the law to
+him about Nur-el-Din? Francis knew nothing of the girl or her
+antecedents while he, Desmond, flattered himself that he had at
+least located the place she occupied in this dark conspiracy. And
+he cried out vehemently:
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"You're talking like a fool! I grant you that Nur-el-Din has been
+mixed up with this spy crowd; but she herself stands absolutely
+apart from the organization..."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Half a minute!" put in Francis, "aren't you forgetting that blue
+envelope we took off her just now?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"What about it?" asked Desmond sharply.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Merely this; the cipher is in five figure groups, addressed to a
+four figure group and signed by a six figure group..."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Well?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"That happens to be the current secret code of the German Great
+General Staff. If you were to tap a German staff message out in
+France to-day, ten to one it would be in that code. Curious
+coincidence, isn't it?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+When one is angry, to be baffled in argument does not have a
+sedative effect as a rule. If we were all philosophers it might;
+but being merely human beings, cold reason acts on the inflamed
+temperament as a red rag is said to affect a bull.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Desmond, sick with the sense of failure and his anxiety about
+Barbara, was in no mood to listen to reason. The cold logic of
+his brother infuriated him mainly because Desmond knew that
+Francis was right.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"I don't care a damn for the evidence," vociferated Desmond; "It
+may look black against Nur-el-Din; I daresay it does; but I have
+met and talked to this girl and I tell you again that she is not
+a principal in this affair but a victim!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"You talk as if you were in love with the woman!" Francis said
+mockingly.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Desmond went rather white.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"If pity is a form of love," he replied in a low voice, "then I
+am, for God knows I never pitied any woman as I pity Nur-el-Din!
+Only you, I suppose," he added bitterly, "are too much of the
+policeman, Francis, to appreciate anything like that!" Hot
+tempers run in families and Francis flared up on the instant.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"I may be a policeman, as you say," he retorted, "but I've got
+enough sense of my duty, I hope, not to allow sentimentality to
+interfere with my orders!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+It was a shrewd thrust and it caught Desmond on the raw.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"I'm sick of arguing here," he said hotly, "if you're so mighty
+clever, you'd better shoot Nur-el-Din first and arrest Strangwise
+afterwards. Then you'll find out which of us two is right!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+He turned on his heel and started for the little bridge leading
+out onto the fen.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Francis stood still a moment watching him, then ran after him. He
+caught up with Desmond as the latter reached the bridge.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Desmond!" he said, pleadingly.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Oh, go to hell!" retorted the other savagely, whereupon Francis
+turned his back on him and walked back to the inn.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+A car had stopped by the bridge and a man was getting out of it
+as Desmond moved towards the fen. The next moment he found
+himself face to face with the Chief.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The Chief's face was hard and cold and stern. There was a furrow
+between his eyes which deepened when he recognized Desmond.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Well," he said curtly, "and where is my secretary?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"I don't know," Desmond faltered.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Why are you here, then?" came back in that hard, uncompromising
+voice.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Desmond was about to reply; but the other checked him.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"I know all you have to say," he resumed, "but no excuse you can
+offer can explain away the disappearance of Miss Mackwayte. Your
+orders were formal to remain at home. You saw fit to disobey them
+and thereby, maybe, sent Miss Mackwayte to her death. No!" he
+added, seeing that Desmond was about to expostulate, "I want to
+hear nothing from you. However obscure the circumstances of Miss
+Mackwayte's disappearance may be, one fact is perfectly clear,
+namely, that she went to the Mill House, as she was ordered and
+you were not there. For no man or woman in my service ever dares
+to disobey an order I have given."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Chief..." Desmond broke in, but again that inexorable voice
+interposed.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"I will hear nothing from you," said the Chief, "it is a rule of
+mine never to interfere with my men in their work or to see them
+until their mission has been successfully completed. When you
+have found Miss Mackwayte I will hear you but not before!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Desmond drew himself up.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"In that case, sir," he said stiffly, "I will bid you good
+morning. And I trust you will hear from me very soon again!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+He walked over to one of the cars waiting outside the inn, spoke
+a word to the driver and got in. The driver started the engine
+and presently the car was bumping slowly along the muddy track to
+the main road.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The Chief stood looking after him.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Well," he murmured to himself. "I soaked it into him pretty
+hard; but he took it like a brick. I do believe he'll find her
+yet!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+He shook his head sagely and continued on hid way across the
+yard.
+</P>
+
+<BR><BR><BR>
+
+<A NAME="chap23"></A>
+<H3 ALIGN="center">
+CHAPTER XXIII. MRS. MALPLAQUET GOES DOWN TO THE CELLAR
+</H3>
+
+<P>
+In the age of chivalry woman must have been built of sterner
+stuff than the girl of to-day. At least, we read in medieval
+romance of fair ladies who, after being knocked down by a
+masterful suitor and carried off across his saddle bow thirty or
+forty miles, are yet able to appear, cold but radiantly
+beautiful, at the midnight wedding and the subsequent marriage
+feast.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+But this is a romance of the present day, the age of nerves and
+high velocity. Barbara Mackwayte, strong and plucky as she was,
+after being half throttled and violently thrown into the cellar
+of the Dyke Inn, suddenly gave way under the strain and
+conveniently evaded facing the difficulties of her position by
+fainting clear away.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The precise moment when she came out of her swoon she never knew.
+The cellar was dark; but it was nothing compared to the darkness
+enveloping her mind. She lay there on the damp and mouldy straw,
+hardly able, scarcely wanting, to move, overwhelmed by the
+extraordinary adventure which had befallen her. Was this to be
+the end of the pleasant trip into the country on which she had
+embarked so readily only a few hours before? She tried to
+remember that within twenty miles of her were policemen and taxis
+and lights and all the attributes of our present day
+civilization; but her thoughts always returned, with increasing
+horror, to that undersized yellow-faced man in the room above, to
+the face of Nur-el-Din, dark and distorted with passion.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+A light shining down the cellar stairs drew her attention to the
+entrance. The woman she had already seen and in whom she now
+recognized Marie, the dancer's maid, was descending, a tray in
+her hand. She placed the tray on the ground without a word, then
+went up the stairs again and fetched the lamp. She put the lamp
+down by the tray and, stooping, cut the ropes that fastened
+Barbara's hands and feet.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"So, Mademoiselle," she said, drawing herself erect with a grunt,
+"your supper: some tea and meat!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+She pulled a dirty deal box from a corner of the cellar and put
+the tray upon it. Then she rose to her feet and sat down. The
+maid watched Barbara narrowly while she ate a piece of bread and
+drank the tea.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"At least," thought Barbara to herself, "they don't mean to
+starve me!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The tea was hot and strong; and it did her good. It seemed to
+clear her faculties, too; for her brain began to busy itself with
+the problem of escaping from her extraordinary situation.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Mademoiselle was a leetle too clevaire," said the maid with an
+evil leer,&mdash;"she would rob Madame, would she? She would play the
+espionne, hein? Eh bien, ma petite, you stay 'ere ontil you say
+what you lave done wiz ze box of Madame!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Why do you say I have stolen the box?" protested Barbara, "when
+I tell you I know nothing of it. It was stolen from me by the man
+who killed my father. More than that I don't know. You don't
+surely think I would conspire to kill" her voice trembled&mdash;"my
+father, to get possession of this silver box that means nothing
+to me!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Marie laughed cynically.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Ma foi," she cried, "when one is a spy, one will stop at
+nothing! But tiers, here is Madame!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Nur-el-Din picked her way carefully down the steps, the
+yellow-faced man behind her. He had a pistol in his hand. The
+dancer said something in French to her maid who picked up the
+tray and departed.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Now, Mademoiselle," said Nur-el-Din, "you see this pistol. Rass
+here will use it if you make any attempt to escape. You
+understand me, hein? I come to give you a las' chance to say
+where you 'ave my box..."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Barbara looked at the dancer defiantly.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"I've told you already I know nothing about it. You, if any one,
+should be better able to say what has become of it..."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Quoi?" exclaimed Nur-el-Din in genuine surprise, "comment?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Because," said Barbara, "a long black hair&mdash;one of your
+hairs&mdash;was found adhering to the straps with which I was
+fastened!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Tiens!" said the dancer, her black eyes wide with surprise,
+"tiens!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+She was silent for a minute, lost in thought. The man, Rass,
+suddenly cocked his ear towards the staircase and said something
+to Nur-el-Din in the same foreign tongue which Barbara had heard
+them employ before.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The dancer made a gesture, bidding him to be silent.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"He was at my dressing-table that night;" she murmured in French,
+as though to herself, "then it was he who did it!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+She spoke rapidly to Barbara.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"This man who tied you up... you didn't see him?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Barbara shook her head.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"I could see nothing; I don't even know that it was a man. He
+seized me so suddenly that in the dark I could distinguish
+nothing... it might have been a woman... yourself, for instance,
+for all I know!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Nur-el-Din clasped her hands together.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"It was he, himself, then," she whispered, "I might have known.
+Yet he has not got it here!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Heavy footsteps resounded in the room above. Rass cried out
+something swiftly to the dancer, thrust the pistol into her
+hands, and dashed up the ladder. The next moment there was a loud
+report followed by the thud of a heavy body falling. Somewhere in
+the rooms above a woman screamed.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Nur-el-Din's hands flew to her face and the pistol crashed to the
+ground. Two men appeared at the head of the cellar stairs. One
+was Strangwise, in uniform, the other was Bellward.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"They're both here!" said Strangwise over his shoulder to
+Bellward.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Ah, thank God, you've come!" cried Barbara, running to the foot
+of the ladder.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Strangwise brushed past her and caught Nur-el-Din by the arm.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Run her upstairs," he said quickly to Bellward who had followed
+behind him, "and lock her in her room. I've seen to the rest.
+You, Miss Mackwayte," he added to Barbara, "you will come with
+us!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Barbara was staring in fascination at Bellward. She had never
+believed that any disguise could be so baffling, so complete;
+Major Okewood, she thought, looked like a different man.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+But Bellward had grasped the dancer by the two arms and forced
+her up the stairs in front of him. Nur-el-Din seemed too overcome
+with terror to utter a sound.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Oh, don't be so rough with her, Major Okewood!" entreated
+Barbara, "you'll hurt her!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+She had her back turned to Strangwise so she missed the very
+remarkable change that came over his features at her words.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Okewood," he whispered but too low for the girl to distinguish
+the words, "Okewood? I might have guessed! I might have guessed!"
+Then he touched Barbara lightly on the shoulder.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Come," he said, "we must be getting upstairs. We have much to
+do!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+He gently impelled her towards the ladder up which Bellward and
+Nur-el-Din had already disappeared. At the top, he took the lead
+and conducted Barbara into the taproom. A single candle stood on
+the table, throwing a wan light into the room. Rass lay on his
+back in the centre of the floor, one hand doubled up under him,
+one knee slightly drawn up.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Barbara started back in horror.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Is he... is he..." she stammered, pointing at the limp still
+form.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Strangwise nodded.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"A spy!" he said gravely, "we were well rid of him. Go over there
+in the corner where you won't see it. Stay!" he added, seeing how
+pale the girl had become, "you shall have some brandy!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+He produced a flask and measured her out, a portion in the cup.
+Suddenly, the door leading from the bar opened and a woman came
+into the room. Her black velvet dress, her gray hair and general
+air of distinction made her a bizarre figure in that squalid room
+lit by the guttering candle.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Time we were off!" she said to Strangwise, "Bellward's just
+coming down!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"There's the maid..." began Strangwise, looking meaningly at
+Barbara.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The woman in black velvet cast a questioning glance at him.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Strangwise nodded.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"I'll do it," said the woman promptly, "if you'll call her down!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Strangwise went to the other door of the tap-room and called:
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Marie!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+There was a step outside and the maid came in, pale and
+trembling.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Your mistress wants you; she is downstairs in the cellar," he
+said pleasantly.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Marie hesitated an instant and surveyed the group.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Non, non," she said nervously, "je n'veux pas descendre!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Strangwise smiled, showing his teeth.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"No need to be frightened, ma fille," he replied. "Madame here
+will go down with you!" and he pointed to the woman in black
+velvet.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+This seemed to reassure the maid and she walked across the room
+to the door, the woman following her. As the latter passed
+Strangwise he whispered a word in her ear.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"No, no," answered the other, "I prefer my own way," and she
+showed him something concealed in her hand.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The two women quitted the room together, leaving Strangwise and
+Barbara alone with the thing on the floor. Strangwise picked up a
+military great-coat which was hanging over the back of a chair
+and put it on, buttoning it all the way up the front and turning
+up the collar about the neck. Then he crammed a cap on his head
+and stood listening intently.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+A high, gurgling scream, abruptly checked, came through the open
+door at the farther end of the room.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Barbara sprang up from the chair into which she had sunk.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"What was that" she asked, whispering.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Strangwise did not reply. He was still listening, a tall, well
+set-up figure in the long khaki great-coat.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"But those two women are alone in the cellar," exclaimed Barbara,
+"they are being murdered! Ah! what was that?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+A gentle thud resounded from below.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+A man came in through the door leading from the bar:
+</P>
+
+<P>
+He had a fat, smooth-shaven face, heavily jowled.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"All ready, Bellward?" asked Strangwise carelessly.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Barbara stared at the man thus addressed. She saw that he was
+wearing the same clothes as the man who had come down into the
+cellar with Strangwise but the beard was gone. And the man she
+saw before her was not Desmond Okewood.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Without waiting to reason out the metamorphosis, she ran towards
+Bellward.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"They're murdering those two women down in the cellar," she
+cried, "oh, what has happened? Won't you go down and see?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Bellward shook her off roughly.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Neat work!" said Strangwise.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"She's a wonder with the knife!" agreed the other.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Barbara stamped her foot.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"If neither of you men have the courage to go down," she cried,
+"then I'll go alone! As for you, Captain Strangwise, a British
+officer..."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+She never finished the sentence. Strangwise caught her by the
+shoulder and thrust the cold barrel of a pistol in her face.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Stay where you are!" he commanded. "And if you scream I shoot!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Barbara was silent, dumb with horror and bewilderment, rather
+than with fear. A light shone through the open door at the end of
+the tap-room and the woman in black velvet appeared, carrying a
+lamp in her hand She was breathing rather hard and her carefully
+arranged gray hair was a little untidy; but she was quite calm
+and self-possessed.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"We haven't a moment to lose!" she said, putting the lamp down on
+the table and blowing it out.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Bellward, give me my cloak!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Bellward advanced with a fur cloak and wrapped it about her
+shoulders.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"You are the perfect artiste, Minna," he said.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Practise makes perfect!" replied Mrs. Malplaquet archly.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Strangwise had flung open the door leading to the front yard. A
+big limousine stood outside.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Come on," he said impatiently, "don't stand there gossiping you
+two!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Then Barbara revolted.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"I'll not go!" she exclaimed, "you can do what you like but I'll
+stay where I am! Murderers..."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Oh," said Strangwise wearily, "bring her along, Bellward!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Bellward and the woman seized the girl one by each arm and
+dragged her to the car. Strangwise had the door open and between
+them they thrust her in. Bellward and the woman mounted after her
+while Strangwise, after starting the engine, sprang into the
+driving-seat outside. With a low hum the big car glided forth
+into the cold, starry night.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+From the upper floor of the Dyke Inn came the sound of a woman's
+terrified sobs. Below there reigned the silence of death.
+</P>
+
+<BR><BR><BR>
+
+<A NAME="chap24"></A>
+<H3 ALIGN="center">
+CHAPTER XXIV. THE TWO DESERTERS
+</H3>
+
+<P>
+Desmond drove to Wentfield Station in an angry and defiant mood.
+He was incensed against Francis, incensed against the Chief, yet,
+if the truth were told, most of all incensed against himself.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Not that he admitted it for a moment. He told himself that he was
+very hardly used. He had undergone considerable danger in the
+course of discharging a mission which was none of his seeking,
+and he had met with nothing but taunts from his brother and abuse
+from the Chief.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"I wash my hands of the whole thing," Desmond declared, as he
+paced the platform at Wentfield waiting for his train. "As
+Francis is so precious cocksure about it all, let him carry on in
+my place! He's welcome to the Chief's wiggings! The Chief won't
+get me to do his dirty work again in a hurry! That's flat!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Yet all the while the little gimlet that men call conscience was
+patiently drilling its way through the wall of obduracy behind
+which Desmond's wounded pride had taken cover. Rail as he would
+against his hard treatment at the hands of the Chief, he knew
+perfectly well that he could never wash his hands of his mission
+until Barbara Mackwayte had been brought back into safety. This
+thought kept thrusting itself forward into the foreground of his
+mind; and he had to focus his attention steadfastly on his
+grievances to push it back again.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+But we puny mortals are all puppets in the hands of Fate. Even as
+the train was bearing Desmond, thus rebellious, Londonwards,
+Destiny was already pulling the strings which was to force the
+"quitter" back into the path he had forsaken. For this purpose
+Fate had donned the disguise of a dirty-faced man in a greasy old
+suit and a spotted handkerchief in lieu of collar... but of him
+presently.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+On arriving at Liverpool Street, Desmond, painfully conscious of
+his unkempt appearance, took a taxi to a Turkish bath in the West
+End. There his first care was to submit himself to the hands of
+the barber who, after a glance at his client's bandaged head,
+muddy clothes and shaggy beard, coughed ominously and relapsed
+into a most unbarber-like reserve.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Desmond heard the cough and caught the look of commiseration on
+the man's face.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"I rather think I want a shave!" he said, weakly. "I rather think
+you do, sir!" replied the man, busy with his lather.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"... Had a nasty accident," murmured Desmond, "I fell down and
+cut my head..."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"We're used to that here, sir," answered the barber, "but the
+bath'll make you as right as, rain. W'y we 'ad a genel'man in
+'ere, only lars' week it was, as 'adn't been 'ome for five days
+and nights and the coat mos tore off 'is back along with a bit of
+turn-up 'e'd 'at one o' them night clubs. And drunk I... w'y 'e
+went to bite the rubber, so they wos tellin' me! But, bless you,
+'e 'ad a nice shave and a couple of hours in the bath and a bit
+of a nap; we got him his clothes as was tore mended up fine for
+'im and 'e went 'ome as sober as a judge and as fresh as a
+daisy!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Desmond had it in his mind to protest against this material
+interpretation of his disreputable state; but the sight in the
+mirror of his ignominiously scrubby and battered appearance
+silenced him. The barber's explanation was as good as any, seeing
+that he himself could give no satisfactory account of the
+circumstances which had reduced him to his sorry pass. So Desmond
+held his peace though he felt constrained to reject the barber's
+offer of a pick-me-up.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+From the shaving saloon, Desmond sent a messenger out for some
+clothes, and for the next three hours amused himself by
+exhausting the resources of the Turkish bath. Finally, about the
+hour of noon, he found himself, considerably refreshed, swathed
+in towel, reposing on a couch, a cup of coffee at his elbow and
+that morning's Daily Telegraph spread out before him.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Advertisements, so the experts say, are printed on the front and
+back of newspapers in order to catch the eye of the indolent, on
+the chance that having exhausted the news, they may glance idly
+over the front and back of the paper before laying it aside. So
+Desmond, before he even troubled to open his paper, let his gaze
+wander down the second column of the front page whence issue
+daily those anguishing appeals, mysterious messages,
+heart-rending entreaties and barefaced begging advertisements
+which give this column its characteristic name.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+There his eye fell on an advertisement couched in the following
+terms:
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"If Gunner Martin Barling, 1820th Battery, R.F.C., will
+communicate with Messrs. Mills & Cheyne, solicitors 130 Bedford
+Row, W. C., he will hear of something to his advantage.
+Difficulties with the military can be arranged."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Desmond read this advertisement over once and then, starting at
+the beginning, read it over again. Gunner Barling... the name
+conjured up a picture of a jolly, sun-burned man, always very
+spick and span, talking the strange lingo of our professional
+army gleaned from India, Aden, Malta and the Rock, the type of
+British soldier that put the Retreat from Mons into the history
+books for all time.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Advertisements like this; Desmond reflected dreamily, meant
+legacies as a rule; he was glad of it, for the sake of Barling
+whom he hadn't seen since the far-away days of Aldershot before
+the war.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Buzzer" Barling was the brother of one Private Henry Barling who
+had been Desmond's soldier-servant. He derived the nickname of
+"Buzzer" from the fact that he was a signaller. As the
+vicissitudes of service had separated the two brothers for many
+years, they had profited by the accident of finding themselves at
+the same station to see as much of one another as possible, and
+Desmond had frequently come across the gunner at his quarters in
+barracks. Henry Barling had gone out to France with Desmond but a
+sniper in the wood at Villers Cotterets had deprived Desmond of
+the best servant and the truest friend he had ever had Now here
+was Henry's brother cropping up again. Desmond hoped that
+"Buzzer" Barling would see the advertisement, and half asleep,
+formed a mental resolve to cut out the notice and send it to the
+gunner who, he felt glad to think, was still alive. The rather
+curiously worded reference to difficulties with the military must
+mean, Desmond thought, that leave could be obtained for Martin
+Barling to come home and collect his legacy.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+At this point the Daily Telegraph fell to the ground and Desmond
+went off to sleep. When he awoke, the afternoon hush had fallen
+upon the bath. He seemed to be the only occupant of the cubicles.
+His clothes which had arrived from the shop during his slumbers,
+were very neatly laid out on a couch opposite him.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+He dressed himself leisurely. The barber was quite right. The
+bath had made a new man of him. Save for a large bump on the back
+of his head he was none the worse for Strangwise's savage blow.
+The attendant having packed Bellward's apparel in the suit-case
+in which Desmond's clothes had come from the club, Desmond left
+the suit-case in the man's charge and strolled out into the soft
+air of a perfect afternoon. He had discarded his bandage and in
+his well fitting blue suit and brown boots he was not
+recognizable as the scrubby wretch who had entered the bath six
+hours before.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Desmond strolled idly along the crowded streets in the sunshine.
+He was rather at a loss as to what his next move should be. Now
+that his mental freshness was somewhat restored, his thoughts
+began to busy themselves again with the disappearance of Barbara
+Mackwayte. He was conscious of a guilty feeling towards Barbara.
+It was not so much the blame he laid upon himself for not being
+at the Mill House to meet her when she came as the sense that he
+had been unfaithful to the cause of her murdered father.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Now that he was away from Nur-el-Din with her pleading eyes and
+pretty gestures, Desmond's thoughts turned again to Barbara
+Mackwayte. As he walked along Piccadilly, he found himself
+contrasting the two women as he had contrasted them that night he
+had met them in Nur-el-Din's dressing room at the Palaceum. And,
+with a sense of shame; he became aware of how much he had
+succumbed to the dancer's purely sensual influence; for away from
+her he found he could regain his independence of thought and
+action.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The thought of Barbara in the hands of that woman with the cruel
+eyes or a victim to the ruthlessness of Strangwise made Desmond
+cold with apprehension. If they believed the girl knew where the
+jewel had disappeared to, they would stop at nothing to force a
+confession from her; Desmond was convinced of that. But what had
+become of the trio?
+</P>
+
+<P>
+In vain he cast about him for a clue. As far as he knew, the only
+London address that Strangwise had was the Nineveh; and he was as
+little likely to return there as Bellward was to make his way to
+his little hotel in Jermyn Street. There remained Mrs. Malplaquet
+who, he remembered, had told him of her house at Campden Hill.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+For the moment, Desmond decided, he must put both Strangwise and
+Bellward out of his calculations. The only direction in which he
+could start his inquiries after Barbara Mackwayte pointed towards
+Campden Hill and Mrs. Malplaquet.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The delightful weather suggested to his mind the idea of walking
+out to Campden Hill to pursue his investigations on the spot. So
+he made his way across the Park into Kensington Gardens heading
+for the pleasant glades of Notting Hill. In the Bayswater Road he
+turned into a postoffice and consulted the London Directory. He
+very quickly convinced himself that among the hundreds of
+thousands of names compiled by Mr. Kelly's indefatigable industry
+Mrs. Malplaquet's was not to be found. Neither did the street
+directory show her as the tenant of any of the houses on Campden
+Hill.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+I don't know that there is a more pleasant residential quarter of
+London than the quiet streets and gardens that straggle over this
+airy height. The very steepness of the slopes leading up from the
+Kensington High Street on the one side and from Holland Park
+Avenue on the other effectually preserves the atmosphere of
+old-world languor which envelops this retired spot. The hill,
+with its approaches so steep as to suggest to the imaginative the
+pathway winding up some rock-bound fastness of the Highlands,
+successfully defies organ-grinders and motor-buses and other
+aspirants to the membership in the great society for the
+propagation of street noises. As you near the summit, the quiet
+becomes more pronounced until you might fancy yourself a thousand
+leagues, instead of as many yards, removed from the busy commerce
+of Kensington or the rather strident activity of Notting Hill.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+So various in size and condition are the houses that it is as
+though they had broken away from the heterogeneous rabble of
+bricks and mortar that makes up the Royal Borough of Kensington,
+and run up in a crowd to the summit of the hill to look down
+contemptuously upon their less fortunate brethren in the plain.
+On Campden Hill there are houses to suit all purses and all
+tastes from the vulgar mansion with its private garden to the
+little one-story stable that Art (which flourishes in these
+parts) and ten shillings worth of paint has converted into a
+cottage.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+For half an hour Desmond wandered in a desultory fashion along
+the quiet roads of natty houses with brightly painted doors and
+shining brass knockers. He had no definite objective; but he
+hoped rather vaguely to pick up some clue that might lead him to
+Mrs. Malplaquet's. He walked slowly along surveying the houses
+and scrutinizing the faces of the passers-by who were few and far
+between, yet without coming any nearer the end of his search.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+It was now growing dusk. Enthroned on the summit of the hill the
+water-tower stood out hard and clear against the evening sky.
+Desmond, who hid lost his bearings somewhat in the course of his
+wanderings, came to a full stop irresolutely, where two streets
+crossed, thinking that he would retrace his footsteps to the
+main-road on the chance of picking up a taxi to take him back to
+town. He chose one of the streets at random; but it proved to be
+a crescent and brought him back practically to the spot he had
+started from. Thereupon, he took the other and followed it up,
+ignoring various side-turnings which he feared might be pitfalls
+like the last: But the second road was as bad as the first. It
+was a cul de sac and brought Desmond face to face with a blank
+wall.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+He turned and looked about him for somebody of whom to ask the
+way. But the street was entirely deserted. He seemed to be on the
+very summit of the hill; for all the roads were a-tilt. Though
+the evening was falling fast, no light appeared in any of the
+houses and the street lamps were yet unlit. Save for the distant
+bourdon of the traffic which rose to his ears like the beating of
+the surf, the breeze rustling the bushes in the gardens was the
+only sound.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Desmond started to walk back slowly the way he had come.
+Presently, his eyes caught the gleam of a light from above a
+front door. When he drew level with it, he saw that a gas-jet was
+burning in the fanlight over the entrance to a neat little
+two-story house which stood by itself in a diminutive garden. As
+by this time he was thoroughly sick of wandering aimlessly about,
+he went up to the neat little house and rang the bell.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+A maid-servant in a cap and apron who seemed to be drawn to the
+scale of the house, such an insignificant little person she was,
+opened the door.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Oh, sir," she exclaimed when she saw him, "was it about the
+rooms?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+And she pointed up at the fan-light where, for the first time,
+Desmond noticed a printed card with the inscription-:
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Furnished Rooms to Let."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The servant's unexpected question put an idea into Desmond's
+head. He could not return to the club, he reflected, since he was
+supposed to be killed in action. Why not take a room in this
+house in the heart of the enemy's country and spend some days on
+the watch for Mrs. Malplaquet or for any clue that might lead him
+to her?
+</P>
+
+<P>
+So Desmond answered, yes, it was about the rooms he had come.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Promising that she would tell "the missus," the little servant
+showed him into a tiny sitting-room, very clean and bright, with
+blue cretonne curtains and a blue carpet and an engraving of
+"King Cophetua and The Beggar Maid" over the mantelpiece.
+Directly you came into the room, everything in it got up and
+shouted "Tottenham Court Road."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Then the door opened and, with a great tinkling and rustling, a
+stoutish, brisk-looking woman sailed in. The tinkling proceeded
+frown the large amount of cheap jewelry with which she was
+adorned; the rustling from a black and shiny glace silk dress.
+With every movement she made the large drops she wore in her ears
+chinked and were answered by a melodious chime from the charm
+bangles she had on her wrists.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+She measured Desmond in a short glance and his appearance seemed
+to please her for she smiled as she said in rather a mincing
+voice:
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"My (she pronounced it 'may') maid said you wished to see the
+rooms!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Desmond intimated that such was his desire.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Pray be seated," said the little woman: "You will understand,
+I'm sure, that ay am not in the habit of taking in paying guests,
+but may husband being at the front, ay have a bedroom and this
+sitting-room free and ay thought..."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+She stopped and looked sharply at Desmond.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"You are an officer, I think" she asked.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Desmond bowed.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"May husband is also an officer," replied the woman, "Captain
+Viljohn-Smythe; you may have met him. No? Of course, had you not
+been of commissioned rank, ay should not..."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+She trailed off vaguely.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Desmond inquired her terms and surprised her somewhat by
+accepting them on the spot.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"But you have not seen the bedroom!" protested Mrs.
+Viljohn-Smythe.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"I will take it on trust," Desmond replied, "and here," he added,
+pulling out his note-case, "is a week's rent in advance. I'll go
+along now and fetch my things. By the way," he went on, "I know
+some people here at Campden Hill but very foolishly, I've mislaid
+the address. Malplaquet... Mrs. Malplaquet. Do you happen to know
+her house?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Ay know most of the naice people living round about here,"
+replied the lady, "but for the moment, ay cannot recollect... was
+it one of the larger houses on the hill, do you know?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"I'm afraid I don't know," said Desmond. "You see, I've lost the
+address!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Quayte!" returned Mrs. Viljohn-Smythe. "Ay can't say ay know the
+name!" she added.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+However, she consented to consult the handmaiden, who answered to
+the name of Gladays, as to Mrs. Malplaquet's address, but she was
+as ignorant as her mistress.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Promising to return in the course of the evening with his things
+and having received exact instructions as to the shortest way to
+Holland Park Avenue, Desmond took his leave. He felt that he had
+embarked on a wild goose chase; for, even if the fugitives had
+made their way to Mrs. Malplaquet's (which was more than
+doubtful) he imagined they would take care to lie very low so
+that his chances of coming across any of them were of the most
+meager.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Following the directions he had received, he made his way easily
+back to the main road. He halted under a street-lamp to catch the
+eye of any passing taxi which might happen to be disengaged. A
+dirty faced man in a greasy old suit and a spotted handkerchief
+knotted about his throat came slouching along the pavement,
+keeping close to the wall. On catching sight of Desmond's face by
+the light of the lamp, he stopped irresolutely and then advanced
+slowly towards him.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Excuse me, sir!" he said falteringly.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Desmond looked round at the sound of the man's voice and seeing a
+typical street loafer, asked the fellow to get him a taxi.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"It is Captain Okewood," said the loafer, "you don't remember me,
+sir?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Desmond looked at the dirty, rather haggard face with its
+unshaven chin and shook his head.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"I don't think I do," he answered, "though you seem to know my
+name!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The vagrant fumbled in his pocket for a minute and extracting a
+scrap of paper, unfolded it and held it out to Desmond.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"That's me, sir!" he said, "and, oh, sir! if you would kindly
+help me with a word of good advice, just for old times' sake, I'd
+be very grateful!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Desmond took the scrap of paper which the man tendered and held
+it so as to catch the rays of the lamp. It was a fragment torn
+from a newspaper. He had hardly set eyes on the cutting than he
+stretched out his hand to the vagrant.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Why, Gunner Barling," he cried, "I didn't know you! How on
+earth do you come to be in this state?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The man looked shamefacedly down on the ground.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"I'm a deserter, sir!" he said in a low voice.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Are you, by George?" replied Desmond, "and now I come to think
+of it, so am I!"
+</P>
+
+<BR><BR><BR>
+
+<A NAME="chap25"></A>
+<H3 ALIGN="center">
+CHAPTER XXV. TO MRS. MALPLAQUET'S
+</H3>
+
+<P>
+Clasping Barbara's wrist in a bony grip, Mrs. Malplaquet sat at
+the girl's side in the back seat of the limousine whilst Bellward
+placed himself on the seat opposite. The car was powerfully
+engined; and, once the cart track up to the inn was passed and
+the main road reached, Strangwise opened her out.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+By the track leading to the inn the high road made a right angle
+turn to the right. This turn they took, leaving the Mill House
+away in the distance to the left of them, and, after skirting the
+fen for some way and threading a maze of side roads, presently
+debouched on a straight, broad road.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Dazed and shaken by her experiences, Barbara lost all count of
+time, but after running for some time through the open country in
+the gray light of dawn, they reached the edge of those long
+tentacles of bricks and mortar which London thrusts out from her
+on every side. The outer fringes of the metropolis were still
+sleeping as the great car roared by. The snug "High Streets,"
+the red brick "Parades" and "Broadways," with their lines of
+houses with blinds drawn, seemed to have their eyes shut, so
+blank, so somnolent was their aspect.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+With their lamps alight, the first trams were gliding out to
+begin the new day, as the big car swiftly traversed the eastern
+suburbs of London. To Barbara, who had had her home at Seven
+Kings, there was something familiar about the streets as they
+flickered by; but her powers of observation were dulled, so great
+was the sense of helplessness that weighed her down.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+High-booted scavengers with curious snake-like lengths of hose on
+little trolleys were sluicing the asphalt as the limousine
+snorted past the Mansion House into Poultney and Cheapside. The
+light was growing clearer now; the tube stations were open and
+from time to time a motor-bus whizzed by.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Barbara stirred restlessly and Mrs. Malplaquet's grip on her
+wrist tightened.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Where are you taking me?" the girl said.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Mrs. Malplaquet spoke a single word.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Bellward!" she said in a gentle voice; but it was a voice of
+command.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Bellward leaned forward.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Look at me, Miss Mackwayte!" he said.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+There was a curious insistence in his voice that made Barbara
+obey. She struggled for a moment against the impulse to do his
+bidding; for some agency within her told her to resist the
+summons. But an irresistible force seemed to draw her eyes to
+his. Bellward did not move. He simply leaned forward a little,
+his hands on his knees, and looked at her. Barbara could not see
+his eyes, for the light in the car was still dim, but inch by
+inch they captured hers.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+She looked at the black outline of his head and instantly was
+conscious of a wave of magnetic power that transmitted itself
+from his will to hers. She would have cried out, have struggled,
+have sought to break away; but that invisible dance held her as
+in a vice. A little gasp broke from her lips; but that was all.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"So!" said Bellward with the little sigh of a man who has just
+accomplished some bodily effort, "so! you will keep quiet now and
+do as I tell you. You understand?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+No reply came from the girl. She had thrust her head forward and
+was gazing fixedly at the man. Bellward leaned towards the girl
+until his stubbly hair actually touched her soft brown curls. He
+was gazing intently at her eyes.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+He was apparently well satisfied with his inspection, for he gave
+a sigh of satisfaction and turned to Mrs. Malplaquet.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"She'll give no more trouble now!" he remarked airily.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Ah! Bellward," sighed Mrs. Malplaquet, "you're incomparable!
+What an undefeatable combination you and I would have made if
+we'd met twenty years sooner!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+And she threw him a coquettish glance.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Ah, indeed!" returned Bellward pensively. "But a night like this
+makes me feel twenty years older, Minna. He's a daredevil, this
+Strangwise. Imagine going back to that infernal inn when the
+police might have broken in on us any minute. But he is a
+determined chap. He doesn't seem to know what it is to be beaten.
+He wanted to make sure that Nur-el-Din had not recovered the
+jewel from him, though he declares that it has never left him day
+or night since he got possession of it. He fairly made hay of her
+room back at the inn there."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Well," said Mrs. Malplaquet rather spitefully, "he seems to be
+beaten this time. He hasn't found his precious Star of Poland."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"No," answered the man reflectively, "but I think he will!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Mrs. Malplaquet laughed shrilly.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"And how, may I ask? From what Strangwise told me himself, the
+thing has utterly vanished. And he doesn't seem to have any clue
+as to who has taken it!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Perhaps not," replied Bellward, who appeared to have a high
+opinion of Strangwise, "but, like all Germans, our friend is
+thorough. If he does not see the direct road, he proceeds by a
+process of elimination until he bits upon it. He did not expect
+to find the jewel in Nur-el-Din's room; he told me as much
+himself, but he searched because he is thorough in everything. Do
+you know why he really went back to the Dyke Inn?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Why?" asked Mrs. Malplaquet.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"To secure our young friend here," answered Bellward with a
+glance at Barbara.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Mrs. Malplaquet made a little grimace to bid him to be prudent in
+what he said before the girl.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Bah!" the man laughed, "you understand nothing of what we are
+saying, do you?" he said, addressing Barbara.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The girl moved uneasily.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"I understand nothing of what you are saying," she replied in a
+strained voice.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"This girl was the last person to have the jewel before
+Strangwise," Bellward said, continuing his conversation with
+Mrs. Malplaquet, "and she is employed at the Headquarters of the Secret
+Service. Strangwise was satisfied that nobody connected him with
+the theft of the silver box which Nur-el-Din gave to this girl
+until our young lady here appeared at the Dyke Inn yesterday
+afternoon. Nur-el-Din played his game for him by detaining the
+girl. Strangwise believes&mdash;and I must say I agree with him&mdash;that
+probably two persons know where the Star of Poland is. One is
+this girl..."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"The other being the late Mr. Bellward?" queried Mrs. Malplaquet.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Precisely. The late Mr. Bellward or Major Desmond Okewood!" said
+Bellward. "Between him and this girl here I think we ought to be
+able to recover Strangwise's lost property for him!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"But you haven't got Okewood yet!" observed the lady in a mocking
+voice.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The man looked evilly at her, his heavy, fat chin set square.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"But we shall get him, never fear. With a little bird-lime as
+attractive as this&mdash;"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+He broke off and jerked his head in the direction of Barbara.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"... I shall do the rest!" he added.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Ah!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Mrs. Malplaquet drew a deep sigh of admiration.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"That's a clever idea. He is so ruse, this Strangwise. You are
+quite right, Bellward, he never admits himself beaten. And he
+never is! But tell me," she added, "what about Nur-el-Din?
+They'll nab her, eh?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Unless our British friends are even more inefficient than I
+believe them to be, they most certainly will," he replied.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"And then?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Bellward shrugged his shoulders and spread wide his hands.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"A little morning ceremony at the Tower," he answered, "unless
+these idiotic English are too sentimental to execute a woman..."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The car was running down the long slope to Paddington Station. It
+drew up at the entrance to the booking office, and Strangwise,
+springing from the driver's seat, flung open the door.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Come on!" he cried, "we must look sharp or we'll miss our
+train!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+He dragged a couple of bags off the roof and led the way into the
+station. In the booking-hall he inquired of a porter what time
+the express left for Bath, then went to the ticket office and
+took four first-class tickets to that place. Meanwhile, the car
+remained standing empty in the carriageway.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Strangwise led his little party up some stairs and across a long
+bridge, down some stairs and up some stairs again, emerging,
+finally, at the Bakerloo Tube Station. There he despatched
+Bellward to fetch a taxi.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Taxis are rare in the early hours of the morning in war-time and
+Bellward was gone fully twenty minutes. Strangwise fidgeted
+continually, drawing out his watch repeatedly and casting many
+anxious glances this way and that.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+His nervous demeanor began to affect Mrs. Malplaquet, who had
+linked her arm affectionately in Barbara's. The girl remained
+absolutely apathetic. Indeed, she seemed almost as one in a
+trance.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Aren't we going to Bath?" at length demanded Mrs. Malplaquet of
+Strangwise.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Don't ask questions!" snapped the latter.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"But the car?" asked the lady.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Hold your tongue!" commanded the officer; and Mrs. Malplaquet
+obeyed.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Then Mr. Bellward returned with the news that he had at last got
+a taxi. Strangwise turned to Bellward.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Can Minna and the girl go to Campden Hill alone?" he asked. "Or
+will the girl try and break away, do you think?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Bellward held up his hand to enjoin silence.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"You will go along with Mrs. Malplaquet," he said to Barbara in
+his low purring voice, "you will stay with her until I come. You
+understand?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"I will go with Mrs. Malplaquet!" the girl replied in the same
+dull tone as before.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Upon my word," exclaimed Mrs. Malplaquet, "you might have told me
+that we were going to my own place..."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+But Strangwise shut her up.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Bellward and I will come on by tube... it is safer," he said,
+"hurry, hurry! We must all be under cover by eight o'clock... we
+have no time to lose!"
+</P>
+
+<BR><BR><BR>
+
+<A NAME="chap26"></A>
+<H3 ALIGN="center">
+CHAPTER XXVI. THE MAN IN THE SUMMER-HOUSE
+</H3>
+
+<P>
+The hour of the theatre rush was long since over and its passing
+had transformed the taxi-drivers from haughty autocrats to humble
+suppliants. One taxi after another crawled slowly past the street
+corner where Desmond had stood for over an hour in deep converse
+with Gunner Barling, but neither flaunting flag nor appealingly
+uplifted finger attracted the slightest attention from the
+athletic-looking man who was so earnestly engaged in talk with a
+tramp. But at last the conversation was over; the two men
+separated and the next taxi passing thereafter picked up a fare.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+At nine o'clock the next morning Desmond appeared for breakfast
+in his sitting-room at Santona Road; for such was the name of the
+street in which his new rooms were situated. When he had finished
+his meal, he summoned Gladys and informed her that he would be
+glad to speak to Mrs. Viljohn-Smythe. That lady having duly
+answered the summons, Desmond asked whether, in consideration of
+terms to be mutually agreed upon, she could accommodate his
+soldier servant. He explained that the last-named was of the most
+exemplary character and threw out a hint of the value of a batman
+for such tasks as the cleaning of the family boots and the
+polishing of brass or silver.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The landlady made no objections and half an hour later a clean
+and respectable-looking man arrived whom Desmond with difficulty
+recognized as the wretched vagrant of the previous evening. This
+was, indeed, the Gunner Barling he used to know, with his
+smooth-shaven chin and neat brown moustache waxed at the ends and
+characteristic "quiff" decorating his brow. And so Desmond and
+his man installed themselves at Santona Road.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The house was clean and comfortable, and Mrs. Viljohn-Smythe, for
+all her "refaynement," as she would have called it, proved
+herself a warm-hearted, motherly soul. Desmond had a small but
+comfortably furnished bedroom at the top of the house, on the
+second floor, with a window which commanded a view of the
+diminutive garden and the back of a row of large houses standing
+on the lower slopes of the hill. So precipitous was the fall of
+the ground, indeed, that Desmond could look right into the garden
+of the house backing on Mrs. Viljohn-Smythe's. This garden had a
+patch of well-kept green sward in the centre with a plaster nymph
+in the middle, while in one corner stood a kind of large
+summer-house or pavilion built on a slight eminence, with a
+window looking into Mrs. Viljohn-Smythe's' back garden.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+In accordance with a plan of action he had laid down in his mind,
+Desmond took all his meals at his rooms. The rest of the day he
+devoted to walking about the streets of Campden Hill and setting
+on foot discreet inquiries after Mrs. Malplaquet amongst the
+local tradespeople.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+For three or four days he carried out this arrangement without
+the slightest success. He dogged the footsteps of more than one
+gray-haired lady of distinguished appearance without lighting
+upon his quarry. He bestowed largesse on the constable on point
+duty, on the milkman and the baker's young lady; but none of them
+had ever heard of Mrs. Malplaquet or recognized her from
+Desmond's description.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+On the morning of the fourth day Desmond returned to lunch,
+dispirited and heart-sick. He had half a mind to abandon his
+quest altogether and to go and make his peace with the Chief and
+ask to be sent back to France. He ate his lunch and then, feeling
+that it would be useless to resume his aimless patrol of the
+streets, lit a cigar and strolled out into the little
+back-garden.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+It was a fine, warm afternoon, and already the crocuses were
+thrusting their heads out of the neat flower-beds as if to
+ascertain whether the spring had really arrived. There was,
+indeed, a pleasant vernal scent in the air.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"A fine day!" said a voice.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Desmond looked up. At the open window of the summerhouse of the
+garden backing on Mrs. Viljohn-Smythe's, his elbows resting on
+the pitch-pine frame, was a middle-aged man. A cigarette was in
+his mouth and from his hands dangled a newspaper. He had a
+smooth-shaven, heavily-jowled face and a large pair of
+tortoise-shell spectacles on his nose.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Desmond remembered to have seen the man already looking out of a
+window opposite his on one of the upper floors of the house. In
+reply to a casual inquiry, Mrs. Viljohn-Smythe had informed him
+that the house was a nursing home kept by a Dr. Radcombe, a nerve
+specialist.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"It is quite like spring!" replied Desmond, wondering if this
+were the doctor. Doctors get about a good deal and Dr. Radcombe
+might be able to tell him something about Mrs. Malplaquet.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"I think we have seen one another in the mornings sometimes,"
+said the heavily-fowled man, "though I have noticed that you are
+an earlier riser than I am. But when one is an invalid&mdash;"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"You are one of Dr. Radcombe's patients, then!" said Desmond.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"I am," returned the other, "a great man, that, any dear sir. I
+doubt if there is his equal for diagnosis in the kingdom."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"He has lived here for some years, I suppose?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Oh yes!" answered the man, "in fact, he is one of the oldest and
+most-respected residents of Kensington, I believe!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"I am rather anxious to find some friends of mine who live about
+here," Desmond remarked, quick to seize his opportunity, "I
+wonder whether your doctor could help me..."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"I'm sure he could," the man replied, "the doctor knows
+everybody..."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"The name&mdash;" began Desmond, but the other checked him.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Please don't ask me to burden my memory with names," he
+protested. "I am here for a complete rest from over-work, and
+loss of memory is one of my symptoms. But look here; why not come
+over the wall and step inside the house with me? Dr. Radcombe is
+there and will, I am sure, be delighted to give you any
+assistance in his power!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Desmond hesitated.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Really," he said, "it seems rather unconventional. Perhaps the
+doctor would object..."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Object" said the heavily-fowled man, "tut, tut, not at all. Come
+on, I'll give you a hand up!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+He thrust out a large, white hand. Desmond was about to grasp it
+when he saw gleaming on the third finger a gold snake ring with
+emerald eyes&mdash;the ring that Mrs. Malplaquet had given Bellward.
+He was about to draw back but the man was too quick for him.
+Owing to the slope of the ground the window of the summer-house
+was on a level with Desmond's throat. The man's two hands shot
+out simultaneously. One grasped Desmond's wrist in a steel grip
+whilst the other fastened itself about the young man's throat,
+squeezing the very breath out of his body. It was done so quickly
+that he had no time to struggle, no time to shout. As Bellward
+seized him, another arm was shot out of the window. Desmond felt
+himself gripped by the collar and lifted, by a most amazing
+effort of strength, bodily over the wall.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+His brain swimming with the pressure on his throat, he struggled
+but feebly to recover his freedom. However, as Desmond was
+dropped heavily on to the grass on the other side of the wall,
+Bellward's grip relaxed just for a second and in that instant
+Desmond made one desperate bid for liberty. He fell in a
+crouching position and, as he felt Bellward loosen his hold for a
+second with the jerk of his victim's fall, Desmond straightened
+himself up suddenly, catching his assailant a violent blow with
+his head on the point of the chin.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Bellward fell back with a crash on to the timber flooring of the
+pavilion. Desmond heard his head strike the boards with a thud,
+heard a muttered curse. He found himself standing in a narrow
+lane, less than three feet wide, which ran between the garden
+wall and the summer-house; for the pavilion, erected on a slight
+knoll surrounded by turf, was not built against the wall as is
+usually the case with these structures.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+In this narrow space Desmond stood irresolute for the merest
+fraction of a second. It was not longer; for, directly after
+Bellward had crashed backwards, Desmond heard a light step
+reverberate within the planks of the summerhouse. His most
+obvious course was to scramble back over the wall again into
+safety, in all thankfulness at having escaped so violent an
+attack. But he reflected that Bellward was here and that surely
+meant that the others were not far off. In that instant as he
+heard the stealthy footstep cross the floor of the summer-house,
+Desmond resolved he would not leave the garden until he had
+ascertained whether Barbara Mackwayte was there.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Desmond decided that he would stay where he was until he no
+longer heard that footstep on the planks within; for then the
+person inside the summer-house would have reached the grass at
+the door. Desmond remembered the arm which had shot out beside
+Bellward at the window and swung him so easily off his feet. He
+knew only one man capable of achieving that very respectable
+muscular performance; for Desmond weighed every ounce of twelve
+stone. That man was Maurice Strangwise.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+As soon as the creaking of the timbers within ceased, Desmond
+moved to the left following the outer wall of the pavilion. On
+the soft green sward his feet made no sound. Presently he came to
+a window which was let in the side of the summerhouse opposite
+the window from which Bellward had grappled with him. Raising his
+eyes to the level of the sill, Desmond took a cautious peep. He
+caught a glimpse of the face of Maurice Strangwise, brows knit,
+nostrils dilated, the very picture of venomous, watchful rancor.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Strangwise had halted and was now looking back over the wall into
+Mrs. Viljohn-Smythe's back garden. Was it possible, Desmond
+wondered, that he could believe that Desmond had scrambled back
+over the wall? Strangwise remained motionless, his back now fully
+turned to Desmond, peering into the other garden.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The garden in which the summer-house stood was oblong in shape
+and more than twice as broad as it was long. The pavilion was not
+more than forty yards from the back entrance of the house.
+Desmond weighed in his mind the possibility of being able to dash
+across those forty yards, the turf deadening the sound of his
+feet, before Strangwise turned round again. The entrance to the
+back of the house was through a door in the side of the house, to
+which two or three wrought-iron steps gave access. Once he had
+gained the steps Desmond calculated that the side of the house
+would shelter him from Strangwise's view. He turned these things
+over in his mind in the twinkling of an eye; for all his life he
+had been used to quick decision and quick action. To cover those
+forty yards across the open in one bound was, he decided, too
+much to risk; for he must at all costs gain access to the house
+and discover, if possible, whether Barbara Mackwayte were
+confined within, before he was caught.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Then his eye fell on the plaster nymph in the middle of the
+grass. She was a stoutly-built female, life-size, standing upon a
+solid-looking pedestal fully four feet broad. Desmond measured
+the distance separating him from the nymph. It was not more than
+twenty yards at the outside and the pedestal would conceal him
+from the eyes of Strangwise if the latter should turn round
+before he had made his second bound and reached the steps at the
+side of the house.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+He peeped through the window again. Strangwise stood in his old
+attitude gazing over the garden wall. Then Desmond acted. Taking
+long strides on the points of his toes, he gained the statue and
+crouched down behind it. Even as he started, he heard a loud
+grunt from the inside of the summerhouse and from his cover
+behind the nymph saw Strangwise turn quickly and enter the
+summerhouse. On that Desmond sprang to his feet again, heedless
+of whether he was seen from the house, ran lightly across the
+grass and reached the steps at the side of the house.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The door stood ajar.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+He stood still on the top step and listened for a moment. The
+house was wrapped in silence. Not a sign of life came from
+within.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+But now he heard voices from the garden and they were the voices
+of two angry men, raised in altercation. As he listened, they
+drew nearer.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Desmond tarried no longer. He preferred the unknown perils which
+that silent house portended to the real danger advancing from the
+garden. He softly pushed the door open and slipped into the
+house.
+</P>
+
+<BR><BR><BR>
+
+<A NAME="chap27"></A>
+<H3 ALIGN="center">
+CHAPTER XXVII. THE RED LACQUER ROOM
+</H3>
+
+<P>
+The side-door led into a little white passage with a green baize
+door at the end. A staircase, which from its white-washed treads,
+Desmond judged to be the back stairs, gave on the passage.
+Calculating that the men in the garden would be certain to use
+the main staircase, Desmond took the back stairs which, on the
+first landing, brought him face to face with a green baize door,
+similar in every respect to that on the floor below.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+He pushed this door open and listened. Hearing nothing he passed
+on through it. He found himself in a broad corridor on to which
+gave the main staircase from below and its continuation to the
+upper floors. Three rooms opened on to this corridor, a large
+drawing-room, a small study and what was obviously the doctor's
+consulting room, from the operating table and the array of
+instruments set out in glass cases. The rooms were empty and
+Desmond was about to return to the back stairs and proceed to the
+next floor when his attention was caught by a series of framed
+photographs with which the walls of the corridor were lined.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+These were groups of doctors taken at various medical congresses.
+You will find such photographs in many doctors' houses. Below
+each group were neatly printed the names of the persons therein
+represented. Anxious to see what manner of man was this Doctor
+Radcombe in whose house spies were apparently at liberty to
+consort with impunity, Desmond looked for his name.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+There it was&mdash;Dr. A. J. Radcombe. But, on looking at the figure
+above the printed line, what was his astonishment to recognize
+the angular features and drooping moustache of "No. 13"!
+</P>
+
+<P>
+There was no possible mistake about it. The photographs were
+excellent and Desmond had no difficulty in identifying the
+eccentric-looking German in each of them. So this was Mrs.
+Malplaquet's house, was it? A nursing-home run by "No. 13," who
+in addition to being a spy, would seem to have been a nerve
+specialist as well. In this guise, no doubt, he had made trips to
+the South of England which had gained for him that intimate
+acquaintance with Portsmouth and Southsea of which he had boasted
+at the gathering in the library. In this capacity, moreover, he
+had probably met Bellward whose "oggult" powers, to which "No.
+13" had alluded, seem to point to mesmerism and kindred practices
+in which German neurasthenic research has made such immense
+progress.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Pondering over his surprising discovery, Desmond pursued his way
+to the floor above. Here, too, was a green baize door which
+opened on to a corridor. Desmond walked quickly along it,
+glancing in, as he passed, at the open doors of two or three
+bedrooms. Just beyond where the staircase crossed the corridor
+were two doors, both of which were closed. The one was a white
+door and might have been a bathroom; the other was enameled a
+brilliant, glossy red.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The second floor was as silent and deserted as the corridor
+below. But just as Desmond passed the head of the main staircase
+he heard the sound of voices. He glanced cautiously down the well
+of the stairs and saw Strangwise and Bellward talking together.
+Bellward was on the stairs while Strangwise stood in the
+corridor.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"It's our last chance," Strangwise was saying.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"No, no," Bellward replied heatedly, "I tell you it is madness.
+We must not delay a minute. For Heaven's sake, leave the girl
+alone and let's save ourselves."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"What?" cried Strangwise, "and abandon Minna!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Minna is well able to look after herself," answered Bellward in
+a sulky voice, "it's a question of sauve qui peat now... every
+man for himself!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"No!" said Strangwise firmly, "we'll wait for Minna, Bellward.
+You exaggerate the danger. I tell you I was at the garden wall
+within a few seconds of our friend laying you out, and I saw no
+sign of him in his garden. It was a physical impossibility for
+him to have got over the wall and back into the house in the
+time. And in his garden there's nowhere to hide. It's as bare as
+the Sahara!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"But, good Heavens!" cried Bellward, throwing his hands excitedly
+above his head, "the man can't dissolve into thin air. He's gone
+back to the house, I tell you, and the police will be here at any
+minute. You know he's not in our garden; for you searched every
+nook and corner of it yourself. Okewood may be too clever for
+you, Strangwise; but he's not a magician!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"No," said Strangwise sternly, "he is not." And he added in a low
+voice:
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"That's why I am convinced that he is in this house!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Desmond felt his heart thump against his ribs.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Bellward seemed surprised for he cried quickly:
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"What? Here?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Strangwise nodded.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"You stand here gossiping with that man loose in the house?"
+exclaimed Bellward vehemently, "why the next thing we know the
+fellow will escape us again!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Oh, no, he won't" retorted the other. "Every window on the
+ground floor is barred... this is a home for neurasthenics, you
+know, and that is sometimes a polite word for a lunatic, my
+friend... and the doors, both front and back are locked. The keys
+are here!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Desmond heard a jingle as Strangwise slapped his pocket.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"All the same," the latter went on, "it is as well to be prepared
+for a sudden change of quarters. That's why I want you to finish
+off the girl at once. Come along, we'll start now..."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"No, no!" declared Bellward. "I'm far too upset. You seem to
+think you can turn me on and off like you do the gas!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Well, as you like," said Strangwise, "but the sooner we clear up
+this thing the better. I'm going to see if our clever young
+friend has taken refuge in the servants' quarters upstairs. He's
+not on this floor, that's certain!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Desmond drew back in terror. He heard the green baize door on the
+floor below swing back as Strangwise went out to the back stairs
+and Bellward's heavy step ascended the main staircase. There was
+something so horribly sinister in that firm, creaking tread as it
+mounted towards him that for the moment he lost his head. He
+looked round wildly for a place of concealment; but the corridor
+was bare. Facing him was the red enamel door. Boldly he turned
+the handle and walked in, softly closing the door behind him.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+It was as though he had stepped into another world. The room in
+which he found himself was a study in vivid red emphasized by
+black. Red and black; these were the only colors in the room. The
+curtains, which were of black silk, were drawn, though it was not
+yet dark outside, and from the ceiling was suspended a lamp in
+the shape of a great scarlet bowl which cast an eerie red light
+on one of the most bizarre apartments that Desmond had ever seen.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+It was a lacquer room in the Chinese style, popularized by the
+craze for barbaric decoration introduced by Bakst and the Russian
+Ballet into England. The walls were enameled the same brilliant
+glossy red as the door and hung at intervals with panels of
+magnificent black and gold lacquer work. The table which ran down
+the centre of the room was of scarlet and gold lacquer like the
+fantastically designed chairs and the rest of the furniture. The
+heavy carpet was black.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Desmond did not take in all these details at once; for his
+attention was immediately directed to a high-backed armchair
+covered in black satin which stood with its back to the door. He
+stared at this chair; for, peeping out above the back, making a
+splash of deep golden brown against the black sheen of the
+upholstery, was a mass of curls... Barbara Mackwayte's hair.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+As he advanced towards the girl, she moaned in a high, whimpering
+voice:
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"No, no, not again! Let me sleep! Please, please, leave me
+alone!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Desmond sprang to her side.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Barbara!" he cried and never noticed that he called her by her
+Christian name.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Barbara Mackwayte sat in the big black armchair, facing the
+black-curtained window. Her face was pale and drawn, and there
+were black circles under her eyes. There was a listless yet
+highly-strung look about her that you see in people who
+habitually take drugs.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+She heeded not the sound of his voice. It was as though he had
+not spoken. She only continued to moan and mutter, moving her
+body about uneasily as a child does when its sleep is disturbed
+by nightmares. Then, to his inexpressible horror, Desmond saw
+that her feet were bound with straps to the legs of the chair.
+Her arms were similarly tethered to the arms of the chair, but
+her hands had been left free.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Barbara!" said Desmond softly, "you know me! I'm Desmond Okewood!
+I've come to take you home!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The word "home" seemed to catch the girl's attention; for now she
+turned her head and looked at the young man. The expression in
+her eyes, wide and staring, was horrible; for it was the look of
+a tortured animal.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Desmond was bending to unbind the straps that fastened Barbara's
+arms when he heard a step outside the door. The curtains in front
+of the window were just beside him. They were long and reached to
+the floor. Without a second's hesitation he slipped behind them
+and found himself in the recess of a shallow bow window.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The bow window was in three parts and the central part was open
+wide at the bottom. It gave on a little balcony which was in
+reality the roof of a bow window of one of the rooms on the floor
+below. Desmond promptly scrambled out of the window and letting
+himself drop on to the balcony crouched down blow the sill.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+A door opened in the room he had just left. He heard steps moving
+about and cupboards opened and shut. Then, there was the sound of
+curtains being drawn back and a voice said just above him:
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"He's not here! I tell you the fellow's not in the house! Now
+perhaps you'll believe me!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The balcony was fairly deep and it was growing dusk; but Desmond
+could scarcely hope to escape detection if Bellward, for he had
+recognized his voice, should think of leaning out of the window
+and looking down upon the balcony. With his coat collar turned up
+to hide the treacherous white of his linen, Desmond pressed
+himself as close as possible against the side of the house and
+waited for the joyful cry that would proclaim that he had been
+discovered. There was no possible means of escape; for the
+balcony stood at an angle of the house with no windows or
+water-pipes anywhere within reach, to give him a foothold,
+looking out on an inhospitable and gloomy area.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Whether Bellward, who appeared bent only on getting away from the
+house without delay, examined the balcony or not, Desmond did not
+know; but after the agony of suspense had endured for what seemed
+to him an hour, he heard Strangwise say:
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"It's no good, Bellward! I'm not satisfied! And until I am
+satisfied that Okewood is not here, I don't leave this house. And
+that's that!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Bellward swore savagely.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"We've searched the garden and not found him: we've ransacked the
+house from top to bottom without result. The fellow's not here;
+but by God, he'll be here presently with a bunch of police, and
+then it'll be too late! For the last time, Strangwise, will you
+clear out?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+There was a moment's pause. Then Desmond heard Strangwise's
+clear, calm voice.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"There's a balcony there... below the window, I mean."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"I've looked," replied Bellward, "and he's not there. You can see
+for yourself!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The moment of discovery had arrived. To Desmond the strain seemed
+unbearable and to alleviate it, he began to count, as one counts
+to woo sleep. One! two! three! four! He heard a grating noise as
+the window was pushed further up. Five! six! seven! eight!
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Strange!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Strangwise muttered the word just above Desmond's head. Then, to
+his inexpressible relief, he heard the other add:
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"He's not there!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+And Desmond realized that the depth of the balcony had saved him.
+Short of getting out of the window, as he had done, the others
+could not see him.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The two men returned to the room and silence fell once more.
+Outside on the damp balcony in the growing darkness Desmond was
+fighting down the impulse to rush in and stake all in one
+desperate attempt to rescue the girl from her persecutors. But he
+was learning caution; and he knew he must bide his time.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Some five minutes elapsed during which Desmond could detect no
+definite sound from the red lacquer room except the occasional
+low murmur of voices. Then, suddenly, there came a high,
+quavering cry from the girl.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Desmond raised himself quickly erect, his ear turned so as to
+catch every sound from the room. The girl wailed again, a
+plaintive, tortured cry that seemed to issue forth unwillingly
+from her.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"My God!" said Desmond to himself, "I can't stand this!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+His head was level with the sill of the window which was
+fortunately broad. Getting a good grip on the rough cement with
+his hands, he hoisted himself up on to the sill, by the sheer
+force of his arms alone, sat poised there for an instant, then
+very lightly and without any noise, clambered through the window
+and into the room. Even as he did so, the girl cried out again.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"I can't! I can't!" she wailed.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Every nerve in Desmond's body was tingling with rage. The blood
+was hotly throbbing against his temples and he was literally
+quivering all over with fury. But he held himself in check. This
+time he must not fail. Both those men were armed, he knew. What
+chance could he, unarmed as he was, have against them? He must
+wait, wait, that they might not escape their punishment.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Steadying the black silk curtains with his hands, he looked
+through the narrow chink where the two panels met. And this was
+what he saw.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Barbara Mackwayte was still in the chair; but they had unfastened
+her arms though her feet were still bound. She had half-risen
+from her seat. Her body was thrust forward in a strained,
+unnatural attitude; her eyes were wide open and staring; and
+there was a little foam on her lips. There was something
+hideously deformed, horribly unlife-like about her. Though her
+eyes were open, her look was the look of the blind; and, like the
+blind, she held her head a little on one side as though eager not
+to miss the slightest sound.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Bellward stood beside her, his face turned in profile to Desmond.
+His eyes were dilated and the sweat stood out in great beads on
+his forehead and trickled in broad lanes of moisture down his
+heavy cheeks. He was half-facing the girl and every time he bent
+towards her, she tugged and strained at her bonds as though to
+follow him.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"You say he has been here. Where is he? Where is he? You shall
+tell me where he is."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Bellward was speaking in a strange, vibrating voice. Every
+question appeared to be a tremendous nervous effort. Desmond, who
+was keenly sensitive to matters psychic, could almost feel the
+magnetic power radiating from the man. In the weird red light of
+the room, he could see the veins standing out like whipcords on
+the back of Bellward's hands.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Tell me where he is? I command you!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The girl wailed out again in agony and writhed in her bonds. Her
+voice rose to a high, gurgling scream.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"There!" she cried, pointing with eyes staring, lips parted,
+straight at the curtains behind which Desmond stood.
+</P>
+
+<BR><BR><BR>
+
+<A NAME="chap28"></A>
+<H3 ALIGN="center">
+CHAPTER XXVIII. AN OFFER FROM STRANGWISE
+</H3>
+
+<P>
+Desmond sprang for the window; but it was too late. Strangwise
+who had not missed a syllable of the interrogatory was at the
+curtains in a flash. As he plucked the hangings back, Desmond
+made a rush for him; but Strangwise, wary as ever, kept his head
+and, drawing back, jabbed his great automatic almost in the
+other's face.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+And then Desmond knew the game was up.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Barbara had collapsed in her chair. Her face was of an ivory
+pallor and she seemed to have fallen back into the characteristic
+hypnotic trance. As for Bellward, he had dropped on to a sofa, a
+loose mass, exhausted but missing nothing of what was going
+forward, though, for the moment, he seemed too spent to take any
+active part in the proceedings. In the meantime Strangwise, his
+white, even teeth bared in a quiet smile, was very steadily
+looking at his prisoner.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Well, Desmond," he said at last, "here's a pleasant surprise! I
+thought you were dead!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Desmond said nothing. He was not a coward as men go; but he was
+feeling horribly afraid just then. The deviltry of the scene he
+had just witnessed had fairly unmanned him. The red and black
+setting of the room had a suggestion of Oriental cruelty in its
+very garishness. Desmond looked from Strangwise, cool and
+smiling, to Bellward, gross and beastly, and from the two men to
+Barbara, wan and still and defenceless. And he was afraid.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Then Bellward scrambled clumsily to his feet, plucking a revolver
+from his inside pocket as he did so.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"You sneaking rascal," he snarled, "we'll teach you to play your
+dirty tricks on us!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+He raised the pistol; but Strangwise stepped between the man and
+his victim.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Kill him!" cried Bellward, "and let's be rid of him once and for
+all!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"What" said Strangwise. "Kill Desmond? Ah, no, my friend, I don't
+think so!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+And he added drily:
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"At least not quite yet!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"But you must be mad," exclaimed Bellward, toying impatiently
+with his weapon, "you let him escape through your fingers before!
+I know his type. A man like him is only safe when he's dead. And
+if you won't..."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Now, Bellward," said Strangwise not budging but looking the
+other calmly in the eye, "you're getting excited, you know."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+But Bellward muttered thickly:
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Kill him! That's all I ask. And let's get out of here! I tell
+you it isn't safe! Minna can shift for herself!" he added
+sulkily.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"As she has always done!" said a voice at the door. Mrs.
+Malplaquet stood there, a very distinguished looking figure in
+black with a handsome set of furs.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"But who's this?" she asked, catching sight of Desmond, as she
+flashed her beady black eyes round the group. Of Barbara she took
+not the slightest notice. Desmond remarked it and her
+indifference shocked him profoundly.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Of course, you don't recognize him!" said Strangwise. "This is
+Major Desmond Okewood, more recently known as Mr. Basil
+Bellward!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The woman evinced no surprise.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"So!" she said, "I thought we'd end by getting him. Well,
+Strangwise, what are we waiting for? Is our friend to live for
+ever?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"That's what I want to know!" bellowed Bellward savagely.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"I have not finished with our friend here!" observed Strangwise.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"No, no," cried Mrs. Malplaquet quickly, Strangwise, "you've had
+your lesson. You've lost the jewel and you're not likely to get
+it back unless you think that this young man has come here with
+it on him. Do you want to lose your life, the lives of all of us,
+as well? Come, come, the fellow's no earthly good to us! And he's
+a menace to us all as long as he's alive!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Minna," said Strangwise, "you must trust me. Besides..." he
+leaned forward and whispered something in her ear. "Now," he
+resumed aloud, "you shall take Bellward downstairs and leave me
+to have a little chat with our friend here."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+To Bellward he added:
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Minna will tell you what I said. But first," he pointed to
+Barbara who remained apparently lifeless in her chair, "bring her
+round. And then I think she'd better go to bed."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"But what about the treatment to-night" asked Mrs. Malplaquet.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Strangwise smiled mysteriously.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"I'm not sure that any further treatment will be required," he
+said.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+In the meantime, Bellward had leaned over the girl and with a few
+passes of his hand had brought her back to consciousness. She sat
+up, one hand pressed to her face, and looked about her in a dazed
+fashion. On recognizing Desmond she gave a little cry.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Take her away!" commanded Strangwise.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Bellward had unfastened the ropes binding her feet, and he and
+Mrs. Malplaquet between them half-dragged, half-lifted the girl
+(for she was scarcely able to walk) from the room.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+When the door had closed behind them, Strangwise pointed to a
+chair and pulled out his cigarette case. "Sit down, Desmond," he
+said, "and let's talk. Will you smoke?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+He held out his case. A cigarette was the one thing for which
+Desmond craved. He took one and lit it. Strangwise sat down on
+the other side of a curiously carved ebony table, his big
+automatic before him.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"I guess you're sharp enough to know when you're beaten,
+Desmond," he said. "You've put up a good fight and until this
+afternoon you were one up on me. I'll grant you that. And I don't
+mind admitting that you've busted up my little organization&mdash;for
+the present at any rate. But I'm on top now and you're in our
+power, old man."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Well," replied Desmond shortly, "what are you going to do about
+it?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"I'm going to utilize my advantage to the best I know how,"
+retorted Strangwise, snapping the words, "that's good strategy,
+isn't it, Desmond? That's what Hamley and all the military
+writers teach, isn't it? And I'm going to be frank with you. I
+suppose you realize that your life hung by a thread in this very
+room only a minute ago. Do you know why I intervened to save
+you?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Desmond smiled. All his habitual serenity was coming back to him.
+He found it hard to realize that this old brother officer of his,
+blowing rings of cigarette smoke at him across the table, was an
+enemy.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"I don't suppose it was because of the love you bear me," replied
+Desmond.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+And he rubbed the bump on his head.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Strangwise noted the action and smiled.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Listen here," he resumed, planking his hands down on the table
+and leaning forward, "I'm ready and anxious to quit this spying
+business. It was only a side line with me anyway. My main object
+in coming to this country was to recover possession of that
+diamond star. Once I've got it back, I'm through with England..."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"But not with the army," Desmond broke in, "thank God, we've got
+a swift way with traitors in this country!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Quite so," returned the other, "but you see, my friend, the army
+hasn't got me. And I have got you! But let us drop talking
+platitudes," he went on. "I'm no great hand at driving a bargain,
+Desmond&mdash;few army men are, you know&mdash;so I won't even attempt to
+chaffer with you. I shall tell you straight out what I am ready
+to offer. You were given the job of breaking up this
+organization, weren't you?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Desmond was silent. He was beginning to wonder what Strangwise
+was driving at.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Oh, you needn't trouble to deny it. I never spotted you, I
+admit, even when the real Bellward turned up: that idea of
+putting your name in the casualty list as 'killed' was a
+masterstroke; for I never looked to find you alive and trying to
+put it across me. But to return to what I was saying&mdash;your job
+was to smash my little system, and if you pull it off, it's a
+feather in your cap. Well, you've killed two of my people and
+you've arrested the ringleader."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Meaning Behrend?" asked Desmond.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Behrend be hanged! I mean Nur-el-Din!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Nur-el-Din was not the ringleader," said Desmond, "as well you
+know, Strangwise!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Your employers evidently don't share your views, Desmond," he
+replied, "all the documents were found on Nur-el-Din!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Bah!" retorted Desmond, "and what of it? Mightn't they have been
+planted on her in order to get her arrested to draw the suspicion
+away from the real criminal, yourself?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Strangwise laughed a low, mellow laugh.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"You're devilish hard to convince," he remarked. "Perhaps you'll
+change your mind about it when I tell you that Nur-el-Din was
+sentenced to death by a general court-martial yesterday
+afternoon."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The blow struck Desmond straight between the eyes. The execution
+of spies followed hard on their conviction, he knew. Was he too
+late?
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Has... has she... has the sentence already been carried out?" he
+asked hoarsely.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Strangwise shrugged his shoulders.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"My information didn't go as far as that!" he replied. "But I
+expect so. They don't waste much time over these matters, old
+man! You see, then," he continued, "you've got the ringleader,
+and you shall have the other two members of the organization and
+save your own life into the bargain if you will be reasonable and
+treat with me."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Desmond looked straight at him; and Strangwise averted his eyes.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Let me get this right," said Desmond slowly. "You let me go
+free&mdash;of course, I take it that my liberty includes the release
+of Miss Mackwayte as well&mdash;and in addition, you hand over to me
+your two accomplices, Bellward and the Malplaquet woman. That is
+your offer, isn't it? Well, what do you want from me in
+exchange?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"The Star of Poland!" said Strangwise in a low voice.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"But," Desmond began. He was going to add "I haven't got it," but
+checked himself in time. Why should he show his hand?
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Strangwise broke in excitedly.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Man," he cried, "it was grandly done. When first I discovered
+the gem, I opened the package in which the silver box was wrapped
+and took the jewel from its case to make sure that it was there.
+Then I sealed it up again, silver box and all, with the firm
+intention that no other hand should break the seals but the hand
+of His Imperial Highness the Crown Prince when I reported to him
+that I had fulfilled my mission. So you will understand that I
+was loth to open it to satisfy those blockheads that evening at
+the Mill House.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"I carried the package on me night and day and I could hardly
+believe my eyes when I discovered that a box of cigarettes had
+been substituted for the silver casket containing the jewel. I
+then suspected that Barbara Mackwayte, in collusion with
+Nur-el-Din, whom she had visited at the Dyke Inn that evening,
+had played this trick on me. But before I escaped from the Mill
+House I picked up one of the cigarettes which fell from the box
+when I broke the seals. Ah! There you made a slip, Desmond. When
+I looked at the cigarette I found it was a 'Dionysus'&mdash;your own
+particular brand&mdash;why, I have smoked dozens of them with you in
+France. The sight of the familiar name reminded me of you and
+then I remembered your unexpected visit to me at the Nineveh when
+I was packing up to go away on leave the evening you were going
+back to France. I remembered that I had put the package with the
+jewel on my table for a moment when I was changing my tunic. Your
+appearance drove it out of my head for the time, and you utilized
+the chance to substitute a similar package for mine. It was
+clever, Desmond, 'pon my word it was a stroke of genius, a master
+coup which in my country would have placed you at the very top of
+the tree in the Great General Staff!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Desmond listened to this story in amazement. He did not attempt
+to speculate on the different course events would have taken had
+he but known that the mysterious jewel which had cost old
+Mackwayte his life, had been in his, Desmond's, possession from
+the very day on which he had assumed the guise and habiliments of
+Mr. Bellward. He was racking his brains to think what he had done
+with the box of cigarettes he had purchased at the Dionysus shop
+on the afternoon of the day he had taken the leave train back to
+France.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+He remembered perfectly buying the cigarettes for the journey.
+But he didn't have them on the journey; for the captain of the
+leave boat had given him some cigars as Desmond had nothing to
+smoke. And then with a flash he remembered. He had packed the
+cigarettes in his kit&mdash;his kit which had gone over to France in
+the hold of the leave boat? And to think that there was a 100,000
+pound jewel in charge of the M.L.O. at a French port!
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The idea tickled Desmond's sense of humor and he smiled.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Come," cried Strangwise, "you've heard my terms. This jewel,
+this Star of Poland, it is nothing to you or your Government. You
+restore it to me and I won't even ask you for a safe conduct back
+to Germany. I'll just slide out and it will be as if I had never
+been to England at all. As for my organization, you, Desmond
+Okewood, have blown it sky-high!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+He stretched out his hand to Desmond as though he expected the
+other to produce the gem from his pocket. But Desmond rose to his
+feet and struck the hand contemptuously on one side. The smile
+had vanished from his face.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Are you sure that is all you have to say to me?" he asked.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Strangwise had stood up as well.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Why, yes!" he said, "I think so!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Well, then," said Desmond firmly, "just listen to me for a
+moment! Here's my answer. You've lost the jewel for good and all,
+and you will never get it back. Your offer to betray your
+accomplices to me in exchange for the Star of Poland is an empty
+one; for your accomplices will be arrested with you. And lastly I
+give you my word that I shall make it my personal duty to see
+that you are not shot by clean-handed British soldiers, but
+strung up by the neck by the common hangman&mdash;as the murderer that
+you are!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Strangwise's face underwent an extraordinary change. His suavity
+vanished, his easy smile disappeared and he looked balefully
+across the table as the other fearlessly confronted him.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"If you are a German, as you seem to be," Desmond went on, "then
+I tell you I shall never have guessed it until this interview
+between us. But a man who can murder a defenceless old man and
+torture a young girl and then propose to sell his pals to a
+British officer at the price of that officer's honor can only be
+a Hun! And you seem to be a pretty fine specimen of your race!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Strangwise mastered his rising passion by an obvious effort; but
+his face was evil as he spoke.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"I put that Malplaquet woman off by appealing to her avarice," he
+said, "I've promised her and Bellward a thousand pounds apiece as
+their share of my reward for recovering the jewel. I only have to
+say the word, Okewood, and your number's up! And you may as well
+know that Bellward will try his hand on you before he kills you.
+If that girl had known where the Star of Poland was, Bellward
+would have had it out of her! Three times a day he's put her into
+the hypnotic sleep. I warn you, you won't like the
+interrogatory!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The door flew open and Bellward came in. He went eagerly to
+Strangwise.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Well, have you got it!" he demanded.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Have you anything further to say, Desmond?" asked Strangwise.
+"Perhaps you would care to reconsider your decisions?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Desmond shook his head.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"You've had my answer!" he said doggedly.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Then, my friend," said Strangwise to Bellward, "after dinner you
+shall try your hand on this obstinate fool. But first we'll take
+him upstairs."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+He was close beside Desmond and as he finished speaking he
+suddenly caught him by the throat and forced him back into the
+chair to which Barbara had been tethered. To struggle was
+useless, and Desmond suffered them to bind his arms and feet to
+the arms and legs of the chair. Then the two men picked him up,
+chair and all, and bore him from the room upstairs to the third
+floor. There they carried him into a dark room where they left
+him, turning the key in the lock as they went away.
+</P>
+
+<BR><BR><BR>
+
+<A NAME="chap29"></A>
+<H3 ALIGN="center">
+CHAPTER XXIX. DOT AND DASH
+</H3>
+
+<P>
+For a long time after the retreating footsteps of Strangwise and
+Bellward had died away, Desmond sat listless, preoccupied with
+his thoughts. They were somber enough. The sinister atmosphere of
+the house, weighing upon him, seemed to deepen his depression.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+About his own position he was not concerned at all. This is not
+an example of unselfishness it is simply an instance of the force
+of discipline which trains a man to reckon the cause as
+everything and himself as naught. And Desmond was haunted by the
+awful conviction that he had at length reached the end of his
+tether and that nothing could now redeem the ignominious failure
+he had made of his mission.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+He had sacrificed Barbara Mackwayte; he had sacrificed
+Nur-el-Din; he had not even been clever enough to save his own
+skin. And Strangwise, spy and murderer, had escaped and was now
+free to reorganize his band after he had put Barbara and Desmond
+out of the way.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The thought was so unbearable that it stung Desmond into action.
+Strangwise should not get the better of him, he resolved, and he
+had yet this brief interval of being alone in which he might
+devise some scheme to rescue Barbara and secure the arrest of
+Strangwise and his accomplices. But how?
+</P>
+
+<P>
+He raised his head and looked round the room. The curtains had
+not been drawn and enough light came into the room from the
+outside to enable him to distinguish the outlines of the
+furniture. It was a bedroom, furnished in rather a massive style,
+with some kind of thick, soft carpet into, which the feet sank.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Desmond tested his bonds. He was very skillfully tied up. He
+fancied that with a little manipulation he might contrive to
+loosen the rope round his right arm, for one of the knots had
+caught in the folds of his coat. The thongs round his left arm
+and two legs were, however, so tight that he thought he had but
+little chance of ridding himself of them, even should he get his
+right arm free; for the knots were tied at the back under the
+seat of the chair in such a way that he could not reach them.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+He, therefore, resigned himself to conducting operations in the
+highly ridiculous posture in which he found himself, that is to
+say, with a large arm-chair attached to him, rather like a snail
+with its house on its back. After a certain amount of maneuvering
+he discovered that, by means of a kind of slow, lumbering crawl,
+he was able to move across the ground. It might have proved a
+noisy business on a parquet floor; but Desmond moved only a foot
+or two at a time and the pile carpet deadened the sound.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+They had deposited him in his chair in the centre of the room
+near the big brass bedstead. After ten minutes' painful crawling
+he had reached the toilet table which stood in front of the
+window with a couple of electric candles on either side of the
+mirror. He moved the toilet table to one side, then bumped
+steadily across the carpet until he had reached the window. And
+then he gave a little gasp of surprise.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+He found himself looking straight at the window of his own
+bedroom at Mrs. Viljohn-Smythe's. There was no mistaking it. The
+electric light was burning and the curtains had not yet been
+drawn. He could see the black and pink eiderdown on his bed and
+the black lining of the chintz curtains. Then he remembered the
+slope of the hill. He must be in the room from which he had seen
+Bellward looking out.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The sight of the natty bedroom across the way moved Desmond
+strangely. It seemed to bring home to him for the first time the
+extraordinary position in which he found himself, a prisoner in a
+perfectly respectable suburban house in a perfectly respectable
+quarter of London, in imminent danger of a violent death.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+He wouldn't give in without a struggle. Safety stared him in the
+face, separated only by a hundred yards of grass and shrub and
+wall. He instinctively gripped the arms of the chair to raise
+himself to get a better view from the window, forgetting he was
+bound. The ropes cut his arms cruelly and brought him back to
+earth.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+He tested again the thongs fastening his right arm. Yes! they
+were undoubtedly looser than the others. He pulled and tugged and
+writhed and strained. Once in his struggles he crashed into the
+toilet table and all but upset one of the electric candles which
+slid to the table's very brink and was saved, as by a miracle,
+from falling to the floor. He resumed his efforts, but with less
+violence. It was in vain. Though the ropes about his right arm
+were fairly loose, the wrist was solidly fastened to the chair,
+and do what he would, he could not wrest it free. He clawed
+desperately with his fingers and thumb, but all in vain.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+In the midst of his struggles he was arrested by the sound of
+whistling. Somebody in the distance outside was whistling,
+clearly and musically, a quaint, jingling sort of jig that struck
+familiarly on Desmond's ear. Somehow it reminded him of the
+front. It brought with it dim memory of the awakening to the
+early morning chill of a Nissen hut, the smell of damp earth, the
+whirr of aircraft soaring through the morning sky, the squeak of
+flutes, the roll of drums... why, it was the Grand Reveille,
+that ancient military air which every soldier knows.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+He stopped struggling and peered cautiously out into the dusk.
+The time for darkening the windows must be at hand, he thought,
+for in most of the houses the blinds were already drawn. Here and
+there, however, an oblong of yellow light showed up against the
+dark mass of the houses on the upper slopes of the hill. The
+curtains of his bedroom at Mrs. Viljohn-Smythe's were not yet
+drawn and the light still burned brightly above the bed.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The whistling continued with occasional interruptions as though
+the whistler were about some work or other. And then suddenly
+"Buzzer" Barling, holding something in one hand and rubbing
+violently with the other, stepped into the patch of light between
+the window and the bed in Desmond's bedroom.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Desmond's heart leaped within him. Here was assistance close at
+hand. Mechanically he sought to raise his hand to open the
+window, but an agonising twinge reminded him of his thongs. He
+swiftly reviewed in his mind the means of attracting the
+attention of the soldier opposite. Whatever he was going to do,
+he must do quickly; for the fact that people were beginning to
+darken their windows showed that it must be close on half-past
+six, and about seven o'clock, Barling, after putting out
+Desmond's things, was accustomed to go out for the evening.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Should he shout? Should he try and break the window? Desmond
+rejected both these suggestions. While it was doubtful whether
+Barling would hear the noise or, if he heard it, connect it with
+Desmond, it was certain that Strangwise and Bellward would do
+both and be upon Desmond without a moment's delay.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Then Desmond's eye fell upon the electric candle which had slid
+to the very edge of the table. It was mounted in a heavy brass
+candle-stick and the switch was in the pedestal, jutting out over
+the edge of the table in the position in which the candle now
+stood. The candle was clear of the mirror and there was nothing
+between it and the window. Desmond's brain took all this in at a
+glance. That glance showed him that Providence was being good to
+him.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+A couple of jerks of the chair brought him alongside the table.
+Its edge was practically level with the arms of the chair so
+that, by getting into the right position, he was able to
+manipulate the switch with his fingers. And then, thanking God
+and the Army Council for the recent signalling course he had
+attended, he depressed the switch with a quick, snapping movement
+and jerked it up again, sending out the dots and dashes of the
+Morse code.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"B-A-R-L-I-N-G" he spelt out, slowly and laboriously, it is true;
+for he was not an expert.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+As he worked the switch, he looked across at the illuminated
+window of the room in which Barling stood, with bent head,
+earnestly engaged upon his polishing.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"B-a-r-l-i-n-g-ack-ack-ack-B-a-r-l-i-n-g-ack-ack-ack"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The light flickered up and down in long and short flashes. Still
+"Buzzer" Barling trilled away at the "Grand Reveille" nor raised
+his eyes from his work.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Desmond varied the call:
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"O-K-E-W-O-O-D T-O B-A-R-L-I-N-G" he flashed.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+He repeated the call twice and was spelling it out for the third
+time when Desmond saw the "Buzzer" raise his head.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The whistling broke off short.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"O-k-e-w-o-o-d t-o B-a-r-l-i-n-g" flickered the light.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The next moment the bedroom opposite was plunged in darkness.
+Immediately afterwards the light began to flash with bewildering
+rapidity. But Desmond recognized the call.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"I am ready to take your message," it said.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"S-t-r-a-n-g-w-i-s-e h-a-s g-o-t m-e ack-ack-ack," Desmond
+flashed back, "f-e-t-c-h h-e-l-p a-t o-n-c-e ack-ack-ack: d-o-n-t
+r-e-p-l-y; ack-ack-ack; s-e-n-d o-n-e d-o-t o-n-e d-a-s-h t-o
+s-h-o-w y-o-u u-n-d-e-r-s-t-a-n-d ack-ack-ack!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+For he was afraid lest the light flashing from the house opposite
+might attract the attention of the men downstairs.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+He was very slow and he made many mistakes, so that it was with
+bated breath that, after sending his message, he watched the
+window opposite for the reply.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+It came quickly. A short flash and a long one followed at once.
+After that the room remained in darkness. With a sigh of relief
+Desmond, as quietly as possible, manoeuvred the dressing-table
+back into place and then jerked the chair across the carpet to
+the position where Strangwise and Bellward had left him in the
+middle of the floor:
+</P>
+
+<P>
+It was here that the two men found him, apparently asleep, when
+they came up half-an-hour later. They carried him down to the red
+lacquer room again.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Well, Desmond!" said Strangwise, when their burden had been
+deposited on the floor under the crimson lamp.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Well, Maurice?" answered the other.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Strangwise noticed that Desmond had addressed him by his
+Christian name for the first time since he had been in the house
+and his voice was more friendly when he spoke again.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"I see you're going to be sensible, old man," he said. "Believe
+me, it's the only thing for you to do. You're going to give up
+the Star of Poland, aren't you?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Oh, no, Maurice, I'm not," replied Desmond in a frank, even
+voice. "I've told you what I'm going to do. I'm going to hand you
+over to the people at Pentonville to hang as a murderer. And I
+shouldn't be at all surprised if they didn't run up old Bellward
+there alongside of you!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Strangwise shook his head at him.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"You are very ill-advised to reject my offer, Desmond," he said,
+"for it simply means that I can do nothing more for you. Our
+friend Bellward now assumes the direction of affairs. I don't
+think you can realize what you are letting yourself in for. You
+appear to have been dabbling in Intelligence work. Perhaps it
+would interest you to hear something about this, our latest
+German method for extracting Accurate information from reluctant
+or untruthful witnesses. Bellward, perhaps you would enlighten
+him."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Bellward smiled grimly.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"It is a blend," he explained glibly, "of that extreme form of
+cross-examination which the Americans call 'the third degree' and
+hypnotic treatment. Many people, as you are doubtless aware, are
+less responsive to hypnotic influence than others. An intensified
+course of the third degree and lack of sleep renders such
+refractory natures extraordinarily susceptible to mesmeric
+treatment. It prepares the ground as it were!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Bellward coughed and looked at Desmond over his tortoise-shell
+spectacles which he had put on again.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"The method has had its best results when practised on women," he
+resumed. "Our people in Holland have found it very successful in
+the case of female spies who come across the Belgian frontier.
+But some women&mdash;Miss Barbara, for example&mdash;seem to have greater
+powers of resistance than others. We had to employ a rather
+drastic form of the third degree for her, didn't we, Strangwise?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+He laughed waggishly.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"And you'll be none too easy either," he added.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"You beasts," cried Desmond, "but just you wait, your turn will
+come!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Yours first, however," chuckled Bellward. "I rather fancy you
+will think us beasts by the time we have done with you, my young
+friend!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Then he turned to Strangwise.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Where's Minna?" he asked.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"With the girl."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Is the girl sleeping?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Strangwise nodded.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"She wanted it," he replied, "no sleep for four days... I tell
+you it takes some constitution to hold out against that!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Well," said Bellward, rubbing the palms of his hands together,
+"as we're not likely to be disturbed, I think we'll make a
+start!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+He advanced a pace to where Desmond sat trussed up, hand and
+foot, in his chair. Bellward's eyes were large and luminous, and
+as Desmond glanced rather nervously at the face of the man
+approaching him, he was struck by the compelling power they
+seemed to emit.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Desmond bent his head to avoid the insistent gaze. But in a
+couple of quick strides Bellward was at his side and stooping
+down, had thrust his face right into his victim's. Bellward's
+face was so close that Desmond felt his warm breath on his cheek
+whilst those burning eyes seemed to stab through his closed
+eyelids and steadily, stealthily, draw his gaze.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Resolutely Desmond held his head, averted. All kinds of queer
+ideas were racing through his brain, fragments of nursery rhymes,
+scenes from his regimental life in India, memories of the front,
+which he had deliberately summoned up to keep his attention
+distracted from those merciless eyes, like twin search-lights
+pitilessly playing on his face.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Bellward could easily have taken Desmond by the chin and forced
+his face up until his eyes came level with the other's. But he
+offered no violence of any kind. He remained in his stooping
+position, his face thrust forward, so perfectly still that
+Desmond began to be tormented by a desire to risk a rapid peep
+just to see what the mesmerist was doing.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+He put the temptation aside. He must keep his eyes shut, he told
+himself. But the desire increased, intensified by the strong
+attraction radiating from Bellward, and finally Desmond
+succumbed. He opened his eyes to dart a quick glance at Bellward
+and found the other's staring eyes, with pupils distended, fixed
+on his. And Desmond felt his resistance ebb. He tried to avert
+his gaze; but it was too late. That basilisk glare held him fast.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+With every faculty of his mind he fought against the influence
+which was slowly, irresistibly, shackling his brain. He laughed,
+he shouted defiance at Bellward and Strangwise, he sang snatches
+of songs. But Bellward never moved a muscle. He seemed to be in a
+kind of cataleptic trance, so rigid his body, so unswerving his
+stare.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The lights in the room seemed to be growing dim. Bellward's
+eyeballs gleamed redly in the dull crimson light flooding the
+room. Desmond felt himself longing for some violent shock that
+would disturb the hideous stillness of the house. His own voice
+was sounding dull and blunted in his ears. What was the use of
+struggling further? He might as well give up...
+</P>
+
+<P>
+A loud crash, the sound of a door slamming, reechoed through the
+house. The room shook. The noise brought Desmond back to his
+senses and at the same time the chain binding him to Bellward
+snapped. For Bellward started and raised his head and Strangwise
+sprang to the door. Then Desmond heard the door burst open, there
+was the deafening report of a pistol, followed by another, and
+Bellward crashed forward on his knees with a sobbing grunt. As
+Desmond had his back to the door he could see nothing of what was
+taking place, but some kind of violent struggle was going on; for
+he heard the smash of glass as a piece of furniture was upset.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Then suddenly the room seemed full of people. The thongs binding
+his hands and feet fell to the ground. "Buzzer" Barling stood at
+his side.
+</P>
+
+<BR><BR><BR>
+
+<A NAME="chap30"></A>
+<H3 ALIGN="center">
+CHAPTER XXX. HOHENLINDEN TRENCH
+</H3>
+
+<P>
+A man broke quickly away from the throng of people pressing into
+the room. It was Francis. The Chief and Mr. Marigold were close
+at his heels.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Des," cried Francis, "ah! thank God! you are all right!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Desmond looked in a dazed fashion from one to the other. The
+rapid transition from the hush of the room to the scene of
+confusion going on around him had left him bewildered. His glance
+traveled from the faces of the men gathered round his chair to
+the floor. The sight of Bellward, very still, hunched up with his
+face immersed in the thick black carpet, seemed to recall
+something to his mind.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Barbara!" he murmured in a strained voice.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"She's all right!" replied his brother, "we found her on the bed
+in a room on the floor below sleeping the sleep of the just. The
+woman's vanished, though. I'm afraid she got away! But who's
+this?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+He pointed to "Buzzer" Barling who stood stiffly at attention
+beside Desmond's chair.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Ay, who are you, young fellow" repeated Mr. Marigold coming up
+close to the soldier. "Ask him!" said Desmond, raising his arm,
+"he knows!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The group around the door had broken up. Strangwise, his wrists
+handcuffed together, his hair dishevelled and his collar torn,
+stood there between two plain clothes men. And at him Desmond
+pointed.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Strangwise was staring at the straight, square figure of the
+gunner, awkwardly attired in one of Desmond's old suits.
+Berling's frank, honest eyes returned the other's gaze
+unflinchingly. But Strangwise was obviously taken aback, though
+only for the moment. The flush that mounted to his cheek quickly
+died down, leaving him as cool and impassive as ever.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Do you know this man!" the Chief, asked sternly, addressing
+Strangwise.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Certainly," retorted Strangwise, "it's Gunner Barling, one of
+the Brigade signallers!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Mr. Marigold gave a keen glance at the soldier.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"So you're Barling, eh?" he muttered as though talking to
+himself, "ah! this is getting interesting!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Yes," said Desmond, "this is Gunner Barling. Have a good look at
+him, Strangwise. It is he who summoned these gentlemen to my
+assistance. It is he who's going to tell them who and what you
+are!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Turning to the Chief he added with a touch of formality: "May
+Gunner Barling tell his story, sir?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"By all means," replied the Chief. "I am all attention. But first
+let this fellow be removed."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+And beckoning to two of his men; he pointed to the body of
+Bellward.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Is he dead" asked Desmond.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The Chief shook his head.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"He drew a bead on one of my men as we came in," he answered,
+"and got a bullet through the chest for his pains. We'll have to
+cure him of this gunshot wound so as to get him ready to receive
+another!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+He laughed a grim dry laugh at his little joke.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Now, Barling," said Desmond, when Bellward had been borne away,
+"I want you to tell these gentlemen the story of the raid on the
+Hohenlinden trench."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Barling glanced rather self-consciously about him. But the look
+of intense, almost nervous watchfulness on the face of Maurice
+Strangwise seemed to reassure him. And when he spoke, he spoke
+straight at Strangwise.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Well," he said, "Major Okewood here, what I used to know along
+of my brother being his servant, says as how you gentlemen'll
+make it all right about my stoppin' absent if I tells you what I
+know about this orficer. Tell it I will and gladly; for it was
+all along of him that I spoiled a clean sheet of eighteen years'
+service, gentlemen.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"When we was down Arras way a few months ago the infantry was
+a-goin' to do a raid, see? And the Captain here was sent along of
+the infantry party to jine up a lineback to the 'tillery brigade
+headquarters. Well, he took me and another chap, name o'
+Macdonald&mdash;Bombardier he was&mdash;along with him as signallers.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"This was a daylight raid, d'ye see, gentlemen? Our chaps went
+over at four o'clock in the afternoon. They was to enter a sort
+o' bulge in the German front line wot they called Hohenlinden
+Trench, bomb the Gers. out o' that, push on to the support line
+and clear out that and then come back. The rocket to fetch 'em
+home was to go up forty minutes after they started.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Well, me and Mac&mdash;that's the Bombardier&mdash;went over with th'
+officer here just behind the raiding party. O' course Fritz knew
+we was comin' for it was broad daylight, and that clear you could
+see for miles over the flats. First thing we knew Fritz had put
+down a roarin', tearin' barrage, and we hadn't gone not twenty
+yards before ole Mac. cops one right on the nut; about took his
+head off, it did. So me and the captain we goes on alone and
+drops all nice and comfortable in the trench, and I starts
+getting my line jined up.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"It was a longish job but I got the brigade line goin' at last.
+Our chaps had cleared out the front line and was off down the
+communication trenches to the support. What with machine-guns
+rattlin' and bombs a-goin' off down the trench and Fritz's
+barrage all over the shop the row was that awful we had to buzz
+every single word.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"There was a bit of a house like, a goodish way in front, X farm,
+they called it, and presently the Brigade tells the Captain, who
+was buzzin' to them, to register B battery on to the farm.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"'I can't see the farm nohow from here,' sez the Captain. I could
+see it as plain as plain, and I pointed it out to him. But no! he
+couldn't see it.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"'I'll crawl out of the trench a bit, gunner,' sez he to me, 'you
+sit tight,' he sez, 'I'll let you know when to follow!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"With that he up and out o' the trench leavin' me and the
+instruments behind all among the dead Gers., and our lads had
+killed a tidy few. It was pretty lonely round about were I was;
+for our chaps had all gone on and was bombin' the Gers., like
+they was a lot o' rabbits, up and down the support line.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"I followed the Captain with me eye, gentlemen, and I'm blessed
+if he didn't walk straight across the open and over the support
+trench. Then he drops into a bit of a shell-hole and I lost sight
+of him. Well, I waited and waited and no sign of th' orficer. The
+rocket goes up and our lads begin to come back with half a dozen
+Huns runnin' in front of them with their hands up. Some of the
+chaps as they passed me wanted to know if I was a-goin' to stay
+there all night! And the Brigade buzzin' like mad to talk to the
+Captain.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"I sat in that blessed trench till everybody had cleared out.
+Then, seeing as how not even the docket had brought th' orficer
+back, I sez to myself as how he must ha' stopped one. So I gets
+out of the trench and starts crawling across the top towards the
+place where I see the Captain disappear. As I got near the
+support line the ground went up a little and then dropped, so I
+got a bit of a view on to the ground ahead. And then I sees the
+Captain here!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Buzzer Barling stopped. All had listened to his story with the
+deepest interest, especially Strangwise, who never took his eyes
+off the gunner's brown face. Some men are born story-tellers and
+there was a rugged picturesqueness about Barling's simple
+narrative which conjured up in the minds of his hearers the
+picture of the lonely signaller cowering in the abandoned trench
+among the freshly slain, waiting for the officer who never came
+back.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"It's not a nice thing to have to say about an orficer," the
+gunner presently continued, "and so help me God, gentlemen, I
+kep' my mouth shut about it until... until..."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+He broke off and looked quickly at Desmond.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Keep that until the end, Barling," said Desmond, "finish about
+the raid now!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Well, as I was sayin', gentlemen, I was up on a bit of hillock
+near Fritz's support line when I sees the Captain here. He was
+settin' all comfortable in a shell-hole, his glasses in his hand,
+chattin' quite friendly like with two of the Gers. orficers, I
+reckoned they was, along o' the silver lace on their collars. One
+was wearin' one o' them coal-scuttle helmets, t'other a little
+flat cap with a shiny peak. And the Captain here was a-pointin'
+at our lines and a-wavin' his hand about like he was a-tellin'
+the two Fritzes all about it, and the chap in the coal-scuttle
+hat was a-writin' it all down in a book."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Barling paused. He was rather flushed and his eyes burned
+brightly in his weather-beaten face.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Eighteen year I done in the Royal Regiment," he went on, and his
+voice trembled a little, "and me father a battery sergeant-major
+before me, and I never thought to see one of our orficers go over
+to the enemy. Fritz was beginnin' to come back to his front line:
+I could see their coal-scuttle hats a-bobbin' up and down the
+communication trenches, so I crawled back the way I come and made
+a bolt for our lines.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"I meant to go straight to the B.C. post and report wot I seen to
+the Major. But I hadn't the heart to, gentlemen, when I was up
+against it. It was an awful charge to bring against an orficer,
+d'you see? I told myself I didn't know but what the Captain
+hadn't been taken prisoner and was makin' the best of it, w'en I
+see him, stuffin' the Fritzes up with a lot o' lies. And so I
+jes' reported as how th' orficer 'ad crawled out of the trench
+and never come back. And then this here murder happened..."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Mr. Marigold turned to the Chief.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"If you remember, sir," he said, "I found this man's leave paper
+in the front garden of the Mackwayte's house at Laleham Villas,
+Seven Kings, the day after the murder. There are one or two
+questions I should like to put..."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"No need to arsk any questions," said Barling. "I'll tell you the
+whole story meself, mister. I was on leave at the time, due to go
+back to France the next afternoon. I'd been out spending the
+evenin' at my niece's wot's married and livin' out Seven Kings
+way. Me and her man wot works on the line kept it up a bit late
+what with yarnin' about the front an' that and it must a' been
+nigh on three o'clock w'en I left him to walk back to the Union
+Jack Club where I had a bed.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"There's a corfee-stall near their road and the night bein' crool
+damp I thought as how a nice cup o' corfee'd warm me up afore I
+went back to the Waterloo Bridge Road. I had me cup o' corfee and
+was jes' a-payin' the chap what has the pitch w'en a fellow
+passes by right in the light o' the lamp on the stall. It was th'
+orficer here, in plain clothes&mdash;shabby-like he was dressed&mdash;but I
+knew him at once.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"'Our orficers don't walk about these parts after midnight
+dressed like tramps,' I sez to meself, and rememberin' what I
+seen at the Hohenlinden Trench I follows him..."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Just a minute!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The Chief's voice broke in upon the narrative.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Didn't you know, Barling, hadn't you heard, about Captain
+Strangwise's escape from a German prisoners of war camp?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"No, sir!" replied the gunner.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"There was a good deal about it in the papers."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"I've not got much eddication, sir," said Barling, "that's w'y I
+never took the stripe and I don't take much account of the
+newspapers an' that's a fact!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Well, go on!" the Chief bade him.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"It was pretty dark in the streets and I follered him along
+without his seeing me into the main-road and then down a
+turnin'..."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Laleham Villas," prompted Mr. Marigold.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"I wasn't payin' much attention to were he was leadin' me," said
+Barling, "what I wanted to find out was what he was up to!
+Presently he turned in at a gate. I was closer up than I meant to
+be, and he swung in so sudden that I had to drop quick and crouch
+behind the masonry of the front garden wall. My leave pass must
+a' dropped out o' my pocket and through the railin's into the
+garden.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Well, the front door must a' been on the jar for th' orficer
+here just pushes it open and walks in, goin' very soft like. I
+crep' in the front gate and got as far as the door w'ich was
+a-standin' half open. I could 'ear the stair creakin' under 'im
+and I was just wonderin' whether I should go into the house w'en
+I hears a bang and wi' that someone comes aflyin' down the
+stairs, dodges through the front hall and out at the back. I see
+him come scramblin' over the back gate and was a-goin' to stop
+him thinkin' it was th' orficer here w'en I sees it is a tubby
+little chap, not big like the Captain. And then it come over me
+quite sudden-like that burglary and murder had been done in the
+house and wot would I say if a p'liceman come along? So I slipped
+off and went as hard as I could go back to the old Union Jack
+Club.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"The next mornin' I found I'd lost me leave paper. I was afraid
+to go and report it in case it had been picked up, and they'd run
+me in for this murder job. That's how I come to desert,
+gentlemen, and spoilt a eighteen years' conduct sheet without a
+entry over this murderin' spy here!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Gunner Barling broke off abruptly as though he had committed
+himself to a stronger opinion than discipline would allow. It was
+the Chief who broke the silence following the termination of the
+gunner's story.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Strangwise," he said, "hadn't you better tell us who you are?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"He's an officer of the Prussian Guard," Desmond said, "and he
+was sent over here by the German secret service organization in
+the United States to get a commission in the British Army. When a
+good man was wanted to recover the Star of Poland for the Crown
+Prince, the secret service people in Berlin sent word to
+Strangwise (who was then serving with the gunners in France) to
+get himself captured. The German military authorities duly
+reported him a prisoner of war and then let him 'escape' as' the
+easiest and least suspicious means of getting him back to
+London!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The Chief smiled genially.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"That's a dashed clever idea," he observed shrewdly, "'pon my
+word, that's bright! That's very bright! I should like to
+compliment the man who thought of that!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Then you may address your compliments to me, Chief," said
+Strangwise.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The Chief turned and looked at him.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"I've met many of your people in my time, Strangwise," he said,
+"but I don't know you! Who are you?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Strangwise laughed.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Ask Nur-el-Din," he said, "that is to say, if you haven't shot
+her yet!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"And if we have?" asked the Chief.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Desmond sprang tip.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"It isn't possible!" he cried. "Why, the woman's a victim, not a
+principal! Chief..."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"What if we have?" asked the Chief again.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+A curious change had come over the prisoner. His jaunty air had
+left him and there was an apprehensive look in his eyes.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"I would have saved her if I could have," Strangwise said, "but
+she played me false over the jewel. She imperiled the success of
+my mission. You English have no idea of discipline. To us
+Prussian officers an order stands above everything else. There is
+nothing we would not sacrifice to obey our orders. And my order
+was to recover the Star of Poland for His Imperial Highness the
+Crown Prince, Lieutenant Colonel in the Regiment to which I have
+the honor to belong, the First Regiment of Prussian Foot Guards.
+But Nur-el-Din plotted with our friend here and with that little
+fool upstairs to upset my plans, and I had no mercy on her. I
+planted those documents in her dress&mdash;or rather Bellward did&mdash;to
+draw suspicion away from me. I thought you English would be too
+flabby to execute a woman; but I reckoned on you putting the girl
+away for some years to come. I would have shot her as I shot Rass
+if..." His voice trembled and he was silent.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"If what?" asked the Chief.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"If she hadn't been my wife," said Strangwise.
+</P>
+
+<BR><BR><BR>
+
+<A NAME="chap31"></A>
+<H3 ALIGN="center">
+CHAPTER XXXI. THE 100,000 KIT
+</H3>
+
+<P>
+It was a clear, crisp morning with a sparkle of frost on jetty
+and breakwater. The English Channel stretched flashing like a
+living sheet of glass to the filmy line marking the coast of
+France, as serene and beautiful in its calm as it is savage and
+cruel in its anger. It was high tide; but only a gentle murmur
+came from the little waves that idly beat upon the shore in front
+of the bungalow.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+A girl lay in a deck chair on the verandah, well wrapped up
+against the eager air. But the fresh breeze would not be denied
+and, foiled by the nurse's vigilance of its intents against the
+patient, it revenged itself by blowing havoc among the soft brown
+curls which peeped out from under the girl's hat.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+She turned to the man at her side.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Look!" she said, and pointed seawards with her finger.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+A convoy of vessels was standing out to sea framed in the
+smoke-blurs of the escorting destroyers. Ugly, weatherbeaten
+craft were the steamers with trails of smoke blown out in the
+breeze behind them. They rode the sea's highway with confidence,
+putting their trust in the unseen power that swept the road clear
+for them.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Transports, aren't they?" asked the man.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+But he scarcely looked at the transports. He was watching the
+gleam of the sun on the girl's brown hair and contrasting the
+deep gray of her eyes with the ever-changing hues of the sea.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Yes," replied the girl. "It's the third day they've gone across!
+By this time next week there'll be ten fresh divisions in France.
+How secure they look steaming along! And to think they owe it all
+to you!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The man laughed and flushed up.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"From the strictly professional standpoint the less said about me
+the better," he said.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"What nonsense you talk!" cried the girl. "When the Chief was
+down to see me yesterday, he spoke of nothing but you. 'They beat
+him, but he won out!' he said, 'they shook him off but he went
+back and found 'em!' He told me it was a case of grit versus
+violence&mdash;and grit won. In all the time I've known the Chief,
+I've never heard him talk so much about one man before. Do you
+know," Barbara went on, looking up at Desmond, "I think you've
+made the Chief feel a little bit ashamed of himself. And that I
+may tell you is a most extraordinary achievement!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Do you think you're strong enough to hear some news?" asked
+Desmond after a pause.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Of course," replied the girl. "But I think I can guess it. It's
+about Strangwise, isn't it?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Desmond nodded.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"He was shot yesterday morning," he replied. "I'm glad they did
+it in France. I was terrified lest they should want me to go to
+it."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Why?" asked the girl with a suspicion of indignation in her
+voice, "he deserved no mercy."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"No," replied Desmond slowly, "he was a bad fellow&mdash;a Prussian
+through and through. He murdered your poor father, he shot Rass,
+he instigated the killing of the maid, Marie, he was prepared to
+sacrifice his own wife even, to this Prussian God of militarism
+which takes the very soul out of a man's body and puts it into
+the hands of his superior officer. And yet, and yet, when one has
+soldiered with a man, Barbara, and roughed it with him and been
+shelled and shot at with him, there seems to be a bond of
+sympathy between you and him for ever after. And he was a brave
+man, Barbara, cruel and unscrupulous, I admit, but there was no
+fear in him, and I can't help admiring courage. I seem to think
+of him as two men&mdash;the man I soldiered with and the heartless
+brute who watched while that beast Bellward..."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+He broke off as a spasm of pain crossed the girl's face. "I shall
+remember the one and forget the other," he concluded simply.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Tell me," said the girl suddenly, "who was Strangwise?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"After he was arrested and just before they were going to take
+him off," Desmond said, "he asked to be allowed to say a word
+privately to the Chief. We were all sent away and he told the
+Chief his real name. He thought he was going to be hanged, you
+see, and while he never shrank from any crime in the fulfilment
+of his mission, he was terrified of a shameful death. He begged
+the Chief to see that his real name was not revealed for the
+disgrace that his execution would bring upon his family.
+Curiously Prussian attitude of mind, isn't it?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"And what did the Chief say?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"I don't know; but he was mighty short with him, I expect."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"And what was Strangwise's real name?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"When he told us that Nur-el-Din was his wife, I knew at once who
+he was. His name is Hans von Schornbeek. He was in the Prussian
+Foot Guards, was turned out for some reason or other and went to
+America where, after a pretty rough time, he was taken on by the
+German secret service organization. He was working for them when
+he met Nur-el-Din. They were married out there and, realizing the
+possibilities of using her as a decoy in the secret service, he
+sent her to Brussels where the Huns were very busy getting ready
+for war. He treated her abominably; but the girl was fond of him
+in her way and even when she was in fear of her life from this
+man she never revealed to me the fact that he was Hans von
+Schornbeek and her husband."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Barbara sat musing for a while, her eyes on the restless sea.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"How strange it is," she said, "to think that they are all
+dispersed now... and the transports are sailing securely to
+France. Two were killed at the Mill House, Behrend committed
+suicide in prison, Bellward died in hospital, Mrs. Malplaquet has
+disappeared, and now Strangwise has gone. There only remains..."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+She cast a quick glance at Desmond but he was gazing seaward at
+the smoke of the transports smudging the horizon.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"What are they going to do with Nur-el-Din?" she asked rather
+abruptly.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Didn't the Chief tell you?" said Desmond.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"He only asked me what I had to say in the matter as I had had to
+suffer at her hands. But I told him I left the matter entirely to
+him. I said I took your point of view that Nur-el-Din was the
+victim of her husband..."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"That was generous of you, Barbara," Desmond said gently.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+She sighed.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Daddy knew her as a little girl," she answered, "and he was so
+pleased to see her again that night. She never had a chance. I
+hope she'll get one now!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"They're going to intern her, I believe," said Desmond, "until
+the end of the war; they could do nothing else, you know. But she
+will be well looked after, and I think she will be safer in our
+charge than if she were allowed to remain at liberty. The German
+Secret Service has had a bad knock, you know. Somebody has got to
+pay for it!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"I know," the girl whispered, "and it frightens me."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"You poor child!" said Desmond, "you've had a rough time. But
+it's all over now. And that reminds me, Barney is coming up for
+sentence to-day; they charged him with murder originally; but
+Marigold kept on getting him remanded until they were able to
+alter the charge to one of burglary. He'll probably get two
+years' hard labor, Marigold says."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Poor Barney!" said Barbara, "I wish they would let him go free.
+All these weeks the mystery of poor Daddy's death has so weighed
+upon my mind that now it has been cleared up I feel as though one
+day I might be happy again. And I want everybody to be happy,
+too!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Barbara," said Desmond and took her hand.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Barbara calmly withdrew it from his grasp and brushed an
+imaginary curl out of her eye.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Any news of your hundred thousand pound kit?" she asked, by way
+of turning the conversation.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"By Jove," said Desmond, "there was a letter from Cox's at the
+club this morning but I was so rushed to catch my train that I
+shoved it in my pocket and forgot all about it. I wrote and asked
+them weeks ago to get my kit back from France. Here we are!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+He pulled a letter out of his pocket, slit open the envelope and
+took out a printed form. Barbara, propping herself up with one
+hand on his shoulder, leaned over him to read the communication.
+This is what she read.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"We are advised," the form ran, "that a Wolseley valise forwarded
+to you on the 16th inst. from France has been lost by enemy
+action. We are enclosing a compensation form which..."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+But neither troubled to read further.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Gone to the bottom, by Jove!" cried Desmond. "But isn't it
+strange," he went on, "to think of the Star of Poland lying out
+there on the bed of the Channel? Well, I'm not so sure that it
+isn't the best place for it. It won't create any further trouble
+in this world at least!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Poor Nur-el-Din!" sighed the girl.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+They sat awhile in silence together and watched the gulls
+circling unceasingly above the receding tide.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"You're leaving here to-morrow then?" said Desmond presently.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Barbara nodded
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"And going back to your work with the Chief?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Barbara nodded again.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"It's not good enough," cried Desmond. "This is no job for a girl
+like you, Barbara. The strain is too much; the risks are too
+great. Besides, there's something I wanted to say..."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Barbara stopped him.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Don't say it!" she bade him.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"But you don't know what I was going to say!" he protested.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Barbara smiled a little happy smile.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Barbara..." Desmond began.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Her hand still rested on his shoulder and he put his hand over
+hers. For a brief moment she let him have his way.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Then she withdrew her hand.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Desmond," she said, looking at him with kindly eyes, "we both
+have work to do..."
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"We have," replied the man somberly, "and mine's at the front!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The girl shook her head.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"No!" she said. "Henceforward it's where the Chief sends you!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Desmond set his jaw obstinately.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"I may have been a Secret Service agent by accident," he
+answered, "but I'm a soldier by trade. My place is in the
+fighting-line!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"The Secret Service has its fighting-line, too," Barbara replied,
+"though the war correspondents don't write about it. It never
+gets a mention in despatches, and Victoria Crosses don't come its
+way. The newspapers don't publish its casualty list, though you
+and I know that it's a long one. A man slips quietly away and
+never comes back, and after a certain lapse of time we just mark
+him off the books and there's an end of it. But it's a great
+service; and you've made your mark in it. The Chief wants men
+like you. You'll have to stay!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Desmond was about to speak; but the girl stopped him. "What do
+you and I matter," she asked, "when the whole future of England
+is at stake! If you are to give of your best to this silent game
+of ours, you must be free with no responsibilities and no ties,
+with nothing that will ever make you hesitate to take a supreme
+risk. And I never met a man that dared more freely than you!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Oh, please..." said Desmond and got up.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+He stood gazing seawards for a while.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Then he glanced at his watch.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"I must be going back to London," he said. "I have to see the
+Chief at four this afternoon. And you know why!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+The girl nodded.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"What will you tell him?" she asked. "Will you accept his offer
+to remain on in the Secret Service?"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Desmond looked at her ruefully.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"You're so eloquent about it," he said slowly, "that I think I
+must!"
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Smiling, she gave him her hand. Desmond held it for an instant in
+his.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Then, without another word, he turned and strode off towards the
+winding white road that led to the station.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+Barbara watched him until a turn in the road hid him from her
+sight. Then she pulled out her handkerchief.
+</P>
+
+<P>
+"Good Heavens, girl!" she said to herself, "I believe you're
+crying!"
+</P>
+
+<BR><BR><BR><BR>
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+<pre>
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Okewood of the Secret Service, by 
+Valentine Williams
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+Project Gutenberg's Okewood of the Secret Service, by Valentine Williams
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.net
+
+
+Title: Okewood of the Secret Service
+
+Author: Valentine Williams
+
+Posting Date: March 23, 2009 [EBook #2417]
+Release Date: December, 2000
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK OKEWOOD OF THE SECRET SERVICE ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Polly Stratton.  HTML version by Al Haines.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+OKEWOOD OF THE SECRET SERVICE
+
+
+by
+
+Valentine Williams
+
+(pseud. Douglas Valentine)
+
+
+
+
+CONTENTS
+
+      I.  THE DEPUTY TURN
+     II.  CAPTAIN STRANGWISE ENTERTAINS A GUEST
+    III.  MR. MACKWAYTE MEETS AN OLD FRIEND
+     IV.  MAJOR OKEWOOD ENCOUNTERS A NEW TYPE
+      V.  THE MURDER AT SEVEN KINGS
+     VI.  "NAME O'BARNEY"
+    VII.  NUR-EL-DIN
+   VIII.  THE WHITE PAPER PACKAGE
+     IX.  METAMORPHOSIS
+      X.  D. O. R. A. IS BAFFLED
+     XI.  CREDENTIALS
+    XII.  AT THE MILL HOUSE
+   XIII.  WHAT SHAKESPEARE'S COMEDIES REVEALED
+    XIV.  BARBARA TAKES A HAND
+     XV.  MR. BELLWARD IS CALLED TO THE TELEPHONE
+    XVI.  THE STAR OF POLAND
+   XVII.  MR. BELLWARD ARRANGES A BRIDGE EVENING
+  XVIII.  THE GATHERING OF THE SPIES
+    XIX.  THE UNINVITED GUEST
+     XX.  THE ODD MAN
+    XXI.  THE BLACK VELVET TOQUE
+   XXII.  WHAT THE CELLAR REVEALED
+  XXIII.  MRS. MALPLAQUET GOES DOWN TO THE CELLAR
+   XXIV.  THE TWO DESERTERS
+    XXV.  TO MRS. MALPLAQUET'S
+   XXVI.  THE MAN IN THE SUMMER HOUSE
+  XXVII.  THE RED LACQUER ROOM
+ XXVIII.  AN OFFER FROM STRANGWISE
+   XXIX.  DOT AND DASH
+    XXX.  HOHENLINDEN TRENCH
+   XXXI.  THE 100,000 POUND KIT
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I. THE DEPUTY TURN
+
+Mr. Arthur Mackwayte slipped noiselessly into the dining-room and
+took his place at the table. He always moved quietly, a look of
+gentle deprecation on his face as much as to say: "Really, you
+know, I can't help being here: if you will just overlook me this
+time, by and by you won't notice I'm there at all!" That was how
+he went through life, a shy, retiring little man, quiet as a
+mouse, gentle as a dove, modesty personified.
+
+That is, at least, how Mr. Arthur Mackwayte struck his friends in
+private life. Once a week, however, he fairly screamed at the
+public from the advertisement columns of "The Referee":
+"Mackwayte, in his Celebrated Kerbstone Sketches. Wit! Pathos!
+Tragedy!!! The Epitome of London Life. Universally Acclaimed as
+the Greatest Portrayer of London Characters since the late Chas.
+Dickens. In Tremendous Demand for Public Dinners. The Popular
+Favorite. A Few Dates still Vacant. 23, Laleham Villas, Seven
+Kings. 'Phone" and so on.
+
+But only professionally did Mr. Mackwayte thus blow his own
+trumpet, and then in print alone. For the rest, he had nothing
+great about him but his heart. A long and bitter struggle for
+existence had left no hardness in his smooth-shaven flexible
+face, only wrinkles. His eyes were gray and keen and honest, his
+mouth as tender as a woman's.
+
+His daughter, Barbara, was already at table pouring out the
+tea--high tea is still an institution in music-hall circles. Mr.
+Mackwayte always gazed on this tall, handsome daughter of his
+with amazement as the great miracle of his life. He looked at her
+now fondly and thought how.... how distinguished, yes, that was
+the word, she looked in the trim blue serge suit in which she
+went daily to her work at the War Office.
+
+"Rations a bit slender to-night, daddy," she said, handing him his
+cup of tea, "only sardines and bread and butter and cheese. Our
+meatless day, eh?"
+
+"It'll do very well for me, Barbara, my dear," he answered in his
+gentle voice, "there have been times when your old dad was glad
+enough to get a cup of tea and a bite of bread and butter for his
+supper. And there's many a one worse off than we are today!"
+
+"Any luck at the agent's, daddy?"
+
+Mr. Mackwayte shook his head.
+
+"These revues are fair killing the trade, my dear, and that's a
+fact. They don't want art to-day, only rag-time and legs and all
+that. Our people are being cruelly hit by it and that's a fact.
+Why, who do you think I ran into at Harris' this morning? Why,
+Barney who used to work with the great Charles, you know, my
+dear. For years he drew his ten pound a week regular. Yet there
+he was, looking for a job the same as the rest of us. Poor
+fellow, he was down on his luck!"
+
+Barbara looked up quickly.
+
+"Daddy, you lent him money...."
+
+Mr. Mackwayte looped extremely uncomfortable.
+
+"Only a trifle, my dear, just a few shillings.... to take him
+over the week-end.... he's getting something.... he'll repay me,
+I feel sure...."
+
+"It's too bad of you, daddy," his daughter said severely. "I gave
+you that ten shillings to buy yourself a bottle of whiskey. You
+know he won't pay you back. That Barney's a bad egg!"
+
+"Things are going bad with the profession," replied Mr. Mackwayte.
+"They don't seem to want any of us old stagers today, Barbara!"
+
+"Now, daddy, you know I don't allow you to talk like that. Why,
+you are only just finished working.... the Samuel Circuit, too!"
+
+Barbara looked up at the old man quickly.
+
+"Only, four weeks' trial, my dear.... they didn't want me, else
+they would have given me the full forty weeks. No, I expect I am
+getting past my work. But it's hard on you child...."
+
+Barbara sprang up and placed her hand across her father's mouth.
+
+"I won't have you talk like that, Mac"--that was her pet name for
+him--"you've worked hard all your life and now it's my turn. Men
+have had it all their own way before this war came along: now
+women are going to have a look in. Presently' when I get to be
+supervisor of my section and they raise my pay again, you will be
+able to refuse all offers of work. You can go down to Harris with
+a big cigar in your mouth and patronize him, daddy..."
+
+The telephone standing on the desk in the corner of the cheap
+little room tingled out sharply. Barbara rose and went across to
+the desk. Mr. Mackwayte thought how singularly graceful she
+looked as she stood, very slim, looking at him whimsically across
+the dinner-table, the receiver in her hand.
+
+Then a strange thing happened. Barbara quickly put the receiver
+down on the desk and clasped her hands together, her eyes opened
+wide in amazement.
+
+"Daddy," she cried, "it's the Palaceum... the manager's office...
+they want you urgently! Oh, daddy, I believe it is an
+engagement!"
+
+Mr. Mackwayte rose to his feet in agitation, a touch of color
+creeping into his gray cheeks.
+
+"Nonsense, my dear!" he answered, "at this time of night! Why,
+it's past eight... their first house is just finishing... they
+don't go engaging people at this time of day... they've got other
+things to think of!"
+
+He went over to the desk and picked up the receiver.
+
+"Mackwayte speaking!" he said, with a touch of stage majesty in
+his voice.
+
+Instantly a voice broke in on the other end of the wire, a
+perfect torrent of words.
+
+"Mackwayte? Ah! I'm glad I caught you at home. Got your props
+there? Good. Hickie of Hickie and Flanagan broke his ankle during
+their turn at the first house just now, and I want you to take
+their place at the second house. Your turn's at 9.40: it's a
+quarter past eight now: I'll have a car for you at your place at
+ten to nine sharp. Bring your band parts and lighting directions
+with you... don't forget! You get twenty minutes, on! Right!
+Goodbye!"
+
+"The Palaceum want me to deputize for Hickie and Flanagan, my
+dear," he said a little tremulously' "9.40... the second house...
+it's... it's very unexpected!"
+
+Barbara ran up and throwing her arms about his neck, kissed him.
+
+"How splendid!" she exclaimed, "the Palaceum, daddy! You've never
+had an engagement like this before... the biggest hall in
+London...!!
+
+"Only for a night, my dear"' said Mr. Mackwayte modestly.
+
+"But if they like you, daddy, if it goes down... what will you
+give them, daddy?"
+
+Mr. Mackwayte scratched his chin.
+
+"It's the biggest theatre in London"' he mused, "It'll have to be
+broad effects... and they'll want something slap up modern, my
+dear, I'm thinking..."
+
+"No, no, daddy" his daughter broke in vehemently "they want the
+best. This is a London audience, remember, not a half-baked
+provincial house. This is London, Mac, not Wigan! And Londoners
+love their London! You'll give 'em the old London horse bus
+driver, the sporting cabby, and I believe you'll have time to
+squeeze in the hot potato man..."
+
+"Well, like your poor dear mother, I expect you know what's the
+best I've got" replied Mr. Mackwayte, "but it'll be a bit awkward
+with a strange dresser... I can't get hold of Potter at this
+time, of night... and a stranger is sure to mix up my wigs and
+things..."
+
+"Why, daddy, I'm going with you to put out your things..."
+
+"But a lady clerk in the War Office, Barbara... a Government
+official, as you might say... go behind at a music-hall... it
+don't seem proper right, my dear!"
+
+"Nonsense, Mac. Where Is your theatre? Come along. We'll have to
+try and get a taxi!"
+
+"They're sending a car at ten to nine, my dear!"
+
+"Good gracious! what swells we are! And it's half-past eight
+already! Who is on the bill with you?"
+
+"My dear, I haven't an idea... I'm not very well up in the London
+programmes' I'm afraid... but it is sure to be a good programme.
+The Palaceum is the only house that's had the courage to break
+away from this rotten revue craze!"
+
+Barbara was in the hall now, her arms plunged to the shoulder in
+a great basket trunk that smelt faintly of cocoa-butter. Right
+and left she flung coats and hats and trousers and band parts,
+selecting with a sure eye the properties which Mr. Mackwayte
+would require for the sketches he would play that evening. In the
+middle of it all the throbbing of a car echoed down the quiet
+road outside. Then there came a ring at the front door.
+
+*       *        *       *       *       *
+
+At half-past nine that night, Barbara found herself standing
+beside her father in the wings of the vast Palaceum stage. Just
+at her back was the little screened-off recess where Mr.
+Mackwayte was to make the quick changes that came in the course
+of his turn. Here, since her arrival in the theatre, Barbara had
+been busy laying out coats and hats and rigs and grease-paints on
+the little table below the mirror with its two brilliant electric
+bulbs, whilst Mr. Mackwayte was in his dressing-room upstairs
+changing into his first costume.
+
+Now, old Mackwayte stood at her elbow in his rig-out as an old
+London bus-driver in the identical, characteristic clothes which
+he had worn for this turn for the past 25 years. He was far too
+old a hand to show any nervousness he might feel at the ordeal
+before him. He was chatting in undertones in his gentle,
+confidential way to the stage manager.
+
+All around them was that curious preoccupied stillness hush of
+the power-house which makes the false world of the stage so
+singularly unreal by contrast when watched from the back. The
+house was packed from floor to ceiling, for the Palaceum's policy
+of breaking away from revue and going back to Mr. Mackwayte
+called "straight vaudeville" was triumphantly justifying itself.
+
+Standing in the wings, Barbara could almost feel the electric
+current running between the audience and the comedian who, with
+the quiet deliberation of the finished artist, was going through
+his business on the stage. As he made each of his carefully
+studied points, he paused, confident of the vast rustle of
+laughter swelling into a hurricane of applause which never failed
+to come from the towering tiers of humanity before him,
+stretching away into the roof where the limelights blazed and
+spluttered. Save for the low murmur of voices at her side, the
+silence behind the scenes was absolute. No one was idle. Everyone
+was at his post, his attention concentrated on that diminutive
+little figure in the ridiculous clothes which the spot-lights
+tracked about the stage.
+
+It was the high-water mark of modern music-hall development. The
+perfect smoothness of the organization gave Barbara a great
+feeling of contentment for she knew how happy her father must be.
+Everyone had been so kind to him. "I shall feel a stranger
+amongst the top-liners of today, my dear," he had said to her in
+the car on their way to the hall. She had had no answer ready for
+she had feared he spoke the truth.
+
+Yet everyone they had met had tried to show them that Arthur
+Mackwayte was not forgotten. The stage-door keeper had known him
+in the days of the old Aquarium and welcomed him by name. The
+comedian who preceded Mr. Mackwayte and who was on the stage at
+that moment had said, "Hullo, Mac! Come to give us young 'uns
+some tips?" And even now the stage manager was talking over old
+days with her father.
+
+"You had a rough but good schooling, Mac," he was saying, "but,
+by Jove, it gave us finished artists. If you saw the penny
+reading line that comes trying to get a job here... and gets it,
+by Gad!... it'd make you sick. I tell you I have my work cut out
+staving them off! It's a pretty good show this week, though, and
+I've given you a good place, Mac... you're in front of
+Nur-el-Din!"
+
+"Nur-el-Din?" repeated Mr. Mackwayte' "what is it, Fletcher? A
+conjurer?"
+
+"Good Lord' man' where have you been living?" replied Fletcher.
+"Nur-el-Din is the greatest vaudeville proposition since Lottie
+Collins. Conjurer! That's what she is, too, by Jove! She's the
+newest thing in Oriental dancers... Spaniard or something...
+wonderful clothes, what there is of 'em... and jewelry... wait
+till you see her!"
+
+"Dear me"' said Mr. Mackwayte' "I'm afraid I'm a bit behind the
+times. Has she been appearing here long?"
+
+"First appearance in London, old man' and she's made good from
+the word 'Go!' She's been in Paris and all over the Continent,
+and America, too, I believe, but she had to come to me to soar to
+the top of the bill. I saw at once where she belonged! She's a
+real artiste, temperament, style and all that sort of thing and a
+damn good producer into the bargain! But the worst devil that
+ever escaped out of hell never had a wickeder temper! She and I
+fight all the time! Not a show, but she doesn't keep the stage
+waiting! But I won! I won't have her prima donna tricks in this
+theatre and so I've told her! Hullo, Georgie's he's finishing..."
+
+The great curtain switched down suddenly, drowning a cascade of
+applause, and a bundle of old clothes, twitching nerves, liquid
+perspiration and grease paint hopped off the stage into the
+centre of the group. An electric bell trilled, the limelights
+shut off, with a jerk that made the eyes ache, a back-cloth
+soared aloft and another glided down into its place, the comedian
+took two, three, four calls, then vanished into a horde of dim
+figures scuttling about in the gloom.
+
+An electric bell trilled again and deep silence fell once more,
+broken only by the hissing of the lights.
+
+"You ought to stop behind after your turn and see her, Mac," the
+stage manager's voice went on evenly. "All right, Jackson! On you
+go, Mac!"
+
+Barbara felt her heart jump. Now for it, daddy!
+
+The great curtain mounted majestically and Arthur Mackwayte,
+deputy turn, stumped serenely on to the stage.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II. CAPTAIN STRANGWISE ENTERTAINS A GUEST
+
+It was the slack hour at the Nineveh Hotel. The last groups about
+the tea-tables in the Palm Court had broken up, the Tzigane
+orchestra had stacked its instruments together on its little
+platform and gone home, and a gentle calm rested over the great
+hotel as the forerunner of the coming dinner storm.
+
+The pre-dinner hour is the uncomfortable hour of the modern hotel
+de luxe. The rooms seem uncomfortably hot, the evening paper
+palls, it is too early to dress for dinner, so one sits yawning
+over the fire, longing for a fireside of one's own. At least that
+is how it strikes one from the bachelor standpoint, and that is
+how it appeared to affect a man who was sitting hunched up in a
+big arm-chair in the vestibule of the Ninevah Hotel on this
+winter afternoon.
+
+His posture spoke of utter boredom. He sprawled length in his
+chair, his long legs stretched out in front of him, his, eyes
+half-closed, various editions of evening papers strewn about the
+ground at his feet. He was a tall, well-groomed man, and his
+lithe, athletic figure looked very well in its neat uniform.
+
+A pretty little woman who sat at one of the writing desks in the
+vestibule glanced at him more once. He was the sort of man that
+women look at with interest. He had a long, shrewd, narrow head,
+the hair dark and close-cropped, a big, bold, aquiline nose, and
+a firm masterful chin, dominated by a determined line of mouth
+emphasised by a thin line of moustache. He would have been very
+handsome but for his eyes, which, the woman decided as she
+glanced at him, were set rather too close together. She thought
+she would prefer him as he was now, with his eyes glittering in
+the fire-light through their long lashes.
+
+But what was most apparent was the magnificent physical fitness
+of the man. His was the frame of the pioneer, the man of the
+earth's open spaces and uncharted wilds. He looked as hard as
+nails, and the woman murmured to herself, as she went on with her
+note, "On leave from the front."
+
+Presently, the man stirred, stretched himself and finally sat up.
+Then he started, sprang to his feet, and strode easily across the
+vestibule to the reception desk. An officer was standing there in
+a worn uniform, a very shabby kit-bag by his side, a dirty old
+Burberry over his arm.
+
+"Okewood!" said the young man and touched the other on the
+shoulder, "isn't it Desmond Okewood?  By Jove, I am glad to see
+you!"
+
+The new-comer turned quickly.
+
+"Why, hullo," he said, "if it isn't Maurice Strangwise! But, good
+heavens, man, surely I saw your name in the casualty list...
+missing, wasn't it?"
+
+"Yep!" replied the other smiling, "that's so! It's a long story
+and it'll keep! But tell me about yourself... this," he kicked
+the kit-bag with the toe of his boot, "looks like a little leave!
+Just in from France?"
+
+He smiled again, baring his firm, white teeth, and looking at him
+Desmond suddenly remembered, as one recalls a trifle, his trick
+of smiling. It was a frank enough smile but... well, some people
+smile too much.
+
+"Got in just now by the leave train," answered Desmond.
+
+"How much leave have you got?" asked Strangwise.
+
+"Well," said the other, "it's a funny thing, but I don't know!"
+
+"Say, are they giving unlimited leave over there now?"
+
+Desmond laughed.
+
+"Hardly," he replied. "But the War Office just applied for me to
+come over and here I am! What they want me for, whether it's to
+advise the War Council or to act as Quartermaster to the Jewish
+Battalion I can't tell you! I shan't know until tomorrow morning!
+In the meantime I'm going to forget the war for this evening!"
+
+"What are you going to do to-night?" asked Strangwise.
+
+Desmond began to check off on his fingers.
+
+"Firstly, I'm going to fill the biggest bath in this hotel with
+hot water, get the biggest piece of Pears' soap in London, and
+jump in: Then, if my tailor hasn't betrayed me, I'm going to put
+on dress clothes, and whilst I am dressing summon Julien (if he's
+maitre d'hotel here) to a conference, then I'm going to eat the
+best dinner that this pub can provide. Then..."
+
+Strangwise interrupted him.
+
+"The bath is on you, if you like," he said, "but the dinner's on
+me and a show afterwards. I'm at a loose end, old man, and so are
+you, so we'll hit up together! We'll dine in the restaurant here
+7.30, and Julien shall come up to your room so this you can order
+the dinner. Is it a go?"
+
+"Rather," laughed Desmond, "I'll eat your dinner, Maurice, and
+you shall tell me how you managed; to break out of the casualty
+list into the Nineveh Hotel. But what do all these anxious-looking
+gentry want?"
+
+The two officers turned to confront a group of four men who were
+surveying them closely. One of them, a fat, comfortable looking
+party with grizzled hair, on seeing Desmond, walked up to him.
+
+"Hullo!" said Desmond, "it's Tommy Spencer! How are you, Spencer?
+What's the betting in Fleet Street on the war lasting another
+five years?  Have you come to interview me?"
+
+The tubby little man beamed and shook hands effusively.
+
+"Glad to see you looking so well, Major," he said, "It's your
+friend we want..."
+
+"What? Strangwise? Here, Maurice, come meet my friend Tommy
+Spencer of the "Daily Record," whom I haven't seen since we went
+on manoeuvres together down at Aldershot! Captain Strangwise,
+Tommy Spencer! Now, then, fire away; Spencer!"
+
+Strangwise smiled and shook his head.
+
+"I'm very pleased to know your friend, Desmond," he said, "but,
+you know, I can't talk! I had the strictest orders from the War
+Office... It's on account of the other fellows, you know..."
+
+Desmond looked blankly at him. Then he--turned to Spencer.
+
+"You must let me into this, Spencer," he said, "what's old
+Maurice been up to? Has he been cashiered for wearing shoes or
+what?"
+
+Spencer's manner became a trifle formal.
+
+"Captain Strangwise has escaped from a prisoners' of war camp in
+Germany, Major," he said, "we've been trying to get hold of him
+for days! He's the talk of London!"
+
+Desmond turned like a shot.
+
+"Maurice!" he cried, "'pon my soul, I'm going to have an
+interesting evening... why, of course, you are just the sort of
+fellow to do a thing like that. But, Spencer, you know, it won't
+do... fellows are never allowed to talk to the newspaper men
+about matters of this kind. And if you're a good fellow, Spencer,
+you won't even say that you have seen Strangwise here... you'll
+only get him into trouble!"
+
+The little man looked rather rueful.
+
+"Oh, of course, Major, if you put it that way," he said.
+
+"... And you'll use your influence to make those other fellows
+with you drop it, will you, Spencer? And then come along to the
+bar and we'll haven a drink for old times' sake!"
+
+Spencer seemed doubtful about the success of his representations
+to his colleagues but he obediently trotted away. Apparently, he
+succeeded in his mission for presently he joined the two officers
+alone in the American Bar.
+
+"I haven't seen Strangwise for six months, Spencer," said Desmond
+over his second cocktail. "Seeing him reminds me how astonishing
+it is the way fellows drop apart in war. Old Maurice was attached
+to the Brigade of which I am the Brigade Major as gunner officer,
+and we lived together for the best part of three months, wasn't
+it, Maurice? Then he goes back to his battery and the next thing
+I hear of him is that he is missing. And then I'm damned if he
+doesn't turn up here!"
+
+Spencer cocked an eye at Strangwise over him Martini.
+
+"I'd like to hear your story, despite the restrictions," he said.
+
+Strangwise looked a trifle embarrassed.
+
+"Maybe I'll tell you one day," he replied in his quiet way,
+"though, honestly, there's precious little to tell..."
+
+Desmond marked his confusion and respected him for it. He rushed
+in to the rescue.
+
+"Spencer," he said abruptly, "what's worth seeing in London? We
+are going to a show to-night. I want to be amused, mark you, not
+elevated!"
+
+"Nur-el-Din at the Palaceum," replied the reporter.
+
+"By Jove, we'll go there," said Desmond, turning to Maurice.
+"Have you ever seen her? I'm told she's perfectly marvelous..."
+
+"It's an extraordinarily artistic turn," said Spencer, "and
+they're doing wonderful business at the Palaceum. You'd better go
+and see the show soon, though, for they tell me the lady is
+leaving the programme."
+
+"No!" exclaimed Strangwise so suddenly that Desmond turned round
+and stared at him. "I thought she was there for months yet..."
+
+"They don't want her to go," answered Spencer, "she's a perfect
+gold-mine to them but I gather the lady is difficult... in fact,
+to put it bluntly she's making such a damn nuisance of herself
+with her artistic temperament that they can't get on with her at
+all."
+
+"Do you know this lady of the artistic temperament, Maurice?"
+asked Desmond.
+
+Strangwise hesitated a moment.
+
+"I met her in Canada a few years ago," he said slowly, "she was a
+very small star then. She's a very handsome and attractive girl,
+in spite of our friend's unfavorable verdict. There's something
+curiously real about her dancing, too, that you don't find in
+this sort of show as a rule!"
+
+He stopped a moment, then added abruptly:
+
+"We'll go along to the Palaceum to-night, if you like, Desmond,"
+and Desmond joyfully acquiesced. To one who has been living for
+weeks in an ill-ventilated pill-box on the Passchendaele Ridge,
+the lights and music and color of a music-hall seem as a
+foretaste of Paradise.
+
+And that was what Desmond Okewood thought as a few hours later he
+found himself with Maurice Strangwise in the stalls of the vast
+Palaceum auditorium. In the unwonted luxury of evening clothes he
+felt clean and comfortable, and the cigar he way smoking was the
+climax of one of Julien's most esoteric efforts.
+
+The cards on either side of the proscenium opening bore the
+words: "Deputy Turn." On the stage wad a gnarled old man with
+ruddy cheeks and a muffler a seedy top hat on his head, a
+coaching whip in his hand, the old horse bus-driver of London in
+his habit as he had lived. The old fellow stood there and just
+talked to the audience of a fine sporting class of men that
+petrol has driven from the streets, without exaggerated humor or
+pathos. Desmond, himself a born Cockney, at once fell under the
+actor's spell and found all memories of the front slipping away
+from him as the old London street characters succeeded one
+another on the stage. Then the orchestra blared out, the curtain
+descended, and the house broke into a great flutter of applause.
+
+Desmond, luxuriating in his comfortable stall puffed at his cigar
+and fell into a pleasant reverie.
+
+He was contrasting the ghastly nightmare of mud and horrors from
+which he had only just emerged with the scene of elegance, of
+civilization; around him.
+
+Suddenly, his attention became riveted on the stage. The
+atmosphere of the theatre had changed. Always quick at picking up
+"influences," Desmond instantly sensed a new mood in the throngs
+around him. A presence was in the theatre, an instinct-awakening,
+a material influence. The great audience was strangely hushed.
+The air was heavy with the tent of incense. The stringed
+instruments and oboes in the orchestra were wandering into
+rhythmic dropped.
+
+Maurice touched his elbow.
+
+"There she is!" he said.
+
+Desmond felt inclined to shake him off roughly. The interruption
+jarred on him. For he was looking at this strangely beautiful
+girl with her skin showing very brown beneath a wonderful silver
+tiara-like headdress, and in the broad interstices of a
+cloth-of-silver robe with short, stiffly wired-out skirt. She was
+seated, an idol, on a glittering black throne, at her feet with
+their tapering dyed nails a fantastically attired throng of
+worshipers.
+
+The idol stirred into life, the music of the orchestra died away.
+Then a tom-tom began to beat its nervous pulse-stirring throb,
+the strident notes of a reed-pipe joined in and the dancer,
+raised on her toes on the dais, began to sway languorously to and
+fro. And so she swayed and swayed with sinuously curving limbs
+while the drums throbbed out faster with ever-shortening beats,
+with now and then a clash of brazen cymbals that was torture to
+overwrought nerves.
+
+The dancer was the perfection of grace. Her figure was lithe and
+supple as a boy's. There was a suggestion of fire and strength
+and agility about her that made one think of a panther as she
+postured there against a background of barbaric color. The grace
+of her movements, the exquisite blending of the colors on the
+stage, the skillful grouping of the throng of worshipers, made up
+a picture which held the audience spellbound and in silence until
+the curtain dropped.
+
+Desmond turned to find Strangwise standing up.
+
+"I thought of just running round behind the scenes for a few
+minutes," he said carelessly.
+
+"What, to see Nur-el-Din? By Jove, I'm coming, too!" promptly
+exclaimed Desmond.
+
+Strangwise demurred. He didn't quite know if he could take him:
+there might be difficulties: another time... But Desmond got up
+resolutely.
+
+"I'll be damned if you leave me behind, Maurice," he laughed, "of
+course I'm coming, too! She's the most delightful creature I've
+ever set eyes on!"
+
+And so it ended by them going through the pass-door together.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III. MR. MACKWAYTE MEETS AN OLD FRIEND
+
+That night Nur-el-Din kept the stage waiting for five minutes. It
+was a climax of a long series of similar unpardonable crimes in
+the music-hall code. The result was that Mr. Mackwayte, after
+taking four enthusiastic "curtains," stepped off the stage into a
+perfect pandemonium.
+
+He found Fletcher, the stage manager, livid with rage, surrounded
+by the greater part of the large suite with which the dancer
+traveled. There was Madame's maid, a trim Frenchwoman, Madame's
+business manager, a fat, voluble Italian, Madame's secretary, an
+olive-skinned South American youth in an evening coat with velvet
+collar, and Madame's principal male dancer in a scanty Egyptian
+dress with grotesquely painted face. They were all talking at the
+same time, and at intervals Fletcher muttered hotly: "This time
+she leaves the bill or I walk out of the theatre!"
+
+Then a clear voice cried:
+
+"Me voila!" and a dainty apparition in an ermine wrap tripped
+into the centre of the group, tapped the manager lightly on the
+shoulder and said:
+
+"Allons! I am ready!"
+
+Mr. Mackwayte's face creased its mask of paint into a thousand
+wrinkles. For, on seeing him, the dancer's face lighted up, and,
+running to him with hands outstretched, she cried:
+
+"Tiens! Monsieur Arthur!" while he ejaculated:
+
+"Why, it's little Marcelle!"
+
+But now the stage manager interposed. He whisked Madame's wrap
+off her with one hand and with the other, firmly propelled her on
+to the stage. She let him have his way with a merry smile, dark
+eyes and white teeth flashing, but as she went she said to Mr.
+Mackwayte:
+
+"My friend, wait for me! Et puis nous causerons! We will 'ave a
+talk, nest-ce pas?"
+
+"A very old friend of mine, my dear," Mr. Mackwayte said to
+Barbara when, dressed in his street clothes, he rejoined her in
+the wings where she stood watching Nur-el-Din dancing. "She was
+an acrobat in the Seven Duponts, a turn that earned big money in
+the old days. It must be... let's see... getting on for twenty
+years since I last set eyes on her. She was a pretty kid in those
+days! God bless my soul! Little Marcelle a big star! It's really
+most amazing!"
+
+Directly she was off the stage, Nur-el-Din cams straight to Mr.
+Mackwayte, pushing aside her maid who was waiting with her wrap.
+
+"My friend," she cooed in her pretty broken English, "I am so
+glad, so glad to see you. And this is your girl... ah! she 'as
+your eyes, Monsieur Arthur, your nice English gray eyes! Such a
+big girl... ah! but she make me feel old!"
+
+She laughed, a pretty gurgling laugh, throwing back her head so
+that the diamond collar she was wearing heaved and flashed.
+
+"But you will come to my room, hein?" she went on. "Marie, my
+wrap!" and she led the way to the lift.
+
+Nur-el-Din's spacious dressing-room seemed to be full of people
+and flowers. All her little court was assembled amid a perfect
+bower of hot-house blooms and plants. Head and shoulders above
+everybody else in the room towered the figure of an officer in
+uniform, with him another palpable Englishman in evening dress.
+
+Desmond Okewood thought he had never seen anything in his life
+more charming than the picture the dancer made as she came into
+the room. Her wrap had fallen open and beneath the broad bars of
+her cloth-of-silver dress her bosom yet rose and fell after the
+exertions of her dance. A jet black curl had strayed out from
+beneath her lofty silver head-dress, and she thrust it back in
+its place with one little brown bejeweled hand whilst she
+extended the other to Strangwise.
+
+"Tiens, mon capitaine!" she said. Desmond was watching her
+closely, fascinated by her beauty, but noticed an unwilling,
+almost a hostile tone, in her voice.
+
+Strangwise was speaking in his deep voice.
+
+"Marcelle," he said, "I've brought a friend who is anxious to
+meet you. Major Desmond Okewood! He and I soldiered together in
+France!" The dancer turned her big black eyes full on Desmond as
+she held out her hand to him.
+
+"Old friends, new friends," she cried, clapping, her hands like a
+child, "I love friends. Captaine, here is a very old friend," she
+said to Strangwise as Mr. Mackwayte and Barbara came into the
+rooms, "Monsieur Arthur Mackwayte and 'is daughter. I 'ave know
+Monsieur Arthur almos' all my life. And, Mademoiselle, permit me?
+I introduce le Captaine Strangwise and 'is friend... what is the
+name? Ah, Major Okewood!"
+
+Nur-el-Din sank into a bergere chair beside her great mirror.
+
+"There are too many in this room," she cried, "there is no air!
+Lazarro, Ramiro, all of you, go outside, my friends!"
+
+As Madame's entourage surged out, Strangwise said:
+
+"I hear you are leaving the Palaceum, Marcelle!"
+
+He spoke so low that Mr. Mackwayte and Barbara, who were talking
+to Desmond, did not hear. Marcelle, taking off her heavy
+head-dress, answered quickly:
+
+"Who told you that?"
+
+"Never mind," replied Strangwise. "But you never told me you were
+going. Why didn't you?"
+
+His voice was stern and hard now, very different from his usual
+quiet and mellow tones. But he was smiling.
+
+Marcelle cast a glance over her shoulder. Barbara was looking
+round the room and caught the reflection of the dancer's face in
+a mirror hanging on the wall. To her intense astonishment, she
+saw a look of despair, almost of terror, in Nur-el-Din's dark
+eyes. It was like the frightened stare of some hunted beast.
+Barbara was so much taken aback that she instinctively glanced
+over her shoulder at the door, thinking that the dancer had seen
+something there to frighten her. But the door was shut. When
+Barbara looked into the mirror again, she saw only the reflection
+of Nur-el-Din's pretty neck and shoulders. The dancer was talking
+again in low tones to Strangwise.
+
+But Barbara swiftly forgot that glimpse of the dancer's face in
+the glass. For she was very happy. Happiness, like high spirits,
+is eminently contagious, and the two men at her side were
+supremely content.
+
+Her father's eyes were shining with his little success fit, of
+the evening: on the way upstairs Fletcher had held out hopes to
+him of a long engagement at the Palaceum while as for the other,
+he was radiant with the excitement of his first night in town
+after long months of campaigning.
+
+He was thinking that his leave had started most propitiously.
+After a man has been isolated for months amongst muddy
+masculinity, the homeliest woman will find favor in his eyes. And
+to neither of these women, in whose presence he so unexpected
+found himself within a few hours of landing in England, could the
+epithet "homely" be applied. Each represented a distinct type of
+beauty in herself, and Desmond, as he chatted with Barbara, was
+mentally contrasting the two women. Barbara, tall and slim and
+very healthy, with her braided brown hair, creamy complexion and
+gray eyes, was essentially English. She was the typical woman of
+England, of England of the broad green valleys and rolling downs
+and snuggling hamlets, of England of the white cliffs gnawed by
+the restless ocean, The other was equally essentially a woman of
+the South. Her dark eyes, her upper lip just baring her firm
+white teeth, spoke of hot Latin or gypsy blood surging in her
+veins. Hers was the beauty of the East, sensuous, arresting,
+conjuring up pictures of warm, perfumed nights, the thrumming of
+guitars, a great yellow moon hanging low behind the palms.
+
+"Barbara!" called Nur-el-Din from the dressing table. Mr.
+Mackwayte had joined her there and was chatting to Strangwise.
+
+"You will stay and talk to me while I change n'est-ce pas? Your
+papa and these gentlemen are going to drink a whiskey-soda with
+that animal Fletcher... quel homme terrible... and you shall join
+them presently."
+
+The men went out, leaving Barbara alone with the dancer. Barbara
+noticed how tired Nur-el-Din was looking. Heir pretty, childish
+ways seemed to have evaporated with her high spirits. Her face
+was heavy and listless. There were lines round heir eyes, and her
+mouth had a hard, drawn look.
+
+"Child," she said, "give me, please, my peignoir... it is behind
+the door,... and, I will get this paint off my face!"
+
+Barbara fetched the wrapper and sat down beside the dancer. But
+Nur-el-Din did not move. She seemed to be thinking. Barbara saw
+the hunted look she had already observed in her that evening
+creeping over her face again.
+
+"It is a hard life; this life of ours, a life of change, ma
+petite! A great artiste has no country, no home, no fireside! For
+the past five years I have been roaming about the world! Often I
+think I will settle down, but the life holds me!"
+
+She took up from her dressing-table a little oblong plain silver
+box.
+
+"I want to ask you a favor, ma petite Barbara!" she said. "This
+little box is a family possession of mine: I have had it for many
+years. The world is so disturbed to-day that life is not safe for
+anybody who travels as much as I do! You have a home, a safe home
+with your dear father! He was telling me about it! Will you take
+this little box and keep it safely for me until... until... the
+war is over... until I ask you for it?"
+
+"Yes, of course," said Barbara, "if you wish it, though, what
+with these air raids, I don't know that London is particularly
+safe, either."
+
+"Ah! that is good of you," cried Nur-el-Din, "anyhow, the little
+box is safer with you than with me. See, I will wrap it up and
+seal it, and then you will take it home with you, n'est-ce pas?"
+
+She opened a drawer and swiftly hunting among its contents
+produced a sheet, of white paper, and some sealing-wax. She
+wrapped the box in the paper and sealed it up, stamping the seals
+with a camel signet ring she drew off her finger. Then she handed
+the package to Barbara.
+
+There was a knock at the door. The maid, noiselessly arranging
+Madame's dresses in the corner opened it.
+
+"You will take care of it well for me," the dancer said to
+Barbara, and her voice vibrated with a surprising eagerness, "you
+will guard it preciously until I come for it..." She laughed and
+added carelessly: "Because it is a family treasure, a life
+mascotte of mine, hein?"
+
+Then they heard Strangwise's deep voice outside.
+
+Nur-el-Din started.
+
+"Le Captaine is there, Madame," said the French maid, "'e say
+Monsieur Mackwayte ask for Mademoiselle!"
+
+The dancer thrust a little hand from the folds of her silken
+kimono.
+
+"Au revoir, ma petite," she said, "we shall meet again. You will
+come and see me, nest-ce pas? And say nothing to anybody
+about..." she pointed to Barbara's bag where the little package
+was reposing, "it shall be a secret between us, hein? Promise me
+this, mon enfant!"
+
+"Of course, I promise, if you like!" said Barbara, wonderingly.
+
+At half-past eight the next morning Desmond Okewood found himself
+in the ante-room of the Chief of the Secret Service in a cross
+and puzzled mood. The telephone at his bedside had roused him at
+8 a.m. from the first sleep he had had in a real bed for two
+months. In a drowsy voice he had protested that he had an
+appointment at the War Office at 10 o'clock, but a curt voice had
+bidden him dress himself and come to the Chief forthwith. Here he
+was, accordingly, breakfastless, his chin smarting from a hasty
+shave. What the devil did the Chief want with him anyhow? He
+wasn't in the Secret Service, though his brother, Francis, was.
+
+A voice broke in upon his angry musing.
+
+"Come in, Okewood!" it said.
+
+The Chief stood at the door of his room, a broad-shouldered
+figure in a plain jacket suit. Desmond had met him before. He
+knew him for a man of many questions but of few confidences, yet
+his recollection of him was of a suave, imperturbable
+personality. To-day, however, the Chief seemed strangely
+preoccupied. There was a deep line between his bushy eyebrows as
+he bent them at Desmond, motioning him to a chair. When he spoke,
+his manner was very curt.
+
+"What time did you part from the Mackwaytes at the theatre last
+night?"
+
+Desmond was dumbfounded. How on earth did the Chief know about
+his visit to the Palaceum? Still, he was used to the omniscience
+of the British Intelligence, so he answered promptly:
+
+"It was latish, sir; about midnight, I think!"
+
+"They went home to Seven Kings alone!"
+
+"Yes, sir, in a taxi!" Desmond replied.
+
+The Chief contemplated his blotting-pad gloomily. Desmond knew it
+for a trick of his when worried.
+
+"Did you have a good night?" he said to Desmond, suddenly.
+
+"Yes," he said, not in the least understanding the drift of the
+question. "... though I didn't mean to get up quite so early!"
+
+The Chief ignored this sally.
+
+"Nothing out of the ordinary happened during the night, I
+suppose?" he asked again.
+
+Desmond shook his head.
+
+"Nothing that I know of, sir," he said.
+
+"Seen Strangwise this morning?"
+
+Desmond gasped for breath. So the Chief knew about him meeting
+Strangwise, too!
+
+"No, sir!"
+
+A clerk put his head in at the door.
+
+"Well, Matthews!"
+
+"Captain Strangwise will be along very shortly, sir," he said.
+
+The Chief looked up quickly.
+
+"Ah, he's all right then! Good."
+
+"And, sir," Matthews added, "Scotland Yard telephoned to say that
+the doctor is with Miss Mackwayte now."
+
+Desmond started up.
+
+"Is Miss Mackwayte ill?" he exclaimed.
+
+The Chief answered slowly, as Matthews withdrew: "Mr. Mackwayte
+was found murdered at his house early this morning!"
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV. MAJOR OKEWOOD ENCOUNTERS A NEW TYPE
+
+There is a sinister ring about the word "murder," which reacts
+upon even the most hardened sensibility. Edgar Allan Poe, who was
+a master of the suggestive use of words, realized this when he
+called the greatest detective story ever written "The Murders in
+the Rue Morgue." From the very beginning of the war, Desmond had
+seen death in all its forms but that word "murdered," spoken with
+slow emphasis in the quiet room, gave him an ugly chill feeling
+round the heart that he had never experienced on the battlefield.
+
+"Murdered!" Desmond repeated dully and sat down. He felt stunned.
+He was not thinking of the gentle old man cruelly done to death
+or of the pretty Barbara prostrate with grief. He was overawed by
+the curious fatality that had plucked him from the horrors of
+Flanders only to plunge him into a tragedy at home.
+
+"Yes," said the Chief bluntly, "by a burglar apparently--the
+house was ransacked!"
+
+"Chief," he broke out, "you must explain. I'm all at sea! Why did
+you send for me? What have you got to do with criminal cases,
+anyway? Surely, this is a Scotland Yard matter!"
+
+The Chief shook his head.
+
+"I sent for you in default of your brother, Okewood!" he said.
+"You once refused an offer of mine to take you into my service,
+but this time I had to have you, so I got the War Office to
+wire..."
+
+"Then my appointment for ten o'clock to-day was with you?"
+Desmond exclaimed in astonishment.
+
+The Chief nodded.
+
+"It was," he said curtly.
+
+"But," protested Desmond feebly, "did you know about this murder
+beforehand!"
+
+The Chief threw back his head and laughed.
+
+"My dear fellow," he said; "I'm not quite so deep as all that. I
+haven't second sight, you know!"
+
+"You've got something devilish like it, sir!" said Desmond.  "How
+on earth did you know that I was at the Palaceum last night?"
+
+The Chief smiled grimly.
+
+"Oh, that's very simple," he said. "Shall I tell you some more
+about yourself?  You sat..." he glanced down at the desk in front
+of him,"... in Stall E 52 and, after Nur-el-Din's turn,
+Strangwise took you round and introduced you to the lady. In her
+dressing-room you met Mr. Mackwayte and his daughter. After
+that..."
+
+"But," Desmond interrupted quickly, "I must have been followed by
+one of your men. Still, I can't see why my movements should
+interest the Secret Service, sir!"
+
+The Chief remained silent for a moment. Then he said:
+
+"Fate often unexpectedly takes a hand in this game of ours,
+Okewood. I sent for you to come back from France but old man
+Destiny wouldn't leave it at that. Almost as soon as you landed
+he switched you straight on to a trail that I have been patiently
+following up for months past. That trail is..."
+
+The telephone on the desk rang sharply.
+
+"Whose trail?" Desmond could not forbear to ask as the Chief took
+off the receiver.
+
+"Just a minute," the Chief said. Then he spoke into the
+telephone:
+
+"Marigold? Yes. Really? Very well, I'll come straight along
+now... I'll be with you in twenty minutes. Good-bye!"
+
+He put down the receiver and rose to his feet.
+
+"Okewood," he cried gaily, "what do you say to a little detective
+work? That was Marigold of the Criminal Investigation
+Department... he's down at Seven Kings handling this murder case.
+I asked him to let me know when it would be convenient for me to
+come along and have a look round, and he wants me to go now. Two
+heads are better than one. You'd better come along!"
+
+He pressed a button on the desk.
+
+The swift and silent Matthews appeared.
+
+"Matthews," he said, "when Captain Strangwise comes, please tell
+him I've been called away and ask him to call back here at two
+o'clock to see me."
+
+He paused and laid a lean finger reflectively along his nose.
+
+"Are you lunching anywhere, Okewood?" he 'said. Desmond shook his
+head.
+
+"Then you will lunch with me, eh? Right. Come along and we'll try
+to find the way to Seven Kings."
+
+The two men threaded the busy corridors to the lift which
+deposited them at the main entrance. A few minutes later the
+Chief was dexterously guiding his Vauxhall car through the
+crowded traffic of the Strand, Desmond beside him on the front
+seat.
+
+Desmond was completely fogged in his mind. He couldn't see light
+anywhere. He asked himself in vain what possible connection could
+exist between this murder in an obscure quarter of London and the
+man at his side who, he knew, held in his firm hands lines that
+stretched to the uttermost ends of the earth? What kind of an
+affair was this, seemingly so commonplace that could take the
+Chief's attention from the hundred urgent matters of national
+security that occupied him?
+
+The Chief seemed absorbed in his driving and Desmond felt it
+would be useless to attempt to draw him out. They wended their
+way through the city and out into the squalid length of the Mile
+End Road. Then the Chief began to talk.
+
+"I hate driving through the City," he exclaimed, "but I always
+think it's good for the nerves. Still, I have a feeling that I
+shall smash this old car up some day. That friend of yours,
+Strangwise, now he's a remarkable man!  Do you know his story?"
+
+"About his escape from Germany?" asked Desmond.
+
+The Chief nodded.
+
+"He told me something about it at dinner last night," said
+Desmond, "but he's such a modest chap he doesn't seem to like
+talking about it!"
+
+"He must have a cool nerve," replied the Chief, "he doesn't know
+a word of German, except a few scraps he picked up in camp. Yet,
+after he got free, he made his way alone from somewhere in
+Hanover clear to the Dutch frontier. And I tell you he kept his
+eyes and ears open!"
+
+"Was he able to tell you anything good" asked Desmond.
+
+"The man's just full of information. He couldn't take a note of
+any kind, of course, but he seems to have a wonderful memory. He
+was able to give us the names of almost every unit of troops he
+came across."
+
+He stopped to skirt a tram, then added suddenly:
+
+"Do you know him well, Okewood?"
+
+"Yes, I think I do," said Desmond. "I lived with him for about
+three months in France, and we got on top-hole together. He's a
+man absolutely without fear."
+
+"Yes," agreed the Chief. "But what about his judgment? Would you
+call him a well-balanced fellow? Or is he one of these
+harum-scarum soldier of fortune sort of chaps?"
+
+"I should say he was devilish shrewd," replied the other.
+"Strangwise is a very able fellow and a fine soldier. The
+Brigadier thought a lot of him. There's very little about
+artillery work that Strangwise doesn't know. Our Brigadier's a
+good judge, too... he was a gunner himself once, you know."
+
+"I'm glad to hear you say that," answered the Chief, "because
+there are some things he has told us, about the movements of
+troops, particularly, that don't agree in the least with our own
+Intelligence reports. I am an old enough hand at my job to know
+that very often one man may be right where fifty independent
+witnesses are dead wrong. Yet our reports from Germany have been
+wonderfully accurate on the whole."
+
+He stopped.
+
+"Tell me," he asked suddenly, "is Strangwise a liar, do you
+think?"
+
+Desmond laughed. The question was so very unexpected.
+
+"Let me explain what I mean," said the Chief. "There is a type of
+man who is quite incapable of telling the plain, unvarnished
+truth. That type of fellow might have the most extraordinary
+adventure happen to him and yet be unable to let it stand on its
+merits. When he narrates it, he trims it up with all kinds of
+embroidery. Is Strangwise that type?"
+
+Desmond thought a moment.
+
+"Your silence is very eloquent," said the Chief drily.
+
+Desmond laughed.
+
+"It's not the silence of consent," he said, "but if you want me
+to be quite frank about Strangwise, Chief, I don't mind telling
+you I don't like him overmuch. We were very intimate in France.
+We were in some very tight corners together and he never let me
+down. He showed himself to be a very fine fellow, indeed. There
+are points about him I admire immensely. I love his fine
+physique, his manliness. I'm sure he's got great strength of
+character, too. It's because I admire all this about him that I
+think perhaps it's just jealousy on my part when I feel..."
+
+"What?" said the Chief.
+
+"Well," said Desmond slowly, "I feel myself trying to like
+something below the surface in the man. And then I am balked.
+There seems to be something abysmally deep behind the facade, if
+you know what I mean. If I think about it much, it seems to me
+that there is too much surface about Strangwise and not enough
+foundation! And he smiles... Well, rather often, doesn't he?"
+
+"I know what you mean," said the Chief. "I always tell my young
+men to be wary when a man smiles too much. Smiles are sometimes
+camouflage, to cover up something that mustn't be seen
+underneath! Strangwise is a Canadian, isn't he?"
+
+"I think so," answered Desmond, "anyhow, he has lived there. But
+he got his commission over here. He came over some time in 1915,
+I believe, and joined up."
+
+"Ah, here we are!" cried the Chief, steering the car down a
+turning marked "Laleham Villas."
+
+Laleham Villas proved to be an immensely long terrace of small
+two-story houses, each one exactly like the other, the only
+difference between them lying in the color of the front doors and
+the arrangement of the small strip of garden in front of each.
+The houses stretched away on either side in a vista of
+smoke-discolored yellow brick. The road was perfectly straight
+and, in the dull yellow atmosphere of the winter morning,
+unspeakably depressing.
+
+The abode of small clerks and employees, Laleham Villas had
+rendered up, an hour before, its daily tribute of humanity to the
+City-bound trains of the Great Eastern Railway. The Mackwayte's
+house was plainly indicated, about 200 yards down on the
+right-hand side, by a knot of errand boys and bareheaded women
+grouped on the side-walk. A large, phlegmatic policeman stood at
+the gate.
+
+"You'll like Marigold," said the Chief to Desmond as they got out
+of the car, "quite a remarkable man and very sound at his work!"
+
+British officers don't number detective inspectors among their
+habitual acquaintances, and the man that came out of the house to
+meet them was actually the first detective that Desmond had ever
+met. Ever since the Chief had mentioned his name, Desmond had
+been wondering whether Mr. Marigold would be lean and pale and
+bewildering like Mr. Sherlock Holmes or breezy and wiry like the
+detectives in American crook plays.
+
+The man before him did not bear the faintest resemblance to
+either type. He was a well-set up, broad-shouldered person of
+about forty-five, very carefully dressed in a blue serge suit and
+black overcoat, with a large, even-tempered countenance, which
+sloped into a high forehead. The neatly brushed but thinning
+locks carefully arranged across the top of the head testified to
+the fact that Mr. Marigold had sacrificed most of his hair to the
+vicissitudes of his profession. When it is added that the
+detective had a small, yellow moustache and a pleasant,
+cultivated voice, there remains nothing further to say about Mr.
+Marigold's external appearance. But there was something so patent
+about the man, his air of reserve, his careful courtesy, his
+shrewd eyes, that Desmond at once recognized him for a type, a
+cast from a certain specific mould. All services shape men to
+their own fashion. There is the type of Guardsman, the type of
+airman, the type of naval officer. And Desmond decided that Mr.
+Marigold must be the type of detective, though, as I have said,
+he was totally unacquainted with the genus.
+
+"Major Okewood, Marigold," said the Chief, "a friend of mine!"
+
+Mr. Marigold mustered Desmond in one swift, comprehensive look.
+
+"I won't give you my hand, Major," the detective said, looking
+down at Desmond's proffered one, "for I'm in a filthy mess and no
+error. But won't you come in, sir?" he said to the Chief and led
+the way across the mosaic tile pathway to the front door which
+stood open.
+
+"I don't think this is anything in your line, sir," said Mr.
+Marigold to the Chief as the three men entered the house, "it's
+nothing but just a common burglary. The old man evidently heard a
+noise and coming down, surprised the burglar who lost his head
+and killed him. The only novel thing about the whole case is that
+the old party was shot with a pistol and not bludgeoned, as is
+usually the case in affairs of this kind. And I shouldn't have
+thought that the man who did it was the sort that carries a
+gun..."
+
+"Then you know who did it?" asked the Chief quietly.
+
+"I think I can safely say I do, sir," said Mr. Marigold with the
+reluctant air of one who seldom admits anything to be a fact, "I
+think I can go as far as that! And we've got our man under lock
+and key!"
+
+"That's a smart piece of work, Marigold," said the Chief.
+
+"No, sir," replied the other, "you could hardly call it that. He
+just walked into the arms of a constable over there near
+Goodmayes Station with the swag on him. He's an old hand... we've
+known him for a receiver for years!
+
+"Who is it?" asked the Chief, "not one of my little friends, I
+suppose, eh, Marigold!"
+
+"Dear me, no, sir," answered Mr. Marigold, chuckling, "it's one
+of old Mackwayte's music-hall pals, name o' Barney!"
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V. THE MURDER AT SEVEN KINGS
+
+"This is Mrs. Chugg, sir," said Mr. Marigold, "the charwoman who
+found the body!"
+
+The Chief and Desmond stood at the detective's side in the
+Mackwaytes' little dining-room. The room was in considerable
+disorder. There was a litter of paper, empty bottles, overturned
+cruets and other debris on the floor, evidence of the
+thoroughness with which the burglar had overhauled the cheap
+fumed oak sideboard which stood against the wall with doors and
+drawers open. In the corner, the little roll-top desk showed a
+great gash in the wood round the lock where it had been forced.
+The remains of a meal still stood on the table.
+
+Mrs. Chugg, a diminutive, white-haired, bespectacled woman in a
+rusty black cape and skirt, was enthroned in the midst of this
+scene of desolation. She sat in an armchair by the fire, her
+hands in her lap, obviously supremely content with the position
+of importance she enjoyed. At the sound of Mr. Marigold's voice,
+she bobbed up and regarded the newcomers with the air of a
+tragedy queen.
+
+"Yus mister," she said with the slow deliberation of one who
+thoroughly enjoys repeating an oft-told tale, "I found the pore
+man and a horrid turn it give me, too, I declare! I come in early
+this morning a-purpose to turn out these two rooms, the
+dining-room and the droring-room, same as I always do of a
+Saturday, along of the lidy's horders and wishes. I come in 'ere
+fust, to pull up the blinds and that, and d'reckly I switches on
+the light 'Burglars!' I sez to meself, 'Burglars! That's wot it
+is!' seeing the nasty mess the place was in. Up I nips to Miss
+Mackwayte's room on the first floor and in I bursts. 'Miss,' sez
+I, 'Miss, there's been burglars in the house!' and then I sees
+the pore lamb all tied up there on 'er blessed bed! Lor, mister,
+the turn it give me and I ain't telling you no lies! She was
+strapped up that tight with a towel crammed in 'er mouth she
+couldn't 'ardly dror 'er breath! I undid 'er pretty quick and the
+fust thing she sez w'en I gets the towl out of her mouth, the
+pore dear, is 'Mrs. Chugg,' she sez all of a tremble as you might
+say, 'Mrs. Chugg' sez she, 'my father! my father!' sez she. With
+that up she jumps but she 'adn't put foot to the floor w'en down
+she drops! It was along of 'er being tied up orl that time, dyer
+see, mister! I gets 'er back on the bed. 'You lie still, Miss,'
+says I, 'and I'll pop in and tell your pa to come in to you!'
+Well; I went to the old genelmun's room. Empty!"
+
+Mrs. Chugg paused to give her narrative dramatic effect.
+
+"And where did you find Mr. Mackwayte?" asked the Chief in such a
+placid voice that Mrs. Chugg cast an indignant glance at him.
+
+"I was jes' going downstairs to see if 'e was in the kitching or
+out at the back," she continued, unheeding the interruption,
+"when there on the landing I sees a foot asticking out from under
+the curting. I pulls back the curting and oh, Lor! oh, dear, oh,
+dear, the pore genelmun, 'im as never did a bad turn to no one!"
+
+"Come, come, Mrs. Chugg!" said the detective.
+
+The charwoman wiped her eyes and resumed.
+
+"'E was a-lying on his back in 'is dressing-gown, 'is face all
+burnt black, like, and a fair smother o' blood. Under 'is hed
+there was a pool o' blood, mister, yer may believe me or not..."
+
+Mr. Marigold cut in decisively.
+
+"Do you wish to see the body, sir?" the detective asked the
+Chief, "they're upstairs photographing it!"
+
+The Chief nodded. He and Desmond followed the detective upstairs,
+whilst Mrs. Chugg resentfully resumed her seat by the fire. On
+her face was the look of one who has cast pearls before swine.
+
+"Any finger-prints?" asked the Chief in the hall.
+
+"Oh, no," he said, "Barney's far too old a hand for that sort o'
+thing!"
+
+The landing proved to be a small space, covered with oilcloth and
+raised by a step from the bend made by the staircase leading to
+the first story. On the left-hand side was a window looking on a
+narrow passage separating the Mackwayte house from its neighbors
+and leading to the back-door. By the window stood a small
+wicker-work table with a plant on it. At the back of the landing
+was a partition, glazed half-way up and a door--obviously the
+bath-room.
+
+The curtain had been looped right over its brass rod. The body
+lay on its back at the foot of the table, arms flung outward, one
+leg doubled up, the other with the foot just jutting out over the
+step leading down to the staircase. The head pointed towards the
+bath-room door. Over the right eye the skin of the face was
+blackened in a great patch and there was a large blue swelling,
+like a bruise, in the centre. There was a good deal of blood on
+the face which obscured the hole made by the entrance of the
+bullet. The eyes were half-closed. A big camera, pointed
+downwards, was mounted on a high double ladder straddling the
+body and was operated by a young man in a bowler hat who went on
+with his work without taking the slightest notice of the
+detective and his companions.
+
+"Close range," murmured Desmond, after glancing at the dead man's
+face, "a large calibre automatic pistol, I should think!"
+
+"Why do you think it was a large calibre pistol, Major?" asked
+Mr. Marigold attentively.
+
+"I've seen plenty of men killed at close range by revolver and
+rifle bullets out at the front," replied Desmond, "but I never
+saw a man's face messed up like this. In a raid once I shot a
+German at point blank range with my revolver, the ordinary Army
+issue pattern, and I looked him over after. But it wasn't
+anything like this. The only thing I've seen approaching it was
+one of our sergeants who was killed out on patrol by a Hun
+officer who put his gun right in our man's face. That sergeant
+was pretty badly marked, but..."
+
+He shook his head. Then he added, addressing the detective:
+"Let's see the gun! Have you got it?"
+
+Mr. Marigold shook his head.
+
+"He hadn't got it on him," he answered, "he swears he never had a
+gun. I expect he chucked it away somewhere. It'll be our business
+to find it for him!"
+
+He smiled rather grimly, then added:
+
+"Perhaps you'd care to have a look at Miss Mackwayte's room,
+sir!"
+
+"Is Miss Mackwayte there" asked the Chief.
+
+"I got her out of this quick," replied Mr. Marigold, "she's had a
+bad shock, poor girl, though she gave her evidence clearly enough
+for all that... as far as it goes and that's not much. Some
+friends near by have taken her in! The doctor has given her some
+bromide and says she's got to be kept quiet..."
+
+"What's her story!" queried the Chief.
+
+"She can't throw much light on the business. She and her father
+reached home from the theatre about a quarter past twelve, had a
+bit of supper in the dining-room and went up to bed before one
+o'clock. Miss Mackwayte saw her father go into his room, which is
+next to hers, and shut the door. The next thing she knows is that
+she woke up suddenly with some kind of a loud noise in her
+ears... that was the report of the pistol, I've no doubt... she
+thought for a minute it was an air raid. Then suddenly a hand was
+pressed over her mouth, something was crammed into her mouth and
+she was firmly strapped down to the bed."
+
+"Did she see the man?" asked Desmond.
+
+"She didn't see anything from first to last," answered the
+detective, "as far as she is concerned it might have been a woman
+or a black man who trussed her up. It was quite dark in her
+bedroom and this burglar fellow, after binding and gagging her,
+fastened a bandage across her eyes into the bargain. She says she
+heard him moving about her room and then creep out very softly.
+The next thing she knew was Mrs. Chugg arriving at her bedside
+this morning."
+
+"What time did this attack take place?" asked the Chief.
+
+"She has no idea," answered the detective. "She couldn't see her
+watch and they haven't got a striking clock in the house."
+
+"But can she make no guess!"
+
+"Well, she says she thinks it was several hours before Mrs. Chugg
+arrived in the morning... as much as three hours, she thinks!"
+
+"And what time did Mrs. Chugg arrive!"
+
+"At half-past six!"
+
+"About Mackwayte... how long was he dead when they found him?
+What does the doctor say?"
+
+"About three hours approximately, but you know, they can't always
+tell to an hour or so!"
+
+"Well," said the Chief slowly, "it looks as if one might figure
+the murder as having been committed some time between 3 and 3.30
+a.m."
+
+"My idea exactly," said Mr. Marigold. "Shall we go upstairs?"
+
+He conducted the Chief and Desmond up the short flight of stairs
+to the first story. He pushed open the first door he came to.
+
+"Mackwayte's room, on the back," he said, "bed slept in, as you
+see, old gentleman's clothes on a chair--obviously he was
+disturbed by some noise made by the burglar and came out to see
+what was doing! And here," he indicated a door adjoining, "Mis
+Miss Mackwayte's room, on the front; as you observe. They don't
+use the two rooms on the second floor, except for box-rooms... one's
+full of old Mackwayte's theatre trunks and stuff. They keep
+no servant; Mrs. Chugg comes in each morning and stays all day.
+She goes away after supper every evening."
+
+Desmond found himself looking into a plainly furnished but dainty
+bedroom with white furniture and a good deal of chintz about.
+There were some photographs and pictures hanging on the walls.
+The room was spotlessly clean and very tidy.
+
+Desmond remarked on this, asking if the police had put the room
+straight.
+
+Mr. Marigold looked quite shocked.
+
+"Oh, no, everything is just as it was when Mrs. Chugg found Miss
+Mackwayte this morning. There's Miss Mackwayte's gloves and
+handbag on the toilet-table just as she left 'em last night. I
+wouldn't let her touch her clothes even. She went over to Mrs.
+Appleby's in her dressing-gown, in a taxi."
+
+"Then Master Burglar didn't burgle this room?" asked the Chief.
+
+"Nothing touched, not even the girl's money," replied Marigold.
+
+"Then why did he come up here at all?" asked Desmond.
+
+"Obviously, the old gentleman disturbed him," was the detective's
+reply. "Barney got scared and shot the old gentleman, then came
+up here to make sure that the daughter would not give him away
+before he could make his escape. He must have known the report of
+the gun would wake her up."
+
+"But are there no clues or finger-prints or anything of that kind
+here, Marigold?" asked the Chief.
+
+"Not a finger-print anywhere," responded the other, "men like
+Barney are born wise to the fingerprint business, sir."
+
+He dipped a finger and thumb into his waistcoat pocket.
+
+"Clues? Well, I've got one little souvenir here which I daresay a
+writer of detective stories would make a good bit of."
+
+He held in his hand a piece of paper folded flat. He unfolded it
+and disclosed a loop of dark hair.
+
+"There!" he said mockingly, straightening out the hair and
+holding it up in the light. "That's calculated to set one's
+thoughts running all over the place, isn't it? That piece of hair
+was caught in the buckle of one of the straps with which Miss
+Mackwayte was bound to the bed. Miss Mackwayte, I would point
+out, has brown hair. Whose hair do you think that is?"
+
+Desmond looked closely at the strand of hair in the detective's
+fingers. It was long and fine and glossy and jetblack.
+
+The Chief laughed and shook his head.
+
+"Haven't an idea, Marigold," he answered, "Barney's, I should
+imagine, that is, if he goes about with black ringlets falling
+round his shoulders."
+
+"Barney?" echoed the detective. "Barney's as bald as I am.
+Besides, if you saw his sheet, you'd realize that he has got into
+the habit of wearing his hair short!"
+
+He carefully rolled the strand of hair up, replaced it in its
+paper and stowed it in his waistcoat pocket.
+
+"It just shows how easily one is misled in a matter of this
+kind," he went on. "Supposing Barney hadn't got himself nabbed,
+supposing I hadn't been able to find out from Miss Mackwayte her
+movements on the night previous to the murder, that strand of
+hair might have led me on a fine wild goose chase!"
+
+"But, damn it, Marigold," exclaimed the Chief, laughing, "you
+haven't told us whose hair it is?"
+
+"Why, Nur-el-Din's, of course!"
+
+The smile froze on the Chief's lips, the laughter died out of his
+eyes. Desmond was amazed at the change in the man. The languid
+interest he had taken in the different details of the crime
+vanished. Something seemed to tighten up suddenly in his face and
+manner.
+
+"Why Nur-el-Din?" he asked curtly.
+
+Mr. Marigold glanced quickly at him. Desmond remarked that the
+detective was sensible of the change too.
+
+"Simply because Miss Mackwayte spent some time in the dancer's
+dressing-room last night, sir," he replied quietly, "she probably
+sat at her dressing-table and picked up this hair in hers or in
+her veil or something and it dropped on the bed where one of
+Master Barney's buckles caught it up."
+
+He spoke carelessly but Desmond noticed that he kept a watchful
+eye on the other.
+
+The Chief did not answer. He seemed to have relapsed into the
+preoccupied mood in which Desmond had found him that morning.
+
+"I was going to suggest, sir," said Mr. Marigold diffidently, "if
+you had the time, you might care to look in at the Yard, and see
+the prisoner. I don't mind telling you that he is swearing by all
+the tribes of Judah that he's innocent of the murder of old
+Mackwayte. He's got an amazing yarn... perhaps you'd like to hear
+it!"
+
+Mr. Marigold suddenly began to interest Desmond. His proposal was
+put forward so modestly that one would have thought the last
+thing he believed possible was that the Chief should acquiesce in
+his suggestion. Yet Desmond had the feeling that the detective
+was far from being so disinterested as he wished to seem. It
+struck Desmond that the case was more complicated than Mr.
+Marigold admitted and that the detective knew it. Had Mr.
+Marigold discovered that the Chief knew a great deal more about
+this mysterious affair than the detective knew himself? And was
+not his attitude of having already solved the problem of the
+murder, his treatment of the Chief as a dilettante criminologist
+simply an elaborate pose, to extract from the Chief information
+which had not been proffered?
+
+The Chief glanced at his watch.
+
+"Right," he said, "I think I'd like to go along."
+
+"I have a good deal to do here still," observed Mr. Marigold,
+"so, if you don't mind, I won't accompany you. But perhaps, sir,
+you would like to see me this afternoon?"
+
+The Chief swung round on his heel and fairly searched Mr.
+Marigold with a glance from beneath his bushy eyebrows. The
+detective returned his gaze with an expression of supreme
+innocence.
+
+"Why, Marigold," answered the Chief, "I believe I should. Six
+o'clock suit you?"
+
+"Certainly, sir," said Mr. Marigold.
+
+Desmond stood by the door, vastly amused by this duel of wits.
+The Chief and Mr. Marigold made a move towards the door, Desmond
+turned to open it and came face to face with a large framed
+photograph of the Chief hanging on the wall of Miss Mackwayte's
+bedroom.
+
+"Why, Chief," he cried, "you never told me you knew Miss
+Mackwayte!"
+
+The Chief professed to be very taken aback by this question.
+"Dear me, didn't I, Okewood?" he answered with eyes laughing,
+"she's my secretary!"
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI. "NAME O'BARNEY"
+
+"Miss Mackwayte telephoned to ask if I could go and see, her,"
+said the Chief to Desmond as they motored back to White hall,
+"Marigold gave me the message just as we were coming out. She
+asked if I could come this afternoon. I'm going to send you in my
+place, Okewood. I've got a conference with the head of the French
+Intelligence at three, and the Lord knows when I shall get away.
+I've a notion that you and Miss Mackwayte will work very well
+together."
+
+"Certainly," said Desmond, "she struck me as being a very
+charming and clever girl. Now I know the source of your
+information about my movements last night!"
+
+"That you certainly don't!" answered the Chief promptly, "if I
+thought you did Duff and No.39 should be sacked on the spot!"
+
+"Then it wasn't Miss Mackwayte who told you?"
+
+"I haven't seen or heard from Miss Mackwayte since she left my
+office yesterday evening. You were followed!"
+
+"But why?"
+
+"I'll tell you all about it at, lunch!"
+
+Bated once more, Desmond retired into his shell. By this he was
+convinced of the utter impossibility of making the Chief
+vouchsafe any information except voluntarily.
+
+Mr. Marigold had evidently announced their coming to Scotland
+Yard, for a very urbane and delightful official met them at the
+entrance and conducted them to a room where the prisoner was
+already awaiting them in charge of a plain clothes man. There the
+official excused himself and retired, leaving them alone with the
+prisoner and his escort.
+
+Barney proved to be a squat, podgy, middle-aged Jew of the
+familiar East End Polish or Russian type. He had little black
+beady eyes, a round fat white face, and a broad squabby Mongol
+nose. His clothes were exceedingly seedy, and the police had
+confiscated his collar and tie. This absence of neckwear, coupled
+with the fact that the lower part of his face was sprouting with
+a heavy growth of beard, gave him a peculiarly villainous
+appearance:
+
+He was seated on a chair, his head sunk on his breast. His eyes
+were hollow, and his face overspread with a horrible sickly
+greenish pallor, the hue of the last stage of fear. His hands,
+resting on his knees, twisted and fiddled continually. Every now
+and then convulsive shudders shook him. The man was quite
+obviously on the verge of a collapse.
+
+As the Chief and Desmond advanced into the room, the Jew looked
+up in panic. Then he sprang to his feet with a scream and flung
+himself on his knees, crying:
+
+"Ah, no! Don't take me away! I ain't done no 'arm, gentlemen!
+S'welp me, gentlemen, I ain't a murderer! I swear..."
+
+"Get him up!" said the Chief in disgust, "and, look here, can't
+you give him a drink? I want to speak to him. He's not fit to
+talk rationally in this state!"
+
+The detective pushed a bell in the wall, a policeman answered it,
+and presently the prisoner was handed a stiff glass of whiskey
+and water.
+
+After Barney had swallowed it, the Chief said:
+
+"Now, look here, my man, I want you to tell me exactly what
+happened last night. No fairy tales, remember! I know what you
+told the police, and if I catch you spinning me any yarns on to
+it, well, it'll only be the worse for you. I don't mind telling
+you, you're in a pretty bad mess!"
+
+The prisoner put down the glass wearily and wiped his forehead
+with the back of his hand. Though the room was bitterly cold, the
+perspiration stood out in beads on his brow.
+
+"I have told the trewth, sir," he said hoarsely, "and it goes
+against me, don't it? Hafen't I not gif myself op to the
+policeman? Couldn't I not haf drop the svag and ron away? For
+sure! And vy didn't I not do it? For vy, because of vot I seen in
+that house. I've 'ad my bit of trobble mit the police and vy
+should I tell them how I vos op to a game last night if I vas not
+a-telling the trewth, eh! I've been on the crook, gentlemen, I
+say it, ja, but I ain't no murderer, God choke me I ain't!
+
+"I've earned gut monney in my time on the 'alls but life is very
+'ardt, and I've been alvays hongry these days. Yesterday I meet
+old Mac wot I used to meet about the 'alls I vos workin' along o'
+my boss... at the agent's it vos were I vos lookin' for a shop!
+The perfesh always makes a splash about its salaries, gentlemen,
+and Mac 'e vos telling me vot a lot o' monney he make on the
+Samuel Circuit and 'ow 'e 'ad it at home all ready to put into
+var savings certif'kits. I never done a job like this von before,
+gentlemen, but I vos hardt pushed for money, s'welp me I vos!
+
+"I left it till late last night because of these air raids... I
+vanted to be sure that ole Mac and 'is daughter should be asleep.
+I god in from the back of the louse, oi, oi, bot it vos dead
+easy! through the scollery vindow. I cleared op a bagful of stuff
+in the dining-room... there vosn't, anything vorth snatching
+outer the parlor... and sixty-five quid out of an old cigar-box
+in the desk. The police 'as got it... I give it all back! I say I
+haf stolen, but murder? No!" He paused.
+
+"Go on," said the Chief.
+
+The prisoner looked about him in a frightened way.
+
+"I vos jus' thinking I had better be getting avay, he continued
+in his hoarse, gutteral voice, 'ven snick.!... I hears a key in
+the front door. I vos, standing by the staircase... I had no time
+to get out by the vay I had kom so I vent opstairs to the landing
+vere there vos a curtain. I shlip behind the curtain and vait! I
+dare not look out but I listen, I listen.. I hear some one go
+into the dining-room and move about. I open the curtain a little
+way... so!... because I think I vill shlip downstairs vile the
+other party is in the dining-room... and there I sees ole Mac in
+his dressing-gown just coming down from the first floor. The same
+moment I hear a step in the front hall.
+
+"I see ole Mac start but he does not stop. He kom right
+downstairs, and I step back behind the curtain ontil I find a
+door vich I push. I dare not svitch on my light but presently I
+feel the cold edge of a bath with my hands. I stay there and
+vait. Oi, oi, oi, how shall you belief vot I tell?"
+
+He broke off trembling.
+
+"Go on, Barney," said the detective, "can't you see the gentlemen
+are waiting?"
+
+The Jew resumed, his voice sinking almost to a whisper.
+
+"It vos quite dark behind the curtain but from the bathroom,
+through the open door, I could just see ole Mac standing with his
+back to me, a-holding the curtain. He must haf shlip in there to
+watch the other who vos komming opstairs. Then... then... I hear
+a step on the stair... a little, soft step... then ole Mac he
+open the curtain and cry 'Who are you?' Bang! the... the... other
+on the stairs he fire a shot. I see the red flash and I smell
+the... the powder not? The other, he does not vait... he just go
+on opstairs and ole Mac is lying there on his back with the blood
+a-trickling out on the oil-cloth. And I, vith my bag on my back,
+I creep downstair and out by the back again, and I ron and ron
+and then I valks. Gott! how I haf walked! I vos so frightened!
+And then, at last, I go to a policeman and gif 'myself op!"
+
+Barney stopped. The tears burst from his eyes and laying his
+grimy face on his arm, he sobbed.
+
+The detective patted him on the back.
+
+"Pull yourself together, man!" he said encouragingly.
+
+"This man on the stairs," queried the Chief, "did you see him?"
+
+"Ach was!" replied the prisoner, turning a tearstained face
+towards him, "I haf seen nothing, except old Mac's back vich vos
+right in vront of me, it vos so dark!"
+
+"But couldn't you see the other person at all, not even the
+outline" persisted the Chief.
+
+The prisoner made a gesture of despair.
+
+"It vos so dark, I say! Nothing haf I seen! I haf heard only his
+step!"
+
+"What sort of step I Pas it heavy or light or what? Did this
+person seem in a hurry?"
+
+"A little light tread... so! won, two! won, two!, and qvick like
+'e think 'e sneak opstairs vithout nobody seeing!"
+
+"Did he make much noise"
+
+"Ach was! hardly at all... the tread, 'e vos so light like a
+woman's..."
+
+"Like a woman's, eh!", repeated the Chief, as if talking to
+himself, "Why do you think that?"
+
+"Because for vy it vos so gentle! The' staircase, she haf not
+sqveak as she haf sqveak when I haf creep away!"
+
+The Chief turned to the plain clothes man.
+
+"You can take him away now, officer," he said.
+
+Barney sprang up trembling.
+
+"Not back to the cell," he cried imploringly, "I cannot be alone.
+Oh, gentlemen, you vill speak for me! I haf not had trobble vith
+the police this long time! My vife's cousin, he is an elder of
+the Shool he vill tell you 'ow poor ve haf been..."
+
+But the Chief crossed the room to the door and the detective
+hustled the prisoner away.
+
+Then the official whom they had seen before came in.
+
+"Glad I caught you," he said. "I thought you would care to see
+the post mortem report. The doctor has just handed it in."
+
+The chief waved him off.
+
+"I don't think there's any doubt about the cause of death," he
+replied, "we saw the body ourselves..."
+
+"Quite so," replied the other, "but there is something
+interesting about this report all the same. They were able to
+extract the bullet!"
+
+"Oh," said the Chief, "that ought to tell us something!"
+
+"It does," answered the official. "We've submitted it to our
+small arms expert, and he pronounces it to be a bullet fired by
+an automatic pistol of unusually large calibre."
+
+The Chief looked at Desmond.
+
+"You were right there," he said.
+
+"And," the official went on, "our man says, further, that, as far
+as he knows, there is only one type of automatic pistol that
+fires a bullet as big as this one!"
+
+"And that is?" asked the Chief.
+
+"An improved pattern of the German Mauser pistol," was the
+other's startling reply.
+
+The Chief tapped a cigarette meditatively on the back of his
+hand.
+
+"Okewood," he said, "you are the very model of discretion. I have
+put your reticence to a pretty severe test this morning, and you
+have stood it very well. But I can see that you are bristling
+with questions like a porcupine with quills. Zero hour has
+arrived. You may fire away!"
+
+They were sitting in the smoking-room of the United Service Club.
+"The Senior," as men call it, is the very parliament of Britain's
+professional navy and army. Even in these days when war has flung
+wide the portals of the two services to all-comers, it retains a
+touch of rigidity. Famous generals and admirals look down from
+the lofty walls in silent testimony of wars that have been. Of
+the war that is, you will hear in every cluster of men round the
+little tables. Every day in the hour after luncheon battles are
+fought over again, personalities criticized, and decisions
+weighed with all the vigorous freedom of ward-room or the mess
+ante-room.
+
+And so to-day, as he sat in his padded leather chair, surveying
+the Chief's quizzing face across the little table where their
+coffee was steaming, Desmond felt the oddness of the contrast
+between the direct, matter-of-fact personalities all around them,
+and the extraordinary web of intrigue which seemed to have spun
+itself round the little house at Seven Kings.
+
+Before he answered the Chief's question, he studied him for a
+moment under cover of lighting a cigarette. How very little, to
+be sure, escaped that swift and silent mind! At luncheon the
+Chief had scrupulously avoided making, the slightest allusion to
+the thoughts with which Desmond's mind was seething. Instead he
+had told, with the gusto of the born raconteur, a string of
+extremely droll yarns about "double crosses," that is, obliging
+gentlemen who will spy for both sides simultaneously, he had come
+into contact with during his long and varied career. Desmond had
+played up to him and repressed the questions which kept rising to
+his lips. Hence the Chief's unexpected tribute to him in the
+smoking room.
+
+"Well," said Desmond slowly, "there are one or two things I
+should like to know. What am I here for? Why did you have me
+followed last night? How did you know, before we ever went to
+Seven Kings, that Barney did not murder old Mackwayte? And
+lastly..."
+
+He paused, fearing to be rash; then he risked it:
+
+"And lastly, Nur-el-Din?"
+
+The Chief leant back in his chair and laughed.
+
+"I'm sure you feel much better now," he said. Then his face grew
+grave and he added:
+
+"Your last question answers all the others!"
+
+"Meaning Nur-el-Din?" asked Desmond.
+
+The Chief nodded.
+
+"Nur-el-Din," he repeated. "That's why you're here, that's why I
+had you followed last night, that's why I..." he hesitated for
+the word, "let's say, presumed (one knows for certain so little
+in our work) that our friend Barney had nothing to do with the
+violent death of poor old Mackwayte. Nur-el-Din in the center,
+the kernel, the hub of everything!"
+
+The Chief leant across the table and Desmond pulled his chair
+closer.
+
+"There's only one other man in the world can handle this job,
+except you," he began, "and that's your brother Francis. Do you
+know where he is, Okewood?"
+
+"He wrote to me last from Athens," answered Desmond, "but that
+must be nearly two months ago."
+
+The Chief laughed.
+
+"His present address is not Athens," he said, "if you want to
+know, he's serving on a German Staff somewhere at the back of
+Jerusalem the Golden. Frankly, I know you don't care about our
+work, and I did my best to get your brother. He has had his
+instructions and as soon as he can get away he will. That was not
+soon enough for me. It had to be him or you. So I sent for you."
+
+He stopped and cleared his throat. Desmond stared at him. He
+could hardly believe his eyes. This quiet, deliberate man was
+actually embarrassed.
+
+"Okewood," the Chief went on, "you know I like plain speaking,
+and therefore you won't make the mistake of thinking I'm trying
+to flatter you."
+
+Desmond made a gesture.
+
+"Wait a moment and hear me out," the Chief went on. "What is
+required for this job is a man of great courage and steady nerve.
+Yes, we have plenty of fellows like that. But the man I am
+looking for must, in addition to possessing those qualities, know
+German and the Germans thoroughly, and when I say thoroughly I
+mean to the very core so that, if needs be, he may be a German,
+think German, act German. I have men in my service who know
+German perfectly and can get themselves up to look the part to
+the life. But they have never been put to the real, the searching
+test. Not one of them has done what you and your brother
+successfully accomplished. The first time I came across you, you
+had just come out of Germany after fetching your brother away. To
+have lived for weeks in Germany in wartime and to have got clear
+away is a feat which shows that both you and he can be trusted to
+make a success of one of the most difficult and critical missions
+I have ever had to propose. Francis is not here. That's why I
+want you."
+
+The Chief paused as if weighing something in his mind.
+
+"It's not the custom of either service, Okewood," he said, "to
+send a man to certain death. You're not in this creepy, crawly
+business of ours. You're a pukka soldier and keen on your job. So
+I want you to know that you are free to turn down this offer of
+mine here and now, and go back to France without my thinking a
+bit the worse of you."
+
+"Would you tell me something about it?" asked Desmond.
+
+"I'm sorry I can't," replied the other. "There must be only two
+men in this secret, myself and the fellow who undertakes the
+mission. Of course, it's not certain death. If you take this
+thing on, you'll have a sporting chance for your life, but that's
+all. It's going to be a desperate game played against a desperate
+opponent. Now do you understand why I didn't want you to think I
+was flattering you? You've got your head screwed on right, I
+know, but I should hate to feel afterwards, if anything went
+wrong, that you thought I had buttered you up in order to entice
+you into taking the job on!"
+
+Desmond took two or three deep puffs of his cigarette and dropped
+it into the ash-tray.
+
+"I'll see you!" he said.
+
+The Chief grinned with delight.
+
+"By Jove!" he exclaimed, "I knew you were my man!"
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII. NUR-EL-DIN
+
+The love of romance is merely the nobler form of curiosity. And
+there was something in Desmond Okewood's Anglo-Irish parentage
+that made him fiercely inquisitive after adventure. In him two
+men were constantly warring, the Irishman, eager for romance yet
+too indolent to go out in search of it, and the Englishman,
+cautious yet intensely vital withal, courting danger for danger's
+sake.
+
+All his ill-humor of the morning at being snatched away from his
+work in France had evaporated. In the Chief he now saw only the
+magician who was about to unlock to him the realms of Adventure.
+Desmond's eyes shone with excitement as the other, obviously
+simmering with satisfaction, lit another cigarette and began to
+speak.
+
+"The British public, Okewood," he said, hitching his chair
+closer, "would like to see espionage in this country rendered
+impossible. Such an ideal state of things is, unfortunately out
+of the question. Quite on the contrary, this country of ours is
+honeycombed with spies. So it will ever be, as long as we have to
+work with natural means: at present we have no caps of
+invisibility or magician's carpets available.
+
+"As we cannot hope to kill the danger, we do our best to scotch
+it. Personally, my modest ambition is to make espionage as
+difficult as possible for the enemy by knowing as many as
+possible of his agents and their channels of communication, and
+by keeping him happy with small results, to prevent him from
+finding out the really important things, the disclosure of which
+would inevitably compromise our national safety."
+
+He paused and Desmond nodded.
+
+"The extent of our business," the Chief resumed, "is so large,
+the issues at stake so vital, that we at the top have to ignore
+the non-essentials and stick to the essentials. By the
+nonessentials I mean the little potty spies, actuated by sheer
+hunger or mere officiousness, the neutral busybody who makes a
+tip-and-run dash into England, the starving waiter, miserably
+underpaid by some thieving rogue in a neutral country--or the
+frank swindler who sends back to the Fatherland and is duly paid
+for long reports about British naval movements which he has
+concocted without setting foot outside his Bloomsbury lodgings.
+
+"These folk are dealt with somehow and every now and then one of
+'em gets shot, just to show that we aren't asleep, don't you
+know? But spasmodic reports we can afford to ignore. What we are
+death on is anything like a regular news service from this
+country to Germany; and to keep up this steady flow of reliable
+information is the perpetual striving of the men who run the
+German Secret Service.
+
+"These fellows, my dear Okewood, move in darkness. Very often we
+have to grope after 'em in darkness, too. They don't get shot, or
+hardly ever; they are far too clever for that. Between us and
+them it is a never-ending series of move and countermove, check
+and counter-check. Very often we only know of their activities by
+enemy action based on their reports. Then there is another leak
+to be caulked, another rat-hole to be nailed up, and so the game
+goes on. Hitherto I think I may say we have managed to hold our
+own!"
+
+The Chief stopped to light another cigarette. Then he resumed but
+in a lower voice.
+
+"During the past month, Okewood," he said, "a new organization
+has cropped up. The objective of every spy operating in this
+country is, as you may have surmised, naval matters, the
+movements of the Fleet, the military transports, and the food
+convoys. This new organization has proved itself more efficient
+than any of its predecessors. It specializes in the movement of
+troops to France, and in the journeys of the hospital ships
+across the Channel. Its information is very prompt and extremely
+accurate, as we know too well. There have been some very
+disquieting incidents in which, for once in a way, luck has been
+on our side, but as long as this gang can work in the dark there
+is the danger of a grave catastrophe. With its thousands of miles
+of sea to patrol, the Navy has to take a chance sometimes, you
+know! Well, on two occasions lately, when chances were taken, the
+Hun knew we were taking a chance, and what is more, when and
+where we were taking it!"
+
+The Chief broke off, then looking Desmond squarely in the eyes,
+said:
+
+"This is the organization that you're going to beak up!"
+
+Desmond raised his eyebrows.
+
+"Who is at the head of it?" he asked quietly.
+
+The Chief, smiled a little bitterly.
+
+"By George!" he cried, slapping his thigh, "you've rung the bell
+in one. Okewood, I'm not a rich man, but I would gladly give a
+year's pay to be able to answer that question. To be perfectly
+frank with you, I don't know who is at the back of this crowd,
+but..." his mouth set in a grim line, "I'm going to know!"
+
+He added whimsically:
+
+"What's more, you're going to find out for me!"
+
+Desmond smiled at the note of assurance in his voice.
+
+"I suppose you've got something to go on?" he asked. "There's
+Nur-el-Din, for instance. What about her?"
+
+"That young person," replied the Chief, "is to be your particular
+study. If she is not the center of the whole conspiracy, she is,
+at any rate, in the thick of it. It will be part of your job to
+ascertain the exact role she is playing."
+
+"But what is there against her?" queried Desmond.
+
+"What is there against her? The bad company she keeps is against
+her. 'Tell me who your friends are and I'll tell you who you are'
+is a maxim that we have to go on in our profession, Okewood. You
+have met the lady. Did you see any of her entourage? Her business
+manager, a fat Italian who calls himself Lazarro, did you notice
+him? Would you be surprised to hear that Lazarro alias Sacchetti
+alias Le Tardenois is a very notorious international spy who
+after working in the Italian Secret Service in the pay of the
+Germans was unmasked and kicked out of Italy... that was before
+the war? This pleasant gentleman subsequently did five years in
+the French penal settlements in New Caledonia for robbery with
+violence at Aix-les-Bains... oh, we know a whole lot about him!
+And this woman's other friends! Do you know, for instance, where
+she often spends the week-end? At the country-place of one Bryan
+Mowbury, whose name used to be Bernhard Marburg, a very old hand
+indeed in the German Secret Service. She has identified herself
+right and left with the German espionage service in this country.
+One day she lunches with a woman spy, whose lover was caught and
+shot by the French. Then she goes out motoring with..."
+
+"But why in Heaven's name are all these people allowed to run
+loose?" broke in Desmond. "Do you mean to say you can't arrest
+them?"
+
+"Arrest 'em? Arrest 'em? Of course, we can arrest 'em. But what's
+the use? They're all small fry, and we have to keep out a few
+lines baited with minnows to catch the Tritons. None of 'em can
+do any harm: we watch 'em much too closely for that. Once you've
+located your spy, the battle's won. It's when he--or it may be a
+she--is running loose, that I get peeved!"
+
+The Chief sprang impatiently to his feet and strode across the
+smoking-room, which was all but empty by this time, to get a
+match from a table. He resumed his seat with a grunt of
+exasperation.
+
+"I can't see light, Okewood!" he sighed, shaking his head.
+
+"But is this all you've got against Nur-el-Din?" asked Desmond.
+
+"No," answered the other slowly, "it isn't. If it were, I need
+not have called you in. We would have interned or deported her.
+No, we've traced back to her a line leading straight from the
+only member of the new organization we have been able to lay by
+the heels."
+
+"Then you've made an arrest?"
+
+The Chief nodded.
+
+"A fortnight ago... a respectable, retired English business man,
+by name of Basil Bellward... taken with the goods on him, as the
+saying is..."
+
+"An Englishman, by Jove!"
+
+"It's hardly correct to call him an Englishman, though he's posed
+as an English business man for so long that one is almost
+justified in doing so. As a matter of fact, the fellow is a
+German named Wolfgang Bruhl and it is my belief that he was
+planted in this country at least a dozen years ago solely for the
+purpose of furnishing him with good, respectable credentials for
+an emergency like this."
+
+"But sorely if you found evidence of his connection with this
+gang of spies, it should be easy to get a clue to the rest of the
+crowd?"
+
+"Not so easy as you think," the Chief replied. "The man who
+organized this system of espionage is a master at his craft. He
+has been careful to seal both ends of every connection, that is
+to say, though we found evidence of Master Bellward-Bruhl being
+in possession of highly confidential information relating to the
+movements of troops, we discovered nothing to show whence he
+received it or how or where he was going to forward it. But we
+did find a direct thread leading straight back to Nur-el-Din."
+
+"Really," said Desmond, "that rather complicates things for her,
+doesn't it?"
+
+"It was in the shape of a letter of introduction, in French,
+without date or address, warmly recommending the dancer to our
+friend, Bellward."
+
+"Who is this letter from?"
+
+"It is simply signed 'P.', but you shall see it for yourself when
+you get the other documents in the case."
+
+"But surely, sir, such a letter might be presented in perfectly
+good faith..."
+
+"It might, but not this one. This letter, as an expert has
+ascertained beyond all doubt, is written on German manufactured
+note-paper of a very superior quality;, the writing is stiff and
+angular and not French: and lastly, the French in which it is
+phrased, while correct, is unusually pompous and elaborate."
+
+"Then..."
+
+"The letter was, in all probability, written by a German!"
+
+There was a moment's silence. Desmond was thinking despairingly
+of the seeming hopelessness of untangling this intricate webwork
+of tangled threads.
+
+"And this murder, sir," he began.
+
+The Chief shrugged his shoulders.
+
+"The motive, Okewood, I am searching for the motive. I can see
+none except the highly improbable one of Miss Mackwayte being my
+confidential secretary. In that case why murder the father, a
+harmless old man who didn't even know that his daughter is in my
+service, why kill him, I ask you, and spare the girl? On the
+other hand, I believe the man Barney's story, and can see that
+Marigold does, too. When I first heard the news of the murder
+over the telephone this morning, I had a kind of intuition that
+we should discover in it a thread leading back to this mesh of
+espionage. Is it merely a coincidence that a hair, resembling
+Nur-el-Din's, is found adhering to the straps with which Barbara
+Mackwayte was bound? I can't think so... and yet..."
+
+"But do you believe then, that Nur-el-Din murdered-old Mackwayte?
+My dear Chief, the idea is preposterous..."
+
+The Chief rose from his chair with a sigh.
+
+"Nothing is preposterous in our work, Okewood," he replied. "But
+it's 3.25, and my French colleague hates to be kept waiting."
+
+"I thought you were seeing Strangwise, at two?" asked Desmond.
+
+"I put him off until six o'clock," replied the Chief, "he knows
+Nur-el-Din, and he may be able to give Marigold some pointers
+about this affair. You're off to see Miss Mackwayte now, I
+suppose. You know where she's staying? Good. Well, I'll say
+good-bye, Okewood. I shan't see you again..."
+
+"You won't see me again? How do you mean, sir?"
+
+"Because you're going back to France!"
+
+"Going back to France? When?"
+
+"By the leave-boat to-night!"
+
+Desmond smiled resignedly.
+
+"My dear Chief," he said, "you must be more explicit. What am I
+going back to France for?"
+
+"Why, now I come to think of it," replied the Chief, "I never
+told you. You're going back to France to be killed, of course!"
+
+"To be killed!"
+
+Desmond looked blankly at the other's blandly smiling face.
+
+"Two or three days from now," said the Chief, "you will be killed
+in action in France. I thought of making it a shell. But we'll
+have it a machine gun bullet if you like. Whichever you prefer;
+it's all the same to me!"
+
+He laughed at the dawn of enlightenment in Desmond's eyes.
+
+"I see," said Desmond.
+
+"I hope you don't mind," the Chief went on more seriously, "but I
+know you have no people to consider except your brother and his
+wife. She's in America, and Francis can't possibly hear about it.
+So you needn't worry on that score. Or do you?"
+
+Desmond laughed.
+
+"No-o-o!" he said slowly, "but I'm rather young to die. Is it
+absolutely necessary for me to disappear?"
+
+"Absolutely!" responded the Chief firmly.
+
+"But how will we manage it?" asked Desmond.
+
+"Catch the leave-boat to-night and don't worry. You will receive
+your instructions in due course."
+
+"But whey shall I see you again?"
+
+The Chief chuckled.
+
+"Depends entirely on yourself, Okewood," he retorted. "When
+you're through with your job, I expect. In the meantime, Miss
+Mackwayte will act between us. On that point also you will be
+fully instructed. And now I must fly!"
+
+"But I say, sir," Desmond interposed hastily. "You haven't told
+me what I am to do. What part am I to play in this business
+anyway?"
+
+"To-morrow," said the Chief, buttoning up his goat, "you become
+Mr. Basil Bellward!"
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII. THE WHITE PAPER PACKAGE
+
+A taxi was waiting in Pall Mall outside the club and Desmond
+hailed it, though secretly wondering what the driver would think
+of taking him out to Seven Kings. Rather to his surprise, the man
+was quite affable, took the address of the house where Barbara
+was staying with her friends and bade Desmond "hop in."
+Presently, for the second time that day, he was heading for the
+Mils End Road.
+
+As they zigzagged in and out of the traffic, Desmond's thoughts
+were busy with the extraordinary mission entrusted to him. So he
+was to sink his own identity and don that of an Anglo-German
+business man, his appearance, accent, habits, everything. The
+difficulties of the task positively made him cold with fear. The
+man must have relations, friends, business acquaintances who
+would be sufficiently familiar with his appearance and manner to
+penetrate, at any rate in the long run, the most effective
+disguise. What did Bellward look like? Where did lie live? How
+was he, Desmond, to disguise himself to resemble him? And, above
+all, when this knotty problem of make-up had been settled, how
+was he to proceed? What should be his first step to pick out from
+among all the millions of London's teeming populace the one
+obscure individual who headed and directed this gang of spies?
+
+Why hadn't he asked the Chief all these questions? What an
+annoying man the Chief was to deal with to be sure! All said and
+done, what had he actually told Desmond? That there was a German
+Secret service organization spying on the movements of troops to
+France, that this man, Basil Bellward, who had been arrested, was
+one of the gang and that the dancer, Nur-el-Din, was in some way
+implicated in the affair! And that was the extent of his
+confidence! On the top of all this fog of obscurity rested the
+dense cloud surrounding the murder of old Mackwayte with the
+unexplained, the fantastic, clue of that single hair pointing
+back to Nur-el-Din.
+
+Desmond consoled himself finally by saying that the would be able
+too get some light on his mission from Barbara Mackwayte, whom he
+judged to be in the Chief's confidence. But here he was doomed to
+disappointment. Barbara could tell him practically nothing save
+what he already knew, that they were to work together in this
+affair. Like him, she was waiting for her instructions.
+
+Barbara received him in a neat little suburban drawing-room in
+the house of her friends, who lived a few streets away from the
+Mackwaytes. She was wearing a plainly-made black crepe de chine
+dress which served to accentuate the extreme pallor of her face,
+the only outward indication of the great shock she had sustained.
+She was perfectly calm and collected, otherwise, and she stopped
+Desmond who would have murmured some phrases of condolence.
+
+"Ah, no, please," she said, "I don't think I can speak about it
+yet."
+
+She pulled a chair over for him arid began to talk about the
+Chief.
+
+"There's not the least need for you to worry," she said with a
+little woeful smile, like a sun-ray piercing a rain-cloud, "if
+the Chief says 'Go back to France and wait for instructions,' you
+may be sure that everything is arranged, and you will receive
+your orders in due course. So shall I. That's the Chief all over.
+Until you know him, you think he loves mystery for mystery's
+sake. It isn't that at all. He just doesn't trust us. He trusts
+nobody!"
+
+"But that hardly semis fair to us..." began Desmond.
+
+"It's merely a precaution," replied Barbara, "the Chief takes no
+risks. I've not the least doubt that he has decided to tell you
+nothing whatsoever about your part until you are firmly settled
+in your new role. I'm perfectly certain that every detail of your
+part has already been worked out."
+
+"Oh, that's not possible," said Desmond. "Why, he didn't know
+until an hour ago that I was going to take on this job."
+
+Barbara laughed.
+
+"The Chief has taught me a lot about judging men by their looks,"
+she said: "Personally, if I'd been in the Chief's places I should
+have gone ahead without consulting you, too."
+
+The girl spoke with such directness that there was not the least
+suggestion of a compliment in her remark, but Desmond blushed to
+the roots of his hair. Barbara noticed it and added hastily:
+
+"I'm not trying to pay you a compliment: I'm just judging by your
+type. I believe I can always tell the man that will take on any
+job, however dangerous, and carry it through to the end."
+
+Desmond blushed more furiously than ever.
+
+He made haste to divert the conversation into a safer channel.
+
+"Well," he said slowly, "seeing that you and I were intended to
+work together, it seems to me to be a most extraordinary
+coincidence our meeting like that last night..."
+
+"It was more than a coincidence," said Barbara, shaking her dark
+brown head. "Forty-eight hours ago I'd never heard of you, then
+the Chief gave me a telegram to send to your Divisional General
+summoning you home, after that he told me that we were to work
+together, and a few hours later I run into you in Nur-el-Din's
+dressing-room..."
+
+She broke off suddenly, her gray eyes big with fear. She darted
+across the room to an ormolu table as which her handbag was
+lying. With astonishment, Desmond watched her unceremoniously
+spill out the contents on to the table and rake hastily amongst
+the collection of articles which a pretty girl carries round in
+her bag.
+
+Presently she raised herself erect and turning, faced the
+officer. She was trembling as though with cold and when she
+spoke, her voice was low and husky.
+
+"Gone!" she whispered.
+
+"Have you lost anything" Desmond asked anxiously.
+
+"How could I have forgotten it?" she went on as though he had not
+spoken, "how could I have forgotten it? Nearly twelve hours
+wasted, and it explains everything. What will the Chief think of
+me!"
+
+Slowly she sank down on the sofa where she had been sitting,
+then, without any warning, dropped her head into her hands and
+burst into tears.
+
+Desmond went over to her.
+
+"Please don't cry," he said gently, "you have borne up so bravely
+against this terrible blow; you must try and not let it overwhelm
+you."
+
+All her business-like calm had disappeared now she was that most
+distracting of all pictures of woman, a pretty girl overwhelmed
+with grief. She crouched curled upon the sofa, with shoulders
+heaving, sobbing as though her heart would break.
+
+"Perhaps you would like me to leave you?" Desmond asked. "Let me
+ring for your friends... I am sure you would rather be alone!"
+
+She raised a tear-stained face to his, her long lashes
+glittering.
+
+"No, no," she said, "don't go, don't go! I want your help. This
+is such a dark and dreadful business, more than I ever realized.
+Oh, my poor daddy, my poor daddy!"
+
+Again she hid her face in her hands and cried whilst Desmond
+stood erect by her aide, compassionate but very helpless.
+
+After a little, she dabbed her eyes with a tiny square of
+cambric, and sitting up, surveyed the other.
+
+"I must go to the Chief at once," she said, "it is most urgent.
+Would you ring and ask the maid to telephone for a taxi?"
+
+"I have one outside," answered Desmond. "But won't you tell me
+what has happened?"
+
+"Why," said Barbara, "it has only just dawned on me why our house
+was broken into last night and poor daddy so cruelly murdered!
+Whoever robbed the house did not come after our poor little bits
+of silver or daddy's savings in the desk in the dining room. They
+came after something that I had!"
+
+"And what was that" asked Desmond.
+
+Then Barbara told him of her talk with Nur-el-Din in the dancer's
+dressing-room on the previous evening and of the package which
+Nur-el-Din had entrusted to her care.
+
+"This terrible business put it completely out of my head," said
+Barbara. "In the presence of the police this morning, I looked
+over my bedroom and even searched my hand-bag which the police
+sent back to me this afternoon without finding that the burglars
+had stolen anything. It was only just now, when we were talking
+about our meeting in Nur-el-Din's room last night, that her
+little package suddenly flashed across my mind. And then I looked
+through my handbag again and convinced myself that it was not
+there."
+
+"But are you sure the police haven't taken it?"
+
+"Absolutely certain," was the reply. "I remember perfectly what
+was in my hand-bag this morning when I went through it, and the
+same things are on that table over there now."
+
+"Do you know what was in this package!" said Desmond.
+
+"Just a small silver box, oblong and quite plain, about so big,"
+she indicated the size with her hands, "about as large as a
+cigarette-box. Nur-el-Din said it was a treasured family
+possession of hers, and she was afraid of losing it as she
+traveled about so much. She asked me to say nothing about it and
+to keep it until the war was over or until she asked me for it."
+
+"Then," said Desmond, "this clears Nur-el-Din!"
+
+"What do you mean," said Barbara, looking up.
+
+"Simply that she wouldn't have broken into year place and killed
+your father in order to recover her own package..."
+
+"But why on earth should Nur-el-Din be suspected of such a
+thing?"
+
+"Have you heard nothing about this young lady from the Chief?"
+
+"Nothing. I had not thought anything about her until daddy
+discovered an old friend in her last night and introduced me."
+
+The Chief's infernal caution again! thought Desmond, secretly
+admiring the care with which that remarkable man, in his own
+phrase, "sealed both ends of every connection."
+
+"If I'm to work with this girl," said Desmond to himself, "I'm
+going to have all the cards on the table here and now," so
+forthwith he told her of the Chief's suspicions of the dancer,
+the letter recommending her to Bellward found when the cheese
+merchant had been arrested, and lastly of the black hair which
+had been discovered on the thongs with which Barbara had been
+fastened.
+
+"And now," Desmond concluded, "the very next thing we must do is
+to go to the Chief and tell him about this package of
+Nur-el-Din's that is missing." Barbara interposed quickly.
+
+"It's no use your coming," she said. "The Chief won't see you.
+When he has sent a man on his mission, he refuses to see him
+again until the work has been done. If he wishes to send for you
+or communicate with you, he will. But it's useless for you to try
+and see him yourself. You can drop me at the office!"
+
+Desmond was inclined to agree with her on this point and said so.
+
+"There is one thing especially that puzzles me, Miss Mackwayte,"
+Desmond observed as they drove westward again, "and that is, how
+anyone could have known about your having this box of
+Nur-el-Din's. Was there anybody else in the room when she gave
+you the package?"
+
+"No," said Barbara, "I don't think so. Wait a minute, though,
+Nur-el-Din's maid must have come in very shortly after for I
+remember the opened the door when Captain Strangwise came to tell
+me daddy was waiting to take me home."
+
+"Do you remember if Nur-el-Din actually mentioned the package in
+the presence of the maid!"
+
+"As far as I can recollect just as the maid opened the door to
+Captain Strangwise, Nur-el-Din was impressing on me again to take
+great care of the package. I don't think she actually mentioned
+the box but I remember her pointing at my bag where I had put the
+package."
+
+"The maid didn't see Nur-el-Din give you the box?"
+
+"No, I'm sure of that. The room was empty save for us two. It was
+only just before Captain Strangwise knocked that I noticed Marie
+arranging Nur-el-Din's dresses. She must have come in afterwards
+without my seeing her."
+
+"Well then, this girl, Marie, didn't see the dancer give you the
+box but she heard her refer to it. Is that right?"
+
+"Yes, and, of course, Captain Strangwise..."
+
+"What about him?"
+
+"He must have heard what Nur-el-Din was saying, too!"
+
+Desmond rubbed his chin.
+
+"I say, you aren't going to implicate old Strangwise, too, are
+you?" he asked.
+
+Barbara did not reflect his smile.
+
+"He seems to know Nur-el-Din pretty well," she said, "and I'll
+tell you something else, that woman's afraid of your friend, the
+Captain!"
+
+"What do you mean?" asked Desmond.
+
+"I was watching her in the glass last night as he was talking to
+her while you and I and daddy were chatting in the corner. I
+don't know what he said to her, but she glanced over her shoulder
+with a look of terror in her eyes. I was watching her face in the
+glass. She looked positively hunted!"
+
+The taxi stopped. Desmond jumped out and helped his companion to
+alight.
+
+"Au revoir." she said to him, "never fear, you and I will meet
+very soon again!"
+
+With that she was gone. Desmond looked at his watch. It pointed
+to a quarter to six.
+
+"Now I wonder what time the leave-train starts tonight," he said
+aloud, one foot on the sideboard of the taxi.
+
+"At 7.45, sir," said a voice.
+
+"Desmond glanced round him. Then he saw it was the taxi-driver
+who had spoken.
+
+"7.45, eh?" said Desmond. "From Victoria, I suppose?"
+
+"Yes, sir," said the taxi-man.
+
+"By Jove, I haven't much time," ejaculated the officer "and there
+are some things I want to get before I go back across the
+Channel. And I shall have to see the Railway Transport Officer
+about my pass."
+
+"That's all right, sir," said the taxi-man, "I have your papers
+here"; he handed Desmond a couple of slips of paper which he took
+from his coat-pocket; "those will take yon back to France all
+right, I think you'll find!"
+
+Desmond looked at the papers: they were quite in order and
+correctly filled up with his name, rank and regiment, and date.
+
+The taxi-man cut short any further question by saying:
+
+"If you'll get into the cab again, sir, I'll drive you where you
+want to go, and then wait while you have your dinner and take you
+to the station. By the way, your dinner's ordered too!"
+
+"But who the devil are you?" asked Desmond in amazement.
+
+"On special service, the same as yon, sir!" said the man with a
+grin and Desmond understood.
+
+Really, the Chief was extremely thorough.
+
+They went to the stores in the Haymarket, to Fortnum and Mason's,
+and lastly, to a small, grubby shop at the back of Mayfair where
+Desmond and his brother had bought their cigarettes for years
+past. Desmond purchased a hundred of their favored brand, the
+Dionysus, as a reserve for his journey back to France, and stood
+chatting over old times with the fat, oily-faced Greek manager as
+the latter tied up his cigarettes into a clean white paper
+parcel, neatly sealed up with red sealing wax.
+
+Then Desmond drove back to the Nineveh Hotel where he left his
+taxi-driving colleague in the courtyard on the understanding that
+at 7.25 the taxi would be waiting to drive him to the station.
+
+Desmond went straight upstairs to his room to put his kit
+together. In the strong, firmly woven web spread by the Chief, he
+felt as helpless as a fly caught in a spider's mesh. He had no
+idea of what his plans were. He only knew that he was going back
+to France, and that it was his business to get on the leave-boat
+that night.
+
+As he passed along the thickly carpeted, silent corridor to his
+room, he saw the door of Strangwise's room standing ajar. He
+pushed open the door and walked in unceremoniously. A suitcase
+stood open on the floor with Strangwise bending over it. At his
+elbow was a table crowded with various parcels, a case of razors,
+different articles of kit, and some books. Desmond halted at the
+door, his box of cigarettes dangling from his finger.
+
+"Hullo, Maurice," he said, "are you off, too?"
+
+Strangwise spun round sharply. The blood had fished to his face,
+staining it with a dark, angry flush.
+
+"My God, how you startled me!" he exclaimed rather testily. "I
+never heard you come in!"
+
+He turned rather abruptly and went on with his packing. He struck
+Desmond as being rather annoyed at the intrusion; the latter had
+never seen him out of temper before.
+
+"Sorry if I butted in," said Desmond, sliding his box of
+cigarettes off his finger on to the littered table and sitting
+down on a chair. "I came in to say good-bye. I'm going back to
+France to-night!"
+
+Maurice looked round quickly. He appeared to be quite his old
+self again and was all smiles now.
+
+"So soon?" he said. "Why, I thought you were getting a job at the
+War Office!"
+
+Desmond shook his head.
+
+"Not good enough," he replied, "it's back to the sandbags for
+mine. But where are you off to?"
+
+"Got a bit of leave; the Intelligence folk seem to be through
+with me at last, so they've given me six weeks!"
+
+"Going to the country" asked Desmond.
+
+Strangwise nodded.
+
+"Yep," he said, "down to Essex to see if I can get a few duck or
+snipe on the fens. I wish you were coming with me!"
+
+"So do I, old man," echoed Desmond heartily. Then he added in a
+serious voice:
+
+"By the way, I haven't seen you since last night. What a shocking
+affair this is about old Mackwayte, isn't it? Are there any
+developments, do you know?"
+
+Strangwise very deliberately fished a cigarette out of his case
+which was lying open on the table and lit it before replying.
+
+"A very dark affair," he said, blowing out a cloud of smoke and
+flicking the match into the grate. "You are discreet, I know,
+Okewood. The Intelligence people had me up this morning... to
+take my evidence..."
+
+Strangwise's surmise about Desmond's discretion was perfectly
+correct. With Desmond Okewood discretion was second nature, and
+therefore he answered with feigned surprise: "Your evidence about
+what? About our meeting the Mackwaytes last night?"
+
+After he had spoken he realized he had blundered. Surely, after
+all, the Chief would have told Strangwise about their
+investigations at Seven Kings. Still...
+
+"No," replied Strangwise, "but about Nur-el-Din!"
+
+The Chief had kept his own counsel about their morning's work.
+Desmond was glad now that he had dissimulated.
+
+"You see, I know her pretty well," Strangwise continued, "between
+ourselves, I got rather struck on the lady when she was touring
+in Canada some years ago, and in fact I spent so much more money
+that I could afford on her that I had to discontinue the
+acquaintance. Then I met her here when I got away from Germany a
+month ago; she was lonely, so I took her about a bit. Okewood,
+I'm afraid I was rather indiscreet."
+
+"How do you mean?" Desmond asked innocently.
+
+"Well," said Strangwise slowly, contemplating the end of his
+cigarette, "it appears that the lady is involved in certain
+activities which considerably interest our Intelligence. But
+there, I mustn't say any more!"
+
+"But how on earth is Nur-el-what's her name concerned in this
+murder, Maurice?"
+
+Strangwise shrugged his shoulders.
+
+"Ah, you'd better ask the police. But I tell you she'll be
+getting into trouble if she's not careful!"
+
+Throughout this conversation Desmond seemed to hear in his ears
+Barbara's words: "That woman's afraid of your friend!" He divined
+that for some reason or other, Strangwise wanted to create a bad
+impression in his mind about the dancer. He scanned Maurice's
+face narrowly. Its impenetrability was absolute. There was
+nothing to be gleaned from those careless, smiling features.
+
+"Well," said Desmond, getting up, "nous verrons. I shall have to
+make a bolt for it now if I don't want to miss my train.
+Good-bye, Maurice, and I hope you'll get some birds!"
+
+"Thanks, old man. Au revoir, and take care of yourself. My
+salaams to the General!".
+
+They shook hands warmly, then Desmond grabbed his box of
+cigarettes in its neat white wrapper with the bold red seals and
+hurried off to his room.
+
+Strangwise stood for a moment gazing after him. He was no longer
+the frank, smiling companion of a minute before. His mouth was
+set hard and his chin stuck out at a defiant angle.
+
+He bent over the table and picked up a white paper package sealed
+with bold red seals. He poised it for a moment in his hands while
+a flicker of a smile stole into the narrow eyes and played for an
+instant round the thin lips. Then, with a quick movement, he
+thrust the little package into the side pocket of his tunic and
+buttoned the flap.
+
+Whistling a little tune, he went on with his packing.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX. METAMORPHOSIS
+
+It was a clear, cold night. A knife-edge icy wind blew from the
+north-east and kept the lanyards dismally flapping on the
+flag-mast over the customs house. The leave train lay in the
+station within a biscuit's throw of the quayside and the black,
+blank Channel beyond, a long line of cheerfully illuminated
+windows that to those returning from leave seemed as the last
+link with home.
+
+The Corporal of Military Police, who stood at the gangway
+examining the passes, stopped Desmond Okewood as the latter held
+out his pass into the rays of the man's lantern.
+
+"There was a message for you, sir," said the Corporal. "The
+captain of the Staff boat would h-esteem it a favor, sir, if you
+would kindly go to his cabin immediately on h-arriving on board,
+sir!"
+
+"Very good, Corporal!" answered the officer and passed up the
+gang plank, enviously regarded by the press of brass-hats and
+red-tabs who, for the most part, had a cramped berth below or
+cold quarters on deck to look forward to.
+
+A seaman directed Desmond to the Captain's cabin. It was built
+out just behind the bridge, a snug, cheery room with bright
+chintz curtains over the carefully screened portholes, a couple
+of comfortable benches with leather seats along the walls, a
+small bunk, and in the middle of the floor a table set out with a
+bottle of whiskey, a siphon and some glasses together with a box
+of cigars.
+
+The Captain was sitting there chatting to the pilot, a short,
+enormously broad man with a magenta face and prodigious hands
+which were folded round a smoking glass of toddy.
+
+"Pick 'em up? Rescue 'em?" the pilot ejaculated, as Desmond
+walked in, "I'd let 'em sink, every man Jack o' them, the
+outrageous murderin' scoundrels. I don't like to hear you
+a-talking of such nonsense, Cap'en!"
+
+On Desmond's entrance the Captain broke off the conversation. He
+proved to be a trimly-built man of about fifty with a grizzled
+beard, and au air of quiet efficiency which is not uncommonly
+found in seamen. The pilot drained his glass and, scrambling to
+his feet, nodded to Desmond and stumped out into the cold night
+air.
+
+"Jawin' about the U boats!" said the Captain, with a jerk of his
+head towards the cabin door, "I don't know what the feelings of
+your men in the trenches are towards Fritz, Major, but I tell you
+that no German will dare set foot in any coast port of the United
+Kingdom in my life-time or yours, either! Accommodation's a bit
+narrow on board. I thought maybe you'd care to spend the night up
+here!"
+
+"Any orders about me?" asked Desmond.
+
+The Captain went a shade deeper mahogany in the face.
+
+"Oh no," he replied, with an elaborate assumption of innocence.
+"But won't you mix yourself a drink? And try one of my cigars, a
+present from a skipper friend of mine who sailed into Tilbury
+from Manila last week."
+
+Desmond sat in the snug cabin, puffing a most excellent cigar
+and sipping his whiskey and soda while, amid much shouting of
+seamen and screaming of windlasses, the staff boat got clear.
+Presently they were gliding past long low moles and black,
+inhospitable lighthouses, threading their way through the dark
+shapes of war craft of all kinds into the open Channel. There was
+a good deal of swell, but the sea was calm, and the vessel soon
+steadied down to regular rise and fall.
+
+They had been steaming for nearly an hour when, through the open
+door of the cabin, Desmond saw a seaman approach the captain on
+the bridge. He handed the skipper a folded paper.
+
+"From the wireless operator, sir!" Desmond heard him say.
+
+The skipper scanned it. Then the engine telegraph rang sharply,
+there was the sound of churning water, and the vessel slowed
+down. The next moment the Captain appeared at the door of the
+cabin.
+
+"I'm afraid we're going to lose you, Major," he said pleasantly,
+"a destroyer is coming up to take you off. There was a wireless
+from the Admiral about you."
+
+"Where are they going to take me, do you know?" asked Desmond.
+
+The Captain shook his head.
+
+"I haven't an idea. I've only got to hand you over!"
+
+He grinned and added:
+
+"Where's your kit?"
+
+"In the hold, I expect!" answered Desmond. "The porter at
+Victoria told me not to worry about it, and that I should find it
+on the other side. And, oh damn it!--I've got a hundred
+cigarettes in my kit, too! I bought them specially for the
+journey!"
+
+"Well, take some of my cigars," said the skipper hospitably, "for
+your traps'll have to go to France this trip, Major. There's no
+time to get 'em up now. I'll pass the word to the Military
+Landing Officer over there about 'em, if you like. He'll take
+care of 'em for you. Now will you come with me?"
+
+Desmond scrambled into his coat and followed the Captain down the
+steps to the deck. A little distance away from the vessel, the
+long shape of a destroyer was dimly visible tossing to and fro in
+the heavy swell. A ladder had been let down over the side of the
+steamer, and at its foot a boat, manned by a number of heavily
+swathed and muffled forms, was pitching.
+
+A few officers stood by the rail watching the scene with
+interest. The skipper adroitly piloted Desmond past them and
+fairly thrust him out on to the ladder.
+
+Desmond took the hint and with a hasty "Good night" to the
+friendly captain, staggered down the swaying ladder and was
+helped into the boat. The boat shoved off, the bell of the engine
+telegraph on the steamer resounded sharply, and the vessel
+resumed her interrupted voyage whilst the rowing boat was headed
+towards the destroyer. On board the latter vessel an officer met
+Desmond at the rail and piloted him to the ward-room. Almost
+before they got there, the destroyer was under way.
+
+The officer who had welcomed him proved to be the second in
+command, a joyous person who did the honors of the tiny ward-room
+with the aplomb of a Commander in a super-Dreadnought. He mixed
+Desmond a drink and immediately started to converse about life at
+the front without giving the other a chance of asking whither
+they were bound.
+
+The suspense was not of long duration, however, for in about half
+an hour's time, the destroyer slowed down and Desmond's host
+vanished. When he reappeared, it was to summon Desmond on deck.
+
+They lay aside a mole by some steps cut in the solid concrete.
+Here Desmond's host took leave of him.
+
+"There should be a car waiting for you up there," he said.
+
+There on top of the mole, exposed to the keen blast of the wind,
+a large limousine was standing. A chauffeur, who looked blue with
+cold, got down from his seat as Desmond emerged from the stairs
+and touched his cap.
+
+"Major Okewood?" he asked.
+
+"That's my name!" said Desmond.
+
+"If you'll get in, sir, we'll start at once!" the man replied.
+
+Befogged and bewildered, Desmond entered the car, which
+cautiously proceeded along the breakwater, with glimpses of black
+water and an occasional dim light on either hand. They bumped
+over the railway-lines and rough cobblestones of a dockyard,
+glided through a slumbering town, and so gradually drew out into
+the open country where the car gathered speed and fairly raced
+along the white, winding road. Desmond had not the faintest idea
+of their whereabouts or ultimate destination. He was fairly
+embarked on the great adventure now, and he was philosophically
+content to let Fate have its way with him. He found himself
+wondering rather indolently what the future had in store.
+
+The car slowed down and the chauffeur switched the headlights on.
+Their blinding glare revealed some white gate-posts at the
+entrance of a quiet country station. Desmond looked at his watch.
+It was half-past one. The car stopped at the entrance to the
+booking-office where a man in an overcoat and bowler was waiting.
+
+"This way, Major, please," said the man in the bowler, and led
+the way into the dark and silent station. At the platform a short
+train consisting of an engine, a Pullman car and a brakesman's
+van stood, the engine under steam. By the glare from the furnace
+Desmond recognized his companion. It was Matthews, the Chief's
+confidential clerk.
+
+Matthews held open the door of the Pullman for Desmond and
+followed him into the carriage. A gruff voice in the night
+shouted:
+
+"All right, Charley!" a light was waved to and fro, and the
+special pulled out of the echoing station into the darkness
+beyond.
+
+In the corner of, the Pullman a table was laid for supper. There
+was a cold chicken, a salad, and a bottle of claret. On another
+table was a large tin box and a mirror with a couple of electric
+lights before it. At this table was seated a small man with gray
+hair studying a large number of photographs.
+
+"If you will have your supper, Major Okewood, sir," said
+Matthews, "Mr. Crook here will get to work. We've not got too
+much time."
+
+The sea air had made Desmond ravenously hungry. He sat down
+promptly and proceeded to demolish the chicken and make havoc of
+the salad. Also he did full justice to the very excellent St.
+Estephe.
+
+As he ate he studied Matthews, who was one of those undefinable
+Englishmen one meets in tubes and 'buses, who might be anything
+from a rate collector to a rat catcher. He had sandy hair
+plastered limply across his forehead, a small moustache, and a
+pair of watery blue eyes. Mr. Crook, who continued his study of
+his assortment of photographs without taking the slightest notice
+of Desmond, was a much more alert looking individual, with a
+shock of iron gray hair brushed back and a small pointed beard.
+
+"Matthew's," said Desmond as he supped, "would it be indiscreet
+to ask where we are?"
+
+"In Kent, Major," replied Matthews.
+
+"What station was that we started from?"
+
+"Faversham."
+
+"And where are we going, might I inquire?"
+
+"To Cannon Street, sir!"
+
+"And from there?"
+
+Mr. Matthews coughed discreetly.
+
+"I can't really say, sir, I'm sure! A car will meet you there and
+I can go home to bed."
+
+The ends sealed again! thought Desmond. What a man of caution,
+the Chief!
+
+"And this gentleman here, Matthews?" asked Desmond, lighting one
+of the skipper's cigars.
+
+"That, sir, is Mr. Crook, who does any little jobs we require in
+the way of make-up. Our expert on resemblances, if I may put it
+that way, sir, for we really do very little in the way of
+disguises. Mr. Crook is an observer of what I may call people's
+points, sir, their facial appearance, their little peculiarities
+of manner, of speech, of gait. Whenever there is any question of
+a disguise, Mr. Crook is called in to advise as to the
+possibilities of success. I believe I am correct in saying,
+Crook, that you have been engaged on the Major here for some
+time. Isn't it so?"
+
+Crook looked up a minute from his table.
+
+"That's right," he said shortly, and resumed his occupation of
+examining the photographs.
+
+"And what's your opinion about this disguise of mine?" Desmond
+asked him.
+
+"I can make a good job of you, Major," said the expert, "and so I
+reported to the Chief. You'll want to do your hair a bit
+different and let your beard grow, and then, if you pay attention
+to the lessons I shall give you, in a week or two, you'll be this
+chap here," and he tapped the photograph in his hand, "to the
+life."
+
+So saying he handed Desmond the photograph. It was the portrait
+of a man about forty years of age, of rather a pronounced
+Continental type, with a short brown beard, a straight, rather
+well-shaped nose and gold-rimmed spectacles. His hair was cut en
+brosse, and he was rather full about the throat and neck. Without
+a word, Desmond stretched out his hand and gathered up a sheaf of
+other photos, police photos of Mr. Basil Bellward, front face and
+profile seen from right and left, all these poses shown on the
+same picture, some snapshots and various camera studies. Desmond
+shook his head in despair. He was utterly unable to detect the
+slightest resemblance between himself and this rather commonplace
+looking type of business man.
+
+"Now if you'd just step into the compartment at the end of the
+Pullman, Major," said Crook, "you'll find some civilian clothes
+laid out. Would you mind putting them on? You needn't trouble
+about the collar and tie, or coat and waistcoat for the moment.
+Then we'll get along with the work."
+
+The train rushed swaying on through the darkness. Desmond was
+back in the Pullman car in a few minutes arrayed in a pair of
+dark gray tweed trousers, a white shirt and black boots and
+socks. A cut-away coat and waistcoat of the same tweed stuff, a
+black bowler hat of rather an old-fashioned and staid pattern,
+and a black overcoat with a velvet collar, he left in the
+compartment where he changed.
+
+He found that Crook had opened his tin box and set out a great
+array of grease paints, wigs, twists of tow of various colors,
+and a number of pots and phials of washes and unguents together
+with a whole battery of fine paint brushes. In his hand he held a
+pair of barber's clippers and the tips of a comb and a pair of
+scissors protruded from his vest pocket.
+
+Crook whisked a barber's wrap round Desmond and proceeded, with
+clippers and scissors, to crop and trim his crisp black hair.
+
+"Tst-tst" he clicked with his tongue. "I didn't realize your hair
+was so dark, Major. It'll want a dash of henna to lighten it."
+
+The man worked with incredible swiftness. His touch was light and
+sure, and Desmond, looking at his reflection in the glass,
+wondered to see what fine; delicate hands this odd little expert
+possessed. Matthews sat and smoked in silence and watched the
+operation, whilst the special ran on steadily Londonwards.
+
+When the clipping was done, Crook smeared some stuff on a towel
+and wrapped it round Desmond's head.
+
+"That'll brighten your hair up a lot, sir. Now for a crepe beard
+just to try the effect. We've got to deliver you at Cannon Street
+ready for the job, Mr. Matthews and me, but you won't want to
+worry with this nasty messy beard once you get indoors. You can
+grow your own beard, and I'll pop in and henna it a bit for you
+every now and then."
+
+There was the smart of spirit gum on Desmond's cheeks and Crook
+gently applied a strip of tow to his face. He had taken the
+mirror away so that Desmond could no longer see the effect of the
+gradual metamorphosis.
+
+"A mirror only confuses me," said the expert, breathing hard as
+he delicately adjusted the false beard, "I've got this picture
+firm in my head, and I want to get it transferred to your face.
+Somehow a mirror puts me right off. It's the reality I want."
+
+As he grew more absorbed in his work, he ceased to speak
+altogether. He finished the beard, trimmed the eyebrows, applied
+a dash of henna with a brush, leaning backwards continually to
+survey the effect. He sketched in a wrinkle or two round the eyes
+with a pencil, wiped them out, then put them in again. Then he
+fumbled in his tin box, and produced two thin slices of grey
+rubber.
+
+"Sorry," he said, "I'm afraid you'll have to wear these inside
+your cheeks to give the effect of roundness. You've got an oval
+face and the other man has a round one. I can get the fullness of
+the throat by giving you a very low collar, rather open and a
+size too large for you."
+
+Desmond obediently slipped the two slices of rubber into his
+mouth and tucked them away on either side of his upper row of
+teeth. They were not particularly uncomfortable to wear.
+
+"There's your specs," said Crook, handing him a spectacle case,
+"and there's the collar. Now if you'll put on the rest of the
+duds, we'll have a look at you, sir."
+
+Desmond went out and donned the vest and coat and overcoat, and,
+thus arrayed, returned to the Pullman, hat in hand.
+
+Crook called out to him as he entered
+
+"Not so springy in the step, sir, if you please. Remember you're
+forty-three years of age with a Continental upbringing. You'll
+have to walk like a German, toes well turned out and down on the
+heel every time. So, that's better. Now, have a look at
+yourself!"
+
+He turned and touched a blind. A curtain rolled up with a click,
+disclosing a full length mirror immediately opposite Desmond.
+
+Desmond recoiled in astonishment. He could scarcely credit his
+own eyes. The glass must be bewitched, he thought for a moment,
+quite overwhelmed by the suddenness of the shock. For instead of
+the young face set on a slight athletic body that the glass was
+wont to show him, he saw a square, rather solid man in ugly,
+heavy clothes, with a brown silky beard and gold spectacles. The
+disguise was baffling in its completeness. The little wizard, who
+had effected this change and who now stood by, bashfully twisting
+his fingers about, had transformed youth into middle age. And the
+bewildering thing was that the success of the disguise did not
+lie so much in the eternal adjuncts, the false beard, the
+pencilled wrinkles, as in the hideous collar, the thick padded
+clothes, in short, in the general appearance.
+
+For the first time since his talk with the Chief at the United
+Service Club, Desmond felt his heart grow light within him. If
+such miracles were possible, then he could surmount the other
+difficulties as well.
+
+"Crook," he said, "I think you've done wonders. What do you say,
+Matthews?"
+
+"I've seen a lot of Mr. Crook's work in my day, sir," answered
+the clerk, "but nothing better than this. It's a masterpiece,
+Crook, that's what it is."
+
+"I'm fairly well satisfied," the expert murmured modestly, "and I
+must say the Major carries it off very well. But how goes the
+enemy, Matthews?"
+
+"It's half past two," replied, the latter, "we should reach
+Cannon Street by three. She's running well up to time, I think."
+
+"We've got time for a bit of a rehearsal," said Crook. "Just
+watch me, will you please, Major, and I'll try and give you an
+impression of our friend. I've been studying him at Brixton for
+the past twelve days, day and night almost, you might say, and I
+think I can convey an idea of his manner and walk. The walk is a
+very important point. Now, here is Mr. Bellward meeting one of
+his friends. Mr. Matthews, you will be the friend!"
+
+Then followed one of the most extraordinary performances that
+Desmond had ever witnessed. By some trick of the actor's art, the
+shriveled figure of the expert seemed to swell out and thicken,
+while his low, gentle voice deepened into a full, metallic
+baritone. Of accent in his speech there was none, but Desmond's
+ear, trained to foreigners' English, could detect a slight
+Continental intonation, a little roll of the "r's," an unfamiliar
+sound about those open "o's" of the English tongue, which are so
+fatal a trap for foreigners speaking our language. As he watched
+Crook, Desmond glanced from time to time at the photograph of
+Bellward which he had picked up from the table. He had an
+intuition that Bellward behaved and spoke just as the man before
+him.
+
+Then, at Crook's suggestion, Desmond assumed the role of
+Bellward. The expert interrupted him continually.
+
+"The hands, Major, the hands, you must not keep them down at your
+sides. That is military! You must move them when you speak! So
+and so!"
+
+Or again:
+
+"You speak too fast. Too... too youthfully, if you understand me,
+sir. You are a man of middle age. Life has no further secrets for
+you. You are poised and getting a trifle ponderous. Now try
+again!"
+
+But the train was slackening speed. They were running between
+black masses of squalid houses. As the special thumped over the
+bridge across the river, Mr. Crook gathered up his paints and
+brushes and photographs and arranged them neatly in his black tin
+box.
+
+To Desmond he said:
+
+"I shall be coming along to give you some more lessons very soon,
+Major. I wish you could see Bellward for yourself: you are very
+apt at this game, and it would save us much time. But I fear
+that's impossible."
+
+Even before the special had drawn up alongside the platform at
+Cannon Street, Crook and Matthews swung themselves out and
+disappeared. When the train stopped, a young man in a bowler hat
+presented himself at the door of the Pullman.
+
+"The car is there, Mr. Bellward, sir!" he said, helping Desmond
+to alight. Desmond, preparing to assume his new role, was about
+to leave the carriage when a sudden thought struck him. What
+about his uniform strewn about the compartment where he had
+changed? He ran back. The compartment was empty. Not a trace
+remained of the remarkable scenes of their night journey.
+
+"This is for you," said the young man, handing Desmond a note as
+they walked down the platform.
+
+Outside the station a motor-car with its noisy throbbing awoke
+the echoes of the darkened and empty courtyard. Desmond waited
+until he was being whirled over the smooth asphalt of the City
+streets before he opened the letter.
+
+He found a note and a small key inside the envelope.
+
+"On reaching the house to which you will be conveyed," the note
+said, "you will remain indoors until further orders. You can
+devote your time to studying the papers you will find in the desk
+beside the bed. For the present you need not fear detection as
+long as you do not leave the house." Then followed a few rough
+jottings obviously for his guidance.
+
+"Housekeeper, Martha, half blind, stupid; odd man, John Hill,
+mostly invisible, no risk from either. You are confined to house
+with heavy chill. Do not go out until you get the word."
+
+The last sentence was twice underlined.
+
+The night was now pitch-dark. Heavy clouds had come up and
+obscured the stars and a drizzle of rain was falling. The car
+went forward at a good pace and Desmond, after one or two
+ineffectual attempts to make out where they were going, was
+lulled by the steady motion into a deep sleep. He was dreaming
+fitfully of the tossing Channel as he had seen it but a few hours
+before when he came to his senses with a start. He felt a cold
+draught of air on his face and his feet were dead with cold.
+
+A figure stood at the open door of the car. It was the chauffeur.
+
+"Here we are, sir," he said.
+
+Desmond stiffly descended to the ground. It was so dark that he
+could distinguish nothing, but he felt the grit of gravel under
+his feet and he heard the melancholy gurgle of running water. He
+took a step forward and groped his way into a little porch
+smelling horribly of mustiness and damp. As he did so, he heard a
+whirr behind him and the car began to glide off. Desmond shouted
+after the chauffeur. Now that he stood on the very threshold of
+his adventure, he wanted to cling desperately to this last link
+with his old self. But the chauffeur did not or would not hear,
+and presently the sound of the engine died away, leaving Desmond
+to the darkness, the sad splashing of distant water and his own
+thoughts.
+
+And then, for one brief moment, all his courage seemed to ooze
+out of him. If he had followed his instinct, he would have turned
+and fled into the night, away from that damp and silent house,
+away from the ceaseless splashing of waters, back to the warmth
+and lights of civilization. But his sense of humor, which is very
+often better than courage, came to his rescue.
+
+"I suppose I ought to be in the devil of a rage," he said to
+himself, "being kept waiting like this outside my own house!
+Where the deuce is my housekeeper? By Gad, I'll ring the place
+down!"
+
+The conceit amused him, and he advanced further into the musty
+porch hoping to find a bell. But as he did so his ear caught the
+distant sound of shuffling feet. The shuffle of feet drew nearer
+and presently a beam of light shone out from under the door. A
+quavering voice called out:
+
+"Here I am, Mr. Bellward, here I am, sir!"
+
+Then a bolt was drawn back, a key turned, and the door swung
+slowly back, revealing an old woman, swathed in a long shawl and
+holding high in her hand a lamp as she peered out into the
+darkness.
+
+"Good evening, Martha," said Desmond, and stepped into the house.
+
+Save for Martha's lamp, the lobby was in darkness, but light was
+streaming into the hall from the half open door of a room leading
+off it at the far end. While Martha, wheezing asthmatically,
+bolted the front door, Desmond went towards the room where the
+light was and walked in.
+
+It was a small sitting-room, lined with bookshelves, illuminated
+by an oil lamp which stood on a little table beside a
+chintz-covered settee which had been drawn up in front of the
+dying fire.
+
+On the settee Nur-el-Din was lying asleep.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X. D. O. R. A. IS BAFFLED
+
+When Barbara reached the Chief's ante-room she found it full of
+people. Mr. Marigold was there, chatting with Captain Strangwise
+who seemed to be just taking his leave; there was a short, fat,
+Jewish-looking man, very resplendently dressed with a large
+diamond pin in his cravat and a small, insignificant looking
+gentleman with a gray moustache and the red rosette of the Legion
+of Honor in his button-hole. Matthews came out of the Chief's
+room as Barbara entered the outer office.
+
+"Miss Mackwayte," he said, "we are all so shocked and so very,
+sorry..."
+
+"Mr. Matthews," she said hastily in a low voice, "never mind
+about that now. I must see the Chief at once. It is most urgent."
+
+Matthews gesticulated with his arm round the room.
+
+"All these people, excepting the officer there, are waiting to
+see him, Miss, and he's got a dinner engagement at eight..."
+
+"It is urgent, Mr. Matthews, I tell you. If you won't take my
+name in, I shall go in myself!"
+
+"Miss Mackwayte, I daren't interrupt him now. Do you know who's
+with him...?"
+
+Strangwise crossed the room to where Barbara was standing.
+
+"I can guess what brings you here, Miss Mackwayte," he said
+gently. "I hope you will allow me to express my condolences...?"
+
+The girl shrank back, almost imperceptibly, yet Strangwise, whose
+eyes were fixed on her pale face, noticed the spontaneous recoil.
+The sunshine seemed to fade out of his debonair countenance, and
+for a moment Barbara Mackwayte saw Maurice Strangwise as very few
+people had ever seen him, stern and cold and hard, without a
+vestige of his constant smile. But the shadow lifted as quickly
+as it had fallen. His face had resumed its habitually engaging
+expression as he murmured:
+
+"Believe me, I am truly sorry for you!"
+
+"Thank you, thank you!" Barbara said hastily and brushed past
+him. She walked straight across the room to the door of the
+Chief's room, turned the handle and walked in.
+
+The room was in darkness save for an electric reading lamp on the
+desk which threw a beam of light on the faces of two men thrust
+close together in eager conversation. One was the Chief, the
+other a face that Barbara knew well from the illustrated papers.
+
+At the sound of the door opening, the Chief sprang to his feet.
+
+"Oh, it's Miss Mackwayte," he said, and added something in a low
+voice to the other man who had risen to his feet. "My dear," he
+continued aloud to Barbara, "I will see you immediately; we must
+not be disturbed now. Matthews should have told you."
+
+"Chief," cried Barbara, her hands clasped convulsively together,
+"you must hear me now. What I have to say cannot wait. Oh, you
+must hear me!"
+
+The Chief looked as embarrassed as a man usually looks when he is
+appealed to in a busy moment by an extremely attractive girl.
+
+"Miss Mackwayte," he said firmly but with great courtesy, "you
+must wait outside. I know how unnerved you are by all that you
+have gone through, but I am engaged just now. I shall be free
+presently."
+
+"It is about my father, Chief," Barbara said in a trembling
+voice, "I have found out what they came to get!"
+
+"Ah!" said the Chief and the other man simultaneously.
+
+"We had better hear what she has to say!" said the other man,
+"but won't you introduce me first?"
+
+"This is Sir Bristowe Marr, the First Sea Lord," said the Chief,
+bringing up a chair for Barbara, "Miss Mackwayte, my secretary,
+Admiral!"
+
+Then in a low impassioned voice Barbara told her tale of the
+package entrusted to her by Nur-el-Din and its disappearance from
+her bedroom on the night of the murder. As she proceeded a deep
+furrow appeared between the Chief's bushy eyebrows and he stared
+absently at the blotting-pad in front of him. When the girl had
+finished her story, the Chief said:
+
+"Lambelet ought to hear this, sir: he's the head of the French
+Intelligence, you know. He's outside now. Shall we have him in?
+Miss Mackwayte shall tell her story, and you can then hear what
+Lambelet has to say about this versatile young dancer."
+
+Without waiting for further permission, he pressed a bell on the
+desk and presently Matthews ushered in the small man with the
+Legion of Honor whom Barbara had seen in the ante-room.
+
+The Chief introduced the Frenchman and in a few words explained
+the situation to him. Then he turned to Barbara:
+
+"Colonel Lambelet speaks English perfectly," he said, "so fire
+away and don't be nervous!"
+
+When she had finished, the Chief said, addressing Lambelet:
+
+"What do you make of it, Colonel?"
+
+The little Frenchman made an expressive gesture.
+
+"Madame has become aware of the interest you have been taking in
+her movements, mon cher. She seized the opportunity of this
+meeting with the daughter of her old friend to get rid of
+something compromising, a code or something of the kind, qui
+sait? Perhaps this robbery and its attendant murder was only an
+elaborate device to pass on some particularly important report of
+the movements of your ships... qui sait?"
+
+"Then you are convinced in your own mind, Colonel, that this
+woman is a spy?" The clear-cut voice of the First Sea Lord rang
+out of the darkness of the room outside the circle of light on
+the desk.
+
+"Mail certainement!" replied the Frenchman quietly. "Listen and
+you shall hear! By birth she is a Pole, from Warsaw, of good,
+perhaps, even, of noble family. I cannot tell you, for her real
+name we have not been able to ascertain... parbleu, it is
+impossible, with the Boches at Warsaw, hein? We know, however,
+that at a very early age, under the name of la petite Marcelle,
+she was a member of a troupe of acrobats who called themselves
+The Seven Duponts. With this troupe she toured all over Europe.
+Bien! About ten years ago, she went out to New York as a singer,
+under the name of Marcelle Blondinet, and appeared at various
+second-class theatres in the United States and Canada. Then we
+lose track of her for some years until 1913, the year before the
+war, when the famous Oriental dancer, Nur-el-Din, who has made a
+grand success by the splendor of her dresses in America and
+Canada, appears at Brussels, scores a triumph and buys a fine
+mansion in the outskirts of the capital. She produces herself at
+Paris, Bordeaux, Lyons, Marseilles, Madrid, Milan and Rome, but
+her home in Brussels, always she returns there, your understand
+me, hein? La petite Marcelle of The Seven Duponts, Marcelle
+Blondinet of the cafe chantant, has blossomed out into a star of
+the first importance."
+
+The Colonel paused and cleared his throat.
+
+"To buy a mansion in Brussels, to run a large and splendid
+troupe, requires money. It is the men who pay for these things,
+you would say. Quite right, but listen who were the friends of
+Madame Nur-el-Din. Bischoffsberg, the German millionaire of
+Antwerp, von Wurzburg, of Berne... ah ha! you know that
+gentleman, mon cher?" he turned, chuckling, to the Chief who
+nodded his acquiescence; "Prince Meddelin of the German Embassy
+in Paris and administrator of the German Secret Service funds in
+France, and so on and so on. I will not fatigue you with the
+list. The direct evidence is coming now.
+
+"When the war broke out in August, 1914, Madame, after finishing
+her summer season in Brussels, was resting in her Brussels
+mansion. What becomes of her? She vanishes."
+
+"She told Samuel, the fellow who runs the Palaceum, that she
+escaped from Brussels!" interposed the Chief.
+
+The Frenchman threw his hands above his head.
+
+"Escaped, escaped? Ah, oui, par exemple, in a German Staff car.
+As I have told my colleague here," he went on, addressing the
+Admiral, "she escaped to Metz, the headquarters of the Army Group
+commanded by the... the... how do you say? the Prince Imperial?"
+
+"The Crown Prince," rectified the Chief.
+
+"Ah, oui,--the Crown Prince. Messieurs, we have absolute
+testimony that this woman lived for nearly two years either in
+Metz or Berlin, and further, that at Metz, the Crown Prince was a
+constant visitor at her house. She was one of the ladies who
+nearly precipitated a definite rupture between the Crown Prince
+and his wife. Mon Admiral," he went on, addressing the First Sea
+Lord again, "that this woman should be at large is a direct menace
+to the security of this country and of mine. It is only this
+morning that I at length received from Paris the facts which I
+have just laid before you. It is for you to order your action
+accordingly!"
+
+The little Frenchman folded his arms pompously and gazed at the
+ceiling.
+
+"How does she explain her movements prior to her coming to this
+country" the First Sea Lord asked the Chief.
+
+For an answer the Chief pressed the bell.
+
+"Samuel, who engaged her, is outside. You shall hear her story
+from him," he said.
+
+Samuel entered, exuding business acumen, prosperity, geniality.
+He nodded brightly to the Chief and stood expectant.
+
+"Ah, Mr. Samuel," said the Chief, "I wanted to see you about
+Nur-el-Din. You remember our former conversation on the subject.
+Where did she say she went to when she escaped to Brussels?"
+
+"First to Ostend," replied the music-hall proprietor, "and then,
+when the general exodus took place from there, to her mother's
+country place near Lyons, a village called Sermoise-aux-Roses."
+
+"And what did she say her mother's name was?"
+
+"Madame Blondinet, sir!"
+
+The Frenchman rapped smartly on a little pocketbook which he had
+produced and now held open in his hand.
+
+"There, is a Madame Blondinet who has a large farm near
+Sermoise-aux-Roses," he said, "and she has a daughter called
+Marcelle, who went to America."
+
+"Why then...?" began the First Sea Lord.
+
+"Attendez un instant!"
+
+The Colonel held up a plump hand.
+
+"Unfortunately for Madame Nur-el-Din, this Marcelle Blondinet
+spent the whole of her childhood, in fact, the whole of her life
+until she was nineteen years of age, on her mother's farm at a
+time when this Marcelle Blondinet was touring Europe with The
+Seven Duponts. The evidence is absolute. Mademoiselle here heard
+the dancer herself confirm it last night!"
+
+"Thank you, Mr. Samuel," said the Chief, "we shan't require you
+any more. But I'm afraid your Nur-el-Din will have to break her
+contract with you."
+
+"She's done that already, sir!" said Samuel ruefully.
+
+The Chief sprang to his feet excitedly.
+
+"Broken it already?" he cried. "What do you mean? Explain
+yourself! Don't stand there staring at me!"
+
+Mr. Samuel looked startled out of his life.
+
+"There was a bit of a row between her and the stage manager last
+night about her keeping the stage waiting again," he said; "and
+after lunch today she rang up to say she would not appear at the
+Palaceum to-night or any more at all! It's very upsetting for us;
+and I don't mind telling you, gentlemen, that I've been to my
+solicitors about it..."
+
+"And why the blazes didn't you come and tell me?" demanded the
+Chief furiously.
+
+"Well, sir, I thought it was only a bit of pique on her part, and
+I hoped to be able to talk the lady round. I know what these
+stars are!"
+
+"You've seen her then?" the Chief snapped out.
+
+"No, I haven't!" Mr. Samuel lamented. "I've been twice to the
+Nineveh--that's where she's stopping--and each time she was out!"
+
+The Chief dismissed him curtly.
+
+When the door had closed behind him, the Chief said to the First
+Sea Lord:
+
+"This is where D.O.R.A. steps in, I think, sir!"
+
+"Decidedly!" replied the Admiral. "Will you take the necessary
+steps?"
+
+The Chief nodded and pressed the bell. Matthews appeared.
+
+"Anything from the Nineveh?" he asked.
+
+"The lady has not returned, sir!"
+
+"Anything from Gordon and Duff?"
+
+"No, sir, nothing all day!"
+
+The telephone on the desk whirred. The Chief lifted the receiver.
+
+"Yes. Oh, it's you, Gordon? No, you can say it now: this is a
+private line."
+
+He listened at the receiver for a couple of minutes. The room was
+very still.
+
+"All right, come to the office at once!"
+
+The Chief hung up the receiver and turned to the Admiral.
+
+"She's given us the slip for the moment!" he said. "That was
+Gordon speaking. He and Duff have been shadowing our lady friend
+out of doors for days. She left the hotel on foot after lunch
+this afternoon with my two fellows in her wake. There was a bit
+of a crush on the pavement near Charing Cross and Duff was pushed
+into the roadway and run over by a motor-'bus. In the confusion
+Gordon lost the trail. He's wasted all this time trying to pick
+it up again instead of reporting to me at once."
+
+"Zut!" cried the Frenchman.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI. CREDENTIALS
+
+The sight of Nur-el-Din filled Desmond with alarm. For a moment
+his mind was overshadowed by the dread of detection. He had
+forgotten all about Mr. Crook's handiwork in the train, and his
+immediate fear was that the dancer would awake and recognize him.
+But then he caught sight of his face in the mirror over the
+mantelpiece. The grave bearded man staring oddly at him out of
+the glass gave him a shock until he realized the metamorphosis
+that had taken place in his personality. The realization served
+instantly to still his apprehension.
+
+Nur-el-Din lay on her side, one hand under her face which was
+turned away from the fire. She was wearing a big black musquash
+coat, and over her feet she had flung a tweed overcoat,
+apparently one of Mr. Bellward's from the hatstand in the hall.
+Her hat, a very dainty little affair of plain black velvet, was
+skewered with a couple of jewelled hatpins to the upholstery of
+the settee.
+
+Desmond watched her for a moment. Her face looked drawn and tired
+now that her eyelids, with their long sweeping black lashes, were
+closed, shutting off the extraordinary luminosity of her eyes. As
+he stood silently contemplating her, she stirred and moaned in
+her sleep and muttered some word three or four times to herself.
+Desmond was conscious of a great feeling of compassion for this
+strangely beautiful creature. Knowing as he did of the
+hundred-eyed monster of the British Secret Service that was
+watching her, he found himself thinking how frail, how helpless,
+how unprotected she looked, lying there in the flickering light
+of the fire.
+
+A step resounded behind him and old Martha shuffled into the
+room, carefully shading the lamp she still carried so that its
+rays should not fall on the face of the sleeper.
+
+"I don't know as I've done right, sir," she mumbled, "letting the
+pore lady wait here for you like this, but I couldn't hardly help
+it, sir! She says as how she must see you, and seeing as how your
+first tellygram said you was coming at half-past nine, I lets her
+stop on!"
+
+"When did she arrive" asked Desmond softly.
+
+"About six o'clock," answered the old, woman. "Walked all the way
+up from Wentfield Station, too, sir, and that cold she was when
+she arrived here, fair blue with the cold she was, pore dear.
+D'reckly she open her lips, I sees she's a furrin' lady, sir. She
+asks after you and I tells her as how you are away and won't be
+back till this evening. 'Oh!' she says, I then I wait!' And in
+she comes without so much as with your leave or by your leave.
+She told me as how you knew her, sir, and were expecting to see
+her, most important, she said it was, so I hots her up a bit o'
+dinner. I hopes as how I didn't do wrong, Mr. Bellward, sir!"
+
+"Oh, no, Martha, not at all!" Desmond replied--at random. He was
+sorely perplexed as to his next move. Obviously the girl could
+not stay in the house. What on earth did she want with him? And
+could he, at any rate, get at the desk and read the papers of
+which the note spoke and which, he did not doubt, were the
+dossier of the Bellward case, before she awoke? They might, at
+least, throw some light on his relations with the dancer.
+
+"She had her dinner here by the fire," old Martha resumed her
+narrative, "and about a quarter past nine comes your second
+tellygram, sir, saying as how you could not arrive till five
+o'clock in the morning."
+
+Desmond glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece. The hands
+pointed to a quarter past five! He had lost all count of the time
+in his peregrinations of the night.
+
+"I comes in here and tells the young lady as how you wouldn't be
+back last night, sir," the old woman continued, "and she says,
+'Oh,' she says, 'then, where shall I go?' she says. 'Why don't
+you go home, my dear?' says I, 'and pop round and see the master
+in the morning,' I says, thinking the pore young lady lives about
+here. And then she tells me as how she come all the way from
+Lunnon and walked up from the station. As well you know, sir, the
+last train up leaves Wentfield Station at five minutes to nine,
+and so the pore young lady couldn't get back that night. So here
+she had to stop. I got the spare room ready for her and lit a
+nice fire and all, but she wouldn't go to bed not until she had
+seen you. I do hope as how I've not done wrong, sir. I says to
+Mr. Hill, I says..."
+
+Desmond held up his hand to restrain her toothless babble.
+Nur-el-Din had stirred and was sitting up, rubbing her eyes. Then
+she caught sight of Desmond and scrambled rather unsteadily to
+her feet.
+
+"Monsieur Bellward?" she said in French, "oh, how glad I am to
+see you!"
+
+"All right, Martha," said Desmond, "see that the spare room is
+ready for this lady, and don't go to bed just yet. I shall want
+you to take this lady to her room."
+
+The old woman hobbled away, leaving the two alone. As soon as the
+door had closed behind her, Nur-el-Din exclaimed:
+
+"You know me; hein!"
+
+Desmond bowed in the most correct Continental manner.
+
+"Who does not know the charming Nur-el-Din?" he replied.
+
+"No!" Nur-el-Din commanded with flashing eyes, "no, not that
+name! I am Madame Le Bon, you, understand, a Belgian refugee,
+from Termonde!"
+
+Rather taken aback by her imperious manner, Desmond bowed again
+but said nothing.
+
+"I received your letter," the dancer resumed, "but I did not
+answer it as I did not require your assistance. But now I wish
+your help. It is unfortunate that you were absent from home at
+the very time I counted upon your aid."
+
+She flashed a glance at him as though awaiting an apology.
+
+"I am extremely sorry," said Desmond, "if I had but known..."
+
+Nur-el-Din nodded carelessly.
+
+"I wish to pass the night here," she went on, "in fact, I may be
+here for several days. They are becoming inconvenient in London,
+you understand."
+
+"But the theatre, your professional engagements?"
+
+"Bah, I have left the theatre. I have had enough of these stupid
+English people... they know nothing of art!"
+
+Desmond reflected a moment. Nur-el-Din's manner was most
+perplexing. What on earth could induce her to adopt this tone of
+condescension towards him? It nettled him. He resolved to try and
+find out on what it was based.
+
+"I am only too happy to be of assistance to you," he said,
+"especially in view of the letter of introduction you sent me,
+but I must tell you plainly that what you ask is impossible."
+
+"Impossible?" repeated Nur-el-Din, stamping her feet.
+"Impossible? Do you know what you are saying?"
+
+"Perfectly," replied Desmond negligently. "Obviously, you must
+stay here for the rest of the night since you cannot return to
+London until the trains start running, but to stay here
+indefinitely as you propose to do is out of the question. People
+would talk!"
+
+"Then it is your business to see that they don't!"
+
+"Your letter of introduction came from one whom I am always
+anxious to oblige," Desmond went on. "But the service he is
+authorized to claim from me does not entitle him to jeopardize my
+other activities."
+
+He drew a breath. It was a long shot. Would it draw her?
+
+It did. Nur-el-Din fumbled in her bag, produced a leather
+pocket-book and from it produced a slip of paper folded in two.
+
+"Read that!" she cried, "and then you shall apologize!"
+
+Desmond took the paper. It was a sheet torn from a book of German
+military field messages. "Meldedienst" (Message Service) was
+printed in German at the top and there were blanks to be filled
+in for the date, hour and place, and at the bottom a printed form
+of acknowledgment for the recipient to sign.
+
+In a large ostentatious, upright German handwriting was written
+what follows:
+
+
+"To All Whom it May Concern.
+
+"The lady who is the bearer of this, whose description is set out
+overleaf, is entitled to the full respect and assistance of the
+German forces on land and sea and in the air, wherever it may be.
+Her person and property are inviolate.
+
+  "Given At Our Headquarters at Metz
+  "Friedrich Wilhelm                             "Kronprinz des
+                                             "Deutschen Reiches."
+
+
+Across the signature was the impress of a green stamp,
+lozenge-shaped, inscribed "Headquarters of the Fifth Army,
+General Staff, 21st September, 1914."
+
+On the back of the slip was a detailed description of Nur-el-Din.
+
+Desmond bowed and handed the paper back to its owner.
+
+"Madame must accept my humble excuses," he murmured, hardly
+knowing what he was saying, so great was his surprise, "my house
+and services are at Madame's disposal!"
+
+"The other letter was from Count Plettenbach, the Prince's
+A.D.C., whom I think you know!" added the dancer in a mollified
+voice as she replaced the slip of paper in its pocketbook and
+stowed it away in her hand-bag. Then, looking up archly at
+Desmond, she said:
+
+"Am I so distasteful, then, to have in your house?"
+
+She made a charming picture. Her heavy fur coat had fallen open,
+disclosing her full round throat, very brown against the V-shaped
+opening of her white silk blouse. Her mouth was a perfect cupid's
+bow, the upper lip slightly drawn up over her dazzlingly white
+teeth. Before Desmond could answer her question, if answer were
+needed, her mood had swiftly changed again. She put her hand out,
+a little brown hand, and laying it on his shoulder, looked up
+appealingly into his eyes.
+
+"You will protect me," she said in a low voice, "I cannot bear
+this hunted life. From this side, from that, they, are closing in
+on me, and I am frightened, so very frightened. Promise you will
+keep me from harm!"
+
+Desmond gazed down into her warm, expressive eyes helplessly.
+What she asked was impossible, he knew, but he was a soldier, not
+a policeman, he told himself, and under his breath he cursed the
+Chief for landing him in such a predicament. To Nur-el-Din he
+said gently:
+
+"Tell me what has happened to frighten you. Who is hunting you?
+Is it the police?"
+
+She withdrew her hand with a gesture of contempt.
+
+"Bah!" she said bitterly. "I am not afraid of the police."
+
+Then she sank into a reverie, her gaze fixed on the dying embers
+of the fire.
+
+"All my life has been a struggle," she went on, after a moment,
+"first with hunger, then with men, then the police. I am used to
+a hard life. No, it is not the police!"
+
+"Who is it, then" asked Desmond, completely nonplused.
+
+Nur-el-Din let her eyes rest on his face for a moment.
+
+"You have honest eyes," she said, "your eyes are not German...
+pardon me, I would not insult your race... I mean they are
+different from the rest of you. One day, perhaps, those eyes of
+yours may persuade me to answer your question. But I don't know
+you well enough yet!"
+
+She broke off abruptly, shaking her head.
+
+"I am tired," she sighed and all her haughty manner returned,
+"let the old woman show me to my room. I will take dejeuner with
+you at one o'clock."
+
+Desmond bowed and stepping out into the hall, called the
+housekeeper. Old Martha shuffled off with the girl, leaving
+Desmond staring with vacant eyes into the fire. He was conscious
+of a feeling of exultation, despite his utter weariness and
+craving for sleep. This girl, with her queenly ways, her swiftly
+changing moods, her broad gusts of passion, interested him
+enormously. If she were the quarry, why, then, the chase were
+worth while! But the end? For a brief moment, he had a vision of
+that frail, clinging figure swaying up against some blank wall
+before a file of levelled rifles.
+
+Then again he seemed to see old Mackwayte lying dead on the
+landing of the house at Seven Kings. Had this frail girl done
+this unspeakable deed? To send her to the gallows or before a
+firing-squad--was this to be the end of his mission? And the
+still, small voice of conscience answered: "Yes! that is what
+you have come here to do!"
+
+Old Martha came shuffling down the staircase. Desmond called to
+her, remembering that he did not yet know where his bedroom was.
+
+"Will you light me up to my room, Martha?" he said, "I want to be
+sure that the sheets are not damp!"
+
+So saying he extinguished the lamp on the table and followed the
+old woman upstairs.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII. AT THE MILL HOUSE
+
+Clad in a suit of Mr. Basil Bellward's pyjamas of elaborate
+blue-flowered silk, Desmond lay propped up in bed in Mr.
+Bellward's luxuriously fitted bedroom, sipping his morning
+coffee, and studying with absorbed interest a sheet of blue
+foolscap. A number of papers lay strewn about the eiderdown
+quilt. At the head of the bed a handsome Sheraton bureau stood
+open.
+
+As the French say, Mr. Bellward had refused himself nothing. His
+bedroom was most tastefully furnished. The furniture was
+mahogany, every piece carefully chosen, and the chintz of
+curtains and upholstery was bright and attractive. A most
+elaborate mahogany wardrobe was fitted into the wall, and
+Desmond, investigating it, had found it to contain a very large
+assortment of clothes of every description, all new or nearly so,
+and bearing the name of a famous tailor of Cork Street. Folding
+doors, resembling a cupboard, disclosed, when open, a marble
+basin with hot water laid on, while a curtained door in the
+corner of the room gave access to a white tiled bathroom. Mr.
+Bellward, Desmond had reflected after his tour of the room on his
+arrival, evidently laid weight on his personal comfort; for the
+contrast between the cheerful comfort of his bedroom and the
+musty gloom of the rooms downstairs was very marked.
+
+A bright log fire hissed on the open hearth and the room was
+pleasantly warm. Old Martha's coffee was excellent, and Desmond,
+very snug in Mr. Bellward's comfortable bed, noted with regret
+that the clock on the mantel-shelf marked a quarter to twelve.
+But then he thought of the tete-a-tete luncheon that awaited him
+at one o'clock and his face cleared. He didn't mind getting up so
+much after all.
+
+He fell again to the perusal of the documents which he had found,
+as indicated in the note from headquarters, in the desk by the
+bed. They were enclosed in two envelopes, one large, the other
+small, both without any superscription. The large envelope
+enclosed Mr. Bellward's dossier which consisted of a fairly
+detailed account of his private life, movements, habits and
+friends, and an account of his arrest. The small envelope
+contained Desmond's eagerly expected orders.
+
+Desmond examined the papers in the large envelope first. From
+them he ascertained that the house in which he found himself was
+called The Mill House, and was situated two and a half miles from
+the station of Wentfield on the Great Eastern Railway in Essex.
+Mr. Bellward had taken the place some eight years before, having
+moved there from the Surrey hills, but had been wont to spend not
+more than two months in the year there. For the rest of the time
+he traveled abroad, usually passing the winter months on the
+Riviera, and the spring in Switzerland or Italy. The war had
+brought about a change in his habits, and Harrogate, Buxton and
+Bath had taken the place of the Continental resorts which he had
+frequented in peace time.
+
+When in residence at The Mill House, Mr. Bellward had gone up to
+London nearly every morning, either walking or going by
+motor-cycle to the station, and not returning until dinner-time
+in the evening. Sometimes he passed the night in London, and on
+such occasions slept at a small hotel in Jermyn Street. His
+dossier included, a long and carefully compiled list of the
+people he knew in London, mostly men of the rich business set,
+stockbrokers, manufacturers, solicitors, and the like. Against
+every name was set a note of the exact degree of intimacy
+existing between Bellward and the man in question, and any other
+information that might serve Bellward's impersonator in good
+stead. Desmond laid this list aside for the moment, intending to
+study it more closely at his leisure.
+
+Of intercourse with his neighbors in, the country, Mr. Bellward
+apparently had none. The Mill House stood in a lonely part of the
+country, remote from the more thickly populated centres of
+Brentwood and Romford, on the edge of a wide tract of
+inhospitable marshland, known as Morstead Fen, intersected by
+those wide deep ditches which in this part of the world are known
+as dykes. At this stage in the report there was a note to the
+effect that the rector of Wentfield had called twice at The Mill
+House but had not found Mr. Bellward at home, and that his visits
+had not been returned. There were also some opinions apparently
+culled locally regarding the tenant of the Mill House, set out
+something in this wise:--
+
+"Landlord of the Red Lion, Wentfield: The gentleman has never
+been to the Red Lion, but sometimes orders my Ford car and always
+pays regularly.
+
+"The Stationmaster at Wentfield: A gentleman who keeps himself to
+himself but very liberal with his money.
+
+"Sir Marsham Dykes, of The Chase, Stanning: A damned unsociable
+churlish fellow.
+
+"Mr. Tracy Wentfield, of the Channings, Home Green: A very rude
+man. He slammed the front door of the house in my face when I
+went to ask him for a contribution to our Cottage Hospital. It is
+not my habit to repeat idle gossip, but they do say he is a heavy
+drinker."
+
+There was a lot more of this sort of thing, and Desmond turned
+from it with a smile to take up the account of Bellward's arrest.
+It appeared that, about a fortnight before, on the eve of the
+departure for France of a very large draft of troops, a telegram
+was handed in at the East Strand telegraph office addressed to
+Bellward. This telegram ran thus:
+
+
+  "Bellward, Bellward Hotel, Jermyn Street.
+  "Shipping to you Friday 22,000 please advise correspondents.
+                                 "Mortimer."
+
+
+The authorities were unable to deliver this telegram as no
+such an hotel as the Hotel Bellward was found to exist in Jermyn
+Street. An examination of the address showed clearly that the
+sender had absent mindedly repeated the addressee's name in
+writing the name of the hotel. An advice was therefore addressed
+to the sender, Mortimer, at the address he had given on the back
+of the form, according to the regulations, to inform him that his
+telegram had not been delivered. It was then discovered that the
+address given by Mortimer was fictitious.
+
+Suspicion being thus aroused, the telegram was forwarded to the
+Postal Censor's department whence it reached the Intelligence
+Authorities who promptly spotted the connection between the
+wording of the telegram and the imminent departure of the drafts,
+more especially as the dates tallied. Thereupon, Mr. Bellward was
+hunted up and ultimately traced by his correspondence to The Mill
+House. He was not found there, but was eventually encountered at
+his London hotel, and requested to appear before the authorities
+with a view to throwing some light on Mortimer. Under
+cross-examination Bellward flatly denied any knowledge of
+Mortimer, and declared that a mistake had been made. He cited
+various well known city men to speak for his bona-fides and
+protested violently against the action of the authorities in
+doubting his word. It was ultimately elicited that Bellward was
+of German birth and had never been naturalized, and he was
+detained in custody while a search was made at The Mill House.
+
+The search was conducted with great discretion, old Martha being
+got out of the way before the detectives arrived and a careful
+watch being kept to avoid any chance of interruption. The search
+had the most fruitful results. Hidden in a secret drawer of the
+Sheraton desk in Bellward's bedroom, was found a most elaborate
+analysis of the movements of the transports to France, extremely
+accurate and right up to date. There was absolutely no
+indication, however, as to whence Bellward received his reports,
+and how or to whom he forwarded them. It was surmised that
+Mortimer was his informant, but an exhaustive search of the post
+office files of telegrams despatched showed no trace of any other
+telegram from Mortimer to Bellward save the one in the possession
+of the authorities. As for Mortimer, he remained a complete
+enigma.
+
+That, summarised, was the gist of the story of Bellward's arrest.
+The report laid great stress on the fact that no one outside half
+a dozen Intelligence men had any knowledge (a) of Bellward being
+an unnaturalized German, (b) of his arrest.
+
+Desmond's orders, which he reserved to the last ere short and to
+the point. They consisted of five numbered clauses.
+
+"1. You will have a free hand. The surveillance of the house was
+withdrawn on your arrival and will not be renewed.
+
+"2. You will not leave the house until further orders.
+
+"3. You will keep careful note of any communication that may be
+made to you, whether verbal or in writing, of whatever nature it
+is. When you have anything to be forwarded, ring up 700 Slanning
+on the telephone and give Bellward's name. You will hand your
+report to the first person calling at the house thereafter asking
+for the letter for Mr. Elias.
+
+"4. If help is urgently required, ring up 700 Stanning and ask
+for Mr. Elias. Assistance will be with you within 15 minutes
+after. This expedient must only be used in the last extremity.
+
+"5. Memorize these documents and burn the lot before you leave
+the house."
+
+"Handy fellow, Mr. Elias," was Desmond's commentary, as he sprang
+out of bed and made for the bathroom. At a quarter to one he was
+ready dressed, feeling very scratchy and uncomfortable about the
+beard which he had not dared to remove owing to Nur-el-Din's
+presence in the house. Before he left the bedroom, he paused a
+moment at the desk, the documents of the Bellward case in his
+hands. He had a singularly retentive memory, and he was loth to
+have these compromising papers in the house whilst Nur-el-Din was
+there. He took a quick decision and pitched the whole lot into
+the fire, retaining only the annotated list of Mr. Bellward's
+friends. This he placed in his pocket-book and, after watching
+the rest of the papers crumble away into ashes, went downstairs
+to lunch.
+
+Nur-el-Din was in the drawing-room, a long room with two high
+windows which gave on a neglected looking garden. A foaming,
+churning brook wound its way through the garden, among stunted
+bushes and dripping willows, obviously the mill-race from which
+the house took its name. The drawing-room was a bare,
+inhospitable room, studded here and there with uncomfortable
+looking early Victorian armchairs swathed in dust-proof cloths. A
+fire was making an unsuccessful attempt to burn in the open
+grate.
+
+Nur-el-Din turned as he entered the room. She was wearing a gray
+cloth tailor-made with a white silk, blouse and a short skirt
+showing a pair of very natty brown boots. By contrast with her
+ugly surroundings she looked fresh and dainty. Her eyes were
+bright and her face as smooth and unwrinkled as a child's.
+
+"Bon jour," she cried gaily, "ah! but I am 'ungry!  It is the air
+of the country!  I love so the country!"
+
+"I hope you slept well, Madame!" said Desmond solicitously,
+looking admiringly at her trim figure.
+
+"Like a dead man," she replied with a little laugh, translating
+the French idiom. "Shall we make a leetle promenade after the
+dejeuner? And you shall show me your pretty English country,
+voulez-vous? You see, I am dressed for le footing!"
+
+She lifted a little brown foot.
+
+They had a delightful luncheon together. Old Martha, who proved
+to be quite a passable cook, waited on them. There was some
+excellent Burgundy and a carafe of old brandy with the coffee.
+Nur-el-Din was in her most gracious and captivating mood. She had
+dropped all her arrogance of their last interview and seemed to
+lay herself out to please. She had a keen sense of humor and
+entertained Desmond vastly by her anecdotes of her stage career,
+some not a little risque, but narrated with the greatest
+bon-homie.
+
+But, strongly attracted as he was to the girl, Desmond did not
+let himself lose sight of his ultimate object. He let her run on
+as gaily as she might but steadily, relentlessly he swung the
+conversation round to her last engagement at the Palaceum. He
+wanted to see if she would make any reference to the murder at
+Seven Kings. If he could only bring in old Mackwayte's name, he
+knew that the dancer must allude to the tragedy.
+
+Then the unexpected happened. The girl introduce the old
+comedian's name herself.
+
+"The only pleasant memory I shall preserve of the Palaceum," she
+said in French, "is my meeting with an old comrade of my youth.
+Imagine, I had not seen him for nearly twenty years. Monsieur
+Mackwayte, his name is, we used to call him Monsieur Arthur in
+the old days when I was the child acrobat of the Dupont Troupe.
+Such a charming fellow; and not a bit changed!  He was doing a
+deputy turn at the Palaceum on the last night I appeared there!
+And he introduced me to his daughter! Une belle Anglaise! I shall
+hope to see my old friend again when I go back to London!"
+
+Desmond stared at her. If this were acting, the most hardened
+criminal could not have carried it off better. He searched the
+girl's face. It was frank and innocent. She ran on about
+Mackwayte in the old days, his kindliness to everyone, his pretty
+wife, without a shadow of an attempt to avoid an unpleasant
+topic. Desmond began to believe that not only did the girl have
+nothing to do with the tragedy but that actually she knew nothing
+about it.
+
+"Did you see the newspapers yesterday?" he asked suddenly.
+
+"My friend," said Nur-el-Din, shaking her curls at him. "I never
+read your English papers. There is nothing but the war in them.
+And this war!"
+
+She gave a little shudder and was silent.
+
+At this moment old Martha, who had left them over their coffee
+and cigarettes, came into the room.
+
+"There's a gentleman called to see you, sir!" she said to
+Desmond.
+
+Desmond started violently. He was scarcely used to his new role
+as yet.
+
+"Who is it, Martha?" he said, mastering his agitation.
+
+"Mr. Mortimer!" mumbled the old woman in her tired voice, "at
+least that's what he said his name was. The gentleman hadn't got
+a card!"
+
+Nur-el-Din sprang up from her chair so vehemently that she upset
+her coffee.
+
+"Don't let him come in!" she cried in French.
+
+"Did you say I was in?" Desmond asked the old housekeeper, who
+was staring at the dancer.
+
+"Why, yes, sir," the woman answered.
+
+Desmond made a gesture of vexation.
+
+"Where is this Mr. Mortimer?" he asked
+
+"In the library, sir!"
+
+"Tell him I will be with him at once."
+
+Martha hobbled away and Desmond turned to the girl.
+
+"You heard what my housekeeper said? The man is here. I shall
+have to see him."
+
+Nur-el-Din, white to the lips, stood by the table, nervously
+twisting a little handkerchief.
+
+"Non, non," she said rapidly, "you must not see him. He has come
+to find me. Ah! if he should find out what I have done... you
+will not give me up to this man?"
+
+"You need not see him," Desmond expostulated gently, "I will say
+you are not here! Who is this Mortimer that he should seek to do
+you harm?"
+
+"My friend," said the dancer sadly, "he is my evil genius. If I
+had dreamt that you knew him I would never have sought refuge in
+your house."
+
+"But I've never set eyes on the man in my life!" exclaimed
+Desmond.
+
+The dancer shook her head mournfully at him.
+
+"Very few of you have, my friend," she replied, "but you are all
+under his orders, nest-ce pas?"
+
+Desmond's heart leaped. Was Mortimer's the guiding hand of this
+network of conspiracy?
+
+"I've trusted you, Monsieur," Nur-el-Din continued in a pleading
+voice, "you will respect the laws of hospitality, and hide me
+from this man. You will not give me up! Promise it, my friend?"
+
+Desmond felt strangely moved. Was this a callous murderess, a
+hired spy, who, with her great eyes brimming over with tears,
+entreated his protection so simply, so appealingly?
+
+"I promise I will not give you up to him, Mademoiselle!" he said
+and hated himself in the same breath for the part he had to play.
+Then he left her still standing by the table, lost in thought.
+
+Desmond walked through the hall to the room in which he had found
+Nur-el-Din asleep on his arrival. His nerves were strung up tight
+for the impending encounter with this Mortimer, whoever, whatever
+he was. Desmond did not hesitate on the threshold of the room. He
+quietly opened the door and walked in.
+
+A man in a black and white check suit with white gaiters stood on
+the hearthrug, his hands tucked behind his back. He had a
+curiously young-old appearance, such as is found in professors
+and scientists of a certain type. This suggestion was probably
+heightened by the very strong spectacles he wore, which magnified
+his eyes until they looked like large colored marbles. He had a
+heavy curling moustache resembling that affected by the late Lord
+Randolph Churchill. There was a good deal of mud on his boots,
+showing that he had come on foot.
+
+The two men measured one another in a brief but courteous glance.
+Desmond wondered what on earth this man's profession was. He was
+quite unable to place him.
+
+"Mr. Bellward?" said Mortimer, in a pleasant cultivated voice, "I
+am pleased to have this opportunity of meeting you personally."
+
+Desmond bowed and muttered something conventional. Mortimer had
+put out his hand but Desmond could not nerve himself to take it.
+Instead he pushed forward a chair.
+
+"Thanks," said Mortimer sitting down heavily, "I've had quite a
+walk across the fen. It's pleasant out but damp! I suppose you
+didn't get my letter?"
+
+"Which letter was that" asked Desmond.
+
+"Why the one asking you to let me know when you would be back so
+that we might meet at last!"
+
+Desmond shook his head.
+
+"No," he said, "I didn't get that one. It must have gone astray.
+As a matter of fact," he added, "I only got back this morning."
+
+"Oh, well then, I am fortunate in my visit," said Mortimer. "Did
+everything go off all right?"
+
+"Oh, yes," Desmond hastened to say, not knowing what he was
+talking about, "everything went off all right."
+
+"I don't in the least grudge you the holiday," the other
+observed, "one should always be careful to pay the last respects
+to the dead. It makes a good impression. That is so important in
+some countries!"
+
+He beamed at Desmond through his spectacles.
+
+"Was there anything left in your absence?" he asked, "no, there
+would be nothing; I suppose!"
+
+Desmond took a firm resolution. He must know what the man was
+driving at.
+
+"I don't know what you mean," he said bluntly.
+
+"God bless my soul!" ejaculated Mortimer turning round to stare
+at him through his grotesque glasses. And then he said very
+deliberately in German:
+
+"War niemand da?"
+
+Desmond stood up promptly.
+
+"What do you want with me?" he asked quietly, "and why do you
+speak German in my house?" Mortimer gazed at him blankly.
+
+"Excellence, most excellent," he gasped. "I love prudence. My
+friend, where are your eyes?"
+
+He put a large, firm hand up and touched the upper edge of the
+left lapel of his jacket. Desmond followed his gesture with his
+eyes and saw the other's first finger resting on the shiny glass
+head of a black pin. Almost instinctively Desmond imitated the
+gesture. His fingers came into contact with a glassheaded pin
+similarly embedded in the upper edge of the lapel of his own
+coat.
+
+Then he understood. This must be the distinguishing badge of this
+confraternity of spies. It was a clever idea, for the black pin
+was practically invisible, unless one looked for it, and even if
+seen, would give rise to no suspicions. It had obviously escaped
+the notice of the Chief and his merry men, and Desmond made a
+mental resolve to rub this omission well into his superior on the
+first opportunity. He felt he owed the Chief one.
+
+Mr. Mortimer cleared his throat, as though to indicate the
+conclusion of the episode. Desmond sat down on the settee.
+
+"Nothing came while I was away!" he said.
+
+"Now that you are back," Mortimer remarked, polishing his glasses
+with a bandanna handkerchief, "the service will be resumed. I
+have come to see you, Mr. Bellward," he went on, turning to
+Desmond, "contrary to my usual practice, mainly because I wished
+to confirm by personal observation the very favorable opinion I
+had formed of your ability from our correspondence. You have
+already demonstrated your discretion to me. If you continue to
+show that your prudence is on a level with your zeal, believe I
+shall not prove myself ungrateful."
+
+So saying he settled his glasses on his nose again.
+
+The action woke Desmond from a brown study. During the operation
+of wiping his spectacles, Mr. Mortimer had given Desmond a
+glimpse of his eyes in their natural state without the protection
+of those distorting glasses. To his intense surprise Desmond had
+seen, instead of the weak, blinking eyes of extreme myopia, a
+pair of keen piercing eyes with the clear whites of perfect
+health. Those blue eyes, set rather close together, seemed dimly
+familiar. Someone, somewhere, had once looked at him like that.
+
+"You are too kind," murmured Desmond, grappling for the thread of
+the conversation.
+
+Mortimer did not apparently notice his absentmindedness.
+
+"Everything has run smoothly," he resumed, "on the lines on which
+we have been working hitherto, but more important work lies
+before us. I have found it necessary to select a quiet rendezvous
+where I might have an opportunity of conferring in person with my
+associates. The first of these conferences will take place very
+shortly. I count upon your attendance, Bellward!"
+
+"I shall not fail you," replied Desmond. "But where is this
+rendezvous of yours, might I ask?"
+
+Mortimer shot a quick glance at him.
+
+"You shall know in good time," he answered drily. Then he added:
+
+"Do you mind if I have a few words with Nur-el-Din before I go!"
+
+The unexpected question caught Desmond off his guard.
+
+"Nur-el-Din?" he stammered feebly.
+
+"She is staying with you, I believe," said Mortimer pleasantly.
+
+Desmond shook his head.
+
+"There must be some mistake," he averred stoutly, "of course I
+know who you mean, but I have never met the lady. She is not
+here. What led you to suppose she was?"
+
+But even as he spoke, his eyes fell on a black object which lay
+near his arm stretched out along the back of the settee. It was a
+little velvet hat, skewered to the upholstery of the settee by a
+couple of jewelled hat-pins. A couple of gaudy cushions lay
+between it and Mortimer's range of vision from the chair in which
+the latter was sitting. If only Mortimer had not spotted it
+already!
+
+Desmond's presence of mind did not desert him. On the pretext of
+settling himself more comfortably he edged up another cushion
+until it rested upon the other two, thus effectively screening
+the hat from Mortimer's view even when he should get up.
+
+"I wish she were here," Desmond added, smiling, "one could not
+have a more delightful companion to share one's solitude, I
+imagine."
+
+"The lady has disappeared from London under rather suspicious
+circumstances;" Mortimer said, letting his grotesque eyes rest
+for a moment on Desmond's face, "to be quite frank with you, my
+dear fellow, she has been indiscreet, and the police are after
+her."
+
+"You don't say!" cried Desmond.
+
+"Indeed, it is a fact," replied the other, "I wish she would take
+you as her model, my dear Bellward. You are the pattern of
+prudence, are you not?"
+
+He paused perceptibly and Desmond held his breath.
+
+"She has very few reputable friends," Mortimer continued
+presently, "under a cloud as she is, she could hardly frequent
+the company of her old associates, Mowbury and Lazarro and Mrs.
+Malplaquet, you doubtless know whom I mean. I know she has a very
+strong recommendation to you, so I naturally thought--well, no
+matter!"
+
+He rose and extended his hand.
+
+"Au revoir, Bellward," he said, "you shall hear from me very
+soon. You've got a snug little place here, I must say, and
+everything in charming taste. I like your pretty cushions."
+
+The blood flew to Desmond's face and he bent down, on pretense of
+examining the cushions, to hide his confusion.
+
+"They aren't bad," he said, "I got them at Harrod's!"
+
+He accompanied Mortimer to the front door and watched him
+disappear down the short drive and turn out of the gate into the
+road. Then feeling strangely ill at ease, he went back to join
+Nur-el-Din in the dining-room. But only the housekeeper was
+there, clearing the table.
+
+"If you're looking for the young lady, sir," said old Martha,
+"she's gone out!"
+
+"Oh!" said Desmond, with a shade of disappointment in his voice,
+"will she be back for tea?"
+
+"She's not coming back at all," answered the old woman, "she told
+me to tell you she could not stop, sir. And she wouldn't let me
+disturb you, neither, sir."
+
+"But did she leave no note or anything for me?" asked Desmond.
+
+"No, sir," answered old Martha as she folded up the cloth.
+
+Gone! Desmond stared gloomily out at the sopping garden with an
+uneasy feeling that he had failed in his duty.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIII. WHAT SHAKESPEARE'S COMEDIES REVEALED
+
+In a very depressed frame of mind, Desmond turned into the
+library. As he crossed the hall, he noticed how cheerless the
+house was. Again there came to him that odor of mustiness--of all
+smells the most eerie and drear--which he had noticed on his
+arrival. Somehow, as long as Nur-el-Din had been there, he had
+not remarked the appalling loneliness of the place.
+
+A big log fire was blazing cheerfully in the grate, throwing out
+a bright glow into the room which, despite the early hour, was
+already wreathed in shadows. Wearily Desmond pulled a big
+armchair up to the blaze and sat down. He told himself that he
+must devote every minute of his spare time to going over in his
+mind the particulars he had memorized of Mr. Bellward's habits
+and acquaintanceships. He took the list of Bellward's friends
+from his pocket-book.
+
+But this afternoon he found it difficult to concentrate his
+attention. His gaze kept wandering back to the fire, in whose
+glowing depths he fancied he could see a perfect oval face with
+pleading eyes and dazzling teeth looking appealingly at him.
+
+Nur-el-Din! What an entrancing creature she was! What passion
+lurked in those black eyes of hers, in her moods, swiftly
+changing from gusts of fierce imperiousness to gentle airs of
+feminine charm! What a frail little thing she was to have fought
+her way alone up the ladder from the lowest rung to the very top!
+She must have character and grit, Desmond decided, for he was a
+young man who adored efficiency: to him efficiency spelled
+success.
+
+But a spy needs grit, he reflected, and Nur-el-Din had many
+qualities which would enable her to win the confidence of men.
+Hadn't she half-captivated him, the would-be spy-catcher,
+already?
+
+Desmond laughed ruefully to himself. Indeed, he mused, things
+looked that way. What would the Chief say if he could see his
+prize young man, his white-headed boy, sitting sentimentalizing
+by the fire over a woman who was, by her own confession,
+practically an accredited German agent? Desmond thrust his chin
+out and shook himself together. He would put the feminine side of
+Nur-el-Din out of his head. He must think of her henceforth only
+as a member of the band that was spotting targets for those
+sneaking, callous brutes of U-boat commanders.
+
+He went back to the study of the list of Mr. Bellward's friends.
+But he found it impossible to focus his mind upon it. Do what he
+would, he could not rid himself of the sensation that he had
+failed at the very outset of his mission. He was, indeed, he told
+himself, the veriest tyro at the game. Here he had had under his
+hand in turn Nur-el-Din and Mortimer (who, he made no doubt, was
+the leader of the gang which was so sorely troubling the Chief),
+and he had let both get away without eliciting from either even
+as much as their address. By the use of a little tact, he had
+counted on penetrating something of the mystery enveloping the
+dancer and her relationship with the gang; for he thought he
+divined that Nur-el-Din was inclined to make him her confidant.
+With the information thus procured, he had hoped to get on to the
+track of the leader of the band.
+
+But that ugly brute; Mortimer, with his goggle eyes, had spoiled
+everything. His appearance had taken Desmond completely by
+surprise: to tell the truth, it had thrown our young man rather
+off his guard. "If only I might have had a little longer
+acquaintance with my part," he reflected bitterly as $e sat by
+the fire, "I should have been better able to deal with that
+pompous ass!"
+
+Afterwards, when thinking over the opening events of this
+extraordinary episode of his career, Desmond rather wondered why
+he had not followed Mortimer out of the house that afternoon and
+tracked him down to his hiding place. But, as a matter of fact,
+the idea did not occur to him at the time. His orders were
+positive not to leave the house, and he never even thought of
+breaking them--at any rate, not then.
+
+His orders, also, it is true, were to report to headquarters any
+communication that might be made to him; but these instructions,
+at least as far as Nur-el-Din's and Mortimer's visits were
+concerned, he resolved to ignore.
+
+For one thing, he felt angry with the Chief who, he argued rather
+irrationally, ought to have foreseen and prevented Mortimer thus
+taking him by surprise. The Chief liked secrets--well, for a
+change, he should be kept in the dark and the laugh would be on
+Desmond's side. For a few minutes after Mortimer's departure,
+Desmond had felt strongly inclined to go to the telephone which
+stood on the desk in the library and ring up Mr. Elias, as he
+should have done, but he resisted this impulse. Now, thinking
+things over in the firelight, he was glad he had refrained. He
+would ferret out for himself the exact part that Nur-el-Din and
+Mortimer were playing in this band of spies. Nothing definite had
+come of his interviews with them as yet. It would be time enough
+to communicate with Headquarters when he had something positive
+to report.
+
+Then Desmond thrust the paper he had been studying back in his
+pocket-book and jumped up. He felt that the inaction was stifling
+him. He determined to go for a walk round the garden. That, at
+least, was in the spirit of his orders.
+
+Remembering that he was supposed to be suffering from a chill he
+donned a heavy Ulster of Bellward's which was hanging in the hall
+and wound a muffler round his neck. Then cramming a soft cap on
+his head (he noted with satisfaction that Bellward's hats fitted
+him remarkably well) he opened the front door and stepped
+outside.
+
+The rain had stopped, but the whole atmosphere reeled of
+moisture. Angry-looking, dirty-brown clouds chased each other
+across the lowering sky, and there was a constant sound of water,
+trickling and gurgling and splashing, in his ears.
+
+An untidy-looking lawn with a few unkempt and overgrown
+rhododendron bushes dotted here and there ran its length in front
+of the house and terminated in an iron railing which separated
+the grounds from a little wood. A badly water-logged drive, green
+with grass in places, ran past the lawn in a couple of short
+bends to the front gate. On the other side the drive was bordered
+by what had once been a kitchen garden but was now a howling
+wilderness of dead leaves, mud and gravel with withered bushes
+and half a dozen black, bare and dripping apple trees set about
+at intervals. At the side of the house the kitchen garden stopped
+and was joined by a flower garden--at least so Desmond judged it
+to have been by a half ruined pergola which he had noticed from
+the drawing-room windows. Through the garden ran the mill-race
+which poured out of the grounds through a field and under a
+little bridge spanning the road outside.
+
+Desmond followed the drive as far as the front gate. The
+surrounding country was as flat as a pancake, and in almost every
+field lay great glistening patches of water where the land had
+been flooded by the incessant rain. The road on which the house
+was built ran away on the left to the mist-shrouded horizon
+without another building of any kind in sight. Desmond surmised
+that Morstead Fen lay in the direction in which he was looking.
+To the right, Desmond caught a glimpse of a ghostly spire
+sticking out of some trees and guessed that this was Wentfield
+Church. In front of him the distant roar of a passing train
+showed where the Great Eastern Railway line lay.
+
+More depressed than ever by the utter desolation of the scene,
+Desmond turned to retrace his steps to the house. Noticing a path
+traversing the kitchen garden, he followed it. It led to the back
+of the house, to the door of a kind of lean-to shed. The latch
+yielded on being pressed and Desmond entered the place.
+
+He found himself in a fair-sized shed, very well and solidly
+built of pitch-pine, with a glazed window looking out on the
+garden, a table and a couple of chairs, and a large cupboard
+which occupied the whole of one side of the wall of the house
+against which the shed was built. In a corner of the shed stood a
+very good-looking Douglas motor-cycle, and on a nail on the wall
+hung a set of motor-cyclist's overalls. A few petrol cans, some
+full, some empty, stood against the wall.
+
+Desmond examined the machine. It was in excellent condition,
+beautifully clean, the tank half full of spirits. A little dry
+sand on the tires showed that it had been used fairly recently.
+
+"Old man Bellward's motor-bike that he goes to the station on,"
+Desmond noted mentally. "But what's in the big cupboard, I
+wonder? Tools, I expect!"
+
+Then he caught sight of a deep drawer in the table. It was
+half-open and he saw that it contained various tools and spare
+parts, neatly arranged, each one in its appointed place.
+
+He went over to the cupboard and tried it. It was locked. Desmond
+had little respect for Mr. Bellward's property so he went over to
+the tool drawer and selected a stout chisel with which to burst
+the lock of the cupboard. But the cupboard was of oak, very
+solidly built, and he tried in vain to get a purchase for his
+implement. He leant his left hand against the edge of the
+cupboard whilst with his right he jabbed valiantly with the
+chisel.
+
+Then an extraordinary thing happened. The whole cupboard
+noiselessly swung outwards while Desmond, falling forward, caught
+his forehead a resounding bang against the edge of the recess in
+which it moved. He picked himself up in a very savage frame of
+mind--a severe blow on the head is not the ideal cure for
+hypochondria--but the flow of objurgatives froze on his lips. For
+he found himself looking into Mr. Bellward's library.
+
+He stepped into the room to see how the cupboard looked from the
+other side. He found that a whole section of bookshelves had
+swung back with the cupboard, in other words that the cupboard in
+the toolshed and the section of bookshelves were apparently all
+of one piece.
+
+He carefully examined the walls on either side of the recess in
+the library to see how the mechanism worked. The bookshelves were
+open, made of mahogany, the sides elaborately carved with leaves
+and flowers. Desmond ran his hand down the perpendicular section
+immediately on the right of the recess. About halfway down--to be
+exact, it was in line with the fifth shelf from the floor--his
+fingers encountered a little knob which gave under pressure--the
+heart of a flower which released the section of bookshelves.
+Going back to the shed, Desmond examined the place against which
+his hand had rested as he sought to force the lock of the
+cupboard. As he expected, he found a similar catch let into the
+surface of the oak, but so cunningly inlaid that it could scarce
+be detected with the naked eye.
+
+Before proceeding further with his investigations, Desmond softly
+turned the lock of the library door. He also shot forward a bolt
+he found on the inside of the door of the shed. He did not want
+to be interrupted by the housekeeper or the odd man.
+
+Then he went back to the library and pulled the cupboard to
+behind him. It moved quite easily into place. He wanted to have a
+look at the bookshelves; for he was curious to know whether the
+cupboard was actually all of one piece with the section of
+bookshelves as it seemed to be. He was prepared to find that the
+books were merely library dummies, but no! He tried half a dozen
+shelves at random, and every book he pulled out was real.
+
+Desmond was not easily baled, and he determined to scrutinize
+every shelf, of this particular section in turn. With the aid of
+one of those step-ladders folding into a chair which you
+sometimes see in libraries, he examined the topmost shelves but
+without result. He took down in turn Macaulay's History of
+England, a handsome edition of the works of Swift, and a set of
+Moliere without getting any nearer the end of his quest.
+
+The fourth shelf from the top was devoted to a library edition of
+Shakespeare, large books bound in red morocco. Desmond, who, by
+this time was getting cramp in the arms from stretching upwards
+and had made his hands black with dust, pulled out a couple of
+volumes at hazard from the set and found them real books like the
+rest.
+
+"Oh, damn!" he exclaimed, and had half a mind to abandon the
+search and have a go with hammer and chisel at the cupboard in
+the shed. By this time it was almost dusk in the library, and
+Desmond, before abandoning the search, struck a match to have a
+final rapid glance over the shelves. The light showed him a
+curious flatness about the backs of the last six volumes of
+Shakespeare. He dropped the match and laid hold of a volume of
+the Comedies. It resisted. He tugged. Still it would not come.
+Exerting all his strength, he pulled, the gilt-lettered backs of
+the last six volumes came away in his hands in one piece and he
+crashed off the ladder to the ground.
+
+This time he did not swear. He picked himself up quickly, lit the
+lamp on the table by the window, and brought it over to the
+bookcase. Where Shakespeare's Comedies had stood was now a gaping
+void with a small key stuck in a lock, above a brass handle.
+Desmond mounted on the steps again and eagerly turned the key.
+Then he grasped the handle and puled, the section of bookshelves
+swung back like a door, and he found himself face to face with a
+great stack of petrol cans. They lay in orderly piles stretching
+from the floor to the top of the bookshelves near the railing,
+several tiers deep. At a rough computation there must have been
+several hundred cans in the recess. And they were all full.
+
+In a flash Desmond realized what his discovery signified. The
+motor-cycle in the shed without was the connecting link between
+Bellward and the man with whom he was co-operating in the
+organization. Under pretext of reading late in his library
+Bellward would send old Martha to bed, and once the house was
+quiet, sally forth by his secret exit and meet his confederate.
+Even when he was supposed to be sleeping in London he could still
+use the Mill House for a rendezvous, entering and leaving by the
+secret door, and no one a bit the wiser. In that desolate part of
+Essex, the roads are practically deserted after dark. Bellward
+could come and go much as he pleased on his motor-cycle. Were he
+stopped, he always had the excuse ready that he was going to--or
+returning from the station. The few petrol cans that Desmond had
+seen openly displayed in the shed without seemed to show that
+Bellward received a small quantity of spirit from the Petrol
+Board to take him to and from the railway.
+
+The cache, so elaborately concealed, however, pointed to long
+journeys. Did Bellward undertake these trips to fetch news or to
+transmit it? And who was his confederate? Whom did he go to meet?
+Not Mortimer; for he had only, corresponded with Bellward. Nor
+was it Nur-el-Din; for she had never met Bellward, either.
+
+Who was it, then?
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIV. BARBARA TAKES A HAND
+
+"No luck, Mr. Marigold," said the Assistant Provost Marshal, "I'm
+sorry, but there it is! We've made every possible inquiry about
+this Private... er..." he glanced at the buff-colored leave pass
+in his hand, "... this Gunner Barling, but we can't trace him so
+far. He should have gone back to France the afternoon before the
+day on which you found his pass. But he hasn't rejoined his unit.
+He's been posted as an absentee, and the police have been warned.
+I'm afraid we can't do any more than that!"
+
+The detective looked at the officer with mild reproach in his
+eyes.
+
+"Dear, dear," he replied, "and I made sure you'd be able to trace
+him with that pass!"
+
+He clicked his tongue against his teeth and shook his head.
+
+"Dear, dear!" he said again.
+
+"What's the feller been up to?" asked the A.P.M. Detectives have
+a horror of leading questions, and Mr. Marigold shrank visibly
+before the directness of the other's inquiry. Before replying,
+however, he measured the officer with his calm, shrewd eye. Mr.
+Marigold was not above breaking his own rules of etiquette if
+thereby he might gain a useful ally.
+
+"Well, Captain Beardiston," he answered slowly,
+"I'll tell you because I think that you may be able to help me a
+little bit. It's part of your work to look after deserters and
+absentees and those sort o' folk, isn't it?"
+
+The A.P.M. groaned.
+
+"Part of my work?" he repeated, "it seems to be my whole life
+ever since I came back from the front."
+
+"If you want to know what this young fellow has been up to," said
+Mr. Marigold in his even voice, "it's murder, if I'm not
+mistaken!"
+
+"Murder?" echoed the other in surprise. "Why, not the Seven Kings
+murder, surely?"
+
+The detective gave a brisk nod.
+
+"That's it," he replied, "I'm in charge of that case, if you
+follow me. I found that pass in the front garden of the
+Mackwayte's house in Laleham Villas, half trodden into the earth
+of the flower-bed by a heavy boot, a service boot, studded with
+nails. There had been a lot of rain in the night, and it had
+washed the mosaic-tiled pathway up to the front door almost
+clean. When I was having a look round the garden, I picked up
+this pass, and then I spotted the trace of service boots, a bit
+faint, on the beds. You know the way the nails are set in the
+issue boots?"
+
+The officer nodded:
+
+"I ought to know that foot-print," he said. "It's all over the
+roads in northern France."
+
+"We made inquiries through you," the detective resumed, "and when
+I found that this Gunner Barling, the owner of the pass, was
+missing, well, you will admit, it looked a bit suspicious."
+
+"Still, you know," the A.P.M. objected, "this man appears to have
+the most excellent character. He's got a clean sheet; he's never
+gone absent before. And he's been out with his battery almost
+since the beginning of the war."
+
+"I'm not making any charge against him as yet," answered the
+detective, picking up his hat, "but it would interest me very
+much, very much indeed, Captain Beardiston, to have five minutes'
+chat with this gunner. And so I ask you to keep a sharp lookout
+for a man answering to his description, and if you come across
+him, freeze on to him hard, and give me a ring on the telephone."
+
+"Right you are," said the officer, "I'll hold him for you, Mr.
+Marigold. But I hope your suspicions are not well-founded."
+
+For a brief moment the detective became a human being.
+
+"And so do I, if you want to know," he said. "One can forgive
+those lads who are fighting out there almost anything. I've got a
+boy in France myself!"
+
+A little sigh escaped him, and then Mr. Marigold remembered "The
+Yard."
+
+"I'll bid you good-day!" he added in his most official voice and
+took his leave.
+
+He walked down the steps by the Duke of York's column and through
+the Horse Guards into Whitehall, seemingly busy with his own
+thoughts. A sprucely dressed gentleman who was engaged in the
+exciting and lucrative sport of war profiteering turned color and
+hastily swerved out towards the Park as he saw the detective
+crossing the Horse Guards' Parade. He was unpleasantly reminded
+of making the acquaintance of Mr. Marigold over a bucketshop a
+few years ago with the result that he had vanished from the eye
+of his friends for eighteen months. He congratulated himself on
+thinking that Mr. Marigold had not seen him, but he would have
+recognized his mistake could he but have caught sight of the
+detective's face. A little smile flitted across Mr. Marigold's
+lips and he murmured to himself:
+
+"Our old friend is looking very prosperous just now. I wonder
+what he's up to?"
+
+Mr. Marigold didn't miss much.
+
+The detective made his way to the Chief's office. Barbara
+Mackwayte, in a simple black frock with white linen collar and
+cuffs, was at her old place in the ante-room. A week had elapsed
+since the murder, and the day before, Mr. Marigold knew, the
+mortal remains of poor old Mackwayte had been laid to rest. He
+was rather surprised to see the girl back at work so soon.
+
+She did not speak to him as she showed him into the Chief, but
+there was a question lurking in her gray eyes.
+
+Mr. Marigold looked at her and gravely shook his head.
+
+"Nothing fresh," he said.
+
+The Chief was unusually exuberant. Mr. Marigold found him
+surrounded, as was his wont, by papers, and a fearsome collection
+of telephone receivers. He listened in silence to Mr. Marigold's
+account of his failure to trace Barling.
+
+"Marigold," he said, when the other had finished, "we must
+undoubtedly lay hold of this fellow. Let's see now... ah! I have
+it!"
+
+He scribbled a few lines on a writing-pad and tossed it across to
+the detective.
+
+"If your friend's innocent," he chuckled, "that'll fetch him to a
+dead certainty. If he murdered Mackwayte, of course he won't
+respond. Read it out and let's hear how it sounds!"
+
+The Chief leaned back in his chair and lit a cigarette while the
+detective read out:
+
+"If Gunner Barling, etcetera, etcetera, will communicate with
+Messrs. Blank and Blank, solicitors, he will hear of something to
+his advantage. Difficulties with the military can be arranged."
+
+"But I say, sir," objected Mr. Marigold, "the military
+authorities will hardly stand for that last, will they?"
+
+"Won't they, by Jove" retorted the Chief grimly. "They will if I
+tell 'em to. No official soullessness for me; thank you! And now,
+Marigold, just ask Matthews to fill in Barling's regimental
+number and all that and the name and address of the solicitors
+who do this kind of thing for us. And tell him we'll insert the
+ad. daily until further notice in the Mail, Chronicle, Daily
+News, Sketch, Mirror, Evening News..."
+
+"And Star," put in Mr. Marigold who had Radical tendencies.
+
+"The Star, too, by all means. That ought to cover the extent of
+your pal's newspaper reading, I fancy, eh, Marigold! Right!"
+
+He held out a hand in farewell. But Mr. Marigold stood his
+ground. He was rather a slow mover, and there were a lot of
+things he wanted to discuss with the Chief.
+
+"I was very sorry to see poor Major Okewood in the casualty list
+this morning, sir," he said. "I was going to ask you..."
+
+"All terrible, terrible!" said the Chief. Then he added:
+
+"Just tell Miss Mackwayte I want her as you go out, will you?"
+
+The detective was used to surprises but the Chief still bowled
+him out occasionally. Before he knew what he was doing, Mr.
+Marigold found himself in the ante-room doing as he was bid.
+
+As soon as her father's funeral was over; Barbara had insisted on
+returning to work. The whole ghastly business of the murder and
+the inquest that followed seemed to her like a bad dream which
+haunted her day and night. By tacit consent no one in the office
+had made any further allusion, to the tragedy. She had just
+slipped back into her little niche, prompt, punctual, efficient
+as ever.
+
+"No, it's not for the letters," the Chief said to her as she came
+in with her notebook and pencil. "I'm going to give you a little
+trip down to the country this afternoon, Miss Mackwayte... to,
+Essex... the Mill House, Wentfield... you know whom it is you are
+to see, eh? I'm getting a little restless as we've had no reports
+since he arrived there. I had hoped, by this, to have been able
+to put him on the track of Nur-el-Din, but, for the moment, it
+looks as if we had lost the scent. But you can tell our friend
+all we know about the lady's antecedents--what we had from my
+French colleague the other day, you know? Let him have all the
+particulars about this Barling case--you know about that, don't
+you? Good, and, see here, try and find out from our mutual friend
+what he intends doing. I don't want to rush him... don't let him
+think that... but I should rather like to discover whether he has
+formed any plan. And now you get along. There's a good train
+about three which gets you down to Wentfield in just under the
+hour. Take care of yourself! See you in the morning!"
+
+Pressing a bell with one hand and lifting up a telephone receiver
+with the other, the Chief immersed himself again in his work. He
+appeared to have forgotten Miss Mackwayte's very existence.
+
+At a quarter to five that evening, Barbara unlatched the front
+gate of the Mill House and walked up the drive. She had come on
+foot from the station and the exercise had done her good. It had
+been a deliciously soft balmy afternoon, but with the fall of
+dusk a heavy mist had come creeping up from the sodden, low-lying
+fields and was spreading out over the neglected garden of Mr.
+Bellward's villa as Barbara entered the avenue.
+
+The damp gloom of the place, however, depressed her not at all.
+She exulted in the change of scene and the fresh air; besides,
+she knew that the presence of Desmond Okewood would dispel the
+vague fears that had hung over her incessantly ever since her
+father's murder. She had only met him twice, she told herself
+when this thought occurred to her, but there was something
+bracing and dependable about him that was just the tonic she
+wanted.
+
+A porter at the station, who was very intelligent as country
+porters go, had told her the way to the Mill House. The way was
+not easy to find for there were various turns to make but, with
+the aid of such landmarks as an occasional inn, a pond or a barn,
+given her by the friendly porter, Barbara reached her
+destination. Under the porch she pulled the handle of the bell,
+all dank and glistening with moisture, and heard it tinkle loudly
+somewhere within the house.
+
+How lonely the place was, thought Barbara with a little shiver!
+The fog was growing thicker every minute and now seemed suspended
+like a vast curtain between her and the drive. Somewhere in the
+distance she heard the hollow gurgling of a stream. Otherwise,
+there was no sound.
+
+She rang the bell again rather nervously and waited. In her bag
+she had a little torch-light (for she was a practical young
+person), and taking it out, she flashed it on the door. It
+presented a stolid, impenetrable oaken front. She stepped out
+into the fog and scanned the windows which were already almost
+lost to view. They were dark and forbidding.
+
+Again she tugged at the bell. Again, with a groaning of wires,
+responded the hollow tinkle. Then silence fell once more. Barbara
+began to get alarmed. What had happened to Major Okewood? She had
+understood that there was no question of his leaving the house
+until the Chief gave him the word. Where, then, was he? He was
+not the man to disobey an order. Rather than believe that, she
+would think that something untoward had befallen him. Had there
+been foul play here, too?
+
+A sudden panic seized her. She grasped the bell and tugged and
+tugged until she could tug no more. The bell jangled and pealed
+and clattered reverberatingly from the gloomy house, and then,
+with a jarring of wires, relapsed into silence. Barbara beat on
+the door with her hands, for there was no knocker; but all
+remained still within. Only the dank mist swirled in ever denser
+about her as she stood beneath the dripping porch.
+
+"This won't do!" said Barbara, pulling herself together. "I
+mustn't get frightened, whatever I do! Major Okewood is very well
+capable of defending himself. What's happened is that the man has
+been called away and the servants have taken advantage of his
+absence to go out! Barbara, my dear, you'll just have to foot it
+back to the station without your tea!"
+
+She turned her back on the door and torch in hand, plunged
+resolutely into the fog-bank. The mist was bewilderingly thick.
+Still, by going slow and always keeping the gravel under her
+feet, she reached the front gate and turned out on the road.
+
+Here the mist was worse than ever. She had not taken four paces
+before she had lost all sense of her direction. The gate, the
+railways, were gone. She was groping in a clinging pall of fog.
+
+Her torch was worse than useless. It only illuminated swirling
+swathes of mist and confused her, so she switched it out. In vain
+she looked about her, trying to pick up some landmark to guide
+her. There was no light, no tree, no house visible, nothing but
+the dank, ghostly mist.
+
+To some temperaments, Nature has no terrors. Barbara, to whose
+imagination an empty house at dusk had suggested all kinds of
+unimaginable fears, was not in the least frightened by the fog.
+She only hoped devoutly that a motor-car or a trap would not come
+along behind and run her down for she was obliged to keep to the
+road; the hard surface beneath her feet was her only guide.
+
+She smiled over her predicament as she made her way along. She
+frequently found herself going off the road, more than once into
+patches of water, with the result that in a few minutes her feet
+were sopping. Still she forged ahead, with many vain halts to
+reconnoitre while the fog, instead of lifting, seemed to thicken
+with every step she took.
+
+By this time she knew she was completely lost. Coming from the
+station there had been, she remembered, a cross-roads with a
+sign-board set up on a grass patch, about a quarter of a mile
+from the Mill House. She expected every minute to come upon this
+fork; again and again she swerved out to the left from her line
+of march groping for the sign-post with her hands but she never
+encountered it.
+
+Few sounds came to break in upon the oppressive silence of the
+mist. Once or twice Barbara heard a train roaring along in the
+distance and, at one of her halts, her ear caught the high rising
+note of a motor engine a long way off. Except for these
+occasional reminders of the proximity of human beings, she felt
+she must be on a desert island instead of less than two score
+miles from London.
+
+Her wrist watch showed her that she had walked for an hour when
+she heard a dog barking somewhere on the left of the road.
+Presently, she saw a blurred patch of radiance apparently on the
+ground in front of her. So deceptive are lights seen through a
+fog that she was quite taken aback suddenly to come upon a long
+low house with a great beam of light streaming out of the door.
+
+The house was approached by a little bridge across a broad ditch.
+By the bridge stood a tall, massive post upon which a sign
+squeaked softly as it swayed to and fro. The inn was built round
+three sides of a square, the left-hand side being the house
+itself, the centre, the kitchen, and the right-hand side a
+tumble-down stable and some sheds.
+
+The welcome blaze of light coming from the open door was very
+welcome to Barbara after her, long journey through the mist. She
+dragged her wet and weary feet across the little bridge and went
+up to the inn-door.
+
+She stood for a moment at the entrance dazzled by the effect of
+the light on her eyes, which were smarting with the fog. She
+found herself looking into a long, narrow, taproom, smelling of
+stale beer and tobacco fumes, and lit by oil lamps suspended in
+wire frames from the raftered ceiling. The windows were curtained
+in cheerful red rep and the place was pleasantly warmed by a
+stove in one corner. By the stove was a small door apparently
+leading into the bar, for beside it was a window through which
+Barbara caught a glimpse of beer-engines and rows of bottles.
+Opposite the doorway in which she stood was another door leading
+probably to the back of the house. Down the centre of the room
+ran a long table.
+
+The tap-room was empty when Barbara entered but as she sat down
+at the table, the door opposite opened, and a short,
+foreign-looking woman came out. She stepped dead on seeing the
+girl: Her face seemed familiar to Barbara.
+
+"Good evening" said the latter, "I've lost my way in the fog and
+I'm very wet. Do you think I could have my shoes and stockings
+dried and get some tea? I..."
+
+"A moment! I go to tell Meester Rass," said the woman with a very
+marked foreign accent and in a frightened kind of voice and
+slipped out by the way she came.
+
+"Where have I met that woman before?" Barbara asked herself, as
+she crossed to tile stove to get warm. The woman's face seemed to
+be connected in her mind with something unpleasant, something she
+wanted to forget. Then a light dawned on her. Why, it was...
+
+A shrill cry broke in upon her meditations, a harsh scream of
+rage. Barbara turned quickly and saw Nur-el-Din standing in the
+centre of the room. She was transfigured with passion. Her whole
+body quivered, her nostrils were dilated, her eyes flashed fire,
+and she pointed an accusing finger at Barbara.
+
+"Ah! miserable!" she cried in a voice strangled with rage, "ah!
+miserable! Te voile enrol."
+
+A cold chill struck at Barbara's heart. Wherever she went, the
+hideous spectre of the tragedy of her father seemed to follow
+her. And now Nur-el-Din had come to upbraid her with losing the
+treasure she had entrusted to her.
+
+"Nur-el-Din," the girl faltered in a voice broken with tears.
+
+"Where is it I Where is the silver box I gave into your charge?
+Answer me. Mais reponds, donc, canaille!"
+
+The dancer stamped furiously with her foot and advanced
+menacingly on Barbara.
+
+An undersized; yellow-faced man came quickly out of the small
+door leading from the bar and stood an instant, a helpless
+witness of the scene, as men are when women quarrel.
+
+Nur-el-Din rapped out an order to him in a tongue which was
+unknown to Barbara. It sounded something like Russian. The man
+turned and locked the door of the bar, then stepped swiftly
+across the room and bolted the outer door.
+
+Barbara recognized the threat that the action implied and it
+served to steady her nerves. She shrank back no longer but drew
+herself up and waited calmly for the dancer to reach her.
+
+"The box you gave me," said Barbara very quietly, "was stolen
+from me by the person who... who murdered my father!"
+
+Nur-el-Din burst into a peal of malicious laughter.
+
+"And you?" she cried, "you are 'ere to sell it back to me, hein,
+or to get your blood money from your accomplice? Which is it?"
+
+On this Barbara's self-control abandoned her.
+
+"Oh, how dare you! How dare you!" she exclaimed, bursting into
+tears, "when that wretched box you made me take was the means of
+my losing the dearest friend I ever had!"
+
+Nur-el-Din thrust her face, distorted with passion, into
+Barbara's. She spoke in rapid French, in a low, menacing voice.
+
+"Do you think this play-acting will deceive me? Do you think I
+don't know the value of the treasure I was fool enough to entrust
+to your safe keeping? Grand Dieu! I must have been mad not to
+have remembered that no woman could resist the price that they
+were willing to pay for it! And to think what I have risked for
+it! Is all my sacrifice to have been in vain?"
+
+Her voice rose to a note of pleading and the tears started from
+her eyes. Her mood changed. She began to wheedle.
+
+"Come, ma petite, you will help me recover my little box,
+n'est-ce pas? You will find me generous. And I am rich, I have
+great savings. I can..."
+
+Barbara put up her hands and pushed the dancer away from her.
+
+"After what you have said to me to-night," she said, "I wouldn't
+give you back your box even if I had it."
+
+She turned to the man.
+
+"Will you tell me the way to the nearest station" she went on,
+"and kindly open that door!"
+
+The man looked interrogatively at Nur-el-Din who spoke a few
+words rapidly in the language she had used before. Then she cried
+to Barbara:
+
+"You stay here until you tell me what you have done with the
+box!"
+
+Barbara had turned to the dancer when the latter spoke so that
+she did not notice that the man had moved stealthily towards her.
+Before she could struggle or cry out, a hand as big as a spade
+was clapped over her mouth, she was seized in an iron grip and
+half-dragged, half-carried out of the taproom through the small
+door opposite the front entrance.
+
+The door slammed behind them and Barbara found herself in
+darkness. She was pushed round a corner and down a flight of
+stairs into some kind of cellar which smelt of damp straw. Here
+the grip on her mouth was released for a second but before she
+could utter more than a muffled cry the man thrust a handkerchief
+into her mouth and effectually gagged her. Then he tied her hands
+and feet together with some narrow ropes that cut her wrists
+horribly. He seemed to be able to see in the dark for, though the
+place was black as pitch, he worked swiftly and skillfully.
+Barbara felt herself lifted and deposited on a bundle of straw.
+In a little she heard the man's heavy foot-step on the stair,
+there was a crash as of a trap-door falling to, the noise of a
+bolt. Then Barbara fainted.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XV. MR. BELLWARD IS CALLED TO THE TELEPHONE
+
+A knocking at the door of the library aroused Desmond from his
+cogitations. He hastened to replace the volumes of Shakespeare on
+their shelf and restore all to its former appearance. Then he
+went to the door and opened it. Old Martha stood in the hall.
+
+"If you please, sir," she wheezed, "the doctor's come!"
+
+"Oh," said Desmond, rather puzzled, "what doctor?"
+
+"It's not Dr. Haines from the village, Mr. Bellward, sir," said
+the housekeeper, "It's a genel'man from Lunnon!"
+
+Then Desmond remembered Crook's promise to look him up and
+guessed it must be he. He bade Martha show the doctor in and
+bring tea for two.
+
+Desmond's surmise was right. The old woman ushered in Crook,
+looking the very pattern of medical respectability, with Harley
+Street written all over him from the crown of his glossy top-hat
+to the neat brown spats on his feet. In his hand he carried a
+small black bag.
+
+"Well," he said, surveying Desmond, "and how do we find ourselves
+to-day? These chills are nasty things to shake off, my dear sir!"
+
+"Oh, stow that!" growled Desmond, who was in little mood for
+joking.
+
+"Voice inclined to be laryngeal," said Crook putting down his hat
+and bag on a chair, "we shall have to take care of our bronchial
+tubes! We are not so young as we were!"
+
+"You can drop all that mumming, Crook!" snapped Desmond
+irascibly.
+
+"Voice rotten," replied Crook calmly surveying him through his
+pince-nez. "Really, Major--I should say, Mr. Bellward--you must
+take more pains than that. You are talking to me exactly as
+though I were a British Tommy. Tut, tut, this will never do, sir!
+You must talk thicker, more guttural-like, and open the vowels
+well."
+
+He had dropped his jesting manner altogether and spoke with the
+deep earnestness of the expert airing his pet topic. He was so
+serious that Desmond burst out laughing. It must be said,
+however, that he laughed as much like a German as he knew how.
+This appeared to mollify Crook who, nevertheless, read him a long
+lecture against ever, for a moment, even when alone, quitting the
+role he was playing. Desmond took it in good part; for he knew
+the soundness of the other's advice.
+
+Then old Martha brought' tea, and over the cups and saucers Crook
+gave Desmond a budget of news. He told of the warrant issued for
+the arrest of Nur-el-Din and of the search being made for her.
+
+Desmond heard the news of Nur-el-Din's disappearance from London
+with some consternation. He began to realize that his failure to
+detain Nur-el-Din that afternoon might have incalculable
+consequences. Sunk in thought, he let Crook run on. He was
+wondering whether he ought to give him a message for the Chief,
+telling him of Nur-el-Din's visit and of her flight on the
+arrival of Mortimer.
+
+Now, Desmond had a good deal of pride, and like most proud
+people, he was inclined to be obstinate. To confess to the Chief
+that he had let both Nur-el-Din and Mortimer slip through his
+fingers was more than he could face. He could not bear to think
+that the Chief might believe him capable of failure, and take
+independent measures to guard against possible mistakes. Also, in
+his heart of hearts, Desmond was angry with the Chief. He thought
+the latter had acted precipitately in getting out a warrant for
+Nur-el-Din's arrest before he, Desmond, had had time to get into
+the skin of his part.
+
+So Desmond heard Crook out and made no comment. When the other
+asked him if he had anything to tell the Chief, he shook his
+head. He was not to know then the consequences which his
+disobedience of orders was destined to have. If he had realized
+what the result of his obstinacy would be, he would not have
+hesitated to send a full report by Crook--and this story might
+never have been written!
+
+But if youth followed reason instead of impulse, the world would
+stand still. Desmond was still at an age at which a man is
+willing to take on anything and anybody, and he was confident of
+bringing his mission to a successful conclusion without any
+extraneous aid. So Crook, after changing Desmond's make-up and
+giving him a further rehearsal of his role, packed up his pots
+and paints and brushes in his black bag and returned to London
+with "nothing to report" as the communiques say.
+
+He repeated his visit every day for the next four days. Crook's
+arrival each afternoon was the only break in the monotony of a
+life which was rapidly becoming unbearable to Desmond's mercurial
+temperament. He found himself looking forward to the wizened
+little man's visits and for want of better employment, he threw
+himself wholeheartedly into the study of his role under the
+expert's able direction. Desmond's beard had sprouted
+wonderfully, and Crook assured him that, by about the end of the
+week, the tow substitute, which Desmond found a most unmitigated
+nuisance, would be no longer necessary. He also showed his pupil
+how to paint in the few deft lines about the eyes which completed
+the resemblance between Bellward and his impersonator.
+
+The time hung terribly heavily on Desmond's hands. He had long
+since memorized and destroyed the list of Mr. Bellward's friends.
+Every morning he spent at least an hour before the mirror in his
+bedroom working up the role. With every day he felt more
+confident of himself; with every day he grew more anxious to go
+to London, and, taking the bull by the horns, boldly visit one of
+Mr. Bellward's acquaintances and test the effect of his disguise.
+
+But no orders came from Headquarters to release him from his
+confinement. Moreover, no word arrived from Nur-el-Din nor did
+Mortimer send any message or call again at the Mill House. The
+silence of the two conspirators made Desmond uneasy. Suppose
+Mortimer, who, he felt sure, had caught him out lying about
+Nur-el-Din's presence in the house at the time of his visit, had
+grown suspicious! What if Nur-el-Din had succeeded in making good
+her escape to the Continent? He had had his chance of laying hold
+of both suspects and he had failed. Would that chance come again?
+
+Desmond doubted it. Every morning he awoke long before the dawn
+and lay awake until daylight, his mind racked by these
+apprehensions. He chafed bitterly at his inaction and he plied
+Crook with questions as to whether he had any orders for him.
+Each time Crook replied in the negative.
+
+In the library Desmond found an Ordnance map of Essex. His
+military training had given him a good schooling in the use of
+maps, and he spent many hours studying the section of the country
+about the Mill House, seeking to impress it upon his mind against
+future emergencies.
+
+He was surprised to find how remote the Mill House lay from other
+habitations. Between it and Wentfield station, once Wentfield
+village was passed, there were only a few lonely farms; but to
+the south there was an absolutely uninhabited tract of fen
+traversed by the road running past the front gate of the Mill
+House. The Mill House was duly marked on the map; with a little
+blue line showing the millrace which Desmond traced to its
+junction with one of the broad dykes intersecting Morstead Fen.
+The only inhabited house to the south of the Bellward villa
+appeared to be a lonely public house situated on the far edge of
+the fen, a couple of hundred yards away from the road. It was
+called "The Dyke Inn."
+
+One afternoon--it was the fifth day after Desmond's arrival at
+Bellward's--Mr. Crook announced that this was to be his last
+visit.
+
+"I go abroad to-night, Mr. Bellward," he said (he always insisted
+on addressing Desmond by his assumed name), "a little job o' work
+in Switzerland; at Berne, to be precise. Urgent, you might call
+it, and really, sir, you've made so much progress that I think I
+can safely leave you. And I was to say that you will be able to
+go out very soon now."
+
+"Good!" exclaimed Desmond, rubbing his hands together. "And you
+think I'll do, Crook, eh?"
+
+Crook rubbed his nose meditatively.
+
+"I'll be quite frank with you, Mr. Bellward," he said: "With a
+superficial acquaintance, even with an intimate friend, if he's
+as unobservant as most people are, you'll pass muster. But I
+shouldn't like to guarantee anything if you were to meet, say,
+Mrs. Bellward, if the gentleman has got a wife, or his mother.
+Keep out of a strong light; don't show your profile more than you
+can help, and remember that a woman is a heap more observant than
+a man.
+
+"That's my advice to you, sir. And now I'll take my leave! You
+won't want that tow beard any more after to-day."
+
+That night Desmond slept well and did not awake until the
+sunshine was streaming in between the Venetian blinds in his
+bedroom. He felt keen and vigorous, and he had an odd feeling
+that something was going to happen to him that day.
+
+It was a delicious morning, the air as balmy as spring. As he
+brushed his hair in front of the window, Desmond saw the peewits
+running about in the sunshine on the fields by the road. He made
+an excellent breakfast and then, lighting a pipe, opened the
+Times which lay folded by his plate.
+
+He turned first, as was his daily habit, to the casualty list.
+There it was! Under the names of the "Killed in Action," he read:
+"Okewood, Major D. J. P.," followed by the name of his regiment.
+It gave him an odd little shock, though he had looked for the
+announcement every day; but the feeling of surprise was quickly
+followed by one of relief. That brief line in the casualty list
+meant the severing of all the old ties until he had hunted down
+his quarry.
+
+Now he was ready to start.
+
+He spent the morning in the garden. Here, for the first time, he
+met Mr. Hill, the odd man, who, on seeing him, became intensely
+busy picking up handfuls of leaves and conveying them to a fire
+which was smouldering in a corner. Desmond essayed to enter into
+conversation with him but the man was so impenetrably deaf that
+Desmond, tiring of bawling, "It's a fine day!" in Mr. Hill's ear,
+left him and strolled over to the shed where the motor-cycle was
+stored. Here he amused himself for more than an hour in taking
+the machine to pieces and putting it together again. He satisfied
+himself that the bike was in working order and filled up the
+tank. He had an idea that this means of conveyance might come in
+useful.
+
+The day was so mild that he lunched by the open window with the
+sunshine casting rainbows can the tablecloth through the
+wine-glasses. He was just finishing his coffee when the
+housekeeper came in and told him he was wanted on the telephone.
+
+Desmond sprang from his chair with alacrity. His marching orders
+at last! he thought, as he hurried across the hall to the
+library.
+
+"Hullo!" he cried as he picked up the receiver.
+
+"Is that Mr. Bellward?" answered a nasal voice.
+
+"Bellward speaking!" said Desmond, wondering who had called him
+up. The voice was a man's but it was not the abrupt clear tones
+of the Chief nor yet Mr. Matthews' careful accents.
+
+"Madame Le Bon wishes to see you!"
+
+Madame Le Bon? thought Desmond. Why, that was the name that
+Nur-el-Din had given him. "I am Madame Le Bon, a Belgian
+refugee," she had said.
+
+"Do you know whom I mean?" the voice continued.
+
+"Certainly," replied Desmond.  "You will come alone. Otherwise,
+Madame will not see you. You understand? If you do not come
+alone, you will waste your time!"
+
+"Where are you speaking from?" Desmond asked.
+
+"If you will turn to the left on leaving your front gate," the
+voice resumed, "and follow the road, a messenger will meet you
+and take you to the lady."
+
+"But..." Desmond began.
+
+"Will you come at once? And alone?" the nasal voice broke in
+sharply.
+
+Desmond took a moment's thought. To go was to disobey orders; not
+to go was to risk losing a second chance of meeting Nur-el-Din.
+To telephone to 700 Stanning for assistance would bring a
+hornets' nest about his ears; yet he might only see the dancer if
+he went alone. He lost no time in making up his mind. The Chief
+must allow him latitude for meeting emergencies of this kind. He
+would go.
+
+"I will come at once," said Desmond.
+
+"Good," said the voice and the communication ceased.
+
+Somewhere aloft there sits a sweet little cherub whose especial
+job is to look after the headstrong. It was doubtless this
+emissary of providence that leant down from his celestial seat
+and whispered in Desmond's ear that it would be delightful to
+walk out across the fen on this sunny afternoon. Desmond was in
+the act of debating whether he would not take the motor-bike, but
+the cherub's winning way clinched it and he plumped for walking.
+
+In the hall he met the housekeeper who told him she wanted to go
+into Stanning to do some shopping that afternoon. Desmond told
+her that he himself was going out and would not be back for tea.
+Then, picking a stout blackthorn out of the hallstand, he strode
+down the drive and out into the road.
+
+It was still beautifully fine, but already the golden sunshine
+was waning and there were little wisps and curls of mist stealing
+low along the fields. Desmond turned to the left, on leaving the
+Mill House, as he was bid and saw the road running like a khaki
+ribbon before him into the misty distance.
+
+Swinging his stick, he strode on rapidly. The road was neglected,
+broken and flinty and very soft. After he had gone about a mile
+it narrowed to pursue its way between two broad ditches lined
+with pollard willows and brimful of brown peaty water. By this
+time he judged, from his recollection of the map, that he must be
+on Morstead Fen. An interminable waste of sodden, emerald green
+fields, intersected by ditches, stretched away on either hand.
+
+He had walked for half an hour when he made out in the distance a
+clump of trees standing apart and seemingly in the middle of the
+fields. Then in the foreground he descried a gate. A figure was
+standing by it.
+
+As he approached the gate he saw it was a small boy. On remarking
+the stranger, the urchin opened the gate and without looking to
+right or left led off down the road towards the clump of trees:
+Desmond followed at his leisure.
+
+As they neared the trees, the low red roof of a house detached
+itself. By this time the sun was sinking in a smear of red across
+a delicately tinted sky. Its dying rays held some glittering
+object high up on the side of the house.
+
+At first Desmond thought it was a window, but presently the light
+went out, kindled again and once more vanished. It was too small
+for a window, Desmond decided, and then, turning the matter over
+in his mind, as observant people are accustomed to do even with
+trifles, he suddenly realized that the light he had seen was the
+reflection of the sun on a telescope or glasses.
+
+They were now within a few hundred yards of the house. The road
+had made a right angle turn to the left, but the diminutive guide
+had quitted it and struck out along a very muddy cart track.
+Shading his eyes, Desmond gazed at the house and presently got a
+glimpse of a figure at a window surveying the road through a pair
+of field glasses. Even as he looked, the figure bobbed down and
+did not reappear.
+
+"They want to be sure I'm alone," thought Desmond, and
+congratulated himself on having had the strength of mind to break
+his orders.
+
+The cart-track led up to a little bridge over a ditch. By the
+bridge stood a tall pole, on the top of which was a blue and gold
+painted sign-board inscribed, "The Dyke Inn by J. Rass." The
+urchin led him across the bridge and up to the door of the inn.
+
+An undersized, yellow-faced man, wearing neither collar nor tie,
+came to the door as they approached. Although of short stature,
+he was immensely broad with singularly long arms. Altogether he
+had something of the figure of a gorilla, Desmond thought on
+looking at him.
+
+The man put a finger up and touched his forelock.
+
+"Madame Le Bon is upstairs waiting for you!" he said in a nasal
+voice which Desmond recognized as that he had heard on the
+telephone. "Please to follow me!"
+
+He led the way across a long low tap-room through a door and past
+the open trap-door of a cellar to a staircase. On the first
+landing, lit by a window looking out on a dreary expanse of fen,
+he halted Desmond.
+
+"That's her room," he said, pointing to a door opposite the head
+of the staircase, half a dozen steps up, and so saying, the
+yellow-faced man walked quickly downstairs and left him. Desmond
+heard his feet echo on the staircase and the door of the tap-room
+slam.
+
+He hesitated a moment. What if this were a trap? Suppose
+Mortimer, growing suspicious, had made use of Nur-el-Din to lure
+him to an ambush in this lonely place? Why the devil hadn't he
+brought a revolver with him?
+
+Then Desmond's Irish blood came to his rescue. He gave his head a
+little shake, took a firm hold of his stick which was a stoutish
+sort of cudgel and striding boldly up to the door indicated,
+tapped.
+
+"Entrez!" said a pretty voice that made Desmond's heart flutter.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVI. THE STAR OF POLAND
+
+The room in which Desmond found Nur-el-Din was obviously the
+parlor of the house. Everything in it spoke of that dreary period
+in art, the middle years of the reign of Victoria the Good. The
+wall-paper, much mildewed in places, was an ugly shade of green
+and there were dusty and faded red curtains at the windows and
+draping the fireplace. Down one side of the room ran a hideous
+mahogany sideboard, almost as big as a railway station buffet,
+with a very dirty tablecloth. The chairs were of mahogany,
+upholstered in worn black horsehair and there were two pairs of
+fly-blown steel engravings of the largest size on the wall. In
+the centre of the apartment stood a small round table, covered
+with a much stained red tablecloth and there was a door in the
+corner.
+
+The dainty beauty of Nur-el-Din made a very forlorn picture amid
+the unmatched savagery of this English interior. The dancer, who
+was wearing the same becoming gray tweed suit in which Desmond
+had last seen her, was sitting sorrowfully at the table when
+Desmond entered. At the sight of him she sprang up and ran to
+meet him with outstretched hands.
+
+"Ah!" she cried, "comme je suis heureuse de vows voir! It is good
+of you to come!"
+
+And then, without any warning, she burst into tears and putting
+her hands on the man's shoulders, hid her head against his chest
+and sobbed bitterly.
+
+Desmond took one of her hands, small and soft and warm, and
+gently disengaged her. His mind was working clearly and rapidly.
+He felt sure of himself, sure of his disguise; if this were an
+exhibition of woman's wiles, it would find him proof; on that he
+was resolved. Yet, dissolved in tears as she was, with her long
+lashes glistening and her mouth twitching pitifully, the dancer
+seemed to touch a chord deep down in his heart.
+
+"Come, come," said Desmond gutturally, with a touch of bonhomie
+in his voice in keeping with his ample girth, "you mustn't give
+way like this, my child! What's amiss? Come, sit down here and
+tell me what's the matter."
+
+He made her resume her seat by the table and pulled up one of the
+horsehair chairs for himself. Nur-el-Din wiped her eyes on a tiny
+lace handkerchief, but continued to sob and shudder at intervals.
+
+"Marie, my maid," she said in French in a broken voice, "joined
+me here to-day. She has told me of this dreadful murder!"
+
+Desmond stiffened to attention. His mind swiftly reverted to the
+last woman he had seen cry, to Barbara Mackwayte discovering the
+loss of the package entrusted to her charge by the woman who sat
+before him.
+
+"What murder?" he asked, striving to banish any trace of interest
+from his voice. He loathed the part he had to play. The dancer's
+distress struck him as genuine.
+
+"The murder of Monsieur Mackwayte," said Nur-el-Din, and her
+tears broke forth anew.
+
+"I have read of this in the newspapers," said Desmond. "I
+remember you told me he was a friend of yours."
+
+Briefly, with many sobs, the dancer told him of the silver box
+which she had entrusted to Barbara Mackwayte's charge.
+
+"And now," she sobbed, "it is lost and all my sacrifice, all my
+precautions, have been in vain!"
+
+"But how?" asked Desmond. "Why should you think this box should
+have been taken? From what I remember reading of this case in the
+English newspapers there was a burglary at the house, but the
+thief has been arrested and the property restored. You have only
+to ask this Miss--what was the name? ah! yes, Mackwayte for your
+box and she will restore it!"
+
+"No, no!" Nur-el-Din answered wearily, "you don't understand.
+This was no burglary. The man who murdered Monsieur Arthur
+murdered him to get my silver box."
+
+"But," objected Desmond, "a silver box! What value has a trifling
+object like that? My dear young lady, murder is not done for a
+silver box!"
+
+"No, no," Nur-el-Din repeated, "you don't understand! You don't
+know what that box contained!"
+
+Then she relapsed into silence, plucking idly at the shred of
+cambric she held between her fingers.
+
+Already dusk was falling and the room was full of shadows. The
+golden radiance of the afternoon had died and eerie wraiths of
+fog were peering-in at the window.
+
+Desmond held his peace. He felt he was on the threshold of a
+confession that might rend the veil of mystery surrounding the
+murder at Seven Kings. He stared fixedly at the ugly red
+tablecloth, conscious that the big eyes of the girl were
+searching his face.
+
+"You have honest eyes," she said presently. "I told you that once
+before... that night we met at your house... do you remember?
+Your eyes are English. But you are a German, hein?"
+
+"My mother was Irish," said Desmond and felt a momentary relief
+that, for once, he had been able to speak the truth.
+
+"I want a friend," the girl resumed wearily, "someone that I can
+trust. But I look around and I find no one. You serve the German
+Empire, do you not?"
+
+Desmond bowed.
+
+"But not the House of Hohenzollern?" the girl cried, her voice
+trembling with passion.
+
+"I am not of the Emperor's personal service, if that is what you
+mean, madame," Desmond returned coldly.
+
+"Then, since you are not altogether an iron Prussian," Nur-el-Din
+resumed eagerly, "you can differentiate. You can understand that
+there is a difference between working for the cause of Germany
+and for the personal business of her princes."
+
+"But certainly," answered Desmond, "I am not an errand boy nor
+yet a detective. I regard myself as a German officer doing his
+duty on the front. We have many fronts besides the Western and
+the Eastern. England is one.
+
+"Ah," exclaimed the girl, clasping her hands together and looking
+at him with enraptured eyes, "I see you understand! My friend, I
+am much tempted to make a confidant of you!"
+
+Desmond looked at her but did not speak. Again he felt that
+silence was now his only role. He tried hard to fix his mind on
+his duty; but the man in him was occupied with the woman who
+looked so appealingly at him.
+
+"... but if I do," the girl went on and her voice was hurried and
+anxious, "you must swear to me that you will respect my
+confidence, that you will not betray me to the others and that
+you will, if need be, protect me."
+
+Seeing that Desmond remained silent, she hastened to add:
+
+"Believe me, what I ask you to do is not in opposition to your
+duty. My friend, for all my surroundings, I am not what I seem.
+Pate has drawn me into the system of which you form part; but,
+believe me, I know nothing of the service to which you and
+Mortimer and the rest belong!"
+
+She spoke with painful earnestness and in a tone so mournful that
+Desmond felt himself profoundly moved. "If only she is not
+acting!" he thought, and sought to shake himself free from the
+spell which this girl seemed able to cast about him at will.
+
+"Promise me that you will respect my confidence and help me!" she
+said and held out her hand.
+
+Desmond's big hand closed about hers and he felt an odd thrill of
+sympathy with her as their hands met.
+
+"I promise!" he said and murmured to himself something very like
+a prayer that he might not be called upon to redeem his word.
+
+She let her eyes rest for a moment on his.
+
+"Be careful!" she urged warningly, while the ghost of a smile
+flitted across her face. "Very soon I may call upon you to make
+good your words!"
+
+"I promise!" he repeated--and his eyes never left hers.
+
+"Then," she cried passionately, "find out who has stolen for the
+Crown Prince the Star of Poland at the price of the life of a
+harmless old man!"
+
+"The Star of Poland!" repeated Desmond. "What is the Star of
+Poland?"
+
+The girl drew herself up proudly and there was a certain dignity
+about her manner as she answered.
+
+"I am a Pole," she said, "and to us Poles, the Star of Poland has
+stood for centuries as a pledge of the restoration of our
+long-lost kingdom. It was the principal jewel of the Polish
+Coronation sword which vanished many hundreds of years ago--in
+the thirteenth century, one of my compatriots once told me--and
+it was one of the most treasured national possessions in the
+Chateau of our great king, John Sobieski at Villanoff, outside
+Warsaw. My friend, I am not religious, and since my childhood I
+have renounced the ancient faith of my fathers, but, when I think
+of the extraordinary chain of circumstances by which this
+treasure came into my possession, I almost believe that God has
+chosen me to restore this gem to the King of an independent
+Poland.
+
+"Four years ago I was in the United States, a very humble dancer
+in vaudeville of the third or fourth class. When I was appearing
+at Columbus, Ohio, I met a German, a man who had been an officer
+in the Prussian Guard but had come to grief and had been forced
+to emigrate.
+
+"This man's name was Hans von Schornbeek. Like so many German
+officers who go to America, in his time he had been
+everything--waiter, lift-man, engine-driver and heaven knows what
+else, but when I met him he was apparently well-off. It was only
+later on that I knew he was one of your principal secret agents
+in America.
+
+"He praised my talents highly and offered to furnish the capital
+to start me as an Oriental dancer with a large company of my own.
+There was only one condition attaching to his offer, a condition,
+ma foi! which was not disagreeable to me. It was that, after six
+months tour in the States and Canada, I should go to Brussels and
+settle down there in a house that Herr von Schornbeek would
+present me with.
+
+"Mon ami, in those days, I understood nothing at all of
+diplomacy. I knew only that I was often hungry and that I had a
+little talent which, were it given a chance, might keep me from
+want. Herr von Schornbeek fulfilled his promises to me. I had my
+company, I did my tour of America and Canada with great success
+and finally I came to Europe and made my debut at Brussels.
+
+"I knew Brussels already from the old days. As a half-starved,
+unhappy child with a troupe of acrobats, I had often appeared
+there. But now I came to Brussels as a conqueror. A beautiful
+villa in the suburb of Laeken was ready to receive me and I found
+that a large credit had been opened in my name at one of the
+principal banks so that I could keep open house.
+
+"I think I scarcely realized then the role that I was destined to
+fill by the German Secret Service. In all my life before, I had
+never been happy, I had never ceased to struggle for my bare
+existence, I had never had pretty clothes to wear, and motor-cars
+and servants of my own."
+
+She paused and glanced around her. The room was almost dark; the
+fog outside hung like a veil before the window.
+
+"Light the lamp!" she begged, "I do not like the dark!"
+
+Desmond struck a match and kindled an oil lamp, which stood on
+the sideboard.
+
+"Ah! my friend," the girl resumed. "I took my fill of life with
+both hands. The year was 1913. Now I know that I was one of the
+German agents for the penetration of Belgium in preparation of
+what was coming. My mission was to make friends among the
+Belgians and the French and the cosmopolitan society of Brussels
+generally, and invite them to my house where your people were
+waiting to deal with them.
+
+"My pretty villa became the rendezvous for half the rascals of
+Europe, men and women, who used to meet there with all kinds of
+mysterious Germans. Sometimes there was a scandal. Once a Belgian
+Colonel was found shot in the billiard-room; they said it was
+suicide and the thing was hushed up, but dame! now that I know
+what I know...
+
+"Enfin! I shut my eyes to it all... it was none of my business...
+and I revelled in my robes, my dancing, my new life of luxury!
+
+"And then the war came. I was at Laeken, resting after a visit to
+Rome. There was a lot of talk about the war amongst the people
+who came to my house, but I did not see how it could affect me,
+an artiste, and I never read the newspapers. My German friends
+assured me that, in a little while, the German army would be at
+Brussels; that, if I remained quietly at home, all would be well.
+They were very elated and confident, these German friends of
+mine. And rightly; for within a few weeks the Germans entered the
+city and a General quartered himself in my villa. It was he who
+brought the Crown Prince to see me.
+
+"Mon cher, you know this young man and his reputation. I am not
+excusing myself; but all my life had been spent up to then in the
+bas-fonds of society. I had never known what it was to be courted
+and admired by one who had the world at his feet. Parbleu! one
+does not meet a future Emperor every day!
+
+"Enfin! the Prince carried me with him back to Metz, where he had
+his headquarters. He was very epris with me, but you know his
+temperament! No woman can hold him for more than a few weeks,
+vain and weak and arrogant as he is. But pardon! I was forgetting
+that you are a good German. I fear I offend your
+susceptibilities..."
+
+Desmond laughed drily.
+
+"Madame," he said, "I hope I have preserved sufficient liberty of
+judgment to have formed my own opinion about our future
+sovereign. Most Germans have..."
+
+"Alors," she broke in fiercely, her voice shaking with passion,
+"you know what an ignoble canaille is this young man, without
+even enough decency of feeling to respect the troops of whom he
+has demanded such bloody sacrifices. At Metz we were near enough
+to the fighting to realize the blood and tears of this war. But
+the Prince thought of nothing, but his own amusement. To live as
+he did, within sound of the guns, with parties every night, women
+and dancing and roulette and champagne suppers--bah! c'etait trop
+fort! It awakened in me the love of country which lies dormant in
+all of us. I wanted to help my country, lest I might sink as low
+as he..."
+
+"One day the Prince brought a young officer friend of his to dine
+with me. This officer had come from the Eastern front and had
+been present at the capture of Warsaw. After dinner he took a
+leather case out of his pocket and said to the Prince: 'I have
+brought your Imperial Highness a little souvenir from Poland!' As
+he spoke he touched a spring and the case flew open, displaying
+an enormous diamond, nearly as big as the great Orloff diamond
+which I have seen at Petrograd, surrounded by five other
+brilliants, the whole set like a star.
+
+"'The Star of Poland,' said the young officer (the Prince called
+him 'Erich;' I never heard his full name), 'it comes from the
+long-lost Coronation sword of the Polish kings. I took it for
+your Imperial Highness from the Chateau of John Sobieski at
+Villanoff.
+
+"I could not take my eyes off the gem. As the Prince held it down
+under the lamp to study it, it shone like an electric light. I
+had met many of my fellow countrymen in America and I had often
+heard of this jewel, famous in our unhappy history.
+
+"The Prince, who was gay with champagne, laughed and said:
+
+"'These lousy Poles will have no further use for this pretty
+trinket, thanks to our stout German blows, will they, Erich?'
+
+"And his friend replied:
+
+"'We'll give them a nice new German constitution instead, your
+Imperial Highness!'
+
+"The Prince, as I have said, was very merry that night. He let me
+take the jewel from its case and hold it in my hands. Then I
+fastened it in my hair before the mirror and turned to show
+myself to the Prince and his companion.
+
+"'Donnerwetter! said Willie. 'It looks wonderful in your hair,
+Marcelle!'
+
+"Then, as if struck by a sudden thought, he cried:
+
+"'Erich! What do you say, Marcelle is a Pole. She shall have the
+Star of Poland and wear it in memory of me!'
+
+"The other thought this a famous idea, and so the jewel passed
+into my hands. That same evening I resolved that it should be a
+sacred duty on my part to keep it in safety until I could hand it
+back to the lawful sovereign of an independent Poland.
+
+"I was very unhappy at Metz until the Star of Poland came to
+comfort me. When I was alone, I used to take it from its case and
+feast my eyes upon it. I made many attempts to get away, but the
+Prince would never let me go, though he had long since tired of
+me and I was merely one of his harem of women. Pfui!"
+
+She gave an exclamation of disgust.
+
+"It was the Crown Princess who eventually came to my rescue," she
+continued. "Long-suffering wife as she is, the stories that came
+to her ears from Metz were such that she went to the Emperor and
+declared that she would insist upon a divorce. There was a great
+scandal. The Prince's headquarters were moved and at length I got
+my release.
+
+"I had no money. This was a detail which the Prince overlooked.
+But I wanted to resume my stage work, so, with great difficulty,
+through the influence of the Prince, I obtained a passport to
+Holland and from there got across to England.
+
+"I had hoped to turn my back once and for all on my connection
+with the Prince. But your German Secret Service had been warned
+about me. The Imperial Authorities were obviously afraid that I
+might tell tales out of school. Scarcely had I arrived in London
+when a man who called himself Bryan Mowbury, but who looked and
+spoke like a German, came to see me and said he had been
+instructed to 'look after me.' What that meant, I was soon to
+discover. In a very few days I found that I was under the
+supervision of your Secret Service here. In fact, Mowbury gave me
+to understand that any indiscretion on my part as to my stay at
+Metz would result in my immediate denunciation to the English
+police as a spy.
+
+"My friend, I had no alternative. I am not German; I am not
+English; I am a Pole. I have good friends in Germany, I have good
+friends in England, and their quarrels are not mine. I held my
+peace about the past and submitted to the incessant watch which
+Mowbury and his friends kept on my movements.
+
+"And then one day I had a letter. It was from Count Plettenbach,
+the Crown Prince's aide-de-camp, as I knew by the hand-writing,
+for it was signed with an assumed name. In this letter the Count,
+'on behalf of a mutual friend,' as he put it, requested me to
+hand back to a certain Mr. Mortimer, his accredited
+representative, 'Erich's present.' There were cogent reasons, it
+was added, for this unusual request.
+
+"I sent no reply to that letter, although an address in
+Switzerland was given to which an answer might be despatched. I
+was resolved, come what may, not to part with the Star of Poland.
+When Mortimer came, five days later, I told him the jewel was not
+mine to hand over, that it was part of the regalia of Poland and
+that I would never give it up.
+
+"Mortimer replied that the German and Austrian Governments had
+decided to restore the independence of Poland, that probably an
+Austrian Archduke would be made king and that it was essential
+that the Star of Poland should be restored in order to include it
+in the regalia for the Coronation. But I knew what this
+Austro-German kingdom of Poland was to be, a serf state with not
+a shadow of that liberty for which every Pole is longing. Since I
+have been in England, I have kept in touch with the Polish
+political organizations in this country. Rass, as he calls
+himself, the landlord of this inn, is one of the most prominent
+of the Polish leaders in England.
+
+"Mortimer reasoned with me in vain and finally went away
+empty-handed. But he did not abandon hope. Four successive
+attempts were made to get the jewel away from me. Twice my
+apartments at the Nineveh Hotel were rifled; once my
+dressing-room at the theatre was entered and searched whilst I
+was on the stage. But I wore the jewel day and night in a little
+bag suspended by a chain from my neck and they never got it from
+me.
+
+"Two days before I came down to your house--it was the day before
+the murder--I was hustled by a group of men as I came out of the
+theatre. Fortunately the stage-door keeper came up unexpectedly
+and the men made off. But the encounter frightened me, and I
+resolved to break my contract with the Palaceum and bury myself
+down here in the country.
+
+"But somehow Mortimer learnt of my intention. The next night--it
+was the night of the murder--he came to the theatre and warned me
+against trying to elude his vigilance by flight. I have never
+forgotten his words.
+
+"'I can afford to wait,' he said, 'for I shall get what I want: I
+always do. But you have chosen to set yourself against me and you
+will bitterly repent it!"
+
+As though the recollection proved too much for her, Nur-el-Din
+broke off her narrative and covered her face with her hands.
+
+"And do you think that Mortimer did this murder?" asked Desmond
+gently.
+
+Wearily the girl raised her head.
+
+"Either he or one of his accomplices, of whom this girl is one!"
+she answered.
+
+"But why not have put the jewel in a bank or one of the safe
+deposits? Surely it was risky to have entrusted it to a girl of
+whom you knew nothing?"
+
+"My friend,", said the dancer, "I was desperate. Mortimer sees
+and knows all. This unexpected meeting with the daughter of my
+old friend seemed at the moment like a heaven-sent chance to
+place the jewel, unknown to him, in safe hands. I felt that as
+long as I carried it on me, my life was in constant danger. It
+was only to-day, when I heard of the murder, that it dawned on me
+how indiscreet I had been. I might have guessed, since Miss
+Mackwayte knew Mortimer--"
+
+"Miss Mackwayte knows Mortimer?" echoed Desmond in stupefaction.
+
+"But certainly," replied Nur-el-Din. "Was it not I myself--" She
+broke off suddenly with terror in her eyes.
+
+"Ah, no!" she whispered. "It is enough. Already I have said too
+much..."
+
+Desmond was about to speak when the door opened and a
+foreign-looking maid, whom Desmond remembered to have seen in the
+dancer's dressing-room, came in. She went swiftly to her mistress
+and whispered something in her ear.
+
+The dancer sprang to her feet.
+
+"A little moment... you will excuse me..." she cried to Desmond
+and ran from the room. The maid followed her, leaving Desmond
+alone.
+
+Presently, the sound of Nur-el-Din's voice raised high in anger
+struck on his ears. He stole softly to the door and opened it.
+Before him lay the staircase deserted. He tiptoed down the stairs
+to the first landing and listened. The murmur of voices reached
+him indistinctly from the room below. Then he heard Nur-el-Din
+crying out again in anger.
+
+He craned his ear over the well of the staircase, turning his
+face to the window which stood on the landing. The window gave on
+a small yard with a gate over which a lamp was suspended and
+beyond it the fen now swathed in fog. The dancer's maid stood
+beneath the lamp in earnest conversation with a man in rough
+shooting clothes who held a gun under his arm. As Desmond looked
+the man turned his head so that the rays of the lamp fell full
+upon his face. To his unspeakable consternation and amazement,
+Desmond recognized Strangwise.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVII. MR. BELLWARD ARRANGES A BRIDGE EVENING
+
+Oblivious of the voices in the room below, Desmond stood with his
+face pressed against the glass of the window. Was Strangwise
+staying at "The Dyke Inn"? Nothing was more probable; for the
+latter had told him that he was going to spend his leave shooting
+in Essex, and Morstead Fen must abound in snipe and duck.
+
+But he and Strangwise must not meet. Desmond was chary of
+submitting his disguise to the other's keen, shrewd eyes.
+Strangwise knew Nur-el-Din: indeed, the dancer might have come to
+the inn to be with him. If he recognized Desmond and imparted his
+suspicions to the dancer, the game world be up; on the other
+hand, Desmond could not take him aside and disclose his identity;
+for that would be breaking faith with the Chief. There was
+nothing for it, he decided, but flight.
+
+Yet how could he get away unobserved? There was no exit from the
+staircase by the door into the tap-room where Nur-el-Din was, and
+to go through the tap-room was to risk coming face to face with
+Strangwise.
+
+So Desmond remained where he was by the window and watched.
+Presently, the woman turned and began to cross the yard,
+Strangwise, carrying his gun, following her. Desmond waited until
+he heard a door open somewhere below and then he acted.
+
+Beside the window ran an old lead water-pipe which drained the
+roof above his head. On a level with the sill of the landing
+below, this pipe took a sharp turn to the left and ran diagonally
+down to a tall covered-in water-butt that stood on the fiat roof
+of an outhouse in the little yard.
+
+Desmond raised the window very gently and tested the pipe with
+his hand. It seemed rather insecure and shook under his pressure.
+With his eye he measured the distance from the sill to the pipe;
+it was about four feet. Desmond reckoned that, if the pipe would
+hold, by getting out of the window and hanging on to the sill, he
+might, by a pendulum-like motion, gain sufficient impulse to
+swing his legs across the diagonally-running pipe, then transfer
+his hands and so slide down to the outhouse roof.
+
+He wasted no time in debating the chances of the pipe collapsing
+under his weight. All his life it had been his practice to take a
+risk, for such is the Irish temperament--if the object to be
+attained in any way justified it; and he was determined to avoid
+at all costs the chance of a meeting with Strangwise. The latter
+had probably read the name of Okewood in that morning's casualty
+list, but Desmond felt more than ever that he distrusted the man,
+and his continued presence in the neighborhood of Nur-el-Din
+gravely preoccupied him.
+
+He stood a moment by the open window and listened. The murmur of
+voices went on in the taproom, but from another part of the house
+he heard a deep laugh and knew it to be Strangwise's. Trusting to
+Providence that the roof of the outhouse would be out of sight of
+the yard door, Desmond swung his right leg over the window-sill
+and followed it with the other, turning his back on the yard. The
+next moment he was dangling over the side of the house.
+
+Then from the yard below he heard Strangwise call:
+
+"Rufus! Rufus!"
+
+A heavy footstep sounded on the flags. Desmond remained perfectly
+still. The strain on his arms was tremendous. If Strangwise
+should go as far as the gate, so as to get clear of the yard, he
+must infallibly see that figure clinging to the window-sill.
+
+"Where the devil is that doggy" said Strangwise. Then he
+whistled, and called again:
+
+"Rufus! Rufus!"
+
+Desmond made a supreme effort to support the strain on his
+muscles. The veins stood out at his temples and he felt the blood
+singing in his ears. Another minute and he knew he must drop. He
+no longer had the power to swing himself up to the window ledge
+again.
+
+A bark rang out in the courtyard, followed by the patter of feet.
+Desmond heard Strangwise speak to the dog and reenter the house.
+Then silence fell again. With a tremendous effort Desmond swung
+his legs athwart the pipe, gripped it with his right hand, then
+his left, and very gently commenced to let himself down. The pipe
+quivered beneath his weight, but it held fast and in a minute he
+was standing on the roof of the outhouse, cautiously peering
+through the dank fog that hung about the yard.
+
+Screening himself from view behind the tall waterbutt, he
+reconnoitred the back of the inn. The upper part of the house was
+shrouded in darkness, but a broad beam of light from a half-open
+door and a tall window on the ground floor cleft the pall of fog.
+The window showed a snug little bar with Strangwise standing by
+the counter, a glass in his hand. As Desmond watched him, he
+heard a muffled scream from somewhere within the house.
+Strangwise heard it too, for Desmond saw him put his glass down
+on the bar and raise his head sharply. There followed a dull
+crash from the interior of the inn and the next moment the
+yellow-faced man, whom Desmond judged to be Rass, stepped into
+the circle of light inside the window. He said something to
+Strangwise with thumb jerked behind him, whereupon the latter
+clapped him, as though in approval, on the shoulder, and both
+hurried out together.
+
+Puzzled though he was by the scene he had just witnessed, Desmond
+did not dare to tarry longer. The roof of the outhouse was only
+some ten feet from the ground, an easy drop. He let himself
+noiselessly down and landing on his feet without mishap, darted
+out of the yard gate. As he did so, he heard the inn door open
+and Strangwise's voice cry out:
+
+"Who's that?"
+
+But Desmond heeded not. He dashed out upon the fen. Before he had
+gone a dozen paces the fog had swallowed up inn and all. Out of
+the white pall behind him he heard confused shouts as he skirted
+swiftly round the house and reached the road.
+
+Once he had gained the freedom of the highway; Desmond breathed
+again. The dense fog that enveloped him, the hard road beneath
+his feet, gave him a sense of security that he had missed as long
+as he was in the atmosphere of that lonely, sinister place. He
+struck out at a good pace for home, intent upon one thing,
+namely, to send an immediate summons for help to surround the
+Dyke Inn and all within it. Nur-el-Din, it was clear, whether a
+spy or no (and Desmond believed her story), was the only person
+who could throw any light on the mysterious circumstances
+surrounding old Mackwayte's murder. Besides, her arrest would
+safeguard her against further machinations on the part of
+Mortimer, though Desmond suspected that the latter, now that he
+had secured the jewel, would leave the dancer in peace. As for
+Strangwise, it would be for him to explain as best he could his
+continued association with a woman for whose arrest a warrant had
+been issued.
+
+Desmond let himself in with his key. The housekeeper had returned
+and was laying the dinner-table. In the library the curtains were
+drawn and a fire burned brightly in the grate. The room looked
+very snug and cosy by contrast with the raw weather outside.
+
+Desmond shut and locked the door and then went to the telephone
+at the desk. "Ring up 700 Stanning"--he repeated his instructions
+to himself "and ask for Mr. Elias. Assistance'll be with you
+within fifteen minutes afterwards."
+
+By the clock on the mantelpiece it was a quarter to seven. If aid
+arrived promptly, with a car they could be at the Dyke Inn by a
+quarter past seven.
+
+The telephone gave no sign of life. Desmond impatiently jerked
+the receiver hook up and down. This time, at least, he would not
+fail, he told himself. Before he went to bed that night
+Nur-el-Din, her maid, Rass, and if needs be, Strangwise (who
+needed a lesson to teach him discretion), should be in custody.
+
+Still no reply.
+
+"Hullo! Hullo!" cried Desmond, depressing the hook repeatedly.
+"Hullo, Exchange!"
+
+But there was no answer. Then it struck Desmond that the line was
+dead: his ear detected none of that busy whirr which is heard in
+the telephone when one is waiting to get a number.
+
+He spent five minutes in vain attempts to obtain a reply, then
+abandoned the endeavor in disgust.
+
+"I shall have to take the motor-bike and go over to Stunning," he
+said to himself, "how I shall find my way there in this fog, the
+Lord only knows! And I don't know whom to apply to when I get
+there. The police-station, I suppose!"
+
+He unlocked the door and rang for Martha.
+
+"I have to go over to Stunning, Martha," he said, "I will try and
+be back for dinner at eight!"
+
+He had no intention of accompanying the party to the Dyke Inn. He
+must preserve his incognito until Mortimer, the main quarry, had
+been run down.
+
+He filled his case from the box of cigarettes on the table and
+thrust a box of matches into his pocket to light his head-lamp.
+Then, taking a cap from the hat-stand, he opened the front door.
+Even as he did so a big open car slowed down throbbing outside
+the porch. A man sprang out and advanced into the light streaming
+from the front door into the eddying mist. It was Mortimer.
+
+"Fortune," thought Desmond, "has broken her rule. She has given
+me a second chance!"
+
+"Well met, Bellward!" cried Mortimer, blinking at the other
+through his thick glasses. "Tut, tut! What a night! You were
+never going out, I swear."
+
+Already Desmond had decided in his mind the course of action he
+would pursue. For the moment he must let the party at the Dyke
+Inn slide in favor of the bigger catch. He must slip away later
+and have another try at the telephone and if it were still out of
+order, he must endeavor to overpower Mortimer and then go for
+assistance himself. On a night like this it was useless to think
+of employing a half-blind old dolt like Martha to take a message.
+As for the odd man, he lived at Wakefield, and went away at dusk
+every evening.
+
+So Desmond muttered some plausible lie about wanting to have a
+look at the weather and cordially invited Mortimer in.
+
+"You will stay for dinner" he said.
+
+"Gladly," replied the other, sinking with aunt into the settee.
+"And I should be glad if we might dine early."
+
+Desmond raised his eyebrows.
+
+"... Because," Mortimer resumed, "I have ventured to ask a few
+friends round here to... to have an evening at bridge. Doubtless,
+you have cards, eh?"
+
+Desmond pointed to a card-table standing in the corner with
+several packs of cards and markers. Then he rang and told the
+housekeeper that they would dine as soon as possible.
+
+"The coming fortnight," said Mortimer, tucking his napkin into
+his collar as they sat at the dinner table, "is pregnant with
+great events. No less than ten divisions are, I understand, to be
+transferred to the other side. I have waited to communicate with
+you until I had confirmation of this report. But now that the
+matter has been decided, it only remains for us to perfect our
+arrangements for communicating these plans to our friends beyond
+the North Sea. Therefore, I thought a friendly bridge evening at
+the hospitable home of our dear colleague Bellward would be in
+place."
+
+He smiled affably and bent over his soup-plate.
+
+"I shall be delighted to receive our friends," Desmond replied,
+"a glass of sherry?"
+
+"Thank you," said Mortimer.
+
+"I shall have to provide a few refreshments," said Desmond. "May
+I ask how many guests I may expect?"
+
+Mortimer reckoned on his fingers.
+
+"Let's see," he answered, "there's Max, that's one, and Madame
+Malplaquet, that's two. No. 13 and Behrend makes four and myself,
+five!"
+
+"And Madame Nur-el-Din?" queried Desmond innocently, but inwardly
+quaking at his rashness.
+
+Mortimer genially shook a finger at him.
+
+"Sly dog!" he chuckled, "you're one too many for me in that
+quarter, I see! I know all about your tete-a-tete with our
+charming young friend this afternoon!"
+
+Desmond felt the blood rush to his face. He thought of
+Nur-el-Din's words: "Mortimer sees and knows all." He picked up
+his sherry glass and drained it to cover his confusion.
+
+"... It was hardly gallant of you to bolt so suddenly and leave
+the lady!" Mortimer added.
+
+How much did this uncanny creature know?
+
+Without waiting for him to reply, Mortimer went on.
+
+"I suppose she told you a long story of my persecution, eh,
+Bellward? You needn't shake your head. I taxed her with it and
+she admitted as much."
+
+"I had no idea that you were staying at the Dyke Inn!" said
+Desmond at a venture.
+
+"My friend," replied Mortimer, lowering his voice, "your fair
+charmer is showing a decided inclination to make a nuisance of
+herself. I have had to keep an eye on her. It's been a very
+serious inconvenience to my plans, I can assure you. But you
+haven't answered my question. What sent you away in such a hurry
+this afternoon? and in so romantic a fashion? By the window, was
+it not?"
+
+Through sheer apprehension, Desmond was now keyed up to a kind of
+desperate audacity. The truth is sometimes a very effective
+weapon in the game of bluff, and Desmond determined to employ it.
+
+"I saw someone I didn't want to meet," he replied.
+
+"Ah!" said Mortimer, "who was that, I wonder? The Dyke Inn could
+hardly be described as a frequented resort, I imagine!"
+
+The entry of old Martha to change the plates prevented Desmond
+from replying. He used the brief respite to review the situation.
+He would tell Mortimer the truth. They were man to man now and he
+cared nothing even if the other should discover the fraud that
+had been practised upon him. Come what might, Mortimer, dead or
+alive, should be delivered up to justice that night.
+
+The housekeeper left the room and Desmond spoke.
+
+"I saw an officer I knew in the courtyard," he said.
+
+"Oh, Strangwise, I suppose!" said Mortimer carelessly. "There's
+nothing to fear from him, Bellward. He's of the beef and beer and
+no brains stamp of British officer. But how do you know
+Strangwise?"
+
+"I met him at the Nineveh Hotel in town one night," replied
+Desmond. "I don't care about meeting officers, however, and
+that's a fact!"
+
+Mortimer looked at him keenly for a brief instant. "What
+prudence!" he cried. "Bellward, you are the very model of what a
+secret agent should be! This pheasant is delicious!"
+
+He turned the conversation into a different channel but Desmond
+could not forget that brief searching look. His mind was in a
+turmoil of half-digested facts, of semi-completed deductions. He
+wanted to go away somewhere alone and think out this mystery and
+disentangle each separate web of this baffling skein of intrigue.
+
+He must focus his attention on Mortimer and Nur-el-Din. If
+Mortimer and Strangwise were both staying at the Dyke Inn, then
+they were probably acquainted. Strangwise knew Nur-el-Din, too,
+knew her well; for Desmond remembered how familiarly they had
+conversed together that night in the dancer's dressing-room at
+the Palaceum. Strangwise knew Barbara Mackwayte also. Nur-el-Din
+had introduced them, Desmond remembered, on that fateful night
+when he had accompanied Strangwise to the Palaceum. Strange, how
+he was beginning to encounter the man Strangwise at every turn in
+this sinister affair.
+
+And then, with a shock that struck him like a blow in the face,
+Desmond recalled Barbara's parting words to him in the taxi. He
+remembered how she had told him of seeing Nur-el-Din's face in
+the mirror as the dancer was talking to Strangwise that night at
+the Palaceum, and of the look of terror in the girl's eyes.
+Nur-el-Din was terrified of Mortimer; for so much she had
+admitted to Desmond that very afternoon; she was terrified of
+Strangwise, too, it seemed, of this Strangwise who, like
+Mortimer, kept appearing at every stage of this bewildering
+affair. What confession had been on Nur-el-Din's lips when she
+had broken off that afternoon with the cry:
+
+"Already I have said too much!"
+
+Thereafter Desmond's eyes were never long absent from Mortimer's
+face, scrutinizing each feature in turn, the eyes, set rather
+close together, grotesquely shielded by the thick spectacles, the
+narrow cheeks, the rather cynical mouth half hidden by the heavy,
+drooping moustache, the broad forehead broken by a long lock of
+dark hair brushed out flat in a downward direction from an
+untidy, unkempt crop.
+
+They talked no more of Strangwise or of Nur-el-Din. The rest of
+dinner was passed in conversation of a general order in which Mr.
+Mortimer showed himself to great advantage. He appeared to be a
+widely traveled, well-read man, with a fund of dry, often rather
+grim humor. And all the time Desmond watched, watched,
+unobtrusively but unceasingly, looking out for something he was
+confident of detecting through the suave, immobile mask of this
+brilliant conversationalist.
+
+Skillfully, almost imperceptibly, Desmond edged the talk on to
+the war. In this domain, too, Mortimer showed himself a man of
+broad views, of big, comprehensive ideas. Towards the strategy
+and tactics of the two sides, he adopted the attitude of an
+impartial onlooker, but in his comments he proved himself to have
+a thorough grasp of the military situation. He talked freely and
+ably of such things as tanks, the limited objective in the attack
+and the decentralization of responsibility in the field.
+
+Encouraged by his volubility, for he was a man who delighted in
+conversation, Desmond gradually gave the talk a personal turn.
+But willing as Mortimer showed himself to discuss the war
+generally, about his personal share he was as mute as a fish. Try
+as he would Desmond could get nothing out of him. Again and
+again, he brought the conversation round to personal topics; but
+every time his companion contrived to switch it back to general
+lines.
+
+At last Desmond risked a direct question. By this time a pint of
+Pommery and Greno was tingling in his veins and he felt he didn't
+care if the roof fell in.
+
+"Ever since Nur-el-Din told me yon were of the Crown Prince's
+personal service," he said, "I have been devoured with curiosity
+to know what you were doing before you came to England. Were you
+at Metz with his Imperial Highness? Did you see the assault at
+Verdun? Were you present at the capture of the Fort of
+Douaumont?"
+
+Mortimer shook his head, laughing, and held up a deprecating
+hand.
+
+"Professional discretion, my dear fellow, professional
+discretion!" he retorted. "You know what it is!"
+
+Then lowering his voice, he added:
+
+"Between ourselves the less said about my connection with Master
+Willie the better. Our colleagues are already restless at what
+they consider my neglect of my professional work. They attribute
+it to the wiles of Nur-el-Din. They may if they like and I don't
+propose to disillusion them. You understand, Bellward?"
+
+His voice was commanding and he bent his brows at Desmond, who
+hastened to protest that his discretion in the matter would be
+absolute.
+
+When they had had their coffee and Mortimer was contentedly
+puffing one of Bellward's excellent double Coronas, Desmond rose
+from the table.
+
+"If you will excuse me a minute," he said, "I will just go across
+to the library and see if my housekeeper has put all in order for
+our guests!"
+
+Instantly Mortimer got up from the table.
+
+"By all means," he said, and emptied his glass of brandy, "so, I
+will come with you!"
+
+Mortimer meant to stick to him, thought Desmond; that was
+evident. Then an idea struck him. Why should he not telephone in
+Mortimer's presence? To ask for Mr. Elias was in no way
+incriminating and if help came promptly, Mortimer could be
+secured and the other spies pounced upon in their turn as they
+arrived.
+
+Therefore, as soon as they reached the library, Desmond walked
+over to the desk and picked up the telephone receiver from its
+hook.
+
+"Excuse me," he said to Mortimer, "I had forgotten I had to ring
+up Stanning!"
+
+"Oh, dear," said Mortimer from his place on the hearth rug where
+he was warming his coat tails in front of the fire, "isn't that
+unfortunate? I wish I had known! Tut, tut, how annoying for you!"
+
+The telephone seemed quite dead.
+
+"I don't understand!" said Desmond to Mortimer. "What's
+annoying?"
+
+"The telephone, my dear Bellward,"--Mortimer spoke in a pompous
+voice--"the telephone is the symbol of the age in which we live,
+the age of publicity but also of indiscretion. It is almost as
+indiscreet to have a telephone in your house as to keep a diary.
+Therefore, in view of our little party here this evening, to
+prevent us from being disturbed in any way, I took the liberty
+of... of severing the connection... temporarily, mind you, only
+temporarily; it shall be restored as soon as we break up. I have
+some small acquaintance with electrical engineering."
+
+Desmond was silent. Disappointment had deprived him for the
+moment of the power of speech. It was to be man to man then,
+after all. If he was to secure Mortimer and the rest of the gang
+that night, he must do it on his own. He could not hope for aid.
+The prospect did not affright him. If Mortimer could have seen
+the other's eyes at that moment he might have remarked a light
+dancing in them that was not solely of Messrs. Pommery and
+Greno's manufacture.
+
+"If I had known you wanted to use the instrument, my dear
+fellow," Mortimer continued in his bland voice, "I should
+certainly have waited until you had done your business!"
+
+"Pray don't mention it," replied Desmond, "you do well to be
+prudent, Mr. Mortimer!"
+
+Mortimer shot a sudden glance at him. Desmond met it with a
+frank, easy smile.
+
+"I'm a devil for prudence myself!" he observed brightly.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVIII. THE GATHERING OF THE SPIES
+
+Action, or the promise of action, always acted on Desmond Okewood
+like a nerve tonic. His visit to the inn, followed by the fencing
+with Mortimer at dinner, had galvanized his nerves jaded with the
+inaction of the preceding days. He averted his eyes from the
+future, he put the past resolutely away. He bent his whole
+attention on the problem immediately before him--how to carry off
+the role of Bellward in front of four strangers, one of whom, at
+least, he thought, must know the man he was impersonating; how to
+extract as much information as possible about the gang and its
+organization before uncovering his hand; finally, how to
+overpower the four men and the one woman when the moment had come
+to strike.
+
+Mortimer and he were in the library. By Desmond's direction old
+Martha had put out two bridge tables and cards. A tantalus stand
+with siphons and glasses, an assortment of different colored
+liqueurs in handsome cut-glass carafes and some plates of
+sandwiches stood on a side-table. At Mortimer's suggestion
+Desmond had told the housekeeper that, once the guests had
+arrived, she might go to bed.
+
+The library was very still. There was no sound except for the
+solemn ticking of the clock on the mantelpiece or the occasional
+rustle of the evening paper in Mortimer's hand as he stood in
+front of the fire. Desmond was sitting on the settee, tranquilly
+smoking, studying Mortimer and thinking out the problem before
+him.
+
+He measured Mortimer with his eye. The latter was a bigger man
+than Desmond in every way and Desmond suspected that he was even
+stronger than he looked. Desmond wondered whether he should try
+and overpower him then and there. The other was almost certain to
+carry a revolver, he thought, while he was unarmed. Failure, he
+knew, would ruin everything. The gang would disperse to the four
+winds of heaven while as for Mr. Bellward--well, he would
+certainly be "for it," as the soldiers say.
+
+No, he must hold his hand until the meeting had taken place. This
+was the first conference that Mortimer had summoned, and Desmond
+intended to see that it should be the last. But first he meant to
+find out all there was to know about the working of the gang.
+
+He resolved to wait and see what the evening would bring forth.
+The telephone was "a washout": the motor-cycle was now his only
+chance to summon aid for he knew it was hopeless to think of
+tackling single-handed odds of four to one (to say nothing of the
+lady in the case). It must be his business to make an opportunity
+to slip away on the motor-bike to Stanning. Ten minutes to get
+there, five minutes to deliver his message at the police station
+(if the Chief's people made their headquarters there), and ten
+minutes to get back if they had a car. Could he leave the meeting
+for 25 minutes without arousing suspicions? He doubted it; but it
+must be. There was no other way. And then with a shock that made
+him cold with fear he remembered Mortimer's motor-car.
+
+If, during his absence, anything occurred to arouse their
+suspicions, the whole crowd could pile into the car and be away
+long before Desmond could be back with help. The fog had lifted
+and it was a clear night outside. The car would have to be got
+rid of before he left the house, that was all about it. But how?
+A means to that end must also be discovered as the evening
+progressed. By the way, what had Mortimer done with his car?
+
+A very faint throbbing somewhere outside answered Desmond's
+unspoken question.
+
+Mortimer flung aside his paper.
+
+"Isn't that a car?" he asked, "that'll be they. I sent Max to
+Wentfield station to meet our friends!"
+
+There was the sound of voices, of bustle in the hall. Then the
+door opened and a man came in. Desmond had a brief moment of
+acute suspense. Was he supposed to know him?
+
+He was a short, ugly fellow with immensely broad shoulders, a
+heavy puffy face, a gross, broad nose, and a tooth-brush
+moustache. He might have been a butcher to look at. In the top
+edge of his coat lapel, he wore a small black pin with a glass
+head.
+
+"Well, Max," said Mortimer. "Have you brought them all?"
+
+The man was mustering Desmond with a suspicious, unfriendly
+stare.
+
+"My friend, Bellward!" said Mortimer, clapping Desmond on the
+shoulder. "You've heard of Bellward, Max!"
+
+And to Desmond's surprise he made some passes in the air.
+
+The man's mien underwent a curious change. He became cringing;
+almost overawed.
+
+"Reelly," he grunted, "reelly now! You don't siy! Glad to know
+yer, mister, I'm shore!"
+
+He spoke with a vile snuffing cockney accent, and thrust out his
+hand to Desmond. Then he added to Mortimer:
+
+"There's three on 'em. That's the count, ain't it? I lef' the car
+outside on the drive!"
+
+At this moment two more of the guests entered: One was a tall,
+emaciated looking man of about fifty who seemed to be in the last
+stages of consumption; the other a slightly built young fellow
+with a shock of black hair brushed back and an olive complexion.
+He wore pince-nez and looked like a Russian revolutionary. They,
+too, wore the badge of the brotherhood--the black pin in the coat
+lapel.
+
+"Goot efening, Mr. Mortimer," said the tall man in a guttural
+voice, "this is Behrend"--he indicated the young man by his
+side--"you haft not meet him no?"
+
+Then, leaving Behrend to shake hands with Mortimer, he literally
+rushed at Desmond and shook him by the hand exactly as though he
+were working a pump handle.
+
+"My tear Pellward," he cried, "it is a hondred year since I haf
+see you, not? And how are the powers!"
+
+He lowered his voice and gazed mysteriously at him.
+
+Desmond, at a loss what to make of this extraordinary individual,
+answered at random:
+
+"The powers? Still fighting, I believe!"
+
+The tall man stared open-mouthed at him for a moment. Then,
+clapping his hands together, he burst into a high-pitched cackle
+of laughter.
+
+"A joke," he yelled, "a mos' excellent joke! I must tell this to
+Minna. My vriend, I haf not mean the great Powers."
+
+He looked dramatically about him, then whispered:
+
+"I mean, the oggult!"
+
+Desmond, who was now quite out of his depth, wagged his head
+solemnly at the other as though to indicate that, his occult
+powers were something not to be lightly mentioned. He had no fear
+of the tall man, at any rate. He placed him as a very ordinary
+German, a common type in the Fatherland, simple-minded, pedantic,
+inquisitive, and a prodigious bore withal but dangerous, for of
+this stuff German discipline kneads militarists.
+
+But the door opened again to admit the last of the guests. A
+woman entered. Desmond was immediately struck by the contrast she
+presented to the others, Mortimer with his goggle eyes and untidy
+hair, Max, gross and bestial, Behrend, Oriental and shifty, and
+the scarecrow figure of the tall man.
+
+Despite her age, which must have been nearly sixty, she still
+retained traces of beauty. Her features were very regular, and
+she had a pair of piercing black eyes of undimmed brightness. Her
+gray hair was tastefully arranged, and she wore a becoming black
+velvet gown with a black lace scarf thrown across the shoulders.
+A white silk rose was fastened to her bodice by a large black pin
+with a glass head.
+
+Directly she appeared, the tall man shouted to her in German.
+
+"Sag' mal, Minna..." he began.
+
+Mortimer turned on him savagely.
+
+"Hold your tongue, No. 13," he cried, "are you mad? What the
+devil do you mean by it? You know the rules!"
+
+By way of reply, "No. 13" broke into a regular frenzy of coughing
+which left him gasping for breath.
+
+"Pardon! I haf' forgot!" he wheezed out between the spasms.
+
+The woman went over to Mortimer and put out tier gloved hand.
+
+"I am Mrs. Malplaquet," she said in a pleasant voice. "And you
+are Mr. Mortimer, I think!"
+
+Mortimer bowed low over her hand.
+
+"Madame, I am charmed to meet one of whom I have heard nothing
+but praise," he said.
+
+"Verry pretty!" replied Mrs. Malplaquet smiling. "They tell me
+you have a great way with the ladies, my dear sir!"
+
+"But," she went on, "I am neglecting our host, my dear Mr.
+Bellward. How are you, my friend? How well you are looking... so
+young... so fresh! I declare you seem to have got five years
+younger!"
+
+The keen black eyes searched Desmond's face. He felt horribly
+uncomfortable. The woman's eyes were like gimlets boring right
+into him. He suddenly felt that his disguise was a poor one. He
+remembered Crook's warning to be wary of women, and he inwardly
+quailed.
+
+"I am so glad to meet you again!" he murmured. He didn't like
+Mrs. Malplaquet's eyes. They assorted strangely with the rest of
+her gentle and refined appearance. They were hard and cruel,
+those black eyes. Thy put him in mind of a snake.
+
+"It is so long since I've seen you," she said, "that positively
+your voice seems to have changed."
+
+"That's because I have a cold," said Desmond.
+
+"Fiddlesticks!" retorted the lady, "the timbre is quite
+different! Bellward, I believe you're in love! Don't tell me
+you've been running after that hank of hair that Mortimer is so
+devoted to!" She glanced in Mortimer's direction, but that
+gentleman was engaged in earnest conversation with Behrend and
+the tall man.
+
+"Whom do you meant" asked Desmond.
+
+"Where are your eyes, man?" rapped out Mrs. Malplaquet. "The
+dancer woman, of course, Nur-el-what-do-you-call-it. There's the
+devil of a row brewing about the way our friend over there is
+neglecting us to run after the minx. They're getting sharp in
+this country, Bellward--I've lived here for forty years so I know
+what I'm talking about--and we can't afford to play any tricks.
+Mortimer will finish by bringing destruction on every one of us.
+And I shall tell him so tonight. And so will No. 13! And so will
+young Behrend! You ought to hear Behrend about it!"
+
+Mrs. Malplaquet began to interest Desmond. She was obviously a
+woman of refinement, and he was surprised to find her in this odd
+company. By dint of careful questioning, he ascertained the fact
+that she lived in London, at a house on Campden Hill. She seemed
+to know a good many officers, particularly naval men.
+
+"I've been keeping my eyes open as I promised, Bellward," she
+said, "and I believe I've got hold of a likely subject for you--a
+submarine commander he is, and very psychic. When will you come
+and meet him at my house?"
+
+Mortimer's voice, rising above the buzz of conversation, checked
+his reply.
+
+"If you will all sit down," he said, "we'll get down to
+business."
+
+Despite all distractions, Desmond had been watching for this
+summons. He had marked down for himself a chair close to the
+door. For this he now made, after escorting Mrs. Malplaquet to
+the settee where she sat down beside Behrend. Max took the
+armchair on the left of the fireplace; while No. 13 perched
+himself grotesquely on a high music-stool, his long legs curled
+round the foot. Mortimer stood in his former position on the
+hearth, his back to the fire.
+
+A very odd-looking band! Desmond commented to himself but he
+thought he could detect in each of the spies a certain ruthless
+fanaticism which experience taught him to respect as highly
+dangerous. And they all had hard eyes!
+
+When they were seated, Mortimer said:
+
+"About the 14th of this month the British Admiralty will begin
+the work of shipping to France ten divisions of American troops
+now training in this country. The most extraordinary precautions
+are being taken to complete this huge undertaking with success.
+It seems to me that the moment has come for us to demonstrate the
+efficiency of our new organization."
+
+He looked round at his audience but no one said a word. Desmond
+felt very distinctly that there was a hostile atmosphere against
+Mortimer in that room.
+
+"I asked you to come here to-night," Mortimer went on, "to
+discuss the plans for sending prompt and accurate information
+regarding the movements of these transports to the other side. I
+warn you that this time our mode of procedure will have to be
+radically different from the methods we have pursued on former
+occasions. To expend our energies in collecting information at
+half a dozen different ports of war will be waste of time. The
+direction of the whole of this enterprise lies in the hands of
+one man at the Admiralty."
+
+Behrend, who had struck Desmond as a rather taciturn young man,
+shook his head dubiously.
+
+"That makes things very difficult," he remarked.
+
+"Wait," replied Mortimer. "I agree, it is very difficult, the
+more so as I have reason to believe that the authorities have
+discovered the existence of our organization."
+
+Mrs. Malplaquet and Behrend turned to one another simultaneously.
+
+"What did I say?" said Behrend.
+
+"I told you so," said the lady.
+
+"Therefore," Mortimer resumed, "our former activities on the
+coast will practically be paralyzed. We shall have to confine our
+operations to London while Max and Mr. Behrend here will be
+entrusted with the task of getting the news out to our
+submarines."
+
+No. 13 broke in excitedly.
+
+"Vork in London, vork in London!" he cried. "It is too dangerous,
+my vriend. Vot do I know of London? Portsmouth" (he called it
+Portsmouse), "Sout'ampton, the Isle of Vight... good... it is my
+province. But, London... it is senseless!"
+
+Mortimer turned his gig-lamps on the interrupter.
+
+"You will take your orders from me as before," he said quietly.
+
+Behrend adjusted his pince-nez.
+
+"No. 13 is perfectly right," he remarked, "he knows his
+territory, and he should be allowed to work there."
+
+"You, too," Mortimer observed in the same calm tone as before,
+"will take your orders from me!"
+
+With a quick gesture the young man dashed his long black hair out
+of his eyes.
+
+"Maybe," he replied, "but only as long as I feel sure that your
+orders are worth following.
+
+"Do you dare..." began Mortimer, shouting.
+
+"... At present," the other continued, as though Mortimer had not
+spoken. "I don't feel at all sure that they are."
+
+The atmosphere was getting a trifle heated, thought Desmond. If
+he judged Mortimer aright, he was not the man to let himself be
+dictated to by anybody. He was wondering how the scene would end
+when suddenly something caught his eye that took his mind right
+away from the events going forward in the room.
+
+Opposite him, across the library, was a French window across
+which the curtains had been drawn. One of the curtains, however,
+had got looped up on a chair so that there was a gap at the
+bottom of the window showing the pane.
+
+In this gap was a face pressed up against the glass. To his
+astonishment Desmond recognized the weather-beaten features of
+the odd man, Mr. John Hill. The face remained there only for a
+brief instant. The next moment it was gone and Desmond's
+attention was once more claimed by the progress of the
+conference.
+
+"Do I understand that you refuse to serve under we any longer?"
+Mortimer was saying to Behrend, who had risen from the settee and
+stood facing him.
+
+"As long as you continue to behave as you are doing at present,"
+replied the other, "you may understand that!"
+
+Mortimer made a quick dive for his pocket. In an instant Max had
+jumped at him and caught his arm.
+
+"Don't be a fool!" he cried, "for Gawd's sake, put it away,
+carn't yer? D 'you want the 'ole ruddy plice abart our ears?"
+
+"I'll have no disobedience of orders," roared Mortimer,
+struggling with the other. In his fist he had a big automatic
+pistol. It was a prodigious weapon, the largest pistol that
+Desmond had ever seen.
+
+"He threatened him, he threatened him!" screamed No. 13 jumping
+about on his stool.
+
+"Take it away from him, Max, for Heaven's sake!" cried the lady.
+
+Everybody was talking at once. The noise was so loud that Desmond
+wondered whether old Martha would hear the din. He sat in his
+chair by the door, a silent witness of the scene. Then suddenly,
+at the height of the hubbub, he heard the faint humming of a
+motor-car. It lasted for perhaps thirty seconds, then gradually
+died away.
+
+"What did it mean?" he asked himself. The only living being he
+knew of outside was John Hill, the odd man, whose face he had
+just seen; the only car was Mortimer's. Had the odd man gone off
+in Mortimer's car? He was thankful to note that, in the din, none
+save him seemed to have heard the car.
+
+By this time Mortimer had put up his pistol and Mrs. Malplaquet
+was speaking. Her remarks were effective and very much to the
+point. She upbraided Mortimer with his long and mysterious
+absences which she attributed to his infatuation for Nur-el-Din
+and complained bitterly of the dancer's imprudence in consorting
+openly with notorious folk like Lazarro and Bryan Mowbury.
+
+"I went to the girl myself," she said, "and begged her to be more
+circumspect. But Madame would not listen to advice; Madame was
+doubtless sure of her position with our revered leader, and
+thought she could reject the friendly counsel of one old enough
+to be her mother. Behrend and Max and No. 13 there--all of
+us--are absolutely agreed that we are not going on with this sort
+of thing any longer. If you are to remain in charge of our
+organization, Mr. Mortimer, we want to know where you are to be
+found and how you spend your time. In short, we want to be sure
+that you are not playing a game that most of us have at different
+times played on subordinate agents... I mean, that when the
+crisis comes, we fall into the trap and you walk away. You had
+better realize once and for all that we are too old hands for
+that sort of trick."
+
+Here Max took up the thread. "Mrs. Malplaquet had put it very
+strite, so she 'ad, and wot he wanted to know was what Mortimer
+'ad to siy?"
+
+Mortimer was very suave in his reply; a bad sign, thought
+Desmond, for it indicated that he was not sure of himself. He was
+rather vague, spoke about a vitally important mission that he had
+had to fulfil but which he had now brought to a successful
+conclusion, so that he was at length free to devote his whole
+attention once more to the great task in hand.
+
+Behrend brought his fist crashing down on the arm of the settee.
+
+"Words, words," he cried, "it won't do for me. Isn't there a man
+in the room besides me? You, Bellward, or you, Max, or you,
+No.13? Haven't you got any guts any of You? Are you going to sit
+here and listen to the soft soap of a fellow who has probably
+sent better men than himself to their death with tripe of this
+kind? It may do for you, but by the Lord, it won't do for me!"
+
+Mortimer cleared his throat uneasily.
+
+"Our host is silent," said Mrs. Malplaquet, "what does Mr.
+Bellward think about it?"
+
+Desmond spoke up promptly.
+
+"I think it would be very interesting to hear something further
+about this mission of Mortimer's," he observed:
+
+Mortimer cast him a glance of bitter malice.
+
+"Well," he said, after a pause, "you force my hand. I shall tell
+you of this mission of mine and I shall show you the evidence,
+because it seems essential in the interests of our organization.
+But I assure you I shall not forget this want of confidence you
+have shown in me; and I shall see that you don't forget it,
+either!"
+
+As he spoke, he glared fiercely at Desmond through his glasses.
+
+"Let's hear about the precious mission," jeered Behrend, "let's
+see the evidence. The threats'll keep!"
+
+Then Mortimer told them of how the Star of Poland came into
+Nur-el-Din's possession, and of the Crown Prince's embarrassment
+when the German authorities claimed it for the regalia of the new
+Kingdom of Poland.
+
+"The Crown Prince," he said, "summoned me to him in person and
+gave me the order to make my way to England immediately and
+recover the gem at all costs and by any means. Did I whine or
+snivel about being sent to my death as some of you were doing
+just now? No! That is not the way of the Prussian Guard..."
+
+"The Prussian Guard?" cried No. 13 in an awed voice. "Are you also
+of the Prussian Guard, comrade?"
+
+He had risen from his seat and there was something almost of
+majesty about his thin, ungainly figure as he drew himself to his
+full height.
+
+"Ay, comrade, I was," replied Mortimer.
+
+"Then," cried No. 13, "you are..."
+
+"No names, comrade," warned Mortimer, "no names, I beg!"
+
+"No names, no names!" repeated the other and relapsed into his
+seat in a reverie.
+
+"How I got to England," Mortimer continued, "matters nothing; how
+I fulfilled my mission is neither here nor there. But I recovered
+the gem and the proof..."
+
+He thrust a hand into the inner pocket of his coat and plucked
+out a white paper package sealed up with broad red seals.
+
+Desmond held his breath. It was the white paper package, exactly
+as Barbara had described.
+
+"Look at it well, Behrend," said Mortimer, holding it up for the
+young man to see, "it cost me a man's life to get that. If it had
+sent twenty men to their death, I should have had it just the
+same!"
+
+Mrs. Malplaquet clapped her hands, her eyes shining.
+
+"Bravo, bravo!" she exclaimed, "that's the spirit! That's the way
+to talk, Mortimer!"
+
+"Cut it out," snarled Behrend, "and let's see the goods!"
+
+All had left their seats and were gathered in a group about
+Mortimer as he began to break the gleaming red wag seals. One by
+one he burst them, the white paper slipped off and disclosed... a
+box of cigarettes.
+
+Mortimer stood gazing in stupefaction at the gaudy green and gold
+lettering of the box. Then, running his thumb-nail swiftly along
+the edge of the box, he broke the paper wrapping, the box burst
+open and a shower of cigarettes fell to the ground.
+
+"So that's your Star of Poland, is it?" cried Behrend in a
+mocking voice.
+
+"Wot 'ave yer done wiv' the sparklers, eh?" demanded Max,
+catching Mortimer roughly by the arm.
+
+But Mortimer stood, aimlessly shaking the empty box in front of
+him, as though to convince himself that the gem was not there.
+Behrend fell on his knees and raked the pile of cigarettes over
+and over with his fingers.
+
+"Nothing there!" he shouted angrily, springing to his feet. "It's
+all bluff! He's bluffing to the end! See, he doesn't even attempt
+to find his famous jewel! He knows it isn't there!"
+
+But Mortimer paid no heed. He was staring straight in front of
+him, a strangely woe-begone figure with his thatch of untidy hair
+and round goggle eyes. Then the cigarette box fell to the floor
+with a crash as Mortimer's hands dropped, with, a hopeless
+gesture, to his sides.
+
+"Barbara Mackwayte!" he whispered in a low voice, not seeming to
+realize that he was speaking aloud, "so that's what she wanted
+with Nur-el-Din!"
+
+Desmond was standing at Mortimer's elbow and caught the whisper.
+As he heard Mortimer speak Barbara's name, he had a sudden
+premonition that his own unmasking was imminent, though he
+understood as little of the purport of the other's remark as of
+the pile of cigarettes lying on the carpet. As Mortimer turned to
+look at him, Desmond nerved himself to meet the latter's gaze.
+But Mortimer's face wore the look of a desperate man. There was
+no recognition in his eyes.
+
+Not so with Desmond. Perhaps the bitterness of his disappointment
+had made Mortimer careless, perhaps the way in which he had
+pronounced Barbara's name struck a familiar chord in Desmond's
+memory. The unkempt hair brushed down across the forehead, the
+thick glasses, the heavy moustache still formed together an
+impenetrable mask which Desmond's eyes failed to pierce. But now
+he recalled the voice. As Mortimer looked at him, the truth
+dawned on Desmond and he knew that the man standing beside him
+was Maurice Strangwise, his comrade-in-arms in France.
+
+At that very moment a loud crash rang through the room, a cold
+blast of damp air came rushing in and the lamp on the table
+flared up wildly, flickered an instant and went out, leaving the
+room in darkness save for the glow of the fire.
+
+A deep voice cried:
+
+"May I ask what you are all doing in my house?"
+
+The secret door of the bookshelves had swung back and there,
+framed in the gaping void, Desmond saw the dark figure of a man.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIX. THE UNINVITED GUEST
+
+There are moments in life when the need for prompt action is so
+urgent that thought, decision and action must be as one operation
+of the brain. In the general consternation following on the
+dramatic appearance of this uninvited guest, Desmond had a brief
+respite in which to think over his position.
+
+Should he make a dash for it or stay where he was and await
+developments?
+
+Without a second's hesitation; he decided on the latter course.
+With the overpowering odds against him it was more than doubtful
+whether he could ever reach the library door. Besides, to go was
+to abandon absolutely all hope of capturing the gang; for his
+flight would warn the conspirators that the game was up. On the
+other hand, the new-comer might be an ally, perhaps an emissary
+of the Chief's. The strange behavior of the odd man had shown
+that something was afoot outside of which those in the library
+were unaware. Was the uninvited guest the deus ex machina who was
+to help him, Desmond, out of his present perilous fix?
+
+Meanwhile the stranger had stepped into the room, drawing the
+secret door to behind him. Desmond heard his heavy step and the
+dull thud of the partition swinging into place. The sound seemed
+to break the spell that hung over the room.
+
+Mortimer was the first to recover his presence of mind. Crying
+out to No. 13 to lock the door leading into the hall, he fumbled
+for a moment at the table. Desmond caught the noise of a match
+being scratched and the next moment the library was again bathed
+in the soft radiance of the lamp.
+
+Picking up the light, Mortimer strode across to the stranger.
+
+"What do you want here" he demanded fiercely, "and who the
+devil..."
+
+He broke off without completing his sentence, drawing back in
+amazement. For the rays of the lamp fell upon the pale face of a
+stoutish, bearded man, veering towards middle age standing in
+front of Mortimer. And the face was the face of the stoutish,
+bearded man, veering towards middle age, who stood in the shadow
+a few paces behind Mortimer. Each man was a complete replica of
+the other, save that the face of the new arrival was thin and
+haggard with that yellowish tinge which comes from long
+confinement.
+
+As Mortimer staggered back, the uninvited guest recoiled in his
+turn. He was staring fixedly across the room at his double who
+met his gaze firmly, erect, tense, silent. The others looked in
+sheer stupefaction from one to the other of the two Mr.
+Bellwards. For nearly a minute the only sound in the room was the
+deep ticking of the clock, counting away the seconds separating
+him from eternity, Desmond thought.
+
+It was Mrs. Malplaquet who broke the silence. Suddenly her nerves
+snapped under the strain, and she screamed aloud.
+
+"A--ah!" she cried, "look! There are two of them! No, no, it
+can't be!"
+
+And she sank half fainting on the sofa.
+
+Behrend whipped out a pistol from his hip pocket and thrust it in
+Mortimer's face.
+
+"Is this another of your infernal surprise packets?" he demanded
+fiercely.
+
+All the spies seemed on a sudden to be armed, Desmond noted, all,
+that is, save Mrs. Malplaquet who lay cowering on the settee.
+Mortimer had pulled out his super-Mauser; No. 13, who was
+guarding the door, had a revolver in his hand, and Behrend, as
+has been stated, was threatening Mortimer with his Browning.
+
+Now Max advanced threateningly into the room, a long seaman's
+knife in his hand..
+
+"Put that blarsted shooting-iron awiy!" he snarled at Mortimer,
+"and tell us wot's the little gime, will yer! Come on, egpline!"
+
+With absolute self-possession Mortimer turned from the stranger
+to Desmond.
+
+"I think it is up to the twins to explain," he said almost
+nonchalantly, "suppose we hear what this gentleman, who arrived
+so surprisingly through the book-shelves, has to say?"
+
+Though threatened with danger from two sides, from the gang and
+possibly, as far as he knew, from the stranger, Mortimer was
+perfectly calm. Desmond never admired Maurice Strangwise more
+than in that moment. All eyes now turned questioningly towards
+the new arrival. As for Desmond he drew back as far as he dared
+into the shadow. He knew he was in the direst peril; but he was
+not afraid for himself. He was crushed to the ground by the
+sickening feeling that he was going to be beaten, that the gang
+were going to slip through his fingers after all... and he was
+powerless to prevent it.
+
+He guessed at once what had happened. Bellward must have escaped
+from custody; for there was no disguise about this pale,
+flustered creature who had the cowed look of a hunted man in his
+eyes. He must have come to the Mill House to get his motorcycle;
+for he surely would have known that the villa would be the first
+place to which the police would follow him up.
+
+Desmond saw a little ray of hope. If--it was a very big
+if--Bellward's flight were discovered promptly, the police might
+be expected to reach the Mill House very soon behind him.
+Bellward must have come straight there; for he had not even taken
+the very elementary precaution of shaving off his beard. That
+made Desmond think that he must have escaped some time that
+evening after the barbers' shops were closed.
+
+With thumping heart, with bated breath, he waited for what was to
+come. In a very little while, he told himself, the truth must
+come out. His only chance was to try and bluff his way out of
+this appalling dilemma and above all, at all costs--this was the
+essential fact which, he told himself, he must keep steadfastly
+before his eyes--not to lose sight of Mortimer whatever happened.
+
+Bellward's voice--and its tones showed Desmond what an
+accomplished mime Crook had been--broke the silence.
+
+"I have nothing to explain," he said, turning from the sofa where
+he had been exchanging a few words in an undertone with Mrs.
+Malplaquet, "this is my house. That is sufficient explanation for
+my presence here, I imagine. But I confess I am curious to know
+what this person"--he indicated Desmond--"is doing in my clothes,
+if I mistake not, giving what I take to be a very successful
+impersonation of myself."
+
+Then Desmond stepped boldly out of the shadow into the circle of
+light thrown by the lamp.
+
+"I don't know what you all think," he said firmly, "but it seems
+to me singularly unwise for us to stand here gossiping when there
+is a stranger amongst us. I fail to understand the motive of this
+gentleman in breaking into my house by my private door, wearing
+my clothes, if I am to believe my eyes; but I clearly realize the
+danger of admitting strangers to a gathering of this kind."
+
+"Quite right," agreed Behrend, nodding his head in assent.
+
+"You have had one singular surprise to-night already," Desmond
+resumed, "in the matter of the jewel which our respected leader
+was about to show us: if you recollect, our friend was only
+prevented from giving us the explanation which he certainly owed
+us over his little hoax by the arrival, the most timely arrival,
+of his confederate..."
+
+"Confederate?" shouted Mortimer, "what the devil do you mean by
+that?"
+
+"Yes, confederate," Desmond repeated. "Max, Behrend, Mrs.
+Malplaquet, all of you, look at this wretched fellow"--he pointed
+a finger of scorn at Bellward--"trembling with fright at the role
+that has been thrust upon him, to force his way into our midst,
+to give his accomplice the tip to clear out before the police
+arrive."
+
+"Stop!" exclaimed Mortimer, raising his pistol. Behrend caught
+his hand.
+
+"We'll hear you in a minute!" he said.
+
+"Let him finish!" said Mrs. Malplaquet, and there was a certain
+ominous quietness in her tone that startled Desmond.
+
+As for Bellward, he remained silent, with arms folded, listening
+very intently.
+
+"Doubtless, this double of mine," continued Desmond in a mocking
+voice, "is the bearer of the Star of Poland, the wonderful jewel
+which has required our beloved leader to devote so much of his
+time to a certain charming lady. Bah! are you going to let a man
+like this," and he pointed to Mortimer disdainfully with his
+hand, "a man who puts you in the fighting line while he amuses
+himself in the rear, are you going to let this false friend, this
+bogus spy, cheat you like this? My friends, my advice to you, if
+you don't want to have another and yet more disagreeable
+surprise, is to make sure that this impudent imposter is not here
+for the purpose of selling us all!"
+
+He raised his voice until it rang through the room, at the same
+time looking round the group at the faces of the spies to see how
+his harangue had worked upon their feelings. Max and Behrend, he
+could see, were on his side; No. 13 was obviously, undecided;
+Mortimer and Bellward were, of course, against him; Mrs.
+Malplaquet sat with her hands in her lap, her eyes cast down,
+giving no sign.
+
+"It's high time..." Mortimer began violently but Mrs. Malplaquet
+put up her hand and checked him.
+
+"Better hear Bellward!" she said softly.
+
+"I know nothing of what has been taking place in my absence," he
+said, "either here or outside. I only know that I escaped from
+the escort that was taking me back from Scotland Yard to Brixton
+Prison this evening and that the police are hard on my track. I
+have delayed too long as, it is. Every one of us in this room,
+with the exception of the traitor who is amongst us"--he pointed
+a finger in denunciation at Desmond--"is in the most imminent
+peril as long as we stay here. The rest of you can please
+yourselves. I'm off!"
+
+He turned and pressed the spring. The book shelves swung open.
+Behrend sprang forward.
+
+"Not so fast," he cried. "You don't leave this room until we
+know who you are!"
+
+And he covered him with his pistol.
+
+"Fool!" exclaimed Bellward who had stopped on the threshold of
+the secret door, "do you want to trap the lot of us! Tell him,
+Minna," he said to Mrs. Malplaquet, "and for Heaven's sake, let
+us be gone!"
+
+Mrs. Malplaquet stood up.
+
+"This is Basil Bellward," she said, "see, he's wearing the ring I
+gave him, a gold snake with emerald eyes! And now," she cried,
+raising her voice shrilly, "before we go, kill that man!"
+
+And she pointed at Desmond.
+
+Bellward had seized her by the arm and was dragging her through
+the opening in the shed when a shrill whistle resounded from the
+garden. Without any warning Mortimer swung round and fired
+point-blank at Desmond. But Desmond had stooped to spring at the
+other and the bullet went over his head. With ears singing from
+the deafening report of the pistol in the confined space, with
+the acrid smell of cordite in his nostrils, Desmond leapt at
+Mortimer's throat, hoping to bear him to the ground before he
+could shoot again. As he sprang he heard the crash of glass and a
+loud report. Someone cried out sharply "Oh!" as though in
+surprise and fell prone between him and his quarry; then he
+stumbled and at the same time received a crashing blow on the
+head. Without a sound he dropped to the ground across a body that
+twitched a little and then lay still.
+
+      *       *       *       *      *
+
+Somewhere in the far, far distance Desmond heard a woman
+crying--long drawn-out wailing lamentations on a high, quavering
+note. He had a dull, hard pain in his head which felt curiously
+stiff. Drowsily he listened for a time to the woman's sobbing, so
+tired, so curiously faint that he scarcely cared to wonder what
+it signified. But at last it grated on him by its insistency and
+he opened his eyes to learn the cause of it.
+
+His bewildered gaze fell upon what seemed to him a gigantic,
+ogre-like face, as huge, as grotesque, as a pantomime mask.
+Beside it was a light, a brilliant light, that hurt his eyes.
+
+Then a voice, as faint as a voice on a long distance telephone,
+said:
+
+"Well, how are you feeling?"
+
+The voice was so remote that Desmond paid no attention to it. But
+he was rather surprised to hear a voice reply, a voice that came
+from his own lips, curiously enough:
+
+"Fine!"
+
+So he opened his eyes again to ascertain the meaning of this
+phenomenon. This time the ogre-like face came into focus, and
+Desmond saw a man with a tumbler in his hand bending over him.
+
+"That's right," said the man, looking very intently at him, "feel
+a bit better, eh? Got a bit of a crack, what? Just take a
+mouthful of brandy... I've got it here!"
+
+Desmond obediently swallowed the contents of the glass that the
+other held to his lips. He was feeling horribly weak, and very
+cold. His collar and shirt were unbuttoned, and his neck and
+shoulders were sopping wet with water. On his ears still fell the
+wailing of the woman.
+
+"Corporal," said the man bending over him, "just go and tell that
+old hag to hold her noise! She'll have to go out of the house if
+she can't be quiet!"
+
+Desmond opened his eyes again. He was lying on the settee in the
+library. A tall figure in khaki, who had been stirring the fire
+with his boot, turned at the doctor's summons and left the room.
+On the table the lamp was still burning but its rays were
+neutralized by the glare of a crimson dawn which Desmond could
+see flushing the sky through the shattered panes of the French
+window. In the centre of the floor lay a long object covered by a
+tablecloth, beside it a table overturned with a litter of broken
+glass strewn about the carpet.
+
+The woman's sobbing ceased. The corporal came back into the room.
+
+"She'll be quiet now, sir," he said, "I told her to get you and
+the gentlemen a cup o' tea."
+
+Then, to Desmond, he said:
+
+"Nasty ding you got, sir! My word, I thought they'd done for you
+when I come in at the winder!"
+
+The telephone on the desk tingled sharply. The door opened at the
+same moment and a shabby little old man with sandy side whiskers
+and moleskin trousers came briskly in.
+
+His appearance had a curious effect on the patient on the settee.
+Despite the doctor's restraining hand, he struggled into a
+sitting position, staring in bewilderment at the shabby old man
+who had gone straight to the telephone and lifted the receiver.
+And well might Desmond stare; for here was Mr. John Hill, the odd
+man, talking on the telephone. And his voice...
+
+"Well?" said the man at the telephone, curtly.
+
+"Yes, speaking. You've got her, eh? Good. What's that? Well,
+that's something. No trace of the others? Damn!"
+
+He slammed down the receiver and turned to face the settee.
+
+"Francis!" cried Desmond.
+
+And then he did a thing highly unbecoming in a field officer. He
+burst into tears.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XX. THE ODD MAN
+
+Desmond and Francis Okewood sat in the dining-room of the Mill
+House finishing an excellent breakfast of ham and eggs and coffee
+which old Martha had prepared for them.
+
+Francis was still wearing Mr. John Hill's greasy jacket and
+moleskins, but the removal of the sandy whiskers and a remarkable
+wig, consisting of a bald pate with a fringe of reddish hair, had
+gone far to restore him to the semblance of his former self.
+
+Desmond was feeling a good deal better. His head had escaped the
+full force of the smashing blow dealt at him by Strangwise with
+the butt of his pistol. He had instinctively put up his arm to
+defend his face and the thickly padded sleeve of Bellward's
+jacket had broken the force of the blow. Desmond had avoided a
+fractured skull at the price of an appalling bruise on the right
+forearm and a nasty laceration of the scalp.
+
+Francis had resolutely declined to enlighten him as to the events
+of the night until both had breakfasted. After despatching the
+corporal of military police to hurry the housekeeper on with the
+breakfast, Francis had taken his brother straight to the
+dining-room, refusing to let him ask the questions which thronged
+his brain until they had eaten and drunk. Only when all the ham
+and eggs had disappeared, did Francis, lighting one of Mr.
+Bellward's cigars, consent to satisfy his brother's curiosity.
+
+"It was only yesterday morning," he said, "that I landed at
+Folkstone from the Continent. How I got the Chief's message
+recalling me and how I made my escape through the Turkish lines
+to Allenby's headquarters is a long story which will keep. The
+Chief had a car waiting for me at Folkstone and I reached London
+in time to lunch with him. We had a long talk and he gave me
+carte blanche to jump into this business now, when and where I
+thought I could best help you."
+
+Desmond smiled bitterly.
+
+"The Chief couldn't trust me to make good on my own, I suppose,"
+he said.
+
+"The Chief had a very good idea of the character of the people
+you had to deal with, Des.," retorted Francis, "and he was a
+trifle apprehensive that the role you were playing might lead to
+complications, supposing the gang were to see through your
+impersonation. He's a wonderful man, that, Des., and he was dead
+right--as he always is."
+
+"But how?" asked Desmond. "Did the crowd spot me?"
+
+"No," answered the other; "but it was your disguise which was
+responsible for the escape of Strangwise--"
+
+"What?" cried Desmond. "He's escaped after all!"
+
+Francis nodded.
+
+"Yes," he said, "got clear away and left no trace. Wait a minute
+and you shall hear! When I have told my story, you shall tell
+yours and between us, we'll piece things together!
+
+"Well, when I left the Chief yesterday, I came down here. The
+description of Mr. John Hill, your odd man, rather tickled my
+fancy. I wanted badly to get at you for a quiet chat and it
+seemed to me that if I could borrow Mr. Hill's appearance for a
+few hours now and then I might gain access to you without rousing
+any suspicion. You see, I knew that old Hill left here about dusk
+every afternoon, so I guessed the coast would be clear.
+
+"Clarkson's fitted me out with the duds and the make-up and I got
+down to Wentfield by half-past six. The fog was so infernally
+thick that it took me more than an hour to get here on foot. It
+must have been close on eight o'clock when I pushed open your
+front gate. I thought of going boldly into the kitchen and asking
+for you, but, fortunately, I decided to have a preliminary prowl
+round the place. Through a chink in the curtains of the library I
+saw you and a stranger talking together. The stranger was quite
+unknown to me; but one thing about him I spotted right off. I saw
+that he was disguised; so I decided to hang about a bit and await
+developments.
+
+"I loafed around in the fog for about half an hour. Then I heard
+a car coming up the drive. I hid myself in the rhododendron bush
+opposite the front door and saw two men and a woman get out. They
+hurried into the house, so that I didn't have a chance of seeing
+their faces. But I got a good, glimpse of the chauffeur as he
+bent down to turn out the headlights. And, yes, I knew him!"
+
+"Max, they called him," said Desmond.
+
+"His name was Mirsky when last I saw him," answered Francis, "and
+mine was Apfelbaum, if you want to know. He was a German agent in
+Russia and as ruthless and unscrupulous a rascal as you'll find
+anywhere in the German service. I must say I never thought he'd
+have the nerve to show his face in this country, though I believe
+he's a Whitechapel Jew born and bred. However, there he was and
+the sight of his ugly mug told me that something was doing. But
+like a fool I decided to hang on a bit and watch, instead of
+going right off in that car and fetching help from Stanning."
+
+"It was just as well you waited," said Desmond, "for if you'd
+gone off at once they must have heard the car and the fat would
+have been in the fire straight away!"
+
+And he told Francis of the loud dispute among the confederates in
+the library, the noise of which had effectually covered the sound
+of the departing ear.
+
+Francis laughed.
+
+"From my observation post outside," he said, "I could only see
+you, Des, and that blackguard, Mug, as you two were sitting
+opposite the window. I couldn't see more than the feet of the
+others. But your face told me the loud voices which reached me
+even outside meant that a crisis of some sort was approaching, so
+I thought it was time to be up and doing. So I sneaked round to
+the front of the house, got the engine of the car going and
+started off down the drive.
+
+"I had the very devil of a job to get to Stanning. Ever since
+you've been down here, the Chief has had special men on duty day
+and night at the police-station there. I didn't dare stop to
+light the head-lamps and as a result the first thing I did was to
+charge the front gate and get the back wheel so thoroughly jammed
+that it took me the best part of twenty minutes to get the
+blooming car clear. When at last I got to the station, I found
+that Matthews, the Chief's man, you know, had just arrived by car
+from London with a lot of plain-clothes men and some military
+police. He was in the very devil of a stew. He told me that
+Bellward had escaped, that the Chief was out of town for the
+night and ungetatable, and that he (Matthews) had come down on
+his own to prevent the gaff being blown on you and also to
+recapture Mr. Bellward if he should be mad enough to make for his
+old quarters.
+
+"I told Matthews of the situation up at the Mill House. Neither
+of us was able to understand why you had not telephoned for
+assistance--we only discovered later that the telephone had been
+disconnected--but I went bail that you were up against a very
+stiff proposition. I told Matthews that, by surrounding the
+house, we might capture the whole gang.
+
+"Matthews is a cautious cuss and he wanted a good deal of
+persuading, so we lost a lot of time. In the end, he wouldn't
+take my advice to rush every available man to the scene, but only
+consented to take two plainclothes men and two military police.
+He was so precious afraid of upsetting your arrangements. The
+Chief, it appears, had warned everybody against doing that. So we
+all piled into the car and I drove them back to the Mill House.
+
+"This time I left the car at the front gate and we went up to the
+house on foot. We had arranged that Matthews and one of the
+military police, both armed, should stay and guard the car, while
+the two plainclothes men and the other military policeman, the
+corporal here, should accompany me to the house. Matthews
+believed my yarn that we were only going to 'investigate.' What I
+intended to do in reality was to round up the whole blessed lot.
+
+"I put one of the plain-clothes men on the front door and the
+other round at the back of the house. Their orders were to stop
+anybody who came out and at the same time to whistle for
+assistance. The corporal and I went to our old observation post
+outside the library window.
+
+"The moment I glanced into the room I knew that matters had
+reached a climax. I saw you--looking pretty blue, old man--facing
+that woman who seemed to be denouncing you. Max stood beside you
+with a pistol, and beside him was our friend, Mortimer, with a
+regular whopper of an automatic. Before I had time to move, the
+plain-clothes man at the back of the house whistled. He had found
+the secret door with Bellward and the woman coming out of it.
+
+"Then I saw Mortimer fire point-blank at you. I had my gun out in
+a second, but I was afraid of shooting, for fear of hitting you
+as you went for the other man.
+
+"But the corporal at my side wasn't worrying much about you. Just
+as you jumped he put up his gun and let fly at Mortimer with a
+sense of discrimination which does him infinite credit. He missed
+Mortimer, but plugged Max plumb through the forehead and my old
+friend dropped in his tracks right between you and the other
+fellow. On that we hacked our way through the French window. The
+corporal found time to have another shot and laid out a tall,
+odd-looking man..."
+
+"No. 13," elucidated Desmond.
+
+"... When we got inside we found him dead across the threshold of
+the door leading into the hall. Behrend we caught hiding in a
+brush cupboard by the back stairs. As for the others--"
+
+"Gone?" queried Desmond with a sudden sinking at his heart.
+
+Francis nodded.
+
+"We didn't waste any time getting through that window," he said,
+"but the catch was stiff and the broken glass was deuced
+unpleasant. Still, we were too late. You were laid out on the
+floor; Mortimer, Bellward and the lady had made their lucky
+escape. And the secret door showed us how they had gone..."
+
+"But I thought you had a man posted at the back?"
+
+"Would you believe it? When the shooting began, the infernal
+idiot must rush round to our assistance, so, of course, Mortimer
+and Co., nipping out by the secret door, got clear away down the
+drive. But that is not the worst. Matthews gave them the car!"
+
+"No!" said Desmond incredulously.
+
+"He did, though," answered Francis. "Mind you, Mortimer had had
+the presence of mind to throw off his disguise. He presented
+himself to Matthews as Strangwise. Matthews knows Strangwise
+quite well: he has often seen him with the Chief.
+
+"'My God, Captain Strangwise,' says Matthews, as the trio
+appeared, 'What's happened?'
+
+"'You're wanted up at the house immediately, Matthews,' says
+Strangwise quite excitedly. 'We're to take the car and go for
+assistance.'
+
+"Matthews had a look at Strangwise's companions, and seeing
+Bellward, of course, takes him for you. As for the lady, she had
+a black lace muffler wound about her face.
+
+"'Miss Mackwayte's coming with us, Matthews,' Strangwise says,
+seeing Matthews look at the lady. That removed the last of any
+lurking suspicions that old Matthews might have had. He left the
+military policeman at the gate and tore off like mad up the drive
+while Strangwise and the others jumped into the car and were away
+before you could say 'knife.' The military, policeman actually
+cranked up the car for them!
+
+"When Matthews burst into the library with the story of you and
+Strangwise and Miss Mackwayte having gone off for help in our
+only car, I knew we had been sold. You were there, knocked out of
+time on the floor, in your disguise as Bellward, so I knew that
+the man with Strangwise was the real Bellward and I consequently
+deduced that Strangwise was Mortimer and consequently the very
+man we had to catch.
+
+"We were done brown. If we had had a little more time to think
+things out, we should have found that motor-bike and I would have
+gone after the trio myself. But my first idea was to summon aid.
+I tried to telephone without success and then we found the wire
+cut outside. Then I had the idea of pumping Behrend. I found him
+quite chatty and furious against Mortimer, whom he accused of
+having sold them. He told us that the party would be sure to make
+for the Dyke Inn, as Nur-el-Din was there.
+
+"By this time Strangwise and his party had got at least an hour
+clear start of us. I had set a man to repair the telephone and in
+the meantime was thinking of sending another on foot to Stanning
+to fetch one of our cars. Then I found the motor-bike and
+despatched one of the military policemen on it to Stanning.
+
+"In about half an hour's time he was back with a car in which
+were Gordon and Harrison and some more military police. I put
+Matthews in charge of the party and sent them off to the Dyke
+Inn, though I felt pretty sure we were too late to catch the
+trio. That was really the reason I stayed behind; besides, I
+wanted to look after you. I got a turn when I saw you spread out
+all over the carpet, old man, I can tell you."
+
+Desmond, who had listened with the most eager attention, did not
+speak for a minute. The sense of failure was strong upon him. How
+he had bungled it all!
+
+"Look here," he said presently in a dazed voice, "you said just
+now that Matthews mistook Mrs. Malplaquet for Miss Mackwayte. Why
+should Matthews think that Miss Mackwayte was down here? Did she
+come down with you?"
+
+Francis looked at him quickly.
+
+"That crack on the head makes you forget things," he said. "Don't
+you remember Miss Mackwayte coming down here to see you yesterday
+afternoon Matthews thought she had stayed on..."
+
+Desmond shook his head.
+
+"She's not been here," he replied. "I'm quite positive about that!"
+
+Francis sprang to his feet.
+
+"Surely you must be mistaken," he said in tones of concern. "The
+Chief sent her down yesterday afternoon on purpose to see you.
+She reached Wentfield Station all right; because the porter told
+Matthews that she asked him the way to the Mill House."
+
+An ominous foreboding struck chill at Desmond's heart. He held
+his throbbing head for an instant. Someone had mentioned Barbara
+that night in the library but who was it? And what had he said?
+
+Ah! of course, it was Strangwise. "So that's what she wanted with
+Nur-el-Din!" he had said.
+
+Desmond felt it all coming back to him now. Briefly he told
+Francis of his absence from the Mill House in response to the
+summons from Nur-el-Din, of his interview with the dancer and her
+story of the Star of Poland, of his hurried return just in time
+to meet Mortimer, and of Mortimer's enigmatical reference to the
+dancer in the library that night.
+
+Fancis looked graver and graver as the story proceeded. Desmond
+noted it and reproached himself most bitterly with his initial
+failure to inform the Chief of the visits of Nur-el-Din and
+Mortimer to the Mill House. When he had finished speaking, he did
+not look at Francis, but gazed mournfully out of the window into
+the chilly drizzle of a sad winter's day.
+
+"I don't like the look of it at all, Des," said his brother
+shaking his head, "but first we must make sure that there has
+been no misunderstanding about Miss Mackwayte. You say your
+housekeeper was already here when you came back from the Dyke
+Inn. She may have seen her. Let's have old Martha in!"
+
+Between fright, bewilderment and indignation at the invasion of
+the house, old Martha was, if anything, deafer and more stupid
+than usual. After much interrogation they had to be satisfied
+with her repeated assertion that "she 'adn't seen no young lady"
+and allowed her to hobble back to her kitchen.
+
+The two brothers stared at one another blankly. Francis was the
+first to speak. His eyes were shining and his manner was rather
+tense.
+
+"Des," he asked; "what do you make of it? From what Strangwise
+let fall in the library here tonight, it seems probable that Miss
+Mackwayte, instead of coming here to see you as she was told--or
+she may have called during your absence--went to the Dyke Inn and
+saw Nur-el-Din. The muffed cry you heard at the inn suggests foul
+play to me and that suspicion is deepened in my mind by the fact
+that Matthews found Nur-el-Din at the Dyke Inn, as he reported to
+me by telephone just now; but he says nothing about Miss
+Mackwayte. Des, I fear the worst for that poor girl if she has
+fallen into the hands of that gang!"
+
+Desmond remained silent for a moment. He was trying to piece
+things together as best as his aching head would allow. Both
+Nur-el-Din and Strangwise were after the jewel. Nur-el-Din
+believed that afternoon that Strangwise had it, while Strangwise,
+on discovering his loss, had seemed to suggest that Barbara
+Mackwayte had recovered it.
+
+"Either Strangwise or Nur-el-Din, perhaps both of them," said
+Desmond, "must know what has become of Miss Mackwayte."
+
+And he explained his reasoning to Francis. His brother nodded
+quickly.
+
+"Then Nur-el-Din shall tell us," he answered sternly.
+
+"They've arrested her?" asked Desmond with a sudden pang.
+
+"Yes," said Francis curtly. But too late to prevent a crime being
+committed. When Matthews and his party arrived, they found
+Nur-el-Din in the very act of leaving the inn. The landlord,
+Rass, was lying dead on the floor of the tap-room with a bullet
+through the temple. That looks to me, Des, as though Nur-el-Din
+had recovered the jewel!"
+
+"But Rass is a compatriot of hers," Desmond objected.
+
+"But he was also an inconvenient witness of her dealings with
+Strangwise," retorted Francis. "If either Nur-el-Din or
+Strangwise have regained possession of the Star of Poland, Des, I
+fear the worst for Barbara Mackwayte. Come in!"
+
+The corporal stood, saluting, at the door.
+
+"Mr. Matthews on the telephone, sir!"
+
+Francis hurried away, leaving Desmond to his thoughts, which were
+not of the most agreeable. Had he been wrong in thinking
+Nur-el-Din a victim? Was he, after all, nothing but a credulous
+fool who had been hoodwinked by a pretty woman's play-acting? And
+had he sacrificed Barbara Mackwayte to his obstinacy and his
+credulousness?
+
+Francis burst suddenly into the room.
+
+"Des," he cried, "they've found Miss Mackwayte's hat on the floor
+of the tap-room... it is stained with blood..."
+
+Desmond felt himself growing pale:
+
+"And the girl herself," he asked thickly, "what of her?"
+
+Francis shook his head.
+
+"Vanished," he replied gravely. "Vanished utterly.
+Desmond," he added, "we must go over to the Dyke Inn at once!"
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXI. THE BLACK VELVET TOQUE
+
+Across Morsted Fen the day was breaking red and sullen. The
+brimming dykes, fringed with bare pollards, and the long sheets
+of water spread out across the lush meadows, threw back the fiery
+radiance of the sky from their gleaming surface. The tall
+poplars about the Dyke Inn stood out hard and clear in the ruddy
+light; beyond them the fen, stretched away to the flaming horizon
+gloomy and flat and desolate, with nothing higher than the
+stunted pollards visible against the lurid background.
+
+Upon the absolute silence of the scene there presently broke the
+steady humming of a car. A great light, paled by the dawn, came
+bobbing and sweeping, along the road that skirted the fen's edge.
+A big open car drew up by the track and branched, off to the inn.
+Its four occupants consulted together for an instant and then
+alighted. Three of them were in plain clothes; the other was a
+soldier. The driver was also in khaki.
+
+"They're astir, Mr. Matthews," said one, of the plain clothes
+men, pointing towards the house, "see, there's a light in the
+inn!"
+
+They followed the direction of his finger and saw a beam of
+yellow light gleaming from among the trees.
+
+"Get your guns out, boys!" said Matthews. "Give them a chance to
+put their hands up, and if they don't obey, shoot!"
+
+Very swiftly but very quietly, the four men picked their way over
+the miry track to the little bridge leading to the yard in front
+of the inn. The light they had remarked shone from the inn door,
+a feeble, flickering light as of an expiring candle.
+
+Matthews, who was leading, halted and listened. Everything was
+quite still. Above their head the inn sign groaned uneasily as it
+was stirred by the fresh morning breeze.
+
+"You, Gordon," whispered Matthews to the man behind him--they had
+advanced in Indian file--"take Bates and go round to the back.
+Harrison will go in by the front with me."
+
+Even as he spoke a faint noise came from the interior of the
+house. The four men stood stock-still and listened. In the
+absolute stillness of the early morning, the sound fell
+distinctly on their ears. It was a step--a light step--descending
+the stairs.
+
+Gordon and the soldier detached themselves from the party as
+Matthews and the other plain clothes man crossed the bridge
+swiftly and went up to the inn door. Hardly had Matthews got his
+foot on the stone step of the threshold than, a piercing shriek
+resounded from the room quite close at hand. The next minute a
+flying figure burst out of the door and fell headlong into the
+arms of Matthews who was all but overbalanced by the force of the
+impact.
+
+He closed with the figure and grappled it firmly. His arms
+encountered a frail, light body, shaking from head to foot,
+enveloped in a cloak of some soft, thick material.
+
+"It's a woman!" cried Matthews.
+
+"It's Nur-el-Din!" exclaimed his companion in the same breath,
+seizing the woman by the arm.
+
+The dancer made no attempt to escape. She stood with bowed head,
+trembling violently, in a cowering, almost a crouching posture.
+
+Harrison, who had the woman by the arm, had turned her head so
+that he could see her face. She was deathly pale and her black
+eyes were wide open, the pupils dilated. Her teeth were
+chattering in her head. She seemed incapable of speech or motion.
+
+"Nur-el-Din?" exclaimed Matthews in accents of triumph. "Bring
+her in, Harrison, and let's have a look at her!"
+
+But the woman recoiled in terror. She arched her body stiff, like
+a child in a passion, and strained every muscle to remain where
+she was cowering by the inn-door.
+
+"Come on, my girl," said the man not unkindly, "don't you 'ear
+wot the Guv'nor sez! In you go!"
+
+Then the girl screamed aloud.
+
+"No, no!" she cried, "not in that house! For the love of God,
+don't take me back into that room! Ah! For pity's sake, let me
+stay outside! Take me to prison but not, not into that house
+again!"
+
+She half fell on her knees in the mire, pleading, entreating, her
+body shaken by sobs.
+
+Then Harrison, who was an ex-Guardsman and a six-footer at that,
+plucked her off her feet and carried her, still struggling, still
+imploring with piteous cries, over the threshold into the house:
+Matthews followed behind.
+
+The shutters of the tap-room were still closed. Only a strip of
+the dirty floor, strewn with sawdust, was illuminated by a bar of
+reddish light from the daybreak outside. On the table a candle,
+burnt down to the socket of its brass candlestick, flared and
+puttered in a riot of running wag. Half in the bar of daylight
+from outside, half in the darkness beyond the open door, against
+which the flickering candlelight struggled feebly, lay the body
+of a yellow-faced, undersized man with a bullet wound through the
+temple.
+
+Without effort Harrison deposited his light burden on her feet by
+the table. Instantly, the girl fled, like some frightened animal
+of the woods, to the farthest corner of the room. Here she
+dropped sobbing on her knees, rocking herself to and fro in a
+sort of paroxysm of hysteria. Harrison moved quickly round the
+table after her; but he was checked by a cry from Matthews who
+was kneeling by the body.
+
+"Let her be," said Matthews, "she's scared of this and no wonder!
+Come here a minute, Harrison, and see if you know, this chap!"
+
+Harrison crossed the room and looked down at the still figure. He
+whistled softly.
+
+"My word!" he said, "but he copped it all right, sir! Ay, I know
+him well enough! He's Rass, the landlord of this pub, that's who
+he is, as harmless a sort of chap as ever was! Who did it, d'you
+think, sir?"
+
+Matthews, who had been going through the dead man's pockets, now
+rose to his feet.
+
+"Nothing worth writing home about there," he said half aloud.
+Then to Harrison, he added: "That's what we've got to
+discover... hullo, who's this?"
+
+The door leading from the bar to the tap-room was thrust open.
+Gordon put his head in.
+
+"I left Bates on guard outside, sir," he said in answer to an
+interrogatory glance from Matthews, "I've been all over the
+ground floor and there's not a soul here..."
+
+He checked himself suddenly.
+
+"God bless my soul!" he exclaimed, his eyes on the figure
+crouching in the corner, "you don't mean to say you've got her? A
+pretty dance she led Dug and myself! Well, sir, it looks to me
+like a good night's work!".
+
+Matthews smiled a self-satisfied smile.
+
+"I fancy the Chief will be pleased," he said, "though the rest of
+'em seem to have given us the slip. Gordon, you might take a look
+upstairs--that door in the corner leads to the upper rooms, I
+fancy whilst I'm telephoning to Mr. Okewood. He must know about
+this without delay. You, Harrison, keep an eye on the girl!"
+
+He went through the door leading into the bar, and they heard him
+speaking on the telephone which hung on the wall behind the
+counter. He returned presently with a white tablecloth which he
+threw over the prostrate figure on the floor.
+
+Then he turned to the dancer.
+
+"Stand up," he said sternly, "I want to speak to you."
+
+Nur-el-Din cast a frightened glance over her shoulder at the
+floor beside the table where Rass lay. On seeing the white pall
+that hid him from view, she became somewhat reassured. She rose
+unsteadily to her feet and stood facing Matthews.
+
+"In virtue of the powers conferred upon me by the Defence of the
+Realm Acts, I arrest you foil espionage... Matthews rolled off in
+glib, official gabble the formula of arrest ending with the usual
+caution that anything the prisoner might say might be used
+against her at her trial. Then he said to Harrison:
+
+"Better put them on her, Harrison!"
+
+The plain clothes man took a pace forward and touched the
+dancer's slender wrists, there was a click and she was
+handcuffed.
+
+"Now take her in there," said Matthews pointing to the bar.
+"There's no exit except by this room. And don't take your eyes
+off her. You understand? Mr. Okewood will be along presently with
+a female searcher."
+
+"Sir!" said the plain clothes man with military precision and
+touched the dancer on the shoulder. Without a word she turned and
+followed him into the bar.
+
+Gordon entered by the door at the end of the room.
+
+"I'd like you to have a look upstairs, sir," he said to Matthews,
+"there's not a soul in the house, but somebody has been locked up
+in one of the rooms. The door is still locked but one of the
+panels has been forced out. I think you ought to see it!"
+
+The two men passed out of the tap-room together, and mounted the
+stairs. On the landing Matthews paused a moment to glance out of
+the window on to the bleak and inhospitable fen which was almost
+obscured from view by a heavy drizzle of rain.
+
+"Brr!" said Mr. Matthews, "what a horrible place!"
+
+Looking up the staircase from the landing, they could see that
+one of the panels of the door facing the head of the stairs had
+been pressed out and lay on the ground. They passed up the stairs
+and Matthews, putting one arm and his head through the opening,
+found himself gazing into that selfsame ugly sitting room where
+Desmond had talked with Nur-el-Din.
+
+A couple of vigorous heaves burst the fastening of the door. The
+sitting-room was in the wildest confusion. The doors of the
+sideboard stood wide with its contents scattered
+higgledy-piggledy on the carpet. A chest of drawers in the corner
+had been ransacked, some of the drawers having been taken bodily
+out and emptied on the floor.
+
+The door leading to the inner room stood open and showed that a
+similar search had been conducted there as well. The inner room
+proved to be a bare white-washed place, very plainly furnished as
+a bedroom. On the floor stood a small attache case, and beside it
+a little heap of miscellaneous articles such as a woman would
+take away with her for a weekend, a crepe-de-chine nightdress, a
+dainty pair of bedroom slippers and some silver-mounted toilet
+fittings. From these things Matthews judged that this had been
+Nur-el-Din's bedroom.
+
+The two men spent a long time going through the litter with which
+the floor in the bedroom and sitting room was strewed. But their
+labors were vain, and they turned their attention to the
+remaining rooms, of which there were three.
+
+The first room they visited, adjoining Nur-el-Din's bedroom, was
+scarcely better than an attic. It contained in the way of
+furniture little else than a truckle-bed, a washstand, a table
+and a chair. Women's clothes were hanging on hooks behind the
+door. The place looked like a servant's bedroom.
+
+They pursued their search. Across the corridor two rooms stood
+side by side. One proved to be Rass's. His clothes lay about the
+room, and on a table in the corner, where writing materials
+stood, were various letters and bills made out in his name.
+
+The other room had also been occupied; for the bed was made and
+turned back for the night and there were clean towels on the
+washstand. But there was no clue as to its occupant save for a
+double-barreled gun which stood in the corner. It had evidently
+been recently used; for fresh earth was adhering to the stock and
+the barrel, though otherwise clean, showed traces of
+freshly-burnt powder.
+
+There being nothing further to glean upstairs, the two men went
+down to the tap-room again. As Matthews came through the door
+leading from the staircase his eye caught a dark object which lay
+on the floor under the long table. He fished it out with his
+stick.
+
+It was a small black velvet toque with a band of white and black
+silk flowers round it. In one part the white flowers were
+besmeared with a dark brown stain.
+
+Matthews stared at the little hat in his hand with puckered
+brows. Then he called to Gordon.
+
+"Do you know that hat?" he asked, holding it up for the man to
+see.
+
+Gordon shook his head.
+
+"I might have seen it," he replied, "but I don't take much
+account of such things, Mr. Matthews, being a married man..."
+
+"Tut, tut," fussed Matthews, "I think you have seen it. Come,
+think of the office for a minute!"
+
+"Of the office?" repeated Gordon. Then he exclaimed suddenly:
+
+"Miss Mackwayte!"
+
+"Exactly," answered Matthews, "it's her hat, I recall it
+perfectly. She wore it very often to the office. Look at the
+blood on it!"
+
+He put the hat down on the table and ran into the bar where
+Nur-el-Din sat immobile on her chair, wrapped in a big overcoat
+of some soft blanket cloth in dark green, her chin sunk on her
+breast.
+
+Matthews called up the Mill House and asked for Francis Okewood.
+When he mentioned the finding of Barbara Mackwayte's hat, the
+dancer raised her head and cast a frightened glance at Matthews.
+But she said nothing and when Matthews turned from the telephone
+to go back to the tap-room she had resumed her former listless
+attitude.
+
+Matthews and Gordon made a thorough search of the kitchen and
+back premises without finding anything of note. They had just
+finished when the sound of a car outside attracted their
+attention. On the road beyond the little bridge outside the inn
+Francis and Desmond Okewood were standing, helping a woman to
+alight. Francis was still wearing his scarecrow-like apparel,
+while Desmond, with his beard and pale face and bandaged head,
+looked singularly unlike the trim Brigade Major who had come home
+on leave only a week or so before.
+
+Matthews went out to meet them and, addressing the woman--a
+brisk-looking person-as Mrs. Butterworth, informed her that it
+was shocking weather. Then he led the way into the inn.
+
+The first thing that Desmond saw was the little toque with the
+brown stain on its flowered band lying on the table. Francis
+picked it up, turned it over and land it down again.
+
+"Where did you find it?" he asked Matthews. The latter informed
+him of the circumstances of the discovery. Then Francis, sending
+the searcher in to Nur-el-Din in the bar, pointed to the body on
+the floor.
+
+"Let's have a look at that!" he said.
+
+Matthews removed the covering and the three men gazed at the set
+face of the dead man. There was a clean bullet wound in the right
+temple. Matthews showed the papers he had taken off the body and
+exchanged a few, words in a low tone with Francis. There is
+something about the presence of death which impels respect
+whatever the circumstances.
+
+Five minutes later Mrs. Butterworth came out of the bar. In her
+hands she held a miscellaneous assortment of articles, a small
+gold chain purse, a pair of gloves, a gold cigarette case, a tiny
+handkerchief, and a long blue envelope. She put all the articles
+down on the tables save the envelope which she handed to Francis.
+
+"This was in the lining of her overcoat, sir," she said.
+
+Francis took the envelope and broke the seal. He drew out half a
+dozen sheets of thin paper, folded lengthwise. Leisurely he
+unfolded them, but he had hardly glanced at the topmost sheet
+than he turned to the next and the next until he had run through
+the whole bunch. Desmond, peering over his shoulder, caught a
+glimpse of rows of figures, very neatly set out in a round hand
+and knew that he was looking at a message in cipher code.
+
+The door at the end of the tap-room was flung open and a soldier
+came in quickly.
+
+He stopped irresolute on seeing the group.
+
+"Well, Bates," said Matthews.
+
+"There's a woman lying dead in the cellar back yonder," said the
+man, jerking his thumb over his shoulder.
+
+"The cellar?" cried Matthews.
+
+"Yes, sir... I think you must ha' overlooked it."
+
+Francis, Desmond and Matthews exchanged a brief glance. A name
+was on the lips of each one of them but none dared speak it.
+Then, leaving Harrison and Mrs. Butterworth with Nur-el-Din, the
+three men followed the soldier and hurriedly quitted the room.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXII. WHAT THE CELLAR REVEALED
+
+On opening the door at the farther end of the tap-room they saw
+before them a trap-door standing wide with a shallow flight of
+wooden steps leading to the darkness below. Bates pointed with
+his foot to a square of linoleum which lay on one side.
+
+"That was covering the trap," he said, "I wouldn't ha' noticed
+nothing out of the ordinary myself only I slipped, see, and
+kicked this bit o' ilecloth away and there was the ring of the
+trap staring me in the face, as you might say. Show us a light
+here, Gordon!"
+
+Gordon handed him an electric torch. He flashed it down the
+stair. It fell upon something like a heap of black clothes
+huddled up at the foot of the ladder.
+
+"Is it Miss Mackwayte?" whispered Francis to his brother. "I've
+never seen her, you know!"
+
+"I can't tell," Desmond whispered back, "until I see her face."
+
+He advanced to descend the ladder but Matthews was before him.
+Producing an electric torch from his pocket, Matthews slipped
+down the stair with Gordon close behind. There was a pause, so
+tense that it seemed an eternity to Desmond, as he waited
+half-way down the ladder with the musty smell of the cellar in
+his nostrils. Then Matthews cried:
+
+"It's not her!"
+
+"Let me look!" Gordon broke in. Then Desmond heard him exclaim.
+
+"It's Nur-el-Din's French maid! It's Marie... she's been stabbed
+in the back!"
+
+Desmond suddenly felt rather sick. This progress from one deed of
+violence to another revolted him. The others crowded into the
+cellar; but he did not follow them. He remained at the top of the
+trap, leaning against the wall, trying to collect his thoughts.
+
+Barbara Mackwayte was now his sole preoccupation. If anything had
+happened to her,--it was through his fault alone; for he began to
+feel sure she must have come to the Mill House in his absence.
+What then had become of her? The blood-stained toque pointed to
+foul play. But if they had murdered her, what had they done with
+the body?
+
+His thoughts flew back to his interview with Nur-el-Din upstairs
+on the previous afternoon. He remembered the entrance of the maid
+and the dancer's hurried exit. Might not Marie have come to tell
+her that Barbara Mackwayte was below asking for her? It was very
+shortly after this interruption that, crouching on the roof of
+the shed, he had heard that muffled cry from the house and seen
+Rass enter the bar and speak with Strangwise. He had seen, too,
+the maid, Marie, in earnest conversation with Strangwise by the
+back gate on the fen. Had both Marie and Rass been in league with
+Strangwise against the dancer? And had Nur-el-Din discovered
+their treachery? His mind refused to follow these deductions to
+their logical sequence; for, black as things looked against
+Nur-el-Din, he could not bring himself to believe her a
+murderess.
+
+But now there were footsteps on the ladder. They were all coming
+out of the cellar again. As soon as Francis saw Desmond's face,
+he caught his brother by the arm and said:
+
+"The open air for you, my boy! You look as if you'd seen a ghost!
+I should have remembered all you've gone through!"
+
+He walked him quickly through the tap-room and out through the
+inn door into the yard.
+
+The rain had ceased and the sun was making a brave attempt to
+shine through the clouds. The cold air did Desmond good and
+after a turn or two in the yard, arm in arm with Francis, he felt
+considerably better.
+
+"Where is Miss Mackwayte?" he asked.
+
+"Des," said his brother, "I don't know and I don't want to
+cross-examine Nur-el-Din in there until I have reasoned out some
+theory which will fit Miss Mackwayte in her place in this
+horrible affair. The men have gone to search the outhouses and
+precincts of the inn to see if they can find any traces of her
+body, but I don't think they will find anything. I believe that
+Miss Mackwayte is alive."
+
+"Alive?" said Desmond.
+
+"The blood on that toque of hers might have been Rass's. There is
+a good deal of blood on the floor. You see, I still think Miss
+Mackwayte's safety depends on that jewel not being recovered by
+either Strangwise or Nur-el-Din. Strangwise, we know, has lost
+the jewel and there is no trace of it here: moreover, we know
+that, as late as yesterday afternoon, Nur-el-Din did not have it.
+Therefore, she cannot have sent it away! I am inclined to
+believe, too, that Strangwise, before going over to the Mill
+House last night, carried off Miss Mackwayte somewhere with the
+aid of Rass and Marie, who were evidently his accomplices, in
+order to find out from her where the jewel is concealed..."
+
+"But Miss Mackwayte cannot know what has become of it," objected
+Desmond.
+
+"Maybe not," retorted his brother, "but both Strangwise and
+Nur-el-Din know that the jewel was originally entrusted to her
+charge. Nur-el-Din did not, it is true, tell Miss Mackwayte what
+the silver box contained but the latter may have found out, at
+least the dancer might suppose so; while Strangwise might think
+the same. Therefore, both Strangwise and Nur-el-Din had an
+interest in detaining Miss Mackwayte, and I think Strangwise
+forestalled the dancer. When Nur-el-Din discovered it, both Rass
+and her maid paid the penalty of their betrayal."
+
+They walked once up and down the yard before Desmond replied.
+
+"Francis," he said, "you remember Nur-el-Din's story--I told it
+to you just as I had it from her."
+
+"Perfectly," answered his brother.
+
+"Well," Desmond went on deliberately, "I think that story gives
+us the right measure of Nur-el-Din's, character. She may be vain,
+she may be without morals, she may be weak, she may be an
+adventuress, but she's not a murderess. If anything, she's a
+victim!"
+
+Francis laughed shortly.
+
+"Victim be damned!" he cried. "Man alive," he went on, "how can
+you talk such nonsense in face of the evidence, with this
+bloody-minded woman's victims hardly cold yet? But, horrible as
+these murders are, the private squabbles of this gang of spies
+represent neither your interest nor mine in this case. For us the
+fact remains that Nur-el-Din, besides being a monster of
+iniquity, is the heart and soul and vitals of the whole
+conspiracy!"
+
+Jaded and nervous, Desmond felt a quick sting of resentment at
+his brother's tone. Why should Francis thus lay down the law to
+him about Nur-el-Din? Francis knew nothing of the girl or her
+antecedents while he, Desmond, flattered himself that he had at
+least located the place she occupied in this dark conspiracy. And
+he cried out vehemently:
+
+"You're talking like a fool! I grant you that Nur-el-Din has been
+mixed up with this spy crowd; but she herself stands absolutely
+apart from the organization..."
+
+"Half a minute!" put in Francis, "aren't you forgetting that blue
+envelope we took off her just now?"
+
+"What about it?" asked Desmond sharply.
+
+"Merely this; the cipher is in five figure groups, addressed to a
+four figure group and signed by a six figure group..."
+
+"Well?"
+
+"That happens to be the current secret code of the German Great
+General Staff. If you were to tap a German staff message out in
+France to-day, ten to one it would be in that code. Curious
+coincidence, isn't it?"
+
+When one is angry, to be baffled in argument does not have a
+sedative effect as a rule. If we were all philosophers it might;
+but being merely human beings, cold reason acts on the inflamed
+temperament as a red rag is said to affect a bull.
+
+Desmond, sick with the sense of failure and his anxiety about
+Barbara, was in no mood to listen to reason. The cold logic of
+his brother infuriated him mainly because Desmond knew that
+Francis was right.
+
+"I don't care a damn for the evidence," vociferated Desmond; "It
+may look black against Nur-el-Din; I daresay it does; but I have
+met and talked to this girl and I tell you again that she is not
+a principal in this affair but a victim!"
+
+"You talk as if you were in love with the woman!" Francis said
+mockingly.
+
+Desmond went rather white.
+
+"If pity is a form of love," he replied in a low voice, "then I
+am, for God knows I never pitied any woman as I pity Nur-el-Din!
+Only you, I suppose," he added bitterly, "are too much of the
+policeman, Francis, to appreciate anything like that!" Hot
+tempers run in families and Francis flared up on the instant.
+
+"I may be a policeman, as you say," he retorted, "but I've got
+enough sense of my duty, I hope, not to allow sentimentality to
+interfere with my orders!"
+
+It was a shrewd thrust and it caught Desmond on the raw.
+
+"I'm sick of arguing here," he said hotly, "if you're so mighty
+clever, you'd better shoot Nur-el-Din first and arrest Strangwise
+afterwards. Then you'll find out which of us two is right!"
+
+He turned on his heel and started for the little bridge leading
+out onto the fen.
+
+Francis stood still a moment watching him, then ran after him. He
+caught up with Desmond as the latter reached the bridge.
+
+"Desmond!" he said, pleadingly.
+
+"Oh, go to hell!" retorted the other savagely, whereupon Francis
+turned his back on him and walked back to the inn.
+
+A car had stopped by the bridge and a man was getting out of it
+as Desmond moved towards the fen. The next moment he found
+himself face to face with the Chief.
+
+The Chief's face was hard and cold and stern. There was a furrow
+between his eyes which deepened when he recognized Desmond.
+
+"Well," he said curtly, "and where is my secretary?"
+
+"I don't know," Desmond faltered.
+
+"Why are you here, then?" came back in that hard, uncompromising
+voice.
+
+Desmond was about to reply; but the other checked him.
+
+"I know all you have to say," he resumed, "but no excuse you can
+offer can explain away the disappearance of Miss Mackwayte. Your
+orders were formal to remain at home. You saw fit to disobey them
+and thereby, maybe, sent Miss Mackwayte to her death. No!" he
+added, seeing that Desmond was about to expostulate, "I want to
+hear nothing from you. However obscure the circumstances of Miss
+Mackwayte's disappearance may be, one fact is perfectly clear,
+namely, that she went to the Mill House, as she was ordered and
+you were not there. For no man or woman in my service ever dares
+to disobey an order I have given."
+
+"Chief..." Desmond broke in, but again that inexorable voice
+interposed.
+
+"I will hear nothing from you," said the Chief, "it is a rule of
+mine never to interfere with my men in their work or to see them
+until their mission has been successfully completed. When you
+have found Miss Mackwayte I will hear you but not before!"
+
+Desmond drew himself up.
+
+"In that case, sir," he said stiffly, "I will bid you good
+morning. And I trust you will hear from me very soon again!"
+
+He walked over to one of the cars waiting outside the inn, spoke
+a word to the driver and got in. The driver started the engine
+and presently the car was bumping slowly along the muddy track to
+the main road.
+
+The Chief stood looking after him.
+
+"Well," he murmured to himself. "I soaked it into him pretty
+hard; but he took it like a brick. I do believe he'll find her
+yet!"
+
+He shook his head sagely and continued on hid way across the
+yard.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIII. MRS. MALPLAQUET GOES DOWN TO THE CELLAR
+
+In the age of chivalry woman must have been built of sterner
+stuff than the girl of to-day. At least, we read in medieval
+romance of fair ladies who, after being knocked down by a
+masterful suitor and carried off across his saddle bow thirty or
+forty miles, are yet able to appear, cold but radiantly
+beautiful, at the midnight wedding and the subsequent marriage
+feast.
+
+But this is a romance of the present day, the age of nerves and
+high velocity. Barbara Mackwayte, strong and plucky as she was,
+after being half throttled and violently thrown into the cellar
+of the Dyke Inn, suddenly gave way under the strain and
+conveniently evaded facing the difficulties of her position by
+fainting clear away.
+
+The precise moment when she came out of her swoon she never knew.
+The cellar was dark; but it was nothing compared to the darkness
+enveloping her mind. She lay there on the damp and mouldy straw,
+hardly able, scarcely wanting, to move, overwhelmed by the
+extraordinary adventure which had befallen her. Was this to be
+the end of the pleasant trip into the country on which she had
+embarked so readily only a few hours before? She tried to
+remember that within twenty miles of her were policemen and taxis
+and lights and all the attributes of our present day
+civilization; but her thoughts always returned, with increasing
+horror, to that undersized yellow-faced man in the room above, to
+the face of Nur-el-Din, dark and distorted with passion.
+
+A light shining down the cellar stairs drew her attention to the
+entrance. The woman she had already seen and in whom she now
+recognized Marie, the dancer's maid, was descending, a tray in
+her hand. She placed the tray on the ground without a word, then
+went up the stairs again and fetched the lamp. She put the lamp
+down by the tray and, stooping, cut the ropes that fastened
+Barbara's hands and feet.
+
+"So, Mademoiselle," she said, drawing herself erect with a grunt,
+"your supper: some tea and meat!"
+
+She pulled a dirty deal box from a corner of the cellar and put
+the tray upon it. Then she rose to her feet and sat down. The
+maid watched Barbara narrowly while she ate a piece of bread and
+drank the tea.
+
+"At least," thought Barbara to herself, "they don't mean to
+starve me!"
+
+The tea was hot and strong; and it did her good. It seemed to
+clear her faculties, too; for her brain began to busy itself with
+the problem of escaping from her extraordinary situation.
+
+"Mademoiselle was a leetle too clevaire," said the maid with an
+evil leer,--"she would rob Madame, would she? She would play the
+espionne, hein? Eh bien, ma petite, you stay 'ere ontil you say
+what you lave done wiz ze box of Madame!"
+
+"Why do you say I have stolen the box?" protested Barbara, "when
+I tell you I know nothing of it. It was stolen from me by the man
+who killed my father. More than that I don't know. You don't
+surely think I would conspire to kill" her voice trembled--"my
+father, to get possession of this silver box that means nothing
+to me!"
+
+Marie laughed cynically.
+
+"Ma foi," she cried, "when one is a spy, one will stop at
+nothing! But tiers, here is Madame!"
+
+Nur-el-Din picked her way carefully down the steps, the
+yellow-faced man behind her. He had a pistol in his hand. The
+dancer said something in French to her maid who picked up the
+tray and departed.
+
+"Now, Mademoiselle," said Nur-el-Din, "you see this pistol. Rass
+here will use it if you make any attempt to escape. You
+understand me, hein? I come to give you a las' chance to say
+where you 'ave my box..."
+
+Barbara looked at the dancer defiantly.
+
+"I've told you already I know nothing about it. You, if any one,
+should be better able to say what has become of it..."
+
+"Quoi?" exclaimed Nur-el-Din in genuine surprise, "comment?"
+
+"Because," said Barbara, "a long black hair--one of your
+hairs--was found adhering to the straps with which I was
+fastened!"
+
+"Tiens!" said the dancer, her black eyes wide with surprise,
+"tiens!"
+
+She was silent for a minute, lost in thought. The man, Rass,
+suddenly cocked his ear towards the staircase and said something
+to Nur-el-Din in the same foreign tongue which Barbara had heard
+them employ before.
+
+The dancer made a gesture, bidding him to be silent.
+
+"He was at my dressing-table that night;" she murmured in French,
+as though to herself, "then it was he who did it!"
+
+She spoke rapidly to Barbara.
+
+"This man who tied you up... you didn't see him?"
+
+Barbara shook her head.
+
+"I could see nothing; I don't even know that it was a man. He
+seized me so suddenly that in the dark I could distinguish
+nothing... it might have been a woman... yourself, for instance,
+for all I know!"
+
+Nur-el-Din clasped her hands together.
+
+"It was he, himself, then," she whispered, "I might have known.
+Yet he has not got it here!"
+
+Heavy footsteps resounded in the room above. Rass cried out
+something swiftly to the dancer, thrust the pistol into her
+hands, and dashed up the ladder. The next moment there was a loud
+report followed by the thud of a heavy body falling. Somewhere in
+the rooms above a woman screamed.
+
+Nur-el-Din's hands flew to her face and the pistol crashed to the
+ground. Two men appeared at the head of the cellar stairs. One
+was Strangwise, in uniform, the other was Bellward.
+
+"They're both here!" said Strangwise over his shoulder to
+Bellward.
+
+"Ah, thank God, you've come!" cried Barbara, running to the foot
+of the ladder.
+
+Strangwise brushed past her and caught Nur-el-Din by the arm.
+
+"Run her upstairs," he said quickly to Bellward who had followed
+behind him, "and lock her in her room. I've seen to the rest.
+You, Miss Mackwayte," he added to Barbara, "you will come with
+us!"
+
+Barbara was staring in fascination at Bellward. She had never
+believed that any disguise could be so baffling, so complete;
+Major Okewood, she thought, looked like a different man.
+
+But Bellward had grasped the dancer by the two arms and forced
+her up the stairs in front of him. Nur-el-Din seemed too overcome
+with terror to utter a sound.
+
+"Oh, don't be so rough with her, Major Okewood!" entreated
+Barbara, "you'll hurt her!"
+
+She had her back turned to Strangwise so she missed the very
+remarkable change that came over his features at her words.
+
+"Okewood," he whispered but too low for the girl to distinguish
+the words, "Okewood? I might have guessed! I might have guessed!"
+Then he touched Barbara lightly on the shoulder.
+
+"Come," he said, "we must be getting upstairs. We have much to
+do!"
+
+He gently impelled her towards the ladder up which Bellward and
+Nur-el-Din had already disappeared. At the top, he took the lead
+and conducted Barbara into the taproom. A single candle stood on
+the table, throwing a wan light into the room. Rass lay on his
+back in the centre of the floor, one hand doubled up under him,
+one knee slightly drawn up.
+
+Barbara started back in horror.
+
+"Is he... is he..." she stammered, pointing at the limp still
+form.
+
+Strangwise nodded.
+
+"A spy!" he said gravely, "we were well rid of him. Go over there
+in the corner where you won't see it. Stay!" he added, seeing how
+pale the girl had become, "you shall have some brandy!"
+
+He produced a flask and measured her out, a portion in the cup.
+Suddenly, the door leading from the bar opened and a woman came
+into the room. Her black velvet dress, her gray hair and general
+air of distinction made her a bizarre figure in that squalid room
+lit by the guttering candle.
+
+"Time we were off!" she said to Strangwise, "Bellward's just
+coming down!"
+
+"There's the maid..." began Strangwise, looking meaningly at
+Barbara.
+
+The woman in black velvet cast a questioning glance at him.
+
+Strangwise nodded.
+
+"I'll do it," said the woman promptly, "if you'll call her down!"
+
+Strangwise went to the other door of the tap-room and called:
+
+"Marie!"
+
+There was a step outside and the maid came in, pale and
+trembling.
+
+"Your mistress wants you; she is downstairs in the cellar," he
+said pleasantly.
+
+Marie hesitated an instant and surveyed the group.
+
+"Non, non," she said nervously, "je n'veux pas descendre!"
+
+Strangwise smiled, showing his teeth.
+
+"No need to be frightened, ma fille," he replied. "Madame here
+will go down with you!" and he pointed to the woman in black
+velvet.
+
+This seemed to reassure the maid and she walked across the room
+to the door, the woman following her. As the latter passed
+Strangwise he whispered a word in her ear.
+
+"No, no," answered the other, "I prefer my own way," and she
+showed him something concealed in her hand.
+
+The two women quitted the room together, leaving Strangwise and
+Barbara alone with the thing on the floor. Strangwise picked up a
+military great-coat which was hanging over the back of a chair
+and put it on, buttoning it all the way up the front and turning
+up the collar about the neck. Then he crammed a cap on his head
+and stood listening intently.
+
+A high, gurgling scream, abruptly checked, came through the open
+door at the farther end of the room.
+
+Barbara sprang up from the chair into which she had sunk.
+
+"What was that" she asked, whispering.
+
+Strangwise did not reply. He was still listening, a tall, well
+set-up figure in the long khaki great-coat.
+
+"But those two women are alone in the cellar," exclaimed Barbara,
+"they are being murdered! Ah! what was that?"
+
+A gentle thud resounded from below.
+
+A man came in through the door leading from the bar:
+
+He had a fat, smooth-shaven face, heavily jowled.
+
+"All ready, Bellward?" asked Strangwise carelessly.
+
+Barbara stared at the man thus addressed. She saw that he was
+wearing the same clothes as the man who had come down into the
+cellar with Strangwise but the beard was gone. And the man she
+saw before her was not Desmond Okewood.
+
+Without waiting to reason out the metamorphosis, she ran towards
+Bellward.
+
+"They're murdering those two women down in the cellar," she
+cried, "oh, what has happened? Won't you go down and see?"
+
+Bellward shook her off roughly.
+
+"Neat work!" said Strangwise.
+
+"She's a wonder with the knife!" agreed the other.
+
+Barbara stamped her foot.
+
+"If neither of you men have the courage to go down," she cried,
+"then I'll go alone! As for you, Captain Strangwise, a British
+officer..."
+
+She never finished the sentence. Strangwise caught her by the
+shoulder and thrust the cold barrel of a pistol in her face.
+
+"Stay where you are!" he commanded. "And if you scream I shoot!"
+
+Barbara was silent, dumb with horror and bewilderment, rather
+than with fear. A light shone through the open door at the end of
+the tap-room and the woman in black velvet appeared, carrying a
+lamp in her hand She was breathing rather hard and her carefully
+arranged gray hair was a little untidy; but she was quite calm
+and self-possessed.
+
+"We haven't a moment to lose!" she said, putting the lamp down on
+the table and blowing it out.
+
+"Bellward, give me my cloak!"
+
+Bellward advanced with a fur cloak and wrapped it about her
+shoulders.
+
+"You are the perfect artiste, Minna," he said.
+
+"Practise makes perfect!" replied Mrs. Malplaquet archly.
+
+Strangwise had flung open the door leading to the front yard. A
+big limousine stood outside.
+
+"Come on," he said impatiently, "don't stand there gossiping you
+two!"
+
+Then Barbara revolted.
+
+"I'll not go!" she exclaimed, "you can do what you like but I'll
+stay where I am! Murderers..."
+
+"Oh," said Strangwise wearily, "bring her along, Bellward!"
+
+Bellward and the woman seized the girl one by each arm and
+dragged her to the car. Strangwise had the door open and between
+them they thrust her in. Bellward and the woman mounted after her
+while Strangwise, after starting the engine, sprang into the
+driving-seat outside. With a low hum the big car glided forth
+into the cold, starry night.
+
+From the upper floor of the Dyke Inn came the sound of a woman's
+terrified sobs. Below there reigned the silence of death.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIV. THE TWO DESERTERS
+
+Desmond drove to Wentfield Station in an angry and defiant mood.
+He was incensed against Francis, incensed against the Chief, yet,
+if the truth were told, most of all incensed against himself.
+
+Not that he admitted it for a moment. He told himself that he was
+very hardly used. He had undergone considerable danger in the
+course of discharging a mission which was none of his seeking,
+and he had met with nothing but taunts from his brother and abuse
+from the Chief.
+
+"I wash my hands of the whole thing," Desmond declared, as he
+paced the platform at Wentfield waiting for his train. "As
+Francis is so precious cocksure about it all, let him carry on in
+my place! He's welcome to the Chief's wiggings! The Chief won't
+get me to do his dirty work again in a hurry! That's flat!"
+
+Yet all the while the little gimlet that men call conscience was
+patiently drilling its way through the wall of obduracy behind
+which Desmond's wounded pride had taken cover. Rail as he would
+against his hard treatment at the hands of the Chief, he knew
+perfectly well that he could never wash his hands of his mission
+until Barbara Mackwayte had been brought back into safety. This
+thought kept thrusting itself forward into the foreground of his
+mind; and he had to focus his attention steadfastly on his
+grievances to push it back again.
+
+But we puny mortals are all puppets in the hands of Fate. Even as
+the train was bearing Desmond, thus rebellious, Londonwards,
+Destiny was already pulling the strings which was to force the
+"quitter" back into the path he had forsaken. For this purpose
+Fate had donned the disguise of a dirty-faced man in a greasy old
+suit and a spotted handkerchief in lieu of collar... but of him
+presently.
+
+On arriving at Liverpool Street, Desmond, painfully conscious of
+his unkempt appearance, took a taxi to a Turkish bath in the West
+End. There his first care was to submit himself to the hands of
+the barber who, after a glance at his client's bandaged head,
+muddy clothes and shaggy beard, coughed ominously and relapsed
+into a most unbarber-like reserve.
+
+Desmond heard the cough and caught the look of commiseration on
+the man's face.
+
+"I rather think I want a shave!" he said, weakly. "I rather think
+you do, sir!" replied the man, busy with his lather.
+
+"... Had a nasty accident," murmured Desmond, "I fell down and
+cut my head..."
+
+"We're used to that here, sir," answered the barber, "but the
+bath'll make you as right as, rain. W'y we 'ad a genel'man in
+'ere, only lars' week it was, as 'adn't been 'ome for five days
+and nights and the coat mos tore off 'is back along with a bit of
+turn-up 'e'd 'at one o' them night clubs. And drunk I... w'y 'e
+went to bite the rubber, so they wos tellin' me! But, bless you,
+'e 'ad a nice shave and a couple of hours in the bath and a bit
+of a nap; we got him his clothes as was tore mended up fine for
+'im and 'e went 'ome as sober as a judge and as fresh as a
+daisy!"
+
+Desmond had it in his mind to protest against this material
+interpretation of his disreputable state; but the sight in the
+mirror of his ignominiously scrubby and battered appearance
+silenced him. The barber's explanation was as good as any, seeing
+that he himself could give no satisfactory account of the
+circumstances which had reduced him to his sorry pass. So Desmond
+held his peace though he felt constrained to reject the barber's
+offer of a pick-me-up.
+
+From the shaving saloon, Desmond sent a messenger out for some
+clothes, and for the next three hours amused himself by
+exhausting the resources of the Turkish bath. Finally, about the
+hour of noon, he found himself, considerably refreshed, swathed
+in towel, reposing on a couch, a cup of coffee at his elbow and
+that morning's Daily Telegraph spread out before him.
+
+Advertisements, so the experts say, are printed on the front and
+back of newspapers in order to catch the eye of the indolent, on
+the chance that having exhausted the news, they may glance idly
+over the front and back of the paper before laying it aside. So
+Desmond, before he even troubled to open his paper, let his gaze
+wander down the second column of the front page whence issue
+daily those anguishing appeals, mysterious messages,
+heart-rending entreaties and barefaced begging advertisements
+which give this column its characteristic name.
+
+There his eye fell on an advertisement couched in the following
+terms:
+
+"If Gunner Martin Barling, 1820th Battery, R.F.C., will
+communicate with Messrs. Mills & Cheyne, solicitors 130 Bedford
+Row, W. C., he will hear of something to his advantage.
+Difficulties with the military can be arranged."
+
+Desmond read this advertisement over once and then, starting at
+the beginning, read it over again. Gunner Barling... the name
+conjured up a picture of a jolly, sun-burned man, always very
+spick and span, talking the strange lingo of our professional
+army gleaned from India, Aden, Malta and the Rock, the type of
+British soldier that put the Retreat from Mons into the history
+books for all time.
+
+Advertisements like this; Desmond reflected dreamily, meant
+legacies as a rule; he was glad of it, for the sake of Barling
+whom he hadn't seen since the far-away days of Aldershot before
+the war.
+
+"Buzzer" Barling was the brother of one Private Henry Barling who
+had been Desmond's soldier-servant. He derived the nickname of
+"Buzzer" from the fact that he was a signaller. As the
+vicissitudes of service had separated the two brothers for many
+years, they had profited by the accident of finding themselves at
+the same station to see as much of one another as possible, and
+Desmond had frequently come across the gunner at his quarters in
+barracks. Henry Barling had gone out to France with Desmond but a
+sniper in the wood at Villers Cotterets had deprived Desmond of
+the best servant and the truest friend he had ever had Now here
+was Henry's brother cropping up again. Desmond hoped that
+"Buzzer" Barling would see the advertisement, and half asleep,
+formed a mental resolve to cut out the notice and send it to the
+gunner who, he felt glad to think, was still alive. The rather
+curiously worded reference to difficulties with the military must
+mean, Desmond thought, that leave could be obtained for Martin
+Barling to come home and collect his legacy.
+
+At this point the Daily Telegraph fell to the ground and Desmond
+went off to sleep. When he awoke, the afternoon hush had fallen
+upon the bath. He seemed to be the only occupant of the cubicles.
+His clothes which had arrived from the shop during his slumbers,
+were very neatly laid out on a couch opposite him.
+
+He dressed himself leisurely. The barber was quite right. The
+bath had made a new man of him. Save for a large bump on the back
+of his head he was none the worse for Strangwise's savage blow.
+The attendant having packed Bellward's apparel in the suit-case
+in which Desmond's clothes had come from the club, Desmond left
+the suit-case in the man's charge and strolled out into the soft
+air of a perfect afternoon. He had discarded his bandage and in
+his well fitting blue suit and brown boots he was not
+recognizable as the scrubby wretch who had entered the bath six
+hours before.
+
+Desmond strolled idly along the crowded streets in the sunshine.
+He was rather at a loss as to what his next move should be. Now
+that his mental freshness was somewhat restored, his thoughts
+began to busy themselves again with the disappearance of Barbara
+Mackwayte. He was conscious of a guilty feeling towards Barbara.
+It was not so much the blame he laid upon himself for not being
+at the Mill House to meet her when she came as the sense that he
+had been unfaithful to the cause of her murdered father.
+
+Now that he was away from Nur-el-Din with her pleading eyes and
+pretty gestures, Desmond's thoughts turned again to Barbara
+Mackwayte. As he walked along Piccadilly, he found himself
+contrasting the two women as he had contrasted them that night he
+had met them in Nur-el-Din's dressing room at the Palaceum. And,
+with a sense of shame; he became aware of how much he had
+succumbed to the dancer's purely sensual influence; for away from
+her he found he could regain his independence of thought and
+action.
+
+The thought of Barbara in the hands of that woman with the cruel
+eyes or a victim to the ruthlessness of Strangwise made Desmond
+cold with apprehension. If they believed the girl knew where the
+jewel had disappeared to, they would stop at nothing to force a
+confession from her; Desmond was convinced of that. But what had
+become of the trio?
+
+In vain he cast about him for a clue. As far as he knew, the only
+London address that Strangwise had was the Nineveh; and he was as
+little likely to return there as Bellward was to make his way to
+his little hotel in Jermyn Street. There remained Mrs. Malplaquet
+who, he remembered, had told him of her house at Campden Hill.
+
+For the moment, Desmond decided, he must put both Strangwise and
+Bellward out of his calculations. The only direction in which he
+could start his inquiries after Barbara Mackwayte pointed towards
+Campden Hill and Mrs. Malplaquet.
+
+The delightful weather suggested to his mind the idea of walking
+out to Campden Hill to pursue his investigations on the spot. So
+he made his way across the Park into Kensington Gardens heading
+for the pleasant glades of Notting Hill. In the Bayswater Road he
+turned into a postoffice and consulted the London Directory. He
+very quickly convinced himself that among the hundreds of
+thousands of names compiled by Mr. Kelly's indefatigable industry
+Mrs. Malplaquet's was not to be found. Neither did the street
+directory show her as the tenant of any of the houses on Campden
+Hill.
+
+I don't know that there is a more pleasant residential quarter of
+London than the quiet streets and gardens that straggle over this
+airy height. The very steepness of the slopes leading up from the
+Kensington High Street on the one side and from Holland Park
+Avenue on the other effectually preserves the atmosphere of
+old-world languor which envelops this retired spot. The hill,
+with its approaches so steep as to suggest to the imaginative the
+pathway winding up some rock-bound fastness of the Highlands,
+successfully defies organ-grinders and motor-buses and other
+aspirants to the membership in the great society for the
+propagation of street noises. As you near the summit, the quiet
+becomes more pronounced until you might fancy yourself a thousand
+leagues, instead of as many yards, removed from the busy commerce
+of Kensington or the rather strident activity of Notting Hill.
+
+So various in size and condition are the houses that it is as
+though they had broken away from the heterogeneous rabble of
+bricks and mortar that makes up the Royal Borough of Kensington,
+and run up in a crowd to the summit of the hill to look down
+contemptuously upon their less fortunate brethren in the plain.
+On Campden Hill there are houses to suit all purses and all
+tastes from the vulgar mansion with its private garden to the
+little one-story stable that Art (which flourishes in these
+parts) and ten shillings worth of paint has converted into a
+cottage.
+
+For half an hour Desmond wandered in a desultory fashion along
+the quiet roads of natty houses with brightly painted doors and
+shining brass knockers. He had no definite objective; but he
+hoped rather vaguely to pick up some clue that might lead him to
+Mrs. Malplaquet's. He walked slowly along surveying the houses
+and scrutinizing the faces of the passers-by who were few and far
+between, yet without coming any nearer the end of his search.
+
+It was now growing dusk. Enthroned on the summit of the hill the
+water-tower stood out hard and clear against the evening sky.
+Desmond, who hid lost his bearings somewhat in the course of his
+wanderings, came to a full stop irresolutely, where two streets
+crossed, thinking that he would retrace his footsteps to the
+main-road on the chance of picking up a taxi to take him back to
+town. He chose one of the streets at random; but it proved to be
+a crescent and brought him back practically to the spot he had
+started from. Thereupon, he took the other and followed it up,
+ignoring various side-turnings which he feared might be pitfalls
+like the last: But the second road was as bad as the first. It
+was a cul de sac and brought Desmond face to face with a blank
+wall.
+
+He turned and looked about him for somebody of whom to ask the
+way. But the street was entirely deserted. He seemed to be on the
+very summit of the hill; for all the roads were a-tilt. Though
+the evening was falling fast, no light appeared in any of the
+houses and the street lamps were yet unlit. Save for the distant
+bourdon of the traffic which rose to his ears like the beating of
+the surf, the breeze rustling the bushes in the gardens was the
+only sound.
+
+Desmond started to walk back slowly the way he had come.
+Presently, his eyes caught the gleam of a light from above a
+front door. When he drew level with it, he saw that a gas-jet was
+burning in the fanlight over the entrance to a neat little
+two-story house which stood by itself in a diminutive garden. As
+by this time he was thoroughly sick of wandering aimlessly about,
+he went up to the neat little house and rang the bell.
+
+A maid-servant in a cap and apron who seemed to be drawn to the
+scale of the house, such an insignificant little person she was,
+opened the door.
+
+"Oh, sir," she exclaimed when she saw him, "was it about the
+rooms?"
+
+And she pointed up at the fan-light where, for the first time,
+Desmond noticed a printed card with the inscription-:
+
+"Furnished Rooms to Let."
+
+The servant's unexpected question put an idea into Desmond's
+head. He could not return to the club, he reflected, since he was
+supposed to be killed in action. Why not take a room in this
+house in the heart of the enemy's country and spend some days on
+the watch for Mrs. Malplaquet or for any clue that might lead him
+to her?
+
+So Desmond answered, yes, it was about the rooms he had come.
+
+Promising that she would tell "the missus," the little servant
+showed him into a tiny sitting-room, very clean and bright, with
+blue cretonne curtains and a blue carpet and an engraving of
+"King Cophetua and The Beggar Maid" over the mantelpiece.
+Directly you came into the room, everything in it got up and
+shouted "Tottenham Court Road."
+
+Then the door opened and, with a great tinkling and rustling, a
+stoutish, brisk-looking woman sailed in. The tinkling proceeded
+frown the large amount of cheap jewelry with which she was
+adorned; the rustling from a black and shiny glace silk dress.
+With every movement she made the large drops she wore in her ears
+chinked and were answered by a melodious chime from the charm
+bangles she had on her wrists.
+
+She measured Desmond in a short glance and his appearance seemed
+to please her for she smiled as she said in rather a mincing
+voice:
+
+"My (she pronounced it 'may') maid said you wished to see the
+rooms!"
+
+Desmond intimated that such was his desire.
+
+"Pray be seated," said the little woman: "You will understand,
+I'm sure, that ay am not in the habit of taking in paying guests,
+but may husband being at the front, ay have a bedroom and this
+sitting-room free and ay thought..."
+
+She stopped and looked sharply at Desmond.
+
+"You are an officer, I think" she asked.
+
+Desmond bowed.
+
+"May husband is also an officer," replied the woman, "Captain
+Viljohn-Smythe; you may have met him. No? Of course, had you not
+been of commissioned rank, ay should not..."
+
+She trailed off vaguely.
+
+Desmond inquired her terms and surprised her somewhat by
+accepting them on the spot.
+
+"But you have not seen the bedroom!" protested Mrs.
+Viljohn-Smythe.
+
+"I will take it on trust," Desmond replied, "and here," he added,
+pulling out his note-case, "is a week's rent in advance. I'll go
+along now and fetch my things. By the way," he went on, "I know
+some people here at Campden Hill but very foolishly, I've mislaid
+the address. Malplaquet... Mrs. Malplaquet. Do you happen to know
+her house?"
+
+"Ay know most of the naice people living round about here,"
+replied the lady, "but for the moment, ay cannot recollect... was
+it one of the larger houses on the hill, do you know?"
+
+"I'm afraid I don't know," said Desmond. "You see, I've lost the
+address!"
+
+"Quayte!" returned Mrs. Viljohn-Smythe. "Ay can't say ay know the
+name!" she added.
+
+However, she consented to consult the handmaiden, who answered to
+the name of Gladays, as to Mrs. Malplaquet's address, but she was
+as ignorant as her mistress.
+
+Promising to return in the course of the evening with his things
+and having received exact instructions as to the shortest way to
+Holland Park Avenue, Desmond took his leave. He felt that he had
+embarked on a wild goose chase; for, even if the fugitives had
+made their way to Mrs. Malplaquet's (which was more than
+doubtful) he imagined they would take care to lie very low so
+that his chances of coming across any of them were of the most
+meager.
+
+Following the directions he had received, he made his way easily
+back to the main road. He halted under a street-lamp to catch the
+eye of any passing taxi which might happen to be disengaged. A
+dirty faced man in a greasy old suit and a spotted handkerchief
+knotted about his throat came slouching along the pavement,
+keeping close to the wall. On catching sight of Desmond's face by
+the light of the lamp, he stopped irresolutely and then advanced
+slowly towards him.
+
+"Excuse me, sir!" he said falteringly.
+
+Desmond looked round at the sound of the man's voice and seeing a
+typical street loafer, asked the fellow to get him a taxi.
+
+"It is Captain Okewood," said the loafer, "you don't remember me,
+sir?"
+
+Desmond looked at the dirty, rather haggard face with its
+unshaven chin and shook his head.
+
+"I don't think I do," he answered, "though you seem to know my
+name!"
+
+The vagrant fumbled in his pocket for a minute and extracting a
+scrap of paper, unfolded it and held it out to Desmond.
+
+"That's me, sir!" he said, "and, oh, sir! if you would kindly
+help me with a word of good advice, just for old times' sake, I'd
+be very grateful!"
+
+Desmond took the scrap of paper which the man tendered and held
+it so as to catch the rays of the lamp. It was a fragment torn
+from a newspaper. He had hardly set eyes on the cutting than he
+stretched out his hand to the vagrant.
+
+"Why, Gunner Barling," he cried, "I didn't know you! How on
+earth do you come to be in this state?"
+
+The man looked shamefacedly down on the ground.
+
+"I'm a deserter, sir!" he said in a low voice.
+
+"Are you, by George?" replied Desmond, "and now I come to think
+of it, so am I!"
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXV. TO MRS. MALPLAQUET'S
+
+Clasping Barbara's wrist in a bony grip, Mrs. Malplaquet sat at
+the girl's side in the back seat of the limousine whilst Bellward
+placed himself on the seat opposite. The car was powerfully
+engined; and, once the cart track up to the inn was passed and
+the main road reached, Strangwise opened her out.
+
+By the track leading to the inn the high road made a right angle
+turn to the right. This turn they took, leaving the Mill House
+away in the distance to the left of them, and, after skirting the
+fen for some way and threading a maze of side roads, presently
+debouched on a straight, broad road.
+
+Dazed and shaken by her experiences, Barbara lost all count of
+time, but after running for some time through the open country in
+the gray light of dawn, they reached the edge of those long
+tentacles of bricks and mortar which London thrusts out from her
+on every side. The outer fringes of the metropolis were still
+sleeping as the great car roared by. The snug "High Streets,"
+the red brick "Parades" and "Broadways," with their lines of
+houses with blinds drawn, seemed to have their eyes shut, so
+blank, so somnolent was their aspect.
+
+With their lamps alight, the first trams were gliding out to
+begin the new day, as the big car swiftly traversed the eastern
+suburbs of London. To Barbara, who had had her home at Seven
+Kings, there was something familiar about the streets as they
+flickered by; but her powers of observation were dulled, so great
+was the sense of helplessness that weighed her down.
+
+High-booted scavengers with curious snake-like lengths of hose on
+little trolleys were sluicing the asphalt as the limousine
+snorted past the Mansion House into Poultney and Cheapside. The
+light was growing clearer now; the tube stations were open and
+from time to time a motor-bus whizzed by.
+
+Barbara stirred restlessly and Mrs. Malplaquet's grip on her
+wrist tightened.
+
+"Where are you taking me?" the girl said.
+
+Mrs. Malplaquet spoke a single word.
+
+"Bellward!" she said in a gentle voice; but it was a voice of
+command.
+
+Bellward leaned forward.
+
+"Look at me, Miss Mackwayte!" he said.
+
+There was a curious insistence in his voice that made Barbara
+obey. She struggled for a moment against the impulse to do his
+bidding; for some agency within her told her to resist the
+summons. But an irresistible force seemed to draw her eyes to
+his. Bellward did not move. He simply leaned forward a little,
+his hands on his knees, and looked at her. Barbara could not see
+his eyes, for the light in the car was still dim, but inch by
+inch they captured hers.
+
+She looked at the black outline of his head and instantly was
+conscious of a wave of magnetic power that transmitted itself
+from his will to hers. She would have cried out, have struggled,
+have sought to break away; but that invisible dance held her as
+in a vice. A little gasp broke from her lips; but that was all.
+
+"So!" said Bellward with the little sigh of a man who has just
+accomplished some bodily effort, "so! you will keep quiet now and
+do as I tell you. You understand?"
+
+No reply came from the girl. She had thrust her head forward and
+was gazing fixedly at the man. Bellward leaned towards the girl
+until his stubbly hair actually touched her soft brown curls. He
+was gazing intently at her eyes.
+
+He was apparently well satisfied with his inspection, for he gave
+a sigh of satisfaction and turned to Mrs. Malplaquet.
+
+"She'll give no more trouble now!" he remarked airily.
+
+"Ah! Bellward," sighed Mrs. Malplaquet, "you're incomparable!
+What an undefeatable combination you and I would have made if
+we'd met twenty years sooner!"
+
+And she threw him a coquettish glance.
+
+"Ah, indeed!" returned Bellward pensively. "But a night like this
+makes me feel twenty years older, Minna. He's a daredevil, this
+Strangwise. Imagine going back to that infernal inn when the
+police might have broken in on us any minute. But he is a
+determined chap. He doesn't seem to know what it is to be beaten.
+He wanted to make sure that Nur-el-Din had not recovered the
+jewel from him, though he declares that it has never left him day
+or night since he got possession of it. He fairly made hay of her
+room back at the inn there."
+
+"Well," said Mrs. Malplaquet rather spitefully, "he seems to be
+beaten this time. He hasn't found his precious Star of Poland."
+
+"No," answered the man reflectively, "but I think he will!"
+
+Mrs. Malplaquet laughed shrilly.
+
+"And how, may I ask? From what Strangwise told me himself, the
+thing has utterly vanished. And he doesn't seem to have any clue
+as to who has taken it!"
+
+"Perhaps not," replied Bellward, who appeared to have a high
+opinion of Strangwise, "but, like all Germans, our friend is
+thorough. If he does not see the direct road, he proceeds by a
+process of elimination until he bits upon it. He did not expect
+to find the jewel in Nur-el-Din's room; he told me as much
+himself, but he searched because he is thorough in everything. Do
+you know why he really went back to the Dyke Inn?"
+
+"Why?" asked Mrs. Malplaquet.
+
+"To secure our young friend here," answered Bellward with a
+glance at Barbara.
+
+Mrs. Malplaquet made a little grimace to bid him to be prudent in
+what he said before the girl.
+
+"Bah!" the man laughed, "you understand nothing of what we are
+saying, do you?" he said, addressing Barbara.
+
+The girl moved uneasily.
+
+"I understand nothing of what you are saying," she replied in a
+strained voice.
+
+"This girl was the last person to have the jewel before
+Strangwise," Bellward said, continuing his conversation with
+Mrs. Malplaquet, "and she is employed at the Headquarters of the Secret
+Service. Strangwise was satisfied that nobody connected him with
+the theft of the silver box which Nur-el-Din gave to this girl
+until our young lady here appeared at the Dyke Inn yesterday
+afternoon. Nur-el-Din played his game for him by detaining the
+girl. Strangwise believes--and I must say I agree with him--that
+probably two persons know where the Star of Poland is. One is
+this girl..."
+
+"The other being the late Mr. Bellward?" queried Mrs. Malplaquet.
+
+"Precisely. The late Mr. Bellward or Major Desmond Okewood!" said
+Bellward. "Between him and this girl here I think we ought to be
+able to recover Strangwise's lost property for him!"
+
+"But you haven't got Okewood yet!" observed the lady in a mocking
+voice.
+
+The man looked evilly at her, his heavy, fat chin set square.
+
+"But we shall get him, never fear. With a little bird-lime as
+attractive as this--"
+
+He broke off and jerked his head in the direction of Barbara.
+
+"... I shall do the rest!" he added.
+
+"Ah!"
+
+Mrs. Malplaquet drew a deep sigh of admiration.
+
+"That's a clever idea. He is so ruse, this Strangwise. You are
+quite right, Bellward, he never admits himself beaten. And he
+never is! But tell me," she added, "what about Nur-el-Din?
+They'll nab her, eh?"
+
+"Unless our British friends are even more inefficient than I
+believe them to be, they most certainly will," he replied.
+
+"And then?"
+
+Bellward shrugged his shoulders and spread wide his hands.
+
+"A little morning ceremony at the Tower," he answered, "unless
+these idiotic English are too sentimental to execute a woman..."
+
+The car was running down the long slope to Paddington Station. It
+drew up at the entrance to the booking office, and Strangwise,
+springing from the driver's seat, flung open the door.
+
+"Come on!" he cried, "we must look sharp or we'll miss our
+train!"
+
+He dragged a couple of bags off the roof and led the way into the
+station. In the booking-hall he inquired of a porter what time
+the express left for Bath, then went to the ticket office and
+took four first-class tickets to that place. Meanwhile, the car
+remained standing empty in the carriageway.
+
+Strangwise led his little party up some stairs and across a long
+bridge, down some stairs and up some stairs again, emerging,
+finally, at the Bakerloo Tube Station. There he despatched
+Bellward to fetch a taxi.
+
+Taxis are rare in the early hours of the morning in war-time and
+Bellward was gone fully twenty minutes. Strangwise fidgeted
+continually, drawing out his watch repeatedly and casting many
+anxious glances this way and that.
+
+His nervous demeanor began to affect Mrs. Malplaquet, who had
+linked her arm affectionately in Barbara's. The girl remained
+absolutely apathetic. Indeed, she seemed almost as one in a
+trance.
+
+"Aren't we going to Bath?" at length demanded Mrs. Malplaquet of
+Strangwise.
+
+"Don't ask questions!" snapped the latter.
+
+"But the car?" asked the lady.
+
+"Hold your tongue!" commanded the officer; and Mrs. Malplaquet
+obeyed.
+
+Then Mr. Bellward returned with the news that he had at last got
+a taxi. Strangwise turned to Bellward.
+
+"Can Minna and the girl go to Campden Hill alone?" he asked. "Or
+will the girl try and break away, do you think?"
+
+Bellward held up his hand to enjoin silence.
+
+"You will go along with Mrs. Malplaquet," he said to Barbara in
+his low purring voice, "you will stay with her until I come. You
+understand?"
+
+"I will go with Mrs. Malplaquet!" the girl replied in the same
+dull tone as before.
+
+"Upon my word," exclaimed Mrs. Malplaquet, "you might have told me
+that we were going to my own place..."
+
+But Strangwise shut her up.
+
+"Bellward and I will come on by tube... it is safer," he said,
+"hurry, hurry! We must all be under cover by eight o'clock... we
+have no time to lose!"
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVI. THE MAN IN THE SUMMER-HOUSE
+
+The hour of the theatre rush was long since over and its passing
+had transformed the taxi-drivers from haughty autocrats to humble
+suppliants. One taxi after another crawled slowly past the street
+corner where Desmond had stood for over an hour in deep converse
+with Gunner Barling, but neither flaunting flag nor appealingly
+uplifted finger attracted the slightest attention from the
+athletic-looking man who was so earnestly engaged in talk with a
+tramp. But at last the conversation was over; the two men
+separated and the next taxi passing thereafter picked up a fare.
+
+At nine o'clock the next morning Desmond appeared for breakfast
+in his sitting-room at Santona Road; for such was the name of the
+street in which his new rooms were situated. When he had finished
+his meal, he summoned Gladys and informed her that he would be
+glad to speak to Mrs. Viljohn-Smythe. That lady having duly
+answered the summons, Desmond asked whether, in consideration of
+terms to be mutually agreed upon, she could accommodate his
+soldier servant. He explained that the last-named was of the most
+exemplary character and threw out a hint of the value of a batman
+for such tasks as the cleaning of the family boots and the
+polishing of brass or silver.
+
+The landlady made no objections and half an hour later a clean
+and respectable-looking man arrived whom Desmond with difficulty
+recognized as the wretched vagrant of the previous evening. This
+was, indeed, the Gunner Barling he used to know, with his
+smooth-shaven chin and neat brown moustache waxed at the ends and
+characteristic "quiff" decorating his brow. And so Desmond and
+his man installed themselves at Santona Road.
+
+The house was clean and comfortable, and Mrs. Viljohn-Smythe, for
+all her "refaynement," as she would have called it, proved
+herself a warm-hearted, motherly soul. Desmond had a small but
+comfortably furnished bedroom at the top of the house, on the
+second floor, with a window which commanded a view of the
+diminutive garden and the back of a row of large houses standing
+on the lower slopes of the hill. So precipitous was the fall of
+the ground, indeed, that Desmond could look right into the garden
+of the house backing on Mrs. Viljohn-Smythe's. This garden had a
+patch of well-kept green sward in the centre with a plaster nymph
+in the middle, while in one corner stood a kind of large
+summer-house or pavilion built on a slight eminence, with a
+window looking into Mrs. Viljohn-Smythe's' back garden.
+
+In accordance with a plan of action he had laid down in his mind,
+Desmond took all his meals at his rooms. The rest of the day he
+devoted to walking about the streets of Campden Hill and setting
+on foot discreet inquiries after Mrs. Malplaquet amongst the
+local tradespeople.
+
+For three or four days he carried out this arrangement without
+the slightest success. He dogged the footsteps of more than one
+gray-haired lady of distinguished appearance without lighting
+upon his quarry. He bestowed largesse on the constable on point
+duty, on the milkman and the baker's young lady; but none of them
+had ever heard of Mrs. Malplaquet or recognized her from
+Desmond's description.
+
+On the morning of the fourth day Desmond returned to lunch,
+dispirited and heart-sick. He had half a mind to abandon his
+quest altogether and to go and make his peace with the Chief and
+ask to be sent back to France. He ate his lunch and then, feeling
+that it would be useless to resume his aimless patrol of the
+streets, lit a cigar and strolled out into the little
+back-garden.
+
+It was a fine, warm afternoon, and already the crocuses were
+thrusting their heads out of the neat flower-beds as if to
+ascertain whether the spring had really arrived. There was,
+indeed, a pleasant vernal scent in the air.
+
+"A fine day!" said a voice.
+
+Desmond looked up. At the open window of the summerhouse of the
+garden backing on Mrs. Viljohn-Smythe's, his elbows resting on
+the pitch-pine frame, was a middle-aged man. A cigarette was in
+his mouth and from his hands dangled a newspaper. He had a
+smooth-shaven, heavily-jowled face and a large pair of
+tortoise-shell spectacles on his nose.
+
+Desmond remembered to have seen the man already looking out of a
+window opposite his on one of the upper floors of the house. In
+reply to a casual inquiry, Mrs. Viljohn-Smythe had informed him
+that the house was a nursing home kept by a Dr. Radcombe, a nerve
+specialist.
+
+"It is quite like spring!" replied Desmond, wondering if this
+were the doctor. Doctors get about a good deal and Dr. Radcombe
+might be able to tell him something about Mrs. Malplaquet.
+
+"I think we have seen one another in the mornings sometimes,"
+said the heavily-fowled man, "though I have noticed that you are
+an earlier riser than I am. But when one is an invalid--"
+
+"You are one of Dr. Radcombe's patients, then!" said Desmond.
+
+"I am," returned the other, "a great man, that, any dear sir. I
+doubt if there is his equal for diagnosis in the kingdom."
+
+"He has lived here for some years, I suppose?"
+
+"Oh yes!" answered the man, "in fact, he is one of the oldest and
+most-respected residents of Kensington, I believe!"
+
+"I am rather anxious to find some friends of mine who live about
+here," Desmond remarked, quick to seize his opportunity, "I
+wonder whether your doctor could help me..."
+
+"I'm sure he could," the man replied, "the doctor knows
+everybody..."
+
+"The name--" began Desmond, but the other checked him.
+
+"Please don't ask me to burden my memory with names," he
+protested. "I am here for a complete rest from over-work, and
+loss of memory is one of my symptoms. But look here; why not come
+over the wall and step inside the house with me? Dr. Radcombe is
+there and will, I am sure, be delighted to give you any
+assistance in his power!"
+
+Desmond hesitated.
+
+"Really," he said, "it seems rather unconventional. Perhaps the
+doctor would object..."
+
+"Object" said the heavily-fowled man, "tut, tut, not at all. Come
+on, I'll give you a hand up!"
+
+He thrust out a large, white hand. Desmond was about to grasp it
+when he saw gleaming on the third finger a gold snake ring with
+emerald eyes--the ring that Mrs. Malplaquet had given Bellward.
+He was about to draw back but the man was too quick for him.
+Owing to the slope of the ground the window of the summer-house
+was on a level with Desmond's throat. The man's two hands shot
+out simultaneously. One grasped Desmond's wrist in a steel grip
+whilst the other fastened itself about the young man's throat,
+squeezing the very breath out of his body. It was done so quickly
+that he had no time to struggle, no time to shout. As Bellward
+seized him, another arm was shot out of the window. Desmond felt
+himself gripped by the collar and lifted, by a most amazing
+effort of strength, bodily over the wall.
+
+His brain swimming with the pressure on his throat, he struggled
+but feebly to recover his freedom. However, as Desmond was
+dropped heavily on to the grass on the other side of the wall,
+Bellward's grip relaxed just for a second and in that instant
+Desmond made one desperate bid for liberty. He fell in a
+crouching position and, as he felt Bellward loosen his hold for a
+second with the jerk of his victim's fall, Desmond straightened
+himself up suddenly, catching his assailant a violent blow with
+his head on the point of the chin.
+
+Bellward fell back with a crash on to the timber flooring of the
+pavilion. Desmond heard his head strike the boards with a thud,
+heard a muttered curse. He found himself standing in a narrow
+lane, less than three feet wide, which ran between the garden
+wall and the summer-house; for the pavilion, erected on a slight
+knoll surrounded by turf, was not built against the wall as is
+usually the case with these structures.
+
+In this narrow space Desmond stood irresolute for the merest
+fraction of a second. It was not longer; for, directly after
+Bellward had crashed backwards, Desmond heard a light step
+reverberate within the planks of the summerhouse. His most
+obvious course was to scramble back over the wall again into
+safety, in all thankfulness at having escaped so violent an
+attack. But he reflected that Bellward was here and that surely
+meant that the others were not far off. In that instant as he
+heard the stealthy footstep cross the floor of the summer-house,
+Desmond resolved he would not leave the garden until he had
+ascertained whether Barbara Mackwayte was there.
+
+Desmond decided that he would stay where he was until he no
+longer heard that footstep on the planks within; for then the
+person inside the summer-house would have reached the grass at
+the door. Desmond remembered the arm which had shot out beside
+Bellward at the window and swung him so easily off his feet. He
+knew only one man capable of achieving that very respectable
+muscular performance; for Desmond weighed every ounce of twelve
+stone. That man was Maurice Strangwise.
+
+As soon as the creaking of the timbers within ceased, Desmond
+moved to the left following the outer wall of the pavilion. On
+the soft green sward his feet made no sound. Presently he came to
+a window which was let in the side of the summerhouse opposite
+the window from which Bellward had grappled with him. Raising his
+eyes to the level of the sill, Desmond took a cautious peep. He
+caught a glimpse of the face of Maurice Strangwise, brows knit,
+nostrils dilated, the very picture of venomous, watchful rancor.
+
+Strangwise had halted and was now looking back over the wall into
+Mrs. Viljohn-Smythe's back garden. Was it possible, Desmond
+wondered, that he could believe that Desmond had scrambled back
+over the wall? Strangwise remained motionless, his back now fully
+turned to Desmond, peering into the other garden.
+
+The garden in which the summer-house stood was oblong in shape
+and more than twice as broad as it was long. The pavilion was not
+more than forty yards from the back entrance of the house.
+Desmond weighed in his mind the possibility of being able to dash
+across those forty yards, the turf deadening the sound of his
+feet, before Strangwise turned round again. The entrance to the
+back of the house was through a door in the side of the house, to
+which two or three wrought-iron steps gave access. Once he had
+gained the steps Desmond calculated that the side of the house
+would shelter him from Strangwise's view. He turned these things
+over in his mind in the twinkling of an eye; for all his life he
+had been used to quick decision and quick action. To cover those
+forty yards across the open in one bound was, he decided, too
+much to risk; for he must at all costs gain access to the house
+and discover, if possible, whether Barbara Mackwayte were
+confined within, before he was caught.
+
+Then his eye fell on the plaster nymph in the middle of the
+grass. She was a stoutly-built female, life-size, standing upon a
+solid-looking pedestal fully four feet broad. Desmond measured
+the distance separating him from the nymph. It was not more than
+twenty yards at the outside and the pedestal would conceal him
+from the eyes of Strangwise if the latter should turn round
+before he had made his second bound and reached the steps at the
+side of the house.
+
+He peeped through the window again. Strangwise stood in his old
+attitude gazing over the garden wall. Then Desmond acted. Taking
+long strides on the points of his toes, he gained the statue and
+crouched down behind it. Even as he started, he heard a loud
+grunt from the inside of the summerhouse and from his cover
+behind the nymph saw Strangwise turn quickly and enter the
+summerhouse. On that Desmond sprang to his feet again, heedless
+of whether he was seen from the house, ran lightly across the
+grass and reached the steps at the side of the house.
+
+The door stood ajar.
+
+He stood still on the top step and listened for a moment. The
+house was wrapped in silence. Not a sign of life came from
+within.
+
+But now he heard voices from the garden and they were the voices
+of two angry men, raised in altercation. As he listened, they
+drew nearer.
+
+Desmond tarried no longer. He preferred the unknown perils which
+that silent house portended to the real danger advancing from the
+garden. He softly pushed the door open and slipped into the
+house.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVII. THE RED LACQUER ROOM
+
+The side-door led into a little white passage with a green baize
+door at the end. A staircase, which from its white-washed treads,
+Desmond judged to be the back stairs, gave on the passage.
+Calculating that the men in the garden would be certain to use
+the main staircase, Desmond took the back stairs which, on the
+first landing, brought him face to face with a green baize door,
+similar in every respect to that on the floor below.
+
+He pushed this door open and listened. Hearing nothing he passed
+on through it. He found himself in a broad corridor on to which
+gave the main staircase from below and its continuation to the
+upper floors. Three rooms opened on to this corridor, a large
+drawing-room, a small study and what was obviously the doctor's
+consulting room, from the operating table and the array of
+instruments set out in glass cases. The rooms were empty and
+Desmond was about to return to the back stairs and proceed to the
+next floor when his attention was caught by a series of framed
+photographs with which the walls of the corridor were lined.
+
+These were groups of doctors taken at various medical congresses.
+You will find such photographs in many doctors' houses. Below
+each group were neatly printed the names of the persons therein
+represented. Anxious to see what manner of man was this Doctor
+Radcombe in whose house spies were apparently at liberty to
+consort with impunity, Desmond looked for his name.
+
+There it was--Dr. A. J. Radcombe. But, on looking at the figure
+above the printed line, what was his astonishment to recognize
+the angular features and drooping moustache of "No. 13"!
+
+There was no possible mistake about it. The photographs were
+excellent and Desmond had no difficulty in identifying the
+eccentric-looking German in each of them. So this was Mrs.
+Malplaquet's house, was it? A nursing-home run by "No. 13," who
+in addition to being a spy, would seem to have been a nerve
+specialist as well. In this guise, no doubt, he had made trips to
+the South of England which had gained for him that intimate
+acquaintance with Portsmouth and Southsea of which he had boasted
+at the gathering in the library. In this capacity, moreover, he
+had probably met Bellward whose "oggult" powers, to which "No.
+13" had alluded, seem to point to mesmerism and kindred practices
+in which German neurasthenic research has made such immense
+progress.
+
+Pondering over his surprising discovery, Desmond pursued his way
+to the floor above. Here, too, was a green baize door which
+opened on to a corridor. Desmond walked quickly along it,
+glancing in, as he passed, at the open doors of two or three
+bedrooms. Just beyond where the staircase crossed the corridor
+were two doors, both of which were closed. The one was a white
+door and might have been a bathroom; the other was enameled a
+brilliant, glossy red.
+
+The second floor was as silent and deserted as the corridor
+below. But just as Desmond passed the head of the main staircase
+he heard the sound of voices. He glanced cautiously down the well
+of the stairs and saw Strangwise and Bellward talking together.
+Bellward was on the stairs while Strangwise stood in the
+corridor.
+
+"It's our last chance," Strangwise was saying.
+
+"No, no," Bellward replied heatedly, "I tell you it is madness.
+We must not delay a minute. For Heaven's sake, leave the girl
+alone and let's save ourselves."
+
+"What?" cried Strangwise, "and abandon Minna!"
+
+"Minna is well able to look after herself," answered Bellward in
+a sulky voice, "it's a question of sauve qui peat now... every
+man for himself!"
+
+"No!" said Strangwise firmly, "we'll wait for Minna, Bellward.
+You exaggerate the danger. I tell you I was at the garden wall
+within a few seconds of our friend laying you out, and I saw no
+sign of him in his garden. It was a physical impossibility for
+him to have got over the wall and back into the house in the
+time. And in his garden there's nowhere to hide. It's as bare as
+the Sahara!"
+
+"But, good Heavens!" cried Bellward, throwing his hands excitedly
+above his head, "the man can't dissolve into thin air. He's gone
+back to the house, I tell you, and the police will be here at any
+minute. You know he's not in our garden; for you searched every
+nook and corner of it yourself. Okewood may be too clever for
+you, Strangwise; but he's not a magician!"
+
+"No," said Strangwise sternly, "he is not." And he added in a low
+voice:
+
+"That's why I am convinced that he is in this house!"
+
+Desmond felt his heart thump against his ribs.
+
+Bellward seemed surprised for he cried quickly:
+
+"What? Here?"
+
+Strangwise nodded.
+
+"You stand here gossiping with that man loose in the house?"
+exclaimed Bellward vehemently, "why the next thing we know the
+fellow will escape us again!"
+
+"Oh, no, he won't" retorted the other. "Every window on the
+ground floor is barred... this is a home for neurasthenics, you
+know, and that is sometimes a polite word for a lunatic, my
+friend... and the doors, both front and back are locked. The keys
+are here!"
+
+Desmond heard a jingle as Strangwise slapped his pocket.
+
+"All the same," the latter went on, "it is as well to be prepared
+for a sudden change of quarters. That's why I want you to finish
+off the girl at once. Come along, we'll start now..."
+
+"No, no!" declared Bellward. "I'm far too upset. You seem to
+think you can turn me on and off like you do the gas!"
+
+"Well, as you like," said Strangwise, "but the sooner we clear up
+this thing the better. I'm going to see if our clever young
+friend has taken refuge in the servants' quarters upstairs. He's
+not on this floor, that's certain!"
+
+Desmond drew back in terror. He heard the green baize door on the
+floor below swing back as Strangwise went out to the back stairs
+and Bellward's heavy step ascended the main staircase. There was
+something so horribly sinister in that firm, creaking tread as it
+mounted towards him that for the moment he lost his head. He
+looked round wildly for a place of concealment; but the corridor
+was bare. Facing him was the red enamel door. Boldly he turned
+the handle and walked in, softly closing the door behind him.
+
+It was as though he had stepped into another world. The room in
+which he found himself was a study in vivid red emphasized by
+black. Red and black; these were the only colors in the room. The
+curtains, which were of black silk, were drawn, though it was not
+yet dark outside, and from the ceiling was suspended a lamp in
+the shape of a great scarlet bowl which cast an eerie red light
+on one of the most bizarre apartments that Desmond had ever seen.
+
+It was a lacquer room in the Chinese style, popularized by the
+craze for barbaric decoration introduced by Bakst and the Russian
+Ballet into England. The walls were enameled the same brilliant
+glossy red as the door and hung at intervals with panels of
+magnificent black and gold lacquer work. The table which ran down
+the centre of the room was of scarlet and gold lacquer like the
+fantastically designed chairs and the rest of the furniture. The
+heavy carpet was black.
+
+Desmond did not take in all these details at once; for his
+attention was immediately directed to a high-backed armchair
+covered in black satin which stood with its back to the door. He
+stared at this chair; for, peeping out above the back, making a
+splash of deep golden brown against the black sheen of the
+upholstery, was a mass of curls... Barbara Mackwayte's hair.
+
+As he advanced towards the girl, she moaned in a high, whimpering
+voice:
+
+"No, no, not again! Let me sleep! Please, please, leave me
+alone!"
+
+Desmond sprang to her side.
+
+"Barbara!" he cried and never noticed that he called her by her
+Christian name.
+
+Barbara Mackwayte sat in the big black armchair, facing the
+black-curtained window. Her face was pale and drawn, and there
+were black circles under her eyes. There was a listless yet
+highly-strung look about her that you see in people who
+habitually take drugs.
+
+She heeded not the sound of his voice. It was as though he had
+not spoken. She only continued to moan and mutter, moving her
+body about uneasily as a child does when its sleep is disturbed
+by nightmares. Then, to his inexpressible horror, Desmond saw
+that her feet were bound with straps to the legs of the chair.
+Her arms were similarly tethered to the arms of the chair, but
+her hands had been left free.
+
+"Barbara!" said Desmond softly, "you know me! I'm Desmond Okewood!
+I've come to take you home!"
+
+The word "home" seemed to catch the girl's attention; for now she
+turned her head and looked at the young man. The expression in
+her eyes, wide and staring, was horrible; for it was the look of
+a tortured animal.
+
+Desmond was bending to unbind the straps that fastened Barbara's
+arms when he heard a step outside the door. The curtains in front
+of the window were just beside him. They were long and reached to
+the floor. Without a second's hesitation he slipped behind them
+and found himself in the recess of a shallow bow window.
+
+The bow window was in three parts and the central part was open
+wide at the bottom. It gave on a little balcony which was in
+reality the roof of a bow window of one of the rooms on the floor
+below. Desmond promptly scrambled out of the window and letting
+himself drop on to the balcony crouched down blow the sill.
+
+A door opened in the room he had just left. He heard steps moving
+about and cupboards opened and shut. Then, there was the sound of
+curtains being drawn back and a voice said just above him:
+
+"He's not here! I tell you the fellow's not in the house! Now
+perhaps you'll believe me!"
+
+The balcony was fairly deep and it was growing dusk; but Desmond
+could scarcely hope to escape detection if Bellward, for he had
+recognized his voice, should think of leaning out of the window
+and looking down upon the balcony. With his coat collar turned up
+to hide the treacherous white of his linen, Desmond pressed
+himself as close as possible against the side of the house and
+waited for the joyful cry that would proclaim that he had been
+discovered. There was no possible means of escape; for the
+balcony stood at an angle of the house with no windows or
+water-pipes anywhere within reach, to give him a foothold,
+looking out on an inhospitable and gloomy area.
+
+Whether Bellward, who appeared bent only on getting away from the
+house without delay, examined the balcony or not, Desmond did not
+know; but after the agony of suspense had endured for what seemed
+to him an hour, he heard Strangwise say:
+
+"It's no good, Bellward! I'm not satisfied! And until I am
+satisfied that Okewood is not here, I don't leave this house. And
+that's that!"
+
+Bellward swore savagely.
+
+"We've searched the garden and not found him: we've ransacked the
+house from top to bottom without result. The fellow's not here;
+but by God, he'll be here presently with a bunch of police, and
+then it'll be too late! For the last time, Strangwise, will you
+clear out?"
+
+There was a moment's pause. Then Desmond heard Strangwise's
+clear, calm voice.
+
+"There's a balcony there... below the window, I mean."
+
+"I've looked," replied Bellward, "and he's not there. You can see
+for yourself!"
+
+The moment of discovery had arrived. To Desmond the strain seemed
+unbearable and to alleviate it, he began to count, as one counts
+to woo sleep. One! two! three! four! He heard a grating noise as
+the window was pushed further up. Five! six! seven! eight!
+
+"Strange!"
+
+Strangwise muttered the word just above Desmond's head. Then, to
+his inexpressible relief, he heard the other add:
+
+"He's not there!"
+
+And Desmond realized that the depth of the balcony had saved him.
+Short of getting out of the window, as he had done, the others
+could not see him.
+
+The two men returned to the room and silence fell once more.
+Outside on the damp balcony in the growing darkness Desmond was
+fighting down the impulse to rush in and stake all in one
+desperate attempt to rescue the girl from her persecutors. But he
+was learning caution; and he knew he must bide his time.
+
+Some five minutes elapsed during which Desmond could detect no
+definite sound from the red lacquer room except the occasional
+low murmur of voices. Then, suddenly, there came a high,
+quavering cry from the girl.
+
+Desmond raised himself quickly erect, his ear turned so as to
+catch every sound from the room. The girl wailed again, a
+plaintive, tortured cry that seemed to issue forth unwillingly
+from her.
+
+"My God!" said Desmond to himself, "I can't stand this!"
+
+His head was level with the sill of the window which was
+fortunately broad. Getting a good grip on the rough cement with
+his hands, he hoisted himself up on to the sill, by the sheer
+force of his arms alone, sat poised there for an instant, then
+very lightly and without any noise, clambered through the window
+and into the room. Even as he did so, the girl cried out again.
+
+"I can't! I can't!" she wailed.
+
+Every nerve in Desmond's body was tingling with rage. The blood
+was hotly throbbing against his temples and he was literally
+quivering all over with fury. But he held himself in check. This
+time he must not fail. Both those men were armed, he knew. What
+chance could he, unarmed as he was, have against them? He must
+wait, wait, that they might not escape their punishment.
+
+Steadying the black silk curtains with his hands, he looked
+through the narrow chink where the two panels met. And this was
+what he saw.
+
+Barbara Mackwayte was still in the chair; but they had unfastened
+her arms though her feet were still bound. She had half-risen
+from her seat. Her body was thrust forward in a strained,
+unnatural attitude; her eyes were wide open and staring; and
+there was a little foam on her lips. There was something
+hideously deformed, horribly unlife-like about her. Though her
+eyes were open, her look was the look of the blind; and, like the
+blind, she held her head a little on one side as though eager not
+to miss the slightest sound.
+
+Bellward stood beside her, his face turned in profile to Desmond.
+His eyes were dilated and the sweat stood out in great beads on
+his forehead and trickled in broad lanes of moisture down his
+heavy cheeks. He was half-facing the girl and every time he bent
+towards her, she tugged and strained at her bonds as though to
+follow him.
+
+"You say he has been here. Where is he? Where is he? You shall
+tell me where he is."
+
+Bellward was speaking in a strange, vibrating voice. Every
+question appeared to be a tremendous nervous effort. Desmond, who
+was keenly sensitive to matters psychic, could almost feel the
+magnetic power radiating from the man. In the weird red light of
+the room, he could see the veins standing out like whipcords on
+the back of Bellward's hands.
+
+"Tell me where he is? I command you!"
+
+The girl wailed out again in agony and writhed in her bonds. Her
+voice rose to a high, gurgling scream.
+
+"There!" she cried, pointing with eyes staring, lips parted,
+straight at the curtains behind which Desmond stood.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVIII. AN OFFER FROM STRANGWISE
+
+Desmond sprang for the window; but it was too late. Strangwise
+who had not missed a syllable of the interrogatory was at the
+curtains in a flash. As he plucked the hangings back, Desmond
+made a rush for him; but Strangwise, wary as ever, kept his head
+and, drawing back, jabbed his great automatic almost in the
+other's face.
+
+And then Desmond knew the game was up.
+
+Barbara had collapsed in her chair. Her face was of an ivory
+pallor and she seemed to have fallen back into the characteristic
+hypnotic trance. As for Bellward, he had dropped on to a sofa, a
+loose mass, exhausted but missing nothing of what was going
+forward, though, for the moment, he seemed too spent to take any
+active part in the proceedings. In the meantime Strangwise, his
+white, even teeth bared in a quiet smile, was very steadily
+looking at his prisoner.
+
+"Well, Desmond," he said at last, "here's a pleasant surprise! I
+thought you were dead!"
+
+Desmond said nothing. He was not a coward as men go; but he was
+feeling horribly afraid just then. The deviltry of the scene he
+had just witnessed had fairly unmanned him. The red and black
+setting of the room had a suggestion of Oriental cruelty in its
+very garishness. Desmond looked from Strangwise, cool and
+smiling, to Bellward, gross and beastly, and from the two men to
+Barbara, wan and still and defenceless. And he was afraid.
+
+Then Bellward scrambled clumsily to his feet, plucking a revolver
+from his inside pocket as he did so.
+
+"You sneaking rascal," he snarled, "we'll teach you to play your
+dirty tricks on us!"
+
+He raised the pistol; but Strangwise stepped between the man and
+his victim.
+
+"Kill him!" cried Bellward, "and let's be rid of him once and for
+all!"
+
+"What" said Strangwise. "Kill Desmond? Ah, no, my friend, I don't
+think so!"
+
+And he added drily:
+
+"At least not quite yet!"
+
+"But you must be mad," exclaimed Bellward, toying impatiently
+with his weapon, "you let him escape through your fingers before!
+I know his type. A man like him is only safe when he's dead. And
+if you won't..."
+
+"Now, Bellward," said Strangwise not budging but looking the
+other calmly in the eye, "you're getting excited, you know."
+
+But Bellward muttered thickly:
+
+"Kill him! That's all I ask. And let's get out of here! I tell
+you it isn't safe! Minna can shift for herself!" he added
+sulkily.
+
+"As she has always done!" said a voice at the door. Mrs.
+Malplaquet stood there, a very distinguished looking figure in
+black with a handsome set of furs.
+
+"But who's this?" she asked, catching sight of Desmond, as she
+flashed her beady black eyes round the group. Of Barbara she took
+not the slightest notice. Desmond remarked it and her
+indifference shocked him profoundly.
+
+"Of course, you don't recognize him!" said Strangwise. "This is
+Major Desmond Okewood, more recently known as Mr. Basil
+Bellward!"
+
+The woman evinced no surprise.
+
+"So!" she said, "I thought we'd end by getting him. Well,
+Strangwise, what are we waiting for? Is our friend to live for
+ever?"
+
+"That's what I want to know!" bellowed Bellward savagely.
+
+"I have not finished with our friend here!" observed Strangwise.
+
+"No, no," cried Mrs. Malplaquet quickly, Strangwise, "you've had
+your lesson. You've lost the jewel and you're not likely to get
+it back unless you think that this young man has come here with
+it on him. Do you want to lose your life, the lives of all of us,
+as well? Come, come, the fellow's no earthly good to us! And he's
+a menace to us all as long as he's alive!"
+
+"Minna," said Strangwise, "you must trust me. Besides..." he
+leaned forward and whispered something in her ear. "Now," he
+resumed aloud, "you shall take Bellward downstairs and leave me
+to have a little chat with our friend here."
+
+To Bellward he added:
+
+"Minna will tell you what I said. But first," he pointed to
+Barbara who remained apparently lifeless in her chair, "bring her
+round. And then I think she'd better go to bed."
+
+"But what about the treatment to-night" asked Mrs. Malplaquet.
+
+Strangwise smiled mysteriously.
+
+"I'm not sure that any further treatment will be required," he
+said.
+
+In the meantime, Bellward had leaned over the girl and with a few
+passes of his hand had brought her back to consciousness. She sat
+up, one hand pressed to her face, and looked about her in a dazed
+fashion. On recognizing Desmond she gave a little cry.
+
+"Take her away!" commanded Strangwise.
+
+Bellward had unfastened the ropes binding her feet, and he and
+Mrs. Malplaquet between them half-dragged, half-lifted the girl
+(for she was scarcely able to walk) from the room.
+
+When the door had closed behind them, Strangwise pointed to a
+chair and pulled out his cigarette case. "Sit down, Desmond," he
+said, "and let's talk. Will you smoke?"
+
+He held out his case. A cigarette was the one thing for which
+Desmond craved. He took one and lit it. Strangwise sat down on
+the other side of a curiously carved ebony table, his big
+automatic before him.
+
+"I guess you're sharp enough to know when you're beaten,
+Desmond," he said. "You've put up a good fight and until this
+afternoon you were one up on me. I'll grant you that. And I don't
+mind admitting that you've busted up my little organization--for
+the present at any rate. But I'm on top now and you're in our
+power, old man."
+
+"Well," replied Desmond shortly, "what are you going to do about
+it?"
+
+"I'm going to utilize my advantage to the best I know how,"
+retorted Strangwise, snapping the words, "that's good strategy,
+isn't it, Desmond? That's what Hamley and all the military
+writers teach, isn't it? And I'm going to be frank with you. I
+suppose you realize that your life hung by a thread in this very
+room only a minute ago. Do you know why I intervened to save
+you?"
+
+Desmond smiled. All his habitual serenity was coming back to him.
+He found it hard to realize that this old brother officer of his,
+blowing rings of cigarette smoke at him across the table, was an
+enemy.
+
+"I don't suppose it was because of the love you bear me," replied
+Desmond.
+
+And he rubbed the bump on his head.
+
+Strangwise noted the action and smiled.
+
+"Listen here," he resumed, planking his hands down on the table
+and leaning forward, "I'm ready and anxious to quit this spying
+business. It was only a side line with me anyway. My main object
+in coming to this country was to recover possession of that
+diamond star. Once I've got it back, I'm through with England..."
+
+"But not with the army," Desmond broke in, "thank God, we've got
+a swift way with traitors in this country!"
+
+"Quite so," returned the other, "but you see, my friend, the army
+hasn't got me. And I have got you! But let us drop talking
+platitudes," he went on. "I'm no great hand at driving a bargain,
+Desmond--few army men are, you know--so I won't even attempt to
+chaffer with you. I shall tell you straight out what I am ready
+to offer. You were given the job of breaking up this
+organization, weren't you?"
+
+Desmond was silent. He was beginning to wonder what Strangwise
+was driving at.
+
+"Oh, you needn't trouble to deny it. I never spotted you, I
+admit, even when the real Bellward turned up: that idea of
+putting your name in the casualty list as 'killed' was a
+masterstroke; for I never looked to find you alive and trying to
+put it across me. But to return to what I was saying--your job
+was to smash my little system, and if you pull it off, it's a
+feather in your cap. Well, you've killed two of my people and
+you've arrested the ringleader."
+
+"Meaning Behrend?" asked Desmond.
+
+"Behrend be hanged! I mean Nur-el-Din!"
+
+"Nur-el-Din was not the ringleader," said Desmond, "as well you
+know, Strangwise!"
+
+"Your employers evidently don't share your views, Desmond," he
+replied, "all the documents were found on Nur-el-Din!"
+
+"Bah!" retorted Desmond, "and what of it? Mightn't they have been
+planted on her in order to get her arrested to draw the suspicion
+away from the real criminal, yourself?"
+
+Strangwise laughed a low, mellow laugh.
+
+"You're devilish hard to convince," he remarked. "Perhaps you'll
+change your mind about it when I tell you that Nur-el-Din was
+sentenced to death by a general court-martial yesterday
+afternoon."
+
+The blow struck Desmond straight between the eyes. The execution
+of spies followed hard on their conviction, he knew. Was he too
+late?
+
+"Has... has she... has the sentence already been carried out?" he
+asked hoarsely.
+
+Strangwise shrugged his shoulders.
+
+"My information didn't go as far as that!" he replied. "But I
+expect so. They don't waste much time over these matters, old
+man! You see, then," he continued, "you've got the ringleader,
+and you shall have the other two members of the organization and
+save your own life into the bargain if you will be reasonable and
+treat with me."
+
+Desmond looked straight at him; and Strangwise averted his eyes.
+
+"Let me get this right," said Desmond slowly. "You let me go
+free--of course, I take it that my liberty includes the release
+of Miss Mackwayte as well--and in addition, you hand over to me
+your two accomplices, Bellward and the Malplaquet woman. That is
+your offer, isn't it? Well, what do you want from me in
+exchange?"
+
+"The Star of Poland!" said Strangwise in a low voice.
+
+"But," Desmond began. He was going to add "I haven't got it," but
+checked himself in time. Why should he show his hand?
+
+Strangwise broke in excitedly.
+
+"Man," he cried, "it was grandly done. When first I discovered
+the gem, I opened the package in which the silver box was wrapped
+and took the jewel from its case to make sure that it was there.
+Then I sealed it up again, silver box and all, with the firm
+intention that no other hand should break the seals but the hand
+of His Imperial Highness the Crown Prince when I reported to him
+that I had fulfilled my mission. So you will understand that I
+was loth to open it to satisfy those blockheads that evening at
+the Mill House.
+
+"I carried the package on me night and day and I could hardly
+believe my eyes when I discovered that a box of cigarettes had
+been substituted for the silver casket containing the jewel. I
+then suspected that Barbara Mackwayte, in collusion with
+Nur-el-Din, whom she had visited at the Dyke Inn that evening,
+had played this trick on me. But before I escaped from the Mill
+House I picked up one of the cigarettes which fell from the box
+when I broke the seals. Ah! There you made a slip, Desmond. When
+I looked at the cigarette I found it was a 'Dionysus'--your own
+particular brand--why, I have smoked dozens of them with you in
+France. The sight of the familiar name reminded me of you and
+then I remembered your unexpected visit to me at the Nineveh when
+I was packing up to go away on leave the evening you were going
+back to France. I remembered that I had put the package with the
+jewel on my table for a moment when I was changing my tunic. Your
+appearance drove it out of my head for the time, and you utilized
+the chance to substitute a similar package for mine. It was
+clever, Desmond, 'pon my word it was a stroke of genius, a master
+coup which in my country would have placed you at the very top of
+the tree in the Great General Staff!"
+
+Desmond listened to this story in amazement. He did not attempt
+to speculate on the different course events would have taken had
+he but known that the mysterious jewel which had cost old
+Mackwayte his life, had been in his, Desmond's, possession from
+the very day on which he had assumed the guise and habiliments of
+Mr. Bellward. He was racking his brains to think what he had done
+with the box of cigarettes he had purchased at the Dionysus shop
+on the afternoon of the day he had taken the leave train back to
+France.
+
+He remembered perfectly buying the cigarettes for the journey.
+But he didn't have them on the journey; for the captain of the
+leave boat had given him some cigars as Desmond had nothing to
+smoke. And then with a flash he remembered. He had packed the
+cigarettes in his kit--his kit which had gone over to France in
+the hold of the leave boat? And to think that there was a 100,000
+pound jewel in charge of the M.L.O. at a French port!
+
+The idea tickled Desmond's sense of humor and he smiled.
+
+"Come," cried Strangwise, "you've heard my terms. This jewel,
+this Star of Poland, it is nothing to you or your Government. You
+restore it to me and I won't even ask you for a safe conduct back
+to Germany. I'll just slide out and it will be as if I had never
+been to England at all. As for my organization, you, Desmond
+Okewood, have blown it sky-high!"
+
+He stretched out his hand to Desmond as though he expected the
+other to produce the gem from his pocket. But Desmond rose to his
+feet and struck the hand contemptuously on one side. The smile
+had vanished from his face.
+
+"Are you sure that is all you have to say to me?" he asked.
+
+Strangwise had stood up as well.
+
+"Why, yes!" he said, "I think so!"
+
+"Well, then," said Desmond firmly, "just listen to me for a
+moment! Here's my answer. You've lost the jewel for good and all,
+and you will never get it back. Your offer to betray your
+accomplices to me in exchange for the Star of Poland is an empty
+one; for your accomplices will be arrested with you. And lastly I
+give you my word that I shall make it my personal duty to see
+that you are not shot by clean-handed British soldiers, but
+strung up by the neck by the common hangman--as the murderer that
+you are!"
+
+Strangwise's face underwent an extraordinary change. His suavity
+vanished, his easy smile disappeared and he looked balefully
+across the table as the other fearlessly confronted him.
+
+"If you are a German, as you seem to be," Desmond went on, "then
+I tell you I shall never have guessed it until this interview
+between us. But a man who can murder a defenceless old man and
+torture a young girl and then propose to sell his pals to a
+British officer at the price of that officer's honor can only be
+a Hun! And you seem to be a pretty fine specimen of your race!"
+
+Strangwise mastered his rising passion by an obvious effort; but
+his face was evil as he spoke.
+
+"I put that Malplaquet woman off by appealing to her avarice," he
+said, "I've promised her and Bellward a thousand pounds apiece as
+their share of my reward for recovering the jewel. I only have to
+say the word, Okewood, and your number's up! And you may as well
+know that Bellward will try his hand on you before he kills you.
+If that girl had known where the Star of Poland was, Bellward
+would have had it out of her! Three times a day he's put her into
+the hypnotic sleep. I warn you, you won't like the
+interrogatory!"
+
+The door flew open and Bellward came in. He went eagerly to
+Strangwise.
+
+"Well, have you got it!" he demanded.
+
+"Have you anything further to say, Desmond?" asked Strangwise.
+"Perhaps you would care to reconsider your decisions?"
+
+Desmond shook his head.
+
+"You've had my answer!" he said doggedly.
+
+"Then, my friend," said Strangwise to Bellward, "after dinner you
+shall try your hand on this obstinate fool. But first we'll take
+him upstairs."
+
+He was close beside Desmond and as he finished speaking he
+suddenly caught him by the throat and forced him back into the
+chair to which Barbara had been tethered. To struggle was
+useless, and Desmond suffered them to bind his arms and feet to
+the arms and legs of the chair. Then the two men picked him up,
+chair and all, and bore him from the room upstairs to the third
+floor. There they carried him into a dark room where they left
+him, turning the key in the lock as they went away.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIX. DOT AND DASH
+
+For a long time after the retreating footsteps of Strangwise and
+Bellward had died away, Desmond sat listless, preoccupied with
+his thoughts. They were somber enough. The sinister atmosphere of
+the house, weighing upon him, seemed to deepen his depression.
+
+About his own position he was not concerned at all. This is not
+an example of unselfishness it is simply an instance of the force
+of discipline which trains a man to reckon the cause as
+everything and himself as naught. And Desmond was haunted by the
+awful conviction that he had at length reached the end of his
+tether and that nothing could now redeem the ignominious failure
+he had made of his mission.
+
+He had sacrificed Barbara Mackwayte; he had sacrificed
+Nur-el-Din; he had not even been clever enough to save his own
+skin. And Strangwise, spy and murderer, had escaped and was now
+free to reorganize his band after he had put Barbara and Desmond
+out of the way.
+
+The thought was so unbearable that it stung Desmond into action.
+Strangwise should not get the better of him, he resolved, and he
+had yet this brief interval of being alone in which he might
+devise some scheme to rescue Barbara and secure the arrest of
+Strangwise and his accomplices. But how?
+
+He raised his head and looked round the room. The curtains had
+not been drawn and enough light came into the room from the
+outside to enable him to distinguish the outlines of the
+furniture. It was a bedroom, furnished in rather a massive style,
+with some kind of thick, soft carpet into, which the feet sank.
+
+Desmond tested his bonds. He was very skillfully tied up. He
+fancied that with a little manipulation he might contrive to
+loosen the rope round his right arm, for one of the knots had
+caught in the folds of his coat. The thongs round his left arm
+and two legs were, however, so tight that he thought he had but
+little chance of ridding himself of them, even should he get his
+right arm free; for the knots were tied at the back under the
+seat of the chair in such a way that he could not reach them.
+
+He, therefore, resigned himself to conducting operations in the
+highly ridiculous posture in which he found himself, that is to
+say, with a large arm-chair attached to him, rather like a snail
+with its house on its back. After a certain amount of maneuvering
+he discovered that, by means of a kind of slow, lumbering crawl,
+he was able to move across the ground. It might have proved a
+noisy business on a parquet floor; but Desmond moved only a foot
+or two at a time and the pile carpet deadened the sound.
+
+They had deposited him in his chair in the centre of the room
+near the big brass bedstead. After ten minutes' painful crawling
+he had reached the toilet table which stood in front of the
+window with a couple of electric candles on either side of the
+mirror. He moved the toilet table to one side, then bumped
+steadily across the carpet until he had reached the window. And
+then he gave a little gasp of surprise.
+
+He found himself looking straight at the window of his own
+bedroom at Mrs. Viljohn-Smythe's. There was no mistaking it. The
+electric light was burning and the curtains had not yet been
+drawn. He could see the black and pink eiderdown on his bed and
+the black lining of the chintz curtains. Then he remembered the
+slope of the hill. He must be in the room from which he had seen
+Bellward looking out.
+
+The sight of the natty bedroom across the way moved Desmond
+strangely. It seemed to bring home to him for the first time the
+extraordinary position in which he found himself, a prisoner in a
+perfectly respectable suburban house in a perfectly respectable
+quarter of London, in imminent danger of a violent death.
+
+He wouldn't give in without a struggle. Safety stared him in the
+face, separated only by a hundred yards of grass and shrub and
+wall. He instinctively gripped the arms of the chair to raise
+himself to get a better view from the window, forgetting he was
+bound. The ropes cut his arms cruelly and brought him back to
+earth.
+
+He tested again the thongs fastening his right arm. Yes! they
+were undoubtedly looser than the others. He pulled and tugged and
+writhed and strained. Once in his struggles he crashed into the
+toilet table and all but upset one of the electric candles which
+slid to the table's very brink and was saved, as by a miracle,
+from falling to the floor. He resumed his efforts, but with less
+violence. It was in vain. Though the ropes about his right arm
+were fairly loose, the wrist was solidly fastened to the chair,
+and do what he would, he could not wrest it free. He clawed
+desperately with his fingers and thumb, but all in vain.
+
+In the midst of his struggles he was arrested by the sound of
+whistling. Somebody in the distance outside was whistling,
+clearly and musically, a quaint, jingling sort of jig that struck
+familiarly on Desmond's ear. Somehow it reminded him of the
+front. It brought with it dim memory of the awakening to the
+early morning chill of a Nissen hut, the smell of damp earth, the
+whirr of aircraft soaring through the morning sky, the squeak of
+flutes, the roll of drums... why, it was the Grand Reveille,
+that ancient military air which every soldier knows.
+
+He stopped struggling and peered cautiously out into the dusk.
+The time for darkening the windows must be at hand, he thought,
+for in most of the houses the blinds were already drawn. Here and
+there, however, an oblong of yellow light showed up against the
+dark mass of the houses on the upper slopes of the hill. The
+curtains of his bedroom at Mrs. Viljohn-Smythe's were not yet
+drawn and the light still burned brightly above the bed.
+
+The whistling continued with occasional interruptions as though
+the whistler were about some work or other. And then suddenly
+"Buzzer" Barling, holding something in one hand and rubbing
+violently with the other, stepped into the patch of light between
+the window and the bed in Desmond's bedroom.
+
+Desmond's heart leaped within him. Here was assistance close at
+hand. Mechanically he sought to raise his hand to open the
+window, but an agonising twinge reminded him of his thongs. He
+swiftly reviewed in his mind the means of attracting the
+attention of the soldier opposite. Whatever he was going to do,
+he must do quickly; for the fact that people were beginning to
+darken their windows showed that it must be close on half-past
+six, and about seven o'clock, Barling, after putting out
+Desmond's things, was accustomed to go out for the evening.
+
+Should he shout? Should he try and break the window? Desmond
+rejected both these suggestions. While it was doubtful whether
+Barling would hear the noise or, if he heard it, connect it with
+Desmond, it was certain that Strangwise and Bellward would do
+both and be upon Desmond without a moment's delay.
+
+Then Desmond's eye fell upon the electric candle which had slid
+to the very edge of the table. It was mounted in a heavy brass
+candle-stick and the switch was in the pedestal, jutting out over
+the edge of the table in the position in which the candle now
+stood. The candle was clear of the mirror and there was nothing
+between it and the window. Desmond's brain took all this in at a
+glance. That glance showed him that Providence was being good to
+him.
+
+A couple of jerks of the chair brought him alongside the table.
+Its edge was practically level with the arms of the chair so
+that, by getting into the right position, he was able to
+manipulate the switch with his fingers. And then, thanking God
+and the Army Council for the recent signalling course he had
+attended, he depressed the switch with a quick, snapping movement
+and jerked it up again, sending out the dots and dashes of the
+Morse code.
+
+"B-A-R-L-I-N-G" he spelt out, slowly and laboriously, it is true;
+for he was not an expert.
+
+As he worked the switch, he looked across at the illuminated
+window of the room in which Barling stood, with bent head,
+earnestly engaged upon his polishing.
+
+"B-a-r-l-i-n-g-ack-ack-ack-B-a-r-l-i-n-g-ack-ack-ack"
+
+The light flickered up and down in long and short flashes. Still
+"Buzzer" Barling trilled away at the "Grand Reveille" nor raised
+his eyes from his work.
+
+Desmond varied the call:
+
+"O-K-E-W-O-O-D T-O B-A-R-L-I-N-G" he flashed.
+
+He repeated the call twice and was spelling it out for the third
+time when Desmond saw the "Buzzer" raise his head.
+
+The whistling broke off short.
+
+"O-k-e-w-o-o-d t-o B-a-r-l-i-n-g" flickered the light.
+
+The next moment the bedroom opposite was plunged in darkness.
+Immediately afterwards the light began to flash with bewildering
+rapidity. But Desmond recognized the call.
+
+"I am ready to take your message," it said.
+
+"S-t-r-a-n-g-w-i-s-e h-a-s g-o-t m-e ack-ack-ack," Desmond
+flashed back, "f-e-t-c-h h-e-l-p a-t o-n-c-e ack-ack-ack: d-o-n-t
+r-e-p-l-y; ack-ack-ack; s-e-n-d o-n-e d-o-t o-n-e d-a-s-h t-o
+s-h-o-w y-o-u u-n-d-e-r-s-t-a-n-d ack-ack-ack!"
+
+For he was afraid lest the light flashing from the house opposite
+might attract the attention of the men downstairs.
+
+He was very slow and he made many mistakes, so that it was with
+bated breath that, after sending his message, he watched the
+window opposite for the reply.
+
+It came quickly. A short flash and a long one followed at once.
+After that the room remained in darkness. With a sigh of relief
+Desmond, as quietly as possible, manoeuvred the dressing-table
+back into place and then jerked the chair across the carpet to
+the position where Strangwise and Bellward had left him in the
+middle of the floor:
+
+It was here that the two men found him, apparently asleep, when
+they came up half-an-hour later. They carried him down to the red
+lacquer room again.
+
+"Well, Desmond!" said Strangwise, when their burden had been
+deposited on the floor under the crimson lamp.
+
+"Well, Maurice?" answered the other.
+
+Strangwise noticed that Desmond had addressed him by his
+Christian name for the first time since he had been in the house
+and his voice was more friendly when he spoke again.
+
+"I see you're going to be sensible, old man," he said. "Believe
+me, it's the only thing for you to do. You're going to give up
+the Star of Poland, aren't you?"
+
+"Oh, no, Maurice, I'm not," replied Desmond in a frank, even
+voice. "I've told you what I'm going to do. I'm going to hand you
+over to the people at Pentonville to hang as a murderer. And I
+shouldn't be at all surprised if they didn't run up old Bellward
+there alongside of you!"
+
+Strangwise shook his head at him.
+
+"You are very ill-advised to reject my offer, Desmond," he said,
+"for it simply means that I can do nothing more for you. Our
+friend Bellward now assumes the direction of affairs. I don't
+think you can realize what you are letting yourself in for. You
+appear to have been dabbling in Intelligence work. Perhaps it
+would interest you to hear something about this, our latest
+German method for extracting Accurate information from reluctant
+or untruthful witnesses. Bellward, perhaps you would enlighten
+him."
+
+Bellward smiled grimly.
+
+"It is a blend," he explained glibly, "of that extreme form of
+cross-examination which the Americans call 'the third degree' and
+hypnotic treatment. Many people, as you are doubtless aware, are
+less responsive to hypnotic influence than others. An intensified
+course of the third degree and lack of sleep renders such
+refractory natures extraordinarily susceptible to mesmeric
+treatment. It prepares the ground as it were!"
+
+Bellward coughed and looked at Desmond over his tortoise-shell
+spectacles which he had put on again.
+
+"The method has had its best results when practised on women," he
+resumed. "Our people in Holland have found it very successful in
+the case of female spies who come across the Belgian frontier.
+But some women--Miss Barbara, for example--seem to have greater
+powers of resistance than others. We had to employ a rather
+drastic form of the third degree for her, didn't we, Strangwise?"
+
+He laughed waggishly.
+
+"And you'll be none too easy either," he added.
+
+"You beasts," cried Desmond, "but just you wait, your turn will
+come!"
+
+"Yours first, however," chuckled Bellward. "I rather fancy you
+will think us beasts by the time we have done with you, my young
+friend!"
+
+Then he turned to Strangwise.
+
+"Where's Minna?" he asked.
+
+"With the girl."
+
+"Is the girl sleeping?"
+
+Strangwise nodded.
+
+"She wanted it," he replied, "no sleep for four days... I tell
+you it takes some constitution to hold out against that!"
+
+"Well," said Bellward, rubbing the palms of his hands together,
+"as we're not likely to be disturbed, I think we'll make a
+start!"
+
+He advanced a pace to where Desmond sat trussed up, hand and
+foot, in his chair. Bellward's eyes were large and luminous, and
+as Desmond glanced rather nervously at the face of the man
+approaching him, he was struck by the compelling power they
+seemed to emit.
+
+Desmond bent his head to avoid the insistent gaze. But in a
+couple of quick strides Bellward was at his side and stooping
+down, had thrust his face right into his victim's. Bellward's
+face was so close that Desmond felt his warm breath on his cheek
+whilst those burning eyes seemed to stab through his closed
+eyelids and steadily, stealthily, draw his gaze.
+
+Resolutely Desmond held his head, averted. All kinds of queer
+ideas were racing through his brain, fragments of nursery rhymes,
+scenes from his regimental life in India, memories of the front,
+which he had deliberately summoned up to keep his attention
+distracted from those merciless eyes, like twin search-lights
+pitilessly playing on his face.
+
+Bellward could easily have taken Desmond by the chin and forced
+his face up until his eyes came level with the other's. But he
+offered no violence of any kind. He remained in his stooping
+position, his face thrust forward, so perfectly still that
+Desmond began to be tormented by a desire to risk a rapid peep
+just to see what the mesmerist was doing.
+
+He put the temptation aside. He must keep his eyes shut, he told
+himself. But the desire increased, intensified by the strong
+attraction radiating from Bellward, and finally Desmond
+succumbed. He opened his eyes to dart a quick glance at Bellward
+and found the other's staring eyes, with pupils distended, fixed
+on his. And Desmond felt his resistance ebb. He tried to avert
+his gaze; but it was too late. That basilisk glare held him fast.
+
+With every faculty of his mind he fought against the influence
+which was slowly, irresistibly, shackling his brain. He laughed,
+he shouted defiance at Bellward and Strangwise, he sang snatches
+of songs. But Bellward never moved a muscle. He seemed to be in a
+kind of cataleptic trance, so rigid his body, so unswerving his
+stare.
+
+The lights in the room seemed to be growing dim. Bellward's
+eyeballs gleamed redly in the dull crimson light flooding the
+room. Desmond felt himself longing for some violent shock that
+would disturb the hideous stillness of the house. His own voice
+was sounding dull and blunted in his ears. What was the use of
+struggling further? He might as well give up...
+
+A loud crash, the sound of a door slamming, reechoed through the
+house. The room shook. The noise brought Desmond back to his
+senses and at the same time the chain binding him to Bellward
+snapped. For Bellward started and raised his head and Strangwise
+sprang to the door. Then Desmond heard the door burst open, there
+was the deafening report of a pistol, followed by another, and
+Bellward crashed forward on his knees with a sobbing grunt. As
+Desmond had his back to the door he could see nothing of what was
+taking place, but some kind of violent struggle was going on; for
+he heard the smash of glass as a piece of furniture was upset.
+
+Then suddenly the room seemed full of people. The thongs binding
+his hands and feet fell to the ground. "Buzzer" Barling stood at
+his side.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXX. HOHENLINDEN TRENCH
+
+A man broke quickly away from the throng of people pressing into
+the room. It was Francis. The Chief and Mr. Marigold were close
+at his heels.
+
+"Des," cried Francis, "ah! thank God! you are all right!"
+
+Desmond looked in a dazed fashion from one to the other. The
+rapid transition from the hush of the room to the scene of
+confusion going on around him had left him bewildered. His glance
+traveled from the faces of the men gathered round his chair to
+the floor. The sight of Bellward, very still, hunched up with his
+face immersed in the thick black carpet, seemed to recall
+something to his mind.
+
+"Barbara!" he murmured in a strained voice.
+
+"She's all right!" replied his brother, "we found her on the bed
+in a room on the floor below sleeping the sleep of the just. The
+woman's vanished, though. I'm afraid she got away! But who's
+this?"
+
+He pointed to "Buzzer" Barling who stood stiffly at attention
+beside Desmond's chair.
+
+"Ay, who are you, young fellow" repeated Mr. Marigold coming up
+close to the soldier. "Ask him!" said Desmond, raising his arm,
+"he knows!"
+
+The group around the door had broken up. Strangwise, his wrists
+handcuffed together, his hair dishevelled and his collar torn,
+stood there between two plain clothes men. And at him Desmond
+pointed.
+
+Strangwise was staring at the straight, square figure of the
+gunner, awkwardly attired in one of Desmond's old suits.
+Berling's frank, honest eyes returned the other's gaze
+unflinchingly. But Strangwise was obviously taken aback, though
+only for the moment. The flush that mounted to his cheek quickly
+died down, leaving him as cool and impassive as ever.
+
+"Do you know this man!" the Chief, asked sternly, addressing
+Strangwise.
+
+"Certainly," retorted Strangwise, "it's Gunner Barling, one of
+the Brigade signallers!"
+
+Mr. Marigold gave a keen glance at the soldier.
+
+"So you're Barling, eh?" he muttered as though talking to
+himself, "ah! this is getting interesting!"
+
+"Yes," said Desmond, "this is Gunner Barling. Have a good look at
+him, Strangwise. It is he who summoned these gentlemen to my
+assistance. It is he who's going to tell them who and what you
+are!"
+
+Turning to the Chief he added with a touch of formality: "May
+Gunner Barling tell his story, sir?"
+
+"By all means," replied the Chief. "I am all attention. But first
+let this fellow be removed."
+
+And beckoning to two of his men; he pointed to the body of
+Bellward.
+
+"Is he dead" asked Desmond.
+
+The Chief shook his head.
+
+"He drew a bead on one of my men as we came in," he answered,
+"and got a bullet through the chest for his pains. We'll have to
+cure him of this gunshot wound so as to get him ready to receive
+another!"
+
+He laughed a grim dry laugh at his little joke.
+
+"Now, Barling," said Desmond, when Bellward had been borne away,
+"I want you to tell these gentlemen the story of the raid on the
+Hohenlinden trench."
+
+Barling glanced rather self-consciously about him. But the look
+of intense, almost nervous watchfulness on the face of Maurice
+Strangwise seemed to reassure him. And when he spoke, he spoke
+straight at Strangwise.
+
+"Well," he said, "Major Okewood here, what I used to know along
+of my brother being his servant, says as how you gentlemen'll
+make it all right about my stoppin' absent if I tells you what I
+know about this orficer. Tell it I will and gladly; for it was
+all along of him that I spoiled a clean sheet of eighteen years'
+service, gentlemen.
+
+"When we was down Arras way a few months ago the infantry was
+a-goin' to do a raid, see? And the Captain here was sent along of
+the infantry party to jine up a lineback to the 'tillery brigade
+headquarters. Well, he took me and another chap, name o'
+Macdonald--Bombardier he was--along with him as signallers.
+
+"This was a daylight raid, d'ye see, gentlemen? Our chaps went
+over at four o'clock in the afternoon. They was to enter a sort
+o' bulge in the German front line wot they called Hohenlinden
+Trench, bomb the Gers. out o' that, push on to the support line
+and clear out that and then come back. The rocket to fetch 'em
+home was to go up forty minutes after they started.
+
+"Well, me and Mac--that's the Bombardier--went over with th'
+officer here just behind the raiding party. O' course Fritz knew
+we was comin' for it was broad daylight, and that clear you could
+see for miles over the flats. First thing we knew Fritz had put
+down a roarin', tearin' barrage, and we hadn't gone not twenty
+yards before ole Mac. cops one right on the nut; about took his
+head off, it did. So me and the captain we goes on alone and
+drops all nice and comfortable in the trench, and I starts
+getting my line jined up.
+
+"It was a longish job but I got the brigade line goin' at last.
+Our chaps had cleared out the front line and was off down the
+communication trenches to the support. What with machine-guns
+rattlin' and bombs a-goin' off down the trench and Fritz's
+barrage all over the shop the row was that awful we had to buzz
+every single word.
+
+"There was a bit of a house like, a goodish way in front, X farm,
+they called it, and presently the Brigade tells the Captain, who
+was buzzin' to them, to register B battery on to the farm.
+
+"'I can't see the farm nohow from here,' sez the Captain. I could
+see it as plain as plain, and I pointed it out to him. But no! he
+couldn't see it.
+
+"'I'll crawl out of the trench a bit, gunner,' sez he to me, 'you
+sit tight,' he sez, 'I'll let you know when to follow!"
+
+"With that he up and out o' the trench leavin' me and the
+instruments behind all among the dead Gers., and our lads had
+killed a tidy few. It was pretty lonely round about were I was;
+for our chaps had all gone on and was bombin' the Gers., like
+they was a lot o' rabbits, up and down the support line.
+
+"I followed the Captain with me eye, gentlemen, and I'm blessed
+if he didn't walk straight across the open and over the support
+trench. Then he drops into a bit of a shell-hole and I lost sight
+of him. Well, I waited and waited and no sign of th' orficer. The
+rocket goes up and our lads begin to come back with half a dozen
+Huns runnin' in front of them with their hands up. Some of the
+chaps as they passed me wanted to know if I was a-goin' to stay
+there all night! And the Brigade buzzin' like mad to talk to the
+Captain.
+
+"I sat in that blessed trench till everybody had cleared out.
+Then, seeing as how not even the docket had brought th' orficer
+back, I sez to myself as how he must ha' stopped one. So I gets
+out of the trench and starts crawling across the top towards the
+place where I see the Captain disappear. As I got near the
+support line the ground went up a little and then dropped, so I
+got a bit of a view on to the ground ahead. And then I sees the
+Captain here!"
+
+Buzzer Barling stopped. All had listened to his story with the
+deepest interest, especially Strangwise, who never took his eyes
+off the gunner's brown face. Some men are born story-tellers and
+there was a rugged picturesqueness about Barling's simple
+narrative which conjured up in the minds of his hearers the
+picture of the lonely signaller cowering in the abandoned trench
+among the freshly slain, waiting for the officer who never came
+back.
+
+"It's not a nice thing to have to say about an orficer," the
+gunner presently continued, "and so help me God, gentlemen, I
+kep' my mouth shut about it until... until..."
+
+He broke off and looked quickly at Desmond.
+
+"Keep that until the end, Barling," said Desmond, "finish about
+the raid now!"
+
+"Well, as I was sayin', gentlemen, I was up on a bit of hillock
+near Fritz's support line when I sees the Captain here. He was
+settin' all comfortable in a shell-hole, his glasses in his hand,
+chattin' quite friendly like with two of the Gers. orficers, I
+reckoned they was, along o' the silver lace on their collars. One
+was wearin' one o' them coal-scuttle helmets, t'other a little
+flat cap with a shiny peak. And the Captain here was a-pointin'
+at our lines and a-wavin' his hand about like he was a-tellin'
+the two Fritzes all about it, and the chap in the coal-scuttle
+hat was a-writin' it all down in a book."
+
+Barling paused. He was rather flushed and his eyes burned
+brightly in his weather-beaten face.
+
+"Eighteen year I done in the Royal Regiment," he went on, and his
+voice trembled a little, "and me father a battery sergeant-major
+before me, and I never thought to see one of our orficers go over
+to the enemy. Fritz was beginnin' to come back to his front line:
+I could see their coal-scuttle hats a-bobbin' up and down the
+communication trenches, so I crawled back the way I come and made
+a bolt for our lines.
+
+"I meant to go straight to the B.C. post and report wot I seen to
+the Major. But I hadn't the heart to, gentlemen, when I was up
+against it. It was an awful charge to bring against an orficer,
+d'you see? I told myself I didn't know but what the Captain
+hadn't been taken prisoner and was makin' the best of it, w'en I
+see him, stuffin' the Fritzes up with a lot o' lies. And so I
+jes' reported as how th' orficer 'ad crawled out of the trench
+and never come back. And then this here murder happened..."
+
+Mr. Marigold turned to the Chief.
+
+"If you remember, sir," he said, "I found this man's leave paper
+in the front garden of the Mackwayte's house at Laleham Villas,
+Seven Kings, the day after the murder. There are one or two
+questions I should like to put..."
+
+"No need to arsk any questions," said Barling. "I'll tell you the
+whole story meself, mister. I was on leave at the time, due to go
+back to France the next afternoon. I'd been out spending the
+evenin' at my niece's wot's married and livin' out Seven Kings
+way. Me and her man wot works on the line kept it up a bit late
+what with yarnin' about the front an' that and it must a' been
+nigh on three o'clock w'en I left him to walk back to the Union
+Jack Club where I had a bed.
+
+"There's a corfee-stall near their road and the night bein' crool
+damp I thought as how a nice cup o' corfee'd warm me up afore I
+went back to the Waterloo Bridge Road. I had me cup o' corfee and
+was jes' a-payin' the chap what has the pitch w'en a fellow
+passes by right in the light o' the lamp on the stall. It was th'
+orficer here, in plain clothes--shabby-like he was dressed--but I
+knew him at once.
+
+"'Our orficers don't walk about these parts after midnight
+dressed like tramps,' I sez to meself, and rememberin' what I
+seen at the Hohenlinden Trench I follows him..."
+
+"Just a minute!"
+
+The Chief's voice broke in upon the narrative.
+
+"Didn't you know, Barling, hadn't you heard, about Captain
+Strangwise's escape from a German prisoners of war camp?"
+
+"No, sir!" replied the gunner.
+
+"There was a good deal about it in the papers."
+
+"I've not got much eddication, sir," said Barling, "that's w'y I
+never took the stripe and I don't take much account of the
+newspapers an' that's a fact!"
+
+"Well, go on!" the Chief bade him.
+
+"It was pretty dark in the streets and I follered him along
+without his seeing me into the main-road and then down a
+turnin'..."
+
+"Laleham Villas," prompted Mr. Marigold.
+
+"I wasn't payin' much attention to were he was leadin' me," said
+Barling, "what I wanted to find out was what he was up to!
+Presently he turned in at a gate. I was closer up than I meant to
+be, and he swung in so sudden that I had to drop quick and crouch
+behind the masonry of the front garden wall. My leave pass must
+a' dropped out o' my pocket and through the railin's into the
+garden.
+
+"Well, the front door must a' been on the jar for th' orficer
+here just pushes it open and walks in, goin' very soft like. I
+crep' in the front gate and got as far as the door w'ich was
+a-standin' half open. I could 'ear the stair creakin' under 'im
+and I was just wonderin' whether I should go into the house w'en
+I hears a bang and wi' that someone comes aflyin' down the
+stairs, dodges through the front hall and out at the back. I see
+him come scramblin' over the back gate and was a-goin' to stop
+him thinkin' it was th' orficer here w'en I sees it is a tubby
+little chap, not big like the Captain. And then it come over me
+quite sudden-like that burglary and murder had been done in the
+house and wot would I say if a p'liceman come along? So I slipped
+off and went as hard as I could go back to the old Union Jack
+Club.
+
+"The next mornin' I found I'd lost me leave paper. I was afraid
+to go and report it in case it had been picked up, and they'd run
+me in for this murder job. That's how I come to desert,
+gentlemen, and spoilt a eighteen years' conduct sheet without a
+entry over this murderin' spy here!"
+
+Gunner Barling broke off abruptly as though he had committed
+himself to a stronger opinion than discipline would allow. It was
+the Chief who broke the silence following the termination of the
+gunner's story.
+
+"Strangwise," he said, "hadn't you better tell us who you are?"
+
+"He's an officer of the Prussian Guard," Desmond said, "and he
+was sent over here by the German secret service organization in
+the United States to get a commission in the British Army. When a
+good man was wanted to recover the Star of Poland for the Crown
+Prince, the secret service people in Berlin sent word to
+Strangwise (who was then serving with the gunners in France) to
+get himself captured. The German military authorities duly
+reported him a prisoner of war and then let him 'escape' as' the
+easiest and least suspicious means of getting him back to
+London!"
+
+The Chief smiled genially.
+
+"That's a dashed clever idea," he observed shrewdly, "'pon my
+word, that's bright! That's very bright! I should like to
+compliment the man who thought of that!"
+
+"Then you may address your compliments to me, Chief," said
+Strangwise.
+
+The Chief turned and looked at him.
+
+"I've met many of your people in my time, Strangwise," he said,
+"but I don't know you! Who are you?"
+
+Strangwise laughed.
+
+"Ask Nur-el-Din," he said, "that is to say, if you haven't shot
+her yet!"
+
+"And if we have?" asked the Chief.
+
+Desmond sprang tip.
+
+"It isn't possible!" he cried. "Why, the woman's a victim, not a
+principal! Chief..."
+
+"What if we have?" asked the Chief again.
+
+A curious change had come over the prisoner. His jaunty air had
+left him and there was an apprehensive look in his eyes.
+
+"I would have saved her if I could have," Strangwise said, "but
+she played me false over the jewel. She imperiled the success of
+my mission. You English have no idea of discipline. To us
+Prussian officers an order stands above everything else. There is
+nothing we would not sacrifice to obey our orders. And my order
+was to recover the Star of Poland for His Imperial Highness the
+Crown Prince, Lieutenant Colonel in the Regiment to which I have
+the honor to belong, the First Regiment of Prussian Foot Guards.
+But Nur-el-Din plotted with our friend here and with that little
+fool upstairs to upset my plans, and I had no mercy on her. I
+planted those documents in her dress--or rather Bellward did--to
+draw suspicion away from me. I thought you English would be too
+flabby to execute a woman; but I reckoned on you putting the girl
+away for some years to come. I would have shot her as I shot Rass
+if..." His voice trembled and he was silent.
+
+"If what?" asked the Chief.
+
+"If she hadn't been my wife," said Strangwise.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXI. THE 100,000 KIT
+
+It was a clear, crisp morning with a sparkle of frost on jetty
+and breakwater. The English Channel stretched flashing like a
+living sheet of glass to the filmy line marking the coast of
+France, as serene and beautiful in its calm as it is savage and
+cruel in its anger. It was high tide; but only a gentle murmur
+came from the little waves that idly beat upon the shore in front
+of the bungalow.
+
+A girl lay in a deck chair on the verandah, well wrapped up
+against the eager air. But the fresh breeze would not be denied
+and, foiled by the nurse's vigilance of its intents against the
+patient, it revenged itself by blowing havoc among the soft brown
+curls which peeped out from under the girl's hat.
+
+She turned to the man at her side.
+
+"Look!" she said, and pointed seawards with her finger.
+
+A convoy of vessels was standing out to sea framed in the
+smoke-blurs of the escorting destroyers. Ugly, weatherbeaten
+craft were the steamers with trails of smoke blown out in the
+breeze behind them. They rode the sea's highway with confidence,
+putting their trust in the unseen power that swept the road clear
+for them.
+
+"Transports, aren't they?" asked the man.
+
+But he scarcely looked at the transports. He was watching the
+gleam of the sun on the girl's brown hair and contrasting the
+deep gray of her eyes with the ever-changing hues of the sea.
+
+"Yes," replied the girl. "It's the third day they've gone across!
+By this time next week there'll be ten fresh divisions in France.
+How secure they look steaming along! And to think they owe it all
+to you!"
+
+The man laughed and flushed up.
+
+"From the strictly professional standpoint the less said about me
+the better," he said.
+
+"What nonsense you talk!" cried the girl. "When the Chief was
+down to see me yesterday, he spoke of nothing but you. 'They beat
+him, but he won out!' he said, 'they shook him off but he went
+back and found 'em!' He told me it was a case of grit versus
+violence--and grit won. In all the time I've known the Chief,
+I've never heard him talk so much about one man before. Do you
+know," Barbara went on, looking up at Desmond, "I think you've
+made the Chief feel a little bit ashamed of himself. And that I
+may tell you is a most extraordinary achievement!"
+
+"Do you think you're strong enough to hear some news?" asked
+Desmond after a pause.
+
+"Of course," replied the girl. "But I think I can guess it. It's
+about Strangwise, isn't it?"
+
+Desmond nodded.
+
+"He was shot yesterday morning," he replied. "I'm glad they did
+it in France. I was terrified lest they should want me to go to
+it."
+
+"Why?" asked the girl with a suspicion of indignation in her
+voice, "he deserved no mercy."
+
+"No," replied Desmond slowly, "he was a bad fellow--a Prussian
+through and through. He murdered your poor father, he shot Rass,
+he instigated the killing of the maid, Marie, he was prepared to
+sacrifice his own wife even, to this Prussian God of militarism
+which takes the very soul out of a man's body and puts it into
+the hands of his superior officer. And yet, and yet, when one has
+soldiered with a man, Barbara, and roughed it with him and been
+shelled and shot at with him, there seems to be a bond of
+sympathy between you and him for ever after. And he was a brave
+man, Barbara, cruel and unscrupulous, I admit, but there was no
+fear in him, and I can't help admiring courage. I seem to think
+of him as two men--the man I soldiered with and the heartless
+brute who watched while that beast Bellward..."
+
+He broke off as a spasm of pain crossed the girl's face. "I shall
+remember the one and forget the other," he concluded simply.
+
+"Tell me," said the girl suddenly, "who was Strangwise?"
+
+"After he was arrested and just before they were going to take
+him off," Desmond said, "he asked to be allowed to say a word
+privately to the Chief. We were all sent away and he told the
+Chief his real name. He thought he was going to be hanged, you
+see, and while he never shrank from any crime in the fulfilment
+of his mission, he was terrified of a shameful death. He begged
+the Chief to see that his real name was not revealed for the
+disgrace that his execution would bring upon his family.
+Curiously Prussian attitude of mind, isn't it?"
+
+"And what did the Chief say?"
+
+"I don't know; but he was mighty short with him, I expect."
+
+"And what was Strangwise's real name?"
+
+"When he told us that Nur-el-Din was his wife, I knew at once who
+he was. His name is Hans von Schornbeek. He was in the Prussian
+Foot Guards, was turned out for some reason or other and went to
+America where, after a pretty rough time, he was taken on by the
+German secret service organization. He was working for them when
+he met Nur-el-Din. They were married out there and, realizing the
+possibilities of using her as a decoy in the secret service, he
+sent her to Brussels where the Huns were very busy getting ready
+for war. He treated her abominably; but the girl was fond of him
+in her way and even when she was in fear of her life from this
+man she never revealed to me the fact that he was Hans von
+Schornbeek and her husband."
+
+Barbara sat musing for a while, her eyes on the restless sea.
+
+"How strange it is," she said, "to think that they are all
+dispersed now... and the transports are sailing securely to
+France. Two were killed at the Mill House, Behrend committed
+suicide in prison, Bellward died in hospital, Mrs. Malplaquet has
+disappeared, and now Strangwise has gone. There only remains..."
+
+She cast a quick glance at Desmond but he was gazing seaward at
+the smoke of the transports smudging the horizon.
+
+"What are they going to do with Nur-el-Din?" she asked rather
+abruptly.
+
+"Didn't the Chief tell you?" said Desmond.
+
+"He only asked me what I had to say in the matter as I had had to
+suffer at her hands. But I told him I left the matter entirely to
+him. I said I took your point of view that Nur-el-Din was the
+victim of her husband..."
+
+"That was generous of you, Barbara," Desmond said gently.
+
+She sighed.
+
+"Daddy knew her as a little girl," she answered, "and he was so
+pleased to see her again that night. She never had a chance. I
+hope she'll get one now!"
+
+"They're going to intern her, I believe," said Desmond, "until
+the end of the war; they could do nothing else, you know. But she
+will be well looked after, and I think she will be safer in our
+charge than if she were allowed to remain at liberty. The German
+Secret Service has had a bad knock, you know. Somebody has got to
+pay for it!"
+
+"I know," the girl whispered, "and it frightens me."
+
+"You poor child!" said Desmond, "you've had a rough time. But
+it's all over now. And that reminds me, Barney is coming up for
+sentence to-day; they charged him with murder originally; but
+Marigold kept on getting him remanded until they were able to
+alter the charge to one of burglary. He'll probably get two
+years' hard labor, Marigold says."
+
+"Poor Barney!" said Barbara, "I wish they would let him go free.
+All these weeks the mystery of poor Daddy's death has so weighed
+upon my mind that now it has been cleared up I feel as though one
+day I might be happy again. And I want everybody to be happy,
+too!"
+
+"Barbara," said Desmond and took her hand.
+
+Barbara calmly withdrew it from his grasp and brushed an
+imaginary curl out of her eye.
+
+"Any news of your hundred thousand pound kit?" she asked, by way
+of turning the conversation.
+
+"By Jove," said Desmond, "there was a letter from Cox's at the
+club this morning but I was so rushed to catch my train that I
+shoved it in my pocket and forgot all about it. I wrote and asked
+them weeks ago to get my kit back from France. Here we are!"
+
+He pulled a letter out of his pocket, slit open the envelope and
+took out a printed form. Barbara, propping herself up with one
+hand on his shoulder, leaned over him to read the communication.
+This is what she read.
+
+"We are advised," the form ran, "that a Wolseley valise forwarded
+to you on the 16th inst. from France has been lost by enemy
+action. We are enclosing a compensation form which..."
+
+But neither troubled to read further.
+
+"Gone to the bottom, by Jove!" cried Desmond. "But isn't it
+strange," he went on, "to think of the Star of Poland lying out
+there on the bed of the Channel? Well, I'm not so sure that it
+isn't the best place for it. It won't create any further trouble
+in this world at least!"
+
+"Poor Nur-el-Din!" sighed the girl.
+
+They sat awhile in silence together and watched the gulls
+circling unceasingly above the receding tide.
+
+"You're leaving here to-morrow then?" said Desmond presently.
+
+Barbara nodded
+
+"And going back to your work with the Chief?"
+
+Barbara nodded again.
+
+"It's not good enough," cried Desmond. "This is no job for a girl
+like you, Barbara. The strain is too much; the risks are too
+great. Besides, there's something I wanted to say..."
+
+Barbara stopped him.
+
+"Don't say it!" she bade him.
+
+"But you don't know what I was going to say!" he protested.
+
+Barbara smiled a little happy smile.
+
+"Barbara..." Desmond began.
+
+Her hand still rested on his shoulder and he put his hand over
+hers. For a brief moment she let him have his way.
+
+Then she withdrew her hand.
+
+"Desmond," she said, looking at him with kindly eyes, "we both
+have work to do..."
+
+"We have," replied the man somberly, "and mine's at the front!"
+
+The girl shook her head.
+
+"No!" she said. "Henceforward it's where the Chief sends you!"
+
+Desmond set his jaw obstinately.
+
+"I may have been a Secret Service agent by accident," he
+answered, "but I'm a soldier by trade. My place is in the
+fighting-line!"
+
+"The Secret Service has its fighting-line, too," Barbara replied,
+"though the war correspondents don't write about it. It never
+gets a mention in despatches, and Victoria Crosses don't come its
+way. The newspapers don't publish its casualty list, though you
+and I know that it's a long one. A man slips quietly away and
+never comes back, and after a certain lapse of time we just mark
+him off the books and there's an end of it. But it's a great
+service; and you've made your mark in it. The Chief wants men
+like you. You'll have to stay!"
+
+Desmond was about to speak; but the girl stopped him. "What do
+you and I matter," she asked, "when the whole future of England
+is at stake! If you are to give of your best to this silent game
+of ours, you must be free with no responsibilities and no ties,
+with nothing that will ever make you hesitate to take a supreme
+risk. And I never met a man that dared more freely than you!"
+
+"Oh, please..." said Desmond and got up.
+
+He stood gazing seawards for a while.
+
+Then he glanced at his watch.
+
+"I must be going back to London," he said. "I have to see the
+Chief at four this afternoon. And you know why!"
+
+The girl nodded.
+
+"What will you tell him?" she asked. "Will you accept his offer
+to remain on in the Secret Service?"
+
+Desmond looked at her ruefully.
+
+"You're so eloquent about it," he said slowly, "that I think I
+must!"
+
+Smiling, she gave him her hand. Desmond held it for an instant in
+his.
+
+Then, without another word, he turned and strode off towards the
+winding white road that led to the station.
+
+Barbara watched him until a turn in the road hid him from her
+sight. Then she pulled out her handkerchief.
+
+"Good Heavens, girl!" she said to herself, "I believe you're
+crying!"
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Okewood of the Secret Service, by 
+Valentine Williams
+
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+Project Gutenberg's Okewood of the Secret Service, by Valentine Williams
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: Okewood of the Secret Service
+
+Author: Valentine Williams
+
+Posting Date: December 24, 2009 [EBook #2417]
+Release Date: December, 2000
+Last Updated: March 23, 2009
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK OKEWOOD OF THE SECRET SERVICE ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Polly Stratton.  HTML version by Al Haines.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+OKEWOOD OF THE SECRET SERVICE
+
+
+by
+
+Valentine Williams
+
+(pseud. Douglas Valentine)
+
+
+
+
+CONTENTS
+
+      I.  THE DEPUTY TURN
+     II.  CAPTAIN STRANGWISE ENTERTAINS A GUEST
+    III.  MR. MACKWAYTE MEETS AN OLD FRIEND
+     IV.  MAJOR OKEWOOD ENCOUNTERS A NEW TYPE
+      V.  THE MURDER AT SEVEN KINGS
+     VI.  "NAME O'BARNEY"
+    VII.  NUR-EL-DIN
+   VIII.  THE WHITE PAPER PACKAGE
+     IX.  METAMORPHOSIS
+      X.  D. O. R. A. IS BAFFLED
+     XI.  CREDENTIALS
+    XII.  AT THE MILL HOUSE
+   XIII.  WHAT SHAKESPEARE'S COMEDIES REVEALED
+    XIV.  BARBARA TAKES A HAND
+     XV.  MR. BELLWARD IS CALLED TO THE TELEPHONE
+    XVI.  THE STAR OF POLAND
+   XVII.  MR. BELLWARD ARRANGES A BRIDGE EVENING
+  XVIII.  THE GATHERING OF THE SPIES
+    XIX.  THE UNINVITED GUEST
+     XX.  THE ODD MAN
+    XXI.  THE BLACK VELVET TOQUE
+   XXII.  WHAT THE CELLAR REVEALED
+  XXIII.  MRS. MALPLAQUET GOES DOWN TO THE CELLAR
+   XXIV.  THE TWO DESERTERS
+    XXV.  TO MRS. MALPLAQUET'S
+   XXVI.  THE MAN IN THE SUMMER HOUSE
+  XXVII.  THE RED LACQUER ROOM
+ XXVIII.  AN OFFER FROM STRANGWISE
+   XXIX.  DOT AND DASH
+    XXX.  HOHENLINDEN TRENCH
+   XXXI.  THE 100,000 POUND KIT
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I. THE DEPUTY TURN
+
+Mr. Arthur Mackwayte slipped noiselessly into the dining-room and
+took his place at the table. He always moved quietly, a look of
+gentle deprecation on his face as much as to say: "Really, you
+know, I can't help being here: if you will just overlook me this
+time, by and by you won't notice I'm there at all!" That was how
+he went through life, a shy, retiring little man, quiet as a
+mouse, gentle as a dove, modesty personified.
+
+That is, at least, how Mr. Arthur Mackwayte struck his friends in
+private life. Once a week, however, he fairly screamed at the
+public from the advertisement columns of "The Referee":
+"Mackwayte, in his Celebrated Kerbstone Sketches. Wit! Pathos!
+Tragedy!!! The Epitome of London Life. Universally Acclaimed as
+the Greatest Portrayer of London Characters since the late Chas.
+Dickens. In Tremendous Demand for Public Dinners. The Popular
+Favorite. A Few Dates still Vacant. 23, Laleham Villas, Seven
+Kings. 'Phone" and so on.
+
+But only professionally did Mr. Mackwayte thus blow his own
+trumpet, and then in print alone. For the rest, he had nothing
+great about him but his heart. A long and bitter struggle for
+existence had left no hardness in his smooth-shaven flexible
+face, only wrinkles. His eyes were gray and keen and honest, his
+mouth as tender as a woman's.
+
+His daughter, Barbara, was already at table pouring out the
+tea--high tea is still an institution in music-hall circles. Mr.
+Mackwayte always gazed on this tall, handsome daughter of his
+with amazement as the great miracle of his life. He looked at her
+now fondly and thought how.... how distinguished, yes, that was
+the word, she looked in the trim blue serge suit in which she
+went daily to her work at the War Office.
+
+"Rations a bit slender to-night, daddy," she said, handing him his
+cup of tea, "only sardines and bread and butter and cheese. Our
+meatless day, eh?"
+
+"It'll do very well for me, Barbara, my dear," he answered in his
+gentle voice, "there have been times when your old dad was glad
+enough to get a cup of tea and a bite of bread and butter for his
+supper. And there's many a one worse off than we are today!"
+
+"Any luck at the agent's, daddy?"
+
+Mr. Mackwayte shook his head.
+
+"These revues are fair killing the trade, my dear, and that's a
+fact. They don't want art to-day, only rag-time and legs and all
+that. Our people are being cruelly hit by it and that's a fact.
+Why, who do you think I ran into at Harris' this morning? Why,
+Barney who used to work with the great Charles, you know, my
+dear. For years he drew his ten pound a week regular. Yet there
+he was, looking for a job the same as the rest of us. Poor
+fellow, he was down on his luck!"
+
+Barbara looked up quickly.
+
+"Daddy, you lent him money...."
+
+Mr. Mackwayte looked extremely uncomfortable.
+
+"Only a trifle, my dear, just a few shillings.... to take him
+over the week-end.... he's getting something.... he'll repay me,
+I feel sure...."
+
+"It's too bad of you, daddy," his daughter said severely. "I gave
+you that ten shillings to buy yourself a bottle of whiskey. You
+know he won't pay you back. That Barney's a bad egg!"
+
+"Things are going bad with the profession," replied Mr. Mackwayte.
+"They don't seem to want any of us old stagers today, Barbara!"
+
+"Now, daddy, you know I don't allow you to talk like that. Why,
+you are only just finished working.... the Samuel Circuit, too!"
+
+Barbara looked up at the old man quickly.
+
+"Only, four weeks' trial, my dear.... they didn't want me, else
+they would have given me the full forty weeks. No, I expect I am
+getting past my work. But it's hard on you child...."
+
+Barbara sprang up and placed her hand across her father's mouth.
+
+"I won't have you talk like that, Mac"--that was her pet name for
+him--"you've worked hard all your life and now it's my turn. Men
+have had it all their own way before this war came along: now
+women are going to have a look in. Presently' when I get to be
+supervisor of my section and they raise my pay again, you will be
+able to refuse all offers of work. You can go down to Harris with
+a big cigar in your mouth and patronize him, daddy..."
+
+The telephone standing on the desk in the corner of the cheap
+little room tingled out sharply. Barbara rose and went across to
+the desk. Mr. Mackwayte thought how singularly graceful she
+looked as she stood, very slim, looking at him whimsically across
+the dinner-table, the receiver in her hand.
+
+Then a strange thing happened. Barbara quickly put the receiver
+down on the desk and clasped her hands together, her eyes opened
+wide in amazement.
+
+"Daddy," she cried, "it's the Palaceum... the manager's office...
+they want you urgently! Oh, daddy, I believe it is an
+engagement!"
+
+Mr. Mackwayte rose to his feet in agitation, a touch of color
+creeping into his gray cheeks.
+
+"Nonsense, my dear!" he answered, "at this time of night! Why,
+it's past eight... their first house is just finishing... they
+don't go engaging people at this time of day... they've got other
+things to think of!"
+
+He went over to the desk and picked up the receiver.
+
+"Mackwayte speaking!" he said, with a touch of stage majesty in
+his voice.
+
+Instantly a voice broke in on the other end of the wire, a
+perfect torrent of words.
+
+"Mackwayte? Ah! I'm glad I caught you at home. Got your props
+there? Good. Hickie of Hickie and Flanagan broke his ankle during
+their turn at the first house just now, and I want you to take
+their place at the second house. Your turn's at 9.40: it's a
+quarter past eight now: I'll have a car for you at your place at
+ten to nine sharp. Bring your band parts and lighting directions
+with you... don't forget! You get twenty minutes, on! Right!
+Goodbye!"
+
+"The Palaceum want me to deputize for Hickie and Flanagan, my
+dear," he said a little tremulously' "9.40... the second house...
+it's... it's very unexpected!"
+
+Barbara ran up and throwing her arms about his neck, kissed him.
+
+"How splendid!" she exclaimed, "the Palaceum, daddy! You've never
+had an engagement like this before... the biggest hall in
+London...!!
+
+"Only for a night, my dear"' said Mr. Mackwayte modestly.
+
+"But if they like you, daddy, if it goes down... what will you
+give them, daddy?"
+
+Mr. Mackwayte scratched his chin.
+
+"It's the biggest theatre in London"' he mused, "It'll have to be
+broad effects... and they'll want something slap up modern, my
+dear, I'm thinking..."
+
+"No, no, daddy" his daughter broke in vehemently "they want the
+best. This is a London audience, remember, not a half-baked
+provincial house. This is London, Mac, not Wigan! And Londoners
+love their London! You'll give 'em the old London horse bus
+driver, the sporting cabby, and I believe you'll have time to
+squeeze in the hot potato man..."
+
+"Well, like your poor dear mother, I expect you know what's the
+best I've got" replied Mr. Mackwayte, "but it'll be a bit awkward
+with a strange dresser... I can't get hold of Potter at this
+time, of night... and a stranger is sure to mix up my wigs and
+things..."
+
+"Why, daddy, I'm going with you to put out your things..."
+
+"But a lady clerk in the War Office, Barbara... a Government
+official, as you might say... go behind at a music-hall... it
+don't seem proper right, my dear!"
+
+"Nonsense, Mac. Where Is your theatre? Come along. We'll have to
+try and get a taxi!"
+
+"They're sending a car at ten to nine, my dear!"
+
+"Good gracious! what swells we are! And it's half-past eight
+already! Who is on the bill with you?"
+
+"My dear, I haven't an idea... I'm not very well up in the London
+programmes' I'm afraid... but it is sure to be a good programme.
+The Palaceum is the only house that's had the courage to break
+away from this rotten revue craze!"
+
+Barbara was in the hall now, her arms plunged to the shoulder in
+a great basket trunk that smelt faintly of cocoa-butter. Right
+and left she flung coats and hats and trousers and band parts,
+selecting with a sure eye the properties which Mr. Mackwayte
+would require for the sketches he would play that evening. In the
+middle of it all the throbbing of a car echoed down the quiet
+road outside. Then there came a ring at the front door.
+
+*       *        *       *       *       *
+
+At half-past nine that night, Barbara found herself standing
+beside her father in the wings of the vast Palaceum stage. Just
+at her back was the little screened-off recess where Mr.
+Mackwayte was to make the quick changes that came in the course
+of his turn. Here, since her arrival in the theatre, Barbara had
+been busy laying out coats and hats and rigs and grease-paints on
+the little table below the mirror with its two brilliant electric
+bulbs, whilst Mr. Mackwayte was in his dressing-room upstairs
+changing into his first costume.
+
+Now, old Mackwayte stood at her elbow in his rig-out as an old
+London bus-driver in the identical, characteristic clothes which
+he had worn for this turn for the past 25 years. He was far too
+old a hand to show any nervousness he might feel at the ordeal
+before him. He was chatting in undertones in his gentle,
+confidential way to the stage manager.
+
+All around them was that curious preoccupied stillness hush of
+the power-house which makes the false world of the stage so
+singularly unreal by contrast when watched from the back. The
+house was packed from floor to ceiling, for the Palaceum's policy
+of breaking away from revue and going back to Mr. Mackwayte
+called "straight vaudeville" was triumphantly justifying itself.
+
+Standing in the wings, Barbara could almost feel the electric
+current running between the audience and the comedian who, with
+the quiet deliberation of the finished artist, was going through
+his business on the stage. As he made each of his carefully
+studied points, he paused, confident of the vast rustle of
+laughter swelling into a hurricane of applause which never failed
+to come from the towering tiers of humanity before him,
+stretching away into the roof where the limelights blazed and
+spluttered. Save for the low murmur of voices at her side, the
+silence behind the scenes was absolute. No one was idle. Everyone
+was at his post, his attention concentrated on that diminutive
+little figure in the ridiculous clothes which the spot-lights
+tracked about the stage.
+
+It was the high-water mark of modern music-hall development. The
+perfect smoothness of the organization gave Barbara a great
+feeling of contentment for she knew how happy her father must be.
+Everyone had been so kind to him. "I shall feel a stranger
+amongst the top-liners of today, my dear," he had said to her in
+the car on their way to the hall. She had had no answer ready for
+she had feared he spoke the truth.
+
+Yet everyone they had met had tried to show them that Arthur
+Mackwayte was not forgotten. The stage-door keeper had known him
+in the days of the old Aquarium and welcomed him by name. The
+comedian who preceded Mr. Mackwayte and who was on the stage at
+that moment had said, "Hullo, Mac! Come to give us young 'uns
+some tips?" And even now the stage manager was talking over old
+days with her father.
+
+"You had a rough but good schooling, Mac," he was saying, "but,
+by Jove, it gave us finished artists. If you saw the penny
+reading line that comes trying to get a job here... and gets it,
+by Gad!... it'd make you sick. I tell you I have my work cut out
+staving them off! It's a pretty good show this week, though, and
+I've given you a good place, Mac... you're in front of
+Nur-el-Din!"
+
+"Nur-el-Din?" repeated Mr. Mackwayte' "what is it, Fletcher? A
+conjurer?"
+
+"Good Lord' man' where have you been living?" replied Fletcher.
+"Nur-el-Din is the greatest vaudeville proposition since Lottie
+Collins. Conjurer! That's what she is, too, by Jove! She's the
+newest thing in Oriental dancers... Spaniard or something...
+wonderful clothes, what there is of 'em... and jewelry... wait
+till you see her!"
+
+"Dear me"' said Mr. Mackwayte' "I'm afraid I'm a bit behind the
+times. Has she been appearing here long?"
+
+"First appearance in London, old man' and she's made good from
+the word 'Go!' She's been in Paris and all over the Continent,
+and America, too, I believe, but she had to come to me to soar to
+the top of the bill. I saw at once where she belonged! She's a
+real artiste, temperament, style and all that sort of thing and a
+damn good producer into the bargain! But the worst devil that
+ever escaped out of hell never had a wickeder temper! She and I
+fight all the time! Not a show, but she doesn't keep the stage
+waiting! But I won! I won't have her prima donna tricks in this
+theatre and so I've told her! Hullo, Georgie's he's finishing..."
+
+The great curtain switched down suddenly, drowning a cascade of
+applause, and a bundle of old clothes, twitching nerves, liquid
+perspiration and grease paint hopped off the stage into the
+centre of the group. An electric bell trilled, the limelights
+shut off, with a jerk that made the eyes ache, a back-cloth
+soared aloft and another glided down into its place, the comedian
+took two, three, four calls, then vanished into a horde of dim
+figures scuttling about in the gloom.
+
+An electric bell trilled again and deep silence fell once more,
+broken only by the hissing of the lights.
+
+"You ought to stop behind after your turn and see her, Mac," the
+stage manager's voice went on evenly. "All right, Jackson! On you
+go, Mac!"
+
+Barbara felt her heart jump. Now for it, daddy!
+
+The great curtain mounted majestically and Arthur Mackwayte,
+deputy turn, stumped serenely on to the stage.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II. CAPTAIN STRANGWISE ENTERTAINS A GUEST
+
+It was the slack hour at the Nineveh Hotel. The last groups about
+the tea-tables in the Palm Court had broken up, the Tzigane
+orchestra had stacked its instruments together on its little
+platform and gone home, and a gentle calm rested over the great
+hotel as the forerunner of the coming dinner storm.
+
+The pre-dinner hour is the uncomfortable hour of the modern hotel
+de luxe. The rooms seem uncomfortably hot, the evening paper
+palls, it is too early to dress for dinner, so one sits yawning
+over the fire, longing for a fireside of one's own. At least that
+is how it strikes one from the bachelor standpoint, and that is
+how it appeared to affect a man who was sitting hunched up in a
+big arm-chair in the vestibule of the Nineveh Hotel on this
+winter afternoon.
+
+His posture spoke of utter boredom. He sprawled full length in his
+chair, his long legs stretched out in front of him, his, eyes
+half-closed, various editions of evening papers strewn about the
+ground at his feet. He was a tall, well-groomed man, and his
+lithe, athletic figure looked very well in its neat uniform.
+
+A pretty little woman who sat at one of the writing desks in the
+vestibule glanced at him more than once. He was the sort of man that
+women look at with interest. He had a long, shrewd, narrow head,
+the hair dark and close-cropped, a big, bold, aquiline nose, and
+a firm masterful chin, dominated by a determined line of mouth
+emphasised by a thin line of moustache. He would have been very
+handsome but for his eyes, which, the woman decided as she
+glanced at him, were set rather too close together. She thought
+she would prefer him as he was now, with his eyes glittering in
+the fire-light through their long lashes.
+
+But what was most apparent was the magnificent physical fitness
+of the man. His was the frame of the pioneer, the man of the
+earth's open spaces and uncharted wilds. He looked as hard as
+nails, and the woman murmured to herself, as she went on with her
+note, "On leave from the front."
+
+Presently, the man stirred, stretched himself and finally sat up.
+Then he started, sprang to his feet, and strode easily across the
+vestibule to the reception desk. An officer was standing there in
+a worn uniform, a very shabby kit-bag by his side, a dirty old
+Burberry over his arm.
+
+"Okewood!" said the young man and touched the other on the
+shoulder, "isn't it Desmond Okewood?  By Jove, I am glad to see
+you!"
+
+The new-comer turned quickly.
+
+"Why, hullo," he said, "if it isn't Maurice Strangwise! But, good
+heavens, man, surely I saw your name in the casualty list...
+missing, wasn't it?"
+
+"Yep!" replied the other smiling, "that's so! It's a long story
+and it'll keep! But tell me about yourself... this," he kicked
+the kit-bag with the toe of his boot, "looks like a little leave!
+Just in from France?"
+
+He smiled again, baring his firm, white teeth, and looking at him
+Desmond suddenly remembered, as one recalls a trifle, his trick
+of smiling. It was a frank enough smile but... well, some people
+smile too much.
+
+"Got in just now by the leave train," answered Desmond.
+
+"How much leave have you got?" asked Strangwise.
+
+"Well," said the other, "it's a funny thing, but I don't know!"
+
+"Say, are they giving unlimited leave over there now?"
+
+Desmond laughed.
+
+"Hardly," he replied. "But the War Office just applied for me to
+come over and here I am! What they want me for, whether it's to
+advise the War Council or to act as Quartermaster to the Jewish
+Battalion I can't tell you! I shan't know until tomorrow morning!
+In the meantime I'm going to forget the war for this evening!"
+
+"What are you going to do to-night?" asked Strangwise.
+
+Desmond began to check off on his fingers.
+
+"Firstly, I'm going to fill the biggest bath in this hotel with
+hot water, get the biggest piece of Pears' soap in London, and
+jump in: Then, if my tailor hasn't betrayed me, I'm going to put
+on dress clothes, and whilst I am dressing summon Julien (if he's
+maitre d'hotel here) to a conference, then I'm going to eat the
+best dinner that this pub can provide. Then..."
+
+Strangwise interrupted him.
+
+"The bath is on you, if you like," he said, "but the dinner's on
+me and a show afterwards. I'm at a loose end, old man, and so are
+you, so we'll hit up together! We'll dine in the restaurant here
+7.30, and Julien shall come up to your room so that you can order
+the dinner. Is it a go?"
+
+"Rather," laughed Desmond, "I'll eat your dinner, Maurice, and
+you shall tell me how you managed to break out of the casualty
+list into the Nineveh Hotel. But what do all these anxious-looking
+gentry want?"
+
+The two officers turned to confront a group of four men who were
+surveying them closely. One of them, a fat, comfortable looking
+party with grizzled hair, on seeing Desmond, walked up to him.
+
+"Hullo!" said Desmond, "it's Tommy Spencer! How are you, Spencer?
+What's the betting in Fleet Street on the war lasting another
+five years?  Have you come to interview me?"
+
+The tubby little man beamed and shook hands effusively.
+
+"Glad to see you looking so well, Major," he said, "It's your
+friend we want..."
+
+"What? Strangwise? Here, Maurice, come meet my friend Tommy
+Spencer of the "Daily Record," whom I haven't seen since we went
+on manoeuvres together down at Aldershot! Captain Strangwise,
+Tommy Spencer! Now, then, fire away; Spencer!"
+
+Strangwise smiled and shook his head.
+
+"I'm very pleased to know your friend, Desmond," he said, "but,
+you know, I can't talk! I had the strictest orders from the War
+Office... It's on account of the other fellows, you know..."
+
+Desmond looked blankly at him. Then he--turned to Spencer.
+
+"You must let me into this, Spencer," he said, "what's old
+Maurice been up to? Has he been cashiered for wearing shoes or
+what?"
+
+Spencer's manner became a trifle formal.
+
+"Captain Strangwise has escaped from a prisoners' of war camp in
+Germany, Major," he said, "we've been trying to get hold of him
+for days! He's the talk of London!"
+
+Desmond turned like a shot.
+
+"Maurice!" he cried, "'pon my soul, I'm going to have an
+interesting evening... why, of course, you are just the sort of
+fellow to do a thing like that. But, Spencer, you know, it won't
+do... fellows are never allowed to talk to the newspaper men
+about matters of this kind. And if you're a good fellow, Spencer,
+you won't even say that you have seen Strangwise here... you'll
+only get him into trouble!"
+
+The little man looked rather rueful.
+
+"Oh, of course, Major, if you put it that way," he said.
+
+"... And you'll use your influence to make those other fellows
+with you drop it, will you, Spencer? And then come along to the
+bar and we'll have a drink for old times' sake!"
+
+Spencer seemed doubtful about the success of his representations
+to his colleagues but he obediently trotted away. Apparently, he
+succeeded in his mission for presently he joined the two officers
+alone in the American Bar.
+
+"I haven't seen Strangwise for six months, Spencer," said Desmond
+over his second cocktail. "Seeing him reminds me how astonishing
+it is the way fellows drop apart in war. Old Maurice was attached
+to the Brigade of which I am the Brigade Major as gunner officer,
+and we lived together for the best part of three months, wasn't
+it, Maurice? Then he goes back to his battery and the next thing
+I hear of him is that he is missing. And then I'm damned if he
+doesn't turn up here!"
+
+Spencer cocked an eye at Strangwise over his Martini.
+
+"I'd like to hear your story, despite the restrictions," he said.
+
+Strangwise looked a trifle embarrassed.
+
+"Maybe I'll tell you one day," he replied in his quiet way,
+"though, honestly, there's precious little to tell..."
+
+Desmond marked his confusion and respected him for it. He rushed
+in to the rescue.
+
+"Spencer," he said abruptly, "what's worth seeing in London? We
+are going to a show to-night. I want to be amused, mark you, not
+elevated!"
+
+"Nur-el-Din at the Palaceum," replied the reporter.
+
+"By Jove, we'll go there," said Desmond, turning to Maurice.
+"Have you ever seen her? I'm told she's perfectly marvelous..."
+
+"It's an extraordinarily artistic turn," said Spencer, "and
+they're doing wonderful business at the Palaceum. You'd better go
+and see the show soon, though, for they tell me the lady is
+leaving the programme."
+
+"No!" exclaimed Strangwise so suddenly that Desmond turned round
+and stared at him. "I thought she was there for months yet..."
+
+"They don't want her to go," answered Spencer, "she's a perfect
+gold-mine to them but I gather the lady is difficult... in fact,
+to put it bluntly she's making such a damn nuisance of herself
+with her artistic temperament that they can't get on with her at
+all."
+
+"Do you know this lady of the artistic temperament, Maurice?"
+asked Desmond.
+
+Strangwise hesitated a moment.
+
+"I met her in Canada a few years ago," he said slowly, "she was a
+very small star then. She's a very handsome and attractive girl,
+in spite of our friend's unfavorable verdict. There's something
+curiously real about her dancing, too, that you don't find in
+this sort of show as a rule!"
+
+He stopped a moment, then added abruptly:
+
+"We'll go along to the Palaceum to-night, if you like, Desmond,"
+and Desmond joyfully acquiesced. To one who has been living for
+weeks in an ill-ventilated pill-box on the Passchendaele Ridge,
+the lights and music and color of a music-hall seem as a
+foretaste of Paradise.
+
+And that was what Desmond Okewood thought as a few hours later he
+found himself with Maurice Strangwise in the stalls of the vast
+Palaceum auditorium. In the unwonted luxury of evening clothes he
+felt clean and comfortable, and the cigar he way smoking was the
+climax of one of Julien's most esoteric efforts.
+
+The cards on either side of the proscenium opening bore the
+words: "Deputy Turn." On the stage was a gnarled old man with
+ruddy cheeks and a muffler, a seedy top hat on his head, a
+coaching whip in his hand, the old horse bus-driver of London in
+his habit as he had lived. The old fellow stood there and just
+talked to the audience of a fine sporting class of men that
+petrol has driven from the streets, without exaggerated humor or
+pathos. Desmond, himself a born Cockney, at once fell under the
+actor's spell and found all memories of the front slipping away
+from him as the old London street characters succeeded one
+another on the stage. Then the orchestra blared out, the curtain
+descended, and the house broke into a great flutter of applause.
+
+Desmond, luxuriating in his comfortable stall puffed at his cigar
+and fell into a pleasant reverie.
+
+He was contrasting the ghastly nightmare of mud and horrors from
+which he had only just emerged with the scene of elegance, of
+civilization; around him.
+
+Suddenly, his attention became riveted on the stage. The
+atmosphere of the theatre had changed. Always quick at picking up
+"influences," Desmond instantly sensed a new mood in the throngs
+around him. A presence was in the theatre, an instinct-awakening,
+a material influence. The great audience was strangely hushed.
+The air was heavy with the tent of incense. The stringed
+instruments and oboes in the orchestra were wandering into
+[Updater's note: a line appears to be missing from the source here]
+rhythmic dropped.
+
+Maurice touched his elbow.
+
+"There she is!" he said.
+
+Desmond felt inclined to shake him off roughly. The interruption
+jarred on him. For he was looking at this strangely beautiful
+girl with her skin showing very brown beneath a wonderful silver
+tiara-like headdress, and in the broad interstices of a
+cloth-of-silver robe with short, stiffly wired-out skirt. She was
+seated, an idol, on a glittering black throne, at her feet with
+their tapering dyed nails a fantastically attired throng of
+worshipers.
+
+The idol stirred into life, the music of the orchestra died away.
+Then a tom-tom began to beat its nervous pulse-stirring throb,
+the strident notes of a reed-pipe joined in and the dancer,
+raised on her toes on the dais, began to sway languorously to and
+fro. And so she swayed and swayed with sinuously curving limbs
+while the drums throbbed out faster with ever-shortening beats,
+with now and then a clash of brazen cymbals that was torture to
+overwrought nerves.
+
+The dancer was the perfection of grace. Her figure was lithe and
+supple as a boy's. There was a suggestion of fire and strength
+and agility about her that made one think of a panther as she
+postured there against a background of barbaric color. The grace
+of her movements, the exquisite blending of the colors on the
+stage, the skillful grouping of the throng of worshipers, made up
+a picture which held the audience spellbound and in silence until
+the curtain dropped.
+
+Desmond turned to find Strangwise standing up.
+
+"I thought of just running round behind the scenes for a few
+minutes," he said carelessly.
+
+"What, to see Nur-el-Din? By Jove, I'm coming, too!" promptly
+exclaimed Desmond.
+
+Strangwise demurred. He didn't quite know if he could take him:
+there might be difficulties: another time... But Desmond got up
+resolutely.
+
+"I'll be damned if you leave me behind, Maurice," he laughed, "of
+course I'm coming, too! She's the most delightful creature I've
+ever set eyes on!"
+
+And so it ended by them going through the pass-door together.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III. MR. MACKWAYTE MEETS AN OLD FRIEND
+
+That night Nur-el-Din kept the stage waiting for five minutes. It
+was a climax of a long series of similar unpardonable crimes in
+the music-hall code. The result was that Mr. Mackwayte, after
+taking four enthusiastic "curtains," stepped off the stage into a
+perfect pandemonium.
+
+He found Fletcher, the stage manager, livid with rage, surrounded
+by the greater part of the large suite with which the dancer
+traveled. There was Madame's maid, a trim Frenchwoman, Madame's
+business manager, a fat, voluble Italian, Madame's secretary, an
+olive-skinned South American youth in an evening coat with velvet
+collar, and Madame's principal male dancer in a scanty Egyptian
+dress with grotesquely painted face. They were all talking at the
+same time, and at intervals Fletcher muttered hotly: "This time
+she leaves the bill or I walk out of the theatre!"
+
+Then a clear voice cried:
+
+"Me voila!" and a dainty apparition in an ermine wrap tripped
+into the centre of the group, tapped the manager lightly on the
+shoulder and said:
+
+"Allons! I am ready!"
+
+Mr. Mackwayte's face creased its mask of paint into a thousand
+wrinkles. For, on seeing him, the dancer's face lighted up, and,
+running to him with hands outstretched, she cried:
+
+"Tiens! Monsieur Arthur!" while he ejaculated:
+
+"Why, it's little Marcelle!"
+
+But now the stage manager interposed. He whisked Madame's wrap
+off her with one hand and with the other, firmly propelled her on
+to the stage. She let him have his way with a merry smile, dark
+eyes and white teeth flashing, but as she went she said to Mr.
+Mackwayte:
+
+"My friend, wait for me! Et puis nous causerons! We will 'ave a
+talk, nest-ce pas?"
+
+"A very old friend of mine, my dear," Mr. Mackwayte said to
+Barbara when, dressed in his street clothes, he rejoined her in
+the wings where she stood watching Nur-el-Din dancing. "She was
+an acrobat in the Seven Duponts, a turn that earned big money in
+the old days. It must be... let's see... getting on for twenty
+years since I last set eyes on her. She was a pretty kid in those
+days! God bless my soul! Little Marcelle a big star! It's really
+most amazing!"
+
+Directly she was off the stage, Nur-el-Din came straight to Mr.
+Mackwayte, pushing aside her maid who was waiting with her wrap.
+
+"My friend," she cooed in her pretty broken English, "I am so
+glad, so glad to see you. And this is your girl... ah! she 'as
+your eyes, Monsieur Arthur, your nice English gray eyes! Such a
+big girl... ah! but she make me feel old!"
+
+She laughed, a pretty gurgling laugh, throwing back her head so
+that the diamond collar she was wearing heaved and flashed.
+
+"But you will come to my room, hein?" she went on. "Marie, my
+wrap!" and she led the way to the lift.
+
+Nur-el-Din's spacious dressing-room seemed to be full of people
+and flowers. All her little court was assembled amid a perfect
+bower of hot-house blooms and plants. Head and shoulders above
+everybody else in the room towered the figure of an officer in
+uniform, with him another palpable Englishman in evening dress.
+
+Desmond Okewood thought he had never seen anything in his life
+more charming than the picture the dancer made as she came into
+the room. Her wrap had fallen open and beneath the broad bars of
+her cloth-of-silver dress her bosom yet rose and fell after the
+exertions of her dance. A jet black curl had strayed out from
+beneath her lofty silver head-dress, and she thrust it back in
+its place with one little brown bejeweled hand whilst she
+extended the other to Strangwise.
+
+"Tiens, mon capitaine!" she said. Desmond was watching her
+closely, fascinated by her beauty, but noticed an unwilling,
+almost a hostile tone, in her voice.
+
+Strangwise was speaking in his deep voice.
+
+"Marcelle," he said, "I've brought a friend who is anxious to
+meet you. Major Desmond Okewood! He and I soldiered together in
+France!" The dancer turned her big black eyes full on Desmond as
+she held out her hand to him.
+
+"Old friends, new friends," she cried, clapping, her hands like a
+child, "I love friends. Captaine, here is a very old friend," she
+said to Strangwise as Mr. Mackwayte and Barbara came into the
+rooms, "Monsieur Arthur Mackwayte and 'is daughter. I 'ave know
+Monsieur Arthur almos' all my life. And, Mademoiselle, permit me?
+I introduce le Captaine Strangwise and 'is friend... what is the
+name? Ah, Major Okewood!"
+
+Nur-el-Din sank into a bergere chair beside her great mirror.
+
+"There are too many in this room," she cried, "there is no air!
+Lazarro, Ramiro, all of you, go outside, my friends!"
+
+As Madame's entourage surged out, Strangwise said:
+
+"I hear you are leaving the Palaceum, Marcelle!"
+
+He spoke so low that Mr. Mackwayte and Barbara, who were talking
+to Desmond, did not hear. Marcelle, taking off her heavy
+head-dress, answered quickly:
+
+"Who told you that?"
+
+"Never mind," replied Strangwise. "But you never told me you were
+going. Why didn't you?"
+
+His voice was stern and hard now, very different from his usual
+quiet and mellow tones. But he was smiling.
+
+Marcelle cast a glance over her shoulder. Barbara was looking
+round the room and caught the reflection of the dancer's face in
+a mirror hanging on the wall. To her intense astonishment, she
+saw a look of despair, almost of terror, in Nur-el-Din's dark
+eyes. It was like the frightened stare of some hunted beast.
+Barbara was so much taken aback that she instinctively glanced
+over her shoulder at the door, thinking that the dancer had seen
+something there to frighten her. But the door was shut. When
+Barbara looked into the mirror again, she saw only the reflection
+of Nur-el-Din's pretty neck and shoulders. The dancer was talking
+again in low tones to Strangwise.
+
+But Barbara swiftly forgot that glimpse of the dancer's face in
+the glass. For she was very happy. Happiness, like high spirits,
+is eminently contagious, and the two men at her side were
+supremely content.
+
+Her father's eyes were shining with his little success of
+the evening: on the way upstairs Fletcher had held out hopes to
+him of a long engagement at the Palaceum while as for the other,
+he was radiant with the excitement of his first night in town
+after long months of campaigning.
+
+He was thinking that his leave had started most propitiously.
+After a man has been isolated for months amongst muddy
+masculinity, the homeliest woman will find favor in his eyes. And
+to neither of these women, in whose presence he so unexpectedly
+found himself within a few hours of landing in England, could the
+epithet "homely" be applied. Each represented a distinct type of
+beauty in herself, and Desmond, as he chatted with Barbara, was
+mentally contrasting the two women. Barbara, tall and slim and
+very healthy, with her braided brown hair, creamy complexion and
+gray eyes, was essentially English. She was the typical woman of
+England, of England of the broad green valleys and rolling downs
+and snuggling hamlets, of England of the white cliffs gnawed by
+the restless ocean. The other was equally essentially a woman of
+the South. Her dark eyes, her upper lip just baring her firm
+white teeth, spoke of hot Latin or gypsy blood surging in her
+veins. Hers was the beauty of the East, sensuous, arresting,
+conjuring up pictures of warm, perfumed nights, the thrumming of
+guitars, a great yellow moon hanging low behind the palms.
+
+"Barbara!" called Nur-el-Din from the dressing table. Mr.
+Mackwayte had joined her there and was chatting to Strangwise.
+
+"You will stay and talk to me while I change n'est-ce pas? Your
+papa and these gentlemen are going to drink a whiskey-soda with
+that animal Fletcher... quel homme terrible... and you shall join
+them presently."
+
+The men went out, leaving Barbara alone with the dancer. Barbara
+noticed how tired Nur-el-Din was looking. Heir pretty, childish
+ways seemed to have evaporated with her high spirits. Her face
+was heavy and listless. There were lines round heir eyes, and her
+mouth had a hard, drawn look.
+
+"Child," she said, "give me, please, my peignoir... it is behind
+the door,... and, I will get this paint off my face!"
+
+Barbara fetched the wrapper and sat down beside the dancer. But
+Nur-el-Din did not move. She seemed to be thinking. Barbara saw
+the hunted look she had already observed in her that evening
+creeping over her face again.
+
+"It is a hard life; this life of ours, a life of change, ma
+petite! A great artiste has no country, no home, no fireside! For
+the past five years I have been roaming about the world! Often I
+think I will settle down, but the life holds me!"
+
+She took up from her dressing-table a little oblong plain silver
+box.
+
+"I want to ask you a favor, ma petite Barbara!" she said. "This
+little box is a family possession of mine: I have had it for many
+years. The world is so disturbed to-day that life is not safe for
+anybody who travels as much as I do! You have a home, a safe home
+with your dear father! He was telling me about it! Will you take
+this little box and keep it safely for me until... until... the
+war is over... until I ask you for it?"
+
+"Yes, of course," said Barbara, "if you wish it, though, what
+with these air raids, I don't know that London is particularly
+safe, either."
+
+"Ah! that is good of you," cried Nur-el-Din, "anyhow, the little
+box is safer with you than with me. See, I will wrap it up and
+seal it, and then you will take it home with you, n'est-ce pas?"
+
+She opened a drawer and swiftly hunting among its contents
+produced a sheet, of white paper, and some sealing-wax. She
+wrapped the box in the paper and sealed it up, stamping the seals
+with a camel signet ring she drew off her finger. Then she handed
+the package to Barbara.
+
+There was a knock at the door. The maid, noiselessly arranging
+Madame's dresses in the corner opened it.
+
+"You will take care of it well for me," the dancer said to
+Barbara, and her voice vibrated with a surprising eagerness, "you
+will guard it preciously until I come for it..." She laughed and
+added carelessly: "Because it is a family treasure, a life
+mascotte of mine, hein?"
+
+Then they heard Strangwise's deep voice outside.
+
+Nur-el-Din started.
+
+"Le Captaine is there, Madame," said the French maid, "'e say
+Monsieur Mackwayte ask for Mademoiselle!"
+
+The dancer thrust a little hand from the folds of her silken
+kimono.
+
+"Au revoir, ma petite," she said, "we shall meet again. You will
+come and see me, nest-ce pas? And say nothing to anybody
+about..." she pointed to Barbara's bag where the little package
+was reposing, "it shall be a secret between us, hein? Promise me
+this, mon enfant!"
+
+"Of course, I promise, if you like!" said Barbara, wonderingly.
+
+At half-past eight the next morning Desmond Okewood found himself
+in the ante-room of the Chief of the Secret Service in a cross
+and puzzled mood. The telephone at his bedside had roused him at
+8 a.m. from the first sleep he had had in a real bed for two
+months. In a drowsy voice he had protested that he had an
+appointment at the War Office at 10 o'clock, but a curt voice had
+bidden him dress himself and come to the Chief forthwith. Here he
+was, accordingly, breakfastless, his chin smarting from a hasty
+shave. What the devil did the Chief want with him anyhow? He
+wasn't in the Secret Service, though his brother, Francis, was.
+
+A voice broke in upon his angry musing.
+
+"Come in, Okewood!" it said.
+
+The Chief stood at the door of his room, a broad-shouldered
+figure in a plain jacket suit. Desmond had met him before. He
+knew him for a man of many questions but of few confidences, yet
+his recollection of him was of a suave, imperturbable
+personality. To-day, however, the Chief seemed strangely
+preoccupied. There was a deep line between his bushy eyebrows as
+he bent them at Desmond, motioning him to a chair. When he spoke,
+his manner was very curt.
+
+"What time did you part from the Mackwaytes at the theatre last
+night?"
+
+Desmond was dumbfounded. How on earth did the Chief know about
+his visit to the Palaceum? Still, he was used to the omniscience
+of the British Intelligence, so he answered promptly:
+
+"It was latish, sir; about midnight, I think!"
+
+"They went home to Seven Kings alone!"
+
+"Yes, sir, in a taxi!" Desmond replied.
+
+The Chief contemplated his blotting-pad gloomily. Desmond knew it
+for a trick of his when worried.
+
+"Did you have a good night?" he said to Desmond, suddenly.
+
+"Yes," he said, not in the least understanding the drift of the
+question. "... though I didn't mean to get up quite so early!"
+
+The Chief ignored this sally.
+
+"Nothing out of the ordinary happened during the night, I
+suppose?" he asked again.
+
+Desmond shook his head.
+
+"Nothing that I know of, sir," he said.
+
+"Seen Strangwise this morning?"
+
+Desmond gasped for breath. So the Chief knew about him meeting
+Strangwise, too!
+
+"No, sir!"
+
+A clerk put his head in at the door.
+
+"Well, Matthews!"
+
+"Captain Strangwise will be along very shortly, sir," he said.
+
+The Chief looked up quickly.
+
+"Ah, he's all right then! Good."
+
+"And, sir," Matthews added, "Scotland Yard telephoned to say that
+the doctor is with Miss Mackwayte now."
+
+Desmond started up.
+
+"Is Miss Mackwayte ill?" he exclaimed.
+
+The Chief answered slowly, as Matthews withdrew: "Mr. Mackwayte
+was found murdered at his house early this morning!"
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV. MAJOR OKEWOOD ENCOUNTERS A NEW TYPE
+
+There is a sinister ring about the word "murder," which reacts
+upon even the most hardened sensibility. Edgar Allan Poe, who was
+a master of the suggestive use of words, realized this when he
+called the greatest detective story ever written "The Murders in
+the Rue Morgue." From the very beginning of the war, Desmond had
+seen death in all its forms but that word "murdered," spoken with
+slow emphasis in the quiet room, gave him an ugly chill feeling
+round the heart that he had never experienced on the battlefield.
+
+"Murdered!" Desmond repeated dully and sat down. He felt stunned.
+He was not thinking of the gentle old man cruelly done to death
+or of the pretty Barbara prostrate with grief. He was overawed by
+the curious fatality that had plucked him from the horrors of
+Flanders only to plunge him into a tragedy at home.
+
+"Yes," said the Chief bluntly, "by a burglar apparently--the
+house was ransacked!"
+
+"Chief," he broke out, "you must explain. I'm all at sea! Why did
+you send for me? What have you got to do with criminal cases,
+anyway? Surely, this is a Scotland Yard matter!"
+
+The Chief shook his head.
+
+"I sent for you in default of your brother, Okewood!" he said.
+"You once refused an offer of mine to take you into my service,
+but this time I had to have you, so I got the War Office to
+wire..."
+
+"Then my appointment for ten o'clock to-day was with you?"
+Desmond exclaimed in astonishment.
+
+The Chief nodded.
+
+"It was," he said curtly.
+
+"But," protested Desmond feebly, "did you know about this murder
+beforehand!"
+
+The Chief threw back his head and laughed.
+
+"My dear fellow," he said; "I'm not quite so deep as all that. I
+haven't second sight, you know!"
+
+"You've got something devilish like it, sir!" said Desmond.  "How
+on earth did you know that I was at the Palaceum last night?"
+
+The Chief smiled grimly.
+
+"Oh, that's very simple," he said. "Shall I tell you some more
+about yourself?  You sat..." he glanced down at the desk in front
+of him,"... in Stall E 52 and, after Nur-el-Din's turn,
+Strangwise took you round and introduced you to the lady. In her
+dressing-room you met Mr. Mackwayte and his daughter. After
+that..."
+
+"But," Desmond interrupted quickly, "I must have been followed by
+one of your men. Still, I can't see why my movements should
+interest the Secret Service, sir!"
+
+The Chief remained silent for a moment. Then he said:
+
+"Fate often unexpectedly takes a hand in this game of ours,
+Okewood. I sent for you to come back from France but old man
+Destiny wouldn't leave it at that. Almost as soon as you landed
+he switched you straight on to a trail that I have been patiently
+following up for months past. That trail is..."
+
+The telephone on the desk rang sharply.
+
+"Whose trail?" Desmond could not forbear to ask as the Chief took
+off the receiver.
+
+"Just a minute," the Chief said. Then he spoke into the
+telephone:
+
+"Marigold? Yes. Really? Very well, I'll come straight along
+now... I'll be with you in twenty minutes. Good-bye!"
+
+He put down the receiver and rose to his feet.
+
+"Okewood," he cried gaily, "what do you say to a little detective
+work? That was Marigold of the Criminal Investigation
+Department... he's down at Seven Kings handling this murder case.
+I asked him to let me know when it would be convenient for me to
+come along and have a look round, and he wants me to go now. Two
+heads are better than one. You'd better come along!"
+
+He pressed a button on the desk.
+
+The swift and silent Matthews appeared.
+
+"Matthews," he said, "when Captain Strangwise comes, please tell
+him I've been called away and ask him to call back here at two
+o'clock to see me."
+
+He paused and laid a lean finger reflectively along his nose.
+
+"Are you lunching anywhere, Okewood?" he 'said. Desmond shook his
+head.
+
+"Then you will lunch with me, eh? Right. Come along and we'll try
+to find the way to Seven Kings."
+
+The two men threaded the busy corridors to the lift which
+deposited them at the main entrance. A few minutes later the
+Chief was dexterously guiding his Vauxhall car through the
+crowded traffic of the Strand, Desmond beside him on the front
+seat.
+
+Desmond was completely fogged in his mind. He couldn't see light
+anywhere. He asked himself in vain what possible connection could
+exist between this murder in an obscure quarter of London and the
+man at his side who, he knew, held in his firm hands lines that
+stretched to the uttermost ends of the earth? What kind of an
+affair was this, seemingly so commonplace that could take the
+Chief's attention from the hundred urgent matters of national
+security that occupied him?
+
+The Chief seemed absorbed in his driving and Desmond felt it
+would be useless to attempt to draw him out. They wended their
+way through the city and out into the squalid length of the Mile
+End Road. Then the Chief began to talk.
+
+"I hate driving through the City," he exclaimed, "but I always
+think it's good for the nerves. Still, I have a feeling that I
+shall smash this old car up some day. That friend of yours,
+Strangwise, now he's a remarkable man!  Do you know his story?"
+
+"About his escape from Germany?" asked Desmond.
+
+The Chief nodded.
+
+"He told me something about it at dinner last night," said
+Desmond, "but he's such a modest chap he doesn't seem to like
+talking about it!"
+
+"He must have a cool nerve," replied the Chief, "he doesn't know
+a word of German, except a few scraps he picked up in camp. Yet,
+after he got free, he made his way alone from somewhere in
+Hanover clear to the Dutch frontier. And I tell you he kept his
+eyes and ears open!"
+
+"Was he able to tell you anything good" asked Desmond.
+
+"The man's just full of information. He couldn't take a note of
+any kind, of course, but he seems to have a wonderful memory. He
+was able to give us the names of almost every unit of troops he
+came across."
+
+He stopped to skirt a tram, then added suddenly:
+
+"Do you know him well, Okewood?"
+
+"Yes, I think I do," said Desmond. "I lived with him for about
+three months in France, and we got on top-hole together. He's a
+man absolutely without fear."
+
+"Yes," agreed the Chief. "But what about his judgment? Would you
+call him a well-balanced fellow? Or is he one of these
+harum-scarum soldier of fortune sort of chaps?"
+
+"I should say he was devilish shrewd," replied the other.
+"Strangwise is a very able fellow and a fine soldier. The
+Brigadier thought a lot of him. There's very little about
+artillery work that Strangwise doesn't know. Our Brigadier's a
+good judge, too... he was a gunner himself once, you know."
+
+"I'm glad to hear you say that," answered the Chief, "because
+there are some things he has told us, about the movements of
+troops, particularly, that don't agree in the least with our own
+Intelligence reports. I am an old enough hand at my job to know
+that very often one man may be right where fifty independent
+witnesses are dead wrong. Yet our reports from Germany have been
+wonderfully accurate on the whole."
+
+He stopped.
+
+"Tell me," he asked suddenly, "is Strangwise a liar, do you
+think?"
+
+Desmond laughed. The question was so very unexpected.
+
+"Let me explain what I mean," said the Chief. "There is a type of
+man who is quite incapable of telling the plain, unvarnished
+truth. That type of fellow might have the most extraordinary
+adventure happen to him and yet be unable to let it stand on its
+merits. When he narrates it, he trims it up with all kinds of
+embroidery. Is Strangwise that type?"
+
+Desmond thought a moment.
+
+"Your silence is very eloquent," said the Chief drily.
+
+Desmond laughed.
+
+"It's not the silence of consent," he said, "but if you want me
+to be quite frank about Strangwise, Chief, I don't mind telling
+you I don't like him overmuch. We were very intimate in France.
+We were in some very tight corners together and he never let me
+down. He showed himself to be a very fine fellow, indeed. There
+are points about him I admire immensely. I love his fine
+physique, his manliness. I'm sure he's got great strength of
+character, too. It's because I admire all this about him that I
+think perhaps it's just jealousy on my part when I feel..."
+
+"What?" said the Chief.
+
+"Well," said Desmond slowly, "I feel myself trying to like
+something below the surface in the man. And then I am balked.
+There seems to be something abysmally deep behind the facade, if
+you know what I mean. If I think about it much, it seems to me
+that there is too much surface about Strangwise and not enough
+foundation! And he smiles... Well, rather often, doesn't he?"
+
+"I know what you mean," said the Chief. "I always tell my young
+men to be wary when a man smiles too much. Smiles are sometimes
+camouflage, to cover up something that mustn't be seen
+underneath! Strangwise is a Canadian, isn't he?"
+
+"I think so," answered Desmond, "anyhow, he has lived there. But
+he got his commission over here. He came over some time in 1915,
+I believe, and joined up."
+
+"Ah, here we are!" cried the Chief, steering the car down a
+turning marked "Laleham Villas."
+
+Laleham Villas proved to be an immensely long terrace of small
+two-story houses, each one exactly like the other, the only
+difference between them lying in the color of the front doors and
+the arrangement of the small strip of garden in front of each.
+The houses stretched away on either side in a vista of
+smoke-discolored yellow brick. The road was perfectly straight
+and, in the dull yellow atmosphere of the winter morning,
+unspeakably depressing.
+
+The abode of small clerks and employees, Laleham Villas had
+rendered up, an hour before, its daily tribute of humanity to the
+City-bound trains of the Great Eastern Railway. The Mackwayte's
+house was plainly indicated, about 200 yards down on the
+right-hand side, by a knot of errand boys and bareheaded women
+grouped on the side-walk. A large, phlegmatic policeman stood at
+the gate.
+
+"You'll like Marigold," said the Chief to Desmond as they got out
+of the car, "quite a remarkable man and very sound at his work!"
+
+British officers don't number detective inspectors among their
+habitual acquaintances, and the man that came out of the house to
+meet them was actually the first detective that Desmond had ever
+met. Ever since the Chief had mentioned his name, Desmond had
+been wondering whether Mr. Marigold would be lean and pale and
+bewildering like Mr. Sherlock Holmes or breezy and wiry like the
+detectives in American crook plays.
+
+The man before him did not bear the faintest resemblance to
+either type. He was a well-set up, broad-shouldered person of
+about forty-five, very carefully dressed in a blue serge suit and
+black overcoat, with a large, even-tempered countenance, which
+sloped into a high forehead. The neatly brushed but thinning
+locks carefully arranged across the top of the head testified to
+the fact that Mr. Marigold had sacrificed most of his hair to the
+vicissitudes of his profession. When it is added that the
+detective had a small, yellow moustache and a pleasant,
+cultivated voice, there remains nothing further to say about Mr.
+Marigold's external appearance. But there was something so patent
+about the man, his air of reserve, his careful courtesy, his
+shrewd eyes, that Desmond at once recognized him for a type, a
+cast from a certain specific mould. All services shape men to
+their own fashion. There is the type of Guardsman, the type of
+airman, the type of naval officer. And Desmond decided that Mr.
+Marigold must be the type of detective, though, as I have said,
+he was totally unacquainted with the genus.
+
+"Major Okewood, Marigold," said the Chief, "a friend of mine!"
+
+Mr. Marigold mustered Desmond in one swift, comprehensive look.
+
+"I won't give you my hand, Major," the detective said, looking
+down at Desmond's proffered one, "for I'm in a filthy mess and no
+error. But won't you come in, sir?" he said to the Chief and led
+the way across the mosaic tile pathway to the front door which
+stood open.
+
+"I don't think this is anything in your line, sir," said Mr.
+Marigold to the Chief as the three men entered the house, "it's
+nothing but just a common burglary. The old man evidently heard a
+noise and coming down, surprised the burglar who lost his head
+and killed him. The only novel thing about the whole case is that
+the old party was shot with a pistol and not bludgeoned, as is
+usually the case in affairs of this kind. And I shouldn't have
+thought that the man who did it was the sort that carries a
+gun..."
+
+"Then you know who did it?" asked the Chief quietly.
+
+"I think I can safely say I do, sir," said Mr. Marigold with the
+reluctant air of one who seldom admits anything to be a fact, "I
+think I can go as far as that! And we've got our man under lock
+and key!"
+
+"That's a smart piece of work, Marigold," said the Chief.
+
+"No, sir," replied the other, "you could hardly call it that. He
+just walked into the arms of a constable over there near
+Goodmayes Station with the swag on him. He's an old hand... we've
+known him for a receiver for years!
+
+"Who is it?" asked the Chief, "not one of my little friends, I
+suppose, eh, Marigold!"
+
+"Dear me, no, sir," answered Mr. Marigold, chuckling, "it's one
+of old Mackwayte's music-hall pals, name o' Barney!"
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V. THE MURDER AT SEVEN KINGS
+
+"This is Mrs. Chugg, sir," said Mr. Marigold, "the charwoman who
+found the body!"
+
+The Chief and Desmond stood at the detective's side in the
+Mackwaytes' little dining-room. The room was in considerable
+disorder. There was a litter of paper, empty bottles, overturned
+cruets and other debris on the floor, evidence of the
+thoroughness with which the burglar had overhauled the cheap
+fumed oak sideboard which stood against the wall with doors and
+drawers open. In the corner, the little roll-top desk showed a
+great gash in the wood round the lock where it had been forced.
+The remains of a meal still stood on the table.
+
+Mrs. Chugg, a diminutive, white-haired, bespectacled woman in a
+rusty black cape and skirt, was enthroned in the midst of this
+scene of desolation. She sat in an armchair by the fire, her
+hands in her lap, obviously supremely content with the position
+of importance she enjoyed. At the sound of Mr. Marigold's voice,
+she bobbed up and regarded the newcomers with the air of a
+tragedy queen.
+
+"Yus mister," she said with the slow deliberation of one who
+thoroughly enjoys repeating an oft-told tale, "I found the pore
+man and a horrid turn it give me, too, I declare! I come in early
+this morning a-purpose to turn out these two rooms, the
+dining-room and the droring-room, same as I always do of a
+Saturday, along of the lidy's horders and wishes. I come in 'ere
+fust, to pull up the blinds and that, and d'reckly I switches on
+the light 'Burglars!' I sez to meself, 'Burglars! That's wot it
+is!' seeing the nasty mess the place was in. Up I nips to Miss
+Mackwayte's room on the first floor and in I bursts. 'Miss,' sez
+I, 'Miss, there's been burglars in the house!' and then I sees
+the pore lamb all tied up there on 'er blessed bed! Lor, mister,
+the turn it give me and I ain't telling you no lies! She was
+strapped up that tight with a towel crammed in 'er mouth she
+couldn't 'ardly dror 'er breath! I undid 'er pretty quick and the
+fust thing she sez w'en I gets the towl out of her mouth, the
+pore dear, is 'Mrs. Chugg,' she sez all of a tremble as you might
+say, 'Mrs. Chugg' sez she, 'my father! my father!' sez she. With
+that up she jumps but she 'adn't put foot to the floor w'en down
+she drops! It was along of 'er being tied up orl that time, dyer
+see, mister! I gets 'er back on the bed. 'You lie still, Miss,'
+says I, 'and I'll pop in and tell your pa to come in to you!'
+Well; I went to the old genelmun's room. Empty!"
+
+Mrs. Chugg paused to give her narrative dramatic effect.
+
+"And where did you find Mr. Mackwayte?" asked the Chief in such a
+placid voice that Mrs. Chugg cast an indignant glance at him.
+
+"I was jes' going downstairs to see if 'e was in the kitching or
+out at the back," she continued, unheeding the interruption,
+"when there on the landing I sees a foot asticking out from under
+the curting. I pulls back the curting and oh, Lor! oh, dear, oh,
+dear, the pore genelmun, 'im as never did a bad turn to no one!"
+
+"Come, come, Mrs. Chugg!" said the detective.
+
+The charwoman wiped her eyes and resumed.
+
+"'E was a-lying on his back in 'is dressing-gown, 'is face all
+burnt black, like, and a fair smother o' blood. Under 'is hed
+there was a pool o' blood, mister, yer may believe me or not..."
+
+Mr. Marigold cut in decisively.
+
+"Do you wish to see the body, sir?" the detective asked the
+Chief, "they're upstairs photographing it!"
+
+The Chief nodded. He and Desmond followed the detective upstairs,
+whilst Mrs. Chugg resentfully resumed her seat by the fire. On
+her face was the look of one who has cast pearls before swine.
+
+"Any finger-prints?" asked the Chief in the hall.
+
+"Oh, no," he said, "Barney's far too old a hand for that sort o'
+thing!"
+
+The landing proved to be a small space, covered with oilcloth and
+raised by a step from the bend made by the staircase leading to
+the first story. On the left-hand side was a window looking on a
+narrow passage separating the Mackwayte house from its neighbors
+and leading to the back-door. By the window stood a small
+wicker-work table with a plant on it. At the back of the landing
+was a partition, glazed half-way up and a door--obviously the
+bath-room.
+
+The curtain had been looped right over its brass rod. The body
+lay on its back at the foot of the table, arms flung outward, one
+leg doubled up, the other with the foot just jutting out over the
+step leading down to the staircase. The head pointed towards the
+bath-room door. Over the right eye the skin of the face was
+blackened in a great patch and there was a large blue swelling,
+like a bruise, in the centre. There was a good deal of blood on
+the face which obscured the hole made by the entrance of the
+bullet. The eyes were half-closed. A big camera, pointed
+downwards, was mounted on a high double ladder straddling the
+body and was operated by a young man in a bowler hat who went on
+with his work without taking the slightest notice of the
+detective and his companions.
+
+"Close range," murmured Desmond, after glancing at the dead man's
+face, "a large calibre automatic pistol, I should think!"
+
+"Why do you think it was a large calibre pistol, Major?" asked
+Mr. Marigold attentively.
+
+"I've seen plenty of men killed at close range by revolver and
+rifle bullets out at the front," replied Desmond, "but I never
+saw a man's face messed up like this. In a raid once I shot a
+German at point blank range with my revolver, the ordinary Army
+issue pattern, and I looked him over after. But it wasn't
+anything like this. The only thing I've seen approaching it was
+one of our sergeants who was killed out on patrol by a Hun
+officer who put his gun right in our man's face. That sergeant
+was pretty badly marked, but..."
+
+He shook his head. Then he added, addressing the detective:
+"Let's see the gun! Have you got it?"
+
+Mr. Marigold shook his head.
+
+"He hadn't got it on him," he answered, "he swears he never had a
+gun. I expect he chucked it away somewhere. It'll be our business
+to find it for him!"
+
+He smiled rather grimly, then added:
+
+"Perhaps you'd care to have a look at Miss Mackwayte's room,
+sir!"
+
+"Is Miss Mackwayte there" asked the Chief.
+
+"I got her out of this quick," replied Mr. Marigold, "she's had a
+bad shock, poor girl, though she gave her evidence clearly enough
+for all that... as far as it goes and that's not much. Some
+friends near by have taken her in! The doctor has given her some
+bromide and says she's got to be kept quiet..."
+
+"What's her story!" queried the Chief.
+
+"She can't throw much light on the business. She and her father
+reached home from the theatre about a quarter past twelve, had a
+bit of supper in the dining-room and went up to bed before one
+o'clock. Miss Mackwayte saw her father go into his room, which is
+next to hers, and shut the door. The next thing she knows is that
+she woke up suddenly with some kind of a loud noise in her
+ears... that was the report of the pistol, I've no doubt... she
+thought for a minute it was an air raid. Then suddenly a hand was
+pressed over her mouth, something was crammed into her mouth and
+she was firmly strapped down to the bed."
+
+"Did she see the man?" asked Desmond.
+
+"She didn't see anything from first to last," answered the
+detective, "as far as she is concerned it might have been a woman
+or a black man who trussed her up. It was quite dark in her
+bedroom and this burglar fellow, after binding and gagging her,
+fastened a bandage across her eyes into the bargain. She says she
+heard him moving about her room and then creep out very softly.
+The next thing she knew was Mrs. Chugg arriving at her bedside
+this morning."
+
+"What time did this attack take place?" asked the Chief.
+
+"She has no idea," answered the detective. "She couldn't see her
+watch and they haven't got a striking clock in the house."
+
+"But can she make no guess!"
+
+"Well, she says she thinks it was several hours before Mrs. Chugg
+arrived in the morning... as much as three hours, she thinks!"
+
+"And what time did Mrs. Chugg arrive!"
+
+"At half-past six!"
+
+"About Mackwayte... how long was he dead when they found him?
+What does the doctor say?"
+
+"About three hours approximately, but you know, they can't always
+tell to an hour or so!"
+
+"Well," said the Chief slowly, "it looks as if one might figure
+the murder as having been committed some time between 3 and 3.30
+a.m."
+
+"My idea exactly," said Mr. Marigold. "Shall we go upstairs?"
+
+He conducted the Chief and Desmond up the short flight of stairs
+to the first story. He pushed open the first door he came to.
+
+"Mackwayte's room, on the back," he said, "bed slept in, as you
+see, old gentleman's clothes on a chair--obviously he was
+disturbed by some noise made by the burglar and came out to see
+what was doing! And here," he indicated a door adjoining, "is
+Miss Mackwayte's room, on the front; as you observe. They don't
+use the two rooms on the second floor, except for box-rooms... one's
+full of old Mackwayte's theatre trunks and stuff. They keep
+no servant; Mrs. Chugg comes in each morning and stays all day.
+She goes away after supper every evening."
+
+Desmond found himself looking into a plainly furnished but dainty
+bedroom with white furniture and a good deal of chintz about.
+There were some photographs and pictures hanging on the walls.
+The room was spotlessly clean and very tidy.
+
+Desmond remarked on this, asking if the police had put the room
+straight.
+
+Mr. Marigold looked quite shocked.
+
+"Oh, no, everything is just as it was when Mrs. Chugg found Miss
+Mackwayte this morning. There's Miss Mackwayte's gloves and
+handbag on the toilet-table just as she left 'em last night. I
+wouldn't let her touch her clothes even. She went over to Mrs.
+Appleby's in her dressing-gown, in a taxi."
+
+"Then Master Burglar didn't burgle this room?" asked the Chief.
+
+"Nothing touched, not even the girl's money," replied Marigold.
+
+"Then why did he come up here at all?" asked Desmond.
+
+"Obviously, the old gentleman disturbed him," was the detective's
+reply. "Barney got scared and shot the old gentleman, then came
+up here to make sure that the daughter would not give him away
+before he could make his escape. He must have known the report of
+the gun would wake her up."
+
+"But are there no clues or finger-prints or anything of that kind
+here, Marigold?" asked the Chief.
+
+"Not a finger-print anywhere," responded the other, "men like
+Barney are born wise to the fingerprint business, sir."
+
+He dipped a finger and thumb into his waistcoat pocket.
+
+"Clues? Well, I've got one little souvenir here which I daresay a
+writer of detective stories would make a good bit of."
+
+He held in his hand a piece of paper folded flat. He unfolded it
+and disclosed a loop of dark hair.
+
+"There!" he said mockingly, straightening out the hair and
+holding it up in the light. "That's calculated to set one's
+thoughts running all over the place, isn't it? That piece of hair
+was caught in the buckle of one of the straps with which Miss
+Mackwayte was bound to the bed. Miss Mackwayte, I would point
+out, has brown hair. Whose hair do you think that is?"
+
+Desmond looked closely at the strand of hair in the detective's
+fingers. It was long and fine and glossy and jetblack.
+
+The Chief laughed and shook his head.
+
+"Haven't an idea, Marigold," he answered, "Barney's, I should
+imagine, that is, if he goes about with black ringlets falling
+round his shoulders."
+
+"Barney?" echoed the detective. "Barney's as bald as I am.
+Besides, if you saw his sheet, you'd realize that he has got into
+the habit of wearing his hair short!"
+
+He carefully rolled the strand of hair up, replaced it in its
+paper and stowed it in his waistcoat pocket.
+
+"It just shows how easily one is misled in a matter of this
+kind," he went on. "Supposing Barney hadn't got himself nabbed,
+supposing I hadn't been able to find out from Miss Mackwayte her
+movements on the night previous to the murder, that strand of
+hair might have led me on a fine wild goose chase!"
+
+"But, damn it, Marigold," exclaimed the Chief, laughing, "you
+haven't told us whose hair it is?"
+
+"Why, Nur-el-Din's, of course!"
+
+The smile froze on the Chief's lips, the laughter died out of his
+eyes. Desmond was amazed at the change in the man. The languid
+interest he had taken in the different details of the crime
+vanished. Something seemed to tighten up suddenly in his face and
+manner.
+
+"Why Nur-el-Din?" he asked curtly.
+
+Mr. Marigold glanced quickly at him. Desmond remarked that the
+detective was sensible of the change too.
+
+"Simply because Miss Mackwayte spent some time in the dancer's
+dressing-room last night, sir," he replied quietly, "she probably
+sat at her dressing-table and picked up this hair in hers or in
+her veil or something and it dropped on the bed where one of
+Master Barney's buckles caught it up."
+
+He spoke carelessly but Desmond noticed that he kept a watchful
+eye on the other.
+
+The Chief did not answer. He seemed to have relapsed into the
+preoccupied mood in which Desmond had found him that morning.
+
+"I was going to suggest, sir," said Mr. Marigold diffidently, "if
+you had the time, you might care to look in at the Yard, and see
+the prisoner. I don't mind telling you that he is swearing by all
+the tribes of Judah that he's innocent of the murder of old
+Mackwayte. He's got an amazing yarn... perhaps you'd like to hear
+it!"
+
+Mr. Marigold suddenly began to interest Desmond. His proposal was
+put forward so modestly that one would have thought the last
+thing he believed possible was that the Chief should acquiesce in
+his suggestion. Yet Desmond had the feeling that the detective
+was far from being so disinterested as he wished to seem. It
+struck Desmond that the case was more complicated than Mr.
+Marigold admitted and that the detective knew it. Had Mr.
+Marigold discovered that the Chief knew a great deal more about
+this mysterious affair than the detective knew himself? And was
+not his attitude of having already solved the problem of the
+murder, his treatment of the Chief as a dilettante criminologist
+simply an elaborate pose, to extract from the Chief information
+which had not been proffered?
+
+The Chief glanced at his watch.
+
+"Right," he said, "I think I'd like to go along."
+
+"I have a good deal to do here still," observed Mr. Marigold,
+"so, if you don't mind, I won't accompany you. But perhaps, sir,
+you would like to see me this afternoon?"
+
+The Chief swung round on his heel and fairly searched Mr.
+Marigold with a glance from beneath his bushy eyebrows. The
+detective returned his gaze with an expression of supreme
+innocence.
+
+"Why, Marigold," answered the Chief, "I believe I should. Six
+o'clock suit you?"
+
+"Certainly, sir," said Mr. Marigold.
+
+Desmond stood by the door, vastly amused by this duel of wits.
+The Chief and Mr. Marigold made a move towards the door, Desmond
+turned to open it and came face to face with a large framed
+photograph of the Chief hanging on the wall of Miss Mackwayte's
+bedroom.
+
+"Why, Chief," he cried, "you never told me you knew Miss
+Mackwayte!"
+
+The Chief professed to be very taken aback by this question.
+"Dear me, didn't I, Okewood?" he answered with eyes laughing,
+"she's my secretary!"
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI. "NAME O'BARNEY"
+
+"Miss Mackwayte telephoned to ask if I could go and see, her,"
+said the Chief to Desmond as they motored back to White hall,
+"Marigold gave me the message just as we were coming out. She
+asked if I could come this afternoon. I'm going to send you in my
+place, Okewood. I've got a conference with the head of the French
+Intelligence at three, and the Lord knows when I shall get away.
+I've a notion that you and Miss Mackwayte will work very well
+together."
+
+"Certainly," said Desmond, "she struck me as being a very
+charming and clever girl. Now I know the source of your
+information about my movements last night!"
+
+"That you certainly don't!" answered the Chief promptly, "if I
+thought you did Duff and No.39 should be sacked on the spot!"
+
+"Then it wasn't Miss Mackwayte who told you?"
+
+"I haven't seen or heard from Miss Mackwayte since she left my
+office yesterday evening. You were followed!"
+
+"But why?"
+
+"I'll tell you all about it at, lunch!"
+
+Bated once more, Desmond retired into his shell. By this he was
+convinced of the utter impossibility of making the Chief
+vouchsafe any information except voluntarily.
+
+Mr. Marigold had evidently announced their coming to Scotland
+Yard, for a very urbane and delightful official met them at the
+entrance and conducted them to a room where the prisoner was
+already awaiting them in charge of a plain clothes man. There the
+official excused himself and retired, leaving them alone with the
+prisoner and his escort.
+
+Barney proved to be a squat, podgy, middle-aged Jew of the
+familiar East End Polish or Russian type. He had little black
+beady eyes, a round fat white face, and a broad squabby Mongol
+nose. His clothes were exceedingly seedy, and the police had
+confiscated his collar and tie. This absence of neckwear, coupled
+with the fact that the lower part of his face was sprouting with
+a heavy growth of beard, gave him a peculiarly villainous
+appearance:
+
+He was seated on a chair, his head sunk on his breast. His eyes
+were hollow, and his face overspread with a horrible sickly
+greenish pallor, the hue of the last stage of fear. His hands,
+resting on his knees, twisted and fiddled continually. Every now
+and then convulsive shudders shook him. The man was quite
+obviously on the verge of a collapse.
+
+As the Chief and Desmond advanced into the room, the Jew looked
+up in panic. Then he sprang to his feet with a scream and flung
+himself on his knees, crying:
+
+"Ah, no! Don't take me away! I ain't done no 'arm, gentlemen!
+S'welp me, gentlemen, I ain't a murderer! I swear..."
+
+"Get him up!" said the Chief in disgust, "and, look here, can't
+you give him a drink? I want to speak to him. He's not fit to
+talk rationally in this state!"
+
+The detective pushed a bell in the wall, a policeman answered it,
+and presently the prisoner was handed a stiff glass of whiskey
+and water.
+
+After Barney had swallowed it, the Chief said:
+
+"Now, look here, my man, I want you to tell me exactly what
+happened last night. No fairy tales, remember! I know what you
+told the police, and if I catch you spinning me any yarns on to
+it, well, it'll only be the worse for you. I don't mind telling
+you, you're in a pretty bad mess!"
+
+The prisoner put down the glass wearily and wiped his forehead
+with the back of his hand. Though the room was bitterly cold, the
+perspiration stood out in beads on his brow.
+
+"I have told the trewth, sir," he said hoarsely, "and it goes
+against me, don't it? Hafen't I not gif myself op to the
+policeman? Couldn't I not haf drop the svag and ron away? For
+sure! And vy didn't I not do it? For vy, because of vot I seen in
+that house. I've 'ad my bit of trobble mit the police and vy
+should I tell them how I vos op to a game last night if I vas not
+a-telling the trewth, eh! I've been on the crook, gentlemen, I
+say it, ja, but I ain't no murderer, God choke me I ain't!
+
+"I've earned gut monney in my time on the 'alls but life is very
+'ardt, and I've been alvays hongry these days. Yesterday I meet
+old Mac wot I used to meet about the 'alls I vos workin' along o'
+my boss... at the agent's it vos were I vos lookin' for a shop!
+The perfesh always makes a splash about its salaries, gentlemen,
+and Mac 'e vos telling me vot a lot o' monney he make on the
+Samuel Circuit and 'ow 'e 'ad it at home all ready to put into
+var savings certif'kits. I never done a job like this von before,
+gentlemen, but I vos hardt pushed for money, s'welp me I vos!
+
+"I left it till late last night because of these air raids... I
+vanted to be sure that ole Mac and 'is daughter should be asleep.
+I god in from the back of the louse, oi, oi, bot it vos dead
+easy! through the scollery vindow. I cleared op a bagful of stuff
+in the dining-room... there vosn't, anything vorth snatching
+outer the parlor... and sixty-five quid out of an old cigar-box
+in the desk. The police 'as got it... I give it all back! I say I
+haf stolen, but murder? No!" He paused.
+
+"Go on," said the Chief.
+
+The prisoner looked about him in a frightened way.
+
+"I vos jus' thinking I had better be getting avay, he continued
+in his hoarse, gutteral voice, 'ven snick.!... I hears a key in
+the front door. I vos, standing by the staircase... I had no time
+to get out by the vay I had kom so I vent opstairs to the landing
+vere there vos a curtain. I shlip behind the curtain and vait! I
+dare not look out but I listen, I listen.. I hear some one go
+into the dining-room and move about. I open the curtain a little
+way... so!... because I think I vill shlip downstairs vile the
+other party is in the dining-room... and there I sees ole Mac in
+his dressing-gown just coming down from the first floor. The same
+moment I hear a step in the front hall.
+
+"I see ole Mac start but he does not stop. He kom right
+downstairs, and I step back behind the curtain ontil I find a
+door vich I push. I dare not svitch on my light but presently I
+feel the cold edge of a bath with my hands. I stay there and
+vait. Oi, oi, oi, how shall you belief vot I tell?"
+
+He broke off trembling.
+
+"Go on, Barney," said the detective, "can't you see the gentlemen
+are waiting?"
+
+The Jew resumed, his voice sinking almost to a whisper.
+
+"It vos quite dark behind the curtain but from the bathroom,
+through the open door, I could just see ole Mac standing with his
+back to me, a-holding the curtain. He must haf shlip in there to
+watch the other who vos komming opstairs. Then... then... I hear
+a step on the stair... a little, soft step... then ole Mac he
+open the curtain and cry 'Who are you?' Bang! the... the... other
+on the stairs he fire a shot. I see the red flash and I smell
+the... the powder not? The other, he does not vait... he just go
+on opstairs and ole Mac is lying there on his back with the blood
+a-trickling out on the oil-cloth. And I, vith my bag on my back,
+I creep downstair and out by the back again, and I ron and ron
+and then I valks. Gott! how I haf walked! I vos so frightened!
+And then, at last, I go to a policeman and gif 'myself op!"
+
+Barney stopped. The tears burst from his eyes and laying his
+grimy face on his arm, he sobbed.
+
+The detective patted him on the back.
+
+"Pull yourself together, man!" he said encouragingly.
+
+"This man on the stairs," queried the Chief, "did you see him?"
+
+"Ach was!" replied the prisoner, turning a tearstained face
+towards him, "I haf seen nothing, except old Mac's back vich vos
+right in vront of me, it vos so dark!"
+
+"But couldn't you see the other person at all, not even the
+outline" persisted the Chief.
+
+The prisoner made a gesture of despair.
+
+"It vos so dark, I say! Nothing haf I seen! I haf heard only his
+step!"
+
+"What sort of step? Was it heavy or light or what? Did this
+person seem in a hurry?"
+
+"A little light tread... so! won, two! won, two!, and qvick like
+'e think 'e sneak opstairs vithout nobody seeing!"
+
+"Did he make much noise"
+
+"Ach was! hardly at all... the tread, 'e vos so light like a
+woman's..."
+
+"Like a woman's, eh!", repeated the Chief, as if talking to
+himself, "Why do you think that?"
+
+"Because for vy it vos so gentle! The' staircase, she haf not
+sqveak as she haf sqveak when I haf creep away!"
+
+The Chief turned to the plain clothes man.
+
+"You can take him away now, officer," he said.
+
+Barney sprang up trembling.
+
+"Not back to the cell," he cried imploringly, "I cannot be alone.
+Oh, gentlemen, you vill speak for me! I haf not had trobble vith
+the police this long time! My vife's cousin, he is an elder of
+the Shool he vill tell you 'ow poor ve haf been..."
+
+But the Chief crossed the room to the door and the detective
+hustled the prisoner away.
+
+Then the official whom they had seen before came in.
+
+"Glad I caught you," he said. "I thought you would care to see
+the post mortem report. The doctor has just handed it in."
+
+The chief waved him off.
+
+"I don't think there's any doubt about the cause of death," he
+replied, "we saw the body ourselves..."
+
+"Quite so," replied the other, "but there is something
+interesting about this report all the same. They were able to
+extract the bullet!"
+
+"Oh," said the Chief, "that ought to tell us something!"
+
+"It does," answered the official. "We've submitted it to our
+small arms expert, and he pronounces it to be a bullet fired by
+an automatic pistol of unusually large calibre."
+
+The Chief looked at Desmond.
+
+"You were right there," he said.
+
+"And," the official went on, "our man says, further, that, as far
+as he knows, there is only one type of automatic pistol that
+fires a bullet as big as this one!"
+
+"And that is?" asked the Chief.
+
+"An improved pattern of the German Mauser pistol," was the
+other's startling reply.
+
+The Chief tapped a cigarette meditatively on the back of his
+hand.
+
+"Okewood," he said, "you are the very model of discretion. I have
+put your reticence to a pretty severe test this morning, and you
+have stood it very well. But I can see that you are bristling
+with questions like a porcupine with quills. Zero hour has
+arrived. You may fire away!"
+
+They were sitting in the smoking-room of the United Service Club.
+"The Senior," as men call it, is the very parliament of Britain's
+professional navy and army. Even in these days when war has flung
+wide the portals of the two services to all-comers, it retains a
+touch of rigidity. Famous generals and admirals look down from
+the lofty walls in silent testimony of wars that have been. Of
+the war that is, you will hear in every cluster of men round the
+little tables. Every day in the hour after luncheon battles are
+fought over again, personalities criticized, and decisions
+weighed with all the vigorous freedom of ward-room or the mess
+ante-room.
+
+And so to-day, as he sat in his padded leather chair, surveying
+the Chief's quizzing face across the little table where their
+coffee was steaming, Desmond felt the oddness of the contrast
+between the direct, matter-of-fact personalities all around them,
+and the extraordinary web of intrigue which seemed to have spun
+itself round the little house at Seven Kings.
+
+Before he answered the Chief's question, he studied him for a
+moment under cover of lighting a cigarette. How very little, to
+be sure, escaped that swift and silent mind! At luncheon the
+Chief had scrupulously avoided making, the slightest allusion to
+the thoughts with which Desmond's mind was seething. Instead he
+had told, with the gusto of the born raconteur, a string of
+extremely droll yarns about "double crosses," that is, obliging
+gentlemen who will spy for both sides simultaneously, he had come
+into contact with during his long and varied career. Desmond had
+played up to him and repressed the questions which kept rising to
+his lips. Hence the Chief's unexpected tribute to him in the
+smoking room.
+
+"Well," said Desmond slowly, "there are one or two things I
+should like to know. What am I here for? Why did you have me
+followed last night? How did you know, before we ever went to
+Seven Kings, that Barney did not murder old Mackwayte? And
+lastly..."
+
+He paused, fearing to be rash; then he risked it:
+
+"And lastly, Nur-el-Din?"
+
+The Chief leant back in his chair and laughed.
+
+"I'm sure you feel much better now," he said. Then his face grew
+grave and he added:
+
+"Your last question answers all the others!"
+
+"Meaning Nur-el-Din?" asked Desmond.
+
+The Chief nodded.
+
+"Nur-el-Din," he repeated. "That's why you're here, that's why I
+had you followed last night, that's why I..." he hesitated for
+the word, "let's say, presumed (one knows for certain so little
+in our work) that our friend Barney had nothing to do with the
+violent death of poor old Mackwayte. Nur-el-Din in the center,
+the kernel, the hub of everything!"
+
+The Chief leant across the table and Desmond pulled his chair
+closer.
+
+"There's only one other man in the world can handle this job,
+except you," he began, "and that's your brother Francis. Do you
+know where he is, Okewood?"
+
+"He wrote to me last from Athens," answered Desmond, "but that
+must be nearly two months ago."
+
+The Chief laughed.
+
+"His present address is not Athens," he said, "if you want to
+know, he's serving on a German Staff somewhere at the back of
+Jerusalem the Golden. Frankly, I know you don't care about our
+work, and I did my best to get your brother. He has had his
+instructions and as soon as he can get away he will. That was not
+soon enough for me. It had to be him or you. So I sent for you."
+
+He stopped and cleared his throat. Desmond stared at him. He
+could hardly believe his eyes. This quiet, deliberate man was
+actually embarrassed.
+
+"Okewood," the Chief went on, "you know I like plain speaking,
+and therefore you won't make the mistake of thinking I'm trying
+to flatter you."
+
+Desmond made a gesture.
+
+"Wait a moment and hear me out," the Chief went on. "What is
+required for this job is a man of great courage and steady nerve.
+Yes, we have plenty of fellows like that. But the man I am
+looking for must, in addition to possessing those qualities, know
+German and the Germans thoroughly, and when I say thoroughly I
+mean to the very core so that, if needs be, he may be a German,
+think German, act German. I have men in my service who know
+German perfectly and can get themselves up to look the part to
+the life. But they have never been put to the real, the searching
+test. Not one of them has done what you and your brother
+successfully accomplished. The first time I came across you, you
+had just come out of Germany after fetching your brother away. To
+have lived for weeks in Germany in wartime and to have got clear
+away is a feat which shows that both you and he can be trusted to
+make a success of one of the most difficult and critical missions
+I have ever had to propose. Francis is not here. That's why I
+want you."
+
+The Chief paused as if weighing something in his mind.
+
+"It's not the custom of either service, Okewood," he said, "to
+send a man to certain death. You're not in this creepy, crawly
+business of ours. You're a pukka soldier and keen on your job. So
+I want you to know that you are free to turn down this offer of
+mine here and now, and go back to France without my thinking a
+bit the worse of you."
+
+"Would you tell me something about it?" asked Desmond.
+
+"I'm sorry I can't," replied the other. "There must be only two
+men in this secret, myself and the fellow who undertakes the
+mission. Of course, it's not certain death. If you take this
+thing on, you'll have a sporting chance for your life, but that's
+all. It's going to be a desperate game played against a desperate
+opponent. Now do you understand why I didn't want you to think I
+was flattering you? You've got your head screwed on right, I
+know, but I should hate to feel afterwards, if anything went
+wrong, that you thought I had buttered you up in order to entice
+you into taking the job on!"
+
+Desmond took two or three deep puffs of his cigarette and dropped
+it into the ash-tray.
+
+"I'll see you!" he said.
+
+The Chief grinned with delight.
+
+"By Jove!" he exclaimed, "I knew you were my man!"
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII. NUR-EL-DIN
+
+The love of romance is merely the nobler form of curiosity. And
+there was something in Desmond Okewood's Anglo-Irish parentage
+that made him fiercely inquisitive after adventure. In him two
+men were constantly warring, the Irishman, eager for romance yet
+too indolent to go out in search of it, and the Englishman,
+cautious yet intensely vital withal, courting danger for danger's
+sake.
+
+All his ill-humor of the morning at being snatched away from his
+work in France had evaporated. In the Chief he now saw only the
+magician who was about to unlock to him the realms of Adventure.
+Desmond's eyes shone with excitement as the other, obviously
+simmering with satisfaction, lit another cigarette and began to
+speak.
+
+"The British public, Okewood," he said, hitching his chair
+closer, "would like to see espionage in this country rendered
+impossible. Such an ideal state of things is, unfortunately out
+of the question. Quite on the contrary, this country of ours is
+honeycombed with spies. So it will ever be, as long as we have to
+work with natural means: at present we have no caps of
+invisibility or magician's carpets available.
+
+"As we cannot hope to kill the danger, we do our best to scotch
+it. Personally, my modest ambition is to make espionage as
+difficult as possible for the enemy by knowing as many as
+possible of his agents and their channels of communication, and
+by keeping him happy with small results, to prevent him from
+finding out the really important things, the disclosure of which
+would inevitably compromise our national safety."
+
+He paused and Desmond nodded.
+
+"The extent of our business," the Chief resumed, "is so large,
+the issues at stake so vital, that we at the top have to ignore
+the non-essentials and stick to the essentials. By the
+nonessentials I mean the little potty spies, actuated by sheer
+hunger or mere officiousness, the neutral busybody who makes a
+tip-and-run dash into England, the starving waiter, miserably
+underpaid by some thieving rogue in a neutral country--or the
+frank swindler who sends back to the Fatherland and is duly paid
+for long reports about British naval movements which he has
+concocted without setting foot outside his Bloomsbury lodgings.
+
+"These folk are dealt with somehow and every now and then one of
+'em gets shot, just to show that we aren't asleep, don't you
+know? But spasmodic reports we can afford to ignore. What we are
+death on is anything like a regular news service from this
+country to Germany; and to keep up this steady flow of reliable
+information is the perpetual striving of the men who run the
+German Secret Service.
+
+"These fellows, my dear Okewood, move in darkness. Very often we
+have to grope after 'em in darkness, too. They don't get shot, or
+hardly ever; they are far too clever for that. Between us and
+them it is a never-ending series of move and countermove, check
+and counter-check. Very often we only know of their activities by
+enemy action based on their reports. Then there is another leak
+to be caulked, another rat-hole to be nailed up, and so the game
+goes on. Hitherto I think I may say we have managed to hold our
+own!"
+
+The Chief stopped to light another cigarette. Then he resumed but
+in a lower voice.
+
+"During the past month, Okewood," he said, "a new organization
+has cropped up. The objective of every spy operating in this
+country is, as you may have surmised, naval matters, the
+movements of the Fleet, the military transports, and the food
+convoys. This new organization has proved itself more efficient
+than any of its predecessors. It specializes in the movement of
+troops to France, and in the journeys of the hospital ships
+across the Channel. Its information is very prompt and extremely
+accurate, as we know too well. There have been some very
+disquieting incidents in which, for once in a way, luck has been
+on our side, but as long as this gang can work in the dark there
+is the danger of a grave catastrophe. With its thousands of miles
+of sea to patrol, the Navy has to take a chance sometimes, you
+know! Well, on two occasions lately, when chances were taken, the
+Hun knew we were taking a chance, and what is more, when and
+where we were taking it!"
+
+The Chief broke off, then looking Desmond squarely in the eyes,
+said:
+
+"This is the organization that you're going to beak up!"
+
+Desmond raised his eyebrows.
+
+"Who is at the head of it?" he asked quietly.
+
+The Chief, smiled a little bitterly.
+
+"By George!" he cried, slapping his thigh, "you've rung the bell
+in one. Okewood, I'm not a rich man, but I would gladly give a
+year's pay to be able to answer that question. To be perfectly
+frank with you, I don't know who is at the back of this crowd,
+but..." his mouth set in a grim line, "I'm going to know!"
+
+He added whimsically:
+
+"What's more, you're going to find out for me!"
+
+Desmond smiled at the note of assurance in his voice.
+
+"I suppose you've got something to go on?" he asked. "There's
+Nur-el-Din, for instance. What about her?"
+
+"That young person," replied the Chief, "is to be your particular
+study. If she is not the center of the whole conspiracy, she is,
+at any rate, in the thick of it. It will be part of your job to
+ascertain the exact role she is playing."
+
+"But what is there against her?" queried Desmond.
+
+"What is there against her? The bad company she keeps is against
+her. 'Tell me who your friends are and I'll tell you who you are'
+is a maxim that we have to go on in our profession, Okewood. You
+have met the lady. Did you see any of her entourage? Her business
+manager, a fat Italian who calls himself Lazarro, did you notice
+him? Would you be surprised to hear that Lazarro alias Sacchetti
+alias Le Tardenois is a very notorious international spy who
+after working in the Italian Secret Service in the pay of the
+Germans was unmasked and kicked out of Italy... that was before
+the war? This pleasant gentleman subsequently did five years in
+the French penal settlements in New Caledonia for robbery with
+violence at Aix-les-Bains... oh, we know a whole lot about him!
+And this woman's other friends! Do you know, for instance, where
+she often spends the week-end? At the country-place of one Bryan
+Mowbury, whose name used to be Bernhard Marburg, a very old hand
+indeed in the German Secret Service. She has identified herself
+right and left with the German espionage service in this country.
+One day she lunches with a woman spy, whose lover was caught and
+shot by the French. Then she goes out motoring with..."
+
+"But why in Heaven's name are all these people allowed to run
+loose?" broke in Desmond. "Do you mean to say you can't arrest
+them?"
+
+"Arrest 'em? Arrest 'em? Of course, we can arrest 'em. But what's
+the use? They're all small fry, and we have to keep out a few
+lines baited with minnows to catch the Tritons. None of 'em can
+do any harm: we watch 'em much too closely for that. Once you've
+located your spy, the battle's won. It's when he--or it may be a
+she--is running loose, that I get peeved!"
+
+The Chief sprang impatiently to his feet and strode across the
+smoking-room, which was all but empty by this time, to get a
+match from a table. He resumed his seat with a grunt of
+exasperation.
+
+"I can't see light, Okewood!" he sighed, shaking his head.
+
+"But is this all you've got against Nur-el-Din?" asked Desmond.
+
+"No," answered the other slowly, "it isn't. If it were, I need
+not have called you in. We would have interned or deported her.
+No, we've traced back to her a line leading straight from the
+only member of the new organization we have been able to lay by
+the heels."
+
+"Then you've made an arrest?"
+
+The Chief nodded.
+
+"A fortnight ago... a respectable, retired English business man,
+by name of Basil Bellward... taken with the goods on him, as the
+saying is..."
+
+"An Englishman, by Jove!"
+
+"It's hardly correct to call him an Englishman, though he's posed
+as an English business man for so long that one is almost
+justified in doing so. As a matter of fact, the fellow is a
+German named Wolfgang Bruhl and it is my belief that he was
+planted in this country at least a dozen years ago solely for the
+purpose of furnishing him with good, respectable credentials for
+an emergency like this."
+
+"But surely if you found evidence of his connection with this
+gang of spies, it should be easy to get a clue to the rest of the
+crowd?"
+
+"Not so easy as you think," the Chief replied. "The man who
+organized this system of espionage is a master at his craft. He
+has been careful to seal both ends of every connection, that is
+to say, though we found evidence of Master Bellward-Bruhl being
+in possession of highly confidential information relating to the
+movements of troops, we discovered nothing to show whence he
+received it or how or where he was going to forward it. But we
+did find a direct thread leading straight back to Nur-el-Din."
+
+"Really," said Desmond, "that rather complicates things for her,
+doesn't it?"
+
+"It was in the shape of a letter of introduction, in French,
+without date or address, warmly recommending the dancer to our
+friend, Bellward."
+
+"Who is this letter from?"
+
+"It is simply signed 'P.', but you shall see it for yourself when
+you get the other documents in the case."
+
+"But surely, sir, such a letter might be presented in perfectly
+good faith..."
+
+"It might, but not this one. This letter, as an expert has
+ascertained beyond all doubt, is written on German manufactured
+note-paper of a very superior quality;, the writing is stiff and
+angular and not French: and lastly, the French in which it is
+phrased, while correct, is unusually pompous and elaborate."
+
+"Then..."
+
+"The letter was, in all probability, written by a German!"
+
+There was a moment's silence. Desmond was thinking despairingly
+of the seeming hopelessness of untangling this intricate webwork
+of tangled threads.
+
+"And this murder, sir," he began.
+
+The Chief shrugged his shoulders.
+
+"The motive, Okewood, I am searching for the motive. I can see
+none except the highly improbable one of Miss Mackwayte being my
+confidential secretary. In that case why murder the father, a
+harmless old man who didn't even know that his daughter is in my
+service, why kill him, I ask you, and spare the girl? On the
+other hand, I believe the man Barney's story, and can see that
+Marigold does, too. When I first heard the news of the murder
+over the telephone this morning, I had a kind of intuition that
+we should discover in it a thread leading back to this mesh of
+espionage. Is it merely a coincidence that a hair, resembling
+Nur-el-Din's, is found adhering to the straps with which Barbara
+Mackwayte was bound? I can't think so... and yet..."
+
+"But do you believe then, that Nur-el-Din murdered-old Mackwayte?
+My dear Chief, the idea is preposterous..."
+
+The Chief rose from his chair with a sigh.
+
+"Nothing is preposterous in our work, Okewood," he replied. "But
+it's 3.25, and my French colleague hates to be kept waiting."
+
+"I thought you were seeing Strangwise, at two?" asked Desmond.
+
+"I put him off until six o'clock," replied the Chief, "he knows
+Nur-el-Din, and he may be able to give Marigold some pointers
+about this affair. You're off to see Miss Mackwayte now, I
+suppose. You know where she's staying? Good. Well, I'll say
+good-bye, Okewood. I shan't see you again..."
+
+"You won't see me again? How do you mean, sir?"
+
+"Because you're going back to France!"
+
+"Going back to France? When?"
+
+"By the leave-boat to-night!"
+
+Desmond smiled resignedly.
+
+"My dear Chief," he said, "you must be more explicit. What am I
+going back to France for?"
+
+"Why, now I come to think of it," replied the Chief, "I never
+told you. You're going back to France to be killed, of course!"
+
+"To be killed!"
+
+Desmond looked blankly at the other's blandly smiling face.
+
+"Two or three days from now," said the Chief, "you will be killed
+in action in France. I thought of making it a shell. But we'll
+have it a machine gun bullet if you like. Whichever you prefer;
+it's all the same to me!"
+
+He laughed at the dawn of enlightenment in Desmond's eyes.
+
+"I see," said Desmond.
+
+"I hope you don't mind," the Chief went on more seriously, "but I
+know you have no people to consider except your brother and his
+wife. She's in America, and Francis can't possibly hear about it.
+So you needn't worry on that score. Or do you?"
+
+Desmond laughed.
+
+"No-o-o!" he said slowly, "but I'm rather young to die. Is it
+absolutely necessary for me to disappear?"
+
+"Absolutely!" responded the Chief firmly.
+
+"But how will we manage it?" asked Desmond.
+
+"Catch the leave-boat to-night and don't worry. You will receive
+your instructions in due course."
+
+"But when shall I see you again?"
+
+The Chief chuckled.
+
+"Depends entirely on yourself, Okewood," he retorted. "When
+you're through with your job, I expect. In the meantime, Miss
+Mackwayte will act between us. On that point also you will be
+fully instructed. And now I must fly!"
+
+"But I say, sir," Desmond interposed hastily. "You haven't told
+me what I am to do. What part am I to play in this business
+anyway?"
+
+"To-morrow," said the Chief, buttoning up his coat, "you become
+Mr. Basil Bellward!"
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII. THE WHITE PAPER PACKAGE
+
+A taxi was waiting in Pall Mall outside the club and Desmond
+hailed it, though secretly wondering what the driver would think
+of taking him out to Seven Kings. Rather to his surprise, the man
+was quite affable, took the address of the house where Barbara
+was staying with her friends and bade Desmond "hop in."
+Presently, for the second time that day, he was heading for the
+Mile End Road.
+
+As they zigzagged in and out of the traffic, Desmond's thoughts
+were busy with the extraordinary mission entrusted to him. So he
+was to sink his own identity and don that of an Anglo-German
+business man, his appearance, accent, habits, everything. The
+difficulties of the task positively made him cold with fear. The
+man must have relations, friends, business acquaintances who
+would be sufficiently familiar with his appearance and manner to
+penetrate, at any rate in the long run, the most effective
+disguise. What did Bellward look like? Where did lie live? How
+was he, Desmond, to disguise himself to resemble him? And, above
+all, when this knotty problem of make-up had been settled, how
+was he to proceed? What should be his first step to pick out from
+among all the millions of London's teeming populace the one
+obscure individual who headed and directed this gang of spies?
+
+Why hadn't he asked the Chief all these questions? What an
+annoying man the Chief was to deal with to be sure! All said and
+done, what had he actually told Desmond? That there was a German
+Secret service organization spying on the movements of troops to
+France, that this man, Basil Bellward, who had been arrested, was
+one of the gang and that the dancer, Nur-el-Din, was in some way
+implicated in the affair! And that was the extent of his
+confidence! On the top of all this fog of obscurity rested the
+dense cloud surrounding the murder of old Mackwayte with the
+unexplained, the fantastic, clue of that single hair pointing
+back to Nur-el-Din.
+
+Desmond consoled himself finally by saying that he would be able
+too get some light on his mission from Barbara Mackwayte, whom he
+judged to be in the Chief's confidence. But here he was doomed to
+disappointment. Barbara could tell him practically nothing save
+what he already knew, that they were to work together in this
+affair. Like him, she was waiting for her instructions.
+
+Barbara received him in a neat little suburban drawing-room in
+the house of her friends, who lived a few streets away from the
+Mackwaytes. She was wearing a plainly-made black crepe de chine
+dress which served to accentuate the extreme pallor of her face,
+the only outward indication of the great shock she had sustained.
+She was perfectly calm and collected, otherwise, and she stopped
+Desmond who would have murmured some phrases of condolence.
+
+"Ah, no, please," she said, "I don't think I can speak about it
+yet."
+
+She pulled a chair over for him and began to talk about the
+Chief.
+
+"There's not the least need for you to worry," she said with a
+little woeful smile, like a sun-ray piercing a rain-cloud, "if
+the Chief says 'Go back to France and wait for instructions,' you
+may be sure that everything is arranged, and you will receive
+your orders in due course. So shall I. That's the Chief all over.
+Until you know him, you think he loves mystery for mystery's
+sake. It isn't that at all. He just doesn't trust us. He trusts
+nobody!"
+
+"But that hardly seems fair to us..." began Desmond.
+
+"It's merely a precaution," replied Barbara, "the Chief takes no
+risks. I've not the least doubt that he has decided to tell you
+nothing whatsoever about your part until you are firmly settled
+in your new role. I'm perfectly certain that every detail of your
+part has already been worked out."
+
+"Oh, that's not possible," said Desmond. "Why, he didn't know
+until an hour ago that I was going to take on this job."
+
+Barbara laughed.
+
+"The Chief has taught me a lot about judging men by their looks,"
+she said: "Personally, if I'd been in the Chief's places I should
+have gone ahead without consulting you, too."
+
+The girl spoke with such directness that there was not the least
+suggestion of a compliment in her remark, but Desmond blushed to
+the roots of his hair. Barbara noticed it and added hastily:
+
+"I'm not trying to pay you a compliment: I'm just judging by your
+type. I believe I can always tell the man that will take on any
+job, however dangerous, and carry it through to the end."
+
+Desmond blushed more furiously than ever.
+
+He made haste to divert the conversation into a safer channel.
+
+"Well," he said slowly, "seeing that you and I were intended to
+work together, it seems to me to be a most extraordinary
+coincidence our meeting like that last night..."
+
+"It was more than a coincidence," said Barbara, shaking her dark
+brown head. "Forty-eight hours ago I'd never heard of you, then
+the Chief gave me a telegram to send to your Divisional General
+summoning you home, after that he told me that we were to work
+together, and a few hours later I run into you in Nur-el-Din's
+dressing-room..."
+
+She broke off suddenly, her gray eyes big with fear. She darted
+across the room to an ormolu table on which her handbag was
+lying. With astonishment, Desmond watched her unceremoniously
+spill out the contents on to the table and rake hastily amongst
+the collection of articles which a pretty girl carries round in
+her bag.
+
+Presently she raised herself erect and turning, faced the
+officer. She was trembling as though with cold and when she
+spoke, her voice was low and husky.
+
+"Gone!" she whispered.
+
+"Have you lost anything" Desmond asked anxiously.
+
+"How could I have forgotten it?" she went on as though he had not
+spoken, "how could I have forgotten it? Nearly twelve hours
+wasted, and it explains everything. What will the Chief think of
+me!"
+
+Slowly she sank down on the sofa where she had been sitting,
+then, without any warning, dropped her head into her hands and
+burst into tears.
+
+Desmond went over to her.
+
+"Please don't cry," he said gently, "you have borne up so bravely
+against this terrible blow; you must try and not let it overwhelm
+you."
+
+All her business-like calm had disappeared now she was that most
+distracting of all pictures of woman, a pretty girl overwhelmed
+with grief. She crouched curled upon the sofa, with shoulders
+heaving, sobbing as though her heart would break.
+
+"Perhaps you would like me to leave you?" Desmond asked. "Let me
+ring for your friends... I am sure you would rather be alone!"
+
+She raised a tear-stained face to his, her long lashes
+glittering.
+
+"No, no," she said, "don't go, don't go! I want your help. This
+is such a dark and dreadful business, more than I ever realized.
+Oh, my poor daddy, my poor daddy!"
+
+Again she hid her face in her hands and cried whilst Desmond
+stood erect by her aide, compassionate but very helpless.
+
+After a little, she dabbed her eyes with a tiny square of
+cambric, and sitting up, surveyed the other.
+
+"I must go to the Chief at once," she said, "it is most urgent.
+Would you ring and ask the maid to telephone for a taxi?"
+
+"I have one outside," answered Desmond. "But won't you tell me
+what has happened?"
+
+"Why," said Barbara, "it has only just dawned on me why our house
+was broken into last night and poor daddy so cruelly murdered!
+Whoever robbed the house did not come after our poor little bits
+of silver or daddy's savings in the desk in the dining room. They
+came after something that I had!"
+
+"And what was that" asked Desmond.
+
+Then Barbara told him of her talk with Nur-el-Din in the dancer's
+dressing-room on the previous evening and of the package which
+Nur-el-Din had entrusted to her care.
+
+"This terrible business put it completely out of my head," said
+Barbara. "In the presence of the police this morning, I looked
+over my bedroom and even searched my hand-bag which the police
+sent back to me this afternoon without finding that the burglars
+had stolen anything. It was only just now, when we were talking
+about our meeting in Nur-el-Din's room last night, that her
+little package suddenly flashed across my mind. And then I looked
+through my handbag again and convinced myself that it was not
+there."
+
+"But are you sure the police haven't taken it?"
+
+"Absolutely certain," was the reply. "I remember perfectly what
+was in my hand-bag this morning when I went through it, and the
+same things are on that table over there now."
+
+"Do you know what was in this package!" said Desmond.
+
+"Just a small silver box, oblong and quite plain, about so big,"
+she indicated the size with her hands, "about as large as a
+cigarette-box. Nur-el-Din said it was a treasured family
+possession of hers, and she was afraid of losing it as she
+traveled about so much. She asked me to say nothing about it and
+to keep it until the war was over or until she asked me for it."
+
+"Then," said Desmond, "this clears Nur-el-Din!"
+
+"What do you mean," said Barbara, looking up.
+
+"Simply that she wouldn't have broken into your place and killed
+your father in order to recover her own package..."
+
+"But why on earth should Nur-el-Din be suspected of such a
+thing?"
+
+"Have you heard nothing about this young lady from the Chief?"
+
+"Nothing. I had not thought anything about her until daddy
+discovered an old friend in her last night and introduced me."
+
+The Chief's infernal caution again! thought Desmond, secretly
+admiring the care with which that remarkable man, in his own
+phrase, "sealed both ends of every connection."
+
+"If I'm to work with this girl," said Desmond to himself, "I'm
+going to have all the cards on the table here and now," so
+forthwith he told her of the Chief's suspicions of the dancer,
+the letter recommending her to Bellward found when the cheese
+merchant had been arrested, and lastly of the black hair which
+had been discovered on the thongs with which Barbara had been
+fastened.
+
+"And now," Desmond concluded, "the very next thing we must do is
+to go to the Chief and tell him about this package of
+Nur-el-Din's that is missing." Barbara interposed quickly.
+
+"It's no use your coming," she said. "The Chief won't see you.
+When he has sent a man on his mission, he refuses to see him
+again until the work has been done. If he wishes to send for you
+or communicate with you, he will. But it's useless for you to try
+and see him yourself. You can drop me at the office!"
+
+Desmond was inclined to agree with her on this point and said so.
+
+"There is one thing especially that puzzles me, Miss Mackwayte,"
+Desmond observed as they drove westward again, "and that is, how
+anyone could have known about your having this box of
+Nur-el-Din's. Was there anybody else in the room when she gave
+you the package?"
+
+"No," said Barbara, "I don't think so. Wait a minute, though,
+Nur-el-Din's maid must have come in very shortly after for I
+remember the opened the door when Captain Strangwise came to tell
+me daddy was waiting to take me home."
+
+"Do you remember if Nur-el-Din actually mentioned the package in
+the presence of the maid!"
+
+"As far as I can recollect just as the maid opened the door to
+Captain Strangwise, Nur-el-Din was impressing on me again to take
+great care of the package. I don't think she actually mentioned
+the box but I remember her pointing at my bag where I had put the
+package."
+
+"The maid didn't see Nur-el-Din give you the box?"
+
+"No, I'm sure of that. The room was empty save for us two. It was
+only just before Captain Strangwise knocked that I noticed Marie
+arranging Nur-el-Din's dresses. She must have come in afterwards
+without my seeing her."
+
+"Well then, this girl, Marie, didn't see the dancer give you the
+box but she heard her refer to it. Is that right?"
+
+"Yes, and, of course, Captain Strangwise..."
+
+"What about him?"
+
+"He must have heard what Nur-el-Din was saying, too!"
+
+Desmond rubbed his chin.
+
+"I say, you aren't going to implicate old Strangwise, too, are
+you?" he asked.
+
+Barbara did not reflect his smile.
+
+"He seems to know Nur-el-Din pretty well," she said, "and I'll
+tell you something else, that woman's afraid of your friend, the
+Captain!"
+
+"What do you mean?" asked Desmond.
+
+"I was watching her in the glass last night as he was talking to
+her while you and I and daddy were chatting in the corner. I
+don't know what he said to her, but she glanced over her shoulder
+with a look of terror in her eyes. I was watching her face in the
+glass. She looked positively hunted!"
+
+The taxi stopped. Desmond jumped out and helped his companion to
+alight.
+
+"Au revoir." she said to him, "never fear, you and I will meet
+very soon again!"
+
+With that she was gone. Desmond looked at his watch. It pointed
+to a quarter to six.
+
+"Now I wonder what time the leave-train starts tonight," he said
+aloud, one foot on the sideboard of the taxi.
+
+"At 7.45, sir," said a voice.
+
+"Desmond glanced round him. Then he saw it was the taxi-driver
+who had spoken.
+
+"7.45, eh?" said Desmond. "From Victoria, I suppose?"
+
+"Yes, sir," said the taxi-man.
+
+"By Jove, I haven't much time," ejaculated the officer "and there
+are some things I want to get before I go back across the
+Channel. And I shall have to see the Railway Transport Officer
+about my pass."
+
+"That's all right, sir," said the taxi-man, "I have your papers
+here"; he handed Desmond a couple of slips of paper which he took
+from his coat-pocket; "those will take you back to France all
+right, I think you'll find!"
+
+Desmond looked at the papers: they were quite in order and
+correctly filled up with his name, rank and regiment, and date.
+
+The taxi-man cut short any further question by saying:
+
+"If you'll get into the cab again, sir, I'll drive you where you
+want to go, and then wait while you have your dinner and take you
+to the station. By the way, your dinner's ordered too!"
+
+"But who the devil are you?" asked Desmond in amazement.
+
+"On special service, the same as you, sir!" said the man with a
+grin and Desmond understood.
+
+Really, the Chief was extremely thorough.
+
+They went to the stores in the Haymarket, to Fortnum and Mason's,
+and lastly, to a small, grubby shop at the back of Mayfair where
+Desmond and his brother had bought their cigarettes for years
+past. Desmond purchased a hundred of their favored brand, the
+Dionysus, as a reserve for his journey back to France, and stood
+chatting over old times with the fat, oily-faced Greek manager as
+the latter tied up his cigarettes into a clean white paper
+parcel, neatly sealed up with red sealing wax.
+
+Then Desmond drove back to the Nineveh Hotel where he left his
+taxi-driving colleague in the courtyard on the understanding that
+at 7.25 the taxi would be waiting to drive him to the station.
+
+Desmond went straight upstairs to his room to put his kit
+together. In the strong, firmly woven web spread by the Chief, he
+felt as helpless as a fly caught in a spider's mesh. He had no
+idea of what his plans were. He only knew that he was going back
+to France, and that it was his business to get on the leave-boat
+that night.
+
+As he passed along the thickly carpeted, silent corridor to his
+room, he saw the door of Strangwise's room standing ajar. He
+pushed open the door and walked in unceremoniously. A suitcase
+stood open on the floor with Strangwise bending over it. At his
+elbow was a table crowded with various parcels, a case of razors,
+different articles of kit, and some books. Desmond halted at the
+door, his box of cigarettes dangling from his finger.
+
+"Hullo, Maurice," he said, "are you off, too?"
+
+Strangwise spun round sharply. The blood had rushed to his face,
+staining it with a dark, angry flush.
+
+"My God, how you startled me!" he exclaimed rather testily. "I
+never heard you come in!"
+
+He turned rather abruptly and went on with his packing. He struck
+Desmond as being rather annoyed at the intrusion; the latter had
+never seen him out of temper before.
+
+"Sorry if I butted in," said Desmond, sliding his box of
+cigarettes off his finger on to the littered table and sitting
+down on a chair. "I came in to say good-bye. I'm going back to
+France to-night!"
+
+Maurice looked round quickly. He appeared to be quite his old
+self again and was all smiles now.
+
+"So soon?" he said. "Why, I thought you were getting a job at the
+War Office!"
+
+Desmond shook his head.
+
+"Not good enough," he replied, "it's back to the sandbags for
+mine. But where are you off to?"
+
+"Got a bit of leave; the Intelligence folk seem to be through
+with me at last, so they've given me six weeks!"
+
+"Going to the country" asked Desmond.
+
+Strangwise nodded.
+
+"Yep," he said, "down to Essex to see if I can get a few duck or
+snipe on the fens. I wish you were coming with me!"
+
+"So do I, old man," echoed Desmond heartily. Then he added in a
+serious voice:
+
+"By the way, I haven't seen you since last night. What a shocking
+affair this is about old Mackwayte, isn't it? Are there any
+developments, do you know?"
+
+Strangwise very deliberately fished a cigarette out of his case
+which was lying open on the table and lit it before replying.
+
+"A very dark affair," he said, blowing out a cloud of smoke and
+flicking the match into the grate. "You are discreet, I know,
+Okewood. The Intelligence people had me up this morning... to
+take my evidence..."
+
+Strangwise's surmise about Desmond's discretion was perfectly
+correct. With Desmond Okewood discretion was second nature, and
+therefore he answered with feigned surprise: "Your evidence about
+what? About our meeting the Mackwaytes last night?"
+
+After he had spoken he realized he had blundered. Surely, after
+all, the Chief would have told Strangwise about their
+investigations at Seven Kings. Still...
+
+"No," replied Strangwise, "but about Nur-el-Din!"
+
+The Chief had kept his own counsel about their morning's work.
+Desmond was glad now that he had dissimulated.
+
+"You see, I know her pretty well," Strangwise continued, "between
+ourselves, I got rather struck on the lady when she was touring
+in Canada some years ago, and in fact I spent so much more money
+than I could afford on her that I had to discontinue the
+acquaintance. Then I met her here when I got away from Germany a
+month ago; she was lonely, so I took her about a bit. Okewood,
+I'm afraid I was rather indiscreet."
+
+"How do you mean?" Desmond asked innocently.
+
+"Well," said Strangwise slowly, contemplating the end of his
+cigarette, "it appears that the lady is involved in certain
+activities which considerably interest our Intelligence. But
+there, I mustn't say any more!"
+
+"But how on earth is Nur-el-what's her name concerned in this
+murder, Maurice?"
+
+Strangwise shrugged his shoulders.
+
+"Ah, you'd better ask the police. But I tell you she'll be
+getting into trouble if she's not careful!"
+
+Throughout this conversation Desmond seemed to hear in his ears
+Barbara's words: "That woman's afraid of your friend!" He divined
+that for some reason or other, Strangwise wanted to create a bad
+impression in his mind about the dancer. He scanned Maurice's
+face narrowly. Its impenetrability was absolute. There was
+nothing to be gleaned from those careless, smiling features.
+
+"Well," said Desmond, getting up, "nous verrons. I shall have to
+make a bolt for it now if I don't want to miss my train.
+Good-bye, Maurice, and I hope you'll get some birds!"
+
+"Thanks, old man. Au revoir, and take care of yourself. My
+salaams to the General!".
+
+They shook hands warmly, then Desmond grabbed his box of
+cigarettes in its neat white wrapper with the bold red seals and
+hurried off to his room.
+
+Strangwise stood for a moment gazing after him. He was no longer
+the frank, smiling companion of a minute before. His mouth was
+set hard and his chin stuck out at a defiant angle.
+
+He bent over the table and picked up a white paper package sealed
+with bold red seals. He poised it for a moment in his hands while
+a flicker of a smile stole into the narrow eyes and played for an
+instant round the thin lips. Then, with a quick movement, he
+thrust the little package into the side pocket of his tunic and
+buttoned the flap.
+
+Whistling a little tune, he went on with his packing.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX. METAMORPHOSIS
+
+It was a clear, cold night. A knife-edge icy wind blew from the
+north-east and kept the lanyards dismally flapping on the
+flag-mast over the customs house. The leave train lay in the
+station within a biscuit's throw of the quayside and the black,
+blank Channel beyond, a long line of cheerfully illuminated
+windows that to those returning from leave seemed as the last
+link with home.
+
+The Corporal of Military Police, who stood at the gangway
+examining the passes, stopped Desmond Okewood as the latter held
+out his pass into the rays of the man's lantern.
+
+"There was a message for you, sir," said the Corporal. "The
+captain of the Staff boat would h-esteem it a favor, sir, if you
+would kindly go to his cabin immediately on h-arriving on board,
+sir!"
+
+"Very good, Corporal!" answered the officer and passed up the
+gang plank, enviously regarded by the press of brass-hats and
+red-tabs who, for the most part, had a cramped berth below or
+cold quarters on deck to look forward to.
+
+A seaman directed Desmond to the Captain's cabin. It was built
+out just behind the bridge, a snug, cheery room with bright
+chintz curtains over the carefully screened portholes, a couple
+of comfortable benches with leather seats along the walls, a
+small bunk, and in the middle of the floor a table set out with a
+bottle of whiskey, a siphon and some glasses together with a box
+of cigars.
+
+The Captain was sitting there chatting to the pilot, a short,
+enormously broad man with a magenta face and prodigious hands
+which were folded round a smoking glass of toddy.
+
+"Pick 'em up? Rescue 'em?" the pilot ejaculated, as Desmond
+walked in, "I'd let 'em sink, every man Jack o' them, the
+outrageous murderin' scoundrels. I don't like to hear you
+a-talking of such nonsense, Cap'en!"
+
+On Desmond's entrance the Captain broke off the conversation. He
+proved to be a trimly-built man of about fifty with a grizzled
+beard, and an air of quiet efficiency which is not uncommonly
+found in seamen. The pilot drained his glass and, scrambling to
+his feet, nodded to Desmond and stumped out into the cold night
+air.
+
+"Jawin' about the U boats!" said the Captain, with a jerk of his
+head towards the cabin door, "I don't know what the feelings of
+your men in the trenches are towards Fritz, Major, but I tell you
+that no German will dare set foot in any coast port of the United
+Kingdom in my life-time or yours, either! Accommodation's a bit
+narrow on board. I thought maybe you'd care to spend the night up
+here!"
+
+"Any orders about me?" asked Desmond.
+
+The Captain went a shade deeper mahogany in the face.
+
+"Oh no," he replied, with an elaborate assumption of innocence.
+"But won't you mix yourself a drink? And try one of my cigars, a
+present from a skipper friend of mine who sailed into Tilbury
+from Manila last week."
+
+Desmond sat in the snug cabin, puffing a most excellent cigar
+and sipping his whiskey and soda while, amid much shouting of
+seamen and screaming of windlasses, the staff boat got clear.
+Presently they were gliding past long low moles and black,
+inhospitable lighthouses, threading their way through the dark
+shapes of war craft of all kinds into the open Channel. There was
+a good deal of swell, but the sea was calm, and the vessel soon
+steadied down to regular rise and fall.
+
+They had been steaming for nearly an hour when, through the open
+door of the cabin, Desmond saw a seaman approach the captain on
+the bridge. He handed the skipper a folded paper.
+
+"From the wireless operator, sir!" Desmond heard him say.
+
+The skipper scanned it. Then the engine telegraph rang sharply,
+there was the sound of churning water, and the vessel slowed
+down. The next moment the Captain appeared at the door of the
+cabin.
+
+"I'm afraid we're going to lose you, Major," he said pleasantly,
+"a destroyer is coming up to take you off. There was a wireless
+from the Admiral about you."
+
+"Where are they going to take me, do you know?" asked Desmond.
+
+The Captain shook his head.
+
+"I haven't an idea. I've only got to hand you over!"
+
+He grinned and added:
+
+"Where's your kit?"
+
+"In the hold, I expect!" answered Desmond. "The porter at
+Victoria told me not to worry about it, and that I should find it
+on the other side. And, oh damn it!--I've got a hundred
+cigarettes in my kit, too! I bought them specially for the
+journey!"
+
+"Well, take some of my cigars," said the skipper hospitably, "for
+your traps'll have to go to France this trip, Major. There's no
+time to get 'em up now. I'll pass the word to the Military
+Landing Officer over there about 'em, if you like. He'll take
+care of 'em for you. Now will you come with me?"
+
+Desmond scrambled into his coat and followed the Captain down the
+steps to the deck. A little distance away from the vessel, the
+long shape of a destroyer was dimly visible tossing to and fro in
+the heavy swell. A ladder had been let down over the side of the
+steamer, and at its foot a boat, manned by a number of heavily
+swathed and muffled forms, was pitching.
+
+A few officers stood by the rail watching the scene with
+interest. The skipper adroitly piloted Desmond past them and
+fairly thrust him out on to the ladder.
+
+Desmond took the hint and with a hasty "Good night" to the
+friendly captain, staggered down the swaying ladder and was
+helped into the boat. The boat shoved off, the bell of the engine
+telegraph on the steamer resounded sharply, and the vessel
+resumed her interrupted voyage whilst the rowing boat was headed
+towards the destroyer. On board the latter vessel an officer met
+Desmond at the rail and piloted him to the ward-room. Almost
+before they got there, the destroyer was under way.
+
+The officer who had welcomed him proved to be the second in
+command, a joyous person who did the honors of the tiny ward-room
+with the aplomb of a Commander in a super-Dreadnought. He mixed
+Desmond a drink and immediately started to converse about life at
+the front without giving the other a chance of asking whither
+they were bound.
+
+The suspense was not of long duration, however, for in about half
+an hour's time, the destroyer slowed down and Desmond's host
+vanished. When he reappeared, it was to summon Desmond on deck.
+
+They lay aside a mole by some steps cut in the solid concrete.
+Here Desmond's host took leave of him.
+
+"There should be a car waiting for you up there," he said.
+
+There on top of the mole, exposed to the keen blast of the wind,
+a large limousine was standing. A chauffeur, who looked blue with
+cold, got down from his seat as Desmond emerged from the stairs
+and touched his cap.
+
+"Major Okewood?" he asked.
+
+"That's my name!" said Desmond.
+
+"If you'll get in, sir, we'll start at once!" the man replied.
+
+Befogged and bewildered, Desmond entered the car, which
+cautiously proceeded along the breakwater, with glimpses of black
+water and an occasional dim light on either hand. They bumped
+over the railway-lines and rough cobblestones of a dockyard,
+glided through a slumbering town, and so gradually drew out into
+the open country where the car gathered speed and fairly raced
+along the white, winding road. Desmond had not the faintest idea
+of their whereabouts or ultimate destination. He was fairly
+embarked on the great adventure now, and he was philosophically
+content to let Fate have its way with him. He found himself
+wondering rather indolently what the future had in store.
+
+The car slowed down and the chauffeur switched the headlights on.
+Their blinding glare revealed some white gate-posts at the
+entrance of a quiet country station. Desmond looked at his watch.
+It was half-past one. The car stopped at the entrance to the
+booking-office where a man in an overcoat and bowler was waiting.
+
+"This way, Major, please," said the man in the bowler, and led
+the way into the dark and silent station. At the platform a short
+train consisting of an engine, a Pullman car and a brakesman's
+van stood, the engine under steam. By the glare from the furnace
+Desmond recognized his companion. It was Matthews, the Chief's
+confidential clerk.
+
+Matthews held open the door of the Pullman for Desmond and
+followed him into the carriage. A gruff voice in the night
+shouted:
+
+"All right, Charley!" a light was waved to and fro, and the
+special pulled out of the echoing station into the darkness
+beyond.
+
+In the corner of, the Pullman a table was laid for supper. There
+was a cold chicken, a salad, and a bottle of claret. On another
+table was a large tin box and a mirror with a couple of electric
+lights before it. At this table was seated a small man with gray
+hair studying a large number of photographs.
+
+"If you will have your supper, Major Okewood, sir," said
+Matthews, "Mr. Crook here will get to work. We've not got too
+much time."
+
+The sea air had made Desmond ravenously hungry. He sat down
+promptly and proceeded to demolish the chicken and make havoc of
+the salad. Also he did full justice to the very excellent St.
+Estephe.
+
+As he ate he studied Matthews, who was one of those undefinable
+Englishmen one meets in tubes and 'buses, who might be anything
+from a rate collector to a rat catcher. He had sandy hair
+plastered limply across his forehead, a small moustache, and a
+pair of watery blue eyes. Mr. Crook, who continued his study of
+his assortment of photographs without taking the slightest notice
+of Desmond, was a much more alert looking individual, with a
+shock of iron gray hair brushed back and a small pointed beard.
+
+"Matthew's," said Desmond as he supped, "would it be indiscreet
+to ask where we are?"
+
+"In Kent, Major," replied Matthews.
+
+"What station was that we started from?"
+
+"Faversham."
+
+"And where are we going, might I inquire?"
+
+"To Cannon Street, sir!"
+
+"And from there?"
+
+Mr. Matthews coughed discreetly.
+
+"I can't really say, sir, I'm sure! A car will meet you there and
+I can go home to bed."
+
+The ends sealed again! thought Desmond. What a man of caution,
+the Chief!
+
+"And this gentleman here, Matthews?" asked Desmond, lighting one
+of the skipper's cigars.
+
+"That, sir, is Mr. Crook, who does any little jobs we require in
+the way of make-up. Our expert on resemblances, if I may put it
+that way, sir, for we really do very little in the way of
+disguises. Mr. Crook is an observer of what I may call people's
+points, sir, their facial appearance, their little peculiarities
+of manner, of speech, of gait. Whenever there is any question of
+a disguise, Mr. Crook is called in to advise as to the
+possibilities of success. I believe I am correct in saying,
+Crook, that you have been engaged on the Major here for some
+time. Isn't it so?"
+
+Crook looked up a minute from his table.
+
+"That's right," he said shortly, and resumed his occupation of
+examining the photographs.
+
+"And what's your opinion about this disguise of mine?" Desmond
+asked him.
+
+"I can make a good job of you, Major," said the expert, "and so I
+reported to the Chief. You'll want to do your hair a bit
+different and let your beard grow, and then, if you pay attention
+to the lessons I shall give you, in a week or two, you'll be this
+chap here," and he tapped the photograph in his hand, "to the
+life."
+
+So saying he handed Desmond the photograph. It was the portrait
+of a man about forty years of age, of rather a pronounced
+Continental type, with a short brown beard, a straight, rather
+well-shaped nose and gold-rimmed spectacles. His hair was cut en
+brosse, and he was rather full about the throat and neck. Without
+a word, Desmond stretched out his hand and gathered up a sheaf of
+other photos, police photos of Mr. Basil Bellward, front face and
+profile seen from right and left, all these poses shown on the
+same picture, some snapshots and various camera studies. Desmond
+shook his head in despair. He was utterly unable to detect the
+slightest resemblance between himself and this rather commonplace
+looking type of business man.
+
+"Now if you'd just step into the compartment at the end of the
+Pullman, Major," said Crook, "you'll find some civilian clothes
+laid out. Would you mind putting them on? You needn't trouble
+about the collar and tie, or coat and waistcoat for the moment.
+Then we'll get along with the work."
+
+The train rushed swaying on through the darkness. Desmond was
+back in the Pullman car in a few minutes arrayed in a pair of
+dark gray tweed trousers, a white shirt and black boots and
+socks. A cut-away coat and waistcoat of the same tweed stuff, a
+black bowler hat of rather an old-fashioned and staid pattern,
+and a black overcoat with a velvet collar, he left in the
+compartment where he changed.
+
+He found that Crook had opened his tin box and set out a great
+array of grease paints, wigs, twists of tow of various colors,
+and a number of pots and phials of washes and unguents together
+with a whole battery of fine paint brushes. In his hand he held a
+pair of barber's clippers and the tips of a comb and a pair of
+scissors protruded from his vest pocket.
+
+Crook whisked a barber's wrap round Desmond and proceeded, with
+clippers and scissors, to crop and trim his crisp black hair.
+
+"Tst-tst" he clicked with his tongue. "I didn't realize your hair
+was so dark, Major. It'll want a dash of henna to lighten it."
+
+The man worked with incredible swiftness. His touch was light and
+sure, and Desmond, looking at his reflection in the glass,
+wondered to see what fine; delicate hands this odd little expert
+possessed. Matthews sat and smoked in silence and watched the
+operation, whilst the special ran on steadily Londonwards.
+
+When the clipping was done, Crook smeared some stuff on a towel
+and wrapped it round Desmond's head.
+
+"That'll brighten your hair up a lot, sir. Now for a crepe beard
+just to try the effect. We've got to deliver you at Cannon Street
+ready for the job, Mr. Matthews and me, but you won't want to
+worry with this nasty messy beard once you get indoors. You can
+grow your own beard, and I'll pop in and henna it a bit for you
+every now and then."
+
+There was the smart of spirit gum on Desmond's cheeks and Crook
+gently applied a strip of tow to his face. He had taken the
+mirror away so that Desmond could no longer see the effect of the
+gradual metamorphosis.
+
+"A mirror only confuses me," said the expert, breathing hard as
+he delicately adjusted the false beard, "I've got this picture
+firm in my head, and I want to get it transferred to your face.
+Somehow a mirror puts me right off. It's the reality I want."
+
+As he grew more absorbed in his work, he ceased to speak
+altogether. He finished the beard, trimmed the eyebrows, applied
+a dash of henna with a brush, leaning backwards continually to
+survey the effect. He sketched in a wrinkle or two round the eyes
+with a pencil, wiped them out, then put them in again. Then he
+fumbled in his tin box, and produced two thin slices of grey
+rubber.
+
+"Sorry," he said, "I'm afraid you'll have to wear these inside
+your cheeks to give the effect of roundness. You've got an oval
+face and the other man has a round one. I can get the fullness of
+the throat by giving you a very low collar, rather open and a
+size too large for you."
+
+Desmond obediently slipped the two slices of rubber into his
+mouth and tucked them away on either side of his upper row of
+teeth. They were not particularly uncomfortable to wear.
+
+"There's your specs," said Crook, handing him a spectacle case,
+"and there's the collar. Now if you'll put on the rest of the
+duds, we'll have a look at you, sir."
+
+Desmond went out and donned the vest and coat and overcoat, and,
+thus arrayed, returned to the Pullman, hat in hand.
+
+Crook called out to him as he entered
+
+"Not so springy in the step, sir, if you please. Remember you're
+forty-three years of age with a Continental upbringing. You'll
+have to walk like a German, toes well turned out and down on the
+heel every time. So, that's better. Now, have a look at
+yourself!"
+
+He turned and touched a blind. A curtain rolled up with a click,
+disclosing a full length mirror immediately opposite Desmond.
+
+Desmond recoiled in astonishment. He could scarcely credit his
+own eyes. The glass must be bewitched, he thought for a moment,
+quite overwhelmed by the suddenness of the shock. For instead of
+the young face set on a slight athletic body that the glass was
+wont to show him, he saw a square, rather solid man in ugly,
+heavy clothes, with a brown silky beard and gold spectacles. The
+disguise was baffling in its completeness. The little wizard, who
+had effected this change and who now stood by, bashfully twisting
+his fingers about, had transformed youth into middle age. And the
+bewildering thing was that the success of the disguise did not
+lie so much in the external adjuncts, the false beard, the
+pencilled wrinkles, as in the hideous collar, the thick padded
+clothes, in short, in the general appearance.
+
+For the first time since his talk with the Chief at the United
+Service Club, Desmond felt his heart grow light within him. If
+such miracles were possible, then he could surmount the other
+difficulties as well.
+
+"Crook," he said, "I think you've done wonders. What do you say,
+Matthews?"
+
+"I've seen a lot of Mr. Crook's work in my day, sir," answered
+the clerk, "but nothing better than this. It's a masterpiece,
+Crook, that's what it is."
+
+"I'm fairly well satisfied," the expert murmured modestly, "and I
+must say the Major carries it off very well. But how goes the
+enemy, Matthews?"
+
+"It's half past two," replied, the latter, "we should reach
+Cannon Street by three. She's running well up to time, I think."
+
+"We've got time for a bit of a rehearsal," said Crook. "Just
+watch me, will you please, Major, and I'll try and give you an
+impression of our friend. I've been studying him at Brixton for
+the past twelve days, day and night almost, you might say, and I
+think I can convey an idea of his manner and walk. The walk is a
+very important point. Now, here is Mr. Bellward meeting one of
+his friends. Mr. Matthews, you will be the friend!"
+
+Then followed one of the most extraordinary performances that
+Desmond had ever witnessed. By some trick of the actor's art, the
+shriveled figure of the expert seemed to swell out and thicken,
+while his low, gentle voice deepened into a full, metallic
+baritone. Of accent in his speech there was none, but Desmond's
+ear, trained to foreigners' English, could detect a slight
+Continental intonation, a little roll of the "r's," an unfamiliar
+sound about those open "o's" of the English tongue, which are so
+fatal a trap for foreigners speaking our language. As he watched
+Crook, Desmond glanced from time to time at the photograph of
+Bellward which he had picked up from the table. He had an
+intuition that Bellward behaved and spoke just as the man before
+him.
+
+Then, at Crook's suggestion, Desmond assumed the role of
+Bellward. The expert interrupted him continually.
+
+"The hands, Major, the hands, you must not keep them down at your
+sides. That is military! You must move them when you speak! So
+and so!"
+
+Or again:
+
+"You speak too fast. Too... too youthfully, if you understand me,
+sir. You are a man of middle age. Life has no further secrets for
+you. You are poised and getting a trifle ponderous. Now try
+again!"
+
+But the train was slackening speed. They were running between
+black masses of squalid houses. As the special thumped over the
+bridge across the river, Mr. Crook gathered up his paints and
+brushes and photographs and arranged them neatly in his black tin
+box.
+
+To Desmond he said:
+
+"I shall be coming along to give you some more lessons very soon,
+Major. I wish you could see Bellward for yourself: you are very
+apt at this game, and it would save us much time. But I fear
+that's impossible."
+
+Even before the special had drawn up alongside the platform at
+Cannon Street, Crook and Matthews swung themselves out and
+disappeared. When the train stopped, a young man in a bowler hat
+presented himself at the door of the Pullman.
+
+"The car is there, Mr. Bellward, sir!" he said, helping Desmond
+to alight. Desmond, preparing to assume his new role, was about
+to leave the carriage when a sudden thought struck him. What
+about his uniform strewn about the compartment where he had
+changed? He ran back. The compartment was empty. Not a trace
+remained of the remarkable scenes of their night journey.
+
+"This is for you," said the young man, handing Desmond a note as
+they walked down the platform.
+
+Outside the station a motor-car with its noisy throbbing awoke
+the echoes of the darkened and empty courtyard. Desmond waited
+until he was being whirled over the smooth asphalt of the City
+streets before he opened the letter.
+
+He found a note and a small key inside the envelope.
+
+"On reaching the house to which you will be conveyed," the note
+said, "you will remain indoors until further orders. You can
+devote your time to studying the papers you will find in the desk
+beside the bed. For the present you need not fear detection as
+long as you do not leave the house." Then followed a few rough
+jottings obviously for his guidance.
+
+"Housekeeper, Martha, half blind, stupid; odd man, John Hill,
+mostly invisible, no risk from either. You are confined to house
+with heavy chill. Do not go out until you get the word."
+
+The last sentence was twice underlined.
+
+The night was now pitch-dark. Heavy clouds had come up and
+obscured the stars and a drizzle of rain was falling. The car
+went forward at a good pace and Desmond, after one or two
+ineffectual attempts to make out where they were going, was
+lulled by the steady motion into a deep sleep. He was dreaming
+fitfully of the tossing Channel as he had seen it but a few hours
+before when he came to his senses with a start. He felt a cold
+draught of air on his face and his feet were dead with cold.
+
+A figure stood at the open door of the car. It was the chauffeur.
+
+"Here we are, sir," he said.
+
+Desmond stiffly descended to the ground. It was so dark that he
+could distinguish nothing, but he felt the grit of gravel under
+his feet and he heard the melancholy gurgle of running water. He
+took a step forward and groped his way into a little porch
+smelling horribly of mustiness and damp. As he did so, he heard a
+whirr behind him and the car began to glide off. Desmond shouted
+after the chauffeur. Now that he stood on the very threshold of
+his adventure, he wanted to cling desperately to this last link
+with his old self. But the chauffeur did not or would not hear,
+and presently the sound of the engine died away, leaving Desmond
+to the darkness, the sad splashing of distant water and his own
+thoughts.
+
+And then, for one brief moment, all his courage seemed to ooze
+out of him. If he had followed his instinct, he would have turned
+and fled into the night, away from that damp and silent house,
+away from the ceaseless splashing of waters, back to the warmth
+and lights of civilization. But his sense of humor, which is very
+often better than courage, came to his rescue.
+
+"I suppose I ought to be in the devil of a rage," he said to
+himself, "being kept waiting like this outside my own house!
+Where the deuce is my housekeeper? By Gad, I'll ring the place
+down!"
+
+The conceit amused him, and he advanced further into the musty
+porch hoping to find a bell. But as he did so his ear caught the
+distant sound of shuffling feet. The shuffle of feet drew nearer
+and presently a beam of light shone out from under the door. A
+quavering voice called out:
+
+"Here I am, Mr. Bellward, here I am, sir!"
+
+Then a bolt was drawn back, a key turned, and the door swung
+slowly back, revealing an old woman, swathed in a long shawl and
+holding high in her hand a lamp as she peered out into the
+darkness.
+
+"Good evening, Martha," said Desmond, and stepped into the house.
+
+Save for Martha's lamp, the lobby was in darkness, but light was
+streaming into the hall from the half open door of a room leading
+off it at the far end. While Martha, wheezing asthmatically,
+bolted the front door, Desmond went towards the room where the
+light was and walked in.
+
+It was a small sitting-room, lined with bookshelves, illuminated
+by an oil lamp which stood on a little table beside a
+chintz-covered settee which had been drawn up in front of the
+dying fire.
+
+On the settee Nur-el-Din was lying asleep.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X. D. O. R. A. IS BAFFLED
+
+When Barbara reached the Chief's ante-room she found it full of
+people. Mr. Marigold was there, chatting with Captain Strangwise
+who seemed to be just taking his leave; there was a short, fat,
+Jewish-looking man, very resplendently dressed with a large
+diamond pin in his cravat and a small, insignificant looking
+gentleman with a gray moustache and the red rosette of the Legion
+of Honor in his button-hole. Matthews came out of the Chief's
+room as Barbara entered the outer office.
+
+"Miss Mackwayte," he said, "we are all so shocked and so very,
+sorry..."
+
+"Mr. Matthews," she said hastily in a low voice, "never mind
+about that now. I must see the Chief at once. It is most urgent."
+
+Matthews gesticulated with his arm round the room.
+
+"All these people, excepting the officer there, are waiting to
+see him, Miss, and he's got a dinner engagement at eight..."
+
+"It is urgent, Mr. Matthews, I tell you. If you won't take my
+name in, I shall go in myself!"
+
+"Miss Mackwayte, I daren't interrupt him now. Do you know who's
+with him...?"
+
+Strangwise crossed the room to where Barbara was standing.
+
+"I can guess what brings you here, Miss Mackwayte," he said
+gently. "I hope you will allow me to express my condolences...?"
+
+The girl shrank back, almost imperceptibly, yet Strangwise, whose
+eyes were fixed on her pale face, noticed the spontaneous recoil.
+The sunshine seemed to fade out of his debonair countenance, and
+for a moment Barbara Mackwayte saw Maurice Strangwise as very few
+people had ever seen him, stern and cold and hard, without a
+vestige of his constant smile. But the shadow lifted as quickly
+as it had fallen. His face had resumed its habitually engaging
+expression as he murmured:
+
+"Believe me, I am truly sorry for you!"
+
+"Thank you, thank you!" Barbara said hastily and brushed past
+him. She walked straight across the room to the door of the
+Chief's room, turned the handle and walked in.
+
+The room was in darkness save for an electric reading lamp on the
+desk which threw a beam of light on the faces of two men thrust
+close together in eager conversation. One was the Chief, the
+other a face that Barbara knew well from the illustrated papers.
+
+At the sound of the door opening, the Chief sprang to his feet.
+
+"Oh, it's Miss Mackwayte," he said, and added something in a low
+voice to the other man who had risen to his feet. "My dear," he
+continued aloud to Barbara, "I will see you immediately; we must
+not be disturbed now. Matthews should have told you."
+
+"Chief," cried Barbara, her hands clasped convulsively together,
+"you must hear me now. What I have to say cannot wait. Oh, you
+must hear me!"
+
+The Chief looked as embarrassed as a man usually looks when he is
+appealed to in a busy moment by an extremely attractive girl.
+
+"Miss Mackwayte," he said firmly but with great courtesy, "you
+must wait outside. I know how unnerved you are by all that you
+have gone through, but I am engaged just now. I shall be free
+presently."
+
+"It is about my father, Chief," Barbara said in a trembling
+voice, "I have found out what they came to get!"
+
+"Ah!" said the Chief and the other man simultaneously.
+
+"We had better hear what she has to say!" said the other man,
+"but won't you introduce me first?"
+
+"This is Sir Bristowe Marr, the First Sea Lord," said the Chief,
+bringing up a chair for Barbara, "Miss Mackwayte, my secretary,
+Admiral!"
+
+Then in a low impassioned voice Barbara told her tale of the
+package entrusted to her by Nur-el-Din and its disappearance from
+her bedroom on the night of the murder. As she proceeded a deep
+furrow appeared between the Chief's bushy eyebrows and he stared
+absently at the blotting-pad in front of him. When the girl had
+finished her story, the Chief said:
+
+"Lambelet ought to hear this, sir: he's the head of the French
+Intelligence, you know. He's outside now. Shall we have him in?
+Miss Mackwayte shall tell her story, and you can then hear what
+Lambelet has to say about this versatile young dancer."
+
+Without waiting for further permission, he pressed a bell on the
+desk and presently Matthews ushered in the small man with the
+Legion of Honor whom Barbara had seen in the ante-room.
+
+The Chief introduced the Frenchman and in a few words explained
+the situation to him. Then he turned to Barbara:
+
+"Colonel Lambelet speaks English perfectly," he said, "so fire
+away and don't be nervous!"
+
+When she had finished, the Chief said, addressing Lambelet:
+
+"What do you make of it, Colonel?"
+
+The little Frenchman made an expressive gesture.
+
+"Madame has become aware of the interest you have been taking in
+her movements, mon cher. She seized the opportunity of this
+meeting with the daughter of her old friend to get rid of
+something compromising, a code or something of the kind, qui
+sait? Perhaps this robbery and its attendant murder was only an
+elaborate device to pass on some particularly important report of
+the movements of your ships... qui sait?"
+
+"Then you are convinced in your own mind, Colonel, that this
+woman is a spy?" The clear-cut voice of the First Sea Lord rang
+out of the darkness of the room outside the circle of light on
+the desk.
+
+"Mais certainement!" replied the Frenchman quietly. "Listen and
+you shall hear! By birth she is a Pole, from Warsaw, of good,
+perhaps, even, of noble family. I cannot tell you, for her real
+name we have not been able to ascertain... parbleu, it is
+impossible, with the Boches at Warsaw, hein? We know, however,
+that at a very early age, under the name of la petite Marcelle,
+she was a member of a troupe of acrobats who called themselves
+The Seven Duponts. With this troupe she toured all over Europe.
+Bien! About ten years ago, she went out to New York as a singer,
+under the name of Marcelle Blondinet, and appeared at various
+second-class theatres in the United States and Canada. Then we
+lose track of her for some years until 1913, the year before the
+war, when the famous Oriental dancer, Nur-el-Din, who has made a
+grand success by the splendor of her dresses in America and
+Canada, appears at Brussels, scores a triumph and buys a fine
+mansion in the outskirts of the capital. She produces herself at
+Paris, Bordeaux, Lyons, Marseilles, Madrid, Milan and Rome, but
+her home in Brussels, always she returns there, your understand
+me, hein? La petite Marcelle of The Seven Duponts, Marcelle
+Blondinet of the cafe chantant, has blossomed out into a star of
+the first importance."
+
+The Colonel paused and cleared his throat.
+
+"To buy a mansion in Brussels, to run a large and splendid
+troupe, requires money. It is the men who pay for these things,
+you would say. Quite right, but listen who were the friends of
+Madame Nur-el-Din. Bischoffsberg, the German millionaire of
+Antwerp, von Wurzburg, of Berne... ah ha! you know that
+gentleman, mon cher?" he turned, chuckling, to the Chief who
+nodded his acquiescence; "Prince Meddelin of the German Embassy
+in Paris and administrator of the German Secret Service funds in
+France, and so on and so on. I will not fatigue you with the
+list. The direct evidence is coming now.
+
+"When the war broke out in August, 1914, Madame, after finishing
+her summer season in Brussels, was resting in her Brussels
+mansion. What becomes of her? She vanishes."
+
+"She told Samuel, the fellow who runs the Palaceum, that she
+escaped from Brussels!" interposed the Chief.
+
+The Frenchman threw his hands above his head.
+
+"Escaped, escaped? Ah, oui, par exemple, in a German Staff car.
+As I have told my colleague here," he went on, addressing the
+Admiral, "she escaped to Metz, the headquarters of the Army Group
+commanded by the... the... how do you say? the Prince Imperial?"
+
+"The Crown Prince," rectified the Chief.
+
+"Ah, oui,--the Crown Prince. Messieurs, we have absolute
+testimony that this woman lived for nearly two years either in
+Metz or Berlin, and further, that at Metz, the Crown Prince was a
+constant visitor at her house. She was one of the ladies who
+nearly precipitated a definite rupture between the Crown Prince
+and his wife. Mon Admiral," he went on, addressing the First Sea
+Lord again, "that this woman should be at large is a direct menace
+to the security of this country and of mine. It is only this
+morning that I at length received from Paris the facts which I
+have just laid before you. It is for you to order your action
+accordingly!"
+
+The little Frenchman folded his arms pompously and gazed at the
+ceiling.
+
+"How does she explain her movements prior to her coming to this
+country" the First Sea Lord asked the Chief.
+
+For an answer the Chief pressed the bell.
+
+"Samuel, who engaged her, is outside. You shall hear her story
+from him," he said.
+
+Samuel entered, exuding business acumen, prosperity, geniality.
+He nodded brightly to the Chief and stood expectant.
+
+"Ah, Mr. Samuel," said the Chief, "I wanted to see you about
+Nur-el-Din. You remember our former conversation on the subject.
+Where did she say she went to when she escaped to Brussels?"
+
+"First to Ostend," replied the music-hall proprietor, "and then,
+when the general exodus took place from there, to her mother's
+country place near Lyons, a village called Sermoise-aux-Roses."
+
+"And what did she say her mother's name was?"
+
+"Madame Blondinet, sir!"
+
+The Frenchman rapped smartly on a little pocketbook which he had
+produced and now held open in his hand.
+
+"There, is a Madame Blondinet who has a large farm near
+Sermoise-aux-Roses," he said, "and she has a daughter called
+Marcelle, who went to America."
+
+"Why then...?" began the First Sea Lord.
+
+"Attendez un instant!"
+
+The Colonel held up a plump hand.
+
+"Unfortunately for Madame Nur-el-Din, this Marcelle Blondinet
+spent the whole of her childhood, in fact, the whole of her life
+until she was nineteen years of age, on her mother's farm at a
+time when this Marcelle Blondinet was touring Europe with The
+Seven Duponts. The evidence is absolute. Mademoiselle here heard
+the dancer herself confirm it last night!"
+
+"Thank you, Mr. Samuel," said the Chief, "we shan't require you
+any more. But I'm afraid your Nur-el-Din will have to break her
+contract with you."
+
+"She's done that already, sir!" said Samuel ruefully.
+
+The Chief sprang to his feet excitedly.
+
+"Broken it already?" he cried. "What do you mean? Explain
+yourself! Don't stand there staring at me!"
+
+Mr. Samuel looked startled out of his life.
+
+"There was a bit of a row between her and the stage manager last
+night about her keeping the stage waiting again," he said; "and
+after lunch today she rang up to say she would not appear at the
+Palaceum to-night or any more at all! It's very upsetting for us;
+and I don't mind telling you, gentlemen, that I've been to my
+solicitors about it..."
+
+"And why the blazes didn't you come and tell me?" demanded the
+Chief furiously.
+
+"Well, sir, I thought it was only a bit of pique on her part, and
+I hoped to be able to talk the lady round. I know what these
+stars are!"
+
+"You've seen her then?" the Chief snapped out.
+
+"No, I haven't!" Mr. Samuel lamented. "I've been twice to the
+Nineveh--that's where she's stopping--and each time she was out!"
+
+The Chief dismissed him curtly.
+
+When the door had closed behind him, the Chief said to the First
+Sea Lord:
+
+"This is where D.O.R.A. steps in, I think, sir!"
+
+"Decidedly!" replied the Admiral. "Will you take the necessary
+steps?"
+
+The Chief nodded and pressed the bell. Matthews appeared.
+
+"Anything from the Nineveh?" he asked.
+
+"The lady has not returned, sir!"
+
+"Anything from Gordon and Duff?"
+
+"No, sir, nothing all day!"
+
+The telephone on the desk whirred. The Chief lifted the receiver.
+
+"Yes. Oh, it's you, Gordon? No, you can say it now: this is a
+private line."
+
+He listened at the receiver for a couple of minutes. The room was
+very still.
+
+"All right, come to the office at once!"
+
+The Chief hung up the receiver and turned to the Admiral.
+
+"She's given us the slip for the moment!" he said. "That was
+Gordon speaking. He and Duff have been shadowing our lady friend
+out of doors for days. She left the hotel on foot after lunch
+this afternoon with my two fellows in her wake. There was a bit
+of a crush on the pavement near Charing Cross and Duff was pushed
+into the roadway and run over by a motor-'bus. In the confusion
+Gordon lost the trail. He's wasted all this time trying to pick
+it up again instead of reporting to me at once."
+
+"Zut!" cried the Frenchman.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI. CREDENTIALS
+
+The sight of Nur-el-Din filled Desmond with alarm. For a moment
+his mind was overshadowed by the dread of detection. He had
+forgotten all about Mr. Crook's handiwork in the train, and his
+immediate fear was that the dancer would awake and recognize him.
+But then he caught sight of his face in the mirror over the
+mantelpiece. The grave bearded man staring oddly at him out of
+the glass gave him a shock until he realized the metamorphosis
+that had taken place in his personality. The realization served
+instantly to still his apprehension.
+
+Nur-el-Din lay on her side, one hand under her face which was
+turned away from the fire. She was wearing a big black musquash
+coat, and over her feet she had flung a tweed overcoat,
+apparently one of Mr. Bellward's from the hatstand in the hall.
+Her hat, a very dainty little affair of plain black velvet, was
+skewered with a couple of jewelled hatpins to the upholstery of
+the settee.
+
+Desmond watched her for a moment. Her face looked drawn and tired
+now that her eyelids, with their long sweeping black lashes, were
+closed, shutting off the extraordinary luminosity of her eyes. As
+he stood silently contemplating her, she stirred and moaned in
+her sleep and muttered some word three or four times to herself.
+Desmond was conscious of a great feeling of compassion for this
+strangely beautiful creature. Knowing as he did of the
+hundred-eyed monster of the British Secret Service that was
+watching her, he found himself thinking how frail, how helpless,
+how unprotected she looked, lying there in the flickering light
+of the fire.
+
+A step resounded behind him and old Martha shuffled into the
+room, carefully shading the lamp she still carried so that its
+rays should not fall on the face of the sleeper.
+
+"I don't know as I've done right, sir," she mumbled, "letting the
+pore lady wait here for you like this, but I couldn't hardly help
+it, sir! She says as how she must see you, and seeing as how your
+first tellygram said you was coming at half-past nine, I lets her
+stop on!"
+
+"When did she arrive" asked Desmond softly.
+
+"About six o'clock," answered the old, woman. "Walked all the way
+up from Wentfield Station, too, sir, and that cold she was when
+she arrived here, fair blue with the cold she was, pore dear.
+D'reckly she open her lips, I sees she's a furrin' lady, sir. She
+asks after you and I tells her as how you are away and won't be
+back till this evening. 'Oh!' she says, I then I wait!' And in
+she comes without so much as with your leave or by your leave.
+She told me as how you knew her, sir, and were expecting to see
+her, most important, she said it was, so I hots her up a bit o'
+dinner. I hopes as how I didn't do wrong, Mr. Bellward, sir!"
+
+"Oh, no, Martha, not at all!" Desmond replied--at random. He was
+sorely perplexed as to his next move. Obviously the girl could
+not stay in the house. What on earth did she want with him? And
+could he, at any rate, get at the desk and read the papers of
+which the note spoke and which, he did not doubt, were the
+dossier of the Bellward case, before she awoke? They might, at
+least, throw some light on his relations with the dancer.
+
+"She had her dinner here by the fire," old Martha resumed her
+narrative, "and about a quarter past nine comes your second
+tellygram, sir, saying as how you could not arrive till five
+o'clock in the morning."
+
+Desmond glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece. The hands
+pointed to a quarter past five! He had lost all count of the time
+in his peregrinations of the night.
+
+"I comes in here and tells the young lady as how you wouldn't be
+back last night, sir," the old woman continued, "and she says,
+'Oh,' she says, 'then, where shall I go?' she says. 'Why don't
+you go home, my dear?' says I, 'and pop round and see the master
+in the morning,' I says, thinking the pore young lady lives about
+here. And then she tells me as how she come all the way from
+Lunnon and walked up from the station. As well you know, sir, the
+last train up leaves Wentfield Station at five minutes to nine,
+and so the pore young lady couldn't get back that night. So here
+she had to stop. I got the spare room ready for her and lit a
+nice fire and all, but she wouldn't go to bed not until she had
+seen you. I do hope as how I've not done wrong, sir. I says to
+Mr. Hill, I says..."
+
+Desmond held up his hand to restrain her toothless babble.
+Nur-el-Din had stirred and was sitting up, rubbing her eyes. Then
+she caught sight of Desmond and scrambled rather unsteadily to
+her feet.
+
+"Monsieur Bellward?" she said in French, "oh, how glad I am to
+see you!"
+
+"All right, Martha," said Desmond, "see that the spare room is
+ready for this lady, and don't go to bed just yet. I shall want
+you to take this lady to her room."
+
+The old woman hobbled away, leaving the two alone. As soon as the
+door had closed behind her, Nur-el-Din exclaimed:
+
+"You know me; hein!"
+
+Desmond bowed in the most correct Continental manner.
+
+"Who does not know the charming Nur-el-Din?" he replied.
+
+"No!" Nur-el-Din commanded with flashing eyes, "no, not that
+name! I am Madame Le Bon, you, understand, a Belgian refugee,
+from Termonde!"
+
+Rather taken aback by her imperious manner, Desmond bowed again
+but said nothing.
+
+"I received your letter," the dancer resumed, "but I did not
+answer it as I did not require your assistance. But now I wish
+your help. It is unfortunate that you were absent from home at
+the very time I counted upon your aid."
+
+She flashed a glance at him as though awaiting an apology.
+
+"I am extremely sorry," said Desmond, "if I had but known..."
+
+Nur-el-Din nodded carelessly.
+
+"I wish to pass the night here," she went on, "in fact, I may be
+here for several days. They are becoming inconvenient in London,
+you understand."
+
+"But the theatre, your professional engagements?"
+
+"Bah, I have left the theatre. I have had enough of these stupid
+English people... they know nothing of art!"
+
+Desmond reflected a moment. Nur-el-Din's manner was most
+perplexing. What on earth could induce her to adopt this tone of
+condescension towards him? It nettled him. He resolved to try and
+find out on what it was based.
+
+"I am only too happy to be of assistance to you," he said,
+"especially in view of the letter of introduction you sent me,
+but I must tell you plainly that what you ask is impossible."
+
+"Impossible?" repeated Nur-el-Din, stamping her feet.
+"Impossible? Do you know what you are saying?"
+
+"Perfectly," replied Desmond negligently. "Obviously, you must
+stay here for the rest of the night since you cannot return to
+London until the trains start running, but to stay here
+indefinitely as you propose to do is out of the question. People
+would talk!"
+
+"Then it is your business to see that they don't!"
+
+"Your letter of introduction came from one whom I am always
+anxious to oblige," Desmond went on. "But the service he is
+authorized to claim from me does not entitle him to jeopardize my
+other activities."
+
+He drew a breath. It was a long shot. Would it draw her?
+
+It did. Nur-el-Din fumbled in her bag, produced a leather
+pocket-book and from it produced a slip of paper folded in two.
+
+"Read that!" she cried, "and then you shall apologize!"
+
+Desmond took the paper. It was a sheet torn from a book of German
+military field messages. "Meldedienst" (Message Service) was
+printed in German at the top and there were blanks to be filled
+in for the date, hour and place, and at the bottom a printed form
+of acknowledgment for the recipient to sign.
+
+In a large ostentatious, upright German handwriting was written
+what follows:
+
+
+"To All Whom it May Concern.
+
+"The lady who is the bearer of this, whose description is set out
+overleaf, is entitled to the full respect and assistance of the
+German forces on land and sea and in the air, wherever it may be.
+Her person and property are inviolate.
+
+  "Given At Our Headquarters at Metz
+  "Friedrich Wilhelm                             "Kronprinz des
+                                             "Deutschen Reiches."
+
+
+Across the signature was the impress of a green stamp,
+lozenge-shaped, inscribed "Headquarters of the Fifth Army,
+General Staff, 21st September, 1914."
+
+On the back of the slip was a detailed description of Nur-el-Din.
+
+Desmond bowed and handed the paper back to its owner.
+
+"Madame must accept my humble excuses," he murmured, hardly
+knowing what he was saying, so great was his surprise, "my house
+and services are at Madame's disposal!"
+
+"The other letter was from Count Plettenbach, the Prince's
+A.D.C., whom I think you know!" added the dancer in a mollified
+voice as she replaced the slip of paper in its pocketbook and
+stowed it away in her hand-bag. Then, looking up archly at
+Desmond, she said:
+
+"Am I so distasteful, then, to have in your house?"
+
+She made a charming picture. Her heavy fur coat had fallen open,
+disclosing her full round throat, very brown against the V-shaped
+opening of her white silk blouse. Her mouth was a perfect cupid's
+bow, the upper lip slightly drawn up over her dazzlingly white
+teeth. Before Desmond could answer her question, if answer were
+needed, her mood had swiftly changed again. She put her hand out,
+a little brown hand, and laying it on his shoulder, looked up
+appealingly into his eyes.
+
+"You will protect me," she said in a low voice, "I cannot bear
+this hunted life. From this side, from that, they, are closing in
+on me, and I am frightened, so very frightened. Promise you will
+keep me from harm!"
+
+Desmond gazed down into her warm, expressive eyes helplessly.
+What she asked was impossible, he knew, but he was a soldier, not
+a policeman, he told himself, and under his breath he cursed the
+Chief for landing him in such a predicament. To Nur-el-Din he
+said gently:
+
+"Tell me what has happened to frighten you. Who is hunting you?
+Is it the police?"
+
+She withdrew her hand with a gesture of contempt.
+
+"Bah!" she said bitterly. "I am not afraid of the police."
+
+Then she sank into a reverie, her gaze fixed on the dying embers
+of the fire.
+
+"All my life has been a struggle," she went on, after a moment,
+"first with hunger, then with men, then the police. I am used to
+a hard life. No, it is not the police!"
+
+"Who is it, then" asked Desmond, completely nonplused.
+
+Nur-el-Din let her eyes rest on his face for a moment.
+
+"You have honest eyes," she said, "your eyes are not German...
+pardon me, I would not insult your race... I mean they are
+different from the rest of you. One day, perhaps, those eyes of
+yours may persuade me to answer your question. But I don't know
+you well enough yet!"
+
+She broke off abruptly, shaking her head.
+
+"I am tired," she sighed and all her haughty manner returned,
+"let the old woman show me to my room. I will take dejeuner with
+you at one o'clock."
+
+Desmond bowed and stepping out into the hall, called the
+housekeeper. Old Martha shuffled off with the girl, leaving
+Desmond staring with vacant eyes into the fire. He was conscious
+of a feeling of exultation, despite his utter weariness and
+craving for sleep. This girl, with her queenly ways, her swiftly
+changing moods, her broad gusts of passion, interested him
+enormously. If she were the quarry, why, then, the chase were
+worth while! But the end? For a brief moment, he had a vision of
+that frail, clinging figure swaying up against some blank wall
+before a file of levelled rifles.
+
+Then again he seemed to see old Mackwayte lying dead on the
+landing of the house at Seven Kings. Had this frail girl done
+this unspeakable deed? To send her to the gallows or before a
+firing-squad--was this to be the end of his mission? And the
+still, small voice of conscience answered: "Yes! that is what
+you have come here to do!"
+
+Old Martha came shuffling down the staircase. Desmond called to
+her, remembering that he did not yet know where his bedroom was.
+
+"Will you light me up to my room, Martha?" he said, "I want to be
+sure that the sheets are not damp!"
+
+So saying he extinguished the lamp on the table and followed the
+old woman upstairs.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII. AT THE MILL HOUSE
+
+Clad in a suit of Mr. Basil Bellward's pyjamas of elaborate
+blue-flowered silk, Desmond lay propped up in bed in Mr.
+Bellward's luxuriously fitted bedroom, sipping his morning
+coffee, and studying with absorbed interest a sheet of blue
+foolscap. A number of papers lay strewn about the eiderdown
+quilt. At the head of the bed a handsome Sheraton bureau stood
+open.
+
+As the French say, Mr. Bellward had refused himself nothing. His
+bedroom was most tastefully furnished. The furniture was
+mahogany, every piece carefully chosen, and the chintz of
+curtains and upholstery was bright and attractive. A most
+elaborate mahogany wardrobe was fitted into the wall, and
+Desmond, investigating it, had found it to contain a very large
+assortment of clothes of every description, all new or nearly so,
+and bearing the name of a famous tailor of Cork Street. Folding
+doors, resembling a cupboard, disclosed, when open, a marble
+basin with hot water laid on, while a curtained door in the
+corner of the room gave access to a white tiled bathroom. Mr.
+Bellward, Desmond had reflected after his tour of the room on his
+arrival, evidently laid weight on his personal comfort; for the
+contrast between the cheerful comfort of his bedroom and the
+musty gloom of the rooms downstairs was very marked.
+
+A bright log fire hissed on the open hearth and the room was
+pleasantly warm. Old Martha's coffee was excellent, and Desmond,
+very snug in Mr. Bellward's comfortable bed, noted with regret
+that the clock on the mantel-shelf marked a quarter to twelve.
+But then he thought of the tete-a-tete luncheon that awaited him
+at one o'clock and his face cleared. He didn't mind getting up so
+much after all.
+
+He fell again to the perusal of the documents which he had found,
+as indicated in the note from headquarters, in the desk by the
+bed. They were enclosed in two envelopes, one large, the other
+small, both without any superscription. The large envelope
+enclosed Mr. Bellward's dossier which consisted of a fairly
+detailed account of his private life, movements, habits and
+friends, and an account of his arrest. The small envelope
+contained Desmond's eagerly expected orders.
+
+Desmond examined the papers in the large envelope first. From
+them he ascertained that the house in which he found himself was
+called The Mill House, and was situated two and a half miles from
+the station of Wentfield on the Great Eastern Railway in Essex.
+Mr. Bellward had taken the place some eight years before, having
+moved there from the Surrey hills, but had been wont to spend not
+more than two months in the year there. For the rest of the time
+he traveled abroad, usually passing the winter months on the
+Riviera, and the spring in Switzerland or Italy. The war had
+brought about a change in his habits, and Harrogate, Buxton and
+Bath had taken the place of the Continental resorts which he had
+frequented in peace time.
+
+When in residence at The Mill House, Mr. Bellward had gone up to
+London nearly every morning, either walking or going by
+motor-cycle to the station, and not returning until dinner-time
+in the evening. Sometimes he passed the night in London, and on
+such occasions slept at a small hotel in Jermyn Street. His
+dossier included, a long and carefully compiled list of the
+people he knew in London, mostly men of the rich business set,
+stockbrokers, manufacturers, solicitors, and the like. Against
+every name was set a note of the exact degree of intimacy
+existing between Bellward and the man in question, and any other
+information that might serve Bellward's impersonator in good
+stead. Desmond laid this list aside for the moment, intending to
+study it more closely at his leisure.
+
+Of intercourse with his neighbors in, the country, Mr. Bellward
+apparently had none. The Mill House stood in a lonely part of the
+country, remote from the more thickly populated centres of
+Brentwood and Romford, on the edge of a wide tract of
+inhospitable marshland, known as Morstead Fen, intersected by
+those wide deep ditches which in this part of the world are known
+as dykes. At this stage in the report there was a note to the
+effect that the rector of Wentfield had called twice at The Mill
+House but had not found Mr. Bellward at home, and that his visits
+had not been returned. There were also some opinions apparently
+culled locally regarding the tenant of the Mill House, set out
+something in this wise:--
+
+"Landlord of the Red Lion, Wentfield: The gentleman has never
+been to the Red Lion, but sometimes orders my Ford car and always
+pays regularly.
+
+"The Stationmaster at Wentfield: A gentleman who keeps himself to
+himself but very liberal with his money.
+
+"Sir Marsham Dykes, of The Chase, Stanning: A damned unsociable
+churlish fellow.
+
+"Mr. Tracy Wentfield, of the Channings, Home Green: A very rude
+man. He slammed the front door of the house in my face when I
+went to ask him for a contribution to our Cottage Hospital. It is
+not my habit to repeat idle gossip, but they do say he is a heavy
+drinker."
+
+There was a lot more of this sort of thing, and Desmond turned
+from it with a smile to take up the account of Bellward's arrest.
+It appeared that, about a fortnight before, on the eve of the
+departure for France of a very large draft of troops, a telegram
+was handed in at the East Strand telegraph office addressed to
+Bellward. This telegram ran thus:
+
+
+  "Bellward, Bellward Hotel, Jermyn Street.
+  "Shipping to you Friday 22,000 please advise correspondents.
+                                 "Mortimer."
+
+
+The authorities were unable to deliver this telegram as no
+such an hotel as the Hotel Bellward was found to exist in Jermyn
+Street. An examination of the address showed clearly that the
+sender had absent mindedly repeated the addressee's name in
+writing the name of the hotel. An advice was therefore addressed
+to the sender, Mortimer, at the address he had given on the back
+of the form, according to the regulations, to inform him that his
+telegram had not been delivered. It was then discovered that the
+address given by Mortimer was fictitious.
+
+Suspicion being thus aroused, the telegram was forwarded to the
+Postal Censor's department whence it reached the Intelligence
+Authorities who promptly spotted the connection between the
+wording of the telegram and the imminent departure of the drafts,
+more especially as the dates tallied. Thereupon, Mr. Bellward was
+hunted up and ultimately traced by his correspondence to The Mill
+House. He was not found there, but was eventually encountered at
+his London hotel, and requested to appear before the authorities
+with a view to throwing some light on Mortimer. Under
+cross-examination Bellward flatly denied any knowledge of
+Mortimer, and declared that a mistake had been made. He cited
+various well known city men to speak for his bona-fides and
+protested violently against the action of the authorities in
+doubting his word. It was ultimately elicited that Bellward was
+of German birth and had never been naturalized, and he was
+detained in custody while a search was made at The Mill House.
+
+The search was conducted with great discretion, old Martha being
+got out of the way before the detectives arrived and a careful
+watch being kept to avoid any chance of interruption. The search
+had the most fruitful results. Hidden in a secret drawer of the
+Sheraton desk in Bellward's bedroom, was found a most elaborate
+analysis of the movements of the transports to France, extremely
+accurate and right up to date. There was absolutely no
+indication, however, as to whence Bellward received his reports,
+and how or to whom he forwarded them. It was surmised that
+Mortimer was his informant, but an exhaustive search of the post
+office files of telegrams despatched showed no trace of any other
+telegram from Mortimer to Bellward save the one in the possession
+of the authorities. As for Mortimer, he remained a complete
+enigma.
+
+That, summarised, was the gist of the story of Bellward's arrest.
+The report laid great stress on the fact that no one outside half
+a dozen Intelligence men had any knowledge (a) of Bellward being
+an unnaturalized German, (b) of his arrest.
+
+Desmond's orders, which he reserved to the last were short and to
+the point. They consisted of five numbered clauses.
+
+"1. You will have a free hand. The surveillance of the house was
+withdrawn on your arrival and will not be renewed.
+
+"2. You will not leave the house until further orders.
+
+"3. You will keep careful note of any communication that may be
+made to you, whether verbal or in writing, of whatever nature it
+is. When you have anything to be forwarded, ring up 700 Slanning
+on the telephone and give Bellward's name. You will hand your
+report to the first person calling at the house thereafter asking
+for the letter for Mr. Elias.
+
+"4. If help is urgently required, ring up 700 Stanning and ask
+for Mr. Elias. Assistance will be with you within 15 minutes
+after. This expedient must only be used in the last extremity.
+
+"5. Memorize these documents and burn the lot before you leave
+the house."
+
+"Handy fellow, Mr. Elias," was Desmond's commentary, as he sprang
+out of bed and made for the bathroom. At a quarter to one he was
+ready dressed, feeling very scratchy and uncomfortable about the
+beard which he had not dared to remove owing to Nur-el-Din's
+presence in the house. Before he left the bedroom, he paused a
+moment at the desk, the documents of the Bellward case in his
+hands. He had a singularly retentive memory, and he was loth to
+have these compromising papers in the house whilst Nur-el-Din was
+there. He took a quick decision and pitched the whole lot into
+the fire, retaining only the annotated list of Mr. Bellward's
+friends. This he placed in his pocket-book and, after watching
+the rest of the papers crumble away into ashes, went downstairs
+to lunch.
+
+Nur-el-Din was in the drawing-room, a long room with two high
+windows which gave on a neglected looking garden. A foaming,
+churning brook wound its way through the garden, among stunted
+bushes and dripping willows, obviously the mill-race from which
+the house took its name. The drawing-room was a bare,
+inhospitable room, studded here and there with uncomfortable
+looking early Victorian armchairs swathed in dust-proof cloths. A
+fire was making an unsuccessful attempt to burn in the open
+grate.
+
+Nur-el-Din turned as he entered the room. She was wearing a gray
+cloth tailor-made with a white silk, blouse and a short skirt
+showing a pair of very natty brown boots. By contrast with her
+ugly surroundings she looked fresh and dainty. Her eyes were
+bright and her face as smooth and unwrinkled as a child's.
+
+"Bon jour," she cried gaily, "ah! but I am 'ungry!  It is the air
+of the country!  I love so the country!"
+
+"I hope you slept well, Madame!" said Desmond solicitously,
+looking admiringly at her trim figure.
+
+"Like a dead man," she replied with a little laugh, translating
+the French idiom. "Shall we make a leetle promenade after the
+dejeuner? And you shall show me your pretty English country,
+voulez-vous? You see, I am dressed for le footing!"
+
+She lifted a little brown foot.
+
+They had a delightful luncheon together. Old Martha, who proved
+to be quite a passable cook, waited on them. There was some
+excellent Burgundy and a carafe of old brandy with the coffee.
+Nur-el-Din was in her most gracious and captivating mood. She had
+dropped all her arrogance of their last interview and seemed to
+lay herself out to please. She had a keen sense of humor and
+entertained Desmond vastly by her anecdotes of her stage career,
+some not a little risque, but narrated with the greatest
+bon-homie.
+
+But, strongly attracted as he was to the girl, Desmond did not
+let himself lose sight of his ultimate object. He let her run on
+as gaily as she might but steadily, relentlessly he swung the
+conversation round to her last engagement at the Palaceum. He
+wanted to see if she would make any reference to the murder at
+Seven Kings. If he could only bring in old Mackwayte's name, he
+knew that the dancer must allude to the tragedy.
+
+Then the unexpected happened. The girl introduced the old
+comedian's name herself.
+
+"The only pleasant memory I shall preserve of the Palaceum," she
+said in French, "is my meeting with an old comrade of my youth.
+Imagine, I had not seen him for nearly twenty years. Monsieur
+Mackwayte, his name is, we used to call him Monsieur Arthur in
+the old days when I was the child acrobat of the Dupont Troupe.
+Such a charming fellow; and not a bit changed!  He was doing a
+deputy turn at the Palaceum on the last night I appeared there!
+And he introduced me to his daughter! Une belle Anglaise! I shall
+hope to see my old friend again when I go back to London!"
+
+Desmond stared at her. If this were acting, the most hardened
+criminal could not have carried it off better. He searched the
+girl's face. It was frank and innocent. She ran on about
+Mackwayte in the old days, his kindliness to everyone, his pretty
+wife, without a shadow of an attempt to avoid an unpleasant
+topic. Desmond began to believe that not only did the girl have
+nothing to do with the tragedy but that actually she knew nothing
+about it.
+
+"Did you see the newspapers yesterday?" he asked suddenly.
+
+"My friend," said Nur-el-Din, shaking her curls at him. "I never
+read your English papers. There is nothing but the war in them.
+And this war!"
+
+She gave a little shudder and was silent.
+
+At this moment old Martha, who had left them over their coffee
+and cigarettes, came into the room.
+
+"There's a gentleman called to see you, sir!" she said to
+Desmond.
+
+Desmond started violently. He was scarcely used to his new role
+as yet.
+
+"Who is it, Martha?" he said, mastering his agitation.
+
+"Mr. Mortimer!" mumbled the old woman in her tired voice, "at
+least that's what he said his name was. The gentleman hadn't got
+a card!"
+
+Nur-el-Din sprang up from her chair so vehemently that she upset
+her coffee.
+
+"Don't let him come in!" she cried in French.
+
+"Did you say I was in?" Desmond asked the old housekeeper, who
+was staring at the dancer.
+
+"Why, yes, sir," the woman answered.
+
+Desmond made a gesture of vexation.
+
+"Where is this Mr. Mortimer?" he asked
+
+"In the library, sir!"
+
+"Tell him I will be with him at once."
+
+Martha hobbled away and Desmond turned to the girl.
+
+"You heard what my housekeeper said? The man is here. I shall
+have to see him."
+
+Nur-el-Din, white to the lips, stood by the table, nervously
+twisting a little handkerchief.
+
+"Non, non," she said rapidly, "you must not see him. He has come
+to find me. Ah! if he should find out what I have done... you
+will not give me up to this man?"
+
+"You need not see him," Desmond expostulated gently, "I will say
+you are not here! Who is this Mortimer that he should seek to do
+you harm?"
+
+"My friend," said the dancer sadly, "he is my evil genius. If I
+had dreamt that you knew him I would never have sought refuge in
+your house."
+
+"But I've never set eyes on the man in my life!" exclaimed
+Desmond.
+
+The dancer shook her head mournfully at him.
+
+"Very few of you have, my friend," she replied, "but you are all
+under his orders, nest-ce pas?"
+
+Desmond's heart leaped. Was Mortimer's the guiding hand of this
+network of conspiracy?
+
+"I've trusted you, Monsieur," Nur-el-Din continued in a pleading
+voice, "you will respect the laws of hospitality, and hide me
+from this man. You will not give me up! Promise it, my friend?"
+
+Desmond felt strangely moved. Was this a callous murderess, a
+hired spy, who, with her great eyes brimming over with tears,
+entreated his protection so simply, so appealingly?
+
+"I promise I will not give you up to him, Mademoiselle!" he said
+and hated himself in the same breath for the part he had to play.
+Then he left her still standing by the table, lost in thought.
+
+Desmond walked through the hall to the room in which he had found
+Nur-el-Din asleep on his arrival. His nerves were strung up tight
+for the impending encounter with this Mortimer, whoever, whatever
+he was. Desmond did not hesitate on the threshold of the room. He
+quietly opened the door and walked in.
+
+A man in a black and white check suit with white gaiters stood on
+the hearthrug, his hands tucked behind his back. He had a
+curiously young-old appearance, such as is found in professors
+and scientists of a certain type. This suggestion was probably
+heightened by the very strong spectacles he wore, which magnified
+his eyes until they looked like large colored marbles. He had a
+heavy curling moustache resembling that affected by the late Lord
+Randolph Churchill. There was a good deal of mud on his boots,
+showing that he had come on foot.
+
+The two men measured one another in a brief but courteous glance.
+Desmond wondered what on earth this man's profession was. He was
+quite unable to place him.
+
+"Mr. Bellward?" said Mortimer, in a pleasant cultivated voice, "I
+am pleased to have this opportunity of meeting you personally."
+
+Desmond bowed and muttered something conventional. Mortimer had
+put out his hand but Desmond could not nerve himself to take it.
+Instead he pushed forward a chair.
+
+"Thanks," said Mortimer sitting down heavily, "I've had quite a
+walk across the fen. It's pleasant out but damp! I suppose you
+didn't get my letter?"
+
+"Which letter was that" asked Desmond.
+
+"Why the one asking you to let me know when you would be back so
+that we might meet at last!"
+
+Desmond shook his head.
+
+"No," he said, "I didn't get that one. It must have gone astray.
+As a matter of fact," he added, "I only got back this morning."
+
+"Oh, well then, I am fortunate in my visit," said Mortimer. "Did
+everything go off all right?"
+
+"Oh, yes," Desmond hastened to say, not knowing what he was
+talking about, "everything went off all right."
+
+"I don't in the least grudge you the holiday," the other
+observed, "one should always be careful to pay the last respects
+to the dead. It makes a good impression. That is so important in
+some countries!"
+
+He beamed at Desmond through his spectacles.
+
+"Was there anything left in your absence?" he asked, "no, there
+would be nothing; I suppose!"
+
+Desmond took a firm resolution. He must know what the man was
+driving at.
+
+"I don't know what you mean," he said bluntly.
+
+"God bless my soul!" ejaculated Mortimer turning round to stare
+at him through his grotesque glasses. And then he said very
+deliberately in German:
+
+"War niemand da?"
+
+Desmond stood up promptly.
+
+"What do you want with me?" he asked quietly, "and why do you
+speak German in my house?" Mortimer gazed at him blankly.
+
+"Excellence, most excellent," he gasped. "I love prudence. My
+friend, where are your eyes?"
+
+He put a large, firm hand up and touched the upper edge of the
+left lapel of his jacket. Desmond followed his gesture with his
+eyes and saw the other's first finger resting on the shiny glass
+head of a black pin. Almost instinctively Desmond imitated the
+gesture. His fingers came into contact with a glassheaded pin
+similarly embedded in the upper edge of the lapel of his own
+coat.
+
+Then he understood. This must be the distinguishing badge of this
+confraternity of spies. It was a clever idea, for the black pin
+was practically invisible, unless one looked for it, and even if
+seen, would give rise to no suspicions. It had obviously escaped
+the notice of the Chief and his merry men, and Desmond made a
+mental resolve to rub this omission well into his superior on the
+first opportunity. He felt he owed the Chief one.
+
+Mr. Mortimer cleared his throat, as though to indicate the
+conclusion of the episode. Desmond sat down on the settee.
+
+"Nothing came while I was away!" he said.
+
+"Now that you are back," Mortimer remarked, polishing his glasses
+with a bandanna handkerchief, "the service will be resumed. I
+have come to see you, Mr. Bellward," he went on, turning to
+Desmond, "contrary to my usual practice, mainly because I wished
+to confirm by personal observation the very favorable opinion I
+had formed of your ability from our correspondence. You have
+already demonstrated your discretion to me. If you continue to
+show that your prudence is on a level with your zeal, believe I
+shall not prove myself ungrateful."
+
+So saying he settled his glasses on his nose again.
+
+The action woke Desmond from a brown study. During the operation
+of wiping his spectacles, Mr. Mortimer had given Desmond a
+glimpse of his eyes in their natural state without the protection
+of those distorting glasses. To his intense surprise Desmond had
+seen, instead of the weak, blinking eyes of extreme myopia, a
+pair of keen piercing eyes with the clear whites of perfect
+health. Those blue eyes, set rather close together, seemed dimly
+familiar. Someone, somewhere, had once looked at him like that.
+
+"You are too kind," murmured Desmond, grappling for the thread of
+the conversation.
+
+Mortimer did not apparently notice his absentmindedness.
+
+"Everything has run smoothly," he resumed, "on the lines on which
+we have been working hitherto, but more important work lies
+before us. I have found it necessary to select a quiet rendezvous
+where I might have an opportunity of conferring in person with my
+associates. The first of these conferences will take place very
+shortly. I count upon your attendance, Bellward!"
+
+"I shall not fail you," replied Desmond. "But where is this
+rendezvous of yours, might I ask?"
+
+Mortimer shot a quick glance at him.
+
+"You shall know in good time," he answered drily. Then he added:
+
+"Do you mind if I have a few words with Nur-el-Din before I go!"
+
+The unexpected question caught Desmond off his guard.
+
+"Nur-el-Din?" he stammered feebly.
+
+"She is staying with you, I believe," said Mortimer pleasantly.
+
+Desmond shook his head.
+
+"There must be some mistake," he averred stoutly, "of course I
+know who you mean, but I have never met the lady. She is not
+here. What led you to suppose she was?"
+
+But even as he spoke, his eyes fell on a black object which lay
+near his arm stretched out along the back of the settee. It was a
+little velvet hat, skewered to the upholstery of the settee by a
+couple of jewelled hat-pins. A couple of gaudy cushions lay
+between it and Mortimer's range of vision from the chair in which
+the latter was sitting. If only Mortimer had not spotted it
+already!
+
+Desmond's presence of mind did not desert him. On the pretext of
+settling himself more comfortably he edged up another cushion
+until it rested upon the other two, thus effectively screening
+the hat from Mortimer's view even when he should get up.
+
+"I wish she were here," Desmond added, smiling, "one could not
+have a more delightful companion to share one's solitude, I
+imagine."
+
+"The lady has disappeared from London under rather suspicious
+circumstances;" Mortimer said, letting his grotesque eyes rest
+for a moment on Desmond's face, "to be quite frank with you, my
+dear fellow, she has been indiscreet, and the police are after
+her."
+
+"You don't say!" cried Desmond.
+
+"Indeed, it is a fact," replied the other, "I wish she would take
+you as her model, my dear Bellward. You are the pattern of
+prudence, are you not?"
+
+He paused perceptibly and Desmond held his breath.
+
+"She has very few reputable friends," Mortimer continued
+presently, "under a cloud as she is, she could hardly frequent
+the company of her old associates, Mowbury and Lazarro and Mrs.
+Malplaquet, you doubtless know whom I mean. I know she has a very
+strong recommendation to you, so I naturally thought--well, no
+matter!"
+
+He rose and extended his hand.
+
+"Au revoir, Bellward," he said, "you shall hear from me very
+soon. You've got a snug little place here, I must say, and
+everything in charming taste. I like your pretty cushions."
+
+The blood flew to Desmond's face and he bent down, on pretense of
+examining the cushions, to hide his confusion.
+
+"They aren't bad," he said, "I got them at Harrod's!"
+
+He accompanied Mortimer to the front door and watched him
+disappear down the short drive and turn out of the gate into the
+road. Then feeling strangely ill at ease, he went back to join
+Nur-el-Din in the dining-room. But only the housekeeper was
+there, clearing the table.
+
+"If you're looking for the young lady, sir," said old Martha,
+"she's gone out!"
+
+"Oh!" said Desmond, with a shade of disappointment in his voice,
+"will she be back for tea?"
+
+"She's not coming back at all," answered the old woman, "she told
+me to tell you she could not stop, sir. And she wouldn't let me
+disturb you, neither, sir."
+
+"But did she leave no note or anything for me?" asked Desmond.
+
+"No, sir," answered old Martha as she folded up the cloth.
+
+Gone! Desmond stared gloomily out at the sopping garden with an
+uneasy feeling that he had failed in his duty.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIII. WHAT SHAKESPEARE'S COMEDIES REVEALED
+
+In a very depressed frame of mind, Desmond turned into the
+library. As he crossed the hall, he noticed how cheerless the
+house was. Again there came to him that odor of mustiness--of all
+smells the most eerie and drear--which he had noticed on his
+arrival. Somehow, as long as Nur-el-Din had been there, he had
+not remarked the appalling loneliness of the place.
+
+A big log fire was blazing cheerfully in the grate, throwing out
+a bright glow into the room which, despite the early hour, was
+already wreathed in shadows. Wearily Desmond pulled a big
+armchair up to the blaze and sat down. He told himself that he
+must devote every minute of his spare time to going over in his
+mind the particulars he had memorized of Mr. Bellward's habits
+and acquaintanceships. He took the list of Bellward's friends
+from his pocket-book.
+
+But this afternoon he found it difficult to concentrate his
+attention. His gaze kept wandering back to the fire, in whose
+glowing depths he fancied he could see a perfect oval face with
+pleading eyes and dazzling teeth looking appealingly at him.
+
+Nur-el-Din! What an entrancing creature she was! What passion
+lurked in those black eyes of hers, in her moods, swiftly
+changing from gusts of fierce imperiousness to gentle airs of
+feminine charm! What a frail little thing she was to have fought
+her way alone up the ladder from the lowest rung to the very top!
+She must have character and grit, Desmond decided, for he was a
+young man who adored efficiency: to him efficiency spelled
+success.
+
+But a spy needs grit, he reflected, and Nur-el-Din had many
+qualities which would enable her to win the confidence of men.
+Hadn't she half-captivated him, the would-be spy-catcher,
+already?
+
+Desmond laughed ruefully to himself. Indeed, he mused, things
+looked that way. What would the Chief say if he could see his
+prize young man, his white-headed boy, sitting sentimentalizing
+by the fire over a woman who was, by her own confession,
+practically an accredited German agent? Desmond thrust his chin
+out and shook himself together. He would put the feminine side of
+Nur-el-Din out of his head. He must think of her henceforth only
+as a member of the band that was spotting targets for those
+sneaking, callous brutes of U-boat commanders.
+
+He went back to the study of the list of Mr. Bellward's friends.
+But he found it impossible to focus his mind upon it. Do what he
+would, he could not rid himself of the sensation that he had
+failed at the very outset of his mission. He was, indeed, he told
+himself, the veriest tyro at the game. Here he had had under his
+hand in turn Nur-el-Din and Mortimer (who, he made no doubt, was
+the leader of the gang which was so sorely troubling the Chief),
+and he had let both get away without eliciting from either even
+as much as their address. By the use of a little tact, he had
+counted on penetrating something of the mystery enveloping the
+dancer and her relationship with the gang; for he thought he
+divined that Nur-el-Din was inclined to make him her confidant.
+With the information thus procured, he had hoped to get on to the
+track of the leader of the band.
+
+But that ugly brute; Mortimer, with his goggle eyes, had spoiled
+everything. His appearance had taken Desmond completely by
+surprise: to tell the truth, it had thrown our young man rather
+off his guard. "If only I might have had a little longer
+acquaintance with my part," he reflected bitterly as he sat by
+the fire, "I should have been better able to deal with that
+pompous ass!"
+
+Afterwards, when thinking over the opening events of this
+extraordinary episode of his career, Desmond rather wondered why
+he had not followed Mortimer out of the house that afternoon and
+tracked him down to his hiding place. But, as a matter of fact,
+the idea did not occur to him at the time. His orders were
+positive not to leave the house, and he never even thought of
+breaking them--at any rate, not then.
+
+His orders, also, it is true, were to report to headquarters any
+communication that might be made to him; but these instructions,
+at least as far as Nur-el-Din's and Mortimer's visits were
+concerned, he resolved to ignore.
+
+For one thing, he felt angry with the Chief who, he argued rather
+irrationally, ought to have foreseen and prevented Mortimer thus
+taking him by surprise. The Chief liked secrets--well, for a
+change, he should be kept in the dark and the laugh would be on
+Desmond's side. For a few minutes after Mortimer's departure,
+Desmond had felt strongly inclined to go to the telephone which
+stood on the desk in the library and ring up Mr. Elias, as he
+should have done, but he resisted this impulse. Now, thinking
+things over in the firelight, he was glad he had refrained. He
+would ferret out for himself the exact part that Nur-el-Din and
+Mortimer were playing in this band of spies. Nothing definite had
+come of his interviews with them as yet. It would be time enough
+to communicate with Headquarters when he had something positive
+to report.
+
+Then Desmond thrust the paper he had been studying back in his
+pocket-book and jumped up. He felt that the inaction was stifling
+him. He determined to go for a walk round the garden. That, at
+least, was in the spirit of his orders.
+
+Remembering that he was supposed to be suffering from a chill he
+donned a heavy Ulster of Bellward's which was hanging in the hall
+and wound a muffler round his neck. Then cramming a soft cap on
+his head (he noted with satisfaction that Bellward's hats fitted
+him remarkably well) he opened the front door and stepped
+outside.
+
+The rain had stopped, but the whole atmosphere reeked of
+moisture. Angry-looking, dirty-brown clouds chased each other
+across the lowering sky, and there was a constant sound of water,
+trickling and gurgling and splashing, in his ears.
+
+An untidy-looking lawn with a few unkempt and overgrown
+rhododendron bushes dotted here and there ran its length in front
+of the house and terminated in an iron railing which separated
+the grounds from a little wood. A badly water-logged drive, green
+with grass in places, ran past the lawn in a couple of short
+bends to the front gate. On the other side the drive was bordered
+by what had once been a kitchen garden but was now a howling
+wilderness of dead leaves, mud and gravel with withered bushes
+and half a dozen black, bare and dripping apple trees set about
+at intervals. At the side of the house the kitchen garden stopped
+and was joined by a flower garden--at least so Desmond judged it
+to have been by a half ruined pergola which he had noticed from
+the drawing-room windows. Through the garden ran the mill-race
+which poured out of the grounds through a field and under a
+little bridge spanning the road outside.
+
+Desmond followed the drive as far as the front gate. The
+surrounding country was as flat as a pancake, and in almost every
+field lay great glistening patches of water where the land had
+been flooded by the incessant rain. The road on which the house
+was built ran away on the left to the mist-shrouded horizon
+without another building of any kind in sight. Desmond surmised
+that Morstead Fen lay in the direction in which he was looking.
+To the right, Desmond caught a glimpse of a ghostly spire
+sticking out of some trees and guessed that this was Wentfield
+Church. In front of him the distant roar of a passing train
+showed where the Great Eastern Railway line lay.
+
+More depressed than ever by the utter desolation of the scene,
+Desmond turned to retrace his steps to the house. Noticing a path
+traversing the kitchen garden, he followed it. It led to the back
+of the house, to the door of a kind of lean-to shed. The latch
+yielded on being pressed and Desmond entered the place.
+
+He found himself in a fair-sized shed, very well and solidly
+built of pitch-pine, with a glazed window looking out on the
+garden, a table and a couple of chairs, and a large cupboard
+which occupied the whole of one side of the wall of the house
+against which the shed was built. In a corner of the shed stood a
+very good-looking Douglas motor-cycle, and on a nail on the wall
+hung a set of motor-cyclist's overalls. A few petrol cans, some
+full, some empty, stood against the wall.
+
+Desmond examined the machine. It was in excellent condition,
+beautifully clean, the tank half full of spirits. A little dry
+sand on the tires showed that it had been used fairly recently.
+
+"Old man Bellward's motor-bike that he goes to the station on,"
+Desmond noted mentally. "But what's in the big cupboard, I
+wonder? Tools, I expect!"
+
+Then he caught sight of a deep drawer in the table. It was
+half-open and he saw that it contained various tools and spare
+parts, neatly arranged, each one in its appointed place.
+
+He went over to the cupboard and tried it. It was locked. Desmond
+had little respect for Mr. Bellward's property so he went over to
+the tool drawer and selected a stout chisel with which to burst
+the lock of the cupboard. But the cupboard was of oak, very
+solidly built, and he tried in vain to get a purchase for his
+implement. He leant his left hand against the edge of the
+cupboard whilst with his right he jabbed valiantly with the
+chisel.
+
+Then an extraordinary thing happened. The whole cupboard
+noiselessly swung outwards while Desmond, falling forward, caught
+his forehead a resounding bang against the edge of the recess in
+which it moved. He picked himself up in a very savage frame of
+mind--a severe blow on the head is not the ideal cure for
+hypochondria--but the flow of objurgatives froze on his lips. For
+he found himself looking into Mr. Bellward's library.
+
+He stepped into the room to see how the cupboard looked from the
+other side. He found that a whole section of bookshelves had
+swung back with the cupboard, in other words that the cupboard in
+the toolshed and the section of bookshelves were apparently all
+of one piece.
+
+He carefully examined the walls on either side of the recess in
+the library to see how the mechanism worked. The bookshelves were
+open, made of mahogany, the sides elaborately carved with leaves
+and flowers. Desmond ran his hand down the perpendicular section
+immediately on the right of the recess. About halfway down--to be
+exact, it was in line with the fifth shelf from the floor--his
+fingers encountered a little knob which gave under pressure--the
+heart of a flower which released the section of bookshelves.
+Going back to the shed, Desmond examined the place against which
+his hand had rested as he sought to force the lock of the
+cupboard. As he expected, he found a similar catch let into the
+surface of the oak, but so cunningly inlaid that it could scarce
+be detected with the naked eye.
+
+Before proceeding further with his investigations, Desmond softly
+turned the lock of the library door. He also shot forward a bolt
+he found on the inside of the door of the shed. He did not want
+to be interrupted by the housekeeper or the odd man.
+
+Then he went back to the library and pulled the cupboard to
+behind him. It moved quite easily into place. He wanted to have a
+look at the bookshelves; for he was curious to know whether the
+cupboard was actually all of one piece with the section of
+bookshelves as it seemed to be. He was prepared to find that the
+books were merely library dummies, but no! He tried half a dozen
+shelves at random, and every book he pulled out was real.
+
+Desmond was not easily baffled, and he determined to scrutinize
+every shelf, of this particular section in turn. With the aid of
+one of those step-ladders folding into a chair which you
+sometimes see in libraries, he examined the topmost shelves but
+without result. He took down in turn Macaulay's History of
+England, a handsome edition of the works of Swift, and a set of
+Moliere without getting any nearer the end of his quest.
+
+The fourth shelf from the top was devoted to a library edition of
+Shakespeare, large books bound in red morocco. Desmond, who, by
+this time was getting cramp in the arms from stretching upwards
+and had made his hands black with dust, pulled out a couple of
+volumes at hazard from the set and found them real books like the
+rest.
+
+"Oh, damn!" he exclaimed, and had half a mind to abandon the
+search and have a go with hammer and chisel at the cupboard in
+the shed. By this time it was almost dusk in the library, and
+Desmond, before abandoning the search, struck a match to have a
+final rapid glance over the shelves. The light showed him a
+curious flatness about the backs of the last six volumes of
+Shakespeare. He dropped the match and laid hold of a volume of
+the Comedies. It resisted. He tugged. Still it would not come.
+Exerting all his strength, he pulled, the gilt-lettered backs of
+the last six volumes came away in his hands in one piece and he
+crashed off the ladder to the ground.
+
+This time he did not swear. He picked himself up quickly, lit the
+lamp on the table by the window, and brought it over to the
+bookcase. Where Shakespeare's Comedies had stood was now a gaping
+void with a small key stuck in a lock, above a brass handle.
+Desmond mounted on the steps again and eagerly turned the key.
+Then he grasped the handle and puled, the section of bookshelves
+swung back like a door, and he found himself face to face with a
+great stack of petrol cans. They lay in orderly piles stretching
+from the floor to the top of the bookshelves near the railing,
+several tiers deep. At a rough computation there must have been
+several hundred cans in the recess. And they were all full.
+
+In a flash Desmond realized what his discovery signified. The
+motor-cycle in the shed without was the connecting link between
+Bellward and the man with whom he was co-operating in the
+organization. Under pretext of reading late in his library
+Bellward would send old Martha to bed, and once the house was
+quiet, sally forth by his secret exit and meet his confederate.
+Even when he was supposed to be sleeping in London he could still
+use the Mill House for a rendezvous, entering and leaving by the
+secret door, and no one a bit the wiser. In that desolate part of
+Essex, the roads are practically deserted after dark. Bellward
+could come and go much as he pleased on his motor-cycle. Were he
+stopped, he always had the excuse ready that he was going to--or
+returning from the station. The few petrol cans that Desmond had
+seen openly displayed in the shed without seemed to show that
+Bellward received a small quantity of spirit from the Petrol
+Board to take him to and from the railway.
+
+The cache, so elaborately concealed, however, pointed to long
+journeys. Did Bellward undertake these trips to fetch news or to
+transmit it? And who was his confederate? Whom did he go to meet?
+Not Mortimer; for he had only, corresponded with Bellward. Nor
+was it Nur-el-Din; for she had never met Bellward, either.
+
+Who was it, then?
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIV. BARBARA TAKES A HAND
+
+"No luck, Mr. Marigold," said the Assistant Provost Marshal, "I'm
+sorry, but there it is! We've made every possible inquiry about
+this Private... er..." he glanced at the buff-colored leave pass
+in his hand, "... this Gunner Barling, but we can't trace him so
+far. He should have gone back to France the afternoon before the
+day on which you found his pass. But he hasn't rejoined his unit.
+He's been posted as an absentee, and the police have been warned.
+I'm afraid we can't do any more than that!"
+
+The detective looked at the officer with mild reproach in his
+eyes.
+
+"Dear, dear," he replied, "and I made sure you'd be able to trace
+him with that pass!"
+
+He clicked his tongue against his teeth and shook his head.
+
+"Dear, dear!" he said again.
+
+"What's the feller been up to?" asked the A.P.M. Detectives have
+a horror of leading questions, and Mr. Marigold shrank visibly
+before the directness of the other's inquiry. Before replying,
+however, he measured the officer with his calm, shrewd eye. Mr.
+Marigold was not above breaking his own rules of etiquette if
+thereby he might gain a useful ally.
+
+"Well, Captain Beardiston," he answered slowly,
+"I'll tell you because I think that you may be able to help me a
+little bit. It's part of your work to look after deserters and
+absentees and those sort o' folk, isn't it?"
+
+The A.P.M. groaned.
+
+"Part of my work?" he repeated, "it seems to be my whole life
+ever since I came back from the front."
+
+"If you want to know what this young fellow has been up to," said
+Mr. Marigold in his even voice, "it's murder, if I'm not
+mistaken!"
+
+"Murder?" echoed the other in surprise. "Why, not the Seven Kings
+murder, surely?"
+
+The detective gave a brisk nod.
+
+"That's it," he replied, "I'm in charge of that case, if you
+follow me. I found that pass in the front garden of the
+Mackwayte's house in Laleham Villas, half trodden into the earth
+of the flower-bed by a heavy boot, a service boot, studded with
+nails. There had been a lot of rain in the night, and it had
+washed the mosaic-tiled pathway up to the front door almost
+clean. When I was having a look round the garden, I picked up
+this pass, and then I spotted the trace of service boots, a bit
+faint, on the beds. You know the way the nails are set in the
+issue boots?"
+
+The officer nodded:
+
+"I ought to know that foot-print," he said. "It's all over the
+roads in northern France."
+
+"We made inquiries through you," the detective resumed, "and when
+I found that this Gunner Barling, the owner of the pass, was
+missing, well, you will admit, it looked a bit suspicious."
+
+"Still, you know," the A.P.M. objected, "this man appears to have
+the most excellent character. He's got a clean sheet; he's never
+gone absent before. And he's been out with his battery almost
+since the beginning of the war."
+
+"I'm not making any charge against him as yet," answered the
+detective, picking up his hat, "but it would interest me very
+much, very much indeed, Captain Beardiston, to have five minutes'
+chat with this gunner. And so I ask you to keep a sharp lookout
+for a man answering to his description, and if you come across
+him, freeze on to him hard, and give me a ring on the telephone."
+
+"Right you are," said the officer, "I'll hold him for you, Mr.
+Marigold. But I hope your suspicions are not well-founded."
+
+For a brief moment the detective became a human being.
+
+"And so do I, if you want to know," he said. "One can forgive
+those lads who are fighting out there almost anything. I've got a
+boy in France myself!"
+
+A little sigh escaped him, and then Mr. Marigold remembered "The
+Yard."
+
+"I'll bid you good-day!" he added in his most official voice and
+took his leave.
+
+He walked down the steps by the Duke of York's column and through
+the Horse Guards into Whitehall, seemingly busy with his own
+thoughts. A sprucely dressed gentleman who was engaged in the
+exciting and lucrative sport of war profiteering turned color and
+hastily swerved out towards the Park as he saw the detective
+crossing the Horse Guards' Parade. He was unpleasantly reminded
+of making the acquaintance of Mr. Marigold over a bucketshop a
+few years ago with the result that he had vanished from the eye
+of his friends for eighteen months. He congratulated himself on
+thinking that Mr. Marigold had not seen him, but he would have
+recognized his mistake could he but have caught sight of the
+detective's face. A little smile flitted across Mr. Marigold's
+lips and he murmured to himself:
+
+"Our old friend is looking very prosperous just now. I wonder
+what he's up to?"
+
+Mr. Marigold didn't miss much.
+
+The detective made his way to the Chief's office. Barbara
+Mackwayte, in a simple black frock with white linen collar and
+cuffs, was at her old place in the ante-room. A week had elapsed
+since the murder, and the day before, Mr. Marigold knew, the
+mortal remains of poor old Mackwayte had been laid to rest. He
+was rather surprised to see the girl back at work so soon.
+
+She did not speak to him as she showed him into the Chief, but
+there was a question lurking in her gray eyes.
+
+Mr. Marigold looked at her and gravely shook his head.
+
+"Nothing fresh," he said.
+
+The Chief was unusually exuberant. Mr. Marigold found him
+surrounded, as was his wont, by papers, and a fearsome collection
+of telephone receivers. He listened in silence to Mr. Marigold's
+account of his failure to trace Barling.
+
+"Marigold," he said, when the other had finished, "we must
+undoubtedly lay hold of this fellow. Let's see now... ah! I have
+it!"
+
+He scribbled a few lines on a writing-pad and tossed it across to
+the detective.
+
+"If your friend's innocent," he chuckled, "that'll fetch him to a
+dead certainty. If he murdered Mackwayte, of course he won't
+respond. Read it out and let's hear how it sounds!"
+
+The Chief leaned back in his chair and lit a cigarette while the
+detective read out:
+
+"If Gunner Barling, etcetera, etcetera, will communicate with
+Messrs. Blank and Blank, solicitors, he will hear of something to
+his advantage. Difficulties with the military can be arranged."
+
+"But I say, sir," objected Mr. Marigold, "the military
+authorities will hardly stand for that last, will they?"
+
+"Won't they, by Jove" retorted the Chief grimly. "They will if I
+tell 'em to. No official soullessness for me; thank you! And now,
+Marigold, just ask Matthews to fill in Barling's regimental
+number and all that and the name and address of the solicitors
+who do this kind of thing for us. And tell him we'll insert the
+ad. daily until further notice in the Mail, Chronicle, Daily
+News, Sketch, Mirror, Evening News..."
+
+"And Star," put in Mr. Marigold who had Radical tendencies.
+
+"The Star, too, by all means. That ought to cover the extent of
+your pal's newspaper reading, I fancy, eh, Marigold! Right!"
+
+He held out a hand in farewell. But Mr. Marigold stood his
+ground. He was rather a slow mover, and there were a lot of
+things he wanted to discuss with the Chief.
+
+"I was very sorry to see poor Major Okewood in the casualty list
+this morning, sir," he said. "I was going to ask you..."
+
+"Ah, terrible, terrible!" said the Chief. Then he added:
+
+"Just tell Miss Mackwayte I want her as you go out, will you?"
+
+The detective was used to surprises but the Chief still bowled
+him out occasionally. Before he knew what he was doing, Mr.
+Marigold found himself in the ante-room doing as he was bid.
+
+As soon as her father's funeral was over; Barbara had insisted on
+returning to work. The whole ghastly business of the murder and
+the inquest that followed seemed to her like a bad dream which
+haunted her day and night. By tacit consent no one in the office
+had made any further allusion, to the tragedy. She had just
+slipped back into her little niche, prompt, punctual, efficient
+as ever.
+
+"No, it's not for the letters," the Chief said to her as she came
+in with her notebook and pencil. "I'm going to give you a little
+trip down to the country this afternoon, Miss Mackwayte... to,
+Essex... the Mill House, Wentfield... you know whom it is you are
+to see, eh? I'm getting a little restless as we've had no reports
+since he arrived there. I had hoped, by this, to have been able
+to put him on the track of Nur-el-Din, but, for the moment, it
+looks as if we had lost the scent. But you can tell our friend
+all we know about the lady's antecedents--what we had from my
+French colleague the other day, you know? Let him have all the
+particulars about this Barling case--you know about that, don't
+you? Good, and, see here, try and find out from our mutual friend
+what he intends doing. I don't want to rush him... don't let him
+think that... but I should rather like to discover whether he has
+formed any plan. And now you get along. There's a good train
+about three which gets you down to Wentfield in just under the
+hour. Take care of yourself! See you in the morning!"
+
+Pressing a bell with one hand and lifting up a telephone receiver
+with the other, the Chief immersed himself again in his work. He
+appeared to have forgotten Miss Mackwayte's very existence.
+
+At a quarter to five that evening, Barbara unlatched the front
+gate of the Mill House and walked up the drive. She had come on
+foot from the station and the exercise had done her good. It had
+been a deliciously soft balmy afternoon, but with the fall of
+dusk a heavy mist had come creeping up from the sodden, low-lying
+fields and was spreading out over the neglected garden of Mr.
+Bellward's villa as Barbara entered the avenue.
+
+The damp gloom of the place, however, depressed her not at all.
+She exulted in the change of scene and the fresh air; besides,
+she knew that the presence of Desmond Okewood would dispel the
+vague fears that had hung over her incessantly ever since her
+father's murder. She had only met him twice, she told herself
+when this thought occurred to her, but there was something
+bracing and dependable about him that was just the tonic she
+wanted.
+
+A porter at the station, who was very intelligent as country
+porters go, had told her the way to the Mill House. The way was
+not easy to find for there were various turns to make but, with
+the aid of such landmarks as an occasional inn, a pond or a barn,
+given her by the friendly porter, Barbara reached her
+destination. Under the porch she pulled the handle of the bell,
+all dank and glistening with moisture, and heard it tinkle loudly
+somewhere within the house.
+
+How lonely the place was, thought Barbara with a little shiver!
+The fog was growing thicker every minute and now seemed suspended
+like a vast curtain between her and the drive. Somewhere in the
+distance she heard the hollow gurgling of a stream. Otherwise,
+there was no sound.
+
+She rang the bell again rather nervously and waited. In her bag
+she had a little torch-light (for she was a practical young
+person), and taking it out, she flashed it on the door. It
+presented a stolid, impenetrable oaken front. She stepped out
+into the fog and scanned the windows which were already almost
+lost to view. They were dark and forbidding.
+
+Again she tugged at the bell. Again, with a groaning of wires,
+responded the hollow tinkle. Then silence fell once more. Barbara
+began to get alarmed. What had happened to Major Okewood? She had
+understood that there was no question of his leaving the house
+until the Chief gave him the word. Where, then, was he? He was
+not the man to disobey an order. Rather than believe that, she
+would think that something untoward had befallen him. Had there
+been foul play here, too?
+
+A sudden panic seized her. She grasped the bell and tugged and
+tugged until she could tug no more. The bell jangled and pealed
+and clattered reverberatingly from the gloomy house, and then,
+with a jarring of wires, relapsed into silence. Barbara beat on
+the door with her hands, for there was no knocker; but all
+remained still within. Only the dank mist swirled in ever denser
+about her as she stood beneath the dripping porch.
+
+"This won't do!" said Barbara, pulling herself together. "I
+mustn't get frightened, whatever I do! Major Okewood is very well
+capable of defending himself. What's happened is that the man has
+been called away and the servants have taken advantage of his
+absence to go out! Barbara, my dear, you'll just have to foot it
+back to the station without your tea!"
+
+She turned her back on the door and torch in hand, plunged
+resolutely into the fog-bank. The mist was bewilderingly thick.
+Still, by going slow and always keeping the gravel under her
+feet, she reached the front gate and turned out on the road.
+
+Here the mist was worse than ever. She had not taken four paces
+before she had lost all sense of her direction. The gate, the
+railways, were gone. She was groping in a clinging pall of fog.
+
+Her torch was worse than useless. It only illuminated swirling
+swathes of mist and confused her, so she switched it out. In vain
+she looked about her, trying to pick up some landmark to guide
+her. There was no light, no tree, no house visible, nothing but
+the dank, ghostly mist.
+
+To some temperaments, Nature has no terrors. Barbara, to whose
+imagination an empty house at dusk had suggested all kinds of
+unimaginable fears, was not in the least frightened by the fog.
+She only hoped devoutly that a motor-car or a trap would not come
+along behind and run her down for she was obliged to keep to the
+road; the hard surface beneath her feet was her only guide.
+
+She smiled over her predicament as she made her way along. She
+frequently found herself going off the road, more than once into
+patches of water, with the result that in a few minutes her feet
+were sopping. Still she forged ahead, with many vain halts to
+reconnoitre while the fog, instead of lifting, seemed to thicken
+with every step she took.
+
+By this time she knew she was completely lost. Coming from the
+station there had been, she remembered, a cross-roads with a
+sign-board set up on a grass patch, about a quarter of a mile
+from the Mill House. She expected every minute to come upon this
+fork; again and again she swerved out to the left from her line
+of march groping for the sign-post with her hands but she never
+encountered it.
+
+Few sounds came to break in upon the oppressive silence of the
+mist. Once or twice Barbara heard a train roaring along in the
+distance and, at one of her halts, her ear caught the high rising
+note of a motor engine a long way off. Except for these
+occasional reminders of the proximity of human beings, she felt
+she must be on a desert island instead of less than two score
+miles from London.
+
+Her wrist watch showed her that she had walked for an hour when
+she heard a dog barking somewhere on the left of the road.
+Presently, she saw a blurred patch of radiance apparently on the
+ground in front of her. So deceptive are lights seen through a
+fog that she was quite taken aback suddenly to come upon a long
+low house with a great beam of light streaming out of the door.
+
+The house was approached by a little bridge across a broad ditch.
+By the bridge stood a tall, massive post upon which a sign
+squeaked softly as it swayed to and fro. The inn was built round
+three sides of a square, the left-hand side being the house
+itself, the centre, the kitchen, and the right-hand side a
+tumble-down stable and some sheds.
+
+The welcome blaze of light coming from the open door was very
+welcome to Barbara after her, long journey through the mist. She
+dragged her wet and weary feet across the little bridge and went
+up to the inn-door.
+
+She stood for a moment at the entrance dazzled by the effect of
+the light on her eyes, which were smarting with the fog. She
+found herself looking into a long, narrow, taproom, smelling of
+stale beer and tobacco fumes, and lit by oil lamps suspended in
+wire frames from the raftered ceiling. The windows were curtained
+in cheerful red rep and the place was pleasantly warmed by a
+stove in one corner. By the stove was a small door apparently
+leading into the bar, for beside it was a window through which
+Barbara caught a glimpse of beer-engines and rows of bottles.
+Opposite the doorway in which she stood was another door leading
+probably to the back of the house. Down the centre of the room
+ran a long table.
+
+The tap-room was empty when Barbara entered but as she sat down
+at the table, the door opposite opened, and a short,
+foreign-looking woman came out. She stepped dead on seeing the
+girl: Her face seemed familiar to Barbara.
+
+"Good evening" said the latter, "I've lost my way in the fog and
+I'm very wet. Do you think I could have my shoes and stockings
+dried and get some tea? I..."
+
+"A moment! I go to tell Meester Rass," said the woman with a very
+marked foreign accent and in a frightened kind of voice and
+slipped out by the way she came.
+
+"Where have I met that woman before?" Barbara asked herself, as
+she crossed to tile stove to get warm. The woman's face seemed to
+be connected in her mind with something unpleasant, something she
+wanted to forget. Then a light dawned on her. Why, it was...
+
+A shrill cry broke in upon her meditations, a harsh scream of
+rage. Barbara turned quickly and saw Nur-el-Din standing in the
+centre of the room. She was transfigured with passion. Her whole
+body quivered, her nostrils were dilated, her eyes flashed fire,
+and she pointed an accusing finger at Barbara.
+
+"Ah! miserable!" she cried in a voice strangled with rage, "ah!
+miserable! Te voile enrol."
+
+A cold chill struck at Barbara's heart. Wherever she went, the
+hideous spectre of the tragedy of her father seemed to follow
+her. And now Nur-el-Din had come to upbraid her with losing the
+treasure she had entrusted to her.
+
+"Nur-el-Din," the girl faltered in a voice broken with tears.
+
+"Where is it I Where is the silver box I gave into your charge?
+Answer me. Mais reponds, donc, canaille!"
+
+The dancer stamped furiously with her foot and advanced
+menacingly on Barbara.
+
+An undersized; yellow-faced man came quickly out of the small
+door leading from the bar and stood an instant, a helpless
+witness of the scene, as men are when women quarrel.
+
+Nur-el-Din rapped out an order to him in a tongue which was
+unknown to Barbara. It sounded something like Russian. The man
+turned and locked the door of the bar, then stepped swiftly
+across the room and bolted the outer door.
+
+Barbara recognized the threat that the action implied and it
+served to steady her nerves. She shrank back no longer but drew
+herself up and waited calmly for the dancer to reach her.
+
+"The box you gave me," said Barbara very quietly, "was stolen
+from me by the person who... who murdered my father!"
+
+Nur-el-Din burst into a peal of malicious laughter.
+
+"And you?" she cried, "you are 'ere to sell it back to me, hein,
+or to get your blood money from your accomplice? Which is it?"
+
+On this Barbara's self-control abandoned her.
+
+"Oh, how dare you! How dare you!" she exclaimed, bursting into
+tears, "when that wretched box you made me take was the means of
+my losing the dearest friend I ever had!"
+
+Nur-el-Din thrust her face, distorted with passion, into
+Barbara's. She spoke in rapid French, in a low, menacing voice.
+
+"Do you think this play-acting will deceive me? Do you think I
+don't know the value of the treasure I was fool enough to entrust
+to your safe keeping? Grand Dieu! I must have been mad not to
+have remembered that no woman could resist the price that they
+were willing to pay for it! And to think what I have risked for
+it! Is all my sacrifice to have been in vain?"
+
+Her voice rose to a note of pleading and the tears started from
+her eyes. Her mood changed. She began to wheedle.
+
+"Come, ma petite, you will help me recover my little box,
+n'est-ce pas? You will find me generous. And I am rich, I have
+great savings. I can..."
+
+Barbara put up her hands and pushed the dancer away from her.
+
+"After what you have said to me to-night," she said, "I wouldn't
+give you back your box even if I had it."
+
+She turned to the man.
+
+"Will you tell me the way to the nearest station" she went on,
+"and kindly open that door!"
+
+The man looked interrogatively at Nur-el-Din who spoke a few
+words rapidly in the language she had used before. Then she cried
+to Barbara:
+
+"You stay here until you tell me what you have done with the
+box!"
+
+Barbara had turned to the dancer when the latter spoke so that
+she did not notice that the man had moved stealthily towards her.
+Before she could struggle or cry out, a hand as big as a spade
+was clapped over her mouth, she was seized in an iron grip and
+half-dragged, half-carried out of the taproom through the small
+door opposite the front entrance.
+
+The door slammed behind them and Barbara found herself in
+darkness. She was pushed round a corner and down a flight of
+stairs into some kind of cellar which smelt of damp straw. Here
+the grip on her mouth was released for a second but before she
+could utter more than a muffled cry the man thrust a handkerchief
+into her mouth and effectually gagged her. Then he tied her hands
+and feet together with some narrow ropes that cut her wrists
+horribly. He seemed to be able to see in the dark for, though the
+place was black as pitch, he worked swiftly and skillfully.
+Barbara felt herself lifted and deposited on a bundle of straw.
+In a little she heard the man's heavy foot-step on the stair,
+there was a crash as of a trap-door falling to, the noise of a
+bolt. Then Barbara fainted.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XV. MR. BELLWARD IS CALLED TO THE TELEPHONE
+
+A knocking at the door of the library aroused Desmond from his
+cogitations. He hastened to replace the volumes of Shakespeare on
+their shelf and restore all to its former appearance. Then he
+went to the door and opened it. Old Martha stood in the hall.
+
+"If you please, sir," she wheezed, "the doctor's come!"
+
+"Oh," said Desmond, rather puzzled, "what doctor?"
+
+"It's not Dr. Haines from the village, Mr. Bellward, sir," said
+the housekeeper, "It's a genel'man from Lunnon!"
+
+Then Desmond remembered Crook's promise to look him up and
+guessed it must be he. He bade Martha show the doctor in and
+bring tea for two.
+
+Desmond's surmise was right. The old woman ushered in Crook,
+looking the very pattern of medical respectability, with Harley
+Street written all over him from the crown of his glossy top-hat
+to the neat brown spats on his feet. In his hand he carried a
+small black bag.
+
+"Well," he said, surveying Desmond, "and how do we find ourselves
+to-day? These chills are nasty things to shake off, my dear sir!"
+
+"Oh, stow that!" growled Desmond, who was in little mood for
+joking.
+
+"Voice inclined to be laryngeal," said Crook putting down his hat
+and bag on a chair, "we shall have to take care of our bronchial
+tubes! We are not so young as we were!"
+
+"You can drop all that mumming, Crook!" snapped Desmond
+irascibly.
+
+"Voice rotten," replied Crook calmly surveying him through his
+pince-nez. "Really, Major--I should say, Mr. Bellward--you must
+take more pains than that. You are talking to me exactly as
+though I were a British Tommy. Tut, tut, this will never do, sir!
+You must talk thicker, more guttural-like, and open the vowels
+well."
+
+He had dropped his jesting manner altogether and spoke with the
+deep earnestness of the expert airing his pet topic. He was so
+serious that Desmond burst out laughing. It must be said,
+however, that he laughed as much like a German as he knew how.
+This appeared to mollify Crook who, nevertheless, read him a long
+lecture against ever, for a moment, even when alone, quitting the
+role he was playing. Desmond took it in good part; for he knew
+the soundness of the other's advice.
+
+Then old Martha brought tea, and over the cups and saucers Crook
+gave Desmond a budget of news. He told of the warrant issued for
+the arrest of Nur-el-Din and of the search being made for her.
+
+Desmond heard the news of Nur-el-Din's disappearance from London
+with some consternation. He began to realize that his failure to
+detain Nur-el-Din that afternoon might have incalculable
+consequences. Sunk in thought, he let Crook run on. He was
+wondering whether he ought to give him a message for the Chief,
+telling him of Nur-el-Din's visit and of her flight on the
+arrival of Mortimer.
+
+Now, Desmond had a good deal of pride, and like most proud
+people, he was inclined to be obstinate. To confess to the Chief
+that he had let both Nur-el-Din and Mortimer slip through his
+fingers was more than he could face. He could not bear to think
+that the Chief might believe him capable of failure, and take
+independent measures to guard against possible mistakes. Also, in
+his heart of hearts, Desmond was angry with the Chief. He thought
+the latter had acted precipitately in getting out a warrant for
+Nur-el-Din's arrest before he, Desmond, had had time to get into
+the skin of his part.
+
+So Desmond heard Crook out and made no comment. When the other
+asked him if he had anything to tell the Chief, he shook his
+head. He was not to know then the consequences which his
+disobedience of orders was destined to have. If he had realized
+what the result of his obstinacy would be, he would not have
+hesitated to send a full report by Crook--and this story might
+never have been written!
+
+But if youth followed reason instead of impulse, the world would
+stand still. Desmond was still at an age at which a man is
+willing to take on anything and anybody, and he was confident of
+bringing his mission to a successful conclusion without any
+extraneous aid. So Crook, after changing Desmond's make-up and
+giving him a further rehearsal of his role, packed up his pots
+and paints and brushes in his black bag and returned to London
+with "nothing to report" as the communiques say.
+
+He repeated his visit every day for the next four days. Crook's
+arrival each afternoon was the only break in the monotony of a
+life which was rapidly becoming unbearable to Desmond's mercurial
+temperament. He found himself looking forward to the wizened
+little man's visits and for want of better employment, he threw
+himself wholeheartedly into the study of his role under the
+expert's able direction. Desmond's beard had sprouted
+wonderfully, and Crook assured him that, by about the end of the
+week, the tow substitute, which Desmond found a most unmitigated
+nuisance, would be no longer necessary. He also showed his pupil
+how to paint in the few deft lines about the eyes which completed
+the resemblance between Bellward and his impersonator.
+
+The time hung terribly heavily on Desmond's hands. He had long
+since memorized and destroyed the list of Mr. Bellward's friends.
+Every morning he spent at least an hour before the mirror in his
+bedroom working up the role. With every day he felt more
+confident of himself; with every day he grew more anxious to go
+to London, and, taking the bull by the horns, boldly visit one of
+Mr. Bellward's acquaintances and test the effect of his disguise.
+
+But no orders came from Headquarters to release him from his
+confinement. Moreover, no word arrived from Nur-el-Din nor did
+Mortimer send any message or call again at the Mill House. The
+silence of the two conspirators made Desmond uneasy. Suppose
+Mortimer, who, he felt sure, had caught him out lying about
+Nur-el-Din's presence in the house at the time of his visit, had
+grown suspicious! What if Nur-el-Din had succeeded in making good
+her escape to the Continent? He had had his chance of laying hold
+of both suspects and he had failed. Would that chance come again?
+
+Desmond doubted it. Every morning he awoke long before the dawn
+and lay awake until daylight, his mind racked by these
+apprehensions. He chafed bitterly at his inaction and he plied
+Crook with questions as to whether he had any orders for him.
+Each time Crook replied in the negative.
+
+In the library Desmond found an Ordnance map of Essex. His
+military training had given him a good schooling in the use of
+maps, and he spent many hours studying the section of the country
+about the Mill House, seeking to impress it upon his mind against
+future emergencies.
+
+He was surprised to find how remote the Mill House lay from other
+habitations. Between it and Wentfield station, once Wentfield
+village was passed, there were only a few lonely farms; but to
+the south there was an absolutely uninhabited tract of fen
+traversed by the road running past the front gate of the Mill
+House. The Mill House was duly marked on the map; with a little
+blue line showing the millrace which Desmond traced to its
+junction with one of the broad dykes intersecting Morstead Fen.
+The only inhabited house to the south of the Bellward villa
+appeared to be a lonely public house situated on the far edge of
+the fen, a couple of hundred yards away from the road. It was
+called "The Dyke Inn."
+
+One afternoon--it was the fifth day after Desmond's arrival at
+Bellward's--Mr. Crook announced that this was to be his last
+visit.
+
+"I go abroad to-night, Mr. Bellward," he said (he always insisted
+on addressing Desmond by his assumed name), "a little job o' work
+in Switzerland; at Berne, to be precise. Urgent, you might call
+it, and really, sir, you've made so much progress that I think I
+can safely leave you. And I was to say that you will be able to
+go out very soon now."
+
+"Good!" exclaimed Desmond, rubbing his hands together. "And you
+think I'll do, Crook, eh?"
+
+Crook rubbed his nose meditatively.
+
+"I'll be quite frank with you, Mr. Bellward," he said: "With a
+superficial acquaintance, even with an intimate friend, if he's
+as unobservant as most people are, you'll pass muster. But I
+shouldn't like to guarantee anything if you were to meet, say,
+Mrs. Bellward, if the gentleman has got a wife, or his mother.
+Keep out of a strong light; don't show your profile more than you
+can help, and remember that a woman is a heap more observant than
+a man.
+
+"That's my advice to you, sir. And now I'll take my leave! You
+won't want that tow beard any more after to-day."
+
+That night Desmond slept well and did not awake until the
+sunshine was streaming in between the Venetian blinds in his
+bedroom. He felt keen and vigorous, and he had an odd feeling
+that something was going to happen to him that day.
+
+It was a delicious morning, the air as balmy as spring. As he
+brushed his hair in front of the window, Desmond saw the peewits
+running about in the sunshine on the fields by the road. He made
+an excellent breakfast and then, lighting a pipe, opened the
+Times which lay folded by his plate.
+
+He turned first, as was his daily habit, to the casualty list.
+There it was! Under the names of the "Killed in Action," he read:
+"Okewood, Major D. J. P.," followed by the name of his regiment.
+It gave him an odd little shock, though he had looked for the
+announcement every day; but the feeling of surprise was quickly
+followed by one of relief. That brief line in the casualty list
+meant the severing of all the old ties until he had hunted down
+his quarry.
+
+Now he was ready to start.
+
+He spent the morning in the garden. Here, for the first time, he
+met Mr. Hill, the odd man, who, on seeing him, became intensely
+busy picking up handfuls of leaves and conveying them to a fire
+which was smouldering in a corner. Desmond essayed to enter into
+conversation with him but the man was so impenetrably deaf that
+Desmond, tiring of bawling, "It's a fine day!" in Mr. Hill's ear,
+left him and strolled over to the shed where the motor-cycle was
+stored. Here he amused himself for more than an hour in taking
+the machine to pieces and putting it together again. He satisfied
+himself that the bike was in working order and filled up the
+tank. He had an idea that this means of conveyance might come in
+useful.
+
+The day was so mild that he lunched by the open window with the
+sunshine casting rainbows on the tablecloth through the
+wine-glasses. He was just finishing his coffee when the
+housekeeper came in and told him he was wanted on the telephone.
+
+Desmond sprang from his chair with alacrity. His marching orders
+at last! he thought, as he hurried across the hall to the
+library.
+
+"Hullo!" he cried as he picked up the receiver.
+
+"Is that Mr. Bellward?" answered a nasal voice.
+
+"Bellward speaking!" said Desmond, wondering who had called him
+up. The voice was a man's but it was not the abrupt clear tones
+of the Chief nor yet Mr. Matthews' careful accents.
+
+"Madame Le Bon wishes to see you!"
+
+Madame Le Bon? thought Desmond. Why, that was the name that
+Nur-el-Din had given him. "I am Madame Le Bon, a Belgian
+refugee," she had said.
+
+"Do you know whom I mean?" the voice continued.
+
+"Certainly," replied Desmond.  "You will come alone. Otherwise,
+Madame will not see you. You understand? If you do not come
+alone, you will waste your time!"
+
+"Where are you speaking from?" Desmond asked.
+
+"If you will turn to the left on leaving your front gate," the
+voice resumed, "and follow the road, a messenger will meet you
+and take you to the lady."
+
+"But..." Desmond began.
+
+"Will you come at once? And alone?" the nasal voice broke in
+sharply.
+
+Desmond took a moment's thought. To go was to disobey orders; not
+to go was to risk losing a second chance of meeting Nur-el-Din.
+To telephone to 700 Stanning for assistance would bring a
+hornets' nest about his ears; yet he might only see the dancer if
+he went alone. He lost no time in making up his mind. The Chief
+must allow him latitude for meeting emergencies of this kind. He
+would go.
+
+"I will come at once," said Desmond.
+
+"Good," said the voice and the communication ceased.
+
+Somewhere aloft there sits a sweet little cherub whose especial
+job is to look after the headstrong. It was doubtless this
+emissary of providence that leant down from his celestial seat
+and whispered in Desmond's ear that it would be delightful to
+walk out across the fen on this sunny afternoon. Desmond was in
+the act of debating whether he would not take the motor-bike, but
+the cherub's winning way clinched it and he plumped for walking.
+
+In the hall he met the housekeeper who told him she wanted to go
+into Stanning to do some shopping that afternoon. Desmond told
+her that he himself was going out and would not be back for tea.
+Then, picking a stout blackthorn out of the hallstand, he strode
+down the drive and out into the road.
+
+It was still beautifully fine, but already the golden sunshine
+was waning and there were little wisps and curls of mist stealing
+low along the fields. Desmond turned to the left, on leaving the
+Mill House, as he was bid and saw the road running like a khaki
+ribbon before him into the misty distance.
+
+Swinging his stick, he strode on rapidly. The road was neglected,
+broken and flinty and very soft. After he had gone about a mile
+it narrowed to pursue its way between two broad ditches lined
+with pollard willows and brimful of brown peaty water. By this
+time he judged, from his recollection of the map, that he must be
+on Morstead Fen. An interminable waste of sodden, emerald green
+fields, intersected by ditches, stretched away on either hand.
+
+He had walked for half an hour when he made out in the distance a
+clump of trees standing apart and seemingly in the middle of the
+fields. Then in the foreground he descried a gate. A figure was
+standing by it.
+
+As he approached the gate he saw it was a small boy. On remarking
+the stranger, the urchin opened the gate and without looking to
+right or left led off down the road towards the clump of trees:
+Desmond followed at his leisure.
+
+As they neared the trees, the low red roof of a house detached
+itself. By this time the sun was sinking in a smear of red across
+a delicately tinted sky. Its dying rays held some glittering
+object high up on the side of the house.
+
+At first Desmond thought it was a window, but presently the light
+went out, kindled again and once more vanished. It was too small
+for a window, Desmond decided, and then, turning the matter over
+in his mind, as observant people are accustomed to do even with
+trifles, he suddenly realized that the light he had seen was the
+reflection of the sun on a telescope or glasses.
+
+They were now within a few hundred yards of the house. The road
+had made a right angle turn to the left, but the diminutive guide
+had quitted it and struck out along a very muddy cart track.
+Shading his eyes, Desmond gazed at the house and presently got a
+glimpse of a figure at a window surveying the road through a pair
+of field glasses. Even as he looked, the figure bobbed down and
+did not reappear.
+
+"They want to be sure I'm alone," thought Desmond, and
+congratulated himself on having had the strength of mind to break
+his orders.
+
+The cart-track led up to a little bridge over a ditch. By the
+bridge stood a tall pole, on the top of which was a blue and gold
+painted sign-board inscribed, "The Dyke Inn by J. Rass." The
+urchin led him across the bridge and up to the door of the inn.
+
+An undersized, yellow-faced man, wearing neither collar nor tie,
+came to the door as they approached. Although of short stature,
+he was immensely broad with singularly long arms. Altogether he
+had something of the figure of a gorilla, Desmond thought on
+looking at him.
+
+The man put a finger up and touched his forelock.
+
+"Madame Le Bon is upstairs waiting for you!" he said in a nasal
+voice which Desmond recognized as that he had heard on the
+telephone. "Please to follow me!"
+
+He led the way across a long low tap-room through a door and past
+the open trap-door of a cellar to a staircase. On the first
+landing, lit by a window looking out on a dreary expanse of fen,
+he halted Desmond.
+
+"That's her room," he said, pointing to a door opposite the head
+of the staircase, half a dozen steps up, and so saying, the
+yellow-faced man walked quickly downstairs and left him. Desmond
+heard his feet echo on the staircase and the door of the tap-room
+slam.
+
+He hesitated a moment. What if this were a trap? Suppose
+Mortimer, growing suspicious, had made use of Nur-el-Din to lure
+him to an ambush in this lonely place? Why the devil hadn't he
+brought a revolver with him?
+
+Then Desmond's Irish blood came to his rescue. He gave his head a
+little shake, took a firm hold of his stick which was a stoutish
+sort of cudgel and striding boldly up to the door indicated,
+tapped.
+
+"Entrez!" said a pretty voice that made Desmond's heart flutter.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVI. THE STAR OF POLAND
+
+The room in which Desmond found Nur-el-Din was obviously the
+parlor of the house. Everything in it spoke of that dreary period
+in art, the middle years of the reign of Victoria the Good. The
+wall-paper, much mildewed in places, was an ugly shade of green
+and there were dusty and faded red curtains at the windows and
+draping the fireplace. Down one side of the room ran a hideous
+mahogany sideboard, almost as big as a railway station buffet,
+with a very dirty tablecloth. The chairs were of mahogany,
+upholstered in worn black horsehair and there were two pairs of
+fly-blown steel engravings of the largest size on the wall. In
+the centre of the apartment stood a small round table, covered
+with a much stained red tablecloth and there was a door in the
+corner.
+
+The dainty beauty of Nur-el-Din made a very forlorn picture amid
+the unmatched savagery of this English interior. The dancer, who
+was wearing the same becoming gray tweed suit in which Desmond
+had last seen her, was sitting sorrowfully at the table when
+Desmond entered. At the sight of him she sprang up and ran to
+meet him with outstretched hands.
+
+"Ah!" she cried, "comme je suis heureuse de vous voir! It is good
+of you to come!"
+
+And then, without any warning, she burst into tears and putting
+her hands on the man's shoulders, hid her head against his chest
+and sobbed bitterly.
+
+Desmond took one of her hands, small and soft and warm, and
+gently disengaged her. His mind was working clearly and rapidly.
+He felt sure of himself, sure of his disguise; if this were an
+exhibition of woman's wiles, it would find him proof; on that he
+was resolved. Yet, dissolved in tears as she was, with her long
+lashes glistening and her mouth twitching pitifully, the dancer
+seemed to touch a chord deep down in his heart.
+
+"Come, come," said Desmond gutturally, with a touch of bonhomie
+in his voice in keeping with his ample girth, "you mustn't give
+way like this, my child! What's amiss? Come, sit down here and
+tell me what's the matter."
+
+He made her resume her seat by the table and pulled up one of the
+horsehair chairs for himself. Nur-el-Din wiped her eyes on a tiny
+lace handkerchief, but continued to sob and shudder at intervals.
+
+"Marie, my maid," she said in French in a broken voice, "joined
+me here to-day. She has told me of this dreadful murder!"
+
+Desmond stiffened to attention. His mind swiftly reverted to the
+last woman he had seen cry, to Barbara Mackwayte discovering the
+loss of the package entrusted to her charge by the woman who sat
+before him.
+
+"What murder?" he asked, striving to banish any trace of interest
+from his voice. He loathed the part he had to play. The dancer's
+distress struck him as genuine.
+
+"The murder of Monsieur Mackwayte," said Nur-el-Din, and her
+tears broke forth anew.
+
+"I have read of this in the newspapers," said Desmond. "I
+remember you told me he was a friend of yours."
+
+Briefly, with many sobs, the dancer told him of the silver box
+which she had entrusted to Barbara Mackwayte's charge.
+
+"And now," she sobbed, "it is lost and all my sacrifice, all my
+precautions, have been in vain!"
+
+"But how?" asked Desmond. "Why should you think this box should
+have been taken? From what I remember reading of this case in the
+English newspapers there was a burglary at the house, but the
+thief has been arrested and the property restored. You have only
+to ask this Miss--what was the name? ah! yes, Mackwayte for your
+box and she will restore it!"
+
+"No, no!" Nur-el-Din answered wearily, "you don't understand.
+This was no burglary. The man who murdered Monsieur Arthur
+murdered him to get my silver box."
+
+"But," objected Desmond, "a silver box! What value has a trifling
+object like that? My dear young lady, murder is not done for a
+silver box!"
+
+"No, no," Nur-el-Din repeated, "you don't understand! You don't
+know what that box contained!"
+
+Then she relapsed into silence, plucking idly at the shred of
+cambric she held between her fingers.
+
+Already dusk was falling and the room was full of shadows. The
+golden radiance of the afternoon had died and eerie wraiths of
+fog were peering-in at the window.
+
+Desmond held his peace. He felt he was on the threshold of a
+confession that might rend the veil of mystery surrounding the
+murder at Seven Kings. He stared fixedly at the ugly red
+tablecloth, conscious that the big eyes of the girl were
+searching his face.
+
+"You have honest eyes," she said presently. "I told you that once
+before... that night we met at your house... do you remember?
+Your eyes are English. But you are a German, hein?"
+
+"My mother was Irish," said Desmond and felt a momentary relief
+that, for once, he had been able to speak the truth.
+
+"I want a friend," the girl resumed wearily, "someone that I can
+trust. But I look around and I find no one. You serve the German
+Empire, do you not?"
+
+Desmond bowed.
+
+"But not the House of Hohenzollern?" the girl cried, her voice
+trembling with passion.
+
+"I am not of the Emperor's personal service, if that is what you
+mean, madame," Desmond returned coldly.
+
+"Then, since you are not altogether an iron Prussian," Nur-el-Din
+resumed eagerly, "you can differentiate. You can understand that
+there is a difference between working for the cause of Germany
+and for the personal business of her princes."
+
+"But certainly," answered Desmond, "I am not an errand boy nor
+yet a detective. I regard myself as a German officer doing his
+duty on the front. We have many fronts besides the Western and
+the Eastern. England is one.
+
+"Ah," exclaimed the girl, clasping her hands together and looking
+at him with enraptured eyes, "I see you understand! My friend, I
+am much tempted to make a confidant of you!"
+
+Desmond looked at her but did not speak. Again he felt that
+silence was now his only role. He tried hard to fix his mind on
+his duty; but the man in him was occupied with the woman who
+looked so appealingly at him.
+
+"... but if I do," the girl went on and her voice was hurried and
+anxious, "you must swear to me that you will respect my
+confidence, that you will not betray me to the others and that
+you will, if need be, protect me."
+
+Seeing that Desmond remained silent, she hastened to add:
+
+"Believe me, what I ask you to do is not in opposition to your
+duty. My friend, for all my surroundings, I am not what I seem.
+Fate has drawn me into the system of which you form part; but,
+believe me, I know nothing of the service to which you and
+Mortimer and the rest belong!"
+
+She spoke with painful earnestness and in a tone so mournful that
+Desmond felt himself profoundly moved. "If only she is not
+acting!" he thought, and sought to shake himself free from the
+spell which this girl seemed able to cast about him at will.
+
+"Promise me that you will respect my confidence and help me!" she
+said and held out her hand.
+
+Desmond's big hand closed about hers and he felt an odd thrill of
+sympathy with her as their hands met.
+
+"I promise!" he said and murmured to himself something very like
+a prayer that he might not be called upon to redeem his word.
+
+She let her eyes rest for a moment on his.
+
+"Be careful!" she urged warningly, while the ghost of a smile
+flitted across her face. "Very soon I may call upon you to make
+good your words!"
+
+"I promise!" he repeated--and his eyes never left hers.
+
+"Then," she cried passionately, "find out who has stolen for the
+Crown Prince the Star of Poland at the price of the life of a
+harmless old man!"
+
+"The Star of Poland!" repeated Desmond. "What is the Star of
+Poland?"
+
+The girl drew herself up proudly and there was a certain dignity
+about her manner as she answered.
+
+"I am a Pole," she said, "and to us Poles, the Star of Poland has
+stood for centuries as a pledge of the restoration of our
+long-lost kingdom. It was the principal jewel of the Polish
+Coronation sword which vanished many hundreds of years ago--in
+the thirteenth century, one of my compatriots once told me--and
+it was one of the most treasured national possessions in the
+Chateau of our great king, John Sobieski at Villanoff, outside
+Warsaw. My friend, I am not religious, and since my childhood I
+have renounced the ancient faith of my fathers, but, when I think
+of the extraordinary chain of circumstances by which this
+treasure came into my possession, I almost believe that God has
+chosen me to restore this gem to the King of an independent
+Poland.
+
+"Four years ago I was in the United States, a very humble dancer
+in vaudeville of the third or fourth class. When I was appearing
+at Columbus, Ohio, I met a German, a man who had been an officer
+in the Prussian Guard but had come to grief and had been forced
+to emigrate.
+
+"This man's name was Hans von Schornbeek. Like so many German
+officers who go to America, in his time he had been
+everything--waiter, lift-man, engine-driver and heaven knows what
+else, but when I met him he was apparently well-off. It was only
+later on that I knew he was one of your principal secret agents
+in America.
+
+"He praised my talents highly and offered to furnish the capital
+to start me as an Oriental dancer with a large company of my own.
+There was only one condition attaching to his offer, a condition,
+ma foi! which was not disagreeable to me. It was that, after six
+months tour in the States and Canada, I should go to Brussels and
+settle down there in a house that Herr von Schornbeek would
+present me with.
+
+"Mon ami, in those days, I understood nothing at all of
+diplomacy. I knew only that I was often hungry and that I had a
+little talent which, were it given a chance, might keep me from
+want. Herr von Schornbeek fulfilled his promises to me. I had my
+company, I did my tour of America and Canada with great success
+and finally I came to Europe and made my debut at Brussels.
+
+"I knew Brussels already from the old days. As a half-starved,
+unhappy child with a troupe of acrobats, I had often appeared
+there. But now I came to Brussels as a conqueror. A beautiful
+villa in the suburb of Laeken was ready to receive me and I found
+that a large credit had been opened in my name at one of the
+principal banks so that I could keep open house.
+
+"I think I scarcely realized then the role that I was destined to
+fill by the German Secret Service. In all my life before, I had
+never been happy, I had never ceased to struggle for my bare
+existence, I had never had pretty clothes to wear, and motor-cars
+and servants of my own."
+
+She paused and glanced around her. The room was almost dark; the
+fog outside hung like a veil before the window.
+
+"Light the lamp!" she begged, "I do not like the dark!"
+
+Desmond struck a match and kindled an oil lamp, which stood on
+the sideboard.
+
+"Ah! my friend," the girl resumed. "I took my fill of life with
+both hands. The year was 1913. Now I know that I was one of the
+German agents for the penetration of Belgium in preparation of
+what was coming. My mission was to make friends among the
+Belgians and the French and the cosmopolitan society of Brussels
+generally, and invite them to my house where your people were
+waiting to deal with them.
+
+"My pretty villa became the rendezvous for half the rascals of
+Europe, men and women, who used to meet there with all kinds of
+mysterious Germans. Sometimes there was a scandal. Once a Belgian
+Colonel was found shot in the billiard-room; they said it was
+suicide and the thing was hushed up, but dame! now that I know
+what I know...
+
+"Enfin! I shut my eyes to it all... it was none of my business...
+and I revelled in my robes, my dancing, my new life of luxury!
+
+"And then the war came. I was at Laeken, resting after a visit to
+Rome. There was a lot of talk about the war amongst the people
+who came to my house, but I did not see how it could affect me,
+an artiste, and I never read the newspapers. My German friends
+assured me that, in a little while, the German army would be at
+Brussels; that, if I remained quietly at home, all would be well.
+They were very elated and confident, these German friends of
+mine. And rightly; for within a few weeks the Germans entered the
+city and a General quartered himself in my villa. It was he who
+brought the Crown Prince to see me.
+
+"Mon cher, you know this young man and his reputation. I am not
+excusing myself; but all my life had been spent up to then in the
+bas-fonds of society. I had never known what it was to be courted
+and admired by one who had the world at his feet. Parbleu! one
+does not meet a future Emperor every day!
+
+"Enfin! the Prince carried me with him back to Metz, where he had
+his headquarters. He was very epris with me, but you know his
+temperament! No woman can hold him for more than a few weeks,
+vain and weak and arrogant as he is. But pardon! I was forgetting
+that you are a good German. I fear I offend your
+susceptibilities..."
+
+Desmond laughed drily.
+
+"Madame," he said, "I hope I have preserved sufficient liberty of
+judgment to have formed my own opinion about our future
+sovereign. Most Germans have..."
+
+"Alors," she broke in fiercely, her voice shaking with passion,
+"you know what an ignoble canaille is this young man, without
+even enough decency of feeling to respect the troops of whom he
+has demanded such bloody sacrifices. At Metz we were near enough
+to the fighting to realize the blood and tears of this war. But
+the Prince thought of nothing, but his own amusement. To live as
+he did, within sound of the guns, with parties every night, women
+and dancing and roulette and champagne suppers--bah! c'etait trop
+fort! It awakened in me the love of country which lies dormant in
+all of us. I wanted to help my country, lest I might sink as low
+as he..."
+
+"One day the Prince brought a young officer friend of his to dine
+with me. This officer had come from the Eastern front and had
+been present at the capture of Warsaw. After dinner he took a
+leather case out of his pocket and said to the Prince: 'I have
+brought your Imperial Highness a little souvenir from Poland!' As
+he spoke he touched a spring and the case flew open, displaying
+an enormous diamond, nearly as big as the great Orloff diamond
+which I have seen at Petrograd, surrounded by five other
+brilliants, the whole set like a star.
+
+"'The Star of Poland,' said the young officer (the Prince called
+him 'Erich;' I never heard his full name), 'it comes from the
+long-lost Coronation sword of the Polish kings. I took it for
+your Imperial Highness from the Chateau of John Sobieski at
+Villanoff.
+
+"I could not take my eyes off the gem. As the Prince held it down
+under the lamp to study it, it shone like an electric light. I
+had met many of my fellow countrymen in America and I had often
+heard of this jewel, famous in our unhappy history.
+
+"The Prince, who was gay with champagne, laughed and said:
+
+"'These lousy Poles will have no further use for this pretty
+trinket, thanks to our stout German blows, will they, Erich?'
+
+"And his friend replied:
+
+"'We'll give them a nice new German constitution instead, your
+Imperial Highness!'
+
+"The Prince, as I have said, was very merry that night. He let me
+take the jewel from its case and hold it in my hands. Then I
+fastened it in my hair before the mirror and turned to show
+myself to the Prince and his companion.
+
+"'Donnerwetter! said Willie. 'It looks wonderful in your hair,
+Marcelle!'
+
+"Then, as if struck by a sudden thought, he cried:
+
+"'Erich! What do you say, Marcelle is a Pole. She shall have the
+Star of Poland and wear it in memory of me!'
+
+"The other thought this a famous idea, and so the jewel passed
+into my hands. That same evening I resolved that it should be a
+sacred duty on my part to keep it in safety until I could hand it
+back to the lawful sovereign of an independent Poland.
+
+"I was very unhappy at Metz until the Star of Poland came to
+comfort me. When I was alone, I used to take it from its case and
+feast my eyes upon it. I made many attempts to get away, but the
+Prince would never let me go, though he had long since tired of
+me and I was merely one of his harem of women. Pfui!"
+
+She gave an exclamation of disgust.
+
+"It was the Crown Princess who eventually came to my rescue," she
+continued. "Long-suffering wife as she is, the stories that came
+to her ears from Metz were such that she went to the Emperor and
+declared that she would insist upon a divorce. There was a great
+scandal. The Prince's headquarters were moved and at length I got
+my release.
+
+"I had no money. This was a detail which the Prince overlooked.
+But I wanted to resume my stage work, so, with great difficulty,
+through the influence of the Prince, I obtained a passport to
+Holland and from there got across to England.
+
+"I had hoped to turn my back once and for all on my connection
+with the Prince. But your German Secret Service had been warned
+about me. The Imperial Authorities were obviously afraid that I
+might tell tales out of school. Scarcely had I arrived in London
+when a man who called himself Bryan Mowbury, but who looked and
+spoke like a German, came to see me and said he had been
+instructed to 'look after me.' What that meant, I was soon to
+discover. In a very few days I found that I was under the
+supervision of your Secret Service here. In fact, Mowbury gave me
+to understand that any indiscretion on my part as to my stay at
+Metz would result in my immediate denunciation to the English
+police as a spy.
+
+"My friend, I had no alternative. I am not German; I am not
+English; I am a Pole. I have good friends in Germany, I have good
+friends in England, and their quarrels are not mine. I held my
+peace about the past and submitted to the incessant watch which
+Mowbury and his friends kept on my movements.
+
+"And then one day I had a letter. It was from Count Plettenbach,
+the Crown Prince's aide-de-camp, as I knew by the hand-writing,
+for it was signed with an assumed name. In this letter the Count,
+'on behalf of a mutual friend,' as he put it, requested me to
+hand back to a certain Mr. Mortimer, his accredited
+representative, 'Erich's present.' There were cogent reasons, it
+was added, for this unusual request.
+
+"I sent no reply to that letter, although an address in
+Switzerland was given to which an answer might be despatched. I
+was resolved, come what may, not to part with the Star of Poland.
+When Mortimer came, five days later, I told him the jewel was not
+mine to hand over, that it was part of the regalia of Poland and
+that I would never give it up.
+
+"Mortimer replied that the German and Austrian Governments had
+decided to restore the independence of Poland, that probably an
+Austrian Archduke would be made king and that it was essential
+that the Star of Poland should be restored in order to include it
+in the regalia for the Coronation. But I knew what this
+Austro-German kingdom of Poland was to be, a serf state with not
+a shadow of that liberty for which every Pole is longing. Since I
+have been in England, I have kept in touch with the Polish
+political organizations in this country. Rass, as he calls
+himself, the landlord of this inn, is one of the most prominent
+of the Polish leaders in England.
+
+"Mortimer reasoned with me in vain and finally went away
+empty-handed. But he did not abandon hope. Four successive
+attempts were made to get the jewel away from me. Twice my
+apartments at the Nineveh Hotel were rifled; once my
+dressing-room at the theatre was entered and searched whilst I
+was on the stage. But I wore the jewel day and night in a little
+bag suspended by a chain from my neck and they never got it from
+me.
+
+"Two days before I came down to your house--it was the day before
+the murder--I was hustled by a group of men as I came out of the
+theatre. Fortunately the stage-door keeper came up unexpectedly
+and the men made off. But the encounter frightened me, and I
+resolved to break my contract with the Palaceum and bury myself
+down here in the country.
+
+"But somehow Mortimer learnt of my intention. The next night--it
+was the night of the murder--he came to the theatre and warned me
+against trying to elude his vigilance by flight. I have never
+forgotten his words.
+
+"'I can afford to wait,' he said, 'for I shall get what I want: I
+always do. But you have chosen to set yourself against me and you
+will bitterly repent it!"
+
+As though the recollection proved too much for her, Nur-el-Din
+broke off her narrative and covered her face with her hands.
+
+"And do you think that Mortimer did this murder?" asked Desmond
+gently.
+
+Wearily the girl raised her head.
+
+"Either he or one of his accomplices, of whom this girl is one!"
+she answered.
+
+"But why not have put the jewel in a bank or one of the safe
+deposits? Surely it was risky to have entrusted it to a girl of
+whom you knew nothing?"
+
+"My friend,", said the dancer, "I was desperate. Mortimer sees
+and knows all. This unexpected meeting with the daughter of my
+old friend seemed at the moment like a heaven-sent chance to
+place the jewel, unknown to him, in safe hands. I felt that as
+long as I carried it on me, my life was in constant danger. It
+was only to-day, when I heard of the murder, that it dawned on me
+how indiscreet I had been. I might have guessed, since Miss
+Mackwayte knew Mortimer--"
+
+"Miss Mackwayte knows Mortimer?" echoed Desmond in stupefaction.
+
+"But certainly," replied Nur-el-Din. "Was it not I myself--" She
+broke off suddenly with terror in her eyes.
+
+"Ah, no!" she whispered. "It is enough. Already I have said too
+much..."
+
+Desmond was about to speak when the door opened and a
+foreign-looking maid, whom Desmond remembered to have seen in the
+dancer's dressing-room, came in. She went swiftly to her mistress
+and whispered something in her ear.
+
+The dancer sprang to her feet.
+
+"A little moment... you will excuse me..." she cried to Desmond
+and ran from the room. The maid followed her, leaving Desmond
+alone.
+
+Presently, the sound of Nur-el-Din's voice raised high in anger
+struck on his ears. He stole softly to the door and opened it.
+Before him lay the staircase deserted. He tiptoed down the stairs
+to the first landing and listened. The murmur of voices reached
+him indistinctly from the room below. Then he heard Nur-el-Din
+crying out again in anger.
+
+He craned his ear over the well of the staircase, turning his
+face to the window which stood on the landing. The window gave on
+a small yard with a gate over which a lamp was suspended and
+beyond it the fen now swathed in fog. The dancer's maid stood
+beneath the lamp in earnest conversation with a man in rough
+shooting clothes who held a gun under his arm. As Desmond looked
+the man turned his head so that the rays of the lamp fell full
+upon his face. To his unspeakable consternation and amazement,
+Desmond recognized Strangwise.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVII. MR. BELLWARD ARRANGES A BRIDGE EVENING
+
+Oblivious of the voices in the room below, Desmond stood with his
+face pressed against the glass of the window. Was Strangwise
+staying at "The Dyke Inn"? Nothing was more probable; for the
+latter had told him that he was going to spend his leave shooting
+in Essex, and Morstead Fen must abound in snipe and duck.
+
+But he and Strangwise must not meet. Desmond was chary of
+submitting his disguise to the other's keen, shrewd eyes.
+Strangwise knew Nur-el-Din: indeed, the dancer might have come to
+the inn to be with him. If he recognized Desmond and imparted his
+suspicions to the dancer, the game world be up; on the other
+hand, Desmond could not take him aside and disclose his identity;
+for that would be breaking faith with the Chief. There was
+nothing for it, he decided, but flight.
+
+Yet how could he get away unobserved? There was no exit from the
+staircase by the door into the tap-room where Nur-el-Din was, and
+to go through the tap-room was to risk coming face to face with
+Strangwise.
+
+So Desmond remained where he was by the window and watched.
+Presently, the woman turned and began to cross the yard,
+Strangwise, carrying his gun, following her. Desmond waited until
+he heard a door open somewhere below and then he acted.
+
+Beside the window ran an old lead water-pipe which drained the
+roof above his head. On a level with the sill of the landing
+below, this pipe took a sharp turn to the left and ran diagonally
+down to a tall covered-in water-butt that stood on the flat roof
+of an outhouse in the little yard.
+
+Desmond raised the window very gently and tested the pipe with
+his hand. It seemed rather insecure and shook under his pressure.
+With his eye he measured the distance from the sill to the pipe;
+it was about four feet. Desmond reckoned that, if the pipe would
+hold, by getting out of the window and hanging on to the sill, he
+might, by a pendulum-like motion, gain sufficient impulse to
+swing his legs across the diagonally-running pipe, then transfer
+his hands and so slide down to the outhouse roof.
+
+He wasted no time in debating the chances of the pipe collapsing
+under his weight. All his life it had been his practice to take a
+risk, for such is the Irish temperament--if the object to be
+attained in any way justified it; and he was determined to avoid
+at all costs the chance of a meeting with Strangwise. The latter
+had probably read the name of Okewood in that morning's casualty
+list, but Desmond felt more than ever that he distrusted the man,
+and his continued presence in the neighborhood of Nur-el-Din
+gravely preoccupied him.
+
+He stood a moment by the open window and listened. The murmur of
+voices went on in the taproom, but from another part of the house
+he heard a deep laugh and knew it to be Strangwise's. Trusting to
+Providence that the roof of the outhouse would be out of sight of
+the yard door, Desmond swung his right leg over the window-sill
+and followed it with the other, turning his back on the yard. The
+next moment he was dangling over the side of the house.
+
+Then from the yard below he heard Strangwise call:
+
+"Rufus! Rufus!"
+
+A heavy footstep sounded on the flags. Desmond remained perfectly
+still. The strain on his arms was tremendous. If Strangwise
+should go as far as the gate, so as to get clear of the yard, he
+must infallibly see that figure clinging to the window-sill.
+
+"Where the devil is that doggy" said Strangwise. Then he
+whistled, and called again:
+
+"Rufus! Rufus!"
+
+Desmond made a supreme effort to support the strain on his
+muscles. The veins stood out at his temples and he felt the blood
+singing in his ears. Another minute and he knew he must drop. He
+no longer had the power to swing himself up to the window ledge
+again.
+
+A bark rang out in the courtyard, followed by the patter of feet.
+Desmond heard Strangwise speak to the dog and reenter the house.
+Then silence fell again. With a tremendous effort Desmond swung
+his legs athwart the pipe, gripped it with his right hand, then
+his left, and very gently commenced to let himself down. The pipe
+quivered beneath his weight, but it held fast and in a minute he
+was standing on the roof of the outhouse, cautiously peering
+through the dank fog that hung about the yard.
+
+Screening himself from view behind the tall waterbutt, he
+reconnoitred the back of the inn. The upper part of the house was
+shrouded in darkness, but a broad beam of light from a half-open
+door and a tall window on the ground floor cleft the pall of fog.
+The window showed a snug little bar with Strangwise standing by
+the counter, a glass in his hand. As Desmond watched him, he
+heard a muffled scream from somewhere within the house.
+Strangwise heard it too, for Desmond saw him put his glass down
+on the bar and raise his head sharply. There followed a dull
+crash from the interior of the inn and the next moment the
+yellow-faced man, whom Desmond judged to be Rass, stepped into
+the circle of light inside the window. He said something to
+Strangwise with thumb jerked behind him, whereupon the latter
+clapped him, as though in approval, on the shoulder, and both
+hurried out together.
+
+Puzzled though he was by the scene he had just witnessed, Desmond
+did not dare to tarry longer. The roof of the outhouse was only
+some ten feet from the ground, an easy drop. He let himself
+noiselessly down and landing on his feet without mishap, darted
+out of the yard gate. As he did so, he heard the inn door open
+and Strangwise's voice cry out:
+
+"Who's that?"
+
+But Desmond heeded not. He dashed out upon the fen. Before he had
+gone a dozen paces the fog had swallowed up inn and all. Out of
+the white pall behind him he heard confused shouts as he skirted
+swiftly round the house and reached the road.
+
+Once he had gained the freedom of the highway; Desmond breathed
+again. The dense fog that enveloped him, the hard road beneath
+his feet, gave him a sense of security that he had missed as long
+as he was in the atmosphere of that lonely, sinister place. He
+struck out at a good pace for home, intent upon one thing,
+namely, to send an immediate summons for help to surround the
+Dyke Inn and all within it. Nur-el-Din, it was clear, whether a
+spy or no (and Desmond believed her story), was the only person
+who could throw any light on the mysterious circumstances
+surrounding old Mackwayte's murder. Besides, her arrest would
+safeguard her against further machinations on the part of
+Mortimer, though Desmond suspected that the latter, now that he
+had secured the jewel, would leave the dancer in peace. As for
+Strangwise, it would be for him to explain as best he could his
+continued association with a woman for whose arrest a warrant had
+been issued.
+
+Desmond let himself in with his key. The housekeeper had returned
+and was laying the dinner-table. In the library the curtains were
+drawn and a fire burned brightly in the grate. The room looked
+very snug and cosy by contrast with the raw weather outside.
+
+Desmond shut and locked the door and then went to the telephone
+at the desk. "Ring up 700 Stanning"--he repeated his instructions
+to himself "and ask for Mr. Elias. Assistance'll be with you
+within fifteen minutes afterwards."
+
+By the clock on the mantelpiece it was a quarter to seven. If aid
+arrived promptly, with a car they could be at the Dyke Inn by a
+quarter past seven.
+
+The telephone gave no sign of life. Desmond impatiently jerked
+the receiver hook up and down. This time, at least, he would not
+fail, he told himself. Before he went to bed that night
+Nur-el-Din, her maid, Rass, and if needs be, Strangwise (who
+needed a lesson to teach him discretion), should be in custody.
+
+Still no reply.
+
+"Hullo! Hullo!" cried Desmond, depressing the hook repeatedly.
+"Hullo, Exchange!"
+
+But there was no answer. Then it struck Desmond that the line was
+dead: his ear detected none of that busy whirr which is heard in
+the telephone when one is waiting to get a number.
+
+He spent five minutes in vain attempts to obtain a reply, then
+abandoned the endeavor in disgust.
+
+"I shall have to take the motor-bike and go over to Stunning," he
+said to himself, "how I shall find my way there in this fog, the
+Lord only knows! And I don't know whom to apply to when I get
+there. The police-station, I suppose!"
+
+He unlocked the door and rang for Martha.
+
+"I have to go over to Stunning, Martha," he said, "I will try and
+be back for dinner at eight!"
+
+He had no intention of accompanying the party to the Dyke Inn. He
+must preserve his incognito until Mortimer, the main quarry, had
+been run down.
+
+He filled his case from the box of cigarettes on the table and
+thrust a box of matches into his pocket to light his head-lamp.
+Then, taking a cap from the hat-stand, he opened the front door.
+Even as he did so a big open car slowed down throbbing outside
+the porch. A man sprang out and advanced into the light streaming
+from the front door into the eddying mist. It was Mortimer.
+
+"Fortune," thought Desmond, "has broken her rule. She has given
+me a second chance!"
+
+"Well met, Bellward!" cried Mortimer, blinking at the other
+through his thick glasses. "Tut, tut! What a night! You were
+never going out, I swear."
+
+Already Desmond had decided in his mind the course of action he
+would pursue. For the moment he must let the party at the Dyke
+Inn slide in favor of the bigger catch. He must slip away later
+and have another try at the telephone and if it were still out of
+order, he must endeavor to overpower Mortimer and then go for
+assistance himself. On a night like this it was useless to think
+of employing a half-blind old dolt like Martha to take a message.
+As for the odd man, he lived at Wakefield, and went away at dusk
+every evening.
+
+So Desmond muttered some plausible lie about wanting to have a
+look at the weather and cordially invited Mortimer in.
+
+"You will stay for dinner" he said.
+
+"Gladly," replied the other, sinking with aunt into the settee.
+"And I should be glad if we might dine early."
+
+Desmond raised his eyebrows.
+
+"... Because," Mortimer resumed, "I have ventured to ask a few
+friends round here to... to have an evening at bridge. Doubtless,
+you have cards, eh?"
+
+Desmond pointed to a card-table standing in the corner with
+several packs of cards and markers. Then he rang and told the
+housekeeper that they would dine as soon as possible.
+
+"The coming fortnight," said Mortimer, tucking his napkin into
+his collar as they sat at the dinner table, "is pregnant with
+great events. No less than ten divisions are, I understand, to be
+transferred to the other side. I have waited to communicate with
+you until I had confirmation of this report. But now that the
+matter has been decided, it only remains for us to perfect our
+arrangements for communicating these plans to our friends beyond
+the North Sea. Therefore, I thought a friendly bridge evening at
+the hospitable home of our dear colleague Bellward would be in
+place."
+
+He smiled affably and bent over his soup-plate.
+
+"I shall be delighted to receive our friends," Desmond replied,
+"a glass of sherry?"
+
+"Thank you," said Mortimer.
+
+"I shall have to provide a few refreshments," said Desmond. "May
+I ask how many guests I may expect?"
+
+Mortimer reckoned on his fingers.
+
+"Let's see," he answered, "there's Max, that's one, and Madame
+Malplaquet, that's two. No. 13 and Behrend makes four and myself,
+five!"
+
+"And Madame Nur-el-Din?" queried Desmond innocently, but inwardly
+quaking at his rashness.
+
+Mortimer genially shook a finger at him.
+
+"Sly dog!" he chuckled, "you're one too many for me in that
+quarter, I see! I know all about your tete-a-tete with our
+charming young friend this afternoon!"
+
+Desmond felt the blood rush to his face. He thought of
+Nur-el-Din's words: "Mortimer sees and knows all." He picked up
+his sherry glass and drained it to cover his confusion.
+
+"... It was hardly gallant of you to bolt so suddenly and leave
+the lady!" Mortimer added.
+
+How much did this uncanny creature know?
+
+Without waiting for him to reply, Mortimer went on.
+
+"I suppose she told you a long story of my persecution, eh,
+Bellward? You needn't shake your head. I taxed her with it and
+she admitted as much."
+
+"I had no idea that you were staying at the Dyke Inn!" said
+Desmond at a venture.
+
+"My friend," replied Mortimer, lowering his voice, "your fair
+charmer is showing a decided inclination to make a nuisance of
+herself. I have had to keep an eye on her. It's been a very
+serious inconvenience to my plans, I can assure you. But you
+haven't answered my question. What sent you away in such a hurry
+this afternoon? and in so romantic a fashion? By the window, was
+it not?"
+
+Through sheer apprehension, Desmond was now keyed up to a kind of
+desperate audacity. The truth is sometimes a very effective
+weapon in the game of bluff, and Desmond determined to employ it.
+
+"I saw someone I didn't want to meet," he replied.
+
+"Ah!" said Mortimer, "who was that, I wonder? The Dyke Inn could
+hardly be described as a frequented resort, I imagine!"
+
+The entry of old Martha to change the plates prevented Desmond
+from replying. He used the brief respite to review the situation.
+He would tell Mortimer the truth. They were man to man now and he
+cared nothing even if the other should discover the fraud that
+had been practised upon him. Come what might, Mortimer, dead or
+alive, should be delivered up to justice that night.
+
+The housekeeper left the room and Desmond spoke.
+
+"I saw an officer I knew in the courtyard," he said.
+
+"Oh, Strangwise, I suppose!" said Mortimer carelessly. "There's
+nothing to fear from him, Bellward. He's of the beef and beer and
+no brains stamp of British officer. But how do you know
+Strangwise?"
+
+"I met him at the Nineveh Hotel in town one night," replied
+Desmond. "I don't care about meeting officers, however, and
+that's a fact!"
+
+Mortimer looked at him keenly for a brief instant. "What
+prudence!" he cried. "Bellward, you are the very model of what a
+secret agent should be! This pheasant is delicious!"
+
+He turned the conversation into a different channel but Desmond
+could not forget that brief searching look. His mind was in a
+turmoil of half-digested facts, of semi-completed deductions. He
+wanted to go away somewhere alone and think out this mystery and
+disentangle each separate web of this baffling skein of intrigue.
+
+He must focus his attention on Mortimer and Nur-el-Din. If
+Mortimer and Strangwise were both staying at the Dyke Inn, then
+they were probably acquainted. Strangwise knew Nur-el-Din, too,
+knew her well; for Desmond remembered how familiarly they had
+conversed together that night in the dancer's dressing-room at
+the Palaceum. Strangwise knew Barbara Mackwayte also. Nur-el-Din
+had introduced them, Desmond remembered, on that fateful night
+when he had accompanied Strangwise to the Palaceum. Strange, how
+he was beginning to encounter the man Strangwise at every turn in
+this sinister affair.
+
+And then, with a shock that struck him like a blow in the face,
+Desmond recalled Barbara's parting words to him in the taxi. He
+remembered how she had told him of seeing Nur-el-Din's face in
+the mirror as the dancer was talking to Strangwise that night at
+the Palaceum, and of the look of terror in the girl's eyes.
+Nur-el-Din was terrified of Mortimer; for so much she had
+admitted to Desmond that very afternoon; she was terrified of
+Strangwise, too, it seemed, of this Strangwise who, like
+Mortimer, kept appearing at every stage of this bewildering
+affair. What confession had been on Nur-el-Din's lips when she
+had broken off that afternoon with the cry:
+
+"Already I have said too much!"
+
+Thereafter Desmond's eyes were never long absent from Mortimer's
+face, scrutinizing each feature in turn, the eyes, set rather
+close together, grotesquely shielded by the thick spectacles, the
+narrow cheeks, the rather cynical mouth half hidden by the heavy,
+drooping moustache, the broad forehead broken by a long lock of
+dark hair brushed out flat in a downward direction from an
+untidy, unkempt crop.
+
+They talked no more of Strangwise or of Nur-el-Din. The rest of
+dinner was passed in conversation of a general order in which Mr.
+Mortimer showed himself to great advantage. He appeared to be a
+widely traveled, well-read man, with a fund of dry, often rather
+grim humor. And all the time Desmond watched, watched,
+unobtrusively but unceasingly, looking out for something he was
+confident of detecting through the suave, immobile mask of this
+brilliant conversationalist.
+
+Skillfully, almost imperceptibly, Desmond edged the talk on to
+the war. In this domain, too, Mortimer showed himself a man of
+broad views, of big, comprehensive ideas. Towards the strategy
+and tactics of the two sides, he adopted the attitude of an
+impartial onlooker, but in his comments he proved himself to have
+a thorough grasp of the military situation. He talked freely and
+ably of such things as tanks, the limited objective in the attack
+and the decentralization of responsibility in the field.
+
+Encouraged by his volubility, for he was a man who delighted in
+conversation, Desmond gradually gave the talk a personal turn.
+But willing as Mortimer showed himself to discuss the war
+generally, about his personal share he was as mute as a fish. Try
+as he would Desmond could get nothing out of him. Again and
+again, he brought the conversation round to personal topics; but
+every time his companion contrived to switch it back to general
+lines.
+
+At last Desmond risked a direct question. By this time a pint of
+Pommery and Greno was tingling in his veins and he felt he didn't
+care if the roof fell in.
+
+"Ever since Nur-el-Din told me you were of the Crown Prince's
+personal service," he said, "I have been devoured with curiosity
+to know what you were doing before you came to England. Were you
+at Metz with his Imperial Highness? Did you see the assault at
+Verdun? Were you present at the capture of the Fort of
+Douaumont?"
+
+Mortimer shook his head, laughing, and held up a deprecating
+hand.
+
+"Professional discretion, my dear fellow, professional
+discretion!" he retorted. "You know what it is!"
+
+Then lowering his voice, he added:
+
+"Between ourselves the less said about my connection with Master
+Willie the better. Our colleagues are already restless at what
+they consider my neglect of my professional work. They attribute
+it to the wiles of Nur-el-Din. They may if they like and I don't
+propose to disillusion them. You understand, Bellward?"
+
+His voice was commanding and he bent his brows at Desmond, who
+hastened to protest that his discretion in the matter would be
+absolute.
+
+When they had had their coffee and Mortimer was contentedly
+puffing one of Bellward's excellent double Coronas, Desmond rose
+from the table.
+
+"If you will excuse me a minute," he said, "I will just go across
+to the library and see if my housekeeper has put all in order for
+our guests!"
+
+Instantly Mortimer got up from the table.
+
+"By all means," he said, and emptied his glass of brandy, "so, I
+will come with you!"
+
+Mortimer meant to stick to him, thought Desmond; that was
+evident. Then an idea struck him. Why should he not telephone in
+Mortimer's presence? To ask for Mr. Elias was in no way
+incriminating and if help came promptly, Mortimer could be
+secured and the other spies pounced upon in their turn as they
+arrived.
+
+Therefore, as soon as they reached the library, Desmond walked
+over to the desk and picked up the telephone receiver from its
+hook.
+
+"Excuse me," he said to Mortimer, "I had forgotten I had to ring
+up Stanning!"
+
+"Oh, dear," said Mortimer from his place on the hearth rug where
+he was warming his coat tails in front of the fire, "isn't that
+unfortunate? I wish I had known! Tut, tut, how annoying for you!"
+
+The telephone seemed quite dead.
+
+"I don't understand!" said Desmond to Mortimer. "What's
+annoying?"
+
+"The telephone, my dear Bellward,"--Mortimer spoke in a pompous
+voice--"the telephone is the symbol of the age in which we live,
+the age of publicity but also of indiscretion. It is almost as
+indiscreet to have a telephone in your house as to keep a diary.
+Therefore, in view of our little party here this evening, to
+prevent us from being disturbed in any way, I took the liberty
+of... of severing the connection... temporarily, mind you, only
+temporarily; it shall be restored as soon as we break up. I have
+some small acquaintance with electrical engineering."
+
+Desmond was silent. Disappointment had deprived him for the
+moment of the power of speech. It was to be man to man then,
+after all. If he was to secure Mortimer and the rest of the gang
+that night, he must do it on his own. He could not hope for aid.
+The prospect did not affright him. If Mortimer could have seen
+the other's eyes at that moment he might have remarked a light
+dancing in them that was not solely of Messrs. Pommery and
+Greno's manufacture.
+
+"If I had known you wanted to use the instrument, my dear
+fellow," Mortimer continued in his bland voice, "I should
+certainly have waited until you had done your business!"
+
+"Pray don't mention it," replied Desmond, "you do well to be
+prudent, Mr. Mortimer!"
+
+Mortimer shot a sudden glance at him. Desmond met it with a
+frank, easy smile.
+
+"I'm a devil for prudence myself!" he observed brightly.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVIII. THE GATHERING OF THE SPIES
+
+Action, or the promise of action, always acted on Desmond Okewood
+like a nerve tonic. His visit to the inn, followed by the fencing
+with Mortimer at dinner, had galvanized his nerves jaded with the
+inaction of the preceding days. He averted his eyes from the
+future, he put the past resolutely away. He bent his whole
+attention on the problem immediately before him--how to carry off
+the role of Bellward in front of four strangers, one of whom, at
+least, he thought, must know the man he was impersonating; how to
+extract as much information as possible about the gang and its
+organization before uncovering his hand; finally, how to
+overpower the four men and the one woman when the moment had come
+to strike.
+
+Mortimer and he were in the library. By Desmond's direction old
+Martha had put out two bridge tables and cards. A tantalus stand
+with siphons and glasses, an assortment of different colored
+liqueurs in handsome cut-glass carafes and some plates of
+sandwiches stood on a side-table. At Mortimer's suggestion
+Desmond had told the housekeeper that, once the guests had
+arrived, she might go to bed.
+
+The library was very still. There was no sound except for the
+solemn ticking of the clock on the mantelpiece or the occasional
+rustle of the evening paper in Mortimer's hand as he stood in
+front of the fire. Desmond was sitting on the settee, tranquilly
+smoking, studying Mortimer and thinking out the problem before
+him.
+
+He measured Mortimer with his eye. The latter was a bigger man
+than Desmond in every way and Desmond suspected that he was even
+stronger than he looked. Desmond wondered whether he should try
+and overpower him then and there. The other was almost certain to
+carry a revolver, he thought, while he was unarmed. Failure, he
+knew, would ruin everything. The gang would disperse to the four
+winds of heaven while as for Mr. Bellward--well, he would
+certainly be "for it," as the soldiers say.
+
+No, he must hold his hand until the meeting had taken place. This
+was the first conference that Mortimer had summoned, and Desmond
+intended to see that it should be the last. But first he meant to
+find out all there was to know about the working of the gang.
+
+He resolved to wait and see what the evening would bring forth.
+The telephone was "a washout": the motor-cycle was now his only
+chance to summon aid for he knew it was hopeless to think of
+tackling single-handed odds of four to one (to say nothing of the
+lady in the case). It must be his business to make an opportunity
+to slip away on the motor-bike to Stanning. Ten minutes to get
+there, five minutes to deliver his message at the police station
+(if the Chief's people made their headquarters there), and ten
+minutes to get back if they had a car. Could he leave the meeting
+for 25 minutes without arousing suspicions? He doubted it; but it
+must be. There was no other way. And then with a shock that made
+him cold with fear he remembered Mortimer's motor-car.
+
+If, during his absence, anything occurred to arouse their
+suspicions, the whole crowd could pile into the car and be away
+long before Desmond could be back with help. The fog had lifted
+and it was a clear night outside. The car would have to be got
+rid of before he left the house, that was all about it. But how?
+A means to that end must also be discovered as the evening
+progressed. By the way, what had Mortimer done with his car?
+
+A very faint throbbing somewhere outside answered Desmond's
+unspoken question.
+
+Mortimer flung aside his paper.
+
+"Isn't that a car?" he asked, "that'll be they. I sent Max to
+Wentfield station to meet our friends!"
+
+There was the sound of voices, of bustle in the hall. Then the
+door opened and a man came in. Desmond had a brief moment of
+acute suspense. Was he supposed to know him?
+
+He was a short, ugly fellow with immensely broad shoulders, a
+heavy puffy face, a gross, broad nose, and a tooth-brush
+moustache. He might have been a butcher to look at. In the top
+edge of his coat lapel, he wore a small black pin with a glass
+head.
+
+"Well, Max," said Mortimer. "Have you brought them all?"
+
+The man was mustering Desmond with a suspicious, unfriendly
+stare.
+
+"My friend, Bellward!" said Mortimer, clapping Desmond on the
+shoulder. "You've heard of Bellward, Max!"
+
+And to Desmond's surprise he made some passes in the air.
+
+The man's mien underwent a curious change. He became cringing;
+almost overawed.
+
+"Reelly," he grunted, "reelly now! You don't siy! Glad to know
+yer, mister, I'm shore!"
+
+He spoke with a vile snuffing cockney accent, and thrust out his
+hand to Desmond. Then he added to Mortimer:
+
+"There's three on 'em. That's the count, ain't it? I lef' the car
+outside on the drive!"
+
+At this moment two more of the guests entered: One was a tall,
+emaciated looking man of about fifty who seemed to be in the last
+stages of consumption; the other a slightly built young fellow
+with a shock of black hair brushed back and an olive complexion.
+He wore pince-nez and looked like a Russian revolutionary. They,
+too, wore the badge of the brotherhood--the black pin in the coat
+lapel.
+
+"Goot efening, Mr. Mortimer," said the tall man in a guttural
+voice, "this is Behrend"--he indicated the young man by his
+side--"you haft not meet him no?"
+
+Then, leaving Behrend to shake hands with Mortimer, he literally
+rushed at Desmond and shook him by the hand exactly as though he
+were working a pump handle.
+
+"My tear Pellward," he cried, "it is a hondred year since I haf
+see you, not? And how are the powers!"
+
+He lowered his voice and gazed mysteriously at him.
+
+Desmond, at a loss what to make of this extraordinary individual,
+answered at random:
+
+"The powers? Still fighting, I believe!"
+
+The tall man stared open-mouthed at him for a moment. Then,
+clapping his hands together, he burst into a high-pitched cackle
+of laughter.
+
+"A joke," he yelled, "a mos' excellent joke! I must tell this to
+Minna. My vriend, I haf not mean the great Powers."
+
+He looked dramatically about him, then whispered:
+
+"I mean, the oggult!"
+
+Desmond, who was now quite out of his depth, wagged his head
+solemnly at the other as though to indicate that, his occult
+powers were something not to be lightly mentioned. He had no fear
+of the tall man, at any rate. He placed him as a very ordinary
+German, a common type in the Fatherland, simple-minded, pedantic,
+inquisitive, and a prodigious bore withal but dangerous, for of
+this stuff German discipline kneads militarists.
+
+But the door opened again to admit the last of the guests. A
+woman entered. Desmond was immediately struck by the contrast she
+presented to the others, Mortimer with his goggle eyes and untidy
+hair, Max, gross and bestial, Behrend, Oriental and shifty, and
+the scarecrow figure of the tall man.
+
+Despite her age, which must have been nearly sixty, she still
+retained traces of beauty. Her features were very regular, and
+she had a pair of piercing black eyes of undimmed brightness. Her
+gray hair was tastefully arranged, and she wore a becoming black
+velvet gown with a black lace scarf thrown across the shoulders.
+A white silk rose was fastened to her bodice by a large black pin
+with a glass head.
+
+Directly she appeared, the tall man shouted to her in German.
+
+"Sag' mal, Minna..." he began.
+
+Mortimer turned on him savagely.
+
+"Hold your tongue, No. 13," he cried, "are you mad? What the
+devil do you mean by it? You know the rules!"
+
+By way of reply, "No. 13" broke into a regular frenzy of coughing
+which left him gasping for breath.
+
+"Pardon! I haf' forgot!" he wheezed out between the spasms.
+
+The woman went over to Mortimer and put out tier gloved hand.
+
+"I am Mrs. Malplaquet," she said in a pleasant voice. "And you
+are Mr. Mortimer, I think!"
+
+Mortimer bowed low over her hand.
+
+"Madame, I am charmed to meet one of whom I have heard nothing
+but praise," he said.
+
+"Verry pretty!" replied Mrs. Malplaquet smiling. "They tell me
+you have a great way with the ladies, my dear sir!"
+
+"But," she went on, "I am neglecting our host, my dear Mr.
+Bellward. How are you, my friend? How well you are looking... so
+young... so fresh! I declare you seem to have got five years
+younger!"
+
+The keen black eyes searched Desmond's face. He felt horribly
+uncomfortable. The woman's eyes were like gimlets boring right
+into him. He suddenly felt that his disguise was a poor one. He
+remembered Crook's warning to be wary of women, and he inwardly
+quailed.
+
+"I am so glad to meet you again!" he murmured. He didn't like
+Mrs. Malplaquet's eyes. They assorted strangely with the rest of
+her gentle and refined appearance. They were hard and cruel,
+those black eyes. Thy put him in mind of a snake.
+
+"It is so long since I've seen you," she said, "that positively
+your voice seems to have changed."
+
+"That's because I have a cold," said Desmond.
+
+"Fiddlesticks!" retorted the lady, "the timbre is quite
+different! Bellward, I believe you're in love! Don't tell me
+you've been running after that hank of hair that Mortimer is so
+devoted to!" She glanced in Mortimer's direction, but that
+gentleman was engaged in earnest conversation with Behrend and
+the tall man.
+
+"Whom do you meant" asked Desmond.
+
+"Where are your eyes, man?" rapped out Mrs. Malplaquet. "The
+dancer woman, of course, Nur-el-what-do-you-call-it. There's the
+devil of a row brewing about the way our friend over there is
+neglecting us to run after the minx. They're getting sharp in
+this country, Bellward--I've lived here for forty years so I know
+what I'm talking about--and we can't afford to play any tricks.
+Mortimer will finish by bringing destruction on every one of us.
+And I shall tell him so tonight. And so will No. 13! And so will
+young Behrend! You ought to hear Behrend about it!"
+
+Mrs. Malplaquet began to interest Desmond. She was obviously a
+woman of refinement, and he was surprised to find her in this odd
+company. By dint of careful questioning, he ascertained the fact
+that she lived in London, at a house on Campden Hill. She seemed
+to know a good many officers, particularly naval men.
+
+"I've been keeping my eyes open as I promised, Bellward," she
+said, "and I believe I've got hold of a likely subject for you--a
+submarine commander he is, and very psychic. When will you come
+and meet him at my house?"
+
+Mortimer's voice, rising above the buzz of conversation, checked
+his reply.
+
+"If you will all sit down," he said, "we'll get down to
+business."
+
+Despite all distractions, Desmond had been watching for this
+summons. He had marked down for himself a chair close to the
+door. For this he now made, after escorting Mrs. Malplaquet to
+the settee where she sat down beside Behrend. Max took the
+armchair on the left of the fireplace; while No. 13 perched
+himself grotesquely on a high music-stool, his long legs curled
+round the foot. Mortimer stood in his former position on the
+hearth, his back to the fire.
+
+A very odd-looking band! Desmond commented to himself but he
+thought he could detect in each of the spies a certain ruthless
+fanaticism which experience taught him to respect as highly
+dangerous. And they all had hard eyes!
+
+When they were seated, Mortimer said:
+
+"About the 14th of this month the British Admiralty will begin
+the work of shipping to France ten divisions of American troops
+now training in this country. The most extraordinary precautions
+are being taken to complete this huge undertaking with success.
+It seems to me that the moment has come for us to demonstrate the
+efficiency of our new organization."
+
+He looked round at his audience but no one said a word. Desmond
+felt very distinctly that there was a hostile atmosphere against
+Mortimer in that room.
+
+"I asked you to come here to-night," Mortimer went on, "to
+discuss the plans for sending prompt and accurate information
+regarding the movements of these transports to the other side. I
+warn you that this time our mode of procedure will have to be
+radically different from the methods we have pursued on former
+occasions. To expend our energies in collecting information at
+half a dozen different ports of war will be waste of time. The
+direction of the whole of this enterprise lies in the hands of
+one man at the Admiralty."
+
+Behrend, who had struck Desmond as a rather taciturn young man,
+shook his head dubiously.
+
+"That makes things very difficult," he remarked.
+
+"Wait," replied Mortimer. "I agree, it is very difficult, the
+more so as I have reason to believe that the authorities have
+discovered the existence of our organization."
+
+Mrs. Malplaquet and Behrend turned to one another simultaneously.
+
+"What did I say?" said Behrend.
+
+"I told you so," said the lady.
+
+"Therefore," Mortimer resumed, "our former activities on the
+coast will practically be paralyzed. We shall have to confine our
+operations to London while Max and Mr. Behrend here will be
+entrusted with the task of getting the news out to our
+submarines."
+
+No. 13 broke in excitedly.
+
+"Vork in London, vork in London!" he cried. "It is too dangerous,
+my vriend. Vot do I know of London? Portsmouth" (he called it
+Portsmouse), "Sout'ampton, the Isle of Vight... good... it is my
+province. But, London... it is senseless!"
+
+Mortimer turned his gig-lamps on the interrupter.
+
+"You will take your orders from me as before," he said quietly.
+
+Behrend adjusted his pince-nez.
+
+"No. 13 is perfectly right," he remarked, "he knows his
+territory, and he should be allowed to work there."
+
+"You, too," Mortimer observed in the same calm tone as before,
+"will take your orders from me!"
+
+With a quick gesture the young man dashed his long black hair out
+of his eyes.
+
+"Maybe," he replied, "but only as long as I feel sure that your
+orders are worth following.
+
+"Do you dare..." began Mortimer, shouting.
+
+"... At present," the other continued, as though Mortimer had not
+spoken. "I don't feel at all sure that they are."
+
+The atmosphere was getting a trifle heated, thought Desmond. If
+he judged Mortimer aright, he was not the man to let himself be
+dictated to by anybody. He was wondering how the scene would end
+when suddenly something caught his eye that took his mind right
+away from the events going forward in the room.
+
+Opposite him, across the library, was a French window across
+which the curtains had been drawn. One of the curtains, however,
+had got looped up on a chair so that there was a gap at the
+bottom of the window showing the pane.
+
+In this gap was a face pressed up against the glass. To his
+astonishment Desmond recognized the weather-beaten features of
+the odd man, Mr. John Hill. The face remained there only for a
+brief instant. The next moment it was gone and Desmond's
+attention was once more claimed by the progress of the
+conference.
+
+"Do I understand that you refuse to serve under me any longer?"
+Mortimer was saying to Behrend, who had risen from the settee and
+stood facing him.
+
+"As long as you continue to behave as you are doing at present,"
+replied the other, "you may understand that!"
+
+Mortimer made a quick dive for his pocket. In an instant Max had
+jumped at him and caught his arm.
+
+"Don't be a fool!" he cried, "for Gawd's sake, put it away,
+carn't yer? D 'you want the 'ole ruddy plice abart our ears?"
+
+"I'll have no disobedience of orders," roared Mortimer,
+struggling with the other. In his fist he had a big automatic
+pistol. It was a prodigious weapon, the largest pistol that
+Desmond had ever seen.
+
+"He threatened him, he threatened him!" screamed No. 13 jumping
+about on his stool.
+
+"Take it away from him, Max, for Heaven's sake!" cried the lady.
+
+Everybody was talking at once. The noise was so loud that Desmond
+wondered whether old Martha would hear the din. He sat in his
+chair by the door, a silent witness of the scene. Then suddenly,
+at the height of the hubbub, he heard the faint humming of a
+motor-car. It lasted for perhaps thirty seconds, then gradually
+died away.
+
+"What did it mean?" he asked himself. The only living being he
+knew of outside was John Hill, the odd man, whose face he had
+just seen; the only car was Mortimer's. Had the odd man gone off
+in Mortimer's car? He was thankful to note that, in the din, none
+save him seemed to have heard the car.
+
+By this time Mortimer had put up his pistol and Mrs. Malplaquet
+was speaking. Her remarks were effective and very much to the
+point. She upbraided Mortimer with his long and mysterious
+absences which she attributed to his infatuation for Nur-el-Din
+and complained bitterly of the dancer's imprudence in consorting
+openly with notorious folk like Lazarro and Bryan Mowbury.
+
+"I went to the girl myself," she said, "and begged her to be more
+circumspect. But Madame would not listen to advice; Madame was
+doubtless sure of her position with our revered leader, and
+thought she could reject the friendly counsel of one old enough
+to be her mother. Behrend and Max and No. 13 there--all of
+us--are absolutely agreed that we are not going on with this sort
+of thing any longer. If you are to remain in charge of our
+organization, Mr. Mortimer, we want to know where you are to be
+found and how you spend your time. In short, we want to be sure
+that you are not playing a game that most of us have at different
+times played on subordinate agents... I mean, that when the
+crisis comes, we fall into the trap and you walk away. You had
+better realize once and for all that we are too old hands for
+that sort of trick."
+
+Here Max took up the thread. "Mrs. Malplaquet had put it very
+strite, so she 'ad, and wot he wanted to know was what Mortimer
+'ad to siy?"
+
+Mortimer was very suave in his reply; a bad sign, thought
+Desmond, for it indicated that he was not sure of himself. He was
+rather vague, spoke about a vitally important mission that he had
+had to fulfil but which he had now brought to a successful
+conclusion, so that he was at length free to devote his whole
+attention once more to the great task in hand.
+
+Behrend brought his fist crashing down on the arm of the settee.
+
+"Words, words," he cried, "it won't do for me. Isn't there a man
+in the room besides me? You, Bellward, or you, Max, or you,
+No.13? Haven't you got any guts any of You? Are you going to sit
+here and listen to the soft soap of a fellow who has probably
+sent better men than himself to their death with tripe of this
+kind? It may do for you, but by the Lord, it won't do for me!"
+
+Mortimer cleared his throat uneasily.
+
+"Our host is silent," said Mrs. Malplaquet, "what does Mr.
+Bellward think about it?"
+
+Desmond spoke up promptly.
+
+"I think it would be very interesting to hear something further
+about this mission of Mortimer's," he observed:
+
+Mortimer cast him a glance of bitter malice.
+
+"Well," he said, after a pause, "you force my hand. I shall tell
+you of this mission of mine and I shall show you the evidence,
+because it seems essential in the interests of our organization.
+But I assure you I shall not forget this want of confidence you
+have shown in me; and I shall see that you don't forget it,
+either!"
+
+As he spoke, he glared fiercely at Desmond through his glasses.
+
+"Let's hear about the precious mission," jeered Behrend, "let's
+see the evidence. The threats'll keep!"
+
+Then Mortimer told them of how the Star of Poland came into
+Nur-el-Din's possession, and of the Crown Prince's embarrassment
+when the German authorities claimed it for the regalia of the new
+Kingdom of Poland.
+
+"The Crown Prince," he said, "summoned me to him in person and
+gave me the order to make my way to England immediately and
+recover the gem at all costs and by any means. Did I whine or
+snivel about being sent to my death as some of you were doing
+just now? No! That is not the way of the Prussian Guard..."
+
+"The Prussian Guard?" cried No. 13 in an awed voice. "Are you also
+of the Prussian Guard, comrade?"
+
+He had risen from his seat and there was something almost of
+majesty about his thin, ungainly figure as he drew himself to his
+full height.
+
+"Ay, comrade, I was," replied Mortimer.
+
+"Then," cried No. 13, "you are..."
+
+"No names, comrade," warned Mortimer, "no names, I beg!"
+
+"No names, no names!" repeated the other and relapsed into his
+seat in a reverie.
+
+"How I got to England," Mortimer continued, "matters nothing; how
+I fulfilled my mission is neither here nor there. But I recovered
+the gem and the proof..."
+
+He thrust a hand into the inner pocket of his coat and plucked
+out a white paper package sealed up with broad red seals.
+
+Desmond held his breath. It was the white paper package, exactly
+as Barbara had described.
+
+"Look at it well, Behrend," said Mortimer, holding it up for the
+young man to see, "it cost me a man's life to get that. If it had
+sent twenty men to their death, I should have had it just the
+same!"
+
+Mrs. Malplaquet clapped her hands, her eyes shining.
+
+"Bravo, bravo!" she exclaimed, "that's the spirit! That's the way
+to talk, Mortimer!"
+
+"Cut it out," snarled Behrend, "and let's see the goods!"
+
+All had left their seats and were gathered in a group about
+Mortimer as he began to break the gleaming red wag seals. One by
+one he burst them, the white paper slipped off and disclosed... a
+box of cigarettes.
+
+Mortimer stood gazing in stupefaction at the gaudy green and gold
+lettering of the box. Then, running his thumb-nail swiftly along
+the edge of the box, he broke the paper wrapping, the box burst
+open and a shower of cigarettes fell to the ground.
+
+"So that's your Star of Poland, is it?" cried Behrend in a
+mocking voice.
+
+"Wot 'ave yer done wiv' the sparklers, eh?" demanded Max,
+catching Mortimer roughly by the arm.
+
+But Mortimer stood, aimlessly shaking the empty box in front of
+him, as though to convince himself that the gem was not there.
+Behrend fell on his knees and raked the pile of cigarettes over
+and over with his fingers.
+
+"Nothing there!" he shouted angrily, springing to his feet. "It's
+all bluff! He's bluffing to the end! See, he doesn't even attempt
+to find his famous jewel! He knows it isn't there!"
+
+But Mortimer paid no heed. He was staring straight in front of
+him, a strangely woe-begone figure with his thatch of untidy hair
+and round goggle eyes. Then the cigarette box fell to the floor
+with a crash as Mortimer's hands dropped, with, a hopeless
+gesture, to his sides.
+
+"Barbara Mackwayte!" he whispered in a low voice, not seeming to
+realize that he was speaking aloud, "so that's what she wanted
+with Nur-el-Din!"
+
+Desmond was standing at Mortimer's elbow and caught the whisper.
+As he heard Mortimer speak Barbara's name, he had a sudden
+premonition that his own unmasking was imminent, though he
+understood as little of the purport of the other's remark as of
+the pile of cigarettes lying on the carpet. As Mortimer turned to
+look at him, Desmond nerved himself to meet the latter's gaze.
+But Mortimer's face wore the look of a desperate man. There was
+no recognition in his eyes.
+
+Not so with Desmond. Perhaps the bitterness of his disappointment
+had made Mortimer careless, perhaps the way in which he had
+pronounced Barbara's name struck a familiar chord in Desmond's
+memory. The unkempt hair brushed down across the forehead, the
+thick glasses, the heavy moustache still formed together an
+impenetrable mask which Desmond's eyes failed to pierce. But now
+he recalled the voice. As Mortimer looked at him, the truth
+dawned on Desmond and he knew that the man standing beside him
+was Maurice Strangwise, his comrade-in-arms in France.
+
+At that very moment a loud crash rang through the room, a cold
+blast of damp air came rushing in and the lamp on the table
+flared up wildly, flickered an instant and went out, leaving the
+room in darkness save for the glow of the fire.
+
+A deep voice cried:
+
+"May I ask what you are all doing in my house?"
+
+The secret door of the bookshelves had swung back and there,
+framed in the gaping void, Desmond saw the dark figure of a man.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIX. THE UNINVITED GUEST
+
+There are moments in life when the need for prompt action is so
+urgent that thought, decision and action must be as one operation
+of the brain. In the general consternation following on the
+dramatic appearance of this uninvited guest, Desmond had a brief
+respite in which to think over his position.
+
+Should he make a dash for it or stay where he was and await
+developments?
+
+Without a second's hesitation; he decided on the latter course.
+With the overpowering odds against him it was more than doubtful
+whether he could ever reach the library door. Besides, to go was
+to abandon absolutely all hope of capturing the gang; for his
+flight would warn the conspirators that the game was up. On the
+other hand, the new-comer might be an ally, perhaps an emissary
+of the Chief's. The strange behavior of the odd man had shown
+that something was afoot outside of which those in the library
+were unaware. Was the uninvited guest the deus ex machina who was
+to help him, Desmond, out of his present perilous fix?
+
+Meanwhile the stranger had stepped into the room, drawing the
+secret door to behind him. Desmond heard his heavy step and the
+dull thud of the partition swinging into place. The sound seemed
+to break the spell that hung over the room.
+
+Mortimer was the first to recover his presence of mind. Crying
+out to No. 13 to lock the door leading into the hall, he fumbled
+for a moment at the table. Desmond caught the noise of a match
+being scratched and the next moment the library was again bathed
+in the soft radiance of the lamp.
+
+Picking up the light, Mortimer strode across to the stranger.
+
+"What do you want here" he demanded fiercely, "and who the
+devil..."
+
+He broke off without completing his sentence, drawing back in
+amazement. For the rays of the lamp fell upon the pale face of a
+stoutish, bearded man, veering towards middle age standing in
+front of Mortimer. And the face was the face of the stoutish,
+bearded man, veering towards middle age, who stood in the shadow
+a few paces behind Mortimer. Each man was a complete replica of
+the other, save that the face of the new arrival was thin and
+haggard with that yellowish tinge which comes from long
+confinement.
+
+As Mortimer staggered back, the uninvited guest recoiled in his
+turn. He was staring fixedly across the room at his double who
+met his gaze firmly, erect, tense, silent. The others looked in
+sheer stupefaction from one to the other of the two Mr.
+Bellwards. For nearly a minute the only sound in the room was the
+deep ticking of the clock, counting away the seconds separating
+him from eternity, Desmond thought.
+
+It was Mrs. Malplaquet who broke the silence. Suddenly her nerves
+snapped under the strain, and she screamed aloud.
+
+"A--ah!" she cried, "look! There are two of them! No, no, it
+can't be!"
+
+And she sank half fainting on the sofa.
+
+Behrend whipped out a pistol from his hip pocket and thrust it in
+Mortimer's face.
+
+"Is this another of your infernal surprise packets?" he demanded
+fiercely.
+
+All the spies seemed on a sudden to be armed, Desmond noted, all,
+that is, save Mrs. Malplaquet who lay cowering on the settee.
+Mortimer had pulled out his super-Mauser; No. 13, who was
+guarding the door, had a revolver in his hand, and Behrend, as
+has been stated, was threatening Mortimer with his Browning.
+
+Now Max advanced threateningly into the room, a long seaman's
+knife in his hand..
+
+"Put that blarsted shooting-iron awiy!" he snarled at Mortimer,
+"and tell us wot's the little gime, will yer! Come on, egpline!"
+
+With absolute self-possession Mortimer turned from the stranger
+to Desmond.
+
+"I think it is up to the twins to explain," he said almost
+nonchalantly, "suppose we hear what this gentleman, who arrived
+so surprisingly through the book-shelves, has to say?"
+
+Though threatened with danger from two sides, from the gang and
+possibly, as far as he knew, from the stranger, Mortimer was
+perfectly calm. Desmond never admired Maurice Strangwise more
+than in that moment. All eyes now turned questioningly towards
+the new arrival. As for Desmond he drew back as far as he dared
+into the shadow. He knew he was in the direst peril; but he was
+not afraid for himself. He was crushed to the ground by the
+sickening feeling that he was going to be beaten, that the gang
+were going to slip through his fingers after all... and he was
+powerless to prevent it.
+
+He guessed at once what had happened. Bellward must have escaped
+from custody; for there was no disguise about this pale,
+flustered creature who had the cowed look of a hunted man in his
+eyes. He must have come to the Mill House to get his motorcycle;
+for he surely would have known that the villa would be the first
+place to which the police would follow him up.
+
+Desmond saw a little ray of hope. If--it was a very big
+if--Bellward's flight were discovered promptly, the police might
+be expected to reach the Mill House very soon behind him.
+Bellward must have come straight there; for he had not even taken
+the very elementary precaution of shaving off his beard. That
+made Desmond think that he must have escaped some time that
+evening after the barbers' shops were closed.
+
+With thumping heart, with bated breath, he waited for what was to
+come. In a very little while, he told himself, the truth must
+come out. His only chance was to try and bluff his way out of
+this appalling dilemma and above all, at all costs--this was the
+essential fact which, he told himself, he must keep steadfastly
+before his eyes--not to lose sight of Mortimer whatever happened.
+
+Bellward's voice--and its tones showed Desmond what an
+accomplished mime Crook had been--broke the silence.
+
+"I have nothing to explain," he said, turning from the sofa where
+he had been exchanging a few words in an undertone with Mrs.
+Malplaquet, "this is my house. That is sufficient explanation for
+my presence here, I imagine. But I confess I am curious to know
+what this person"--he indicated Desmond--"is doing in my clothes,
+if I mistake not, giving what I take to be a very successful
+impersonation of myself."
+
+Then Desmond stepped boldly out of the shadow into the circle of
+light thrown by the lamp.
+
+"I don't know what you all think," he said firmly, "but it seems
+to me singularly unwise for us to stand here gossiping when there
+is a stranger amongst us. I fail to understand the motive of this
+gentleman in breaking into my house by my private door, wearing
+my clothes, if I am to believe my eyes; but I clearly realize the
+danger of admitting strangers to a gathering of this kind."
+
+"Quite right," agreed Behrend, nodding his head in assent.
+
+"You have had one singular surprise to-night already," Desmond
+resumed, "in the matter of the jewel which our respected leader
+was about to show us: if you recollect, our friend was only
+prevented from giving us the explanation which he certainly owed
+us over his little hoax by the arrival, the most timely arrival,
+of his confederate..."
+
+"Confederate?" shouted Mortimer, "what the devil do you mean by
+that?"
+
+"Yes, confederate," Desmond repeated. "Max, Behrend, Mrs.
+Malplaquet, all of you, look at this wretched fellow"--he pointed
+a finger of scorn at Bellward--"trembling with fright at the role
+that has been thrust upon him, to force his way into our midst,
+to give his accomplice the tip to clear out before the police
+arrive."
+
+"Stop!" exclaimed Mortimer, raising his pistol. Behrend caught
+his hand.
+
+"We'll hear you in a minute!" he said.
+
+"Let him finish!" said Mrs. Malplaquet, and there was a certain
+ominous quietness in her tone that startled Desmond.
+
+As for Bellward, he remained silent, with arms folded, listening
+very intently.
+
+"Doubtless, this double of mine," continued Desmond in a mocking
+voice, "is the bearer of the Star of Poland, the wonderful jewel
+which has required our beloved leader to devote so much of his
+time to a certain charming lady. Bah! are you going to let a man
+like this," and he pointed to Mortimer disdainfully with his
+hand, "a man who puts you in the fighting line while he amuses
+himself in the rear, are you going to let this false friend, this
+bogus spy, cheat you like this? My friends, my advice to you, if
+you don't want to have another and yet more disagreeable
+surprise, is to make sure that this impudent imposter is not here
+for the purpose of selling us all!"
+
+He raised his voice until it rang through the room, at the same
+time looking round the group at the faces of the spies to see how
+his harangue had worked upon their feelings. Max and Behrend, he
+could see, were on his side; No. 13 was obviously, undecided;
+Mortimer and Bellward were, of course, against him; Mrs.
+Malplaquet sat with her hands in her lap, her eyes cast down,
+giving no sign.
+
+"It's high time..." Mortimer began violently but Mrs. Malplaquet
+put up her hand and checked him.
+
+"Better hear Bellward!" she said softly.
+
+"I know nothing of what has been taking place in my absence," he
+said, "either here or outside. I only know that I escaped from
+the escort that was taking me back from Scotland Yard to Brixton
+Prison this evening and that the police are hard on my track. I
+have delayed too long as, it is. Every one of us in this room,
+with the exception of the traitor who is amongst us"--he pointed
+a finger in denunciation at Desmond--"is in the most imminent
+peril as long as we stay here. The rest of you can please
+yourselves. I'm off!"
+
+He turned and pressed the spring. The book shelves swung open.
+Behrend sprang forward.
+
+"Not so fast," he cried. "You don't leave this room until we
+know who you are!"
+
+And he covered him with his pistol.
+
+"Fool!" exclaimed Bellward who had stopped on the threshold of
+the secret door, "do you want to trap the lot of us! Tell him,
+Minna," he said to Mrs. Malplaquet, "and for Heaven's sake, let
+us be gone!"
+
+Mrs. Malplaquet stood up.
+
+"This is Basil Bellward," she said, "see, he's wearing the ring I
+gave him, a gold snake with emerald eyes! And now," she cried,
+raising her voice shrilly, "before we go, kill that man!"
+
+And she pointed at Desmond.
+
+Bellward had seized her by the arm and was dragging her through
+the opening in the shed when a shrill whistle resounded from the
+garden. Without any warning Mortimer swung round and fired
+point-blank at Desmond. But Desmond had stooped to spring at the
+other and the bullet went over his head. With ears singing from
+the deafening report of the pistol in the confined space, with
+the acrid smell of cordite in his nostrils, Desmond leapt at
+Mortimer's throat, hoping to bear him to the ground before he
+could shoot again. As he sprang he heard the crash of glass and a
+loud report. Someone cried out sharply "Oh!" as though in
+surprise and fell prone between him and his quarry; then he
+stumbled and at the same time received a crashing blow on the
+head. Without a sound he dropped to the ground across a body that
+twitched a little and then lay still.
+
+      *       *       *       *      *
+
+Somewhere in the far, far distance Desmond heard a woman
+crying--long drawn-out wailing lamentations on a high, quavering
+note. He had a dull, hard pain in his head which felt curiously
+stiff. Drowsily he listened for a time to the woman's sobbing, so
+tired, so curiously faint that he scarcely cared to wonder what
+it signified. But at last it grated on him by its insistency and
+he opened his eyes to learn the cause of it.
+
+His bewildered gaze fell upon what seemed to him a gigantic,
+ogre-like face, as huge, as grotesque, as a pantomime mask.
+Beside it was a light, a brilliant light, that hurt his eyes.
+
+Then a voice, as faint as a voice on a long distance telephone,
+said:
+
+"Well, how are you feeling?"
+
+The voice was so remote that Desmond paid no attention to it. But
+he was rather surprised to hear a voice reply, a voice that came
+from his own lips, curiously enough:
+
+"Fine!"
+
+So he opened his eyes again to ascertain the meaning of this
+phenomenon. This time the ogre-like face came into focus, and
+Desmond saw a man with a tumbler in his hand bending over him.
+
+"That's right," said the man, looking very intently at him, "feel
+a bit better, eh? Got a bit of a crack, what? Just take a
+mouthful of brandy... I've got it here!"
+
+Desmond obediently swallowed the contents of the glass that the
+other held to his lips. He was feeling horribly weak, and very
+cold. His collar and shirt were unbuttoned, and his neck and
+shoulders were sopping wet with water. On his ears still fell the
+wailing of the woman.
+
+"Corporal," said the man bending over him, "just go and tell that
+old hag to hold her noise! She'll have to go out of the house if
+she can't be quiet!"
+
+Desmond opened his eyes again. He was lying on the settee in the
+library. A tall figure in khaki, who had been stirring the fire
+with his boot, turned at the doctor's summons and left the room.
+On the table the lamp was still burning but its rays were
+neutralized by the glare of a crimson dawn which Desmond could
+see flushing the sky through the shattered panes of the French
+window. In the centre of the floor lay a long object covered by a
+tablecloth, beside it a table overturned with a litter of broken
+glass strewn about the carpet.
+
+The woman's sobbing ceased. The corporal came back into the room.
+
+"She'll be quiet now, sir," he said, "I told her to get you and
+the gentlemen a cup o' tea."
+
+Then, to Desmond, he said:
+
+"Nasty ding you got, sir! My word, I thought they'd done for you
+when I come in at the winder!"
+
+The telephone on the desk tingled sharply. The door opened at the
+same moment and a shabby little old man with sandy side whiskers
+and moleskin trousers came briskly in.
+
+His appearance had a curious effect on the patient on the settee.
+Despite the doctor's restraining hand, he struggled into a
+sitting position, staring in bewilderment at the shabby old man
+who had gone straight to the telephone and lifted the receiver.
+And well might Desmond stare; for here was Mr. John Hill, the odd
+man, talking on the telephone. And his voice...
+
+"Well?" said the man at the telephone, curtly.
+
+"Yes, speaking. You've got her, eh? Good. What's that? Well,
+that's something. No trace of the others? Damn!"
+
+He slammed down the receiver and turned to face the settee.
+
+"Francis!" cried Desmond.
+
+And then he did a thing highly unbecoming in a field officer. He
+burst into tears.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XX. THE ODD MAN
+
+Desmond and Francis Okewood sat in the dining-room of the Mill
+House finishing an excellent breakfast of ham and eggs and coffee
+which old Martha had prepared for them.
+
+Francis was still wearing Mr. John Hill's greasy jacket and
+moleskins, but the removal of the sandy whiskers and a remarkable
+wig, consisting of a bald pate with a fringe of reddish hair, had
+gone far to restore him to the semblance of his former self.
+
+Desmond was feeling a good deal better. His head had escaped the
+full force of the smashing blow dealt at him by Strangwise with
+the butt of his pistol. He had instinctively put up his arm to
+defend his face and the thickly padded sleeve of Bellward's
+jacket had broken the force of the blow. Desmond had avoided a
+fractured skull at the price of an appalling bruise on the right
+forearm and a nasty laceration of the scalp.
+
+Francis had resolutely declined to enlighten him as to the events
+of the night until both had breakfasted. After despatching the
+corporal of military police to hurry the housekeeper on with the
+breakfast, Francis had taken his brother straight to the
+dining-room, refusing to let him ask the questions which thronged
+his brain until they had eaten and drunk. Only when all the ham
+and eggs had disappeared, did Francis, lighting one of Mr.
+Bellward's cigars, consent to satisfy his brother's curiosity.
+
+"It was only yesterday morning," he said, "that I landed at
+Folkstone from the Continent. How I got the Chief's message
+recalling me and how I made my escape through the Turkish lines
+to Allenby's headquarters is a long story which will keep. The
+Chief had a car waiting for me at Folkstone and I reached London
+in time to lunch with him. We had a long talk and he gave me
+carte blanche to jump into this business now, when and where I
+thought I could best help you."
+
+Desmond smiled bitterly.
+
+"The Chief couldn't trust me to make good on my own, I suppose,"
+he said.
+
+"The Chief had a very good idea of the character of the people
+you had to deal with, Des.," retorted Francis, "and he was a
+trifle apprehensive that the role you were playing might lead to
+complications, supposing the gang were to see through your
+impersonation. He's a wonderful man, that, Des., and he was dead
+right--as he always is."
+
+"But how?" asked Desmond. "Did the crowd spot me?"
+
+"No," answered the other; "but it was your disguise which was
+responsible for the escape of Strangwise--"
+
+"What?" cried Desmond. "He's escaped after all!"
+
+Francis nodded.
+
+"Yes," he said, "got clear away and left no trace. Wait a minute
+and you shall hear! When I have told my story, you shall tell
+yours and between us, we'll piece things together!
+
+"Well, when I left the Chief yesterday, I came down here. The
+description of Mr. John Hill, your odd man, rather tickled my
+fancy. I wanted badly to get at you for a quiet chat and it
+seemed to me that if I could borrow Mr. Hill's appearance for a
+few hours now and then I might gain access to you without rousing
+any suspicion. You see, I knew that old Hill left here about dusk
+every afternoon, so I guessed the coast would be clear.
+
+"Clarkson's fitted me out with the duds and the make-up and I got
+down to Wentfield by half-past six. The fog was so infernally
+thick that it took me more than an hour to get here on foot. It
+must have been close on eight o'clock when I pushed open your
+front gate. I thought of going boldly into the kitchen and asking
+for you, but, fortunately, I decided to have a preliminary prowl
+round the place. Through a chink in the curtains of the library I
+saw you and a stranger talking together. The stranger was quite
+unknown to me; but one thing about him I spotted right off. I saw
+that he was disguised; so I decided to hang about a bit and await
+developments.
+
+"I loafed around in the fog for about half an hour. Then I heard
+a car coming up the drive. I hid myself in the rhododendron bush
+opposite the front door and saw two men and a woman get out. They
+hurried into the house, so that I didn't have a chance of seeing
+their faces. But I got a good, glimpse of the chauffeur as he
+bent down to turn out the headlights. And, yes, I knew him!"
+
+"Max, they called him," said Desmond.
+
+"His name was Mirsky when last I saw him," answered Francis, "and
+mine was Apfelbaum, if you want to know. He was a German agent in
+Russia and as ruthless and unscrupulous a rascal as you'll find
+anywhere in the German service. I must say I never thought he'd
+have the nerve to show his face in this country, though I believe
+he's a Whitechapel Jew born and bred. However, there he was and
+the sight of his ugly mug told me that something was doing. But
+like a fool I decided to hang on a bit and watch, instead of
+going right off in that car and fetching help from Stanning."
+
+"It was just as well you waited," said Desmond, "for if you'd
+gone off at once they must have heard the car and the fat would
+have been in the fire straight away!"
+
+And he told Francis of the loud dispute among the confederates in
+the library, the noise of which had effectually covered the sound
+of the departing ear.
+
+Francis laughed.
+
+"From my observation post outside," he said, "I could only see
+you, Des, and that blackguard, Mug, as you two were sitting
+opposite the window. I couldn't see more than the feet of the
+others. But your face told me the loud voices which reached me
+even outside meant that a crisis of some sort was approaching, so
+I thought it was time to be up and doing. So I sneaked round to
+the front of the house, got the engine of the car going and
+started off down the drive.
+
+"I had the very devil of a job to get to Stanning. Ever since
+you've been down here, the Chief has had special men on duty day
+and night at the police-station there. I didn't dare stop to
+light the head-lamps and as a result the first thing I did was to
+charge the front gate and get the back wheel so thoroughly jammed
+that it took me the best part of twenty minutes to get the
+blooming car clear. When at last I got to the station, I found
+that Matthews, the Chief's man, you know, had just arrived by car
+from London with a lot of plain-clothes men and some military
+police. He was in the very devil of a stew. He told me that
+Bellward had escaped, that the Chief was out of town for the
+night and ungetatable, and that he (Matthews) had come down on
+his own to prevent the gaff being blown on you and also to
+recapture Mr. Bellward if he should be mad enough to make for his
+old quarters.
+
+"I told Matthews of the situation up at the Mill House. Neither
+of us was able to understand why you had not telephoned for
+assistance--we only discovered later that the telephone had been
+disconnected--but I went bail that you were up against a very
+stiff proposition. I told Matthews that, by surrounding the
+house, we might capture the whole gang.
+
+"Matthews is a cautious cuss and he wanted a good deal of
+persuading, so we lost a lot of time. In the end, he wouldn't
+take my advice to rush every available man to the scene, but only
+consented to take two plainclothes men and two military police.
+He was so precious afraid of upsetting your arrangements. The
+Chief, it appears, had warned everybody against doing that. So we
+all piled into the car and I drove them back to the Mill House.
+
+"This time I left the car at the front gate and we went up to the
+house on foot. We had arranged that Matthews and one of the
+military police, both armed, should stay and guard the car, while
+the two plainclothes men and the other military policeman, the
+corporal here, should accompany me to the house. Matthews
+believed my yarn that we were only going to 'investigate.' What I
+intended to do in reality was to round up the whole blessed lot.
+
+"I put one of the plain-clothes men on the front door and the
+other round at the back of the house. Their orders were to stop
+anybody who came out and at the same time to whistle for
+assistance. The corporal and I went to our old observation post
+outside the library window.
+
+"The moment I glanced into the room I knew that matters had
+reached a climax. I saw you--looking pretty blue, old man--facing
+that woman who seemed to be denouncing you. Max stood beside you
+with a pistol, and beside him was our friend, Mortimer, with a
+regular whopper of an automatic. Before I had time to move, the
+plain-clothes man at the back of the house whistled. He had found
+the secret door with Bellward and the woman coming out of it.
+
+"Then I saw Mortimer fire point-blank at you. I had my gun out in
+a second, but I was afraid of shooting, for fear of hitting you
+as you went for the other man.
+
+"But the corporal at my side wasn't worrying much about you. Just
+as you jumped he put up his gun and let fly at Mortimer with a
+sense of discrimination which does him infinite credit. He missed
+Mortimer, but plugged Max plumb through the forehead and my old
+friend dropped in his tracks right between you and the other
+fellow. On that we hacked our way through the French window. The
+corporal found time to have another shot and laid out a tall,
+odd-looking man..."
+
+"No. 13," elucidated Desmond.
+
+"... When we got inside we found him dead across the threshold of
+the door leading into the hall. Behrend we caught hiding in a
+brush cupboard by the back stairs. As for the others--"
+
+"Gone?" queried Desmond with a sudden sinking at his heart.
+
+Francis nodded.
+
+"We didn't waste any time getting through that window," he said,
+"but the catch was stiff and the broken glass was deuced
+unpleasant. Still, we were too late. You were laid out on the
+floor; Mortimer, Bellward and the lady had made their lucky
+escape. And the secret door showed us how they had gone..."
+
+"But I thought you had a man posted at the back?"
+
+"Would you believe it? When the shooting began, the infernal
+idiot must rush round to our assistance, so, of course, Mortimer
+and Co., nipping out by the secret door, got clear away down the
+drive. But that is not the worst. Matthews gave them the car!"
+
+"No!" said Desmond incredulously.
+
+"He did, though," answered Francis. "Mind you, Mortimer had had
+the presence of mind to throw off his disguise. He presented
+himself to Matthews as Strangwise. Matthews knows Strangwise
+quite well: he has often seen him with the Chief.
+
+"'My God, Captain Strangwise,' says Matthews, as the trio
+appeared, 'What's happened?'
+
+"'You're wanted up at the house immediately, Matthews,' says
+Strangwise quite excitedly. 'We're to take the car and go for
+assistance.'
+
+"Matthews had a look at Strangwise's companions, and seeing
+Bellward, of course, takes him for you. As for the lady, she had
+a black lace muffler wound about her face.
+
+"'Miss Mackwayte's coming with us, Matthews,' Strangwise says,
+seeing Matthews look at the lady. That removed the last of any
+lurking suspicions that old Matthews might have had. He left the
+military policeman at the gate and tore off like mad up the drive
+while Strangwise and the others jumped into the car and were away
+before you could say 'knife.' The military, policeman actually
+cranked up the car for them!
+
+"When Matthews burst into the library with the story of you and
+Strangwise and Miss Mackwayte having gone off for help in our
+only car, I knew we had been sold. You were there, knocked out of
+time on the floor, in your disguise as Bellward, so I knew that
+the man with Strangwise was the real Bellward and I consequently
+deduced that Strangwise was Mortimer and consequently the very
+man we had to catch.
+
+"We were done brown. If we had had a little more time to think
+things out, we should have found that motor-bike and I would have
+gone after the trio myself. But my first idea was to summon aid.
+I tried to telephone without success and then we found the wire
+cut outside. Then I had the idea of pumping Behrend. I found him
+quite chatty and furious against Mortimer, whom he accused of
+having sold them. He told us that the party would be sure to make
+for the Dyke Inn, as Nur-el-Din was there.
+
+"By this time Strangwise and his party had got at least an hour
+clear start of us. I had set a man to repair the telephone and in
+the meantime was thinking of sending another on foot to Stanning
+to fetch one of our cars. Then I found the motor-bike and
+despatched one of the military policemen on it to Stanning.
+
+"In about half an hour's time he was back with a car in which
+were Gordon and Harrison and some more military police. I put
+Matthews in charge of the party and sent them off to the Dyke
+Inn, though I felt pretty sure we were too late to catch the
+trio. That was really the reason I stayed behind; besides, I
+wanted to look after you. I got a turn when I saw you spread out
+all over the carpet, old man, I can tell you."
+
+Desmond, who had listened with the most eager attention, did not
+speak for a minute. The sense of failure was strong upon him. How
+he had bungled it all!
+
+"Look here," he said presently in a dazed voice, "you said just
+now that Matthews mistook Mrs. Malplaquet for Miss Mackwayte. Why
+should Matthews think that Miss Mackwayte was down here? Did she
+come down with you?"
+
+Francis looked at him quickly.
+
+"That crack on the head makes you forget things," he said. "Don't
+you remember Miss Mackwayte coming down here to see you yesterday
+afternoon Matthews thought she had stayed on..."
+
+Desmond shook his head.
+
+"She's not been here," he replied. "I'm quite positive about that!"
+
+Francis sprang to his feet.
+
+"Surely you must be mistaken," he said in tones of concern. "The
+Chief sent her down yesterday afternoon on purpose to see you.
+She reached Wentfield Station all right; because the porter told
+Matthews that she asked him the way to the Mill House."
+
+An ominous foreboding struck chill at Desmond's heart. He held
+his throbbing head for an instant. Someone had mentioned Barbara
+that night in the library but who was it? And what had he said?
+
+Ah! of course, it was Strangwise. "So that's what she wanted with
+Nur-el-Din!" he had said.
+
+Desmond felt it all coming back to him now. Briefly he told
+Francis of his absence from the Mill House in response to the
+summons from Nur-el-Din, of his interview with the dancer and her
+story of the Star of Poland, of his hurried return just in time
+to meet Mortimer, and of Mortimer's enigmatical reference to the
+dancer in the library that night.
+
+Fancis looked graver and graver as the story proceeded. Desmond
+noted it and reproached himself most bitterly with his initial
+failure to inform the Chief of the visits of Nur-el-Din and
+Mortimer to the Mill House. When he had finished speaking, he did
+not look at Francis, but gazed mournfully out of the window into
+the chilly drizzle of a sad winter's day.
+
+"I don't like the look of it at all, Des," said his brother
+shaking his head, "but first we must make sure that there has
+been no misunderstanding about Miss Mackwayte. You say your
+housekeeper was already here when you came back from the Dyke
+Inn. She may have seen her. Let's have old Martha in!"
+
+Between fright, bewilderment and indignation at the invasion of
+the house, old Martha was, if anything, deafer and more stupid
+than usual. After much interrogation they had to be satisfied
+with her repeated assertion that "she 'adn't seen no young lady"
+and allowed her to hobble back to her kitchen.
+
+The two brothers stared at one another blankly. Francis was the
+first to speak. His eyes were shining and his manner was rather
+tense.
+
+"Des," he asked; "what do you make of it? From what Strangwise
+let fall in the library here tonight, it seems probable that Miss
+Mackwayte, instead of coming here to see you as she was told--or
+she may have called during your absence--went to the Dyke Inn and
+saw Nur-el-Din. The muffed cry you heard at the inn suggests foul
+play to me and that suspicion is deepened in my mind by the fact
+that Matthews found Nur-el-Din at the Dyke Inn, as he reported to
+me by telephone just now; but he says nothing about Miss
+Mackwayte. Des, I fear the worst for that poor girl if she has
+fallen into the hands of that gang!"
+
+Desmond remained silent for a moment. He was trying to piece
+things together as best as his aching head would allow. Both
+Nur-el-Din and Strangwise were after the jewel. Nur-el-Din
+believed that afternoon that Strangwise had it, while Strangwise,
+on discovering his loss, had seemed to suggest that Barbara
+Mackwayte had recovered it.
+
+"Either Strangwise or Nur-el-Din, perhaps both of them," said
+Desmond, "must know what has become of Miss Mackwayte."
+
+And he explained his reasoning to Francis. His brother nodded
+quickly.
+
+"Then Nur-el-Din shall tell us," he answered sternly.
+
+"They've arrested her?" asked Desmond with a sudden pang.
+
+"Yes," said Francis curtly. But too late to prevent a crime being
+committed. When Matthews and his party arrived, they found
+Nur-el-Din in the very act of leaving the inn. The landlord,
+Rass, was lying dead on the floor of the tap-room with a bullet
+through the temple. That looks to me, Des, as though Nur-el-Din
+had recovered the jewel!"
+
+"But Rass is a compatriot of hers," Desmond objected.
+
+"But he was also an inconvenient witness of her dealings with
+Strangwise," retorted Francis. "If either Nur-el-Din or
+Strangwise have regained possession of the Star of Poland, Des, I
+fear the worst for Barbara Mackwayte. Come in!"
+
+The corporal stood, saluting, at the door.
+
+"Mr. Matthews on the telephone, sir!"
+
+Francis hurried away, leaving Desmond to his thoughts, which were
+not of the most agreeable. Had he been wrong in thinking
+Nur-el-Din a victim? Was he, after all, nothing but a credulous
+fool who had been hoodwinked by a pretty woman's play-acting? And
+had he sacrificed Barbara Mackwayte to his obstinacy and his
+credulousness?
+
+Francis burst suddenly into the room.
+
+"Des," he cried, "they've found Miss Mackwayte's hat on the floor
+of the tap-room... it is stained with blood..."
+
+Desmond felt himself growing pale:
+
+"And the girl herself," he asked thickly, "what of her?"
+
+Francis shook his head.
+
+"Vanished," he replied gravely. "Vanished utterly.
+Desmond," he added, "we must go over to the Dyke Inn at once!"
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXI. THE BLACK VELVET TOQUE
+
+Across Morsted Fen the day was breaking red and sullen. The
+brimming dykes, fringed with bare pollards, and the long sheets
+of water spread out across the lush meadows, threw back the fiery
+radiance of the sky from their gleaming surface. The tall
+poplars about the Dyke Inn stood out hard and clear in the ruddy
+light; beyond them the fen, stretched away to the flaming horizon
+gloomy and flat and desolate, with nothing higher than the
+stunted pollards visible against the lurid background.
+
+Upon the absolute silence of the scene there presently broke the
+steady humming of a car. A great light, paled by the dawn, came
+bobbing and sweeping, along the road that skirted the fen's edge.
+A big open car drew up by the track and branched, off to the inn.
+Its four occupants consulted together for an instant and then
+alighted. Three of them were in plain clothes; the other was a
+soldier. The driver was also in khaki.
+
+"They're astir, Mr. Matthews," said one, of the plain clothes
+men, pointing towards the house, "see, there's a light in the
+inn!"
+
+They followed the direction of his finger and saw a beam of
+yellow light gleaming from among the trees.
+
+"Get your guns out, boys!" said Matthews. "Give them a chance to
+put their hands up, and if they don't obey, shoot!"
+
+Very swiftly but very quietly, the four men picked their way over
+the miry track to the little bridge leading to the yard in front
+of the inn. The light they had remarked shone from the inn door,
+a feeble, flickering light as of an expiring candle.
+
+Matthews, who was leading, halted and listened. Everything was
+quite still. Above their head the inn sign groaned uneasily as it
+was stirred by the fresh morning breeze.
+
+"You, Gordon," whispered Matthews to the man behind him--they had
+advanced in Indian file--"take Bates and go round to the back.
+Harrison will go in by the front with me."
+
+Even as he spoke a faint noise came from the interior of the
+house. The four men stood stock-still and listened. In the
+absolute stillness of the early morning, the sound fell
+distinctly on their ears. It was a step--a light step--descending
+the stairs.
+
+Gordon and the soldier detached themselves from the party as
+Matthews and the other plain clothes man crossed the bridge
+swiftly and went up to the inn door. Hardly had Matthews got his
+foot on the stone step of the threshold than, a piercing shriek
+resounded from the room quite close at hand. The next minute a
+flying figure burst out of the door and fell headlong into the
+arms of Matthews who was all but overbalanced by the force of the
+impact.
+
+He closed with the figure and grappled it firmly. His arms
+encountered a frail, light body, shaking from head to foot,
+enveloped in a cloak of some soft, thick material.
+
+"It's a woman!" cried Matthews.
+
+"It's Nur-el-Din!" exclaimed his companion in the same breath,
+seizing the woman by the arm.
+
+The dancer made no attempt to escape. She stood with bowed head,
+trembling violently, in a cowering, almost a crouching posture.
+
+Harrison, who had the woman by the arm, had turned her head so
+that he could see her face. She was deathly pale and her black
+eyes were wide open, the pupils dilated. Her teeth were
+chattering in her head. She seemed incapable of speech or motion.
+
+"Nur-el-Din?" exclaimed Matthews in accents of triumph. "Bring
+her in, Harrison, and let's have a look at her!"
+
+But the woman recoiled in terror. She arched her body stiff, like
+a child in a passion, and strained every muscle to remain where
+she was cowering by the inn-door.
+
+"Come on, my girl," said the man not unkindly, "don't you 'ear
+wot the Guv'nor sez! In you go!"
+
+Then the girl screamed aloud.
+
+"No, no!" she cried, "not in that house! For the love of God,
+don't take me back into that room! Ah! For pity's sake, let me
+stay outside! Take me to prison but not, not into that house
+again!"
+
+She half fell on her knees in the mire, pleading, entreating, her
+body shaken by sobs.
+
+Then Harrison, who was an ex-Guardsman and a six-footer at that,
+plucked her off her feet and carried her, still struggling, still
+imploring with piteous cries, over the threshold into the house:
+Matthews followed behind.
+
+The shutters of the tap-room were still closed. Only a strip of
+the dirty floor, strewn with sawdust, was illuminated by a bar of
+reddish light from the daybreak outside. On the table a candle,
+burnt down to the socket of its brass candlestick, flared and
+puttered in a riot of running wag. Half in the bar of daylight
+from outside, half in the darkness beyond the open door, against
+which the flickering candlelight struggled feebly, lay the body
+of a yellow-faced, undersized man with a bullet wound through the
+temple.
+
+Without effort Harrison deposited his light burden on her feet by
+the table. Instantly, the girl fled, like some frightened animal
+of the woods, to the farthest corner of the room. Here she
+dropped sobbing on her knees, rocking herself to and fro in a
+sort of paroxysm of hysteria. Harrison moved quickly round the
+table after her; but he was checked by a cry from Matthews who
+was kneeling by the body.
+
+"Let her be," said Matthews, "she's scared of this and no wonder!
+Come here a minute, Harrison, and see if you know, this chap!"
+
+Harrison crossed the room and looked down at the still figure. He
+whistled softly.
+
+"My word!" he said, "but he copped it all right, sir! Ay, I know
+him well enough! He's Rass, the landlord of this pub, that's who
+he is, as harmless a sort of chap as ever was! Who did it, d'you
+think, sir?"
+
+Matthews, who had been going through the dead man's pockets, now
+rose to his feet.
+
+"Nothing worth writing home about there," he said half aloud.
+Then to Harrison, he added: "That's what we've got to
+discover... hullo, who's this?"
+
+The door leading from the bar to the tap-room was thrust open.
+Gordon put his head in.
+
+"I left Bates on guard outside, sir," he said in answer to an
+interrogatory glance from Matthews, "I've been all over the
+ground floor and there's not a soul here..."
+
+He checked himself suddenly.
+
+"God bless my soul!" he exclaimed, his eyes on the figure
+crouching in the corner, "you don't mean to say you've got her? A
+pretty dance she led Dug and myself! Well, sir, it looks to me
+like a good night's work!".
+
+Matthews smiled a self-satisfied smile.
+
+"I fancy the Chief will be pleased," he said, "though the rest of
+'em seem to have given us the slip. Gordon, you might take a look
+upstairs--that door in the corner leads to the upper rooms, I
+fancy whilst I'm telephoning to Mr. Okewood. He must know about
+this without delay. You, Harrison, keep an eye on the girl!"
+
+He went through the door leading into the bar, and they heard him
+speaking on the telephone which hung on the wall behind the
+counter. He returned presently with a white tablecloth which he
+threw over the prostrate figure on the floor.
+
+Then he turned to the dancer.
+
+"Stand up," he said sternly, "I want to speak to you."
+
+Nur-el-Din cast a frightened glance over her shoulder at the
+floor beside the table where Rass lay. On seeing the white pall
+that hid him from view, she became somewhat reassured. She rose
+unsteadily to her feet and stood facing Matthews.
+
+"In virtue of the powers conferred upon me by the Defence of the
+Realm Acts, I arrest you for espionage... Matthews rolled off in
+glib, official gabble the formula of arrest ending with the usual
+caution that anything the prisoner might say might be used
+against her at her trial. Then he said to Harrison:
+
+"Better put them on her, Harrison!"
+
+The plain clothes man took a pace forward and touched the
+dancer's slender wrists, there was a click and she was
+handcuffed.
+
+"Now take her in there," said Matthews pointing to the bar.
+"There's no exit except by this room. And don't take your eyes
+off her. You understand? Mr. Okewood will be along presently with
+a female searcher."
+
+"Sir!" said the plain clothes man with military precision and
+touched the dancer on the shoulder. Without a word she turned and
+followed him into the bar.
+
+Gordon entered by the door at the end of the room.
+
+"I'd like you to have a look upstairs, sir," he said to Matthews,
+"there's not a soul in the house, but somebody has been locked up
+in one of the rooms. The door is still locked but one of the
+panels has been forced out. I think you ought to see it!"
+
+The two men passed out of the tap-room together, and mounted the
+stairs. On the landing Matthews paused a moment to glance out of
+the window on to the bleak and inhospitable fen which was almost
+obscured from view by a heavy drizzle of rain.
+
+"Brr!" said Mr. Matthews, "what a horrible place!"
+
+Looking up the staircase from the landing, they could see that
+one of the panels of the door facing the head of the stairs had
+been pressed out and lay on the ground. They passed up the stairs
+and Matthews, putting one arm and his head through the opening,
+found himself gazing into that selfsame ugly sitting room where
+Desmond had talked with Nur-el-Din.
+
+A couple of vigorous heaves burst the fastening of the door. The
+sitting-room was in the wildest confusion. The doors of the
+sideboard stood wide with its contents scattered
+higgledy-piggledy on the carpet. A chest of drawers in the corner
+had been ransacked, some of the drawers having been taken bodily
+out and emptied on the floor.
+
+The door leading to the inner room stood open and showed that a
+similar search had been conducted there as well. The inner room
+proved to be a bare white-washed place, very plainly furnished as
+a bedroom. On the floor stood a small attache case, and beside it
+a little heap of miscellaneous articles such as a woman would
+take away with her for a weekend, a crepe-de-chine nightdress, a
+dainty pair of bedroom slippers and some silver-mounted toilet
+fittings. From these things Matthews judged that this had been
+Nur-el-Din's bedroom.
+
+The two men spent a long time going through the litter with which
+the floor in the bedroom and sitting room was strewed. But their
+labors were vain, and they turned their attention to the
+remaining rooms, of which there were three.
+
+The first room they visited, adjoining Nur-el-Din's bedroom, was
+scarcely better than an attic. It contained in the way of
+furniture little else than a truckle-bed, a washstand, a table
+and a chair. Women's clothes were hanging on hooks behind the
+door. The place looked like a servant's bedroom.
+
+They pursued their search. Across the corridor two rooms stood
+side by side. One proved to be Rass's. His clothes lay about the
+room, and on a table in the corner, where writing materials
+stood, were various letters and bills made out in his name.
+
+The other room had also been occupied; for the bed was made and
+turned back for the night and there were clean towels on the
+washstand. But there was no clue as to its occupant save for a
+double-barreled gun which stood in the corner. It had evidently
+been recently used; for fresh earth was adhering to the stock and
+the barrel, though otherwise clean, showed traces of
+freshly-burnt powder.
+
+There being nothing further to glean upstairs, the two men went
+down to the tap-room again. As Matthews came through the door
+leading from the staircase his eye caught a dark object which lay
+on the floor under the long table. He fished it out with his
+stick.
+
+It was a small black velvet toque with a band of white and black
+silk flowers round it. In one part the white flowers were
+besmeared with a dark brown stain.
+
+Matthews stared at the little hat in his hand with puckered
+brows. Then he called to Gordon.
+
+"Do you know that hat?" he asked, holding it up for the man to
+see.
+
+Gordon shook his head.
+
+"I might have seen it," he replied, "but I don't take much
+account of such things, Mr. Matthews, being a married man..."
+
+"Tut, tut," fussed Matthews, "I think you have seen it. Come,
+think of the office for a minute!"
+
+"Of the office?" repeated Gordon. Then he exclaimed suddenly:
+
+"Miss Mackwayte!"
+
+"Exactly," answered Matthews, "it's her hat, I recall it
+perfectly. She wore it very often to the office. Look at the
+blood on it!"
+
+He put the hat down on the table and ran into the bar where
+Nur-el-Din sat immobile on her chair, wrapped in a big overcoat
+of some soft blanket cloth in dark green, her chin sunk on her
+breast.
+
+Matthews called up the Mill House and asked for Francis Okewood.
+When he mentioned the finding of Barbara Mackwayte's hat, the
+dancer raised her head and cast a frightened glance at Matthews.
+But she said nothing and when Matthews turned from the telephone
+to go back to the tap-room she had resumed her former listless
+attitude.
+
+Matthews and Gordon made a thorough search of the kitchen and
+back premises without finding anything of note. They had just
+finished when the sound of a car outside attracted their
+attention. On the road beyond the little bridge outside the inn
+Francis and Desmond Okewood were standing, helping a woman to
+alight. Francis was still wearing his scarecrow-like apparel,
+while Desmond, with his beard and pale face and bandaged head,
+looked singularly unlike the trim Brigade Major who had come home
+on leave only a week or so before.
+
+Matthews went out to meet them and, addressing the woman--a
+brisk-looking person--as Mrs. Butterworth, informed her that it
+was shocking weather. Then he led the way into the inn.
+
+The first thing that Desmond saw was the little toque with the
+brown stain on its flowered band lying on the table. Francis
+picked it up, turned it over and laid it down again.
+
+"Where did you find it?" he asked Matthews. The latter informed
+him of the circumstances of the discovery. Then Francis, sending
+the searcher in to Nur-el-Din in the bar, pointed to the body on
+the floor.
+
+"Let's have a look at that!" he said.
+
+Matthews removed the covering and the three men gazed at the set
+face of the dead man. There was a clean bullet wound in the right
+temple. Matthews showed the papers he had taken off the body and
+exchanged a few, words in a low tone with Francis. There is
+something about the presence of death which impels respect
+whatever the circumstances.
+
+Five minutes later Mrs. Butterworth came out of the bar. In her
+hands she held a miscellaneous assortment of articles, a small
+gold chain purse, a pair of gloves, a gold cigarette case, a tiny
+handkerchief, and a long blue envelope. She put all the articles
+down on the tables save the envelope which she handed to Francis.
+
+"This was in the lining of her overcoat, sir," she said.
+
+Francis took the envelope and broke the seal. He drew out half a
+dozen sheets of thin paper, folded lengthwise. Leisurely he
+unfolded them, but he had hardly glanced at the topmost sheet
+than he turned to the next and the next until he had run through
+the whole bunch. Desmond, peering over his shoulder, caught a
+glimpse of rows of figures, very neatly set out in a round hand
+and knew that he was looking at a message in cipher code.
+
+The door at the end of the tap-room was flung open and a soldier
+came in quickly.
+
+He stopped irresolute on seeing the group.
+
+"Well, Bates," said Matthews.
+
+"There's a woman lying dead in the cellar back yonder," said the
+man, jerking his thumb over his shoulder.
+
+"The cellar?" cried Matthews.
+
+"Yes, sir... I think you must ha' overlooked it."
+
+Francis, Desmond and Matthews exchanged a brief glance. A name
+was on the lips of each one of them but none dared speak it.
+Then, leaving Harrison and Mrs. Butterworth with Nur-el-Din, the
+three men followed the soldier and hurriedly quitted the room.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXII. WHAT THE CELLAR REVEALED
+
+On opening the door at the farther end of the tap-room they saw
+before them a trap-door standing wide with a shallow flight of
+wooden steps leading to the darkness below. Bates pointed with
+his foot to a square of linoleum which lay on one side.
+
+"That was covering the trap," he said, "I wouldn't ha' noticed
+nothing out of the ordinary myself only I slipped, see, and
+kicked this bit o' ilecloth away and there was the ring of the
+trap staring me in the face, as you might say. Show us a light
+here, Gordon!"
+
+Gordon handed him an electric torch. He flashed it down the
+stair. It fell upon something like a heap of black clothes
+huddled up at the foot of the ladder.
+
+"Is it Miss Mackwayte?" whispered Francis to his brother. "I've
+never seen her, you know!"
+
+"I can't tell," Desmond whispered back, "until I see her face."
+
+He advanced to descend the ladder but Matthews was before him.
+Producing an electric torch from his pocket, Matthews slipped
+down the stair with Gordon close behind. There was a pause, so
+tense that it seemed an eternity to Desmond, as he waited
+half-way down the ladder with the musty smell of the cellar in
+his nostrils. Then Matthews cried:
+
+"It's not her!"
+
+"Let me look!" Gordon broke in. Then Desmond heard him exclaim.
+
+"It's Nur-el-Din's French maid! It's Marie... she's been stabbed
+in the back!"
+
+Desmond suddenly felt rather sick. This progress from one deed of
+violence to another revolted him. The others crowded into the
+cellar; but he did not follow them. He remained at the top of the
+trap, leaning against the wall, trying to collect his thoughts.
+
+Barbara Mackwayte was now his sole preoccupation. If anything had
+happened to her,--it was through his fault alone; for he began to
+feel sure she must have come to the Mill House in his absence.
+What then had become of her? The blood-stained toque pointed to
+foul play. But if they had murdered her, what had they done with
+the body?
+
+His thoughts flew back to his interview with Nur-el-Din upstairs
+on the previous afternoon. He remembered the entrance of the maid
+and the dancer's hurried exit. Might not Marie have come to tell
+her that Barbara Mackwayte was below asking for her? It was very
+shortly after this interruption that, crouching on the roof of
+the shed, he had heard that muffled cry from the house and seen
+Rass enter the bar and speak with Strangwise. He had seen, too,
+the maid, Marie, in earnest conversation with Strangwise by the
+back gate on the fen. Had both Marie and Rass been in league with
+Strangwise against the dancer? And had Nur-el-Din discovered
+their treachery? His mind refused to follow these deductions to
+their logical sequence; for, black as things looked against
+Nur-el-Din, he could not bring himself to believe her a
+murderess.
+
+But now there were footsteps on the ladder. They were all coming
+out of the cellar again. As soon as Francis saw Desmond's face,
+he caught his brother by the arm and said:
+
+"The open air for you, my boy! You look as if you'd seen a ghost!
+I should have remembered all you've gone through!"
+
+He walked him quickly through the tap-room and out through the
+inn door into the yard.
+
+The rain had ceased and the sun was making a brave attempt to
+shine through the clouds. The cold air did Desmond good and
+after a turn or two in the yard, arm in arm with Francis, he felt
+considerably better.
+
+"Where is Miss Mackwayte?" he asked.
+
+"Des," said his brother, "I don't know and I don't want to
+cross-examine Nur-el-Din in there until I have reasoned out some
+theory which will fit Miss Mackwayte in her place in this
+horrible affair. The men have gone to search the outhouses and
+precincts of the inn to see if they can find any traces of her
+body, but I don't think they will find anything. I believe that
+Miss Mackwayte is alive."
+
+"Alive?" said Desmond.
+
+"The blood on that toque of hers might have been Rass's. There is
+a good deal of blood on the floor. You see, I still think Miss
+Mackwayte's safety depends on that jewel not being recovered by
+either Strangwise or Nur-el-Din. Strangwise, we know, has lost
+the jewel and there is no trace of it here: moreover, we know
+that, as late as yesterday afternoon, Nur-el-Din did not have it.
+Therefore, she cannot have sent it away! I am inclined to
+believe, too, that Strangwise, before going over to the Mill
+House last night, carried off Miss Mackwayte somewhere with the
+aid of Rass and Marie, who were evidently his accomplices, in
+order to find out from her where the jewel is concealed..."
+
+"But Miss Mackwayte cannot know what has become of it," objected
+Desmond.
+
+"Maybe not," retorted his brother, "but both Strangwise and
+Nur-el-Din know that the jewel was originally entrusted to her
+charge. Nur-el-Din did not, it is true, tell Miss Mackwayte what
+the silver box contained but the latter may have found out, at
+least the dancer might suppose so; while Strangwise might think
+the same. Therefore, both Strangwise and Nur-el-Din had an
+interest in detaining Miss Mackwayte, and I think Strangwise
+forestalled the dancer. When Nur-el-Din discovered it, both Rass
+and her maid paid the penalty of their betrayal."
+
+They walked once up and down the yard before Desmond replied.
+
+"Francis," he said, "you remember Nur-el-Din's story--I told it
+to you just as I had it from her."
+
+"Perfectly," answered his brother.
+
+"Well," Desmond went on deliberately, "I think that story gives
+us the right measure of Nur-el-Din's, character. She may be vain,
+she may be without morals, she may be weak, she may be an
+adventuress, but she's not a murderess. If anything, she's a
+victim!"
+
+Francis laughed shortly.
+
+"Victim be damned!" he cried. "Man alive," he went on, "how can
+you talk such nonsense in face of the evidence, with this
+bloody-minded woman's victims hardly cold yet? But, horrible as
+these murders are, the private squabbles of this gang of spies
+represent neither your interest nor mine in this case. For us the
+fact remains that Nur-el-Din, besides being a monster of
+iniquity, is the heart and soul and vitals of the whole
+conspiracy!"
+
+Jaded and nervous, Desmond felt a quick sting of resentment at
+his brother's tone. Why should Francis thus lay down the law to
+him about Nur-el-Din? Francis knew nothing of the girl or her
+antecedents while he, Desmond, flattered himself that he had at
+least located the place she occupied in this dark conspiracy. And
+he cried out vehemently:
+
+"You're talking like a fool! I grant you that Nur-el-Din has been
+mixed up with this spy crowd; but she herself stands absolutely
+apart from the organization..."
+
+"Half a minute!" put in Francis, "aren't you forgetting that blue
+envelope we took off her just now?"
+
+"What about it?" asked Desmond sharply.
+
+"Merely this; the cipher is in five figure groups, addressed to a
+four figure group and signed by a six figure group..."
+
+"Well?"
+
+"That happens to be the current secret code of the German Great
+General Staff. If you were to tap a German staff message out in
+France to-day, ten to one it would be in that code. Curious
+coincidence, isn't it?"
+
+When one is angry, to be baffled in argument does not have a
+sedative effect as a rule. If we were all philosophers it might;
+but being merely human beings, cold reason acts on the inflamed
+temperament as a red rag is said to affect a bull.
+
+Desmond, sick with the sense of failure and his anxiety about
+Barbara, was in no mood to listen to reason. The cold logic of
+his brother infuriated him mainly because Desmond knew that
+Francis was right.
+
+"I don't care a damn for the evidence," vociferated Desmond; "It
+may look black against Nur-el-Din; I daresay it does; but I have
+met and talked to this girl and I tell you again that she is not
+a principal in this affair but a victim!"
+
+"You talk as if you were in love with the woman!" Francis said
+mockingly.
+
+Desmond went rather white.
+
+"If pity is a form of love," he replied in a low voice, "then I
+am, for God knows I never pitied any woman as I pity Nur-el-Din!
+Only you, I suppose," he added bitterly, "are too much of the
+policeman, Francis, to appreciate anything like that!" Hot
+tempers run in families and Francis flared up on the instant.
+
+"I may be a policeman, as you say," he retorted, "but I've got
+enough sense of my duty, I hope, not to allow sentimentality to
+interfere with my orders!"
+
+It was a shrewd thrust and it caught Desmond on the raw.
+
+"I'm sick of arguing here," he said hotly, "if you're so mighty
+clever, you'd better shoot Nur-el-Din first and arrest Strangwise
+afterwards. Then you'll find out which of us two is right!"
+
+He turned on his heel and started for the little bridge leading
+out onto the fen.
+
+Francis stood still a moment watching him, then ran after him. He
+caught up with Desmond as the latter reached the bridge.
+
+"Desmond!" he said, pleadingly.
+
+"Oh, go to hell!" retorted the other savagely, whereupon Francis
+turned his back on him and walked back to the inn.
+
+A car had stopped by the bridge and a man was getting out of it
+as Desmond moved towards the fen. The next moment he found
+himself face to face with the Chief.
+
+The Chief's face was hard and cold and stern. There was a furrow
+between his eyes which deepened when he recognized Desmond.
+
+"Well," he said curtly, "and where is my secretary?"
+
+"I don't know," Desmond faltered.
+
+"Why are you here, then?" came back in that hard, uncompromising
+voice.
+
+Desmond was about to reply; but the other checked him.
+
+"I know all you have to say," he resumed, "but no excuse you can
+offer can explain away the disappearance of Miss Mackwayte. Your
+orders were formal to remain at home. You saw fit to disobey them
+and thereby, maybe, sent Miss Mackwayte to her death. No!" he
+added, seeing that Desmond was about to expostulate, "I want to
+hear nothing from you. However obscure the circumstances of Miss
+Mackwayte's disappearance may be, one fact is perfectly clear,
+namely, that she went to the Mill House, as she was ordered and
+you were not there. For no man or woman in my service ever dares
+to disobey an order I have given."
+
+"Chief..." Desmond broke in, but again that inexorable voice
+interposed.
+
+"I will hear nothing from you," said the Chief, "it is a rule of
+mine never to interfere with my men in their work or to see them
+until their mission has been successfully completed. When you
+have found Miss Mackwayte I will hear you but not before!"
+
+Desmond drew himself up.
+
+"In that case, sir," he said stiffly, "I will bid you good
+morning. And I trust you will hear from me very soon again!"
+
+He walked over to one of the cars waiting outside the inn, spoke
+a word to the driver and got in. The driver started the engine
+and presently the car was bumping slowly along the muddy track to
+the main road.
+
+The Chief stood looking after him.
+
+"Well," he murmured to himself. "I soaked it into him pretty
+hard; but he took it like a brick. I do believe he'll find her
+yet!"
+
+He shook his head sagely and continued on his way across the
+yard.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIII. MRS. MALPLAQUET GOES DOWN TO THE CELLAR
+
+In the age of chivalry woman must have been built of sterner
+stuff than the girl of to-day. At least, we read in medieval
+romance of fair ladies who, after being knocked down by a
+masterful suitor and carried off across his saddle bow thirty or
+forty miles, are yet able to appear, cold but radiantly
+beautiful, at the midnight wedding and the subsequent marriage
+feast.
+
+But this is a romance of the present day, the age of nerves and
+high velocity. Barbara Mackwayte, strong and plucky as she was,
+after being half throttled and violently thrown into the cellar
+of the Dyke Inn, suddenly gave way under the strain and
+conveniently evaded facing the difficulties of her position by
+fainting clear away.
+
+The precise moment when she came out of her swoon she never knew.
+The cellar was dark; but it was nothing compared to the darkness
+enveloping her mind. She lay there on the damp and mouldy straw,
+hardly able, scarcely wanting, to move, overwhelmed by the
+extraordinary adventure which had befallen her. Was this to be
+the end of the pleasant trip into the country on which she had
+embarked so readily only a few hours before? She tried to
+remember that within twenty miles of her were policemen and taxis
+and lights and all the attributes of our present day
+civilization; but her thoughts always returned, with increasing
+horror, to that undersized yellow-faced man in the room above, to
+the face of Nur-el-Din, dark and distorted with passion.
+
+A light shining down the cellar stairs drew her attention to the
+entrance. The woman she had already seen and in whom she now
+recognized Marie, the dancer's maid, was descending, a tray in
+her hand. She placed the tray on the ground without a word, then
+went up the stairs again and fetched the lamp. She put the lamp
+down by the tray and, stooping, cut the ropes that fastened
+Barbara's hands and feet.
+
+"So, Mademoiselle," she said, drawing herself erect with a grunt,
+"your supper: some tea and meat!"
+
+She pulled a dirty deal box from a corner of the cellar and put
+the tray upon it. Then she rose to her feet and sat down. The
+maid watched Barbara narrowly while she ate a piece of bread and
+drank the tea.
+
+"At least," thought Barbara to herself, "they don't mean to
+starve me!"
+
+The tea was hot and strong; and it did her good. It seemed to
+clear her faculties, too; for her brain began to busy itself with
+the problem of escaping from her extraordinary situation.
+
+"Mademoiselle was a leetle too clevaire," said the maid with an
+evil leer,--"she would rob Madame, would she? She would play the
+espionne, hein? Eh bien, ma petite, you stay 'ere ontil you say
+what you lave done wiz ze box of Madame!"
+
+"Why do you say I have stolen the box?" protested Barbara, "when
+I tell you I know nothing of it. It was stolen from me by the man
+who killed my father. More than that I don't know. You don't
+surely think I would conspire to kill" her voice trembled--"my
+father, to get possession of this silver box that means nothing
+to me!"
+
+Marie laughed cynically.
+
+"Ma foi," she cried, "when one is a spy, one will stop at
+nothing! But tiens, here is Madame!"
+
+Nur-el-Din picked her way carefully down the steps, the
+yellow-faced man behind her. He had a pistol in his hand. The
+dancer said something in French to her maid who picked up the
+tray and departed.
+
+"Now, Mademoiselle," said Nur-el-Din, "you see this pistol. Rass
+here will use it if you make any attempt to escape. You
+understand me, hein? I come to give you a las' chance to say
+where you 'ave my box..."
+
+Barbara looked at the dancer defiantly.
+
+"I've told you already I know nothing about it. You, if any one,
+should be better able to say what has become of it..."
+
+"Quoi?" exclaimed Nur-el-Din in genuine surprise, "comment?"
+
+"Because," said Barbara, "a long black hair--one of your
+hairs--was found adhering to the straps with which I was
+fastened!"
+
+"Tiens!" said the dancer, her black eyes wide with surprise,
+"tiens!"
+
+She was silent for a minute, lost in thought. The man, Rass,
+suddenly cocked his ear towards the staircase and said something
+to Nur-el-Din in the same foreign tongue which Barbara had heard
+them employ before.
+
+The dancer made a gesture, bidding him to be silent.
+
+"He was at my dressing-table that night;" she murmured in French,
+as though to herself, "then it was he who did it!"
+
+She spoke rapidly to Barbara.
+
+"This man who tied you up... you didn't see him?"
+
+Barbara shook her head.
+
+"I could see nothing; I don't even know that it was a man. He
+seized me so suddenly that in the dark I could distinguish
+nothing... it might have been a woman... yourself, for instance,
+for all I know!"
+
+Nur-el-Din clasped her hands together.
+
+"It was he, himself, then," she whispered, "I might have known.
+Yet he has not got it here!"
+
+Heavy footsteps resounded in the room above. Rass cried out
+something swiftly to the dancer, thrust the pistol into her
+hands, and dashed up the ladder. The next moment there was a loud
+report followed by the thud of a heavy body falling. Somewhere in
+the rooms above a woman screamed.
+
+Nur-el-Din's hands flew to her face and the pistol crashed to the
+ground. Two men appeared at the head of the cellar stairs. One
+was Strangwise, in uniform, the other was Bellward.
+
+"They're both here!" said Strangwise over his shoulder to
+Bellward.
+
+"Ah, thank God, you've come!" cried Barbara, running to the foot
+of the ladder.
+
+Strangwise brushed past her and caught Nur-el-Din by the arm.
+
+"Run her upstairs," he said quickly to Bellward who had followed
+behind him, "and lock her in her room. I've seen to the rest.
+You, Miss Mackwayte," he added to Barbara, "you will come with
+us!"
+
+Barbara was staring in fascination at Bellward. She had never
+believed that any disguise could be so baffling, so complete;
+Major Okewood, she thought, looked like a different man.
+
+But Bellward had grasped the dancer by the two arms and forced
+her up the stairs in front of him. Nur-el-Din seemed too overcome
+with terror to utter a sound.
+
+"Oh, don't be so rough with her, Major Okewood!" entreated
+Barbara, "you'll hurt her!"
+
+She had her back turned to Strangwise so she missed the very
+remarkable change that came over his features at her words.
+
+"Okewood," he whispered but too low for the girl to distinguish
+the words, "Okewood? I might have guessed! I might have guessed!"
+Then he touched Barbara lightly on the shoulder.
+
+"Come," he said, "we must be getting upstairs. We have much to
+do!"
+
+He gently impelled her towards the ladder up which Bellward and
+Nur-el-Din had already disappeared. At the top, he took the lead
+and conducted Barbara into the taproom. A single candle stood on
+the table, throwing a wan light into the room. Rass lay on his
+back in the centre of the floor, one hand doubled up under him,
+one knee slightly drawn up.
+
+Barbara started back in horror.
+
+"Is he... is he..." she stammered, pointing at the limp still
+form.
+
+Strangwise nodded.
+
+"A spy!" he said gravely, "we were well rid of him. Go over there
+in the corner where you won't see it. Stay!" he added, seeing how
+pale the girl had become, "you shall have some brandy!"
+
+He produced a flask and measured her out, a portion in the cup.
+Suddenly, the door leading from the bar opened and a woman came
+into the room. Her black velvet dress, her gray hair and general
+air of distinction made her a bizarre figure in that squalid room
+lit by the guttering candle.
+
+"Time we were off!" she said to Strangwise, "Bellward's just
+coming down!"
+
+"There's the maid..." began Strangwise, looking meaningly at
+Barbara.
+
+The woman in black velvet cast a questioning glance at him.
+
+Strangwise nodded.
+
+"I'll do it," said the woman promptly, "if you'll call her down!"
+
+Strangwise went to the other door of the tap-room and called:
+
+"Marie!"
+
+There was a step outside and the maid came in, pale and
+trembling.
+
+"Your mistress wants you; she is downstairs in the cellar," he
+said pleasantly.
+
+Marie hesitated an instant and surveyed the group.
+
+"Non, non," she said nervously, "je n'veux pas descendre!"
+
+Strangwise smiled, showing his teeth.
+
+"No need to be frightened, ma fille," he replied. "Madame here
+will go down with you!" and he pointed to the woman in black
+velvet.
+
+This seemed to reassure the maid and she walked across the room
+to the door, the woman following her. As the latter passed
+Strangwise he whispered a word in her ear.
+
+"No, no," answered the other, "I prefer my own way," and she
+showed him something concealed in her hand.
+
+The two women quitted the room together, leaving Strangwise and
+Barbara alone with the thing on the floor. Strangwise picked up a
+military great-coat which was hanging over the back of a chair
+and put it on, buttoning it all the way up the front and turning
+up the collar about the neck. Then he crammed a cap on his head
+and stood listening intently.
+
+A high, gurgling scream, abruptly checked, came through the open
+door at the farther end of the room.
+
+Barbara sprang up from the chair into which she had sunk.
+
+"What was that" she asked, whispering.
+
+Strangwise did not reply. He was still listening, a tall, well
+set-up figure in the long khaki great-coat.
+
+"But those two women are alone in the cellar," exclaimed Barbara,
+"they are being murdered! Ah! what was that?"
+
+A gentle thud resounded from below.
+
+A man came in through the door leading from the bar:
+
+He had a fat, smooth-shaven face, heavily jowled.
+
+"All ready, Bellward?" asked Strangwise carelessly.
+
+Barbara stared at the man thus addressed. She saw that he was
+wearing the same clothes as the man who had come down into the
+cellar with Strangwise but the beard was gone. And the man she
+saw before her was not Desmond Okewood.
+
+Without waiting to reason out the metamorphosis, she ran towards
+Bellward.
+
+"They're murdering those two women down in the cellar," she
+cried, "oh, what has happened? Won't you go down and see?"
+
+Bellward shook her off roughly.
+
+"Neat work!" said Strangwise.
+
+"She's a wonder with the knife!" agreed the other.
+
+Barbara stamped her foot.
+
+"If neither of you men have the courage to go down," she cried,
+"then I'll go alone! As for you, Captain Strangwise, a British
+officer..."
+
+She never finished the sentence. Strangwise caught her by the
+shoulder and thrust the cold barrel of a pistol in her face.
+
+"Stay where you are!" he commanded. "And if you scream I shoot!"
+
+Barbara was silent, dumb with horror and bewilderment, rather
+than with fear. A light shone through the open door at the end of
+the tap-room and the woman in black velvet appeared, carrying a
+lamp in her hand She was breathing rather hard and her carefully
+arranged gray hair was a little untidy; but she was quite calm
+and self-possessed.
+
+"We haven't a moment to lose!" she said, putting the lamp down on
+the table and blowing it out.
+
+"Bellward, give me my cloak!"
+
+Bellward advanced with a fur cloak and wrapped it about her
+shoulders.
+
+"You are the perfect artiste, Minna," he said.
+
+"Practise makes perfect!" replied Mrs. Malplaquet archly.
+
+Strangwise had flung open the door leading to the front yard. A
+big limousine stood outside.
+
+"Come on," he said impatiently, "don't stand there gossiping you
+two!"
+
+Then Barbara revolted.
+
+"I'll not go!" she exclaimed, "you can do what you like but I'll
+stay where I am! Murderers..."
+
+"Oh," said Strangwise wearily, "bring her along, Bellward!"
+
+Bellward and the woman seized the girl one by each arm and
+dragged her to the car. Strangwise had the door open and between
+them they thrust her in. Bellward and the woman mounted after her
+while Strangwise, after starting the engine, sprang into the
+driving-seat outside. With a low hum the big car glided forth
+into the cold, starry night.
+
+From the upper floor of the Dyke Inn came the sound of a woman's
+terrified sobs. Below there reigned the silence of death.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIV. THE TWO DESERTERS
+
+Desmond drove to Wentfield Station in an angry and defiant mood.
+He was incensed against Francis, incensed against the Chief, yet,
+if the truth were told, most of all incensed against himself.
+
+Not that he admitted it for a moment. He told himself that he was
+very hardly used. He had undergone considerable danger in the
+course of discharging a mission which was none of his seeking,
+and he had met with nothing but taunts from his brother and abuse
+from the Chief.
+
+"I wash my hands of the whole thing," Desmond declared, as he
+paced the platform at Wentfield waiting for his train. "As
+Francis is so precious cocksure about it all, let him carry on in
+my place! He's welcome to the Chief's wiggings! The Chief won't
+get me to do his dirty work again in a hurry! That's flat!"
+
+Yet all the while the little gimlet that men call conscience was
+patiently drilling its way through the wall of obduracy behind
+which Desmond's wounded pride had taken cover. Rail as he would
+against his hard treatment at the hands of the Chief, he knew
+perfectly well that he could never wash his hands of his mission
+until Barbara Mackwayte had been brought back into safety. This
+thought kept thrusting itself forward into the foreground of his
+mind; and he had to focus his attention steadfastly on his
+grievances to push it back again.
+
+But we puny mortals are all puppets in the hands of Fate. Even as
+the train was bearing Desmond, thus rebellious, Londonwards,
+Destiny was already pulling the strings which was to force the
+"quitter" back into the path he had forsaken. For this purpose
+Fate had donned the disguise of a dirty-faced man in a greasy old
+suit and a spotted handkerchief in lieu of collar... but of him
+presently.
+
+On arriving at Liverpool Street, Desmond, painfully conscious of
+his unkempt appearance, took a taxi to a Turkish bath in the West
+End. There his first care was to submit himself to the hands of
+the barber who, after a glance at his client's bandaged head,
+muddy clothes and shaggy beard, coughed ominously and relapsed
+into a most unbarber-like reserve.
+
+Desmond heard the cough and caught the look of commiseration on
+the man's face.
+
+"I rather think I want a shave!" he said, weakly. "I rather think
+you do, sir!" replied the man, busy with his lather.
+
+"... Had a nasty accident," murmured Desmond, "I fell down and
+cut my head..."
+
+"We're used to that here, sir," answered the barber, "but the
+bath'll make you as right as, rain. W'y we 'ad a genel'man in
+'ere, only lars' week it was, as 'adn't been 'ome for five days
+and nights and the coat mos tore off 'is back along with a bit of
+turn-up 'e'd 'at one o' them night clubs. And drunk I... w'y 'e
+went to bite the rubber, so they wos tellin' me! But, bless you,
+'e 'ad a nice shave and a couple of hours in the bath and a bit
+of a nap; we got him his clothes as was tore mended up fine for
+'im and 'e went 'ome as sober as a judge and as fresh as a
+daisy!"
+
+Desmond had it in his mind to protest against this material
+interpretation of his disreputable state; but the sight in the
+mirror of his ignominiously scrubby and battered appearance
+silenced him. The barber's explanation was as good as any, seeing
+that he himself could give no satisfactory account of the
+circumstances which had reduced him to his sorry pass. So Desmond
+held his peace though he felt constrained to reject the barber's
+offer of a pick-me-up.
+
+From the shaving saloon, Desmond sent a messenger out for some
+clothes, and for the next three hours amused himself by
+exhausting the resources of the Turkish bath. Finally, about the
+hour of noon, he found himself, considerably refreshed, swathed
+in towel, reposing on a couch, a cup of coffee at his elbow and
+that morning's Daily Telegraph spread out before him.
+
+Advertisements, so the experts say, are printed on the front and
+back of newspapers in order to catch the eye of the indolent, on
+the chance that having exhausted the news, they may glance idly
+over the front and back of the paper before laying it aside. So
+Desmond, before he even troubled to open his paper, let his gaze
+wander down the second column of the front page whence issue
+daily those anguishing appeals, mysterious messages,
+heart-rending entreaties and barefaced begging advertisements
+which give this column its characteristic name.
+
+There his eye fell on an advertisement couched in the following
+terms:
+
+"If Gunner Martin Barling, 1820th Battery, R.F.C., will
+communicate with Messrs. Mills & Cheyne, solicitors 130 Bedford
+Row, W. C., he will hear of something to his advantage.
+Difficulties with the military can be arranged."
+
+Desmond read this advertisement over once and then, starting at
+the beginning, read it over again. Gunner Barling... the name
+conjured up a picture of a jolly, sun-burned man, always very
+spick and span, talking the strange lingo of our professional
+army gleaned from India, Aden, Malta and the Rock, the type of
+British soldier that put the Retreat from Mons into the history
+books for all time.
+
+Advertisements like this; Desmond reflected dreamily, meant
+legacies as a rule; he was glad of it, for the sake of Barling
+whom he hadn't seen since the far-away days of Aldershot before
+the war.
+
+"Buzzer" Barling was the brother of one Private Henry Barling who
+had been Desmond's soldier-servant. He derived the nickname of
+"Buzzer" from the fact that he was a signaller. As the
+vicissitudes of service had separated the two brothers for many
+years, they had profited by the accident of finding themselves at
+the same station to see as much of one another as possible, and
+Desmond had frequently come across the gunner at his quarters in
+barracks. Henry Barling had gone out to France with Desmond but a
+sniper in the wood at Villers Cotterets had deprived Desmond of
+the best servant and the truest friend he had ever had. Now here
+was Henry's brother cropping up again. Desmond hoped that
+"Buzzer" Barling would see the advertisement, and half asleep,
+formed a mental resolve to cut out the notice and send it to the
+gunner who, he felt glad to think, was still alive. The rather
+curiously worded reference to difficulties with the military must
+mean, Desmond thought, that leave could be obtained for Martin
+Barling to come home and collect his legacy.
+
+At this point the Daily Telegraph fell to the ground and Desmond
+went off to sleep. When he awoke, the afternoon hush had fallen
+upon the bath. He seemed to be the only occupant of the cubicles.
+His clothes which had arrived from the shop during his slumbers,
+were very neatly laid out on a couch opposite him.
+
+He dressed himself leisurely. The barber was quite right. The
+bath had made a new man of him. Save for a large bump on the back
+of his head he was none the worse for Strangwise's savage blow.
+The attendant having packed Bellward's apparel in the suit-case
+in which Desmond's clothes had come from the club, Desmond left
+the suit-case in the man's charge and strolled out into the soft
+air of a perfect afternoon. He had discarded his bandage and in
+his well fitting blue suit and brown boots he was not
+recognizable as the scrubby wretch who had entered the bath six
+hours before.
+
+Desmond strolled idly along the crowded streets in the sunshine.
+He was rather at a loss as to what his next move should be. Now
+that his mental freshness was somewhat restored, his thoughts
+began to busy themselves again with the disappearance of Barbara
+Mackwayte. He was conscious of a guilty feeling towards Barbara.
+It was not so much the blame he laid upon himself for not being
+at the Mill House to meet her when she came as the sense that he
+had been unfaithful to the cause of her murdered father.
+
+Now that he was away from Nur-el-Din with her pleading eyes and
+pretty gestures, Desmond's thoughts turned again to Barbara
+Mackwayte. As he walked along Piccadilly, he found himself
+contrasting the two women as he had contrasted them that night he
+had met them in Nur-el-Din's dressing room at the Palaceum. And,
+with a sense of shame; he became aware of how much he had
+succumbed to the dancer's purely sensual influence; for away from
+her he found he could regain his independence of thought and
+action.
+
+The thought of Barbara in the hands of that woman with the cruel
+eyes or a victim to the ruthlessness of Strangwise made Desmond
+cold with apprehension. If they believed the girl knew where the
+jewel had disappeared to, they would stop at nothing to force a
+confession from her; Desmond was convinced of that. But what had
+become of the trio?
+
+In vain he cast about him for a clue. As far as he knew, the only
+London address that Strangwise had was the Nineveh; and he was as
+little likely to return there as Bellward was to make his way to
+his little hotel in Jermyn Street. There remained Mrs. Malplaquet
+who, he remembered, had told him of her house at Campden Hill.
+
+For the moment, Desmond decided, he must put both Strangwise and
+Bellward out of his calculations. The only direction in which he
+could start his inquiries after Barbara Mackwayte pointed towards
+Campden Hill and Mrs. Malplaquet.
+
+The delightful weather suggested to his mind the idea of walking
+out to Campden Hill to pursue his investigations on the spot. So
+he made his way across the Park into Kensington Gardens heading
+for the pleasant glades of Notting Hill. In the Bayswater Road he
+turned into a postoffice and consulted the London Directory. He
+very quickly convinced himself that among the hundreds of
+thousands of names compiled by Mr. Kelly's indefatigable industry
+Mrs. Malplaquet's was not to be found. Neither did the street
+directory show her as the tenant of any of the houses on Campden
+Hill.
+
+I don't know that there is a more pleasant residential quarter of
+London than the quiet streets and gardens that straggle over this
+airy height. The very steepness of the slopes leading up from the
+Kensington High Street on the one side and from Holland Park
+Avenue on the other effectually preserves the atmosphere of
+old-world languor which envelops this retired spot. The hill,
+with its approaches so steep as to suggest to the imaginative the
+pathway winding up some rock-bound fastness of the Highlands,
+successfully defies organ-grinders and motor-buses and other
+aspirants to the membership in the great society for the
+propagation of street noises. As you near the summit, the quiet
+becomes more pronounced until you might fancy yourself a thousand
+leagues, instead of as many yards, removed from the busy commerce
+of Kensington or the rather strident activity of Notting Hill.
+
+So various in size and condition are the houses that it is as
+though they had broken away from the heterogeneous rabble of
+bricks and mortar that makes up the Royal Borough of Kensington,
+and run up in a crowd to the summit of the hill to look down
+contemptuously upon their less fortunate brethren in the plain.
+On Campden Hill there are houses to suit all purses and all
+tastes from the vulgar mansion with its private garden to the
+little one-story stable that Art (which flourishes in these
+parts) and ten shillings worth of paint has converted into a
+cottage.
+
+For half an hour Desmond wandered in a desultory fashion along
+the quiet roads of natty houses with brightly painted doors and
+shining brass knockers. He had no definite objective; but he
+hoped rather vaguely to pick up some clue that might lead him to
+Mrs. Malplaquet's. He walked slowly along surveying the houses
+and scrutinizing the faces of the passers-by who were few and far
+between, yet without coming any nearer the end of his search.
+
+It was now growing dusk. Enthroned on the summit of the hill the
+water-tower stood out hard and clear against the evening sky.
+Desmond, who had lost his bearings somewhat in the course of his
+wanderings, came to a full stop irresolutely, where two streets
+crossed, thinking that he would retrace his footsteps to the
+main-road on the chance of picking up a taxi to take him back to
+town. He chose one of the streets at random; but it proved to be
+a crescent and brought him back practically to the spot he had
+started from. Thereupon, he took the other and followed it up,
+ignoring various side-turnings which he feared might be pitfalls
+like the last: But the second road was as bad as the first. It
+was a cul de sac and brought Desmond face to face with a blank
+wall.
+
+He turned and looked about him for somebody of whom to ask the
+way. But the street was entirely deserted. He seemed to be on the
+very summit of the hill; for all the roads were a-tilt. Though
+the evening was falling fast, no light appeared in any of the
+houses and the street lamps were yet unlit. Save for the distant
+bourdon of the traffic which rose to his ears like the beating of
+the surf, the breeze rustling the bushes in the gardens was the
+only sound.
+
+Desmond started to walk back slowly the way he had come.
+Presently, his eyes caught the gleam of a light from above a
+front door. When he drew level with it, he saw that a gas-jet was
+burning in the fanlight over the entrance to a neat little
+two-story house which stood by itself in a diminutive garden. As
+by this time he was thoroughly sick of wandering aimlessly about,
+he went up to the neat little house and rang the bell.
+
+A maid-servant in a cap and apron who seemed to be drawn to the
+scale of the house, such an insignificant little person she was,
+opened the door.
+
+"Oh, sir," she exclaimed when she saw him, "was it about the
+rooms?"
+
+And she pointed up at the fan-light where, for the first time,
+Desmond noticed a printed card with the inscription-:
+
+"Furnished Rooms to Let."
+
+The servant's unexpected question put an idea into Desmond's
+head. He could not return to the club, he reflected, since he was
+supposed to be killed in action. Why not take a room in this
+house in the heart of the enemy's country and spend some days on
+the watch for Mrs. Malplaquet or for any clue that might lead him
+to her?
+
+So Desmond answered, yes, it was about the rooms he had come.
+
+Promising that she would tell "the missus," the little servant
+showed him into a tiny sitting-room, very clean and bright, with
+blue cretonne curtains and a blue carpet and an engraving of
+"King Cophetua and The Beggar Maid" over the mantelpiece.
+Directly you came into the room, everything in it got up and
+shouted "Tottenham Court Road."
+
+Then the door opened and, with a great tinkling and rustling, a
+stoutish, brisk-looking woman sailed in. The tinkling proceeded
+from the large amount of cheap jewelry with which she was
+adorned; the rustling from a black and shiny glace silk dress.
+With every movement she made the large drops she wore in her ears
+chinked and were answered by a melodious chime from the charm
+bangles she had on her wrists.
+
+She measured Desmond in a short glance and his appearance seemed
+to please her for she smiled as she said in rather a mincing
+voice:
+
+"My (she pronounced it 'may') maid said you wished to see the
+rooms!"
+
+Desmond intimated that such was his desire.
+
+"Pray be seated," said the little woman: "You will understand,
+I'm sure, that ay am not in the habit of taking in paying guests,
+but may husband being at the front, ay have a bedroom and this
+sitting-room free and ay thought..."
+
+She stopped and looked sharply at Desmond.
+
+"You are an officer, I think" she asked.
+
+Desmond bowed.
+
+"May husband is also an officer," replied the woman, "Captain
+Viljohn-Smythe; you may have met him. No? Of course, had you not
+been of commissioned rank, ay should not..."
+
+She trailed off vaguely.
+
+Desmond inquired her terms and surprised her somewhat by
+accepting them on the spot.
+
+"But you have not seen the bedroom!" protested Mrs.
+Viljohn-Smythe.
+
+"I will take it on trust," Desmond replied, "and here," he added,
+pulling out his note-case, "is a week's rent in advance. I'll go
+along now and fetch my things. By the way," he went on, "I know
+some people here at Campden Hill but very foolishly, I've mislaid
+the address. Malplaquet... Mrs. Malplaquet. Do you happen to know
+her house?"
+
+"Ay know most of the naice people living round about here,"
+replied the lady, "but for the moment, ay cannot recollect... was
+it one of the larger houses on the hill, do you know?"
+
+"I'm afraid I don't know," said Desmond. "You see, I've lost the
+address!"
+
+"Quayte!" returned Mrs. Viljohn-Smythe. "Ay can't say ay know the
+name!" she added.
+
+However, she consented to consult the handmaiden, who answered to
+the name of Gladays, as to Mrs. Malplaquet's address, but she was
+as ignorant as her mistress.
+
+Promising to return in the course of the evening with his things
+and having received exact instructions as to the shortest way to
+Holland Park Avenue, Desmond took his leave. He felt that he had
+embarked on a wild goose chase; for, even if the fugitives had
+made their way to Mrs. Malplaquet's (which was more than
+doubtful) he imagined they would take care to lie very low so
+that his chances of coming across any of them were of the most
+meager.
+
+Following the directions he had received, he made his way easily
+back to the main road. He halted under a street-lamp to catch the
+eye of any passing taxi which might happen to be disengaged. A
+dirty faced man in a greasy old suit and a spotted handkerchief
+knotted about his throat came slouching along the pavement,
+keeping close to the wall. On catching sight of Desmond's face by
+the light of the lamp, he stopped irresolutely and then advanced
+slowly towards him.
+
+"Excuse me, sir!" he said falteringly.
+
+Desmond looked round at the sound of the man's voice and seeing a
+typical street loafer, asked the fellow to get him a taxi.
+
+"It is Captain Okewood," said the loafer, "you don't remember me,
+sir?"
+
+Desmond looked at the dirty, rather haggard face with its
+unshaven chin and shook his head.
+
+"I don't think I do," he answered, "though you seem to know my
+name!"
+
+The vagrant fumbled in his pocket for a minute and extracting a
+scrap of paper, unfolded it and held it out to Desmond.
+
+"That's me, sir!" he said, "and, oh, sir! if you would kindly
+help me with a word of good advice, just for old times' sake, I'd
+be very grateful!"
+
+Desmond took the scrap of paper which the man tendered and held
+it so as to catch the rays of the lamp. It was a fragment torn
+from a newspaper. He had hardly set eyes on the cutting than he
+stretched out his hand to the vagrant.
+
+"Why, Gunner Barling," he cried, "I didn't know you! How on
+earth do you come to be in this state?"
+
+The man looked shamefacedly down on the ground.
+
+"I'm a deserter, sir!" he said in a low voice.
+
+"Are you, by George?" replied Desmond, "and now I come to think
+of it, so am I!"
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXV. TO MRS. MALPLAQUET'S
+
+Clasping Barbara's wrist in a bony grip, Mrs. Malplaquet sat at
+the girl's side in the back seat of the limousine whilst Bellward
+placed himself on the seat opposite. The car was powerfully
+engined; and, once the cart track up to the inn was passed and
+the main road reached, Strangwise opened her out.
+
+By the track leading to the inn the high road made a right angle
+turn to the right. This turn they took, leaving the Mill House
+away in the distance to the left of them, and, after skirting the
+fen for some way and threading a maze of side roads, presently
+debouched on a straight, broad road.
+
+Dazed and shaken by her experiences, Barbara lost all count of
+time, but after running for some time through the open country in
+the gray light of dawn, they reached the edge of those long
+tentacles of bricks and mortar which London thrusts out from her
+on every side. The outer fringes of the metropolis were still
+sleeping as the great car roared by. The snug "High Streets,"
+the red brick "Parades" and "Broadways," with their lines of
+houses with blinds drawn, seemed to have their eyes shut, so
+blank, so somnolent was their aspect.
+
+With their lamps alight, the first trams were gliding out to
+begin the new day, as the big car swiftly traversed the eastern
+suburbs of London. To Barbara, who had had her home at Seven
+Kings, there was something familiar about the streets as they
+flickered by; but her powers of observation were dulled, so great
+was the sense of helplessness that weighed her down.
+
+High-booted scavengers with curious snake-like lengths of hose on
+little trolleys were sluicing the asphalt as the limousine
+snorted past the Mansion House into Poultney and Cheapside. The
+light was growing clearer now; the tube stations were open and
+from time to time a motor-bus whizzed by.
+
+Barbara stirred restlessly and Mrs. Malplaquet's grip on her
+wrist tightened.
+
+"Where are you taking me?" the girl said.
+
+Mrs. Malplaquet spoke a single word.
+
+"Bellward!" she said in a gentle voice; but it was a voice of
+command.
+
+Bellward leaned forward.
+
+"Look at me, Miss Mackwayte!" he said.
+
+There was a curious insistence in his voice that made Barbara
+obey. She struggled for a moment against the impulse to do his
+bidding; for some agency within her told her to resist the
+summons. But an irresistible force seemed to draw her eyes to
+his. Bellward did not move. He simply leaned forward a little,
+his hands on his knees, and looked at her. Barbara could not see
+his eyes, for the light in the car was still dim, but inch by
+inch they captured hers.
+
+She looked at the black outline of his head and instantly was
+conscious of a wave of magnetic power that transmitted itself
+from his will to hers. She would have cried out, have struggled,
+have sought to break away; but that invisible dance held her as
+in a vice. A little gasp broke from her lips; but that was all.
+
+"So!" said Bellward with the little sigh of a man who has just
+accomplished some bodily effort, "so! you will keep quiet now and
+do as I tell you. You understand?"
+
+No reply came from the girl. She had thrust her head forward and
+was gazing fixedly at the man. Bellward leaned towards the girl
+until his stubbly hair actually touched her soft brown curls. He
+was gazing intently at her eyes.
+
+He was apparently well satisfied with his inspection, for he gave
+a sigh of satisfaction and turned to Mrs. Malplaquet.
+
+"She'll give no more trouble now!" he remarked airily.
+
+"Ah! Bellward," sighed Mrs. Malplaquet, "you're incomparable!
+What an undefeatable combination you and I would have made if
+we'd met twenty years sooner!"
+
+And she threw him a coquettish glance.
+
+"Ah, indeed!" returned Bellward pensively. "But a night like this
+makes me feel twenty years older, Minna. He's a daredevil, this
+Strangwise. Imagine going back to that infernal inn when the
+police might have broken in on us any minute. But he is a
+determined chap. He doesn't seem to know what it is to be beaten.
+He wanted to make sure that Nur-el-Din had not recovered the
+jewel from him, though he declares that it has never left him day
+or night since he got possession of it. He fairly made hay of her
+room back at the inn there."
+
+"Well," said Mrs. Malplaquet rather spitefully, "he seems to be
+beaten this time. He hasn't found his precious Star of Poland."
+
+"No," answered the man reflectively, "but I think he will!"
+
+Mrs. Malplaquet laughed shrilly.
+
+"And how, may I ask? From what Strangwise told me himself, the
+thing has utterly vanished. And he doesn't seem to have any clue
+as to who has taken it!"
+
+"Perhaps not," replied Bellward, who appeared to have a high
+opinion of Strangwise, "but, like all Germans, our friend is
+thorough. If he does not see the direct road, he proceeds by a
+process of elimination until he hits upon it. He did not expect
+to find the jewel in Nur-el-Din's room; he told me as much
+himself, but he searched because he is thorough in everything. Do
+you know why he really went back to the Dyke Inn?"
+
+"Why?" asked Mrs. Malplaquet.
+
+"To secure our young friend here," answered Bellward with a
+glance at Barbara.
+
+Mrs. Malplaquet made a little grimace to bid him to be prudent in
+what he said before the girl.
+
+"Bah!" the man laughed, "you understand nothing of what we are
+saying, do you?" he said, addressing Barbara.
+
+The girl moved uneasily.
+
+"I understand nothing of what you are saying," she replied in a
+strained voice.
+
+"This girl was the last person to have the jewel before
+Strangwise," Bellward said, continuing his conversation with
+Mrs. Malplaquet, "and she is employed at the Headquarters of the Secret
+Service. Strangwise was satisfied that nobody connected him with
+the theft of the silver box which Nur-el-Din gave to this girl
+until our young lady here appeared at the Dyke Inn yesterday
+afternoon. Nur-el-Din played his game for him by detaining the
+girl. Strangwise believes--and I must say I agree with him--that
+probably two persons know where the Star of Poland is. One is
+this girl..."
+
+"The other being the late Mr. Bellward?" queried Mrs. Malplaquet.
+
+"Precisely. The late Mr. Bellward or Major Desmond Okewood!" said
+Bellward. "Between him and this girl here I think we ought to be
+able to recover Strangwise's lost property for him!"
+
+"But you haven't got Okewood yet!" observed the lady in a mocking
+voice.
+
+The man looked evilly at her, his heavy, fat chin set square.
+
+"But we shall get him, never fear. With a little bird-lime as
+attractive as this--"
+
+He broke off and jerked his head in the direction of Barbara.
+
+"... I shall do the rest!" he added.
+
+"Ah!"
+
+Mrs. Malplaquet drew a deep sigh of admiration.
+
+"That's a clever idea. He is so _rus�_, this Strangwise. You are
+quite right, Bellward, he never admits himself beaten. And he
+never is! But tell me," she added, "what about Nur-el-Din?
+They'll nab her, eh?"
+
+"Unless our British friends are even more inefficient than I
+believe them to be, they most certainly will," he replied.
+
+"And then?"
+
+Bellward shrugged his shoulders and spread wide his hands.
+
+"A little morning ceremony at the Tower," he answered, "unless
+these idiotic English are too sentimental to execute a woman..."
+
+The car was running down the long slope to Paddington Station. It
+drew up at the entrance to the booking office, and Strangwise,
+springing from the driver's seat, flung open the door.
+
+"Come on!" he cried, "we must look sharp or we'll miss our
+train!"
+
+He dragged a couple of bags off the roof and led the way into the
+station. In the booking-hall he inquired of a porter what time
+the express left for Bath, then went to the ticket office and
+took four first-class tickets to that place. Meanwhile, the car
+remained standing empty in the carriageway.
+
+Strangwise led his little party up some stairs and across a long
+bridge, down some stairs and up some stairs again, emerging,
+finally, at the Bakerloo Tube Station. There he despatched
+Bellward to fetch a taxi.
+
+Taxis are rare in the early hours of the morning in war-time and
+Bellward was gone fully twenty minutes. Strangwise fidgeted
+continually, drawing out his watch repeatedly and casting many
+anxious glances this way and that.
+
+His nervous demeanor began to affect Mrs. Malplaquet, who had
+linked her arm affectionately in Barbara's. The girl remained
+absolutely apathetic. Indeed, she seemed almost as one in a
+trance.
+
+"Aren't we going to Bath?" at length demanded Mrs. Malplaquet of
+Strangwise.
+
+"Don't ask questions!" snapped the latter.
+
+"But the car?" asked the lady.
+
+"Hold your tongue!" commanded the officer; and Mrs. Malplaquet
+obeyed.
+
+Then Mr. Bellward returned with the news that he had at last got
+a taxi. Strangwise turned to Bellward.
+
+"Can Minna and the girl go to Campden Hill alone?" he asked. "Or
+will the girl try and break away, do you think?"
+
+Bellward held up his hand to enjoin silence.
+
+"You will go along with Mrs. Malplaquet," he said to Barbara in
+his low purring voice, "you will stay with her until I come. You
+understand?"
+
+"I will go with Mrs. Malplaquet!" the girl replied in the same
+dull tone as before.
+
+"Upon my word," exclaimed Mrs. Malplaquet, "you might have told me
+that we were going to my own place..."
+
+But Strangwise shut her up.
+
+"Bellward and I will come on by tube... it is safer," he said,
+"hurry, hurry! We must all be under cover by eight o'clock... we
+have no time to lose!"
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVI. THE MAN IN THE SUMMER-HOUSE
+
+The hour of the theatre rush was long since over and its passing
+had transformed the taxi-drivers from haughty autocrats to humble
+suppliants. One taxi after another crawled slowly past the street
+corner where Desmond had stood for over an hour in deep converse
+with Gunner Barling, but neither flaunting flag nor appealingly
+uplifted finger attracted the slightest attention from the
+athletic-looking man who was so earnestly engaged in talk with a
+tramp. But at last the conversation was over; the two men
+separated and the next taxi passing thereafter picked up a fare.
+
+At nine o'clock the next morning Desmond appeared for breakfast
+in his sitting-room at Santona Road; for such was the name of the
+street in which his new rooms were situated. When he had finished
+his meal, he summoned Gladys and informed her that he would be
+glad to speak to Mrs. Viljohn-Smythe. That lady having duly
+answered the summons, Desmond asked whether, in consideration of
+terms to be mutually agreed upon, she could accommodate his
+soldier servant. He explained that the last-named was of the most
+exemplary character and threw out a hint of the value of a batman
+for such tasks as the cleaning of the family boots and the
+polishing of brass or silver.
+
+The landlady made no objections and half an hour later a clean
+and respectable-looking man arrived whom Desmond with difficulty
+recognized as the wretched vagrant of the previous evening. This
+was, indeed, the Gunner Barling he used to know, with his
+smooth-shaven chin and neat brown moustache waxed at the ends and
+characteristic "quiff" decorating his brow. And so Desmond and
+his man installed themselves at Santona Road.
+
+The house was clean and comfortable, and Mrs. Viljohn-Smythe, for
+all her "refaynement," as she would have called it, proved
+herself a warm-hearted, motherly soul. Desmond had a small but
+comfortably furnished bedroom at the top of the house, on the
+second floor, with a window which commanded a view of the
+diminutive garden and the back of a row of large houses standing
+on the lower slopes of the hill. So precipitous was the fall of
+the ground, indeed, that Desmond could look right into the garden
+of the house backing on Mrs. Viljohn-Smythe's. This garden had a
+patch of well-kept green sward in the centre with a plaster nymph
+in the middle, while in one corner stood a kind of large
+summer-house or pavilion built on a slight eminence, with a
+window looking into Mrs. Viljohn-Smythe's' back garden.
+
+In accordance with a plan of action he had laid down in his mind,
+Desmond took all his meals at his rooms. The rest of the day he
+devoted to walking about the streets of Campden Hill and setting
+on foot discreet inquiries after Mrs. Malplaquet amongst the
+local tradespeople.
+
+For three or four days he carried out this arrangement without
+the slightest success. He dogged the footsteps of more than one
+gray-haired lady of distinguished appearance without lighting
+upon his quarry. He bestowed largesse on the constable on point
+duty, on the milkman and the baker's young lady; but none of them
+had ever heard of Mrs. Malplaquet or recognized her from
+Desmond's description.
+
+On the morning of the fourth day Desmond returned to lunch,
+dispirited and heart-sick. He had half a mind to abandon his
+quest altogether and to go and make his peace with the Chief and
+ask to be sent back to France. He ate his lunch and then, feeling
+that it would be useless to resume his aimless patrol of the
+streets, lit a cigar and strolled out into the little
+back-garden.
+
+It was a fine, warm afternoon, and already the crocuses were
+thrusting their heads out of the neat flower-beds as if to
+ascertain whether the spring had really arrived. There was,
+indeed, a pleasant vernal scent in the air.
+
+"A fine day!" said a voice.
+
+Desmond looked up. At the open window of the summerhouse of the
+garden backing on Mrs. Viljohn-Smythe's, his elbows resting on
+the pitch-pine frame, was a middle-aged man. A cigarette was in
+his mouth and from his hands dangled a newspaper. He had a
+smooth-shaven, heavily-jowled face and a large pair of
+tortoise-shell spectacles on his nose.
+
+Desmond remembered to have seen the man already looking out of a
+window opposite his on one of the upper floors of the house. In
+reply to a casual inquiry, Mrs. Viljohn-Smythe had informed him
+that the house was a nursing home kept by a Dr. Radcombe, a nerve
+specialist.
+
+"It is quite like spring!" replied Desmond, wondering if this
+were the doctor. Doctors get about a good deal and Dr. Radcombe
+might be able to tell him something about Mrs. Malplaquet.
+
+"I think we have seen one another in the mornings sometimes,"
+said the heavily-fowled man, "though I have noticed that you are
+an earlier riser than I am. But when one is an invalid--"
+
+"You are one of Dr. Radcombe's patients, then!" said Desmond.
+
+"I am," returned the other, "a great man, that, my dear sir. I
+doubt if there is his equal for diagnosis in the kingdom."
+
+"He has lived here for some years, I suppose?"
+
+"Oh yes!" answered the man, "in fact, he is one of the oldest and
+most-respected residents of Kensington, I believe!"
+
+"I am rather anxious to find some friends of mine who live about
+here," Desmond remarked, quick to seize his opportunity, "I
+wonder whether your doctor could help me..."
+
+"I'm sure he could," the man replied, "the doctor knows
+everybody..."
+
+"The name--" began Desmond, but the other checked him.
+
+"Please don't ask me to burden my memory with names," he
+protested. "I am here for a complete rest from over-work, and
+loss of memory is one of my symptoms. But look here; why not come
+over the wall and step inside the house with me? Dr. Radcombe is
+there and will, I am sure, be delighted to give you any
+assistance in his power!"
+
+Desmond hesitated.
+
+"Really," he said, "it seems rather unconventional. Perhaps the
+doctor would object..."
+
+"Object" said the heavily-fowled man, "tut, tut, not at all. Come
+on, I'll give you a hand up!"
+
+He thrust out a large, white hand. Desmond was about to grasp it
+when he saw gleaming on the third finger a gold snake ring with
+emerald eyes--the ring that Mrs. Malplaquet had given Bellward.
+He was about to draw back but the man was too quick for him.
+Owing to the slope of the ground the window of the summer-house
+was on a level with Desmond's throat. The man's two hands shot
+out simultaneously. One grasped Desmond's wrist in a steel grip
+whilst the other fastened itself about the young man's throat,
+squeezing the very breath out of his body. It was done so quickly
+that he had no time to struggle, no time to shout. As Bellward
+seized him, another arm was shot out of the window. Desmond felt
+himself gripped by the collar and lifted, by a most amazing
+effort of strength, bodily over the wall.
+
+His brain swimming with the pressure on his throat, he struggled
+but feebly to recover his freedom. However, as Desmond was
+dropped heavily on to the grass on the other side of the wall,
+Bellward's grip relaxed just for a second and in that instant
+Desmond made one desperate bid for liberty. He fell in a
+crouching position and, as he felt Bellward loosen his hold for a
+second with the jerk of his victim's fall, Desmond straightened
+himself up suddenly, catching his assailant a violent blow with
+his head on the point of the chin.
+
+Bellward fell back with a crash on to the timber flooring of the
+pavilion. Desmond heard his head strike the boards with a thud,
+heard a muttered curse. He found himself standing in a narrow
+lane, less than three feet wide, which ran between the garden
+wall and the summer-house; for the pavilion, erected on a slight
+knoll surrounded by turf, was not built against the wall as is
+usually the case with these structures.
+
+In this narrow space Desmond stood irresolute for the merest
+fraction of a second. It was not longer; for, directly after
+Bellward had crashed backwards, Desmond heard a light step
+reverberate within the planks of the summerhouse. His most
+obvious course was to scramble back over the wall again into
+safety, in all thankfulness at having escaped so violent an
+attack. But he reflected that Bellward was here and that surely
+meant that the others were not far off. In that instant as he
+heard the stealthy footstep cross the floor of the summer-house,
+Desmond resolved he would not leave the garden until he had
+ascertained whether Barbara Mackwayte was there.
+
+Desmond decided that he would stay where he was until he no
+longer heard that footstep on the planks within; for then the
+person inside the summer-house would have reached the grass at
+the door. Desmond remembered the arm which had shot out beside
+Bellward at the window and swung him so easily off his feet. He
+knew only one man capable of achieving that very respectable
+muscular performance; for Desmond weighed every ounce of twelve
+stone. That man was Maurice Strangwise.
+
+As soon as the creaking of the timbers within ceased, Desmond
+moved to the left following the outer wall of the pavilion. On
+the soft green sward his feet made no sound. Presently he came to
+a window which was let in the side of the summerhouse opposite
+the window from which Bellward had grappled with him. Raising his
+eyes to the level of the sill, Desmond took a cautious peep. He
+caught a glimpse of the face of Maurice Strangwise, brows knit,
+nostrils dilated, the very picture of venomous, watchful rancor.
+
+Strangwise had halted and was now looking back over the wall into
+Mrs. Viljohn-Smythe's back garden. Was it possible, Desmond
+wondered, that he could believe that Desmond had scrambled back
+over the wall? Strangwise remained motionless, his back now fully
+turned to Desmond, peering into the other garden.
+
+The garden in which the summer-house stood was oblong in shape
+and more than twice as broad as it was long. The pavilion was not
+more than forty yards from the back entrance of the house.
+Desmond weighed in his mind the possibility of being able to dash
+across those forty yards, the turf deadening the sound of his
+feet, before Strangwise turned round again. The entrance to the
+back of the house was through a door in the side of the house, to
+which two or three wrought-iron steps gave access. Once he had
+gained the steps Desmond calculated that the side of the house
+would shelter him from Strangwise's view. He turned these things
+over in his mind in the twinkling of an eye; for all his life he
+had been used to quick decision and quick action. To cover those
+forty yards across the open in one bound was, he decided, too
+much to risk; for he must at all costs gain access to the house
+and discover, if possible, whether Barbara Mackwayte were
+confined within, before he was caught.
+
+Then his eye fell on the plaster nymph in the middle of the
+grass. She was a stoutly-built female, life-size, standing upon a
+solid-looking pedestal fully four feet broad. Desmond measured
+the distance separating him from the nymph. It was not more than
+twenty yards at the outside and the pedestal would conceal him
+from the eyes of Strangwise if the latter should turn round
+before he had made his second bound and reached the steps at the
+side of the house.
+
+He peeped through the window again. Strangwise stood in his old
+attitude gazing over the garden wall. Then Desmond acted. Taking
+long strides on the points of his toes, he gained the statue and
+crouched down behind it. Even as he started, he heard a loud
+grunt from the inside of the summerhouse and from his cover
+behind the nymph saw Strangwise turn quickly and enter the
+summerhouse. On that Desmond sprang to his feet again, heedless
+of whether he was seen from the house, ran lightly across the
+grass and reached the steps at the side of the house.
+
+The door stood ajar.
+
+He stood still on the top step and listened for a moment. The
+house was wrapped in silence. Not a sign of life came from
+within.
+
+But now he heard voices from the garden and they were the voices
+of two angry men, raised in altercation. As he listened, they
+drew nearer.
+
+Desmond tarried no longer. He preferred the unknown perils which
+that silent house portended to the real danger advancing from the
+garden. He softly pushed the door open and slipped into the
+house.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVII. THE RED LACQUER ROOM
+
+The side-door led into a little white passage with a green baize
+door at the end. A staircase, which from its white-washed treads,
+Desmond judged to be the back stairs, gave on the passage.
+Calculating that the men in the garden would be certain to use
+the main staircase, Desmond took the back stairs which, on the
+first landing, brought him face to face with a green baize door,
+similar in every respect to that on the floor below.
+
+He pushed this door open and listened. Hearing nothing he passed
+on through it. He found himself in a broad corridor on to which
+gave the main staircase from below and its continuation to the
+upper floors. Three rooms opened on to this corridor, a large
+drawing-room, a small study and what was obviously the doctor's
+consulting room, from the operating table and the array of
+instruments set out in glass cases. The rooms were empty and
+Desmond was about to return to the back stairs and proceed to the
+next floor when his attention was caught by a series of framed
+photographs with which the walls of the corridor were lined.
+
+These were groups of doctors taken at various medical congresses.
+You will find such photographs in many doctors' houses. Below
+each group were neatly printed the names of the persons therein
+represented. Anxious to see what manner of man was this Doctor
+Radcombe in whose house spies were apparently at liberty to
+consort with impunity, Desmond looked for his name.
+
+There it was--Dr. A. J. Radcombe. But, on looking at the figure
+above the printed line, what was his astonishment to recognize
+the angular features and drooping moustache of "No. 13"!
+
+There was no possible mistake about it. The photographs were
+excellent and Desmond had no difficulty in identifying the
+eccentric-looking German in each of them. So this was Mrs.
+Malplaquet's house, was it? A nursing-home run by "No. 13," who
+in addition to being a spy, would seem to have been a nerve
+specialist as well. In this guise, no doubt, he had made trips to
+the South of England which had gained for him that intimate
+acquaintance with Portsmouth and Southsea of which he had boasted
+at the gathering in the library. In this capacity, moreover, he
+had probably met Bellward whose "oggult" powers, to which "No.
+13" had alluded, seem to point to mesmerism and kindred practices
+in which German neurasthenic research has made such immense
+progress.
+
+Pondering over his surprising discovery, Desmond pursued his way
+to the floor above. Here, too, was a green baize door which
+opened on to a corridor. Desmond walked quickly along it,
+glancing in, as he passed, at the open doors of two or three
+bedrooms. Just beyond where the staircase crossed the corridor
+were two doors, both of which were closed. The one was a white
+door and might have been a bathroom; the other was enameled a
+brilliant, glossy red.
+
+The second floor was as silent and deserted as the corridor
+below. But just as Desmond passed the head of the main staircase
+he heard the sound of voices. He glanced cautiously down the well
+of the stairs and saw Strangwise and Bellward talking together.
+Bellward was on the stairs while Strangwise stood in the
+corridor.
+
+"It's our last chance," Strangwise was saying.
+
+"No, no," Bellward replied heatedly, "I tell you it is madness.
+We must not delay a minute. For Heaven's sake, leave the girl
+alone and let's save ourselves."
+
+"What?" cried Strangwise, "and abandon Minna!"
+
+"Minna is well able to look after herself," answered Bellward in
+a sulky voice, "it's a question of sauve qui peut now... every
+man for himself!"
+
+"No!" said Strangwise firmly, "we'll wait for Minna, Bellward.
+You exaggerate the danger. I tell you I was at the garden wall
+within a few seconds of our friend laying you out, and I saw no
+sign of him in his garden. It was a physical impossibility for
+him to have got over the wall and back into the house in the
+time. And in his garden there's nowhere to hide. It's as bare as
+the Sahara!"
+
+"But, good Heavens!" cried Bellward, throwing his hands excitedly
+above his head, "the man can't dissolve into thin air. He's gone
+back to the house, I tell you, and the police will be here at any
+minute. You know he's not in our garden; for you searched every
+nook and corner of it yourself. Okewood may be too clever for
+you, Strangwise; but he's not a magician!"
+
+"No," said Strangwise sternly, "he is not." And he added in a low
+voice:
+
+"That's why I am convinced that he is in this house!"
+
+Desmond felt his heart thump against his ribs.
+
+Bellward seemed surprised for he cried quickly:
+
+"What? Here?"
+
+Strangwise nodded.
+
+"You stand here gossiping with that man loose in the house?"
+exclaimed Bellward vehemently, "why the next thing we know the
+fellow will escape us again!"
+
+"Oh, no, he won't" retorted the other. "Every window on the
+ground floor is barred... this is a home for neurasthenics, you
+know, and that is sometimes a polite word for a lunatic, my
+friend... and the doors, both front and back are locked. The keys
+are here!"
+
+Desmond heard a jingle as Strangwise slapped his pocket.
+
+"All the same," the latter went on, "it is as well to be prepared
+for a sudden change of quarters. That's why I want you to finish
+off the girl at once. Come along, we'll start now..."
+
+"No, no!" declared Bellward. "I'm far too upset. You seem to
+think you can turn me on and off like you do the gas!"
+
+"Well, as you like," said Strangwise, "but the sooner we clear up
+this thing the better. I'm going to see if our clever young
+friend has taken refuge in the servants' quarters upstairs. He's
+not on this floor, that's certain!"
+
+Desmond drew back in terror. He heard the green baize door on the
+floor below swing back as Strangwise went out to the back stairs
+and Bellward's heavy step ascended the main staircase. There was
+something so horribly sinister in that firm, creaking tread as it
+mounted towards him that for the moment he lost his head. He
+looked round wildly for a place of concealment; but the corridor
+was bare. Facing him was the red enamel door. Boldly he turned
+the handle and walked in, softly closing the door behind him.
+
+It was as though he had stepped into another world. The room in
+which he found himself was a study in vivid red emphasized by
+black. Red and black; these were the only colors in the room. The
+curtains, which were of black silk, were drawn, though it was not
+yet dark outside, and from the ceiling was suspended a lamp in
+the shape of a great scarlet bowl which cast an eerie red light
+on one of the most bizarre apartments that Desmond had ever seen.
+
+It was a lacquer room in the Chinese style, popularized by the
+craze for barbaric decoration introduced by Bakst and the Russian
+Ballet into England. The walls were enameled the same brilliant
+glossy red as the door and hung at intervals with panels of
+magnificent black and gold lacquer work. The table which ran down
+the centre of the room was of scarlet and gold lacquer like the
+fantastically designed chairs and the rest of the furniture. The
+heavy carpet was black.
+
+Desmond did not take in all these details at once; for his
+attention was immediately directed to a high-backed armchair
+covered in black satin which stood with its back to the door. He
+stared at this chair; for, peeping out above the back, making a
+splash of deep golden brown against the black sheen of the
+upholstery, was a mass of curls... Barbara Mackwayte's hair.
+
+As he advanced towards the girl, she moaned in a high, whimpering
+voice:
+
+"No, no, not again! Let me sleep! Please, please, leave me
+alone!"
+
+Desmond sprang to her side.
+
+"Barbara!" he cried and never noticed that he called her by her
+Christian name.
+
+Barbara Mackwayte sat in the big black armchair, facing the
+black-curtained window. Her face was pale and drawn, and there
+were black circles under her eyes. There was a listless yet
+highly-strung look about her that you see in people who
+habitually take drugs.
+
+She heeded not the sound of his voice. It was as though he had
+not spoken. She only continued to moan and mutter, moving her
+body about uneasily as a child does when its sleep is disturbed
+by nightmares. Then, to his inexpressible horror, Desmond saw
+that her feet were bound with straps to the legs of the chair.
+Her arms were similarly tethered to the arms of the chair, but
+her hands had been left free.
+
+"Barbara!" said Desmond softly, "you know me! I'm Desmond Okewood!
+I've come to take you home!"
+
+The word "home" seemed to catch the girl's attention; for now she
+turned her head and looked at the young man. The expression in
+her eyes, wide and staring, was horrible; for it was the look of
+a tortured animal.
+
+Desmond was bending to unbind the straps that fastened Barbara's
+arms when he heard a step outside the door. The curtains in front
+of the window were just beside him. They were long and reached to
+the floor. Without a second's hesitation he slipped behind them
+and found himself in the recess of a shallow bow window.
+
+The bow window was in three parts and the central part was open
+wide at the bottom. It gave on a little balcony which was in
+reality the roof of a bow window of one of the rooms on the floor
+below. Desmond promptly scrambled out of the window and letting
+himself drop on to the balcony crouched down blow the sill.
+
+A door opened in the room he had just left. He heard steps moving
+about and cupboards opened and shut. Then, there was the sound of
+curtains being drawn back and a voice said just above him:
+
+"He's not here! I tell you the fellow's not in the house! Now
+perhaps you'll believe me!"
+
+The balcony was fairly deep and it was growing dusk; but Desmond
+could scarcely hope to escape detection if Bellward, for he had
+recognized his voice, should think of leaning out of the window
+and looking down upon the balcony. With his coat collar turned up
+to hide the treacherous white of his linen, Desmond pressed
+himself as close as possible against the side of the house and
+waited for the joyful cry that would proclaim that he had been
+discovered. There was no possible means of escape; for the
+balcony stood at an angle of the house with no windows or
+water-pipes anywhere within reach, to give him a foothold,
+looking out on an inhospitable and gloomy area.
+
+Whether Bellward, who appeared bent only on getting away from the
+house without delay, examined the balcony or not, Desmond did not
+know; but after the agony of suspense had endured for what seemed
+to him an hour, he heard Strangwise say:
+
+"It's no good, Bellward! I'm not satisfied! And until I am
+satisfied that Okewood is not here, I don't leave this house. And
+that's that!"
+
+Bellward swore savagely.
+
+"We've searched the garden and not found him: we've ransacked the
+house from top to bottom without result. The fellow's not here;
+but by God, he'll be here presently with a bunch of police, and
+then it'll be too late! For the last time, Strangwise, will you
+clear out?"
+
+There was a moment's pause. Then Desmond heard Strangwise's
+clear, calm voice.
+
+"There's a balcony there... below the window, I mean."
+
+"I've looked," replied Bellward, "and he's not there. You can see
+for yourself!"
+
+The moment of discovery had arrived. To Desmond the strain seemed
+unbearable and to alleviate it, he began to count, as one counts
+to woo sleep. One! two! three! four! He heard a grating noise as
+the window was pushed further up. Five! six! seven! eight!
+
+"Strange!"
+
+Strangwise muttered the word just above Desmond's head. Then, to
+his inexpressible relief, he heard the other add:
+
+"He's not there!"
+
+And Desmond realized that the depth of the balcony had saved him.
+Short of getting out of the window, as he had done, the others
+could not see him.
+
+The two men returned to the room and silence fell once more.
+Outside on the damp balcony in the growing darkness Desmond was
+fighting down the impulse to rush in and stake all in one
+desperate attempt to rescue the girl from her persecutors. But he
+was learning caution; and he knew he must bide his time.
+
+Some five minutes elapsed during which Desmond could detect no
+definite sound from the red lacquer room except the occasional
+low murmur of voices. Then, suddenly, there came a high,
+quavering cry from the girl.
+
+Desmond raised himself quickly erect, his ear turned so as to
+catch every sound from the room. The girl wailed again, a
+plaintive, tortured cry that seemed to issue forth unwillingly
+from her.
+
+"My God!" said Desmond to himself, "I can't stand this!"
+
+His head was level with the sill of the window which was
+fortunately broad. Getting a good grip on the rough cement with
+his hands, he hoisted himself up on to the sill, by the sheer
+force of his arms alone, sat poised there for an instant, then
+very lightly and without any noise, clambered through the window
+and into the room. Even as he did so, the girl cried out again.
+
+"I can't! I can't!" she wailed.
+
+Every nerve in Desmond's body was tingling with rage. The blood
+was hotly throbbing against his temples and he was literally
+quivering all over with fury. But he held himself in check. This
+time he must not fail. Both those men were armed, he knew. What
+chance could he, unarmed as he was, have against them? He must
+wait, wait, that they might not escape their punishment.
+
+Steadying the black silk curtains with his hands, he looked
+through the narrow chink where the two panels met. And this was
+what he saw.
+
+Barbara Mackwayte was still in the chair; but they had unfastened
+her arms though her feet were still bound. She had half-risen
+from her seat. Her body was thrust forward in a strained,
+unnatural attitude; her eyes were wide open and staring; and
+there was a little foam on her lips. There was something
+hideously deformed, horribly unlife-like about her. Though her
+eyes were open, her look was the look of the blind; and, like the
+blind, she held her head a little on one side as though eager not
+to miss the slightest sound.
+
+Bellward stood beside her, his face turned in profile to Desmond.
+His eyes were dilated and the sweat stood out in great beads on
+his forehead and trickled in broad lanes of moisture down his
+heavy cheeks. He was half-facing the girl and every time he bent
+towards her, she tugged and strained at her bonds as though to
+follow him.
+
+"You say he has been here. Where is he? Where is he? You shall
+tell me where he is."
+
+Bellward was speaking in a strange, vibrating voice. Every
+question appeared to be a tremendous nervous effort. Desmond, who
+was keenly sensitive to matters psychic, could almost feel the
+magnetic power radiating from the man. In the weird red light of
+the room, he could see the veins standing out like whipcords on
+the back of Bellward's hands.
+
+"Tell me where he is? I command you!"
+
+The girl wailed out again in agony and writhed in her bonds. Her
+voice rose to a high, gurgling scream.
+
+"There!" she cried, pointing with eyes staring, lips parted,
+straight at the curtains behind which Desmond stood.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVIII. AN OFFER FROM STRANGWISE
+
+Desmond sprang for the window; but it was too late. Strangwise
+who had not missed a syllable of the interrogatory was at the
+curtains in a flash. As he plucked the hangings back, Desmond
+made a rush for him; but Strangwise, wary as ever, kept his head
+and, drawing back, jabbed his great automatic almost in the
+other's face.
+
+And then Desmond knew the game was up.
+
+Barbara had collapsed in her chair. Her face was of an ivory
+pallor and she seemed to have fallen back into the characteristic
+hypnotic trance. As for Bellward, he had dropped on to a sofa, a
+loose mass, exhausted but missing nothing of what was going
+forward, though, for the moment, he seemed too spent to take any
+active part in the proceedings. In the meantime Strangwise, his
+white, even teeth bared in a quiet smile, was very steadily
+looking at his prisoner.
+
+"Well, Desmond," he said at last, "here's a pleasant surprise! I
+thought you were dead!"
+
+Desmond said nothing. He was not a coward as men go; but he was
+feeling horribly afraid just then. The deviltry of the scene he
+had just witnessed had fairly unmanned him. The red and black
+setting of the room had a suggestion of Oriental cruelty in its
+very garishness. Desmond looked from Strangwise, cool and
+smiling, to Bellward, gross and beastly, and from the two men to
+Barbara, wan and still and defenceless. And he was afraid.
+
+Then Bellward scrambled clumsily to his feet, plucking a revolver
+from his inside pocket as he did so.
+
+"You sneaking rascal," he snarled, "we'll teach you to play your
+dirty tricks on us!"
+
+He raised the pistol; but Strangwise stepped between the man and
+his victim.
+
+"Kill him!" cried Bellward, "and let's be rid of him once and for
+all!"
+
+"What" said Strangwise. "Kill Desmond? Ah, no, my friend, I don't
+think so!"
+
+And he added drily:
+
+"At least not quite yet!"
+
+"But you must be mad," exclaimed Bellward, toying impatiently
+with his weapon, "you let him escape through your fingers before!
+I know his type. A man like him is only safe when he's dead. And
+if you won't..."
+
+"Now, Bellward," said Strangwise not budging but looking the
+other calmly in the eye, "you're getting excited, you know."
+
+But Bellward muttered thickly:
+
+"Kill him! That's all I ask. And let's get out of here! I tell
+you it isn't safe! Minna can shift for herself!" he added
+sulkily.
+
+"As she has always done!" said a voice at the door. Mrs.
+Malplaquet stood there, a very distinguished looking figure in
+black with a handsome set of furs.
+
+"But who's this?" she asked, catching sight of Desmond, as she
+flashed her beady black eyes round the group. Of Barbara she took
+not the slightest notice. Desmond remarked it and her
+indifference shocked him profoundly.
+
+"Of course, you don't recognize him!" said Strangwise. "This is
+Major Desmond Okewood, more recently known as Mr. Basil
+Bellward!"
+
+The woman evinced no surprise.
+
+"So!" she said, "I thought we'd end by getting him. Well,
+Strangwise, what are we waiting for? Is our friend to live for
+ever?"
+
+"That's what I want to know!" bellowed Bellward savagely.
+
+"I have not finished with our friend here!" observed Strangwise.
+
+"No, no," cried Mrs. Malplaquet quickly, Strangwise, "you've had
+your lesson. You've lost the jewel and you're not likely to get
+it back unless you think that this young man has come here with
+it on him. Do you want to lose your life, the lives of all of us,
+as well? Come, come, the fellow's no earthly good to us! And he's
+a menace to us all as long as he's alive!"
+
+"Minna," said Strangwise, "you must trust me. Besides..." he
+leaned forward and whispered something in her ear. "Now," he
+resumed aloud, "you shall take Bellward downstairs and leave me
+to have a little chat with our friend here."
+
+To Bellward he added:
+
+"Minna will tell you what I said. But first," he pointed to
+Barbara who remained apparently lifeless in her chair, "bring her
+round. And then I think she'd better go to bed."
+
+"But what about the treatment to-night" asked Mrs. Malplaquet.
+
+Strangwise smiled mysteriously.
+
+"I'm not sure that any further treatment will be required," he
+said.
+
+In the meantime, Bellward had leaned over the girl and with a few
+passes of his hand had brought her back to consciousness. She sat
+up, one hand pressed to her face, and looked about her in a dazed
+fashion. On recognizing Desmond she gave a little cry.
+
+"Take her away!" commanded Strangwise.
+
+Bellward had unfastened the ropes binding her feet, and he and
+Mrs. Malplaquet between them half-dragged, half-lifted the girl
+(for she was scarcely able to walk) from the room.
+
+When the door had closed behind them, Strangwise pointed to a
+chair and pulled out his cigarette case. "Sit down, Desmond," he
+said, "and let's talk. Will you smoke?"
+
+He held out his case. A cigarette was the one thing for which
+Desmond craved. He took one and lit it. Strangwise sat down on
+the other side of a curiously carved ebony table, his big
+automatic before him.
+
+"I guess you're sharp enough to know when you're beaten,
+Desmond," he said. "You've put up a good fight and until this
+afternoon you were one up on me. I'll grant you that. And I don't
+mind admitting that you've busted up my little organization--for
+the present at any rate. But I'm on top now and you're in our
+power, old man."
+
+"Well," replied Desmond shortly, "what are you going to do about
+it?"
+
+"I'm going to utilize my advantage to the best I know how,"
+retorted Strangwise, snapping the words, "that's good strategy,
+isn't it, Desmond? That's what Hamley and all the military
+writers teach, isn't it? And I'm going to be frank with you. I
+suppose you realize that your life hung by a thread in this very
+room only a minute ago. Do you know why I intervened to save
+you?"
+
+Desmond smiled. All his habitual serenity was coming back to him.
+He found it hard to realize that this old brother officer of his,
+blowing rings of cigarette smoke at him across the table, was an
+enemy.
+
+"I don't suppose it was because of the love you bear me," replied
+Desmond.
+
+And he rubbed the bump on his head.
+
+Strangwise noted the action and smiled.
+
+"Listen here," he resumed, planking his hands down on the table
+and leaning forward, "I'm ready and anxious to quit this spying
+business. It was only a side line with me anyway. My main object
+in coming to this country was to recover possession of that
+diamond star. Once I've got it back, I'm through with England..."
+
+"But not with the army," Desmond broke in, "thank God, we've got
+a swift way with traitors in this country!"
+
+"Quite so," returned the other, "but you see, my friend, the army
+hasn't got me. And I have got you! But let us drop talking
+platitudes," he went on. "I'm no great hand at driving a bargain,
+Desmond--few army men are, you know--so I won't even attempt to
+chaffer with you. I shall tell you straight out what I am ready
+to offer. You were given the job of breaking up this
+organization, weren't you?"
+
+Desmond was silent. He was beginning to wonder what Strangwise
+was driving at.
+
+"Oh, you needn't trouble to deny it. I never spotted you, I
+admit, even when the real Bellward turned up: that idea of
+putting your name in the casualty list as 'killed' was a
+masterstroke; for I never looked to find you alive and trying to
+put it across me. But to return to what I was saying--your job
+was to smash my little system, and if you pull it off, it's a
+feather in your cap. Well, you've killed two of my people and
+you've arrested the ringleader."
+
+"Meaning Behrend?" asked Desmond.
+
+"Behrend be hanged! I mean Nur-el-Din!"
+
+"Nur-el-Din was not the ringleader," said Desmond, "as well you
+know, Strangwise!"
+
+"Your employers evidently don't share your views, Desmond," he
+replied, "all the documents were found on Nur-el-Din!"
+
+"Bah!" retorted Desmond, "and what of it? Mightn't they have been
+planted on her in order to get her arrested to draw the suspicion
+away from the real criminal, yourself?"
+
+Strangwise laughed a low, mellow laugh.
+
+"You're devilish hard to convince," he remarked. "Perhaps you'll
+change your mind about it when I tell you that Nur-el-Din was
+sentenced to death by a general court-martial yesterday
+afternoon."
+
+The blow struck Desmond straight between the eyes. The execution
+of spies followed hard on their conviction, he knew. Was he too
+late?
+
+"Has... has she... has the sentence already been carried out?" he
+asked hoarsely.
+
+Strangwise shrugged his shoulders.
+
+"My information didn't go as far as that!" he replied. "But I
+expect so. They don't waste much time over these matters, old
+man! You see, then," he continued, "you've got the ringleader,
+and you shall have the other two members of the organization and
+save your own life into the bargain if you will be reasonable and
+treat with me."
+
+Desmond looked straight at him; and Strangwise averted his eyes.
+
+"Let me get this right," said Desmond slowly. "You let me go
+free--of course, I take it that my liberty includes the release
+of Miss Mackwayte as well--and in addition, you hand over to me
+your two accomplices, Bellward and the Malplaquet woman. That is
+your offer, isn't it? Well, what do you want from me in
+exchange?"
+
+"The Star of Poland!" said Strangwise in a low voice.
+
+"But," Desmond began. He was going to add "I haven't got it," but
+checked himself in time. Why should he show his hand?
+
+Strangwise broke in excitedly.
+
+"Man," he cried, "it was grandly done. When first I discovered
+the gem, I opened the package in which the silver box was wrapped
+and took the jewel from its case to make sure that it was there.
+Then I sealed it up again, silver box and all, with the firm
+intention that no other hand should break the seals but the hand
+of His Imperial Highness the Crown Prince when I reported to him
+that I had fulfilled my mission. So you will understand that I
+was loth to open it to satisfy those blockheads that evening at
+the Mill House.
+
+"I carried the package on me night and day and I could hardly
+believe my eyes when I discovered that a box of cigarettes had
+been substituted for the silver casket containing the jewel. I
+then suspected that Barbara Mackwayte, in collusion with
+Nur-el-Din, whom she had visited at the Dyke Inn that evening,
+had played this trick on me. But before I escaped from the Mill
+House I picked up one of the cigarettes which fell from the box
+when I broke the seals. Ah! There you made a slip, Desmond. When
+I looked at the cigarette I found it was a 'Dionysus'--your own
+particular brand--why, I have smoked dozens of them with you in
+France. The sight of the familiar name reminded me of you and
+then I remembered your unexpected visit to me at the Nineveh when
+I was packing up to go away on leave the evening you were going
+back to France. I remembered that I had put the package with the
+jewel on my table for a moment when I was changing my tunic. Your
+appearance drove it out of my head for the time, and you utilized
+the chance to substitute a similar package for mine. It was
+clever, Desmond, 'pon my word it was a stroke of genius, a master
+coup which in my country would have placed you at the very top of
+the tree in the Great General Staff!"
+
+Desmond listened to this story in amazement. He did not attempt
+to speculate on the different course events would have taken had
+he but known that the mysterious jewel which had cost old
+Mackwayte his life, had been in his, Desmond's, possession from
+the very day on which he had assumed the guise and habiliments of
+Mr. Bellward. He was racking his brains to think what he had done
+with the box of cigarettes he had purchased at the Dionysus shop
+on the afternoon of the day he had taken the leave train back to
+France.
+
+He remembered perfectly buying the cigarettes for the journey.
+But he didn't have them on the journey; for the captain of the
+leave boat had given him some cigars as Desmond had nothing to
+smoke. And then with a flash he remembered. He had packed the
+cigarettes in his kit--his kit which had gone over to France in
+the hold of the leave boat? And to think that there was a 100,000
+pound jewel in charge of the M.L.O. at a French port!
+
+The idea tickled Desmond's sense of humor and he smiled.
+
+"Come," cried Strangwise, "you've heard my terms. This jewel,
+this Star of Poland, it is nothing to you or your Government. You
+restore it to me and I won't even ask you for a safe conduct back
+to Germany. I'll just slide out and it will be as if I had never
+been to England at all. As for my organization, you, Desmond
+Okewood, have blown it sky-high!"
+
+He stretched out his hand to Desmond as though he expected the
+other to produce the gem from his pocket. But Desmond rose to his
+feet and struck the hand contemptuously on one side. The smile
+had vanished from his face.
+
+"Are you sure that is all you have to say to me?" he asked.
+
+Strangwise had stood up as well.
+
+"Why, yes!" he said, "I think so!"
+
+"Well, then," said Desmond firmly, "just listen to me for a
+moment! Here's my answer. You've lost the jewel for good and all,
+and you will never get it back. Your offer to betray your
+accomplices to me in exchange for the Star of Poland is an empty
+one; for your accomplices will be arrested with you. And lastly I
+give you my word that I shall make it my personal duty to see
+that you are not shot by clean-handed British soldiers, but
+strung up by the neck by the common hangman--as the murderer that
+you are!"
+
+Strangwise's face underwent an extraordinary change. His suavity
+vanished, his easy smile disappeared and he looked balefully
+across the table as the other fearlessly confronted him.
+
+"If you are a German, as you seem to be," Desmond went on, "then
+I tell you I shall never have guessed it until this interview
+between us. But a man who can murder a defenceless old man and
+torture a young girl and then propose to sell his pals to a
+British officer at the price of that officer's honor can only be
+a Hun! And you seem to be a pretty fine specimen of your race!"
+
+Strangwise mastered his rising passion by an obvious effort; but
+his face was evil as he spoke.
+
+"I put that Malplaquet woman off by appealing to her avarice," he
+said, "I've promised her and Bellward a thousand pounds apiece as
+their share of my reward for recovering the jewel. I only have to
+say the word, Okewood, and your number's up! And you may as well
+know that Bellward will try his hand on you before he kills you.
+If that girl had known where the Star of Poland was, Bellward
+would have had it out of her! Three times a day he's put her into
+the hypnotic sleep. I warn you, you won't like the
+interrogatory!"
+
+The door flew open and Bellward came in. He went eagerly to
+Strangwise.
+
+"Well, have you got it!" he demanded.
+
+"Have you anything further to say, Desmond?" asked Strangwise.
+"Perhaps you would care to reconsider your decisions?"
+
+Desmond shook his head.
+
+"You've had my answer!" he said doggedly.
+
+"Then, my friend," said Strangwise to Bellward, "after dinner you
+shall try your hand on this obstinate fool. But first we'll take
+him upstairs."
+
+He was close beside Desmond and as he finished speaking he
+suddenly caught him by the throat and forced him back into the
+chair to which Barbara had been tethered. To struggle was
+useless, and Desmond suffered them to bind his arms and feet to
+the arms and legs of the chair. Then the two men picked him up,
+chair and all, and bore him from the room upstairs to the third
+floor. There they carried him into a dark room where they left
+him, turning the key in the lock as they went away.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIX. DOT AND DASH
+
+For a long time after the retreating footsteps of Strangwise and
+Bellward had died away, Desmond sat listless, preoccupied with
+his thoughts. They were somber enough. The sinister atmosphere of
+the house, weighing upon him, seemed to deepen his depression.
+
+About his own position he was not concerned at all. This is not
+an example of unselfishness it is simply an instance of the force
+of discipline which trains a man to reckon the cause as
+everything and himself as naught. And Desmond was haunted by the
+awful conviction that he had at length reached the end of his
+tether and that nothing could now redeem the ignominious failure
+he had made of his mission.
+
+He had sacrificed Barbara Mackwayte; he had sacrificed
+Nur-el-Din; he had not even been clever enough to save his own
+skin. And Strangwise, spy and murderer, had escaped and was now
+free to reorganize his band after he had put Barbara and Desmond
+out of the way.
+
+The thought was so unbearable that it stung Desmond into action.
+Strangwise should not get the better of him, he resolved, and he
+had yet this brief interval of being alone in which he might
+devise some scheme to rescue Barbara and secure the arrest of
+Strangwise and his accomplices. But how?
+
+He raised his head and looked round the room. The curtains had
+not been drawn and enough light came into the room from the
+outside to enable him to distinguish the outlines of the
+furniture. It was a bedroom, furnished in rather a massive style,
+with some kind of thick, soft carpet into, which the feet sank.
+
+Desmond tested his bonds. He was very skillfully tied up. He
+fancied that with a little manipulation he might contrive to
+loosen the rope round his right arm, for one of the knots had
+caught in the folds of his coat. The thongs round his left arm
+and two legs were, however, so tight that he thought he had but
+little chance of ridding himself of them, even should he get his
+right arm free; for the knots were tied at the back under the
+seat of the chair in such a way that he could not reach them.
+
+He, therefore, resigned himself to conducting operations in the
+highly ridiculous posture in which he found himself, that is to
+say, with a large arm-chair attached to him, rather like a snail
+with its house on its back. After a certain amount of maneuvering
+he discovered that, by means of a kind of slow, lumbering crawl,
+he was able to move across the ground. It might have proved a
+noisy business on a parquet floor; but Desmond moved only a foot
+or two at a time and the pile carpet deadened the sound.
+
+They had deposited him in his chair in the centre of the room
+near the big brass bedstead. After ten minutes' painful crawling
+he had reached the toilet table which stood in front of the
+window with a couple of electric candles on either side of the
+mirror. He moved the toilet table to one side, then bumped
+steadily across the carpet until he had reached the window. And
+then he gave a little gasp of surprise.
+
+He found himself looking straight at the window of his own
+bedroom at Mrs. Viljohn-Smythe's. There was no mistaking it. The
+electric light was burning and the curtains had not yet been
+drawn. He could see the black and pink eiderdown on his bed and
+the black lining of the chintz curtains. Then he remembered the
+slope of the hill. He must be in the room from which he had seen
+Bellward looking out.
+
+The sight of the natty bedroom across the way moved Desmond
+strangely. It seemed to bring home to him for the first time the
+extraordinary position in which he found himself, a prisoner in a
+perfectly respectable suburban house in a perfectly respectable
+quarter of London, in imminent danger of a violent death.
+
+He wouldn't give in without a struggle. Safety stared him in the
+face, separated only by a hundred yards of grass and shrub and
+wall. He instinctively gripped the arms of the chair to raise
+himself to get a better view from the window, forgetting he was
+bound. The ropes cut his arms cruelly and brought him back to
+earth.
+
+He tested again the thongs fastening his right arm. Yes! they
+were undoubtedly looser than the others. He pulled and tugged and
+writhed and strained. Once in his struggles he crashed into the
+toilet table and all but upset one of the electric candles which
+slid to the table's very brink and was saved, as by a miracle,
+from falling to the floor. He resumed his efforts, but with less
+violence. It was in vain. Though the ropes about his right arm
+were fairly loose, the wrist was solidly fastened to the chair,
+and do what he would, he could not wrest it free. He clawed
+desperately with his fingers and thumb, but all in vain.
+
+In the midst of his struggles he was arrested by the sound of
+whistling. Somebody in the distance outside was whistling,
+clearly and musically, a quaint, jingling sort of jig that struck
+familiarly on Desmond's ear. Somehow it reminded him of the
+front. It brought with it dim memory of the awakening to the
+early morning chill of a Nissen hut, the smell of damp earth, the
+whirr of aircraft soaring through the morning sky, the squeak of
+flutes, the roll of drums... why, it was the Grand Reveille,
+that ancient military air which every soldier knows.
+
+He stopped struggling and peered cautiously out into the dusk.
+The time for darkening the windows must be at hand, he thought,
+for in most of the houses the blinds were already drawn. Here and
+there, however, an oblong of yellow light showed up against the
+dark mass of the houses on the upper slopes of the hill. The
+curtains of his bedroom at Mrs. Viljohn-Smythe's were not yet
+drawn and the light still burned brightly above the bed.
+
+The whistling continued with occasional interruptions as though
+the whistler were about some work or other. And then suddenly
+"Buzzer" Barling, holding something in one hand and rubbing
+violently with the other, stepped into the patch of light between
+the window and the bed in Desmond's bedroom.
+
+Desmond's heart leaped within him. Here was assistance close at
+hand. Mechanically he sought to raise his hand to open the
+window, but an agonising twinge reminded him of his thongs. He
+swiftly reviewed in his mind the means of attracting the
+attention of the soldier opposite. Whatever he was going to do,
+he must do quickly; for the fact that people were beginning to
+darken their windows showed that it must be close on half-past
+six, and about seven o'clock, Barling, after putting out
+Desmond's things, was accustomed to go out for the evening.
+
+Should he shout? Should he try and break the window? Desmond
+rejected both these suggestions. While it was doubtful whether
+Barling would hear the noise or, if he heard it, connect it with
+Desmond, it was certain that Strangwise and Bellward would do
+both and be upon Desmond without a moment's delay.
+
+Then Desmond's eye fell upon the electric candle which had slid
+to the very edge of the table. It was mounted in a heavy brass
+candle-stick and the switch was in the pedestal, jutting out over
+the edge of the table in the position in which the candle now
+stood. The candle was clear of the mirror and there was nothing
+between it and the window. Desmond's brain took all this in at a
+glance. That glance showed him that Providence was being good to
+him.
+
+A couple of jerks of the chair brought him alongside the table.
+Its edge was practically level with the arms of the chair so
+that, by getting into the right position, he was able to
+manipulate the switch with his fingers. And then, thanking God
+and the Army Council for the recent signalling course he had
+attended, he depressed the switch with a quick, snapping movement
+and jerked it up again, sending out the dots and dashes of the
+Morse code.
+
+"B-A-R-L-I-N-G" he spelt out, slowly and laboriously, it is true;
+for he was not an expert.
+
+As he worked the switch, he looked across at the illuminated
+window of the room in which Barling stood, with bent head,
+earnestly engaged upon his polishing.
+
+"B-a-r-l-i-n-g-ack-ack-ack-B-a-r-l-i-n-g-ack-ack-ack"
+
+The light flickered up and down in long and short flashes. Still
+"Buzzer" Barling trilled away at the "Grand Reveille" nor raised
+his eyes from his work.
+
+Desmond varied the call:
+
+"O-K-E-W-O-O-D T-O B-A-R-L-I-N-G" he flashed.
+
+He repeated the call twice and was spelling it out for the third
+time when Desmond saw the "Buzzer" raise his head.
+
+The whistling broke off short.
+
+"O-k-e-w-o-o-d t-o B-a-r-l-i-n-g" flickered the light.
+
+The next moment the bedroom opposite was plunged in darkness.
+Immediately afterwards the light began to flash with bewildering
+rapidity. But Desmond recognized the call.
+
+"I am ready to take your message," it said.
+
+"S-t-r-a-n-g-w-i-s-e h-a-s g-o-t m-e ack-ack-ack," Desmond
+flashed back, "f-e-t-c-h h-e-l-p a-t o-n-c-e ack-ack-ack: d-o-n-t
+r-e-p-l-y; ack-ack-ack; s-e-n-d o-n-e d-o-t o-n-e d-a-s-h t-o
+s-h-o-w y-o-u u-n-d-e-r-s-t-a-n-d ack-ack-ack!"
+
+For he was afraid lest the light flashing from the house opposite
+might attract the attention of the men downstairs.
+
+He was very slow and he made many mistakes, so that it was with
+bated breath that, after sending his message, he watched the
+window opposite for the reply.
+
+It came quickly. A short flash and a long one followed at once.
+After that the room remained in darkness. With a sigh of relief
+Desmond, as quietly as possible, manoeuvred the dressing-table
+back into place and then jerked the chair across the carpet to
+the position where Strangwise and Bellward had left him in the
+middle of the floor:
+
+It was here that the two men found him, apparently asleep, when
+they came up half-an-hour later. They carried him down to the red
+lacquer room again.
+
+"Well, Desmond!" said Strangwise, when their burden had been
+deposited on the floor under the crimson lamp.
+
+"Well, Maurice?" answered the other.
+
+Strangwise noticed that Desmond had addressed him by his
+Christian name for the first time since he had been in the house
+and his voice was more friendly when he spoke again.
+
+"I see you're going to be sensible, old man," he said. "Believe
+me, it's the only thing for you to do. You're going to give up
+the Star of Poland, aren't you?"
+
+"Oh, no, Maurice, I'm not," replied Desmond in a frank, even
+voice. "I've told you what I'm going to do. I'm going to hand you
+over to the people at Pentonville to hang as a murderer. And I
+shouldn't be at all surprised if they didn't run up old Bellward
+there alongside of you!"
+
+Strangwise shook his head at him.
+
+"You are very ill-advised to reject my offer, Desmond," he said,
+"for it simply means that I can do nothing more for you. Our
+friend Bellward now assumes the direction of affairs. I don't
+think you can realize what you are letting yourself in for. You
+appear to have been dabbling in Intelligence work. Perhaps it
+would interest you to hear something about this, our latest
+German method for extracting accurate information from reluctant
+or untruthful witnesses. Bellward, perhaps you would enlighten
+him."
+
+Bellward smiled grimly.
+
+"It is a blend," he explained glibly, "of that extreme form of
+cross-examination which the Americans call 'the third degree' and
+hypnotic treatment. Many people, as you are doubtless aware, are
+less responsive to hypnotic influence than others. An intensified
+course of the third degree and lack of sleep renders such
+refractory natures extraordinarily susceptible to mesmeric
+treatment. It prepares the ground as it were!"
+
+Bellward coughed and looked at Desmond over his tortoise-shell
+spectacles which he had put on again.
+
+"The method has had its best results when practised on women," he
+resumed. "Our people in Holland have found it very successful in
+the case of female spies who come across the Belgian frontier.
+But some women--Miss Barbara, for example--seem to have greater
+powers of resistance than others. We had to employ a rather
+drastic form of the third degree for her, didn't we, Strangwise?"
+
+He laughed waggishly.
+
+"And you'll be none too easy either," he added.
+
+"You beasts," cried Desmond, "but just you wait, your turn will
+come!"
+
+"Yours first, however," chuckled Bellward. "I rather fancy you
+will think us beasts by the time we have done with you, my young
+friend!"
+
+Then he turned to Strangwise.
+
+"Where's Minna?" he asked.
+
+"With the girl."
+
+"Is the girl sleeping?"
+
+Strangwise nodded.
+
+"She wanted it," he replied, "no sleep for four days... I tell
+you it takes some constitution to hold out against that!"
+
+"Well," said Bellward, rubbing the palms of his hands together,
+"as we're not likely to be disturbed, I think we'll make a
+start!"
+
+He advanced a pace to where Desmond sat trussed up, hand and
+foot, in his chair. Bellward's eyes were large and luminous, and
+as Desmond glanced rather nervously at the face of the man
+approaching him, he was struck by the compelling power they
+seemed to emit.
+
+Desmond bent his head to avoid the insistent gaze. But in a
+couple of quick strides Bellward was at his side and stooping
+down, had thrust his face right into his victim's. Bellward's
+face was so close that Desmond felt his warm breath on his cheek
+whilst those burning eyes seemed to stab through his closed
+eyelids and steadily, stealthily, draw his gaze.
+
+Resolutely Desmond held his head, averted. All kinds of queer
+ideas were racing through his brain, fragments of nursery rhymes,
+scenes from his regimental life in India, memories of the front,
+which he had deliberately summoned up to keep his attention
+distracted from those merciless eyes, like twin search-lights
+pitilessly playing on his face.
+
+Bellward could easily have taken Desmond by the chin and forced
+his face up until his eyes came level with the other's. But he
+offered no violence of any kind. He remained in his stooping
+position, his face thrust forward, so perfectly still that
+Desmond began to be tormented by a desire to risk a rapid peep
+just to see what the mesmerist was doing.
+
+He put the temptation aside. He must keep his eyes shut, he told
+himself. But the desire increased, intensified by the strong
+attraction radiating from Bellward, and finally Desmond
+succumbed. He opened his eyes to dart a quick glance at Bellward
+and found the other's staring eyes, with pupils distended, fixed
+on his. And Desmond felt his resistance ebb. He tried to avert
+his gaze; but it was too late. That basilisk glare held him fast.
+
+With every faculty of his mind he fought against the influence
+which was slowly, irresistibly, shackling his brain. He laughed,
+he shouted defiance at Bellward and Strangwise, he sang snatches
+of songs. But Bellward never moved a muscle. He seemed to be in a
+kind of cataleptic trance, so rigid his body, so unswerving his
+stare.
+
+The lights in the room seemed to be growing dim. Bellward's
+eyeballs gleamed redly in the dull crimson light flooding the
+room. Desmond felt himself longing for some violent shock that
+would disturb the hideous stillness of the house. His own voice
+was sounding dull and blunted in his ears. What was the use of
+struggling further? He might as well give up...
+
+A loud crash, the sound of a door slamming, reechoed through the
+house. The room shook. The noise brought Desmond back to his
+senses and at the same time the chain binding him to Bellward
+snapped. For Bellward started and raised his head and Strangwise
+sprang to the door. Then Desmond heard the door burst open, there
+was the deafening report of a pistol, followed by another, and
+Bellward crashed forward on his knees with a sobbing grunt. As
+Desmond had his back to the door he could see nothing of what was
+taking place, but some kind of violent struggle was going on; for
+he heard the smash of glass as a piece of furniture was upset.
+
+Then suddenly the room seemed full of people. The thongs binding
+his hands and feet fell to the ground. "Buzzer" Barling stood at
+his side.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXX. HOHENLINDEN TRENCH
+
+A man broke quickly away from the throng of people pressing into
+the room. It was Francis. The Chief and Mr. Marigold were close
+at his heels.
+
+"Des," cried Francis, "ah! thank God! you are all right!"
+
+Desmond looked in a dazed fashion from one to the other. The
+rapid transition from the hush of the room to the scene of
+confusion going on around him had left him bewildered. His glance
+traveled from the faces of the men gathered round his chair to
+the floor. The sight of Bellward, very still, hunched up with his
+face immersed in the thick black carpet, seemed to recall
+something to his mind.
+
+"Barbara!" he murmured in a strained voice.
+
+"She's all right!" replied his brother, "we found her on the bed
+in a room on the floor below sleeping the sleep of the just. The
+woman's vanished, though. I'm afraid she got away! But who's
+this?"
+
+He pointed to "Buzzer" Barling who stood stiffly at attention
+beside Desmond's chair.
+
+"Ay, who are you, young fellow" repeated Mr. Marigold coming up
+close to the soldier. "Ask him!" said Desmond, raising his arm,
+"he knows!"
+
+The group around the door had broken up. Strangwise, his wrists
+handcuffed together, his hair dishevelled and his collar torn,
+stood there between two plain clothes men. And at him Desmond
+pointed.
+
+Strangwise was staring at the straight, square figure of the
+gunner, awkwardly attired in one of Desmond's old suits.
+Berling's frank, honest eyes returned the other's gaze
+unflinchingly. But Strangwise was obviously taken aback, though
+only for the moment. The flush that mounted to his cheek quickly
+died down, leaving him as cool and impassive as ever.
+
+"Do you know this man!" the Chief, asked sternly, addressing
+Strangwise.
+
+"Certainly," retorted Strangwise, "it's Gunner Barling, one of
+the Brigade signallers!"
+
+Mr. Marigold gave a keen glance at the soldier.
+
+"So you're Barling, eh?" he muttered as though talking to
+himself, "ah! this is getting interesting!"
+
+"Yes," said Desmond, "this is Gunner Barling. Have a good look at
+him, Strangwise. It is he who summoned these gentlemen to my
+assistance. It is he who's going to tell them who and what you
+are!"
+
+Turning to the Chief he added with a touch of formality: "May
+Gunner Barling tell his story, sir?"
+
+"By all means," replied the Chief. "I am all attention. But first
+let this fellow be removed."
+
+And beckoning to two of his men; he pointed to the body of
+Bellward.
+
+"Is he dead" asked Desmond.
+
+The Chief shook his head.
+
+"He drew a bead on one of my men as we came in," he answered,
+"and got a bullet through the chest for his pains. We'll have to
+cure him of this gunshot wound so as to get him ready to receive
+another!"
+
+He laughed a grim dry laugh at his little joke.
+
+"Now, Barling," said Desmond, when Bellward had been borne away,
+"I want you to tell these gentlemen the story of the raid on the
+Hohenlinden trench."
+
+Barling glanced rather self-consciously about him. But the look
+of intense, almost nervous watchfulness on the face of Maurice
+Strangwise seemed to reassure him. And when he spoke, he spoke
+straight at Strangwise.
+
+"Well," he said, "Major Okewood here, what I used to know along
+of my brother being his servant, says as how you gentlemen'll
+make it all right about my stoppin' absent if I tells you what I
+know about this orficer. Tell it I will and gladly; for it was
+all along of him that I spoiled a clean sheet of eighteen years'
+service, gentlemen.
+
+"When we was down Arras way a few months ago the infantry was
+a-goin' to do a raid, see? And the Captain here was sent along of
+the infantry party to jine up a lineback to the 'tillery brigade
+headquarters. Well, he took me and another chap, name o'
+Macdonald--Bombardier he was--along with him as signallers.
+
+"This was a daylight raid, d'ye see, gentlemen? Our chaps went
+over at four o'clock in the afternoon. They was to enter a sort
+o' bulge in the German front line wot they called Hohenlinden
+Trench, bomb the Gers. out o' that, push on to the support line
+and clear out that and then come back. The rocket to fetch 'em
+home was to go up forty minutes after they started.
+
+"Well, me and Mac--that's the Bombardier--went over with th'
+officer here just behind the raiding party. O' course Fritz knew
+we was comin' for it was broad daylight, and that clear you could
+see for miles over the flats. First thing we knew Fritz had put
+down a roarin', tearin' barrage, and we hadn't gone not twenty
+yards before ole Mac. cops one right on the nut; about took his
+head off, it did. So me and the captain we goes on alone and
+drops all nice and comfortable in the trench, and I starts
+getting my line jined up.
+
+"It was a longish job but I got the brigade line goin' at last.
+Our chaps had cleared out the front line and was off down the
+communication trenches to the support. What with machine-guns
+rattlin' and bombs a-goin' off down the trench and Fritz's
+barrage all over the shop the row was that awful we had to buzz
+every single word.
+
+"There was a bit of a house like, a goodish way in front, X farm,
+they called it, and presently the Brigade tells the Captain, who
+was buzzin' to them, to register B battery on to the farm.
+
+"'I can't see the farm nohow from here,' sez the Captain. I could
+see it as plain as plain, and I pointed it out to him. But no! he
+couldn't see it.
+
+"'I'll crawl out of the trench a bit, gunner,' sez he to me, 'you
+sit tight,' he sez, 'I'll let you know when to follow!"
+
+"With that he up and out o' the trench leavin' me and the
+instruments behind all among the dead Gers., and our lads had
+killed a tidy few. It was pretty lonely round about were I was;
+for our chaps had all gone on and was bombin' the Gers., like
+they was a lot o' rabbits, up and down the support line.
+
+"I followed the Captain with me eye, gentlemen, and I'm blessed
+if he didn't walk straight across the open and over the support
+trench. Then he drops into a bit of a shell-hole and I lost sight
+of him. Well, I waited and waited and no sign of th' orficer. The
+rocket goes up and our lads begin to come back with half a dozen
+Huns runnin' in front of them with their hands up. Some of the
+chaps as they passed me wanted to know if I was a-goin' to stay
+there all night! And the Brigade buzzin' like mad to talk to the
+Captain.
+
+"I sat in that blessed trench till everybody had cleared out.
+Then, seeing as how not even the docket had brought th' orficer
+back, I sez to myself as how he must ha' stopped one. So I gets
+out of the trench and starts crawling across the top towards the
+place where I see the Captain disappear. As I got near the
+support line the ground went up a little and then dropped, so I
+got a bit of a view on to the ground ahead. And then I sees the
+Captain here!"
+
+Buzzer Barling stopped. All had listened to his story with the
+deepest interest, especially Strangwise, who never took his eyes
+off the gunner's brown face. Some men are born story-tellers and
+there was a rugged picturesqueness about Barling's simple
+narrative which conjured up in the minds of his hearers the
+picture of the lonely signaller cowering in the abandoned trench
+among the freshly slain, waiting for the officer who never came
+back.
+
+"It's not a nice thing to have to say about an orficer," the
+gunner presently continued, "and so help me God, gentlemen, I
+kep' my mouth shut about it until... until..."
+
+He broke off and looked quickly at Desmond.
+
+"Keep that until the end, Barling," said Desmond, "finish about
+the raid now!"
+
+"Well, as I was sayin', gentlemen, I was up on a bit of hillock
+near Fritz's support line when I sees the Captain here. He was
+settin' all comfortable in a shell-hole, his glasses in his hand,
+chattin' quite friendly like with two of the Gers. orficers, I
+reckoned they was, along o' the silver lace on their collars. One
+was wearin' one o' them coal-scuttle helmets, t'other a little
+flat cap with a shiny peak. And the Captain here was a-pointin'
+at our lines and a-wavin' his hand about like he was a-tellin'
+the two Fritzes all about it, and the chap in the coal-scuttle
+hat was a-writin' it all down in a book."
+
+Barling paused. He was rather flushed and his eyes burned
+brightly in his weather-beaten face.
+
+"Eighteen year I done in the Royal Regiment," he went on, and his
+voice trembled a little, "and me father a battery sergeant-major
+before me, and I never thought to see one of our orficers go over
+to the enemy. Fritz was beginnin' to come back to his front line:
+I could see their coal-scuttle hats a-bobbin' up and down the
+communication trenches, so I crawled back the way I come and made
+a bolt for our lines.
+
+"I meant to go straight to the B.C. post and report wot I seen to
+the Major. But I hadn't the heart to, gentlemen, when I was up
+against it. It was an awful charge to bring against an orficer,
+d'you see? I told myself I didn't know but what the Captain
+hadn't been taken prisoner and was makin' the best of it, w'en I
+see him, stuffin' the Fritzes up with a lot o' lies. And so I
+jes' reported as how th' orficer 'ad crawled out of the trench
+and never come back. And then this here murder happened..."
+
+Mr. Marigold turned to the Chief.
+
+"If you remember, sir," he said, "I found this man's leave paper
+in the front garden of the Mackwayte's house at Laleham Villas,
+Seven Kings, the day after the murder. There are one or two
+questions I should like to put..."
+
+"No need to arsk any questions," said Barling. "I'll tell you the
+whole story meself, mister. I was on leave at the time, due to go
+back to France the next afternoon. I'd been out spending the
+evenin' at my niece's wot's married and livin' out Seven Kings
+way. Me and her man wot works on the line kept it up a bit late
+what with yarnin' about the front an' that and it must a' been
+nigh on three o'clock w'en I left him to walk back to the Union
+Jack Club where I had a bed.
+
+"There's a corfee-stall near their road and the night bein' crool
+damp I thought as how a nice cup o' corfee'd warm me up afore I
+went back to the Waterloo Bridge Road. I had me cup o' corfee and
+was jes' a-payin' the chap what has the pitch w'en a fellow
+passes by right in the light o' the lamp on the stall. It was th'
+orficer here, in plain clothes--shabby-like he was dressed--but I
+knew him at once.
+
+"'Our orficers don't walk about these parts after midnight
+dressed like tramps,' I sez to meself, and rememberin' what I
+seen at the Hohenlinden Trench I follows him..."
+
+"Just a minute!"
+
+The Chief's voice broke in upon the narrative.
+
+"Didn't you know, Barling, hadn't you heard, about Captain
+Strangwise's escape from a German prisoners of war camp?"
+
+"No, sir!" replied the gunner.
+
+"There was a good deal about it in the papers."
+
+"I've not got much eddication, sir," said Barling, "that's w'y I
+never took the stripe and I don't take much account of the
+newspapers an' that's a fact!"
+
+"Well, go on!" the Chief bade him.
+
+"It was pretty dark in the streets and I follered him along
+without his seeing me into the main-road and then down a
+turnin'..."
+
+"Laleham Villas," prompted Mr. Marigold.
+
+"I wasn't payin' much attention to were he was leadin' me," said
+Barling, "what I wanted to find out was what he was up to!
+Presently he turned in at a gate. I was closer up than I meant to
+be, and he swung in so sudden that I had to drop quick and crouch
+behind the masonry of the front garden wall. My leave pass must
+a' dropped out o' my pocket and through the railin's into the
+garden.
+
+"Well, the front door must a' been on the jar for th' orficer
+here just pushes it open and walks in, goin' very soft like. I
+crep' in the front gate and got as far as the door w'ich was
+a-standin' half open. I could 'ear the stair creakin' under 'im
+and I was just wonderin' whether I should go into the house w'en
+I hears a bang and wi' that someone comes aflyin' down the
+stairs, dodges through the front hall and out at the back. I see
+him come scramblin' over the back gate and was a-goin' to stop
+him thinkin' it was th' orficer here w'en I sees it is a tubby
+little chap, not big like the Captain. And then it come over me
+quite sudden-like that burglary and murder had been done in the
+house and wot would I say if a p'liceman come along? So I slipped
+off and went as hard as I could go back to the old Union Jack
+Club.
+
+"The next mornin' I found I'd lost me leave paper. I was afraid
+to go and report it in case it had been picked up, and they'd run
+me in for this murder job. That's how I come to desert,
+gentlemen, and spoilt a eighteen years' conduct sheet without a
+entry over this murderin' spy here!"
+
+Gunner Barling broke off abruptly as though he had committed
+himself to a stronger opinion than discipline would allow. It was
+the Chief who broke the silence following the termination of the
+gunner's story.
+
+"Strangwise," he said, "hadn't you better tell us who you are?"
+
+"He's an officer of the Prussian Guard," Desmond said, "and he
+was sent over here by the German secret service organization in
+the United States to get a commission in the British Army. When a
+good man was wanted to recover the Star of Poland for the Crown
+Prince, the secret service people in Berlin sent word to
+Strangwise (who was then serving with the gunners in France) to
+get himself captured. The German military authorities duly
+reported him a prisoner of war and then let him 'escape' as' the
+easiest and least suspicious means of getting him back to
+London!"
+
+The Chief smiled genially.
+
+"That's a dashed clever idea," he observed shrewdly, "'pon my
+word, that's bright! That's very bright! I should like to
+compliment the man who thought of that!"
+
+"Then you may address your compliments to me, Chief," said
+Strangwise.
+
+The Chief turned and looked at him.
+
+"I've met many of your people in my time, Strangwise," he said,
+"but I don't know you! Who are you?"
+
+Strangwise laughed.
+
+"Ask Nur-el-Din," he said, "that is to say, if you haven't shot
+her yet!"
+
+"And if we have?" asked the Chief.
+
+Desmond sprang tip.
+
+"It isn't possible!" he cried. "Why, the woman's a victim, not a
+principal! Chief..."
+
+"What if we have?" asked the Chief again.
+
+A curious change had come over the prisoner. His jaunty air had
+left him and there was an apprehensive look in his eyes.
+
+"I would have saved her if I could have," Strangwise said, "but
+she played me false over the jewel. She imperiled the success of
+my mission. You English have no idea of discipline. To us
+Prussian officers an order stands above everything else. There is
+nothing we would not sacrifice to obey our orders. And my order
+was to recover the Star of Poland for His Imperial Highness the
+Crown Prince, Lieutenant Colonel in the Regiment to which I have
+the honor to belong, the First Regiment of Prussian Foot Guards.
+But Nur-el-Din plotted with our friend here and with that little
+fool upstairs to upset my plans, and I had no mercy on her. I
+planted those documents in her dress--or rather Bellward did--to
+draw suspicion away from me. I thought you English would be too
+flabby to execute a woman; but I reckoned on you putting the girl
+away for some years to come. I would have shot her as I shot Rass
+if..." His voice trembled and he was silent.
+
+"If what?" asked the Chief.
+
+"If she hadn't been my wife," said Strangwise.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXI. THE 100,000 KIT
+
+It was a clear, crisp morning with a sparkle of frost on jetty
+and breakwater. The English Channel stretched flashing like a
+living sheet of glass to the filmy line marking the coast of
+France, as serene and beautiful in its calm as it is savage and
+cruel in its anger. It was high tide; but only a gentle murmur
+came from the little waves that idly beat upon the shore in front
+of the bungalow.
+
+A girl lay in a deck chair on the verandah, well wrapped up
+against the eager air. But the fresh breeze would not be denied
+and, foiled by the nurse's vigilance of its intents against the
+patient, it revenged itself by blowing havoc among the soft brown
+curls which peeped out from under the girl's hat.
+
+She turned to the man at her side.
+
+"Look!" she said, and pointed seawards with her finger.
+
+A convoy of vessels was standing out to sea framed in the
+smoke-blurs of the escorting destroyers. Ugly, weatherbeaten
+craft were the steamers with trails of smoke blown out in the
+breeze behind them. They rode the sea's highway with confidence,
+putting their trust in the unseen power that swept the road clear
+for them.
+
+"Transports, aren't they?" asked the man.
+
+But he scarcely looked at the transports. He was watching the
+gleam of the sun on the girl's brown hair and contrasting the
+deep gray of her eyes with the ever-changing hues of the sea.
+
+"Yes," replied the girl. "It's the third day they've gone across!
+By this time next week there'll be ten fresh divisions in France.
+How secure they look steaming along! And to think they owe it all
+to you!"
+
+The man laughed and flushed up.
+
+"From the strictly professional standpoint the less said about me
+the better," he said.
+
+"What nonsense you talk!" cried the girl. "When the Chief was
+down to see me yesterday, he spoke of nothing but you. 'They beat
+him, but he won out!' he said, 'they shook him off but he went
+back and found 'em!' He told me it was a case of grit versus
+violence--and grit won. In all the time I've known the Chief,
+I've never heard him talk so much about one man before. Do you
+know," Barbara went on, looking up at Desmond, "I think you've
+made the Chief feel a little bit ashamed of himself. And that I
+may tell you is a most extraordinary achievement!"
+
+"Do you think you're strong enough to hear some news?" asked
+Desmond after a pause.
+
+"Of course," replied the girl. "But I think I can guess it. It's
+about Strangwise, isn't it?"
+
+Desmond nodded.
+
+"He was shot yesterday morning," he replied. "I'm glad they did
+it in France. I was terrified lest they should want me to go to
+it."
+
+"Why?" asked the girl with a suspicion of indignation in her
+voice, "he deserved no mercy."
+
+"No," replied Desmond slowly, "he was a bad fellow--a Prussian
+through and through. He murdered your poor father, he shot Rass,
+he instigated the killing of the maid, Marie, he was prepared to
+sacrifice his own wife even, to this Prussian God of militarism
+which takes the very soul out of a man's body and puts it into
+the hands of his superior officer. And yet, and yet, when one has
+soldiered with a man, Barbara, and roughed it with him and been
+shelled and shot at with him, there seems to be a bond of
+sympathy between you and him for ever after. And he was a brave
+man, Barbara, cruel and unscrupulous, I admit, but there was no
+fear in him, and I can't help admiring courage. I seem to think
+of him as two men--the man I soldiered with and the heartless
+brute who watched while that beast Bellward..."
+
+He broke off as a spasm of pain crossed the girl's face. "I shall
+remember the one and forget the other," he concluded simply.
+
+"Tell me," said the girl suddenly, "who was Strangwise?"
+
+"After he was arrested and just before they were going to take
+him off," Desmond said, "he asked to be allowed to say a word
+privately to the Chief. We were all sent away and he told the
+Chief his real name. He thought he was going to be hanged, you
+see, and while he never shrank from any crime in the fulfilment
+of his mission, he was terrified of a shameful death. He begged
+the Chief to see that his real name was not revealed for the
+disgrace that his execution would bring upon his family.
+Curiously Prussian attitude of mind, isn't it?"
+
+"And what did the Chief say?"
+
+"I don't know; but he was mighty short with him, I expect."
+
+"And what was Strangwise's real name?"
+
+"When he told us that Nur-el-Din was his wife, I knew at once who
+he was. His name is Hans von Schornbeek. He was in the Prussian
+Foot Guards, was turned out for some reason or other and went to
+America where, after a pretty rough time, he was taken on by the
+German secret service organization. He was working for them when
+he met Nur-el-Din. They were married out there and, realizing the
+possibilities of using her as a decoy in the secret service, he
+sent her to Brussels where the Huns were very busy getting ready
+for war. He treated her abominably; but the girl was fond of him
+in her way and even when she was in fear of her life from this
+man she never revealed to me the fact that he was Hans von
+Schornbeek and her husband."
+
+Barbara sat musing for a while, her eyes on the restless sea.
+
+"How strange it is," she said, "to think that they are all
+dispersed now... and the transports are sailing securely to
+France. Two were killed at the Mill House, Behrend committed
+suicide in prison, Bellward died in hospital, Mrs. Malplaquet has
+disappeared, and now Strangwise has gone. There only remains..."
+
+She cast a quick glance at Desmond but he was gazing seaward at
+the smoke of the transports smudging the horizon.
+
+"What are they going to do with Nur-el-Din?" she asked rather
+abruptly.
+
+"Didn't the Chief tell you?" said Desmond.
+
+"He only asked me what I had to say in the matter as I had had to
+suffer at her hands. But I told him I left the matter entirely to
+him. I said I took your point of view that Nur-el-Din was the
+victim of her husband..."
+
+"That was generous of you, Barbara," Desmond said gently.
+
+She sighed.
+
+"Daddy knew her as a little girl," she answered, "and he was so
+pleased to see her again that night. She never had a chance. I
+hope she'll get one now!"
+
+"They're going to intern her, I believe," said Desmond, "until
+the end of the war; they could do nothing else, you know. But she
+will be well looked after, and I think she will be safer in our
+charge than if she were allowed to remain at liberty. The German
+Secret Service has had a bad knock, you know. Somebody has got to
+pay for it!"
+
+"I know," the girl whispered, "and it frightens me."
+
+"You poor child!" said Desmond, "you've had a rough time. But
+it's all over now. And that reminds me, Barney is coming up for
+sentence to-day; they charged him with murder originally; but
+Marigold kept on getting him remanded until they were able to
+alter the charge to one of burglary. He'll probably get two
+years' hard labor, Marigold says."
+
+"Poor Barney!" said Barbara, "I wish they would let him go free.
+All these weeks the mystery of poor Daddy's death has so weighed
+upon my mind that now it has been cleared up I feel as though one
+day I might be happy again. And I want everybody to be happy,
+too!"
+
+"Barbara," said Desmond and took her hand.
+
+Barbara calmly withdrew it from his grasp and brushed an
+imaginary curl out of her eye.
+
+"Any news of your hundred thousand pound kit?" she asked, by way
+of turning the conversation.
+
+"By Jove," said Desmond, "there was a letter from Cox's at the
+club this morning but I was so rushed to catch my train that I
+shoved it in my pocket and forgot all about it. I wrote and asked
+them weeks ago to get my kit back from France. Here we are!"
+
+He pulled a letter out of his pocket, slit open the envelope and
+took out a printed form. Barbara, propping herself up with one
+hand on his shoulder, leaned over him to read the communication.
+This is what she read.
+
+"We are advised," the form ran, "that a Wolseley valise forwarded
+to you on the 16th inst. from France has been lost by enemy
+action. We are enclosing a compensation form which..."
+
+But neither troubled to read further.
+
+"Gone to the bottom, by Jove!" cried Desmond. "But isn't it
+strange," he went on, "to think of the Star of Poland lying out
+there on the bed of the Channel? Well, I'm not so sure that it
+isn't the best place for it. It won't create any further trouble
+in this world at least!"
+
+"Poor Nur-el-Din!" sighed the girl.
+
+They sat awhile in silence together and watched the gulls
+circling unceasingly above the receding tide.
+
+"You're leaving here to-morrow then?" said Desmond presently.
+
+Barbara nodded
+
+"And going back to your work with the Chief?"
+
+Barbara nodded again.
+
+"It's not good enough," cried Desmond. "This is no job for a girl
+like you, Barbara. The strain is too much; the risks are too
+great. Besides, there's something I wanted to say..."
+
+Barbara stopped him.
+
+"Don't say it!" she bade him.
+
+"But you don't know what I was going to say!" he protested.
+
+Barbara smiled a little happy smile.
+
+"Barbara..." Desmond began.
+
+Her hand still rested on his shoulder and he put his hand over
+hers. For a brief moment she let him have his way.
+
+Then she withdrew her hand.
+
+"Desmond," she said, looking at him with kindly eyes, "we both
+have work to do..."
+
+"We have," replied the man somberly, "and mine's at the front!"
+
+The girl shook her head.
+
+"No!" she said. "Henceforward it's where the Chief sends you!"
+
+Desmond set his jaw obstinately.
+
+"I may have been a Secret Service agent by accident," he
+answered, "but I'm a soldier by trade. My place is in the
+fighting-line!"
+
+"The Secret Service has its fighting-line, too," Barbara replied,
+"though the war correspondents don't write about it. It never
+gets a mention in despatches, and Victoria Crosses don't come its
+way. The newspapers don't publish its casualty list, though you
+and I know that it's a long one. A man slips quietly away and
+never comes back, and after a certain lapse of time we just mark
+him off the books and there's an end of it. But it's a great
+service; and you've made your mark in it. The Chief wants men
+like you. You'll have to stay!"
+
+Desmond was about to speak; but the girl stopped him. "What do
+you and I matter," she asked, "when the whole future of England
+is at stake! If you are to give of your best to this silent game
+of ours, you must be free with no responsibilities and no ties,
+with nothing that will ever make you hesitate to take a supreme
+risk. And I never met a man that dared more freely than you!"
+
+"Oh, please..." said Desmond and got up.
+
+He stood gazing seawards for a while.
+
+Then he glanced at his watch.
+
+"I must be going back to London," he said. "I have to see the
+Chief at four this afternoon. And you know why!"
+
+The girl nodded.
+
+"What will you tell him?" she asked. "Will you accept his offer
+to remain on in the Secret Service?"
+
+Desmond looked at her ruefully.
+
+"You're so eloquent about it," he said slowly, "that I think I
+must!"
+
+Smiling, she gave him her hand. Desmond held it for an instant in
+his.
+
+Then, without another word, he turned and strode off towards the
+winding white road that led to the station.
+
+Barbara watched him until a turn in the road hid him from her
+sight. Then she pulled out her handkerchief.
+
+"Good Heavens, girl!" she said to herself, "I believe you're
+crying!"
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Okewood of the Secret Service, by 
+Valentine Williams
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+Project Gutenberg's Okewood of the Secret Service, by Valentine Williams
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: Okewood of the Secret Service
+
+Author: Valentine Williams
+
+Posting Date: December 24, 2009 [EBook #2417]
+Release Date: December, 2000
+Last Updated: March 23, 2009
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK OKEWOOD OF THE SECRET SERVICE ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Polly Stratton.  HTML version by Al Haines.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+OKEWOOD OF THE SECRET SERVICE
+
+
+by
+
+Valentine Williams
+
+(pseud. Douglas Valentine)
+
+
+
+
+CONTENTS
+
+      I.  THE DEPUTY TURN
+     II.  CAPTAIN STRANGWISE ENTERTAINS A GUEST
+    III.  MR. MACKWAYTE MEETS AN OLD FRIEND
+     IV.  MAJOR OKEWOOD ENCOUNTERS A NEW TYPE
+      V.  THE MURDER AT SEVEN KINGS
+     VI.  "NAME O'BARNEY"
+    VII.  NUR-EL-DIN
+   VIII.  THE WHITE PAPER PACKAGE
+     IX.  METAMORPHOSIS
+      X.  D. O. R. A. IS BAFFLED
+     XI.  CREDENTIALS
+    XII.  AT THE MILL HOUSE
+   XIII.  WHAT SHAKESPEARE'S COMEDIES REVEALED
+    XIV.  BARBARA TAKES A HAND
+     XV.  MR. BELLWARD IS CALLED TO THE TELEPHONE
+    XVI.  THE STAR OF POLAND
+   XVII.  MR. BELLWARD ARRANGES A BRIDGE EVENING
+  XVIII.  THE GATHERING OF THE SPIES
+    XIX.  THE UNINVITED GUEST
+     XX.  THE ODD MAN
+    XXI.  THE BLACK VELVET TOQUE
+   XXII.  WHAT THE CELLAR REVEALED
+  XXIII.  MRS. MALPLAQUET GOES DOWN TO THE CELLAR
+   XXIV.  THE TWO DESERTERS
+    XXV.  TO MRS. MALPLAQUET'S
+   XXVI.  THE MAN IN THE SUMMER HOUSE
+  XXVII.  THE RED LACQUER ROOM
+ XXVIII.  AN OFFER FROM STRANGWISE
+   XXIX.  DOT AND DASH
+    XXX.  HOHENLINDEN TRENCH
+   XXXI.  THE 100,000 POUND KIT
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I. THE DEPUTY TURN
+
+Mr. Arthur Mackwayte slipped noiselessly into the dining-room and
+took his place at the table. He always moved quietly, a look of
+gentle deprecation on his face as much as to say: "Really, you
+know, I can't help being here: if you will just overlook me this
+time, by and by you won't notice I'm there at all!" That was how
+he went through life, a shy, retiring little man, quiet as a
+mouse, gentle as a dove, modesty personified.
+
+That is, at least, how Mr. Arthur Mackwayte struck his friends in
+private life. Once a week, however, he fairly screamed at the
+public from the advertisement columns of "The Referee":
+"Mackwayte, in his Celebrated Kerbstone Sketches. Wit! Pathos!
+Tragedy!!! The Epitome of London Life. Universally Acclaimed as
+the Greatest Portrayer of London Characters since the late Chas.
+Dickens. In Tremendous Demand for Public Dinners. The Popular
+Favorite. A Few Dates still Vacant. 23, Laleham Villas, Seven
+Kings. 'Phone" and so on.
+
+But only professionally did Mr. Mackwayte thus blow his own
+trumpet, and then in print alone. For the rest, he had nothing
+great about him but his heart. A long and bitter struggle for
+existence had left no hardness in his smooth-shaven flexible
+face, only wrinkles. His eyes were gray and keen and honest, his
+mouth as tender as a woman's.
+
+His daughter, Barbara, was already at table pouring out the
+tea--high tea is still an institution in music-hall circles. Mr.
+Mackwayte always gazed on this tall, handsome daughter of his
+with amazement as the great miracle of his life. He looked at her
+now fondly and thought how.... how distinguished, yes, that was
+the word, she looked in the trim blue serge suit in which she
+went daily to her work at the War Office.
+
+"Rations a bit slender to-night, daddy," she said, handing him his
+cup of tea, "only sardines and bread and butter and cheese. Our
+meatless day, eh?"
+
+"It'll do very well for me, Barbara, my dear," he answered in his
+gentle voice, "there have been times when your old dad was glad
+enough to get a cup of tea and a bite of bread and butter for his
+supper. And there's many a one worse off than we are today!"
+
+"Any luck at the agent's, daddy?"
+
+Mr. Mackwayte shook his head.
+
+"These revues are fair killing the trade, my dear, and that's a
+fact. They don't want art to-day, only rag-time and legs and all
+that. Our people are being cruelly hit by it and that's a fact.
+Why, who do you think I ran into at Harris' this morning? Why,
+Barney who used to work with the great Charles, you know, my
+dear. For years he drew his ten pound a week regular. Yet there
+he was, looking for a job the same as the rest of us. Poor
+fellow, he was down on his luck!"
+
+Barbara looked up quickly.
+
+"Daddy, you lent him money...."
+
+Mr. Mackwayte looked extremely uncomfortable.
+
+"Only a trifle, my dear, just a few shillings.... to take him
+over the week-end.... he's getting something.... he'll repay me,
+I feel sure...."
+
+"It's too bad of you, daddy," his daughter said severely. "I gave
+you that ten shillings to buy yourself a bottle of whiskey. You
+know he won't pay you back. That Barney's a bad egg!"
+
+"Things are going bad with the profession," replied Mr. Mackwayte.
+"They don't seem to want any of us old stagers today, Barbara!"
+
+"Now, daddy, you know I don't allow you to talk like that. Why,
+you are only just finished working.... the Samuel Circuit, too!"
+
+Barbara looked up at the old man quickly.
+
+"Only, four weeks' trial, my dear.... they didn't want me, else
+they would have given me the full forty weeks. No, I expect I am
+getting past my work. But it's hard on you child...."
+
+Barbara sprang up and placed her hand across her father's mouth.
+
+"I won't have you talk like that, Mac"--that was her pet name for
+him--"you've worked hard all your life and now it's my turn. Men
+have had it all their own way before this war came along: now
+women are going to have a look in. Presently' when I get to be
+supervisor of my section and they raise my pay again, you will be
+able to refuse all offers of work. You can go down to Harris with
+a big cigar in your mouth and patronize him, daddy..."
+
+The telephone standing on the desk in the corner of the cheap
+little room tingled out sharply. Barbara rose and went across to
+the desk. Mr. Mackwayte thought how singularly graceful she
+looked as she stood, very slim, looking at him whimsically across
+the dinner-table, the receiver in her hand.
+
+Then a strange thing happened. Barbara quickly put the receiver
+down on the desk and clasped her hands together, her eyes opened
+wide in amazement.
+
+"Daddy," she cried, "it's the Palaceum... the manager's office...
+they want you urgently! Oh, daddy, I believe it is an
+engagement!"
+
+Mr. Mackwayte rose to his feet in agitation, a touch of color
+creeping into his gray cheeks.
+
+"Nonsense, my dear!" he answered, "at this time of night! Why,
+it's past eight... their first house is just finishing... they
+don't go engaging people at this time of day... they've got other
+things to think of!"
+
+He went over to the desk and picked up the receiver.
+
+"Mackwayte speaking!" he said, with a touch of stage majesty in
+his voice.
+
+Instantly a voice broke in on the other end of the wire, a
+perfect torrent of words.
+
+"Mackwayte? Ah! I'm glad I caught you at home. Got your props
+there? Good. Hickie of Hickie and Flanagan broke his ankle during
+their turn at the first house just now, and I want you to take
+their place at the second house. Your turn's at 9.40: it's a
+quarter past eight now: I'll have a car for you at your place at
+ten to nine sharp. Bring your band parts and lighting directions
+with you... don't forget! You get twenty minutes, on! Right!
+Goodbye!"
+
+"The Palaceum want me to deputize for Hickie and Flanagan, my
+dear," he said a little tremulously' "9.40... the second house...
+it's... it's very unexpected!"
+
+Barbara ran up and throwing her arms about his neck, kissed him.
+
+"How splendid!" she exclaimed, "the Palaceum, daddy! You've never
+had an engagement like this before... the biggest hall in
+London...!!
+
+"Only for a night, my dear"' said Mr. Mackwayte modestly.
+
+"But if they like you, daddy, if it goes down... what will you
+give them, daddy?"
+
+Mr. Mackwayte scratched his chin.
+
+"It's the biggest theatre in London"' he mused, "It'll have to be
+broad effects... and they'll want something slap up modern, my
+dear, I'm thinking..."
+
+"No, no, daddy" his daughter broke in vehemently "they want the
+best. This is a London audience, remember, not a half-baked
+provincial house. This is London, Mac, not Wigan! And Londoners
+love their London! You'll give 'em the old London horse bus
+driver, the sporting cabby, and I believe you'll have time to
+squeeze in the hot potato man..."
+
+"Well, like your poor dear mother, I expect you know what's the
+best I've got" replied Mr. Mackwayte, "but it'll be a bit awkward
+with a strange dresser... I can't get hold of Potter at this
+time, of night... and a stranger is sure to mix up my wigs and
+things..."
+
+"Why, daddy, I'm going with you to put out your things..."
+
+"But a lady clerk in the War Office, Barbara... a Government
+official, as you might say... go behind at a music-hall... it
+don't seem proper right, my dear!"
+
+"Nonsense, Mac. Where Is your theatre? Come along. We'll have to
+try and get a taxi!"
+
+"They're sending a car at ten to nine, my dear!"
+
+"Good gracious! what swells we are! And it's half-past eight
+already! Who is on the bill with you?"
+
+"My dear, I haven't an idea... I'm not very well up in the London
+programmes' I'm afraid... but it is sure to be a good programme.
+The Palaceum is the only house that's had the courage to break
+away from this rotten revue craze!"
+
+Barbara was in the hall now, her arms plunged to the shoulder in
+a great basket trunk that smelt faintly of cocoa-butter. Right
+and left she flung coats and hats and trousers and band parts,
+selecting with a sure eye the properties which Mr. Mackwayte
+would require for the sketches he would play that evening. In the
+middle of it all the throbbing of a car echoed down the quiet
+road outside. Then there came a ring at the front door.
+
+*       *        *       *       *       *
+
+At half-past nine that night, Barbara found herself standing
+beside her father in the wings of the vast Palaceum stage. Just
+at her back was the little screened-off recess where Mr.
+Mackwayte was to make the quick changes that came in the course
+of his turn. Here, since her arrival in the theatre, Barbara had
+been busy laying out coats and hats and rigs and grease-paints on
+the little table below the mirror with its two brilliant electric
+bulbs, whilst Mr. Mackwayte was in his dressing-room upstairs
+changing into his first costume.
+
+Now, old Mackwayte stood at her elbow in his rig-out as an old
+London bus-driver in the identical, characteristic clothes which
+he had worn for this turn for the past 25 years. He was far too
+old a hand to show any nervousness he might feel at the ordeal
+before him. He was chatting in undertones in his gentle,
+confidential way to the stage manager.
+
+All around them was that curious preoccupied stillness hush of
+the power-house which makes the false world of the stage so
+singularly unreal by contrast when watched from the back. The
+house was packed from floor to ceiling, for the Palaceum's policy
+of breaking away from revue and going back to Mr. Mackwayte
+called "straight vaudeville" was triumphantly justifying itself.
+
+Standing in the wings, Barbara could almost feel the electric
+current running between the audience and the comedian who, with
+the quiet deliberation of the finished artist, was going through
+his business on the stage. As he made each of his carefully
+studied points, he paused, confident of the vast rustle of
+laughter swelling into a hurricane of applause which never failed
+to come from the towering tiers of humanity before him,
+stretching away into the roof where the limelights blazed and
+spluttered. Save for the low murmur of voices at her side, the
+silence behind the scenes was absolute. No one was idle. Everyone
+was at his post, his attention concentrated on that diminutive
+little figure in the ridiculous clothes which the spot-lights
+tracked about the stage.
+
+It was the high-water mark of modern music-hall development. The
+perfect smoothness of the organization gave Barbara a great
+feeling of contentment for she knew how happy her father must be.
+Everyone had been so kind to him. "I shall feel a stranger
+amongst the top-liners of today, my dear," he had said to her in
+the car on their way to the hall. She had had no answer ready for
+she had feared he spoke the truth.
+
+Yet everyone they had met had tried to show them that Arthur
+Mackwayte was not forgotten. The stage-door keeper had known him
+in the days of the old Aquarium and welcomed him by name. The
+comedian who preceded Mr. Mackwayte and who was on the stage at
+that moment had said, "Hullo, Mac! Come to give us young 'uns
+some tips?" And even now the stage manager was talking over old
+days with her father.
+
+"You had a rough but good schooling, Mac," he was saying, "but,
+by Jove, it gave us finished artists. If you saw the penny
+reading line that comes trying to get a job here... and gets it,
+by Gad!... it'd make you sick. I tell you I have my work cut out
+staving them off! It's a pretty good show this week, though, and
+I've given you a good place, Mac... you're in front of
+Nur-el-Din!"
+
+"Nur-el-Din?" repeated Mr. Mackwayte' "what is it, Fletcher? A
+conjurer?"
+
+"Good Lord' man' where have you been living?" replied Fletcher.
+"Nur-el-Din is the greatest vaudeville proposition since Lottie
+Collins. Conjurer! That's what she is, too, by Jove! She's the
+newest thing in Oriental dancers... Spaniard or something...
+wonderful clothes, what there is of 'em... and jewelry... wait
+till you see her!"
+
+"Dear me"' said Mr. Mackwayte' "I'm afraid I'm a bit behind the
+times. Has she been appearing here long?"
+
+"First appearance in London, old man' and she's made good from
+the word 'Go!' She's been in Paris and all over the Continent,
+and America, too, I believe, but she had to come to me to soar to
+the top of the bill. I saw at once where she belonged! She's a
+real artiste, temperament, style and all that sort of thing and a
+damn good producer into the bargain! But the worst devil that
+ever escaped out of hell never had a wickeder temper! She and I
+fight all the time! Not a show, but she doesn't keep the stage
+waiting! But I won! I won't have her prima donna tricks in this
+theatre and so I've told her! Hullo, Georgie's he's finishing..."
+
+The great curtain switched down suddenly, drowning a cascade of
+applause, and a bundle of old clothes, twitching nerves, liquid
+perspiration and grease paint hopped off the stage into the
+centre of the group. An electric bell trilled, the limelights
+shut off, with a jerk that made the eyes ache, a back-cloth
+soared aloft and another glided down into its place, the comedian
+took two, three, four calls, then vanished into a horde of dim
+figures scuttling about in the gloom.
+
+An electric bell trilled again and deep silence fell once more,
+broken only by the hissing of the lights.
+
+"You ought to stop behind after your turn and see her, Mac," the
+stage manager's voice went on evenly. "All right, Jackson! On you
+go, Mac!"
+
+Barbara felt her heart jump. Now for it, daddy!
+
+The great curtain mounted majestically and Arthur Mackwayte,
+deputy turn, stumped serenely on to the stage.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II. CAPTAIN STRANGWISE ENTERTAINS A GUEST
+
+It was the slack hour at the Nineveh Hotel. The last groups about
+the tea-tables in the Palm Court had broken up, the Tzigane
+orchestra had stacked its instruments together on its little
+platform and gone home, and a gentle calm rested over the great
+hotel as the forerunner of the coming dinner storm.
+
+The pre-dinner hour is the uncomfortable hour of the modern hotel
+de luxe. The rooms seem uncomfortably hot, the evening paper
+palls, it is too early to dress for dinner, so one sits yawning
+over the fire, longing for a fireside of one's own. At least that
+is how it strikes one from the bachelor standpoint, and that is
+how it appeared to affect a man who was sitting hunched up in a
+big arm-chair in the vestibule of the Nineveh Hotel on this
+winter afternoon.
+
+His posture spoke of utter boredom. He sprawled full length in his
+chair, his long legs stretched out in front of him, his, eyes
+half-closed, various editions of evening papers strewn about the
+ground at his feet. He was a tall, well-groomed man, and his
+lithe, athletic figure looked very well in its neat uniform.
+
+A pretty little woman who sat at one of the writing desks in the
+vestibule glanced at him more than once. He was the sort of man that
+women look at with interest. He had a long, shrewd, narrow head,
+the hair dark and close-cropped, a big, bold, aquiline nose, and
+a firm masterful chin, dominated by a determined line of mouth
+emphasised by a thin line of moustache. He would have been very
+handsome but for his eyes, which, the woman decided as she
+glanced at him, were set rather too close together. She thought
+she would prefer him as he was now, with his eyes glittering in
+the fire-light through their long lashes.
+
+But what was most apparent was the magnificent physical fitness
+of the man. His was the frame of the pioneer, the man of the
+earth's open spaces and uncharted wilds. He looked as hard as
+nails, and the woman murmured to herself, as she went on with her
+note, "On leave from the front."
+
+Presently, the man stirred, stretched himself and finally sat up.
+Then he started, sprang to his feet, and strode easily across the
+vestibule to the reception desk. An officer was standing there in
+a worn uniform, a very shabby kit-bag by his side, a dirty old
+Burberry over his arm.
+
+"Okewood!" said the young man and touched the other on the
+shoulder, "isn't it Desmond Okewood?  By Jove, I am glad to see
+you!"
+
+The new-comer turned quickly.
+
+"Why, hullo," he said, "if it isn't Maurice Strangwise! But, good
+heavens, man, surely I saw your name in the casualty list...
+missing, wasn't it?"
+
+"Yep!" replied the other smiling, "that's so! It's a long story
+and it'll keep! But tell me about yourself... this," he kicked
+the kit-bag with the toe of his boot, "looks like a little leave!
+Just in from France?"
+
+He smiled again, baring his firm, white teeth, and looking at him
+Desmond suddenly remembered, as one recalls a trifle, his trick
+of smiling. It was a frank enough smile but... well, some people
+smile too much.
+
+"Got in just now by the leave train," answered Desmond.
+
+"How much leave have you got?" asked Strangwise.
+
+"Well," said the other, "it's a funny thing, but I don't know!"
+
+"Say, are they giving unlimited leave over there now?"
+
+Desmond laughed.
+
+"Hardly," he replied. "But the War Office just applied for me to
+come over and here I am! What they want me for, whether it's to
+advise the War Council or to act as Quartermaster to the Jewish
+Battalion I can't tell you! I shan't know until tomorrow morning!
+In the meantime I'm going to forget the war for this evening!"
+
+"What are you going to do to-night?" asked Strangwise.
+
+Desmond began to check off on his fingers.
+
+"Firstly, I'm going to fill the biggest bath in this hotel with
+hot water, get the biggest piece of Pears' soap in London, and
+jump in: Then, if my tailor hasn't betrayed me, I'm going to put
+on dress clothes, and whilst I am dressing summon Julien (if he's
+maitre d'hotel here) to a conference, then I'm going to eat the
+best dinner that this pub can provide. Then..."
+
+Strangwise interrupted him.
+
+"The bath is on you, if you like," he said, "but the dinner's on
+me and a show afterwards. I'm at a loose end, old man, and so are
+you, so we'll hit up together! We'll dine in the restaurant here
+7.30, and Julien shall come up to your room so that you can order
+the dinner. Is it a go?"
+
+"Rather," laughed Desmond, "I'll eat your dinner, Maurice, and
+you shall tell me how you managed to break out of the casualty
+list into the Nineveh Hotel. But what do all these anxious-looking
+gentry want?"
+
+The two officers turned to confront a group of four men who were
+surveying them closely. One of them, a fat, comfortable looking
+party with grizzled hair, on seeing Desmond, walked up to him.
+
+"Hullo!" said Desmond, "it's Tommy Spencer! How are you, Spencer?
+What's the betting in Fleet Street on the war lasting another
+five years?  Have you come to interview me?"
+
+The tubby little man beamed and shook hands effusively.
+
+"Glad to see you looking so well, Major," he said, "It's your
+friend we want..."
+
+"What? Strangwise? Here, Maurice, come meet my friend Tommy
+Spencer of the "Daily Record," whom I haven't seen since we went
+on manoeuvres together down at Aldershot! Captain Strangwise,
+Tommy Spencer! Now, then, fire away; Spencer!"
+
+Strangwise smiled and shook his head.
+
+"I'm very pleased to know your friend, Desmond," he said, "but,
+you know, I can't talk! I had the strictest orders from the War
+Office... It's on account of the other fellows, you know..."
+
+Desmond looked blankly at him. Then he--turned to Spencer.
+
+"You must let me into this, Spencer," he said, "what's old
+Maurice been up to? Has he been cashiered for wearing shoes or
+what?"
+
+Spencer's manner became a trifle formal.
+
+"Captain Strangwise has escaped from a prisoners' of war camp in
+Germany, Major," he said, "we've been trying to get hold of him
+for days! He's the talk of London!"
+
+Desmond turned like a shot.
+
+"Maurice!" he cried, "'pon my soul, I'm going to have an
+interesting evening... why, of course, you are just the sort of
+fellow to do a thing like that. But, Spencer, you know, it won't
+do... fellows are never allowed to talk to the newspaper men
+about matters of this kind. And if you're a good fellow, Spencer,
+you won't even say that you have seen Strangwise here... you'll
+only get him into trouble!"
+
+The little man looked rather rueful.
+
+"Oh, of course, Major, if you put it that way," he said.
+
+"... And you'll use your influence to make those other fellows
+with you drop it, will you, Spencer? And then come along to the
+bar and we'll have a drink for old times' sake!"
+
+Spencer seemed doubtful about the success of his representations
+to his colleagues but he obediently trotted away. Apparently, he
+succeeded in his mission for presently he joined the two officers
+alone in the American Bar.
+
+"I haven't seen Strangwise for six months, Spencer," said Desmond
+over his second cocktail. "Seeing him reminds me how astonishing
+it is the way fellows drop apart in war. Old Maurice was attached
+to the Brigade of which I am the Brigade Major as gunner officer,
+and we lived together for the best part of three months, wasn't
+it, Maurice? Then he goes back to his battery and the next thing
+I hear of him is that he is missing. And then I'm damned if he
+doesn't turn up here!"
+
+Spencer cocked an eye at Strangwise over his Martini.
+
+"I'd like to hear your story, despite the restrictions," he said.
+
+Strangwise looked a trifle embarrassed.
+
+"Maybe I'll tell you one day," he replied in his quiet way,
+"though, honestly, there's precious little to tell..."
+
+Desmond marked his confusion and respected him for it. He rushed
+in to the rescue.
+
+"Spencer," he said abruptly, "what's worth seeing in London? We
+are going to a show to-night. I want to be amused, mark you, not
+elevated!"
+
+"Nur-el-Din at the Palaceum," replied the reporter.
+
+"By Jove, we'll go there," said Desmond, turning to Maurice.
+"Have you ever seen her? I'm told she's perfectly marvelous..."
+
+"It's an extraordinarily artistic turn," said Spencer, "and
+they're doing wonderful business at the Palaceum. You'd better go
+and see the show soon, though, for they tell me the lady is
+leaving the programme."
+
+"No!" exclaimed Strangwise so suddenly that Desmond turned round
+and stared at him. "I thought she was there for months yet..."
+
+"They don't want her to go," answered Spencer, "she's a perfect
+gold-mine to them but I gather the lady is difficult... in fact,
+to put it bluntly she's making such a damn nuisance of herself
+with her artistic temperament that they can't get on with her at
+all."
+
+"Do you know this lady of the artistic temperament, Maurice?"
+asked Desmond.
+
+Strangwise hesitated a moment.
+
+"I met her in Canada a few years ago," he said slowly, "she was a
+very small star then. She's a very handsome and attractive girl,
+in spite of our friend's unfavorable verdict. There's something
+curiously real about her dancing, too, that you don't find in
+this sort of show as a rule!"
+
+He stopped a moment, then added abruptly:
+
+"We'll go along to the Palaceum to-night, if you like, Desmond,"
+and Desmond joyfully acquiesced. To one who has been living for
+weeks in an ill-ventilated pill-box on the Passchendaele Ridge,
+the lights and music and color of a music-hall seem as a
+foretaste of Paradise.
+
+And that was what Desmond Okewood thought as a few hours later he
+found himself with Maurice Strangwise in the stalls of the vast
+Palaceum auditorium. In the unwonted luxury of evening clothes he
+felt clean and comfortable, and the cigar he way smoking was the
+climax of one of Julien's most esoteric efforts.
+
+The cards on either side of the proscenium opening bore the
+words: "Deputy Turn." On the stage was a gnarled old man with
+ruddy cheeks and a muffler, a seedy top hat on his head, a
+coaching whip in his hand, the old horse bus-driver of London in
+his habit as he had lived. The old fellow stood there and just
+talked to the audience of a fine sporting class of men that
+petrol has driven from the streets, without exaggerated humor or
+pathos. Desmond, himself a born Cockney, at once fell under the
+actor's spell and found all memories of the front slipping away
+from him as the old London street characters succeeded one
+another on the stage. Then the orchestra blared out, the curtain
+descended, and the house broke into a great flutter of applause.
+
+Desmond, luxuriating in his comfortable stall puffed at his cigar
+and fell into a pleasant reverie.
+
+He was contrasting the ghastly nightmare of mud and horrors from
+which he had only just emerged with the scene of elegance, of
+civilization; around him.
+
+Suddenly, his attention became riveted on the stage. The
+atmosphere of the theatre had changed. Always quick at picking up
+"influences," Desmond instantly sensed a new mood in the throngs
+around him. A presence was in the theatre, an instinct-awakening,
+a material influence. The great audience was strangely hushed.
+The air was heavy with the tent of incense. The stringed
+instruments and oboes in the orchestra were wandering into
+[Updater's note: a line appears to be missing from the source here]
+rhythmic dropped.
+
+Maurice touched his elbow.
+
+"There she is!" he said.
+
+Desmond felt inclined to shake him off roughly. The interruption
+jarred on him. For he was looking at this strangely beautiful
+girl with her skin showing very brown beneath a wonderful silver
+tiara-like headdress, and in the broad interstices of a
+cloth-of-silver robe with short, stiffly wired-out skirt. She was
+seated, an idol, on a glittering black throne, at her feet with
+their tapering dyed nails a fantastically attired throng of
+worshipers.
+
+The idol stirred into life, the music of the orchestra died away.
+Then a tom-tom began to beat its nervous pulse-stirring throb,
+the strident notes of a reed-pipe joined in and the dancer,
+raised on her toes on the dais, began to sway languorously to and
+fro. And so she swayed and swayed with sinuously curving limbs
+while the drums throbbed out faster with ever-shortening beats,
+with now and then a clash of brazen cymbals that was torture to
+overwrought nerves.
+
+The dancer was the perfection of grace. Her figure was lithe and
+supple as a boy's. There was a suggestion of fire and strength
+and agility about her that made one think of a panther as she
+postured there against a background of barbaric color. The grace
+of her movements, the exquisite blending of the colors on the
+stage, the skillful grouping of the throng of worshipers, made up
+a picture which held the audience spellbound and in silence until
+the curtain dropped.
+
+Desmond turned to find Strangwise standing up.
+
+"I thought of just running round behind the scenes for a few
+minutes," he said carelessly.
+
+"What, to see Nur-el-Din? By Jove, I'm coming, too!" promptly
+exclaimed Desmond.
+
+Strangwise demurred. He didn't quite know if he could take him:
+there might be difficulties: another time... But Desmond got up
+resolutely.
+
+"I'll be damned if you leave me behind, Maurice," he laughed, "of
+course I'm coming, too! She's the most delightful creature I've
+ever set eyes on!"
+
+And so it ended by them going through the pass-door together.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III. MR. MACKWAYTE MEETS AN OLD FRIEND
+
+That night Nur-el-Din kept the stage waiting for five minutes. It
+was a climax of a long series of similar unpardonable crimes in
+the music-hall code. The result was that Mr. Mackwayte, after
+taking four enthusiastic "curtains," stepped off the stage into a
+perfect pandemonium.
+
+He found Fletcher, the stage manager, livid with rage, surrounded
+by the greater part of the large suite with which the dancer
+traveled. There was Madame's maid, a trim Frenchwoman, Madame's
+business manager, a fat, voluble Italian, Madame's secretary, an
+olive-skinned South American youth in an evening coat with velvet
+collar, and Madame's principal male dancer in a scanty Egyptian
+dress with grotesquely painted face. They were all talking at the
+same time, and at intervals Fletcher muttered hotly: "This time
+she leaves the bill or I walk out of the theatre!"
+
+Then a clear voice cried:
+
+"Me voila!" and a dainty apparition in an ermine wrap tripped
+into the centre of the group, tapped the manager lightly on the
+shoulder and said:
+
+"Allons! I am ready!"
+
+Mr. Mackwayte's face creased its mask of paint into a thousand
+wrinkles. For, on seeing him, the dancer's face lighted up, and,
+running to him with hands outstretched, she cried:
+
+"Tiens! Monsieur Arthur!" while he ejaculated:
+
+"Why, it's little Marcelle!"
+
+But now the stage manager interposed. He whisked Madame's wrap
+off her with one hand and with the other, firmly propelled her on
+to the stage. She let him have his way with a merry smile, dark
+eyes and white teeth flashing, but as she went she said to Mr.
+Mackwayte:
+
+"My friend, wait for me! Et puis nous causerons! We will 'ave a
+talk, nest-ce pas?"
+
+"A very old friend of mine, my dear," Mr. Mackwayte said to
+Barbara when, dressed in his street clothes, he rejoined her in
+the wings where she stood watching Nur-el-Din dancing. "She was
+an acrobat in the Seven Duponts, a turn that earned big money in
+the old days. It must be... let's see... getting on for twenty
+years since I last set eyes on her. She was a pretty kid in those
+days! God bless my soul! Little Marcelle a big star! It's really
+most amazing!"
+
+Directly she was off the stage, Nur-el-Din came straight to Mr.
+Mackwayte, pushing aside her maid who was waiting with her wrap.
+
+"My friend," she cooed in her pretty broken English, "I am so
+glad, so glad to see you. And this is your girl... ah! she 'as
+your eyes, Monsieur Arthur, your nice English gray eyes! Such a
+big girl... ah! but she make me feel old!"
+
+She laughed, a pretty gurgling laugh, throwing back her head so
+that the diamond collar she was wearing heaved and flashed.
+
+"But you will come to my room, hein?" she went on. "Marie, my
+wrap!" and she led the way to the lift.
+
+Nur-el-Din's spacious dressing-room seemed to be full of people
+and flowers. All her little court was assembled amid a perfect
+bower of hot-house blooms and plants. Head and shoulders above
+everybody else in the room towered the figure of an officer in
+uniform, with him another palpable Englishman in evening dress.
+
+Desmond Okewood thought he had never seen anything in his life
+more charming than the picture the dancer made as she came into
+the room. Her wrap had fallen open and beneath the broad bars of
+her cloth-of-silver dress her bosom yet rose and fell after the
+exertions of her dance. A jet black curl had strayed out from
+beneath her lofty silver head-dress, and she thrust it back in
+its place with one little brown bejeweled hand whilst she
+extended the other to Strangwise.
+
+"Tiens, mon capitaine!" she said. Desmond was watching her
+closely, fascinated by her beauty, but noticed an unwilling,
+almost a hostile tone, in her voice.
+
+Strangwise was speaking in his deep voice.
+
+"Marcelle," he said, "I've brought a friend who is anxious to
+meet you. Major Desmond Okewood! He and I soldiered together in
+France!" The dancer turned her big black eyes full on Desmond as
+she held out her hand to him.
+
+"Old friends, new friends," she cried, clapping, her hands like a
+child, "I love friends. Captaine, here is a very old friend," she
+said to Strangwise as Mr. Mackwayte and Barbara came into the
+rooms, "Monsieur Arthur Mackwayte and 'is daughter. I 'ave know
+Monsieur Arthur almos' all my life. And, Mademoiselle, permit me?
+I introduce le Captaine Strangwise and 'is friend... what is the
+name? Ah, Major Okewood!"
+
+Nur-el-Din sank into a bergere chair beside her great mirror.
+
+"There are too many in this room," she cried, "there is no air!
+Lazarro, Ramiro, all of you, go outside, my friends!"
+
+As Madame's entourage surged out, Strangwise said:
+
+"I hear you are leaving the Palaceum, Marcelle!"
+
+He spoke so low that Mr. Mackwayte and Barbara, who were talking
+to Desmond, did not hear. Marcelle, taking off her heavy
+head-dress, answered quickly:
+
+"Who told you that?"
+
+"Never mind," replied Strangwise. "But you never told me you were
+going. Why didn't you?"
+
+His voice was stern and hard now, very different from his usual
+quiet and mellow tones. But he was smiling.
+
+Marcelle cast a glance over her shoulder. Barbara was looking
+round the room and caught the reflection of the dancer's face in
+a mirror hanging on the wall. To her intense astonishment, she
+saw a look of despair, almost of terror, in Nur-el-Din's dark
+eyes. It was like the frightened stare of some hunted beast.
+Barbara was so much taken aback that she instinctively glanced
+over her shoulder at the door, thinking that the dancer had seen
+something there to frighten her. But the door was shut. When
+Barbara looked into the mirror again, she saw only the reflection
+of Nur-el-Din's pretty neck and shoulders. The dancer was talking
+again in low tones to Strangwise.
+
+But Barbara swiftly forgot that glimpse of the dancer's face in
+the glass. For she was very happy. Happiness, like high spirits,
+is eminently contagious, and the two men at her side were
+supremely content.
+
+Her father's eyes were shining with his little success of
+the evening: on the way upstairs Fletcher had held out hopes to
+him of a long engagement at the Palaceum while as for the other,
+he was radiant with the excitement of his first night in town
+after long months of campaigning.
+
+He was thinking that his leave had started most propitiously.
+After a man has been isolated for months amongst muddy
+masculinity, the homeliest woman will find favor in his eyes. And
+to neither of these women, in whose presence he so unexpectedly
+found himself within a few hours of landing in England, could the
+epithet "homely" be applied. Each represented a distinct type of
+beauty in herself, and Desmond, as he chatted with Barbara, was
+mentally contrasting the two women. Barbara, tall and slim and
+very healthy, with her braided brown hair, creamy complexion and
+gray eyes, was essentially English. She was the typical woman of
+England, of England of the broad green valleys and rolling downs
+and snuggling hamlets, of England of the white cliffs gnawed by
+the restless ocean. The other was equally essentially a woman of
+the South. Her dark eyes, her upper lip just baring her firm
+white teeth, spoke of hot Latin or gypsy blood surging in her
+veins. Hers was the beauty of the East, sensuous, arresting,
+conjuring up pictures of warm, perfumed nights, the thrumming of
+guitars, a great yellow moon hanging low behind the palms.
+
+"Barbara!" called Nur-el-Din from the dressing table. Mr.
+Mackwayte had joined her there and was chatting to Strangwise.
+
+"You will stay and talk to me while I change n'est-ce pas? Your
+papa and these gentlemen are going to drink a whiskey-soda with
+that animal Fletcher... quel homme terrible... and you shall join
+them presently."
+
+The men went out, leaving Barbara alone with the dancer. Barbara
+noticed how tired Nur-el-Din was looking. Heir pretty, childish
+ways seemed to have evaporated with her high spirits. Her face
+was heavy and listless. There were lines round heir eyes, and her
+mouth had a hard, drawn look.
+
+"Child," she said, "give me, please, my peignoir... it is behind
+the door,... and, I will get this paint off my face!"
+
+Barbara fetched the wrapper and sat down beside the dancer. But
+Nur-el-Din did not move. She seemed to be thinking. Barbara saw
+the hunted look she had already observed in her that evening
+creeping over her face again.
+
+"It is a hard life; this life of ours, a life of change, ma
+petite! A great artiste has no country, no home, no fireside! For
+the past five years I have been roaming about the world! Often I
+think I will settle down, but the life holds me!"
+
+She took up from her dressing-table a little oblong plain silver
+box.
+
+"I want to ask you a favor, ma petite Barbara!" she said. "This
+little box is a family possession of mine: I have had it for many
+years. The world is so disturbed to-day that life is not safe for
+anybody who travels as much as I do! You have a home, a safe home
+with your dear father! He was telling me about it! Will you take
+this little box and keep it safely for me until... until... the
+war is over... until I ask you for it?"
+
+"Yes, of course," said Barbara, "if you wish it, though, what
+with these air raids, I don't know that London is particularly
+safe, either."
+
+"Ah! that is good of you," cried Nur-el-Din, "anyhow, the little
+box is safer with you than with me. See, I will wrap it up and
+seal it, and then you will take it home with you, n'est-ce pas?"
+
+She opened a drawer and swiftly hunting among its contents
+produced a sheet, of white paper, and some sealing-wax. She
+wrapped the box in the paper and sealed it up, stamping the seals
+with a camel signet ring she drew off her finger. Then she handed
+the package to Barbara.
+
+There was a knock at the door. The maid, noiselessly arranging
+Madame's dresses in the corner opened it.
+
+"You will take care of it well for me," the dancer said to
+Barbara, and her voice vibrated with a surprising eagerness, "you
+will guard it preciously until I come for it..." She laughed and
+added carelessly: "Because it is a family treasure, a life
+mascotte of mine, hein?"
+
+Then they heard Strangwise's deep voice outside.
+
+Nur-el-Din started.
+
+"Le Captaine is there, Madame," said the French maid, "'e say
+Monsieur Mackwayte ask for Mademoiselle!"
+
+The dancer thrust a little hand from the folds of her silken
+kimono.
+
+"Au revoir, ma petite," she said, "we shall meet again. You will
+come and see me, nest-ce pas? And say nothing to anybody
+about..." she pointed to Barbara's bag where the little package
+was reposing, "it shall be a secret between us, hein? Promise me
+this, mon enfant!"
+
+"Of course, I promise, if you like!" said Barbara, wonderingly.
+
+At half-past eight the next morning Desmond Okewood found himself
+in the ante-room of the Chief of the Secret Service in a cross
+and puzzled mood. The telephone at his bedside had roused him at
+8 a.m. from the first sleep he had had in a real bed for two
+months. In a drowsy voice he had protested that he had an
+appointment at the War Office at 10 o'clock, but a curt voice had
+bidden him dress himself and come to the Chief forthwith. Here he
+was, accordingly, breakfastless, his chin smarting from a hasty
+shave. What the devil did the Chief want with him anyhow? He
+wasn't in the Secret Service, though his brother, Francis, was.
+
+A voice broke in upon his angry musing.
+
+"Come in, Okewood!" it said.
+
+The Chief stood at the door of his room, a broad-shouldered
+figure in a plain jacket suit. Desmond had met him before. He
+knew him for a man of many questions but of few confidences, yet
+his recollection of him was of a suave, imperturbable
+personality. To-day, however, the Chief seemed strangely
+preoccupied. There was a deep line between his bushy eyebrows as
+he bent them at Desmond, motioning him to a chair. When he spoke,
+his manner was very curt.
+
+"What time did you part from the Mackwaytes at the theatre last
+night?"
+
+Desmond was dumbfounded. How on earth did the Chief know about
+his visit to the Palaceum? Still, he was used to the omniscience
+of the British Intelligence, so he answered promptly:
+
+"It was latish, sir; about midnight, I think!"
+
+"They went home to Seven Kings alone!"
+
+"Yes, sir, in a taxi!" Desmond replied.
+
+The Chief contemplated his blotting-pad gloomily. Desmond knew it
+for a trick of his when worried.
+
+"Did you have a good night?" he said to Desmond, suddenly.
+
+"Yes," he said, not in the least understanding the drift of the
+question. "... though I didn't mean to get up quite so early!"
+
+The Chief ignored this sally.
+
+"Nothing out of the ordinary happened during the night, I
+suppose?" he asked again.
+
+Desmond shook his head.
+
+"Nothing that I know of, sir," he said.
+
+"Seen Strangwise this morning?"
+
+Desmond gasped for breath. So the Chief knew about him meeting
+Strangwise, too!
+
+"No, sir!"
+
+A clerk put his head in at the door.
+
+"Well, Matthews!"
+
+"Captain Strangwise will be along very shortly, sir," he said.
+
+The Chief looked up quickly.
+
+"Ah, he's all right then! Good."
+
+"And, sir," Matthews added, "Scotland Yard telephoned to say that
+the doctor is with Miss Mackwayte now."
+
+Desmond started up.
+
+"Is Miss Mackwayte ill?" he exclaimed.
+
+The Chief answered slowly, as Matthews withdrew: "Mr. Mackwayte
+was found murdered at his house early this morning!"
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV. MAJOR OKEWOOD ENCOUNTERS A NEW TYPE
+
+There is a sinister ring about the word "murder," which reacts
+upon even the most hardened sensibility. Edgar Allan Poe, who was
+a master of the suggestive use of words, realized this when he
+called the greatest detective story ever written "The Murders in
+the Rue Morgue." From the very beginning of the war, Desmond had
+seen death in all its forms but that word "murdered," spoken with
+slow emphasis in the quiet room, gave him an ugly chill feeling
+round the heart that he had never experienced on the battlefield.
+
+"Murdered!" Desmond repeated dully and sat down. He felt stunned.
+He was not thinking of the gentle old man cruelly done to death
+or of the pretty Barbara prostrate with grief. He was overawed by
+the curious fatality that had plucked him from the horrors of
+Flanders only to plunge him into a tragedy at home.
+
+"Yes," said the Chief bluntly, "by a burglar apparently--the
+house was ransacked!"
+
+"Chief," he broke out, "you must explain. I'm all at sea! Why did
+you send for me? What have you got to do with criminal cases,
+anyway? Surely, this is a Scotland Yard matter!"
+
+The Chief shook his head.
+
+"I sent for you in default of your brother, Okewood!" he said.
+"You once refused an offer of mine to take you into my service,
+but this time I had to have you, so I got the War Office to
+wire..."
+
+"Then my appointment for ten o'clock to-day was with you?"
+Desmond exclaimed in astonishment.
+
+The Chief nodded.
+
+"It was," he said curtly.
+
+"But," protested Desmond feebly, "did you know about this murder
+beforehand!"
+
+The Chief threw back his head and laughed.
+
+"My dear fellow," he said; "I'm not quite so deep as all that. I
+haven't second sight, you know!"
+
+"You've got something devilish like it, sir!" said Desmond.  "How
+on earth did you know that I was at the Palaceum last night?"
+
+The Chief smiled grimly.
+
+"Oh, that's very simple," he said. "Shall I tell you some more
+about yourself?  You sat..." he glanced down at the desk in front
+of him,"... in Stall E 52 and, after Nur-el-Din's turn,
+Strangwise took you round and introduced you to the lady. In her
+dressing-room you met Mr. Mackwayte and his daughter. After
+that..."
+
+"But," Desmond interrupted quickly, "I must have been followed by
+one of your men. Still, I can't see why my movements should
+interest the Secret Service, sir!"
+
+The Chief remained silent for a moment. Then he said:
+
+"Fate often unexpectedly takes a hand in this game of ours,
+Okewood. I sent for you to come back from France but old man
+Destiny wouldn't leave it at that. Almost as soon as you landed
+he switched you straight on to a trail that I have been patiently
+following up for months past. That trail is..."
+
+The telephone on the desk rang sharply.
+
+"Whose trail?" Desmond could not forbear to ask as the Chief took
+off the receiver.
+
+"Just a minute," the Chief said. Then he spoke into the
+telephone:
+
+"Marigold? Yes. Really? Very well, I'll come straight along
+now... I'll be with you in twenty minutes. Good-bye!"
+
+He put down the receiver and rose to his feet.
+
+"Okewood," he cried gaily, "what do you say to a little detective
+work? That was Marigold of the Criminal Investigation
+Department... he's down at Seven Kings handling this murder case.
+I asked him to let me know when it would be convenient for me to
+come along and have a look round, and he wants me to go now. Two
+heads are better than one. You'd better come along!"
+
+He pressed a button on the desk.
+
+The swift and silent Matthews appeared.
+
+"Matthews," he said, "when Captain Strangwise comes, please tell
+him I've been called away and ask him to call back here at two
+o'clock to see me."
+
+He paused and laid a lean finger reflectively along his nose.
+
+"Are you lunching anywhere, Okewood?" he 'said. Desmond shook his
+head.
+
+"Then you will lunch with me, eh? Right. Come along and we'll try
+to find the way to Seven Kings."
+
+The two men threaded the busy corridors to the lift which
+deposited them at the main entrance. A few minutes later the
+Chief was dexterously guiding his Vauxhall car through the
+crowded traffic of the Strand, Desmond beside him on the front
+seat.
+
+Desmond was completely fogged in his mind. He couldn't see light
+anywhere. He asked himself in vain what possible connection could
+exist between this murder in an obscure quarter of London and the
+man at his side who, he knew, held in his firm hands lines that
+stretched to the uttermost ends of the earth? What kind of an
+affair was this, seemingly so commonplace that could take the
+Chief's attention from the hundred urgent matters of national
+security that occupied him?
+
+The Chief seemed absorbed in his driving and Desmond felt it
+would be useless to attempt to draw him out. They wended their
+way through the city and out into the squalid length of the Mile
+End Road. Then the Chief began to talk.
+
+"I hate driving through the City," he exclaimed, "but I always
+think it's good for the nerves. Still, I have a feeling that I
+shall smash this old car up some day. That friend of yours,
+Strangwise, now he's a remarkable man!  Do you know his story?"
+
+"About his escape from Germany?" asked Desmond.
+
+The Chief nodded.
+
+"He told me something about it at dinner last night," said
+Desmond, "but he's such a modest chap he doesn't seem to like
+talking about it!"
+
+"He must have a cool nerve," replied the Chief, "he doesn't know
+a word of German, except a few scraps he picked up in camp. Yet,
+after he got free, he made his way alone from somewhere in
+Hanover clear to the Dutch frontier. And I tell you he kept his
+eyes and ears open!"
+
+"Was he able to tell you anything good" asked Desmond.
+
+"The man's just full of information. He couldn't take a note of
+any kind, of course, but he seems to have a wonderful memory. He
+was able to give us the names of almost every unit of troops he
+came across."
+
+He stopped to skirt a tram, then added suddenly:
+
+"Do you know him well, Okewood?"
+
+"Yes, I think I do," said Desmond. "I lived with him for about
+three months in France, and we got on top-hole together. He's a
+man absolutely without fear."
+
+"Yes," agreed the Chief. "But what about his judgment? Would you
+call him a well-balanced fellow? Or is he one of these
+harum-scarum soldier of fortune sort of chaps?"
+
+"I should say he was devilish shrewd," replied the other.
+"Strangwise is a very able fellow and a fine soldier. The
+Brigadier thought a lot of him. There's very little about
+artillery work that Strangwise doesn't know. Our Brigadier's a
+good judge, too... he was a gunner himself once, you know."
+
+"I'm glad to hear you say that," answered the Chief, "because
+there are some things he has told us, about the movements of
+troops, particularly, that don't agree in the least with our own
+Intelligence reports. I am an old enough hand at my job to know
+that very often one man may be right where fifty independent
+witnesses are dead wrong. Yet our reports from Germany have been
+wonderfully accurate on the whole."
+
+He stopped.
+
+"Tell me," he asked suddenly, "is Strangwise a liar, do you
+think?"
+
+Desmond laughed. The question was so very unexpected.
+
+"Let me explain what I mean," said the Chief. "There is a type of
+man who is quite incapable of telling the plain, unvarnished
+truth. That type of fellow might have the most extraordinary
+adventure happen to him and yet be unable to let it stand on its
+merits. When he narrates it, he trims it up with all kinds of
+embroidery. Is Strangwise that type?"
+
+Desmond thought a moment.
+
+"Your silence is very eloquent," said the Chief drily.
+
+Desmond laughed.
+
+"It's not the silence of consent," he said, "but if you want me
+to be quite frank about Strangwise, Chief, I don't mind telling
+you I don't like him overmuch. We were very intimate in France.
+We were in some very tight corners together and he never let me
+down. He showed himself to be a very fine fellow, indeed. There
+are points about him I admire immensely. I love his fine
+physique, his manliness. I'm sure he's got great strength of
+character, too. It's because I admire all this about him that I
+think perhaps it's just jealousy on my part when I feel..."
+
+"What?" said the Chief.
+
+"Well," said Desmond slowly, "I feel myself trying to like
+something below the surface in the man. And then I am balked.
+There seems to be something abysmally deep behind the facade, if
+you know what I mean. If I think about it much, it seems to me
+that there is too much surface about Strangwise and not enough
+foundation! And he smiles... Well, rather often, doesn't he?"
+
+"I know what you mean," said the Chief. "I always tell my young
+men to be wary when a man smiles too much. Smiles are sometimes
+camouflage, to cover up something that mustn't be seen
+underneath! Strangwise is a Canadian, isn't he?"
+
+"I think so," answered Desmond, "anyhow, he has lived there. But
+he got his commission over here. He came over some time in 1915,
+I believe, and joined up."
+
+"Ah, here we are!" cried the Chief, steering the car down a
+turning marked "Laleham Villas."
+
+Laleham Villas proved to be an immensely long terrace of small
+two-story houses, each one exactly like the other, the only
+difference between them lying in the color of the front doors and
+the arrangement of the small strip of garden in front of each.
+The houses stretched away on either side in a vista of
+smoke-discolored yellow brick. The road was perfectly straight
+and, in the dull yellow atmosphere of the winter morning,
+unspeakably depressing.
+
+The abode of small clerks and employees, Laleham Villas had
+rendered up, an hour before, its daily tribute of humanity to the
+City-bound trains of the Great Eastern Railway. The Mackwayte's
+house was plainly indicated, about 200 yards down on the
+right-hand side, by a knot of errand boys and bareheaded women
+grouped on the side-walk. A large, phlegmatic policeman stood at
+the gate.
+
+"You'll like Marigold," said the Chief to Desmond as they got out
+of the car, "quite a remarkable man and very sound at his work!"
+
+British officers don't number detective inspectors among their
+habitual acquaintances, and the man that came out of the house to
+meet them was actually the first detective that Desmond had ever
+met. Ever since the Chief had mentioned his name, Desmond had
+been wondering whether Mr. Marigold would be lean and pale and
+bewildering like Mr. Sherlock Holmes or breezy and wiry like the
+detectives in American crook plays.
+
+The man before him did not bear the faintest resemblance to
+either type. He was a well-set up, broad-shouldered person of
+about forty-five, very carefully dressed in a blue serge suit and
+black overcoat, with a large, even-tempered countenance, which
+sloped into a high forehead. The neatly brushed but thinning
+locks carefully arranged across the top of the head testified to
+the fact that Mr. Marigold had sacrificed most of his hair to the
+vicissitudes of his profession. When it is added that the
+detective had a small, yellow moustache and a pleasant,
+cultivated voice, there remains nothing further to say about Mr.
+Marigold's external appearance. But there was something so patent
+about the man, his air of reserve, his careful courtesy, his
+shrewd eyes, that Desmond at once recognized him for a type, a
+cast from a certain specific mould. All services shape men to
+their own fashion. There is the type of Guardsman, the type of
+airman, the type of naval officer. And Desmond decided that Mr.
+Marigold must be the type of detective, though, as I have said,
+he was totally unacquainted with the genus.
+
+"Major Okewood, Marigold," said the Chief, "a friend of mine!"
+
+Mr. Marigold mustered Desmond in one swift, comprehensive look.
+
+"I won't give you my hand, Major," the detective said, looking
+down at Desmond's proffered one, "for I'm in a filthy mess and no
+error. But won't you come in, sir?" he said to the Chief and led
+the way across the mosaic tile pathway to the front door which
+stood open.
+
+"I don't think this is anything in your line, sir," said Mr.
+Marigold to the Chief as the three men entered the house, "it's
+nothing but just a common burglary. The old man evidently heard a
+noise and coming down, surprised the burglar who lost his head
+and killed him. The only novel thing about the whole case is that
+the old party was shot with a pistol and not bludgeoned, as is
+usually the case in affairs of this kind. And I shouldn't have
+thought that the man who did it was the sort that carries a
+gun..."
+
+"Then you know who did it?" asked the Chief quietly.
+
+"I think I can safely say I do, sir," said Mr. Marigold with the
+reluctant air of one who seldom admits anything to be a fact, "I
+think I can go as far as that! And we've got our man under lock
+and key!"
+
+"That's a smart piece of work, Marigold," said the Chief.
+
+"No, sir," replied the other, "you could hardly call it that. He
+just walked into the arms of a constable over there near
+Goodmayes Station with the swag on him. He's an old hand... we've
+known him for a receiver for years!
+
+"Who is it?" asked the Chief, "not one of my little friends, I
+suppose, eh, Marigold!"
+
+"Dear me, no, sir," answered Mr. Marigold, chuckling, "it's one
+of old Mackwayte's music-hall pals, name o' Barney!"
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V. THE MURDER AT SEVEN KINGS
+
+"This is Mrs. Chugg, sir," said Mr. Marigold, "the charwoman who
+found the body!"
+
+The Chief and Desmond stood at the detective's side in the
+Mackwaytes' little dining-room. The room was in considerable
+disorder. There was a litter of paper, empty bottles, overturned
+cruets and other debris on the floor, evidence of the
+thoroughness with which the burglar had overhauled the cheap
+fumed oak sideboard which stood against the wall with doors and
+drawers open. In the corner, the little roll-top desk showed a
+great gash in the wood round the lock where it had been forced.
+The remains of a meal still stood on the table.
+
+Mrs. Chugg, a diminutive, white-haired, bespectacled woman in a
+rusty black cape and skirt, was enthroned in the midst of this
+scene of desolation. She sat in an armchair by the fire, her
+hands in her lap, obviously supremely content with the position
+of importance she enjoyed. At the sound of Mr. Marigold's voice,
+she bobbed up and regarded the newcomers with the air of a
+tragedy queen.
+
+"Yus mister," she said with the slow deliberation of one who
+thoroughly enjoys repeating an oft-told tale, "I found the pore
+man and a horrid turn it give me, too, I declare! I come in early
+this morning a-purpose to turn out these two rooms, the
+dining-room and the droring-room, same as I always do of a
+Saturday, along of the lidy's horders and wishes. I come in 'ere
+fust, to pull up the blinds and that, and d'reckly I switches on
+the light 'Burglars!' I sez to meself, 'Burglars! That's wot it
+is!' seeing the nasty mess the place was in. Up I nips to Miss
+Mackwayte's room on the first floor and in I bursts. 'Miss,' sez
+I, 'Miss, there's been burglars in the house!' and then I sees
+the pore lamb all tied up there on 'er blessed bed! Lor, mister,
+the turn it give me and I ain't telling you no lies! She was
+strapped up that tight with a towel crammed in 'er mouth she
+couldn't 'ardly dror 'er breath! I undid 'er pretty quick and the
+fust thing she sez w'en I gets the towl out of her mouth, the
+pore dear, is 'Mrs. Chugg,' she sez all of a tremble as you might
+say, 'Mrs. Chugg' sez she, 'my father! my father!' sez she. With
+that up she jumps but she 'adn't put foot to the floor w'en down
+she drops! It was along of 'er being tied up orl that time, dyer
+see, mister! I gets 'er back on the bed. 'You lie still, Miss,'
+says I, 'and I'll pop in and tell your pa to come in to you!'
+Well; I went to the old genelmun's room. Empty!"
+
+Mrs. Chugg paused to give her narrative dramatic effect.
+
+"And where did you find Mr. Mackwayte?" asked the Chief in such a
+placid voice that Mrs. Chugg cast an indignant glance at him.
+
+"I was jes' going downstairs to see if 'e was in the kitching or
+out at the back," she continued, unheeding the interruption,
+"when there on the landing I sees a foot asticking out from under
+the curting. I pulls back the curting and oh, Lor! oh, dear, oh,
+dear, the pore genelmun, 'im as never did a bad turn to no one!"
+
+"Come, come, Mrs. Chugg!" said the detective.
+
+The charwoman wiped her eyes and resumed.
+
+"'E was a-lying on his back in 'is dressing-gown, 'is face all
+burnt black, like, and a fair smother o' blood. Under 'is hed
+there was a pool o' blood, mister, yer may believe me or not..."
+
+Mr. Marigold cut in decisively.
+
+"Do you wish to see the body, sir?" the detective asked the
+Chief, "they're upstairs photographing it!"
+
+The Chief nodded. He and Desmond followed the detective upstairs,
+whilst Mrs. Chugg resentfully resumed her seat by the fire. On
+her face was the look of one who has cast pearls before swine.
+
+"Any finger-prints?" asked the Chief in the hall.
+
+"Oh, no," he said, "Barney's far too old a hand for that sort o'
+thing!"
+
+The landing proved to be a small space, covered with oilcloth and
+raised by a step from the bend made by the staircase leading to
+the first story. On the left-hand side was a window looking on a
+narrow passage separating the Mackwayte house from its neighbors
+and leading to the back-door. By the window stood a small
+wicker-work table with a plant on it. At the back of the landing
+was a partition, glazed half-way up and a door--obviously the
+bath-room.
+
+The curtain had been looped right over its brass rod. The body
+lay on its back at the foot of the table, arms flung outward, one
+leg doubled up, the other with the foot just jutting out over the
+step leading down to the staircase. The head pointed towards the
+bath-room door. Over the right eye the skin of the face was
+blackened in a great patch and there was a large blue swelling,
+like a bruise, in the centre. There was a good deal of blood on
+the face which obscured the hole made by the entrance of the
+bullet. The eyes were half-closed. A big camera, pointed
+downwards, was mounted on a high double ladder straddling the
+body and was operated by a young man in a bowler hat who went on
+with his work without taking the slightest notice of the
+detective and his companions.
+
+"Close range," murmured Desmond, after glancing at the dead man's
+face, "a large calibre automatic pistol, I should think!"
+
+"Why do you think it was a large calibre pistol, Major?" asked
+Mr. Marigold attentively.
+
+"I've seen plenty of men killed at close range by revolver and
+rifle bullets out at the front," replied Desmond, "but I never
+saw a man's face messed up like this. In a raid once I shot a
+German at point blank range with my revolver, the ordinary Army
+issue pattern, and I looked him over after. But it wasn't
+anything like this. The only thing I've seen approaching it was
+one of our sergeants who was killed out on patrol by a Hun
+officer who put his gun right in our man's face. That sergeant
+was pretty badly marked, but..."
+
+He shook his head. Then he added, addressing the detective:
+"Let's see the gun! Have you got it?"
+
+Mr. Marigold shook his head.
+
+"He hadn't got it on him," he answered, "he swears he never had a
+gun. I expect he chucked it away somewhere. It'll be our business
+to find it for him!"
+
+He smiled rather grimly, then added:
+
+"Perhaps you'd care to have a look at Miss Mackwayte's room,
+sir!"
+
+"Is Miss Mackwayte there" asked the Chief.
+
+"I got her out of this quick," replied Mr. Marigold, "she's had a
+bad shock, poor girl, though she gave her evidence clearly enough
+for all that... as far as it goes and that's not much. Some
+friends near by have taken her in! The doctor has given her some
+bromide and says she's got to be kept quiet..."
+
+"What's her story!" queried the Chief.
+
+"She can't throw much light on the business. She and her father
+reached home from the theatre about a quarter past twelve, had a
+bit of supper in the dining-room and went up to bed before one
+o'clock. Miss Mackwayte saw her father go into his room, which is
+next to hers, and shut the door. The next thing she knows is that
+she woke up suddenly with some kind of a loud noise in her
+ears... that was the report of the pistol, I've no doubt... she
+thought for a minute it was an air raid. Then suddenly a hand was
+pressed over her mouth, something was crammed into her mouth and
+she was firmly strapped down to the bed."
+
+"Did she see the man?" asked Desmond.
+
+"She didn't see anything from first to last," answered the
+detective, "as far as she is concerned it might have been a woman
+or a black man who trussed her up. It was quite dark in her
+bedroom and this burglar fellow, after binding and gagging her,
+fastened a bandage across her eyes into the bargain. She says she
+heard him moving about her room and then creep out very softly.
+The next thing she knew was Mrs. Chugg arriving at her bedside
+this morning."
+
+"What time did this attack take place?" asked the Chief.
+
+"She has no idea," answered the detective. "She couldn't see her
+watch and they haven't got a striking clock in the house."
+
+"But can she make no guess!"
+
+"Well, she says she thinks it was several hours before Mrs. Chugg
+arrived in the morning... as much as three hours, she thinks!"
+
+"And what time did Mrs. Chugg arrive!"
+
+"At half-past six!"
+
+"About Mackwayte... how long was he dead when they found him?
+What does the doctor say?"
+
+"About three hours approximately, but you know, they can't always
+tell to an hour or so!"
+
+"Well," said the Chief slowly, "it looks as if one might figure
+the murder as having been committed some time between 3 and 3.30
+a.m."
+
+"My idea exactly," said Mr. Marigold. "Shall we go upstairs?"
+
+He conducted the Chief and Desmond up the short flight of stairs
+to the first story. He pushed open the first door he came to.
+
+"Mackwayte's room, on the back," he said, "bed slept in, as you
+see, old gentleman's clothes on a chair--obviously he was
+disturbed by some noise made by the burglar and came out to see
+what was doing! And here," he indicated a door adjoining, "is
+Miss Mackwayte's room, on the front; as you observe. They don't
+use the two rooms on the second floor, except for box-rooms... one's
+full of old Mackwayte's theatre trunks and stuff. They keep
+no servant; Mrs. Chugg comes in each morning and stays all day.
+She goes away after supper every evening."
+
+Desmond found himself looking into a plainly furnished but dainty
+bedroom with white furniture and a good deal of chintz about.
+There were some photographs and pictures hanging on the walls.
+The room was spotlessly clean and very tidy.
+
+Desmond remarked on this, asking if the police had put the room
+straight.
+
+Mr. Marigold looked quite shocked.
+
+"Oh, no, everything is just as it was when Mrs. Chugg found Miss
+Mackwayte this morning. There's Miss Mackwayte's gloves and
+handbag on the toilet-table just as she left 'em last night. I
+wouldn't let her touch her clothes even. She went over to Mrs.
+Appleby's in her dressing-gown, in a taxi."
+
+"Then Master Burglar didn't burgle this room?" asked the Chief.
+
+"Nothing touched, not even the girl's money," replied Marigold.
+
+"Then why did he come up here at all?" asked Desmond.
+
+"Obviously, the old gentleman disturbed him," was the detective's
+reply. "Barney got scared and shot the old gentleman, then came
+up here to make sure that the daughter would not give him away
+before he could make his escape. He must have known the report of
+the gun would wake her up."
+
+"But are there no clues or finger-prints or anything of that kind
+here, Marigold?" asked the Chief.
+
+"Not a finger-print anywhere," responded the other, "men like
+Barney are born wise to the fingerprint business, sir."
+
+He dipped a finger and thumb into his waistcoat pocket.
+
+"Clues? Well, I've got one little souvenir here which I daresay a
+writer of detective stories would make a good bit of."
+
+He held in his hand a piece of paper folded flat. He unfolded it
+and disclosed a loop of dark hair.
+
+"There!" he said mockingly, straightening out the hair and
+holding it up in the light. "That's calculated to set one's
+thoughts running all over the place, isn't it? That piece of hair
+was caught in the buckle of one of the straps with which Miss
+Mackwayte was bound to the bed. Miss Mackwayte, I would point
+out, has brown hair. Whose hair do you think that is?"
+
+Desmond looked closely at the strand of hair in the detective's
+fingers. It was long and fine and glossy and jetblack.
+
+The Chief laughed and shook his head.
+
+"Haven't an idea, Marigold," he answered, "Barney's, I should
+imagine, that is, if he goes about with black ringlets falling
+round his shoulders."
+
+"Barney?" echoed the detective. "Barney's as bald as I am.
+Besides, if you saw his sheet, you'd realize that he has got into
+the habit of wearing his hair short!"
+
+He carefully rolled the strand of hair up, replaced it in its
+paper and stowed it in his waistcoat pocket.
+
+"It just shows how easily one is misled in a matter of this
+kind," he went on. "Supposing Barney hadn't got himself nabbed,
+supposing I hadn't been able to find out from Miss Mackwayte her
+movements on the night previous to the murder, that strand of
+hair might have led me on a fine wild goose chase!"
+
+"But, damn it, Marigold," exclaimed the Chief, laughing, "you
+haven't told us whose hair it is?"
+
+"Why, Nur-el-Din's, of course!"
+
+The smile froze on the Chief's lips, the laughter died out of his
+eyes. Desmond was amazed at the change in the man. The languid
+interest he had taken in the different details of the crime
+vanished. Something seemed to tighten up suddenly in his face and
+manner.
+
+"Why Nur-el-Din?" he asked curtly.
+
+Mr. Marigold glanced quickly at him. Desmond remarked that the
+detective was sensible of the change too.
+
+"Simply because Miss Mackwayte spent some time in the dancer's
+dressing-room last night, sir," he replied quietly, "she probably
+sat at her dressing-table and picked up this hair in hers or in
+her veil or something and it dropped on the bed where one of
+Master Barney's buckles caught it up."
+
+He spoke carelessly but Desmond noticed that he kept a watchful
+eye on the other.
+
+The Chief did not answer. He seemed to have relapsed into the
+preoccupied mood in which Desmond had found him that morning.
+
+"I was going to suggest, sir," said Mr. Marigold diffidently, "if
+you had the time, you might care to look in at the Yard, and see
+the prisoner. I don't mind telling you that he is swearing by all
+the tribes of Judah that he's innocent of the murder of old
+Mackwayte. He's got an amazing yarn... perhaps you'd like to hear
+it!"
+
+Mr. Marigold suddenly began to interest Desmond. His proposal was
+put forward so modestly that one would have thought the last
+thing he believed possible was that the Chief should acquiesce in
+his suggestion. Yet Desmond had the feeling that the detective
+was far from being so disinterested as he wished to seem. It
+struck Desmond that the case was more complicated than Mr.
+Marigold admitted and that the detective knew it. Had Mr.
+Marigold discovered that the Chief knew a great deal more about
+this mysterious affair than the detective knew himself? And was
+not his attitude of having already solved the problem of the
+murder, his treatment of the Chief as a dilettante criminologist
+simply an elaborate pose, to extract from the Chief information
+which had not been proffered?
+
+The Chief glanced at his watch.
+
+"Right," he said, "I think I'd like to go along."
+
+"I have a good deal to do here still," observed Mr. Marigold,
+"so, if you don't mind, I won't accompany you. But perhaps, sir,
+you would like to see me this afternoon?"
+
+The Chief swung round on his heel and fairly searched Mr.
+Marigold with a glance from beneath his bushy eyebrows. The
+detective returned his gaze with an expression of supreme
+innocence.
+
+"Why, Marigold," answered the Chief, "I believe I should. Six
+o'clock suit you?"
+
+"Certainly, sir," said Mr. Marigold.
+
+Desmond stood by the door, vastly amused by this duel of wits.
+The Chief and Mr. Marigold made a move towards the door, Desmond
+turned to open it and came face to face with a large framed
+photograph of the Chief hanging on the wall of Miss Mackwayte's
+bedroom.
+
+"Why, Chief," he cried, "you never told me you knew Miss
+Mackwayte!"
+
+The Chief professed to be very taken aback by this question.
+"Dear me, didn't I, Okewood?" he answered with eyes laughing,
+"she's my secretary!"
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI. "NAME O'BARNEY"
+
+"Miss Mackwayte telephoned to ask if I could go and see, her,"
+said the Chief to Desmond as they motored back to White hall,
+"Marigold gave me the message just as we were coming out. She
+asked if I could come this afternoon. I'm going to send you in my
+place, Okewood. I've got a conference with the head of the French
+Intelligence at three, and the Lord knows when I shall get away.
+I've a notion that you and Miss Mackwayte will work very well
+together."
+
+"Certainly," said Desmond, "she struck me as being a very
+charming and clever girl. Now I know the source of your
+information about my movements last night!"
+
+"That you certainly don't!" answered the Chief promptly, "if I
+thought you did Duff and No.39 should be sacked on the spot!"
+
+"Then it wasn't Miss Mackwayte who told you?"
+
+"I haven't seen or heard from Miss Mackwayte since she left my
+office yesterday evening. You were followed!"
+
+"But why?"
+
+"I'll tell you all about it at, lunch!"
+
+Bated once more, Desmond retired into his shell. By this he was
+convinced of the utter impossibility of making the Chief
+vouchsafe any information except voluntarily.
+
+Mr. Marigold had evidently announced their coming to Scotland
+Yard, for a very urbane and delightful official met them at the
+entrance and conducted them to a room where the prisoner was
+already awaiting them in charge of a plain clothes man. There the
+official excused himself and retired, leaving them alone with the
+prisoner and his escort.
+
+Barney proved to be a squat, podgy, middle-aged Jew of the
+familiar East End Polish or Russian type. He had little black
+beady eyes, a round fat white face, and a broad squabby Mongol
+nose. His clothes were exceedingly seedy, and the police had
+confiscated his collar and tie. This absence of neckwear, coupled
+with the fact that the lower part of his face was sprouting with
+a heavy growth of beard, gave him a peculiarly villainous
+appearance:
+
+He was seated on a chair, his head sunk on his breast. His eyes
+were hollow, and his face overspread with a horrible sickly
+greenish pallor, the hue of the last stage of fear. His hands,
+resting on his knees, twisted and fiddled continually. Every now
+and then convulsive shudders shook him. The man was quite
+obviously on the verge of a collapse.
+
+As the Chief and Desmond advanced into the room, the Jew looked
+up in panic. Then he sprang to his feet with a scream and flung
+himself on his knees, crying:
+
+"Ah, no! Don't take me away! I ain't done no 'arm, gentlemen!
+S'welp me, gentlemen, I ain't a murderer! I swear..."
+
+"Get him up!" said the Chief in disgust, "and, look here, can't
+you give him a drink? I want to speak to him. He's not fit to
+talk rationally in this state!"
+
+The detective pushed a bell in the wall, a policeman answered it,
+and presently the prisoner was handed a stiff glass of whiskey
+and water.
+
+After Barney had swallowed it, the Chief said:
+
+"Now, look here, my man, I want you to tell me exactly what
+happened last night. No fairy tales, remember! I know what you
+told the police, and if I catch you spinning me any yarns on to
+it, well, it'll only be the worse for you. I don't mind telling
+you, you're in a pretty bad mess!"
+
+The prisoner put down the glass wearily and wiped his forehead
+with the back of his hand. Though the room was bitterly cold, the
+perspiration stood out in beads on his brow.
+
+"I have told the trewth, sir," he said hoarsely, "and it goes
+against me, don't it? Hafen't I not gif myself op to the
+policeman? Couldn't I not haf drop the svag and ron away? For
+sure! And vy didn't I not do it? For vy, because of vot I seen in
+that house. I've 'ad my bit of trobble mit the police and vy
+should I tell them how I vos op to a game last night if I vas not
+a-telling the trewth, eh! I've been on the crook, gentlemen, I
+say it, ja, but I ain't no murderer, God choke me I ain't!
+
+"I've earned gut monney in my time on the 'alls but life is very
+'ardt, and I've been alvays hongry these days. Yesterday I meet
+old Mac wot I used to meet about the 'alls I vos workin' along o'
+my boss... at the agent's it vos were I vos lookin' for a shop!
+The perfesh always makes a splash about its salaries, gentlemen,
+and Mac 'e vos telling me vot a lot o' monney he make on the
+Samuel Circuit and 'ow 'e 'ad it at home all ready to put into
+var savings certif'kits. I never done a job like this von before,
+gentlemen, but I vos hardt pushed for money, s'welp me I vos!
+
+"I left it till late last night because of these air raids... I
+vanted to be sure that ole Mac and 'is daughter should be asleep.
+I god in from the back of the louse, oi, oi, bot it vos dead
+easy! through the scollery vindow. I cleared op a bagful of stuff
+in the dining-room... there vosn't, anything vorth snatching
+outer the parlor... and sixty-five quid out of an old cigar-box
+in the desk. The police 'as got it... I give it all back! I say I
+haf stolen, but murder? No!" He paused.
+
+"Go on," said the Chief.
+
+The prisoner looked about him in a frightened way.
+
+"I vos jus' thinking I had better be getting avay, he continued
+in his hoarse, gutteral voice, 'ven snick.!... I hears a key in
+the front door. I vos, standing by the staircase... I had no time
+to get out by the vay I had kom so I vent opstairs to the landing
+vere there vos a curtain. I shlip behind the curtain and vait! I
+dare not look out but I listen, I listen.. I hear some one go
+into the dining-room and move about. I open the curtain a little
+way... so!... because I think I vill shlip downstairs vile the
+other party is in the dining-room... and there I sees ole Mac in
+his dressing-gown just coming down from the first floor. The same
+moment I hear a step in the front hall.
+
+"I see ole Mac start but he does not stop. He kom right
+downstairs, and I step back behind the curtain ontil I find a
+door vich I push. I dare not svitch on my light but presently I
+feel the cold edge of a bath with my hands. I stay there and
+vait. Oi, oi, oi, how shall you belief vot I tell?"
+
+He broke off trembling.
+
+"Go on, Barney," said the detective, "can't you see the gentlemen
+are waiting?"
+
+The Jew resumed, his voice sinking almost to a whisper.
+
+"It vos quite dark behind the curtain but from the bathroom,
+through the open door, I could just see ole Mac standing with his
+back to me, a-holding the curtain. He must haf shlip in there to
+watch the other who vos komming opstairs. Then... then... I hear
+a step on the stair... a little, soft step... then ole Mac he
+open the curtain and cry 'Who are you?' Bang! the... the... other
+on the stairs he fire a shot. I see the red flash and I smell
+the... the powder not? The other, he does not vait... he just go
+on opstairs and ole Mac is lying there on his back with the blood
+a-trickling out on the oil-cloth. And I, vith my bag on my back,
+I creep downstair and out by the back again, and I ron and ron
+and then I valks. Gott! how I haf walked! I vos so frightened!
+And then, at last, I go to a policeman and gif 'myself op!"
+
+Barney stopped. The tears burst from his eyes and laying his
+grimy face on his arm, he sobbed.
+
+The detective patted him on the back.
+
+"Pull yourself together, man!" he said encouragingly.
+
+"This man on the stairs," queried the Chief, "did you see him?"
+
+"Ach was!" replied the prisoner, turning a tearstained face
+towards him, "I haf seen nothing, except old Mac's back vich vos
+right in vront of me, it vos so dark!"
+
+"But couldn't you see the other person at all, not even the
+outline" persisted the Chief.
+
+The prisoner made a gesture of despair.
+
+"It vos so dark, I say! Nothing haf I seen! I haf heard only his
+step!"
+
+"What sort of step? Was it heavy or light or what? Did this
+person seem in a hurry?"
+
+"A little light tread... so! won, two! won, two!, and qvick like
+'e think 'e sneak opstairs vithout nobody seeing!"
+
+"Did he make much noise"
+
+"Ach was! hardly at all... the tread, 'e vos so light like a
+woman's..."
+
+"Like a woman's, eh!", repeated the Chief, as if talking to
+himself, "Why do you think that?"
+
+"Because for vy it vos so gentle! The' staircase, she haf not
+sqveak as she haf sqveak when I haf creep away!"
+
+The Chief turned to the plain clothes man.
+
+"You can take him away now, officer," he said.
+
+Barney sprang up trembling.
+
+"Not back to the cell," he cried imploringly, "I cannot be alone.
+Oh, gentlemen, you vill speak for me! I haf not had trobble vith
+the police this long time! My vife's cousin, he is an elder of
+the Shool he vill tell you 'ow poor ve haf been..."
+
+But the Chief crossed the room to the door and the detective
+hustled the prisoner away.
+
+Then the official whom they had seen before came in.
+
+"Glad I caught you," he said. "I thought you would care to see
+the post mortem report. The doctor has just handed it in."
+
+The chief waved him off.
+
+"I don't think there's any doubt about the cause of death," he
+replied, "we saw the body ourselves..."
+
+"Quite so," replied the other, "but there is something
+interesting about this report all the same. They were able to
+extract the bullet!"
+
+"Oh," said the Chief, "that ought to tell us something!"
+
+"It does," answered the official. "We've submitted it to our
+small arms expert, and he pronounces it to be a bullet fired by
+an automatic pistol of unusually large calibre."
+
+The Chief looked at Desmond.
+
+"You were right there," he said.
+
+"And," the official went on, "our man says, further, that, as far
+as he knows, there is only one type of automatic pistol that
+fires a bullet as big as this one!"
+
+"And that is?" asked the Chief.
+
+"An improved pattern of the German Mauser pistol," was the
+other's startling reply.
+
+The Chief tapped a cigarette meditatively on the back of his
+hand.
+
+"Okewood," he said, "you are the very model of discretion. I have
+put your reticence to a pretty severe test this morning, and you
+have stood it very well. But I can see that you are bristling
+with questions like a porcupine with quills. Zero hour has
+arrived. You may fire away!"
+
+They were sitting in the smoking-room of the United Service Club.
+"The Senior," as men call it, is the very parliament of Britain's
+professional navy and army. Even in these days when war has flung
+wide the portals of the two services to all-comers, it retains a
+touch of rigidity. Famous generals and admirals look down from
+the lofty walls in silent testimony of wars that have been. Of
+the war that is, you will hear in every cluster of men round the
+little tables. Every day in the hour after luncheon battles are
+fought over again, personalities criticized, and decisions
+weighed with all the vigorous freedom of ward-room or the mess
+ante-room.
+
+And so to-day, as he sat in his padded leather chair, surveying
+the Chief's quizzing face across the little table where their
+coffee was steaming, Desmond felt the oddness of the contrast
+between the direct, matter-of-fact personalities all around them,
+and the extraordinary web of intrigue which seemed to have spun
+itself round the little house at Seven Kings.
+
+Before he answered the Chief's question, he studied him for a
+moment under cover of lighting a cigarette. How very little, to
+be sure, escaped that swift and silent mind! At luncheon the
+Chief had scrupulously avoided making, the slightest allusion to
+the thoughts with which Desmond's mind was seething. Instead he
+had told, with the gusto of the born raconteur, a string of
+extremely droll yarns about "double crosses," that is, obliging
+gentlemen who will spy for both sides simultaneously, he had come
+into contact with during his long and varied career. Desmond had
+played up to him and repressed the questions which kept rising to
+his lips. Hence the Chief's unexpected tribute to him in the
+smoking room.
+
+"Well," said Desmond slowly, "there are one or two things I
+should like to know. What am I here for? Why did you have me
+followed last night? How did you know, before we ever went to
+Seven Kings, that Barney did not murder old Mackwayte? And
+lastly..."
+
+He paused, fearing to be rash; then he risked it:
+
+"And lastly, Nur-el-Din?"
+
+The Chief leant back in his chair and laughed.
+
+"I'm sure you feel much better now," he said. Then his face grew
+grave and he added:
+
+"Your last question answers all the others!"
+
+"Meaning Nur-el-Din?" asked Desmond.
+
+The Chief nodded.
+
+"Nur-el-Din," he repeated. "That's why you're here, that's why I
+had you followed last night, that's why I..." he hesitated for
+the word, "let's say, presumed (one knows for certain so little
+in our work) that our friend Barney had nothing to do with the
+violent death of poor old Mackwayte. Nur-el-Din in the center,
+the kernel, the hub of everything!"
+
+The Chief leant across the table and Desmond pulled his chair
+closer.
+
+"There's only one other man in the world can handle this job,
+except you," he began, "and that's your brother Francis. Do you
+know where he is, Okewood?"
+
+"He wrote to me last from Athens," answered Desmond, "but that
+must be nearly two months ago."
+
+The Chief laughed.
+
+"His present address is not Athens," he said, "if you want to
+know, he's serving on a German Staff somewhere at the back of
+Jerusalem the Golden. Frankly, I know you don't care about our
+work, and I did my best to get your brother. He has had his
+instructions and as soon as he can get away he will. That was not
+soon enough for me. It had to be him or you. So I sent for you."
+
+He stopped and cleared his throat. Desmond stared at him. He
+could hardly believe his eyes. This quiet, deliberate man was
+actually embarrassed.
+
+"Okewood," the Chief went on, "you know I like plain speaking,
+and therefore you won't make the mistake of thinking I'm trying
+to flatter you."
+
+Desmond made a gesture.
+
+"Wait a moment and hear me out," the Chief went on. "What is
+required for this job is a man of great courage and steady nerve.
+Yes, we have plenty of fellows like that. But the man I am
+looking for must, in addition to possessing those qualities, know
+German and the Germans thoroughly, and when I say thoroughly I
+mean to the very core so that, if needs be, he may be a German,
+think German, act German. I have men in my service who know
+German perfectly and can get themselves up to look the part to
+the life. But they have never been put to the real, the searching
+test. Not one of them has done what you and your brother
+successfully accomplished. The first time I came across you, you
+had just come out of Germany after fetching your brother away. To
+have lived for weeks in Germany in wartime and to have got clear
+away is a feat which shows that both you and he can be trusted to
+make a success of one of the most difficult and critical missions
+I have ever had to propose. Francis is not here. That's why I
+want you."
+
+The Chief paused as if weighing something in his mind.
+
+"It's not the custom of either service, Okewood," he said, "to
+send a man to certain death. You're not in this creepy, crawly
+business of ours. You're a pukka soldier and keen on your job. So
+I want you to know that you are free to turn down this offer of
+mine here and now, and go back to France without my thinking a
+bit the worse of you."
+
+"Would you tell me something about it?" asked Desmond.
+
+"I'm sorry I can't," replied the other. "There must be only two
+men in this secret, myself and the fellow who undertakes the
+mission. Of course, it's not certain death. If you take this
+thing on, you'll have a sporting chance for your life, but that's
+all. It's going to be a desperate game played against a desperate
+opponent. Now do you understand why I didn't want you to think I
+was flattering you? You've got your head screwed on right, I
+know, but I should hate to feel afterwards, if anything went
+wrong, that you thought I had buttered you up in order to entice
+you into taking the job on!"
+
+Desmond took two or three deep puffs of his cigarette and dropped
+it into the ash-tray.
+
+"I'll see you!" he said.
+
+The Chief grinned with delight.
+
+"By Jove!" he exclaimed, "I knew you were my man!"
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII. NUR-EL-DIN
+
+The love of romance is merely the nobler form of curiosity. And
+there was something in Desmond Okewood's Anglo-Irish parentage
+that made him fiercely inquisitive after adventure. In him two
+men were constantly warring, the Irishman, eager for romance yet
+too indolent to go out in search of it, and the Englishman,
+cautious yet intensely vital withal, courting danger for danger's
+sake.
+
+All his ill-humor of the morning at being snatched away from his
+work in France had evaporated. In the Chief he now saw only the
+magician who was about to unlock to him the realms of Adventure.
+Desmond's eyes shone with excitement as the other, obviously
+simmering with satisfaction, lit another cigarette and began to
+speak.
+
+"The British public, Okewood," he said, hitching his chair
+closer, "would like to see espionage in this country rendered
+impossible. Such an ideal state of things is, unfortunately out
+of the question. Quite on the contrary, this country of ours is
+honeycombed with spies. So it will ever be, as long as we have to
+work with natural means: at present we have no caps of
+invisibility or magician's carpets available.
+
+"As we cannot hope to kill the danger, we do our best to scotch
+it. Personally, my modest ambition is to make espionage as
+difficult as possible for the enemy by knowing as many as
+possible of his agents and their channels of communication, and
+by keeping him happy with small results, to prevent him from
+finding out the really important things, the disclosure of which
+would inevitably compromise our national safety."
+
+He paused and Desmond nodded.
+
+"The extent of our business," the Chief resumed, "is so large,
+the issues at stake so vital, that we at the top have to ignore
+the non-essentials and stick to the essentials. By the
+nonessentials I mean the little potty spies, actuated by sheer
+hunger or mere officiousness, the neutral busybody who makes a
+tip-and-run dash into England, the starving waiter, miserably
+underpaid by some thieving rogue in a neutral country--or the
+frank swindler who sends back to the Fatherland and is duly paid
+for long reports about British naval movements which he has
+concocted without setting foot outside his Bloomsbury lodgings.
+
+"These folk are dealt with somehow and every now and then one of
+'em gets shot, just to show that we aren't asleep, don't you
+know? But spasmodic reports we can afford to ignore. What we are
+death on is anything like a regular news service from this
+country to Germany; and to keep up this steady flow of reliable
+information is the perpetual striving of the men who run the
+German Secret Service.
+
+"These fellows, my dear Okewood, move in darkness. Very often we
+have to grope after 'em in darkness, too. They don't get shot, or
+hardly ever; they are far too clever for that. Between us and
+them it is a never-ending series of move and countermove, check
+and counter-check. Very often we only know of their activities by
+enemy action based on their reports. Then there is another leak
+to be caulked, another rat-hole to be nailed up, and so the game
+goes on. Hitherto I think I may say we have managed to hold our
+own!"
+
+The Chief stopped to light another cigarette. Then he resumed but
+in a lower voice.
+
+"During the past month, Okewood," he said, "a new organization
+has cropped up. The objective of every spy operating in this
+country is, as you may have surmised, naval matters, the
+movements of the Fleet, the military transports, and the food
+convoys. This new organization has proved itself more efficient
+than any of its predecessors. It specializes in the movement of
+troops to France, and in the journeys of the hospital ships
+across the Channel. Its information is very prompt and extremely
+accurate, as we know too well. There have been some very
+disquieting incidents in which, for once in a way, luck has been
+on our side, but as long as this gang can work in the dark there
+is the danger of a grave catastrophe. With its thousands of miles
+of sea to patrol, the Navy has to take a chance sometimes, you
+know! Well, on two occasions lately, when chances were taken, the
+Hun knew we were taking a chance, and what is more, when and
+where we were taking it!"
+
+The Chief broke off, then looking Desmond squarely in the eyes,
+said:
+
+"This is the organization that you're going to beak up!"
+
+Desmond raised his eyebrows.
+
+"Who is at the head of it?" he asked quietly.
+
+The Chief, smiled a little bitterly.
+
+"By George!" he cried, slapping his thigh, "you've rung the bell
+in one. Okewood, I'm not a rich man, but I would gladly give a
+year's pay to be able to answer that question. To be perfectly
+frank with you, I don't know who is at the back of this crowd,
+but..." his mouth set in a grim line, "I'm going to know!"
+
+He added whimsically:
+
+"What's more, you're going to find out for me!"
+
+Desmond smiled at the note of assurance in his voice.
+
+"I suppose you've got something to go on?" he asked. "There's
+Nur-el-Din, for instance. What about her?"
+
+"That young person," replied the Chief, "is to be your particular
+study. If she is not the center of the whole conspiracy, she is,
+at any rate, in the thick of it. It will be part of your job to
+ascertain the exact role she is playing."
+
+"But what is there against her?" queried Desmond.
+
+"What is there against her? The bad company she keeps is against
+her. 'Tell me who your friends are and I'll tell you who you are'
+is a maxim that we have to go on in our profession, Okewood. You
+have met the lady. Did you see any of her entourage? Her business
+manager, a fat Italian who calls himself Lazarro, did you notice
+him? Would you be surprised to hear that Lazarro alias Sacchetti
+alias Le Tardenois is a very notorious international spy who
+after working in the Italian Secret Service in the pay of the
+Germans was unmasked and kicked out of Italy... that was before
+the war? This pleasant gentleman subsequently did five years in
+the French penal settlements in New Caledonia for robbery with
+violence at Aix-les-Bains... oh, we know a whole lot about him!
+And this woman's other friends! Do you know, for instance, where
+she often spends the week-end? At the country-place of one Bryan
+Mowbury, whose name used to be Bernhard Marburg, a very old hand
+indeed in the German Secret Service. She has identified herself
+right and left with the German espionage service in this country.
+One day she lunches with a woman spy, whose lover was caught and
+shot by the French. Then she goes out motoring with..."
+
+"But why in Heaven's name are all these people allowed to run
+loose?" broke in Desmond. "Do you mean to say you can't arrest
+them?"
+
+"Arrest 'em? Arrest 'em? Of course, we can arrest 'em. But what's
+the use? They're all small fry, and we have to keep out a few
+lines baited with minnows to catch the Tritons. None of 'em can
+do any harm: we watch 'em much too closely for that. Once you've
+located your spy, the battle's won. It's when he--or it may be a
+she--is running loose, that I get peeved!"
+
+The Chief sprang impatiently to his feet and strode across the
+smoking-room, which was all but empty by this time, to get a
+match from a table. He resumed his seat with a grunt of
+exasperation.
+
+"I can't see light, Okewood!" he sighed, shaking his head.
+
+"But is this all you've got against Nur-el-Din?" asked Desmond.
+
+"No," answered the other slowly, "it isn't. If it were, I need
+not have called you in. We would have interned or deported her.
+No, we've traced back to her a line leading straight from the
+only member of the new organization we have been able to lay by
+the heels."
+
+"Then you've made an arrest?"
+
+The Chief nodded.
+
+"A fortnight ago... a respectable, retired English business man,
+by name of Basil Bellward... taken with the goods on him, as the
+saying is..."
+
+"An Englishman, by Jove!"
+
+"It's hardly correct to call him an Englishman, though he's posed
+as an English business man for so long that one is almost
+justified in doing so. As a matter of fact, the fellow is a
+German named Wolfgang Bruhl and it is my belief that he was
+planted in this country at least a dozen years ago solely for the
+purpose of furnishing him with good, respectable credentials for
+an emergency like this."
+
+"But surely if you found evidence of his connection with this
+gang of spies, it should be easy to get a clue to the rest of the
+crowd?"
+
+"Not so easy as you think," the Chief replied. "The man who
+organized this system of espionage is a master at his craft. He
+has been careful to seal both ends of every connection, that is
+to say, though we found evidence of Master Bellward-Bruhl being
+in possession of highly confidential information relating to the
+movements of troops, we discovered nothing to show whence he
+received it or how or where he was going to forward it. But we
+did find a direct thread leading straight back to Nur-el-Din."
+
+"Really," said Desmond, "that rather complicates things for her,
+doesn't it?"
+
+"It was in the shape of a letter of introduction, in French,
+without date or address, warmly recommending the dancer to our
+friend, Bellward."
+
+"Who is this letter from?"
+
+"It is simply signed 'P.', but you shall see it for yourself when
+you get the other documents in the case."
+
+"But surely, sir, such a letter might be presented in perfectly
+good faith..."
+
+"It might, but not this one. This letter, as an expert has
+ascertained beyond all doubt, is written on German manufactured
+note-paper of a very superior quality;, the writing is stiff and
+angular and not French: and lastly, the French in which it is
+phrased, while correct, is unusually pompous and elaborate."
+
+"Then..."
+
+"The letter was, in all probability, written by a German!"
+
+There was a moment's silence. Desmond was thinking despairingly
+of the seeming hopelessness of untangling this intricate webwork
+of tangled threads.
+
+"And this murder, sir," he began.
+
+The Chief shrugged his shoulders.
+
+"The motive, Okewood, I am searching for the motive. I can see
+none except the highly improbable one of Miss Mackwayte being my
+confidential secretary. In that case why murder the father, a
+harmless old man who didn't even know that his daughter is in my
+service, why kill him, I ask you, and spare the girl? On the
+other hand, I believe the man Barney's story, and can see that
+Marigold does, too. When I first heard the news of the murder
+over the telephone this morning, I had a kind of intuition that
+we should discover in it a thread leading back to this mesh of
+espionage. Is it merely a coincidence that a hair, resembling
+Nur-el-Din's, is found adhering to the straps with which Barbara
+Mackwayte was bound? I can't think so... and yet..."
+
+"But do you believe then, that Nur-el-Din murdered-old Mackwayte?
+My dear Chief, the idea is preposterous..."
+
+The Chief rose from his chair with a sigh.
+
+"Nothing is preposterous in our work, Okewood," he replied. "But
+it's 3.25, and my French colleague hates to be kept waiting."
+
+"I thought you were seeing Strangwise, at two?" asked Desmond.
+
+"I put him off until six o'clock," replied the Chief, "he knows
+Nur-el-Din, and he may be able to give Marigold some pointers
+about this affair. You're off to see Miss Mackwayte now, I
+suppose. You know where she's staying? Good. Well, I'll say
+good-bye, Okewood. I shan't see you again..."
+
+"You won't see me again? How do you mean, sir?"
+
+"Because you're going back to France!"
+
+"Going back to France? When?"
+
+"By the leave-boat to-night!"
+
+Desmond smiled resignedly.
+
+"My dear Chief," he said, "you must be more explicit. What am I
+going back to France for?"
+
+"Why, now I come to think of it," replied the Chief, "I never
+told you. You're going back to France to be killed, of course!"
+
+"To be killed!"
+
+Desmond looked blankly at the other's blandly smiling face.
+
+"Two or three days from now," said the Chief, "you will be killed
+in action in France. I thought of making it a shell. But we'll
+have it a machine gun bullet if you like. Whichever you prefer;
+it's all the same to me!"
+
+He laughed at the dawn of enlightenment in Desmond's eyes.
+
+"I see," said Desmond.
+
+"I hope you don't mind," the Chief went on more seriously, "but I
+know you have no people to consider except your brother and his
+wife. She's in America, and Francis can't possibly hear about it.
+So you needn't worry on that score. Or do you?"
+
+Desmond laughed.
+
+"No-o-o!" he said slowly, "but I'm rather young to die. Is it
+absolutely necessary for me to disappear?"
+
+"Absolutely!" responded the Chief firmly.
+
+"But how will we manage it?" asked Desmond.
+
+"Catch the leave-boat to-night and don't worry. You will receive
+your instructions in due course."
+
+"But when shall I see you again?"
+
+The Chief chuckled.
+
+"Depends entirely on yourself, Okewood," he retorted. "When
+you're through with your job, I expect. In the meantime, Miss
+Mackwayte will act between us. On that point also you will be
+fully instructed. And now I must fly!"
+
+"But I say, sir," Desmond interposed hastily. "You haven't told
+me what I am to do. What part am I to play in this business
+anyway?"
+
+"To-morrow," said the Chief, buttoning up his coat, "you become
+Mr. Basil Bellward!"
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII. THE WHITE PAPER PACKAGE
+
+A taxi was waiting in Pall Mall outside the club and Desmond
+hailed it, though secretly wondering what the driver would think
+of taking him out to Seven Kings. Rather to his surprise, the man
+was quite affable, took the address of the house where Barbara
+was staying with her friends and bade Desmond "hop in."
+Presently, for the second time that day, he was heading for the
+Mile End Road.
+
+As they zigzagged in and out of the traffic, Desmond's thoughts
+were busy with the extraordinary mission entrusted to him. So he
+was to sink his own identity and don that of an Anglo-German
+business man, his appearance, accent, habits, everything. The
+difficulties of the task positively made him cold with fear. The
+man must have relations, friends, business acquaintances who
+would be sufficiently familiar with his appearance and manner to
+penetrate, at any rate in the long run, the most effective
+disguise. What did Bellward look like? Where did lie live? How
+was he, Desmond, to disguise himself to resemble him? And, above
+all, when this knotty problem of make-up had been settled, how
+was he to proceed? What should be his first step to pick out from
+among all the millions of London's teeming populace the one
+obscure individual who headed and directed this gang of spies?
+
+Why hadn't he asked the Chief all these questions? What an
+annoying man the Chief was to deal with to be sure! All said and
+done, what had he actually told Desmond? That there was a German
+Secret service organization spying on the movements of troops to
+France, that this man, Basil Bellward, who had been arrested, was
+one of the gang and that the dancer, Nur-el-Din, was in some way
+implicated in the affair! And that was the extent of his
+confidence! On the top of all this fog of obscurity rested the
+dense cloud surrounding the murder of old Mackwayte with the
+unexplained, the fantastic, clue of that single hair pointing
+back to Nur-el-Din.
+
+Desmond consoled himself finally by saying that he would be able
+too get some light on his mission from Barbara Mackwayte, whom he
+judged to be in the Chief's confidence. But here he was doomed to
+disappointment. Barbara could tell him practically nothing save
+what he already knew, that they were to work together in this
+affair. Like him, she was waiting for her instructions.
+
+Barbara received him in a neat little suburban drawing-room in
+the house of her friends, who lived a few streets away from the
+Mackwaytes. She was wearing a plainly-made black crepe de chine
+dress which served to accentuate the extreme pallor of her face,
+the only outward indication of the great shock she had sustained.
+She was perfectly calm and collected, otherwise, and she stopped
+Desmond who would have murmured some phrases of condolence.
+
+"Ah, no, please," she said, "I don't think I can speak about it
+yet."
+
+She pulled a chair over for him and began to talk about the
+Chief.
+
+"There's not the least need for you to worry," she said with a
+little woeful smile, like a sun-ray piercing a rain-cloud, "if
+the Chief says 'Go back to France and wait for instructions,' you
+may be sure that everything is arranged, and you will receive
+your orders in due course. So shall I. That's the Chief all over.
+Until you know him, you think he loves mystery for mystery's
+sake. It isn't that at all. He just doesn't trust us. He trusts
+nobody!"
+
+"But that hardly seems fair to us..." began Desmond.
+
+"It's merely a precaution," replied Barbara, "the Chief takes no
+risks. I've not the least doubt that he has decided to tell you
+nothing whatsoever about your part until you are firmly settled
+in your new role. I'm perfectly certain that every detail of your
+part has already been worked out."
+
+"Oh, that's not possible," said Desmond. "Why, he didn't know
+until an hour ago that I was going to take on this job."
+
+Barbara laughed.
+
+"The Chief has taught me a lot about judging men by their looks,"
+she said: "Personally, if I'd been in the Chief's places I should
+have gone ahead without consulting you, too."
+
+The girl spoke with such directness that there was not the least
+suggestion of a compliment in her remark, but Desmond blushed to
+the roots of his hair. Barbara noticed it and added hastily:
+
+"I'm not trying to pay you a compliment: I'm just judging by your
+type. I believe I can always tell the man that will take on any
+job, however dangerous, and carry it through to the end."
+
+Desmond blushed more furiously than ever.
+
+He made haste to divert the conversation into a safer channel.
+
+"Well," he said slowly, "seeing that you and I were intended to
+work together, it seems to me to be a most extraordinary
+coincidence our meeting like that last night..."
+
+"It was more than a coincidence," said Barbara, shaking her dark
+brown head. "Forty-eight hours ago I'd never heard of you, then
+the Chief gave me a telegram to send to your Divisional General
+summoning you home, after that he told me that we were to work
+together, and a few hours later I run into you in Nur-el-Din's
+dressing-room..."
+
+She broke off suddenly, her gray eyes big with fear. She darted
+across the room to an ormolu table on which her handbag was
+lying. With astonishment, Desmond watched her unceremoniously
+spill out the contents on to the table and rake hastily amongst
+the collection of articles which a pretty girl carries round in
+her bag.
+
+Presently she raised herself erect and turning, faced the
+officer. She was trembling as though with cold and when she
+spoke, her voice was low and husky.
+
+"Gone!" she whispered.
+
+"Have you lost anything" Desmond asked anxiously.
+
+"How could I have forgotten it?" she went on as though he had not
+spoken, "how could I have forgotten it? Nearly twelve hours
+wasted, and it explains everything. What will the Chief think of
+me!"
+
+Slowly she sank down on the sofa where she had been sitting,
+then, without any warning, dropped her head into her hands and
+burst into tears.
+
+Desmond went over to her.
+
+"Please don't cry," he said gently, "you have borne up so bravely
+against this terrible blow; you must try and not let it overwhelm
+you."
+
+All her business-like calm had disappeared now she was that most
+distracting of all pictures of woman, a pretty girl overwhelmed
+with grief. She crouched curled upon the sofa, with shoulders
+heaving, sobbing as though her heart would break.
+
+"Perhaps you would like me to leave you?" Desmond asked. "Let me
+ring for your friends... I am sure you would rather be alone!"
+
+She raised a tear-stained face to his, her long lashes
+glittering.
+
+"No, no," she said, "don't go, don't go! I want your help. This
+is such a dark and dreadful business, more than I ever realized.
+Oh, my poor daddy, my poor daddy!"
+
+Again she hid her face in her hands and cried whilst Desmond
+stood erect by her aide, compassionate but very helpless.
+
+After a little, she dabbed her eyes with a tiny square of
+cambric, and sitting up, surveyed the other.
+
+"I must go to the Chief at once," she said, "it is most urgent.
+Would you ring and ask the maid to telephone for a taxi?"
+
+"I have one outside," answered Desmond. "But won't you tell me
+what has happened?"
+
+"Why," said Barbara, "it has only just dawned on me why our house
+was broken into last night and poor daddy so cruelly murdered!
+Whoever robbed the house did not come after our poor little bits
+of silver or daddy's savings in the desk in the dining room. They
+came after something that I had!"
+
+"And what was that" asked Desmond.
+
+Then Barbara told him of her talk with Nur-el-Din in the dancer's
+dressing-room on the previous evening and of the package which
+Nur-el-Din had entrusted to her care.
+
+"This terrible business put it completely out of my head," said
+Barbara. "In the presence of the police this morning, I looked
+over my bedroom and even searched my hand-bag which the police
+sent back to me this afternoon without finding that the burglars
+had stolen anything. It was only just now, when we were talking
+about our meeting in Nur-el-Din's room last night, that her
+little package suddenly flashed across my mind. And then I looked
+through my handbag again and convinced myself that it was not
+there."
+
+"But are you sure the police haven't taken it?"
+
+"Absolutely certain," was the reply. "I remember perfectly what
+was in my hand-bag this morning when I went through it, and the
+same things are on that table over there now."
+
+"Do you know what was in this package!" said Desmond.
+
+"Just a small silver box, oblong and quite plain, about so big,"
+she indicated the size with her hands, "about as large as a
+cigarette-box. Nur-el-Din said it was a treasured family
+possession of hers, and she was afraid of losing it as she
+traveled about so much. She asked me to say nothing about it and
+to keep it until the war was over or until she asked me for it."
+
+"Then," said Desmond, "this clears Nur-el-Din!"
+
+"What do you mean," said Barbara, looking up.
+
+"Simply that she wouldn't have broken into your place and killed
+your father in order to recover her own package..."
+
+"But why on earth should Nur-el-Din be suspected of such a
+thing?"
+
+"Have you heard nothing about this young lady from the Chief?"
+
+"Nothing. I had not thought anything about her until daddy
+discovered an old friend in her last night and introduced me."
+
+The Chief's infernal caution again! thought Desmond, secretly
+admiring the care with which that remarkable man, in his own
+phrase, "sealed both ends of every connection."
+
+"If I'm to work with this girl," said Desmond to himself, "I'm
+going to have all the cards on the table here and now," so
+forthwith he told her of the Chief's suspicions of the dancer,
+the letter recommending her to Bellward found when the cheese
+merchant had been arrested, and lastly of the black hair which
+had been discovered on the thongs with which Barbara had been
+fastened.
+
+"And now," Desmond concluded, "the very next thing we must do is
+to go to the Chief and tell him about this package of
+Nur-el-Din's that is missing." Barbara interposed quickly.
+
+"It's no use your coming," she said. "The Chief won't see you.
+When he has sent a man on his mission, he refuses to see him
+again until the work has been done. If he wishes to send for you
+or communicate with you, he will. But it's useless for you to try
+and see him yourself. You can drop me at the office!"
+
+Desmond was inclined to agree with her on this point and said so.
+
+"There is one thing especially that puzzles me, Miss Mackwayte,"
+Desmond observed as they drove westward again, "and that is, how
+anyone could have known about your having this box of
+Nur-el-Din's. Was there anybody else in the room when she gave
+you the package?"
+
+"No," said Barbara, "I don't think so. Wait a minute, though,
+Nur-el-Din's maid must have come in very shortly after for I
+remember the opened the door when Captain Strangwise came to tell
+me daddy was waiting to take me home."
+
+"Do you remember if Nur-el-Din actually mentioned the package in
+the presence of the maid!"
+
+"As far as I can recollect just as the maid opened the door to
+Captain Strangwise, Nur-el-Din was impressing on me again to take
+great care of the package. I don't think she actually mentioned
+the box but I remember her pointing at my bag where I had put the
+package."
+
+"The maid didn't see Nur-el-Din give you the box?"
+
+"No, I'm sure of that. The room was empty save for us two. It was
+only just before Captain Strangwise knocked that I noticed Marie
+arranging Nur-el-Din's dresses. She must have come in afterwards
+without my seeing her."
+
+"Well then, this girl, Marie, didn't see the dancer give you the
+box but she heard her refer to it. Is that right?"
+
+"Yes, and, of course, Captain Strangwise..."
+
+"What about him?"
+
+"He must have heard what Nur-el-Din was saying, too!"
+
+Desmond rubbed his chin.
+
+"I say, you aren't going to implicate old Strangwise, too, are
+you?" he asked.
+
+Barbara did not reflect his smile.
+
+"He seems to know Nur-el-Din pretty well," she said, "and I'll
+tell you something else, that woman's afraid of your friend, the
+Captain!"
+
+"What do you mean?" asked Desmond.
+
+"I was watching her in the glass last night as he was talking to
+her while you and I and daddy were chatting in the corner. I
+don't know what he said to her, but she glanced over her shoulder
+with a look of terror in her eyes. I was watching her face in the
+glass. She looked positively hunted!"
+
+The taxi stopped. Desmond jumped out and helped his companion to
+alight.
+
+"Au revoir." she said to him, "never fear, you and I will meet
+very soon again!"
+
+With that she was gone. Desmond looked at his watch. It pointed
+to a quarter to six.
+
+"Now I wonder what time the leave-train starts tonight," he said
+aloud, one foot on the sideboard of the taxi.
+
+"At 7.45, sir," said a voice.
+
+"Desmond glanced round him. Then he saw it was the taxi-driver
+who had spoken.
+
+"7.45, eh?" said Desmond. "From Victoria, I suppose?"
+
+"Yes, sir," said the taxi-man.
+
+"By Jove, I haven't much time," ejaculated the officer "and there
+are some things I want to get before I go back across the
+Channel. And I shall have to see the Railway Transport Officer
+about my pass."
+
+"That's all right, sir," said the taxi-man, "I have your papers
+here"; he handed Desmond a couple of slips of paper which he took
+from his coat-pocket; "those will take you back to France all
+right, I think you'll find!"
+
+Desmond looked at the papers: they were quite in order and
+correctly filled up with his name, rank and regiment, and date.
+
+The taxi-man cut short any further question by saying:
+
+"If you'll get into the cab again, sir, I'll drive you where you
+want to go, and then wait while you have your dinner and take you
+to the station. By the way, your dinner's ordered too!"
+
+"But who the devil are you?" asked Desmond in amazement.
+
+"On special service, the same as you, sir!" said the man with a
+grin and Desmond understood.
+
+Really, the Chief was extremely thorough.
+
+They went to the stores in the Haymarket, to Fortnum and Mason's,
+and lastly, to a small, grubby shop at the back of Mayfair where
+Desmond and his brother had bought their cigarettes for years
+past. Desmond purchased a hundred of their favored brand, the
+Dionysus, as a reserve for his journey back to France, and stood
+chatting over old times with the fat, oily-faced Greek manager as
+the latter tied up his cigarettes into a clean white paper
+parcel, neatly sealed up with red sealing wax.
+
+Then Desmond drove back to the Nineveh Hotel where he left his
+taxi-driving colleague in the courtyard on the understanding that
+at 7.25 the taxi would be waiting to drive him to the station.
+
+Desmond went straight upstairs to his room to put his kit
+together. In the strong, firmly woven web spread by the Chief, he
+felt as helpless as a fly caught in a spider's mesh. He had no
+idea of what his plans were. He only knew that he was going back
+to France, and that it was his business to get on the leave-boat
+that night.
+
+As he passed along the thickly carpeted, silent corridor to his
+room, he saw the door of Strangwise's room standing ajar. He
+pushed open the door and walked in unceremoniously. A suitcase
+stood open on the floor with Strangwise bending over it. At his
+elbow was a table crowded with various parcels, a case of razors,
+different articles of kit, and some books. Desmond halted at the
+door, his box of cigarettes dangling from his finger.
+
+"Hullo, Maurice," he said, "are you off, too?"
+
+Strangwise spun round sharply. The blood had rushed to his face,
+staining it with a dark, angry flush.
+
+"My God, how you startled me!" he exclaimed rather testily. "I
+never heard you come in!"
+
+He turned rather abruptly and went on with his packing. He struck
+Desmond as being rather annoyed at the intrusion; the latter had
+never seen him out of temper before.
+
+"Sorry if I butted in," said Desmond, sliding his box of
+cigarettes off his finger on to the littered table and sitting
+down on a chair. "I came in to say good-bye. I'm going back to
+France to-night!"
+
+Maurice looked round quickly. He appeared to be quite his old
+self again and was all smiles now.
+
+"So soon?" he said. "Why, I thought you were getting a job at the
+War Office!"
+
+Desmond shook his head.
+
+"Not good enough," he replied, "it's back to the sandbags for
+mine. But where are you off to?"
+
+"Got a bit of leave; the Intelligence folk seem to be through
+with me at last, so they've given me six weeks!"
+
+"Going to the country" asked Desmond.
+
+Strangwise nodded.
+
+"Yep," he said, "down to Essex to see if I can get a few duck or
+snipe on the fens. I wish you were coming with me!"
+
+"So do I, old man," echoed Desmond heartily. Then he added in a
+serious voice:
+
+"By the way, I haven't seen you since last night. What a shocking
+affair this is about old Mackwayte, isn't it? Are there any
+developments, do you know?"
+
+Strangwise very deliberately fished a cigarette out of his case
+which was lying open on the table and lit it before replying.
+
+"A very dark affair," he said, blowing out a cloud of smoke and
+flicking the match into the grate. "You are discreet, I know,
+Okewood. The Intelligence people had me up this morning... to
+take my evidence..."
+
+Strangwise's surmise about Desmond's discretion was perfectly
+correct. With Desmond Okewood discretion was second nature, and
+therefore he answered with feigned surprise: "Your evidence about
+what? About our meeting the Mackwaytes last night?"
+
+After he had spoken he realized he had blundered. Surely, after
+all, the Chief would have told Strangwise about their
+investigations at Seven Kings. Still...
+
+"No," replied Strangwise, "but about Nur-el-Din!"
+
+The Chief had kept his own counsel about their morning's work.
+Desmond was glad now that he had dissimulated.
+
+"You see, I know her pretty well," Strangwise continued, "between
+ourselves, I got rather struck on the lady when she was touring
+in Canada some years ago, and in fact I spent so much more money
+than I could afford on her that I had to discontinue the
+acquaintance. Then I met her here when I got away from Germany a
+month ago; she was lonely, so I took her about a bit. Okewood,
+I'm afraid I was rather indiscreet."
+
+"How do you mean?" Desmond asked innocently.
+
+"Well," said Strangwise slowly, contemplating the end of his
+cigarette, "it appears that the lady is involved in certain
+activities which considerably interest our Intelligence. But
+there, I mustn't say any more!"
+
+"But how on earth is Nur-el-what's her name concerned in this
+murder, Maurice?"
+
+Strangwise shrugged his shoulders.
+
+"Ah, you'd better ask the police. But I tell you she'll be
+getting into trouble if she's not careful!"
+
+Throughout this conversation Desmond seemed to hear in his ears
+Barbara's words: "That woman's afraid of your friend!" He divined
+that for some reason or other, Strangwise wanted to create a bad
+impression in his mind about the dancer. He scanned Maurice's
+face narrowly. Its impenetrability was absolute. There was
+nothing to be gleaned from those careless, smiling features.
+
+"Well," said Desmond, getting up, "nous verrons. I shall have to
+make a bolt for it now if I don't want to miss my train.
+Good-bye, Maurice, and I hope you'll get some birds!"
+
+"Thanks, old man. Au revoir, and take care of yourself. My
+salaams to the General!".
+
+They shook hands warmly, then Desmond grabbed his box of
+cigarettes in its neat white wrapper with the bold red seals and
+hurried off to his room.
+
+Strangwise stood for a moment gazing after him. He was no longer
+the frank, smiling companion of a minute before. His mouth was
+set hard and his chin stuck out at a defiant angle.
+
+He bent over the table and picked up a white paper package sealed
+with bold red seals. He poised it for a moment in his hands while
+a flicker of a smile stole into the narrow eyes and played for an
+instant round the thin lips. Then, with a quick movement, he
+thrust the little package into the side pocket of his tunic and
+buttoned the flap.
+
+Whistling a little tune, he went on with his packing.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX. METAMORPHOSIS
+
+It was a clear, cold night. A knife-edge icy wind blew from the
+north-east and kept the lanyards dismally flapping on the
+flag-mast over the customs house. The leave train lay in the
+station within a biscuit's throw of the quayside and the black,
+blank Channel beyond, a long line of cheerfully illuminated
+windows that to those returning from leave seemed as the last
+link with home.
+
+The Corporal of Military Police, who stood at the gangway
+examining the passes, stopped Desmond Okewood as the latter held
+out his pass into the rays of the man's lantern.
+
+"There was a message for you, sir," said the Corporal. "The
+captain of the Staff boat would h-esteem it a favor, sir, if you
+would kindly go to his cabin immediately on h-arriving on board,
+sir!"
+
+"Very good, Corporal!" answered the officer and passed up the
+gang plank, enviously regarded by the press of brass-hats and
+red-tabs who, for the most part, had a cramped berth below or
+cold quarters on deck to look forward to.
+
+A seaman directed Desmond to the Captain's cabin. It was built
+out just behind the bridge, a snug, cheery room with bright
+chintz curtains over the carefully screened portholes, a couple
+of comfortable benches with leather seats along the walls, a
+small bunk, and in the middle of the floor a table set out with a
+bottle of whiskey, a siphon and some glasses together with a box
+of cigars.
+
+The Captain was sitting there chatting to the pilot, a short,
+enormously broad man with a magenta face and prodigious hands
+which were folded round a smoking glass of toddy.
+
+"Pick 'em up? Rescue 'em?" the pilot ejaculated, as Desmond
+walked in, "I'd let 'em sink, every man Jack o' them, the
+outrageous murderin' scoundrels. I don't like to hear you
+a-talking of such nonsense, Cap'en!"
+
+On Desmond's entrance the Captain broke off the conversation. He
+proved to be a trimly-built man of about fifty with a grizzled
+beard, and an air of quiet efficiency which is not uncommonly
+found in seamen. The pilot drained his glass and, scrambling to
+his feet, nodded to Desmond and stumped out into the cold night
+air.
+
+"Jawin' about the U boats!" said the Captain, with a jerk of his
+head towards the cabin door, "I don't know what the feelings of
+your men in the trenches are towards Fritz, Major, but I tell you
+that no German will dare set foot in any coast port of the United
+Kingdom in my life-time or yours, either! Accommodation's a bit
+narrow on board. I thought maybe you'd care to spend the night up
+here!"
+
+"Any orders about me?" asked Desmond.
+
+The Captain went a shade deeper mahogany in the face.
+
+"Oh no," he replied, with an elaborate assumption of innocence.
+"But won't you mix yourself a drink? And try one of my cigars, a
+present from a skipper friend of mine who sailed into Tilbury
+from Manila last week."
+
+Desmond sat in the snug cabin, puffing a most excellent cigar
+and sipping his whiskey and soda while, amid much shouting of
+seamen and screaming of windlasses, the staff boat got clear.
+Presently they were gliding past long low moles and black,
+inhospitable lighthouses, threading their way through the dark
+shapes of war craft of all kinds into the open Channel. There was
+a good deal of swell, but the sea was calm, and the vessel soon
+steadied down to regular rise and fall.
+
+They had been steaming for nearly an hour when, through the open
+door of the cabin, Desmond saw a seaman approach the captain on
+the bridge. He handed the skipper a folded paper.
+
+"From the wireless operator, sir!" Desmond heard him say.
+
+The skipper scanned it. Then the engine telegraph rang sharply,
+there was the sound of churning water, and the vessel slowed
+down. The next moment the Captain appeared at the door of the
+cabin.
+
+"I'm afraid we're going to lose you, Major," he said pleasantly,
+"a destroyer is coming up to take you off. There was a wireless
+from the Admiral about you."
+
+"Where are they going to take me, do you know?" asked Desmond.
+
+The Captain shook his head.
+
+"I haven't an idea. I've only got to hand you over!"
+
+He grinned and added:
+
+"Where's your kit?"
+
+"In the hold, I expect!" answered Desmond. "The porter at
+Victoria told me not to worry about it, and that I should find it
+on the other side. And, oh damn it!--I've got a hundred
+cigarettes in my kit, too! I bought them specially for the
+journey!"
+
+"Well, take some of my cigars," said the skipper hospitably, "for
+your traps'll have to go to France this trip, Major. There's no
+time to get 'em up now. I'll pass the word to the Military
+Landing Officer over there about 'em, if you like. He'll take
+care of 'em for you. Now will you come with me?"
+
+Desmond scrambled into his coat and followed the Captain down the
+steps to the deck. A little distance away from the vessel, the
+long shape of a destroyer was dimly visible tossing to and fro in
+the heavy swell. A ladder had been let down over the side of the
+steamer, and at its foot a boat, manned by a number of heavily
+swathed and muffled forms, was pitching.
+
+A few officers stood by the rail watching the scene with
+interest. The skipper adroitly piloted Desmond past them and
+fairly thrust him out on to the ladder.
+
+Desmond took the hint and with a hasty "Good night" to the
+friendly captain, staggered down the swaying ladder and was
+helped into the boat. The boat shoved off, the bell of the engine
+telegraph on the steamer resounded sharply, and the vessel
+resumed her interrupted voyage whilst the rowing boat was headed
+towards the destroyer. On board the latter vessel an officer met
+Desmond at the rail and piloted him to the ward-room. Almost
+before they got there, the destroyer was under way.
+
+The officer who had welcomed him proved to be the second in
+command, a joyous person who did the honors of the tiny ward-room
+with the aplomb of a Commander in a super-Dreadnought. He mixed
+Desmond a drink and immediately started to converse about life at
+the front without giving the other a chance of asking whither
+they were bound.
+
+The suspense was not of long duration, however, for in about half
+an hour's time, the destroyer slowed down and Desmond's host
+vanished. When he reappeared, it was to summon Desmond on deck.
+
+They lay aside a mole by some steps cut in the solid concrete.
+Here Desmond's host took leave of him.
+
+"There should be a car waiting for you up there," he said.
+
+There on top of the mole, exposed to the keen blast of the wind,
+a large limousine was standing. A chauffeur, who looked blue with
+cold, got down from his seat as Desmond emerged from the stairs
+and touched his cap.
+
+"Major Okewood?" he asked.
+
+"That's my name!" said Desmond.
+
+"If you'll get in, sir, we'll start at once!" the man replied.
+
+Befogged and bewildered, Desmond entered the car, which
+cautiously proceeded along the breakwater, with glimpses of black
+water and an occasional dim light on either hand. They bumped
+over the railway-lines and rough cobblestones of a dockyard,
+glided through a slumbering town, and so gradually drew out into
+the open country where the car gathered speed and fairly raced
+along the white, winding road. Desmond had not the faintest idea
+of their whereabouts or ultimate destination. He was fairly
+embarked on the great adventure now, and he was philosophically
+content to let Fate have its way with him. He found himself
+wondering rather indolently what the future had in store.
+
+The car slowed down and the chauffeur switched the headlights on.
+Their blinding glare revealed some white gate-posts at the
+entrance of a quiet country station. Desmond looked at his watch.
+It was half-past one. The car stopped at the entrance to the
+booking-office where a man in an overcoat and bowler was waiting.
+
+"This way, Major, please," said the man in the bowler, and led
+the way into the dark and silent station. At the platform a short
+train consisting of an engine, a Pullman car and a brakesman's
+van stood, the engine under steam. By the glare from the furnace
+Desmond recognized his companion. It was Matthews, the Chief's
+confidential clerk.
+
+Matthews held open the door of the Pullman for Desmond and
+followed him into the carriage. A gruff voice in the night
+shouted:
+
+"All right, Charley!" a light was waved to and fro, and the
+special pulled out of the echoing station into the darkness
+beyond.
+
+In the corner of, the Pullman a table was laid for supper. There
+was a cold chicken, a salad, and a bottle of claret. On another
+table was a large tin box and a mirror with a couple of electric
+lights before it. At this table was seated a small man with gray
+hair studying a large number of photographs.
+
+"If you will have your supper, Major Okewood, sir," said
+Matthews, "Mr. Crook here will get to work. We've not got too
+much time."
+
+The sea air had made Desmond ravenously hungry. He sat down
+promptly and proceeded to demolish the chicken and make havoc of
+the salad. Also he did full justice to the very excellent St.
+Estephe.
+
+As he ate he studied Matthews, who was one of those undefinable
+Englishmen one meets in tubes and 'buses, who might be anything
+from a rate collector to a rat catcher. He had sandy hair
+plastered limply across his forehead, a small moustache, and a
+pair of watery blue eyes. Mr. Crook, who continued his study of
+his assortment of photographs without taking the slightest notice
+of Desmond, was a much more alert looking individual, with a
+shock of iron gray hair brushed back and a small pointed beard.
+
+"Matthew's," said Desmond as he supped, "would it be indiscreet
+to ask where we are?"
+
+"In Kent, Major," replied Matthews.
+
+"What station was that we started from?"
+
+"Faversham."
+
+"And where are we going, might I inquire?"
+
+"To Cannon Street, sir!"
+
+"And from there?"
+
+Mr. Matthews coughed discreetly.
+
+"I can't really say, sir, I'm sure! A car will meet you there and
+I can go home to bed."
+
+The ends sealed again! thought Desmond. What a man of caution,
+the Chief!
+
+"And this gentleman here, Matthews?" asked Desmond, lighting one
+of the skipper's cigars.
+
+"That, sir, is Mr. Crook, who does any little jobs we require in
+the way of make-up. Our expert on resemblances, if I may put it
+that way, sir, for we really do very little in the way of
+disguises. Mr. Crook is an observer of what I may call people's
+points, sir, their facial appearance, their little peculiarities
+of manner, of speech, of gait. Whenever there is any question of
+a disguise, Mr. Crook is called in to advise as to the
+possibilities of success. I believe I am correct in saying,
+Crook, that you have been engaged on the Major here for some
+time. Isn't it so?"
+
+Crook looked up a minute from his table.
+
+"That's right," he said shortly, and resumed his occupation of
+examining the photographs.
+
+"And what's your opinion about this disguise of mine?" Desmond
+asked him.
+
+"I can make a good job of you, Major," said the expert, "and so I
+reported to the Chief. You'll want to do your hair a bit
+different and let your beard grow, and then, if you pay attention
+to the lessons I shall give you, in a week or two, you'll be this
+chap here," and he tapped the photograph in his hand, "to the
+life."
+
+So saying he handed Desmond the photograph. It was the portrait
+of a man about forty years of age, of rather a pronounced
+Continental type, with a short brown beard, a straight, rather
+well-shaped nose and gold-rimmed spectacles. His hair was cut en
+brosse, and he was rather full about the throat and neck. Without
+a word, Desmond stretched out his hand and gathered up a sheaf of
+other photos, police photos of Mr. Basil Bellward, front face and
+profile seen from right and left, all these poses shown on the
+same picture, some snapshots and various camera studies. Desmond
+shook his head in despair. He was utterly unable to detect the
+slightest resemblance between himself and this rather commonplace
+looking type of business man.
+
+"Now if you'd just step into the compartment at the end of the
+Pullman, Major," said Crook, "you'll find some civilian clothes
+laid out. Would you mind putting them on? You needn't trouble
+about the collar and tie, or coat and waistcoat for the moment.
+Then we'll get along with the work."
+
+The train rushed swaying on through the darkness. Desmond was
+back in the Pullman car in a few minutes arrayed in a pair of
+dark gray tweed trousers, a white shirt and black boots and
+socks. A cut-away coat and waistcoat of the same tweed stuff, a
+black bowler hat of rather an old-fashioned and staid pattern,
+and a black overcoat with a velvet collar, he left in the
+compartment where he changed.
+
+He found that Crook had opened his tin box and set out a great
+array of grease paints, wigs, twists of tow of various colors,
+and a number of pots and phials of washes and unguents together
+with a whole battery of fine paint brushes. In his hand he held a
+pair of barber's clippers and the tips of a comb and a pair of
+scissors protruded from his vest pocket.
+
+Crook whisked a barber's wrap round Desmond and proceeded, with
+clippers and scissors, to crop and trim his crisp black hair.
+
+"Tst-tst" he clicked with his tongue. "I didn't realize your hair
+was so dark, Major. It'll want a dash of henna to lighten it."
+
+The man worked with incredible swiftness. His touch was light and
+sure, and Desmond, looking at his reflection in the glass,
+wondered to see what fine; delicate hands this odd little expert
+possessed. Matthews sat and smoked in silence and watched the
+operation, whilst the special ran on steadily Londonwards.
+
+When the clipping was done, Crook smeared some stuff on a towel
+and wrapped it round Desmond's head.
+
+"That'll brighten your hair up a lot, sir. Now for a crepe beard
+just to try the effect. We've got to deliver you at Cannon Street
+ready for the job, Mr. Matthews and me, but you won't want to
+worry with this nasty messy beard once you get indoors. You can
+grow your own beard, and I'll pop in and henna it a bit for you
+every now and then."
+
+There was the smart of spirit gum on Desmond's cheeks and Crook
+gently applied a strip of tow to his face. He had taken the
+mirror away so that Desmond could no longer see the effect of the
+gradual metamorphosis.
+
+"A mirror only confuses me," said the expert, breathing hard as
+he delicately adjusted the false beard, "I've got this picture
+firm in my head, and I want to get it transferred to your face.
+Somehow a mirror puts me right off. It's the reality I want."
+
+As he grew more absorbed in his work, he ceased to speak
+altogether. He finished the beard, trimmed the eyebrows, applied
+a dash of henna with a brush, leaning backwards continually to
+survey the effect. He sketched in a wrinkle or two round the eyes
+with a pencil, wiped them out, then put them in again. Then he
+fumbled in his tin box, and produced two thin slices of grey
+rubber.
+
+"Sorry," he said, "I'm afraid you'll have to wear these inside
+your cheeks to give the effect of roundness. You've got an oval
+face and the other man has a round one. I can get the fullness of
+the throat by giving you a very low collar, rather open and a
+size too large for you."
+
+Desmond obediently slipped the two slices of rubber into his
+mouth and tucked them away on either side of his upper row of
+teeth. They were not particularly uncomfortable to wear.
+
+"There's your specs," said Crook, handing him a spectacle case,
+"and there's the collar. Now if you'll put on the rest of the
+duds, we'll have a look at you, sir."
+
+Desmond went out and donned the vest and coat and overcoat, and,
+thus arrayed, returned to the Pullman, hat in hand.
+
+Crook called out to him as he entered
+
+"Not so springy in the step, sir, if you please. Remember you're
+forty-three years of age with a Continental upbringing. You'll
+have to walk like a German, toes well turned out and down on the
+heel every time. So, that's better. Now, have a look at
+yourself!"
+
+He turned and touched a blind. A curtain rolled up with a click,
+disclosing a full length mirror immediately opposite Desmond.
+
+Desmond recoiled in astonishment. He could scarcely credit his
+own eyes. The glass must be bewitched, he thought for a moment,
+quite overwhelmed by the suddenness of the shock. For instead of
+the young face set on a slight athletic body that the glass was
+wont to show him, he saw a square, rather solid man in ugly,
+heavy clothes, with a brown silky beard and gold spectacles. The
+disguise was baffling in its completeness. The little wizard, who
+had effected this change and who now stood by, bashfully twisting
+his fingers about, had transformed youth into middle age. And the
+bewildering thing was that the success of the disguise did not
+lie so much in the external adjuncts, the false beard, the
+pencilled wrinkles, as in the hideous collar, the thick padded
+clothes, in short, in the general appearance.
+
+For the first time since his talk with the Chief at the United
+Service Club, Desmond felt his heart grow light within him. If
+such miracles were possible, then he could surmount the other
+difficulties as well.
+
+"Crook," he said, "I think you've done wonders. What do you say,
+Matthews?"
+
+"I've seen a lot of Mr. Crook's work in my day, sir," answered
+the clerk, "but nothing better than this. It's a masterpiece,
+Crook, that's what it is."
+
+"I'm fairly well satisfied," the expert murmured modestly, "and I
+must say the Major carries it off very well. But how goes the
+enemy, Matthews?"
+
+"It's half past two," replied, the latter, "we should reach
+Cannon Street by three. She's running well up to time, I think."
+
+"We've got time for a bit of a rehearsal," said Crook. "Just
+watch me, will you please, Major, and I'll try and give you an
+impression of our friend. I've been studying him at Brixton for
+the past twelve days, day and night almost, you might say, and I
+think I can convey an idea of his manner and walk. The walk is a
+very important point. Now, here is Mr. Bellward meeting one of
+his friends. Mr. Matthews, you will be the friend!"
+
+Then followed one of the most extraordinary performances that
+Desmond had ever witnessed. By some trick of the actor's art, the
+shriveled figure of the expert seemed to swell out and thicken,
+while his low, gentle voice deepened into a full, metallic
+baritone. Of accent in his speech there was none, but Desmond's
+ear, trained to foreigners' English, could detect a slight
+Continental intonation, a little roll of the "r's," an unfamiliar
+sound about those open "o's" of the English tongue, which are so
+fatal a trap for foreigners speaking our language. As he watched
+Crook, Desmond glanced from time to time at the photograph of
+Bellward which he had picked up from the table. He had an
+intuition that Bellward behaved and spoke just as the man before
+him.
+
+Then, at Crook's suggestion, Desmond assumed the role of
+Bellward. The expert interrupted him continually.
+
+"The hands, Major, the hands, you must not keep them down at your
+sides. That is military! You must move them when you speak! So
+and so!"
+
+Or again:
+
+"You speak too fast. Too... too youthfully, if you understand me,
+sir. You are a man of middle age. Life has no further secrets for
+you. You are poised and getting a trifle ponderous. Now try
+again!"
+
+But the train was slackening speed. They were running between
+black masses of squalid houses. As the special thumped over the
+bridge across the river, Mr. Crook gathered up his paints and
+brushes and photographs and arranged them neatly in his black tin
+box.
+
+To Desmond he said:
+
+"I shall be coming along to give you some more lessons very soon,
+Major. I wish you could see Bellward for yourself: you are very
+apt at this game, and it would save us much time. But I fear
+that's impossible."
+
+Even before the special had drawn up alongside the platform at
+Cannon Street, Crook and Matthews swung themselves out and
+disappeared. When the train stopped, a young man in a bowler hat
+presented himself at the door of the Pullman.
+
+"The car is there, Mr. Bellward, sir!" he said, helping Desmond
+to alight. Desmond, preparing to assume his new role, was about
+to leave the carriage when a sudden thought struck him. What
+about his uniform strewn about the compartment where he had
+changed? He ran back. The compartment was empty. Not a trace
+remained of the remarkable scenes of their night journey.
+
+"This is for you," said the young man, handing Desmond a note as
+they walked down the platform.
+
+Outside the station a motor-car with its noisy throbbing awoke
+the echoes of the darkened and empty courtyard. Desmond waited
+until he was being whirled over the smooth asphalt of the City
+streets before he opened the letter.
+
+He found a note and a small key inside the envelope.
+
+"On reaching the house to which you will be conveyed," the note
+said, "you will remain indoors until further orders. You can
+devote your time to studying the papers you will find in the desk
+beside the bed. For the present you need not fear detection as
+long as you do not leave the house." Then followed a few rough
+jottings obviously for his guidance.
+
+"Housekeeper, Martha, half blind, stupid; odd man, John Hill,
+mostly invisible, no risk from either. You are confined to house
+with heavy chill. Do not go out until you get the word."
+
+The last sentence was twice underlined.
+
+The night was now pitch-dark. Heavy clouds had come up and
+obscured the stars and a drizzle of rain was falling. The car
+went forward at a good pace and Desmond, after one or two
+ineffectual attempts to make out where they were going, was
+lulled by the steady motion into a deep sleep. He was dreaming
+fitfully of the tossing Channel as he had seen it but a few hours
+before when he came to his senses with a start. He felt a cold
+draught of air on his face and his feet were dead with cold.
+
+A figure stood at the open door of the car. It was the chauffeur.
+
+"Here we are, sir," he said.
+
+Desmond stiffly descended to the ground. It was so dark that he
+could distinguish nothing, but he felt the grit of gravel under
+his feet and he heard the melancholy gurgle of running water. He
+took a step forward and groped his way into a little porch
+smelling horribly of mustiness and damp. As he did so, he heard a
+whirr behind him and the car began to glide off. Desmond shouted
+after the chauffeur. Now that he stood on the very threshold of
+his adventure, he wanted to cling desperately to this last link
+with his old self. But the chauffeur did not or would not hear,
+and presently the sound of the engine died away, leaving Desmond
+to the darkness, the sad splashing of distant water and his own
+thoughts.
+
+And then, for one brief moment, all his courage seemed to ooze
+out of him. If he had followed his instinct, he would have turned
+and fled into the night, away from that damp and silent house,
+away from the ceaseless splashing of waters, back to the warmth
+and lights of civilization. But his sense of humor, which is very
+often better than courage, came to his rescue.
+
+"I suppose I ought to be in the devil of a rage," he said to
+himself, "being kept waiting like this outside my own house!
+Where the deuce is my housekeeper? By Gad, I'll ring the place
+down!"
+
+The conceit amused him, and he advanced further into the musty
+porch hoping to find a bell. But as he did so his ear caught the
+distant sound of shuffling feet. The shuffle of feet drew nearer
+and presently a beam of light shone out from under the door. A
+quavering voice called out:
+
+"Here I am, Mr. Bellward, here I am, sir!"
+
+Then a bolt was drawn back, a key turned, and the door swung
+slowly back, revealing an old woman, swathed in a long shawl and
+holding high in her hand a lamp as she peered out into the
+darkness.
+
+"Good evening, Martha," said Desmond, and stepped into the house.
+
+Save for Martha's lamp, the lobby was in darkness, but light was
+streaming into the hall from the half open door of a room leading
+off it at the far end. While Martha, wheezing asthmatically,
+bolted the front door, Desmond went towards the room where the
+light was and walked in.
+
+It was a small sitting-room, lined with bookshelves, illuminated
+by an oil lamp which stood on a little table beside a
+chintz-covered settee which had been drawn up in front of the
+dying fire.
+
+On the settee Nur-el-Din was lying asleep.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X. D. O. R. A. IS BAFFLED
+
+When Barbara reached the Chief's ante-room she found it full of
+people. Mr. Marigold was there, chatting with Captain Strangwise
+who seemed to be just taking his leave; there was a short, fat,
+Jewish-looking man, very resplendently dressed with a large
+diamond pin in his cravat and a small, insignificant looking
+gentleman with a gray moustache and the red rosette of the Legion
+of Honor in his button-hole. Matthews came out of the Chief's
+room as Barbara entered the outer office.
+
+"Miss Mackwayte," he said, "we are all so shocked and so very,
+sorry..."
+
+"Mr. Matthews," she said hastily in a low voice, "never mind
+about that now. I must see the Chief at once. It is most urgent."
+
+Matthews gesticulated with his arm round the room.
+
+"All these people, excepting the officer there, are waiting to
+see him, Miss, and he's got a dinner engagement at eight..."
+
+"It is urgent, Mr. Matthews, I tell you. If you won't take my
+name in, I shall go in myself!"
+
+"Miss Mackwayte, I daren't interrupt him now. Do you know who's
+with him...?"
+
+Strangwise crossed the room to where Barbara was standing.
+
+"I can guess what brings you here, Miss Mackwayte," he said
+gently. "I hope you will allow me to express my condolences...?"
+
+The girl shrank back, almost imperceptibly, yet Strangwise, whose
+eyes were fixed on her pale face, noticed the spontaneous recoil.
+The sunshine seemed to fade out of his debonair countenance, and
+for a moment Barbara Mackwayte saw Maurice Strangwise as very few
+people had ever seen him, stern and cold and hard, without a
+vestige of his constant smile. But the shadow lifted as quickly
+as it had fallen. His face had resumed its habitually engaging
+expression as he murmured:
+
+"Believe me, I am truly sorry for you!"
+
+"Thank you, thank you!" Barbara said hastily and brushed past
+him. She walked straight across the room to the door of the
+Chief's room, turned the handle and walked in.
+
+The room was in darkness save for an electric reading lamp on the
+desk which threw a beam of light on the faces of two men thrust
+close together in eager conversation. One was the Chief, the
+other a face that Barbara knew well from the illustrated papers.
+
+At the sound of the door opening, the Chief sprang to his feet.
+
+"Oh, it's Miss Mackwayte," he said, and added something in a low
+voice to the other man who had risen to his feet. "My dear," he
+continued aloud to Barbara, "I will see you immediately; we must
+not be disturbed now. Matthews should have told you."
+
+"Chief," cried Barbara, her hands clasped convulsively together,
+"you must hear me now. What I have to say cannot wait. Oh, you
+must hear me!"
+
+The Chief looked as embarrassed as a man usually looks when he is
+appealed to in a busy moment by an extremely attractive girl.
+
+"Miss Mackwayte," he said firmly but with great courtesy, "you
+must wait outside. I know how unnerved you are by all that you
+have gone through, but I am engaged just now. I shall be free
+presently."
+
+"It is about my father, Chief," Barbara said in a trembling
+voice, "I have found out what they came to get!"
+
+"Ah!" said the Chief and the other man simultaneously.
+
+"We had better hear what she has to say!" said the other man,
+"but won't you introduce me first?"
+
+"This is Sir Bristowe Marr, the First Sea Lord," said the Chief,
+bringing up a chair for Barbara, "Miss Mackwayte, my secretary,
+Admiral!"
+
+Then in a low impassioned voice Barbara told her tale of the
+package entrusted to her by Nur-el-Din and its disappearance from
+her bedroom on the night of the murder. As she proceeded a deep
+furrow appeared between the Chief's bushy eyebrows and he stared
+absently at the blotting-pad in front of him. When the girl had
+finished her story, the Chief said:
+
+"Lambelet ought to hear this, sir: he's the head of the French
+Intelligence, you know. He's outside now. Shall we have him in?
+Miss Mackwayte shall tell her story, and you can then hear what
+Lambelet has to say about this versatile young dancer."
+
+Without waiting for further permission, he pressed a bell on the
+desk and presently Matthews ushered in the small man with the
+Legion of Honor whom Barbara had seen in the ante-room.
+
+The Chief introduced the Frenchman and in a few words explained
+the situation to him. Then he turned to Barbara:
+
+"Colonel Lambelet speaks English perfectly," he said, "so fire
+away and don't be nervous!"
+
+When she had finished, the Chief said, addressing Lambelet:
+
+"What do you make of it, Colonel?"
+
+The little Frenchman made an expressive gesture.
+
+"Madame has become aware of the interest you have been taking in
+her movements, mon cher. She seized the opportunity of this
+meeting with the daughter of her old friend to get rid of
+something compromising, a code or something of the kind, qui
+sait? Perhaps this robbery and its attendant murder was only an
+elaborate device to pass on some particularly important report of
+the movements of your ships... qui sait?"
+
+"Then you are convinced in your own mind, Colonel, that this
+woman is a spy?" The clear-cut voice of the First Sea Lord rang
+out of the darkness of the room outside the circle of light on
+the desk.
+
+"Mais certainement!" replied the Frenchman quietly. "Listen and
+you shall hear! By birth she is a Pole, from Warsaw, of good,
+perhaps, even, of noble family. I cannot tell you, for her real
+name we have not been able to ascertain... parbleu, it is
+impossible, with the Boches at Warsaw, hein? We know, however,
+that at a very early age, under the name of la petite Marcelle,
+she was a member of a troupe of acrobats who called themselves
+The Seven Duponts. With this troupe she toured all over Europe.
+Bien! About ten years ago, she went out to New York as a singer,
+under the name of Marcelle Blondinet, and appeared at various
+second-class theatres in the United States and Canada. Then we
+lose track of her for some years until 1913, the year before the
+war, when the famous Oriental dancer, Nur-el-Din, who has made a
+grand success by the splendor of her dresses in America and
+Canada, appears at Brussels, scores a triumph and buys a fine
+mansion in the outskirts of the capital. She produces herself at
+Paris, Bordeaux, Lyons, Marseilles, Madrid, Milan and Rome, but
+her home in Brussels, always she returns there, your understand
+me, hein? La petite Marcelle of The Seven Duponts, Marcelle
+Blondinet of the cafe chantant, has blossomed out into a star of
+the first importance."
+
+The Colonel paused and cleared his throat.
+
+"To buy a mansion in Brussels, to run a large and splendid
+troupe, requires money. It is the men who pay for these things,
+you would say. Quite right, but listen who were the friends of
+Madame Nur-el-Din. Bischoffsberg, the German millionaire of
+Antwerp, von Wurzburg, of Berne... ah ha! you know that
+gentleman, mon cher?" he turned, chuckling, to the Chief who
+nodded his acquiescence; "Prince Meddelin of the German Embassy
+in Paris and administrator of the German Secret Service funds in
+France, and so on and so on. I will not fatigue you with the
+list. The direct evidence is coming now.
+
+"When the war broke out in August, 1914, Madame, after finishing
+her summer season in Brussels, was resting in her Brussels
+mansion. What becomes of her? She vanishes."
+
+"She told Samuel, the fellow who runs the Palaceum, that she
+escaped from Brussels!" interposed the Chief.
+
+The Frenchman threw his hands above his head.
+
+"Escaped, escaped? Ah, oui, par exemple, in a German Staff car.
+As I have told my colleague here," he went on, addressing the
+Admiral, "she escaped to Metz, the headquarters of the Army Group
+commanded by the... the... how do you say? the Prince Imperial?"
+
+"The Crown Prince," rectified the Chief.
+
+"Ah, oui,--the Crown Prince. Messieurs, we have absolute
+testimony that this woman lived for nearly two years either in
+Metz or Berlin, and further, that at Metz, the Crown Prince was a
+constant visitor at her house. She was one of the ladies who
+nearly precipitated a definite rupture between the Crown Prince
+and his wife. Mon Admiral," he went on, addressing the First Sea
+Lord again, "that this woman should be at large is a direct menace
+to the security of this country and of mine. It is only this
+morning that I at length received from Paris the facts which I
+have just laid before you. It is for you to order your action
+accordingly!"
+
+The little Frenchman folded his arms pompously and gazed at the
+ceiling.
+
+"How does she explain her movements prior to her coming to this
+country" the First Sea Lord asked the Chief.
+
+For an answer the Chief pressed the bell.
+
+"Samuel, who engaged her, is outside. You shall hear her story
+from him," he said.
+
+Samuel entered, exuding business acumen, prosperity, geniality.
+He nodded brightly to the Chief and stood expectant.
+
+"Ah, Mr. Samuel," said the Chief, "I wanted to see you about
+Nur-el-Din. You remember our former conversation on the subject.
+Where did she say she went to when she escaped to Brussels?"
+
+"First to Ostend," replied the music-hall proprietor, "and then,
+when the general exodus took place from there, to her mother's
+country place near Lyons, a village called Sermoise-aux-Roses."
+
+"And what did she say her mother's name was?"
+
+"Madame Blondinet, sir!"
+
+The Frenchman rapped smartly on a little pocketbook which he had
+produced and now held open in his hand.
+
+"There, is a Madame Blondinet who has a large farm near
+Sermoise-aux-Roses," he said, "and she has a daughter called
+Marcelle, who went to America."
+
+"Why then...?" began the First Sea Lord.
+
+"Attendez un instant!"
+
+The Colonel held up a plump hand.
+
+"Unfortunately for Madame Nur-el-Din, this Marcelle Blondinet
+spent the whole of her childhood, in fact, the whole of her life
+until she was nineteen years of age, on her mother's farm at a
+time when this Marcelle Blondinet was touring Europe with The
+Seven Duponts. The evidence is absolute. Mademoiselle here heard
+the dancer herself confirm it last night!"
+
+"Thank you, Mr. Samuel," said the Chief, "we shan't require you
+any more. But I'm afraid your Nur-el-Din will have to break her
+contract with you."
+
+"She's done that already, sir!" said Samuel ruefully.
+
+The Chief sprang to his feet excitedly.
+
+"Broken it already?" he cried. "What do you mean? Explain
+yourself! Don't stand there staring at me!"
+
+Mr. Samuel looked startled out of his life.
+
+"There was a bit of a row between her and the stage manager last
+night about her keeping the stage waiting again," he said; "and
+after lunch today she rang up to say she would not appear at the
+Palaceum to-night or any more at all! It's very upsetting for us;
+and I don't mind telling you, gentlemen, that I've been to my
+solicitors about it..."
+
+"And why the blazes didn't you come and tell me?" demanded the
+Chief furiously.
+
+"Well, sir, I thought it was only a bit of pique on her part, and
+I hoped to be able to talk the lady round. I know what these
+stars are!"
+
+"You've seen her then?" the Chief snapped out.
+
+"No, I haven't!" Mr. Samuel lamented. "I've been twice to the
+Nineveh--that's where she's stopping--and each time she was out!"
+
+The Chief dismissed him curtly.
+
+When the door had closed behind him, the Chief said to the First
+Sea Lord:
+
+"This is where D.O.R.A. steps in, I think, sir!"
+
+"Decidedly!" replied the Admiral. "Will you take the necessary
+steps?"
+
+The Chief nodded and pressed the bell. Matthews appeared.
+
+"Anything from the Nineveh?" he asked.
+
+"The lady has not returned, sir!"
+
+"Anything from Gordon and Duff?"
+
+"No, sir, nothing all day!"
+
+The telephone on the desk whirred. The Chief lifted the receiver.
+
+"Yes. Oh, it's you, Gordon? No, you can say it now: this is a
+private line."
+
+He listened at the receiver for a couple of minutes. The room was
+very still.
+
+"All right, come to the office at once!"
+
+The Chief hung up the receiver and turned to the Admiral.
+
+"She's given us the slip for the moment!" he said. "That was
+Gordon speaking. He and Duff have been shadowing our lady friend
+out of doors for days. She left the hotel on foot after lunch
+this afternoon with my two fellows in her wake. There was a bit
+of a crush on the pavement near Charing Cross and Duff was pushed
+into the roadway and run over by a motor-'bus. In the confusion
+Gordon lost the trail. He's wasted all this time trying to pick
+it up again instead of reporting to me at once."
+
+"Zut!" cried the Frenchman.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI. CREDENTIALS
+
+The sight of Nur-el-Din filled Desmond with alarm. For a moment
+his mind was overshadowed by the dread of detection. He had
+forgotten all about Mr. Crook's handiwork in the train, and his
+immediate fear was that the dancer would awake and recognize him.
+But then he caught sight of his face in the mirror over the
+mantelpiece. The grave bearded man staring oddly at him out of
+the glass gave him a shock until he realized the metamorphosis
+that had taken place in his personality. The realization served
+instantly to still his apprehension.
+
+Nur-el-Din lay on her side, one hand under her face which was
+turned away from the fire. She was wearing a big black musquash
+coat, and over her feet she had flung a tweed overcoat,
+apparently one of Mr. Bellward's from the hatstand in the hall.
+Her hat, a very dainty little affair of plain black velvet, was
+skewered with a couple of jewelled hatpins to the upholstery of
+the settee.
+
+Desmond watched her for a moment. Her face looked drawn and tired
+now that her eyelids, with their long sweeping black lashes, were
+closed, shutting off the extraordinary luminosity of her eyes. As
+he stood silently contemplating her, she stirred and moaned in
+her sleep and muttered some word three or four times to herself.
+Desmond was conscious of a great feeling of compassion for this
+strangely beautiful creature. Knowing as he did of the
+hundred-eyed monster of the British Secret Service that was
+watching her, he found himself thinking how frail, how helpless,
+how unprotected she looked, lying there in the flickering light
+of the fire.
+
+A step resounded behind him and old Martha shuffled into the
+room, carefully shading the lamp she still carried so that its
+rays should not fall on the face of the sleeper.
+
+"I don't know as I've done right, sir," she mumbled, "letting the
+pore lady wait here for you like this, but I couldn't hardly help
+it, sir! She says as how she must see you, and seeing as how your
+first tellygram said you was coming at half-past nine, I lets her
+stop on!"
+
+"When did she arrive" asked Desmond softly.
+
+"About six o'clock," answered the old, woman. "Walked all the way
+up from Wentfield Station, too, sir, and that cold she was when
+she arrived here, fair blue with the cold she was, pore dear.
+D'reckly she open her lips, I sees she's a furrin' lady, sir. She
+asks after you and I tells her as how you are away and won't be
+back till this evening. 'Oh!' she says, I then I wait!' And in
+she comes without so much as with your leave or by your leave.
+She told me as how you knew her, sir, and were expecting to see
+her, most important, she said it was, so I hots her up a bit o'
+dinner. I hopes as how I didn't do wrong, Mr. Bellward, sir!"
+
+"Oh, no, Martha, not at all!" Desmond replied--at random. He was
+sorely perplexed as to his next move. Obviously the girl could
+not stay in the house. What on earth did she want with him? And
+could he, at any rate, get at the desk and read the papers of
+which the note spoke and which, he did not doubt, were the
+dossier of the Bellward case, before she awoke? They might, at
+least, throw some light on his relations with the dancer.
+
+"She had her dinner here by the fire," old Martha resumed her
+narrative, "and about a quarter past nine comes your second
+tellygram, sir, saying as how you could not arrive till five
+o'clock in the morning."
+
+Desmond glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece. The hands
+pointed to a quarter past five! He had lost all count of the time
+in his peregrinations of the night.
+
+"I comes in here and tells the young lady as how you wouldn't be
+back last night, sir," the old woman continued, "and she says,
+'Oh,' she says, 'then, where shall I go?' she says. 'Why don't
+you go home, my dear?' says I, 'and pop round and see the master
+in the morning,' I says, thinking the pore young lady lives about
+here. And then she tells me as how she come all the way from
+Lunnon and walked up from the station. As well you know, sir, the
+last train up leaves Wentfield Station at five minutes to nine,
+and so the pore young lady couldn't get back that night. So here
+she had to stop. I got the spare room ready for her and lit a
+nice fire and all, but she wouldn't go to bed not until she had
+seen you. I do hope as how I've not done wrong, sir. I says to
+Mr. Hill, I says..."
+
+Desmond held up his hand to restrain her toothless babble.
+Nur-el-Din had stirred and was sitting up, rubbing her eyes. Then
+she caught sight of Desmond and scrambled rather unsteadily to
+her feet.
+
+"Monsieur Bellward?" she said in French, "oh, how glad I am to
+see you!"
+
+"All right, Martha," said Desmond, "see that the spare room is
+ready for this lady, and don't go to bed just yet. I shall want
+you to take this lady to her room."
+
+The old woman hobbled away, leaving the two alone. As soon as the
+door had closed behind her, Nur-el-Din exclaimed:
+
+"You know me; hein!"
+
+Desmond bowed in the most correct Continental manner.
+
+"Who does not know the charming Nur-el-Din?" he replied.
+
+"No!" Nur-el-Din commanded with flashing eyes, "no, not that
+name! I am Madame Le Bon, you, understand, a Belgian refugee,
+from Termonde!"
+
+Rather taken aback by her imperious manner, Desmond bowed again
+but said nothing.
+
+"I received your letter," the dancer resumed, "but I did not
+answer it as I did not require your assistance. But now I wish
+your help. It is unfortunate that you were absent from home at
+the very time I counted upon your aid."
+
+She flashed a glance at him as though awaiting an apology.
+
+"I am extremely sorry," said Desmond, "if I had but known..."
+
+Nur-el-Din nodded carelessly.
+
+"I wish to pass the night here," she went on, "in fact, I may be
+here for several days. They are becoming inconvenient in London,
+you understand."
+
+"But the theatre, your professional engagements?"
+
+"Bah, I have left the theatre. I have had enough of these stupid
+English people... they know nothing of art!"
+
+Desmond reflected a moment. Nur-el-Din's manner was most
+perplexing. What on earth could induce her to adopt this tone of
+condescension towards him? It nettled him. He resolved to try and
+find out on what it was based.
+
+"I am only too happy to be of assistance to you," he said,
+"especially in view of the letter of introduction you sent me,
+but I must tell you plainly that what you ask is impossible."
+
+"Impossible?" repeated Nur-el-Din, stamping her feet.
+"Impossible? Do you know what you are saying?"
+
+"Perfectly," replied Desmond negligently. "Obviously, you must
+stay here for the rest of the night since you cannot return to
+London until the trains start running, but to stay here
+indefinitely as you propose to do is out of the question. People
+would talk!"
+
+"Then it is your business to see that they don't!"
+
+"Your letter of introduction came from one whom I am always
+anxious to oblige," Desmond went on. "But the service he is
+authorized to claim from me does not entitle him to jeopardize my
+other activities."
+
+He drew a breath. It was a long shot. Would it draw her?
+
+It did. Nur-el-Din fumbled in her bag, produced a leather
+pocket-book and from it produced a slip of paper folded in two.
+
+"Read that!" she cried, "and then you shall apologize!"
+
+Desmond took the paper. It was a sheet torn from a book of German
+military field messages. "Meldedienst" (Message Service) was
+printed in German at the top and there were blanks to be filled
+in for the date, hour and place, and at the bottom a printed form
+of acknowledgment for the recipient to sign.
+
+In a large ostentatious, upright German handwriting was written
+what follows:
+
+
+"To All Whom it May Concern.
+
+"The lady who is the bearer of this, whose description is set out
+overleaf, is entitled to the full respect and assistance of the
+German forces on land and sea and in the air, wherever it may be.
+Her person and property are inviolate.
+
+  "Given At Our Headquarters at Metz
+  "Friedrich Wilhelm                             "Kronprinz des
+                                             "Deutschen Reiches."
+
+
+Across the signature was the impress of a green stamp,
+lozenge-shaped, inscribed "Headquarters of the Fifth Army,
+General Staff, 21st September, 1914."
+
+On the back of the slip was a detailed description of Nur-el-Din.
+
+Desmond bowed and handed the paper back to its owner.
+
+"Madame must accept my humble excuses," he murmured, hardly
+knowing what he was saying, so great was his surprise, "my house
+and services are at Madame's disposal!"
+
+"The other letter was from Count Plettenbach, the Prince's
+A.D.C., whom I think you know!" added the dancer in a mollified
+voice as she replaced the slip of paper in its pocketbook and
+stowed it away in her hand-bag. Then, looking up archly at
+Desmond, she said:
+
+"Am I so distasteful, then, to have in your house?"
+
+She made a charming picture. Her heavy fur coat had fallen open,
+disclosing her full round throat, very brown against the V-shaped
+opening of her white silk blouse. Her mouth was a perfect cupid's
+bow, the upper lip slightly drawn up over her dazzlingly white
+teeth. Before Desmond could answer her question, if answer were
+needed, her mood had swiftly changed again. She put her hand out,
+a little brown hand, and laying it on his shoulder, looked up
+appealingly into his eyes.
+
+"You will protect me," she said in a low voice, "I cannot bear
+this hunted life. From this side, from that, they, are closing in
+on me, and I am frightened, so very frightened. Promise you will
+keep me from harm!"
+
+Desmond gazed down into her warm, expressive eyes helplessly.
+What she asked was impossible, he knew, but he was a soldier, not
+a policeman, he told himself, and under his breath he cursed the
+Chief for landing him in such a predicament. To Nur-el-Din he
+said gently:
+
+"Tell me what has happened to frighten you. Who is hunting you?
+Is it the police?"
+
+She withdrew her hand with a gesture of contempt.
+
+"Bah!" she said bitterly. "I am not afraid of the police."
+
+Then she sank into a reverie, her gaze fixed on the dying embers
+of the fire.
+
+"All my life has been a struggle," she went on, after a moment,
+"first with hunger, then with men, then the police. I am used to
+a hard life. No, it is not the police!"
+
+"Who is it, then" asked Desmond, completely nonplused.
+
+Nur-el-Din let her eyes rest on his face for a moment.
+
+"You have honest eyes," she said, "your eyes are not German...
+pardon me, I would not insult your race... I mean they are
+different from the rest of you. One day, perhaps, those eyes of
+yours may persuade me to answer your question. But I don't know
+you well enough yet!"
+
+She broke off abruptly, shaking her head.
+
+"I am tired," she sighed and all her haughty manner returned,
+"let the old woman show me to my room. I will take dejeuner with
+you at one o'clock."
+
+Desmond bowed and stepping out into the hall, called the
+housekeeper. Old Martha shuffled off with the girl, leaving
+Desmond staring with vacant eyes into the fire. He was conscious
+of a feeling of exultation, despite his utter weariness and
+craving for sleep. This girl, with her queenly ways, her swiftly
+changing moods, her broad gusts of passion, interested him
+enormously. If she were the quarry, why, then, the chase were
+worth while! But the end? For a brief moment, he had a vision of
+that frail, clinging figure swaying up against some blank wall
+before a file of levelled rifles.
+
+Then again he seemed to see old Mackwayte lying dead on the
+landing of the house at Seven Kings. Had this frail girl done
+this unspeakable deed? To send her to the gallows or before a
+firing-squad--was this to be the end of his mission? And the
+still, small voice of conscience answered: "Yes! that is what
+you have come here to do!"
+
+Old Martha came shuffling down the staircase. Desmond called to
+her, remembering that he did not yet know where his bedroom was.
+
+"Will you light me up to my room, Martha?" he said, "I want to be
+sure that the sheets are not damp!"
+
+So saying he extinguished the lamp on the table and followed the
+old woman upstairs.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII. AT THE MILL HOUSE
+
+Clad in a suit of Mr. Basil Bellward's pyjamas of elaborate
+blue-flowered silk, Desmond lay propped up in bed in Mr.
+Bellward's luxuriously fitted bedroom, sipping his morning
+coffee, and studying with absorbed interest a sheet of blue
+foolscap. A number of papers lay strewn about the eiderdown
+quilt. At the head of the bed a handsome Sheraton bureau stood
+open.
+
+As the French say, Mr. Bellward had refused himself nothing. His
+bedroom was most tastefully furnished. The furniture was
+mahogany, every piece carefully chosen, and the chintz of
+curtains and upholstery was bright and attractive. A most
+elaborate mahogany wardrobe was fitted into the wall, and
+Desmond, investigating it, had found it to contain a very large
+assortment of clothes of every description, all new or nearly so,
+and bearing the name of a famous tailor of Cork Street. Folding
+doors, resembling a cupboard, disclosed, when open, a marble
+basin with hot water laid on, while a curtained door in the
+corner of the room gave access to a white tiled bathroom. Mr.
+Bellward, Desmond had reflected after his tour of the room on his
+arrival, evidently laid weight on his personal comfort; for the
+contrast between the cheerful comfort of his bedroom and the
+musty gloom of the rooms downstairs was very marked.
+
+A bright log fire hissed on the open hearth and the room was
+pleasantly warm. Old Martha's coffee was excellent, and Desmond,
+very snug in Mr. Bellward's comfortable bed, noted with regret
+that the clock on the mantel-shelf marked a quarter to twelve.
+But then he thought of the tete-a-tete luncheon that awaited him
+at one o'clock and his face cleared. He didn't mind getting up so
+much after all.
+
+He fell again to the perusal of the documents which he had found,
+as indicated in the note from headquarters, in the desk by the
+bed. They were enclosed in two envelopes, one large, the other
+small, both without any superscription. The large envelope
+enclosed Mr. Bellward's dossier which consisted of a fairly
+detailed account of his private life, movements, habits and
+friends, and an account of his arrest. The small envelope
+contained Desmond's eagerly expected orders.
+
+Desmond examined the papers in the large envelope first. From
+them he ascertained that the house in which he found himself was
+called The Mill House, and was situated two and a half miles from
+the station of Wentfield on the Great Eastern Railway in Essex.
+Mr. Bellward had taken the place some eight years before, having
+moved there from the Surrey hills, but had been wont to spend not
+more than two months in the year there. For the rest of the time
+he traveled abroad, usually passing the winter months on the
+Riviera, and the spring in Switzerland or Italy. The war had
+brought about a change in his habits, and Harrogate, Buxton and
+Bath had taken the place of the Continental resorts which he had
+frequented in peace time.
+
+When in residence at The Mill House, Mr. Bellward had gone up to
+London nearly every morning, either walking or going by
+motor-cycle to the station, and not returning until dinner-time
+in the evening. Sometimes he passed the night in London, and on
+such occasions slept at a small hotel in Jermyn Street. His
+dossier included, a long and carefully compiled list of the
+people he knew in London, mostly men of the rich business set,
+stockbrokers, manufacturers, solicitors, and the like. Against
+every name was set a note of the exact degree of intimacy
+existing between Bellward and the man in question, and any other
+information that might serve Bellward's impersonator in good
+stead. Desmond laid this list aside for the moment, intending to
+study it more closely at his leisure.
+
+Of intercourse with his neighbors in, the country, Mr. Bellward
+apparently had none. The Mill House stood in a lonely part of the
+country, remote from the more thickly populated centres of
+Brentwood and Romford, on the edge of a wide tract of
+inhospitable marshland, known as Morstead Fen, intersected by
+those wide deep ditches which in this part of the world are known
+as dykes. At this stage in the report there was a note to the
+effect that the rector of Wentfield had called twice at The Mill
+House but had not found Mr. Bellward at home, and that his visits
+had not been returned. There were also some opinions apparently
+culled locally regarding the tenant of the Mill House, set out
+something in this wise:--
+
+"Landlord of the Red Lion, Wentfield: The gentleman has never
+been to the Red Lion, but sometimes orders my Ford car and always
+pays regularly.
+
+"The Stationmaster at Wentfield: A gentleman who keeps himself to
+himself but very liberal with his money.
+
+"Sir Marsham Dykes, of The Chase, Stanning: A damned unsociable
+churlish fellow.
+
+"Mr. Tracy Wentfield, of the Channings, Home Green: A very rude
+man. He slammed the front door of the house in my face when I
+went to ask him for a contribution to our Cottage Hospital. It is
+not my habit to repeat idle gossip, but they do say he is a heavy
+drinker."
+
+There was a lot more of this sort of thing, and Desmond turned
+from it with a smile to take up the account of Bellward's arrest.
+It appeared that, about a fortnight before, on the eve of the
+departure for France of a very large draft of troops, a telegram
+was handed in at the East Strand telegraph office addressed to
+Bellward. This telegram ran thus:
+
+
+  "Bellward, Bellward Hotel, Jermyn Street.
+  "Shipping to you Friday 22,000 please advise correspondents.
+                                 "Mortimer."
+
+
+The authorities were unable to deliver this telegram as no
+such an hotel as the Hotel Bellward was found to exist in Jermyn
+Street. An examination of the address showed clearly that the
+sender had absent mindedly repeated the addressee's name in
+writing the name of the hotel. An advice was therefore addressed
+to the sender, Mortimer, at the address he had given on the back
+of the form, according to the regulations, to inform him that his
+telegram had not been delivered. It was then discovered that the
+address given by Mortimer was fictitious.
+
+Suspicion being thus aroused, the telegram was forwarded to the
+Postal Censor's department whence it reached the Intelligence
+Authorities who promptly spotted the connection between the
+wording of the telegram and the imminent departure of the drafts,
+more especially as the dates tallied. Thereupon, Mr. Bellward was
+hunted up and ultimately traced by his correspondence to The Mill
+House. He was not found there, but was eventually encountered at
+his London hotel, and requested to appear before the authorities
+with a view to throwing some light on Mortimer. Under
+cross-examination Bellward flatly denied any knowledge of
+Mortimer, and declared that a mistake had been made. He cited
+various well known city men to speak for his bona-fides and
+protested violently against the action of the authorities in
+doubting his word. It was ultimately elicited that Bellward was
+of German birth and had never been naturalized, and he was
+detained in custody while a search was made at The Mill House.
+
+The search was conducted with great discretion, old Martha being
+got out of the way before the detectives arrived and a careful
+watch being kept to avoid any chance of interruption. The search
+had the most fruitful results. Hidden in a secret drawer of the
+Sheraton desk in Bellward's bedroom, was found a most elaborate
+analysis of the movements of the transports to France, extremely
+accurate and right up to date. There was absolutely no
+indication, however, as to whence Bellward received his reports,
+and how or to whom he forwarded them. It was surmised that
+Mortimer was his informant, but an exhaustive search of the post
+office files of telegrams despatched showed no trace of any other
+telegram from Mortimer to Bellward save the one in the possession
+of the authorities. As for Mortimer, he remained a complete
+enigma.
+
+That, summarised, was the gist of the story of Bellward's arrest.
+The report laid great stress on the fact that no one outside half
+a dozen Intelligence men had any knowledge (a) of Bellward being
+an unnaturalized German, (b) of his arrest.
+
+Desmond's orders, which he reserved to the last were short and to
+the point. They consisted of five numbered clauses.
+
+"1. You will have a free hand. The surveillance of the house was
+withdrawn on your arrival and will not be renewed.
+
+"2. You will not leave the house until further orders.
+
+"3. You will keep careful note of any communication that may be
+made to you, whether verbal or in writing, of whatever nature it
+is. When you have anything to be forwarded, ring up 700 Slanning
+on the telephone and give Bellward's name. You will hand your
+report to the first person calling at the house thereafter asking
+for the letter for Mr. Elias.
+
+"4. If help is urgently required, ring up 700 Stanning and ask
+for Mr. Elias. Assistance will be with you within 15 minutes
+after. This expedient must only be used in the last extremity.
+
+"5. Memorize these documents and burn the lot before you leave
+the house."
+
+"Handy fellow, Mr. Elias," was Desmond's commentary, as he sprang
+out of bed and made for the bathroom. At a quarter to one he was
+ready dressed, feeling very scratchy and uncomfortable about the
+beard which he had not dared to remove owing to Nur-el-Din's
+presence in the house. Before he left the bedroom, he paused a
+moment at the desk, the documents of the Bellward case in his
+hands. He had a singularly retentive memory, and he was loth to
+have these compromising papers in the house whilst Nur-el-Din was
+there. He took a quick decision and pitched the whole lot into
+the fire, retaining only the annotated list of Mr. Bellward's
+friends. This he placed in his pocket-book and, after watching
+the rest of the papers crumble away into ashes, went downstairs
+to lunch.
+
+Nur-el-Din was in the drawing-room, a long room with two high
+windows which gave on a neglected looking garden. A foaming,
+churning brook wound its way through the garden, among stunted
+bushes and dripping willows, obviously the mill-race from which
+the house took its name. The drawing-room was a bare,
+inhospitable room, studded here and there with uncomfortable
+looking early Victorian armchairs swathed in dust-proof cloths. A
+fire was making an unsuccessful attempt to burn in the open
+grate.
+
+Nur-el-Din turned as he entered the room. She was wearing a gray
+cloth tailor-made with a white silk, blouse and a short skirt
+showing a pair of very natty brown boots. By contrast with her
+ugly surroundings she looked fresh and dainty. Her eyes were
+bright and her face as smooth and unwrinkled as a child's.
+
+"Bon jour," she cried gaily, "ah! but I am 'ungry!  It is the air
+of the country!  I love so the country!"
+
+"I hope you slept well, Madame!" said Desmond solicitously,
+looking admiringly at her trim figure.
+
+"Like a dead man," she replied with a little laugh, translating
+the French idiom. "Shall we make a leetle promenade after the
+dejeuner? And you shall show me your pretty English country,
+voulez-vous? You see, I am dressed for le footing!"
+
+She lifted a little brown foot.
+
+They had a delightful luncheon together. Old Martha, who proved
+to be quite a passable cook, waited on them. There was some
+excellent Burgundy and a carafe of old brandy with the coffee.
+Nur-el-Din was in her most gracious and captivating mood. She had
+dropped all her arrogance of their last interview and seemed to
+lay herself out to please. She had a keen sense of humor and
+entertained Desmond vastly by her anecdotes of her stage career,
+some not a little risque, but narrated with the greatest
+bon-homie.
+
+But, strongly attracted as he was to the girl, Desmond did not
+let himself lose sight of his ultimate object. He let her run on
+as gaily as she might but steadily, relentlessly he swung the
+conversation round to her last engagement at the Palaceum. He
+wanted to see if she would make any reference to the murder at
+Seven Kings. If he could only bring in old Mackwayte's name, he
+knew that the dancer must allude to the tragedy.
+
+Then the unexpected happened. The girl introduced the old
+comedian's name herself.
+
+"The only pleasant memory I shall preserve of the Palaceum," she
+said in French, "is my meeting with an old comrade of my youth.
+Imagine, I had not seen him for nearly twenty years. Monsieur
+Mackwayte, his name is, we used to call him Monsieur Arthur in
+the old days when I was the child acrobat of the Dupont Troupe.
+Such a charming fellow; and not a bit changed!  He was doing a
+deputy turn at the Palaceum on the last night I appeared there!
+And he introduced me to his daughter! Une belle Anglaise! I shall
+hope to see my old friend again when I go back to London!"
+
+Desmond stared at her. If this were acting, the most hardened
+criminal could not have carried it off better. He searched the
+girl's face. It was frank and innocent. She ran on about
+Mackwayte in the old days, his kindliness to everyone, his pretty
+wife, without a shadow of an attempt to avoid an unpleasant
+topic. Desmond began to believe that not only did the girl have
+nothing to do with the tragedy but that actually she knew nothing
+about it.
+
+"Did you see the newspapers yesterday?" he asked suddenly.
+
+"My friend," said Nur-el-Din, shaking her curls at him. "I never
+read your English papers. There is nothing but the war in them.
+And this war!"
+
+She gave a little shudder and was silent.
+
+At this moment old Martha, who had left them over their coffee
+and cigarettes, came into the room.
+
+"There's a gentleman called to see you, sir!" she said to
+Desmond.
+
+Desmond started violently. He was scarcely used to his new role
+as yet.
+
+"Who is it, Martha?" he said, mastering his agitation.
+
+"Mr. Mortimer!" mumbled the old woman in her tired voice, "at
+least that's what he said his name was. The gentleman hadn't got
+a card!"
+
+Nur-el-Din sprang up from her chair so vehemently that she upset
+her coffee.
+
+"Don't let him come in!" she cried in French.
+
+"Did you say I was in?" Desmond asked the old housekeeper, who
+was staring at the dancer.
+
+"Why, yes, sir," the woman answered.
+
+Desmond made a gesture of vexation.
+
+"Where is this Mr. Mortimer?" he asked
+
+"In the library, sir!"
+
+"Tell him I will be with him at once."
+
+Martha hobbled away and Desmond turned to the girl.
+
+"You heard what my housekeeper said? The man is here. I shall
+have to see him."
+
+Nur-el-Din, white to the lips, stood by the table, nervously
+twisting a little handkerchief.
+
+"Non, non," she said rapidly, "you must not see him. He has come
+to find me. Ah! if he should find out what I have done... you
+will not give me up to this man?"
+
+"You need not see him," Desmond expostulated gently, "I will say
+you are not here! Who is this Mortimer that he should seek to do
+you harm?"
+
+"My friend," said the dancer sadly, "he is my evil genius. If I
+had dreamt that you knew him I would never have sought refuge in
+your house."
+
+"But I've never set eyes on the man in my life!" exclaimed
+Desmond.
+
+The dancer shook her head mournfully at him.
+
+"Very few of you have, my friend," she replied, "but you are all
+under his orders, nest-ce pas?"
+
+Desmond's heart leaped. Was Mortimer's the guiding hand of this
+network of conspiracy?
+
+"I've trusted you, Monsieur," Nur-el-Din continued in a pleading
+voice, "you will respect the laws of hospitality, and hide me
+from this man. You will not give me up! Promise it, my friend?"
+
+Desmond felt strangely moved. Was this a callous murderess, a
+hired spy, who, with her great eyes brimming over with tears,
+entreated his protection so simply, so appealingly?
+
+"I promise I will not give you up to him, Mademoiselle!" he said
+and hated himself in the same breath for the part he had to play.
+Then he left her still standing by the table, lost in thought.
+
+Desmond walked through the hall to the room in which he had found
+Nur-el-Din asleep on his arrival. His nerves were strung up tight
+for the impending encounter with this Mortimer, whoever, whatever
+he was. Desmond did not hesitate on the threshold of the room. He
+quietly opened the door and walked in.
+
+A man in a black and white check suit with white gaiters stood on
+the hearthrug, his hands tucked behind his back. He had a
+curiously young-old appearance, such as is found in professors
+and scientists of a certain type. This suggestion was probably
+heightened by the very strong spectacles he wore, which magnified
+his eyes until they looked like large colored marbles. He had a
+heavy curling moustache resembling that affected by the late Lord
+Randolph Churchill. There was a good deal of mud on his boots,
+showing that he had come on foot.
+
+The two men measured one another in a brief but courteous glance.
+Desmond wondered what on earth this man's profession was. He was
+quite unable to place him.
+
+"Mr. Bellward?" said Mortimer, in a pleasant cultivated voice, "I
+am pleased to have this opportunity of meeting you personally."
+
+Desmond bowed and muttered something conventional. Mortimer had
+put out his hand but Desmond could not nerve himself to take it.
+Instead he pushed forward a chair.
+
+"Thanks," said Mortimer sitting down heavily, "I've had quite a
+walk across the fen. It's pleasant out but damp! I suppose you
+didn't get my letter?"
+
+"Which letter was that" asked Desmond.
+
+"Why the one asking you to let me know when you would be back so
+that we might meet at last!"
+
+Desmond shook his head.
+
+"No," he said, "I didn't get that one. It must have gone astray.
+As a matter of fact," he added, "I only got back this morning."
+
+"Oh, well then, I am fortunate in my visit," said Mortimer. "Did
+everything go off all right?"
+
+"Oh, yes," Desmond hastened to say, not knowing what he was
+talking about, "everything went off all right."
+
+"I don't in the least grudge you the holiday," the other
+observed, "one should always be careful to pay the last respects
+to the dead. It makes a good impression. That is so important in
+some countries!"
+
+He beamed at Desmond through his spectacles.
+
+"Was there anything left in your absence?" he asked, "no, there
+would be nothing; I suppose!"
+
+Desmond took a firm resolution. He must know what the man was
+driving at.
+
+"I don't know what you mean," he said bluntly.
+
+"God bless my soul!" ejaculated Mortimer turning round to stare
+at him through his grotesque glasses. And then he said very
+deliberately in German:
+
+"War niemand da?"
+
+Desmond stood up promptly.
+
+"What do you want with me?" he asked quietly, "and why do you
+speak German in my house?" Mortimer gazed at him blankly.
+
+"Excellence, most excellent," he gasped. "I love prudence. My
+friend, where are your eyes?"
+
+He put a large, firm hand up and touched the upper edge of the
+left lapel of his jacket. Desmond followed his gesture with his
+eyes and saw the other's first finger resting on the shiny glass
+head of a black pin. Almost instinctively Desmond imitated the
+gesture. His fingers came into contact with a glassheaded pin
+similarly embedded in the upper edge of the lapel of his own
+coat.
+
+Then he understood. This must be the distinguishing badge of this
+confraternity of spies. It was a clever idea, for the black pin
+was practically invisible, unless one looked for it, and even if
+seen, would give rise to no suspicions. It had obviously escaped
+the notice of the Chief and his merry men, and Desmond made a
+mental resolve to rub this omission well into his superior on the
+first opportunity. He felt he owed the Chief one.
+
+Mr. Mortimer cleared his throat, as though to indicate the
+conclusion of the episode. Desmond sat down on the settee.
+
+"Nothing came while I was away!" he said.
+
+"Now that you are back," Mortimer remarked, polishing his glasses
+with a bandanna handkerchief, "the service will be resumed. I
+have come to see you, Mr. Bellward," he went on, turning to
+Desmond, "contrary to my usual practice, mainly because I wished
+to confirm by personal observation the very favorable opinion I
+had formed of your ability from our correspondence. You have
+already demonstrated your discretion to me. If you continue to
+show that your prudence is on a level with your zeal, believe I
+shall not prove myself ungrateful."
+
+So saying he settled his glasses on his nose again.
+
+The action woke Desmond from a brown study. During the operation
+of wiping his spectacles, Mr. Mortimer had given Desmond a
+glimpse of his eyes in their natural state without the protection
+of those distorting glasses. To his intense surprise Desmond had
+seen, instead of the weak, blinking eyes of extreme myopia, a
+pair of keen piercing eyes with the clear whites of perfect
+health. Those blue eyes, set rather close together, seemed dimly
+familiar. Someone, somewhere, had once looked at him like that.
+
+"You are too kind," murmured Desmond, grappling for the thread of
+the conversation.
+
+Mortimer did not apparently notice his absentmindedness.
+
+"Everything has run smoothly," he resumed, "on the lines on which
+we have been working hitherto, but more important work lies
+before us. I have found it necessary to select a quiet rendezvous
+where I might have an opportunity of conferring in person with my
+associates. The first of these conferences will take place very
+shortly. I count upon your attendance, Bellward!"
+
+"I shall not fail you," replied Desmond. "But where is this
+rendezvous of yours, might I ask?"
+
+Mortimer shot a quick glance at him.
+
+"You shall know in good time," he answered drily. Then he added:
+
+"Do you mind if I have a few words with Nur-el-Din before I go!"
+
+The unexpected question caught Desmond off his guard.
+
+"Nur-el-Din?" he stammered feebly.
+
+"She is staying with you, I believe," said Mortimer pleasantly.
+
+Desmond shook his head.
+
+"There must be some mistake," he averred stoutly, "of course I
+know who you mean, but I have never met the lady. She is not
+here. What led you to suppose she was?"
+
+But even as he spoke, his eyes fell on a black object which lay
+near his arm stretched out along the back of the settee. It was a
+little velvet hat, skewered to the upholstery of the settee by a
+couple of jewelled hat-pins. A couple of gaudy cushions lay
+between it and Mortimer's range of vision from the chair in which
+the latter was sitting. If only Mortimer had not spotted it
+already!
+
+Desmond's presence of mind did not desert him. On the pretext of
+settling himself more comfortably he edged up another cushion
+until it rested upon the other two, thus effectively screening
+the hat from Mortimer's view even when he should get up.
+
+"I wish she were here," Desmond added, smiling, "one could not
+have a more delightful companion to share one's solitude, I
+imagine."
+
+"The lady has disappeared from London under rather suspicious
+circumstances;" Mortimer said, letting his grotesque eyes rest
+for a moment on Desmond's face, "to be quite frank with you, my
+dear fellow, she has been indiscreet, and the police are after
+her."
+
+"You don't say!" cried Desmond.
+
+"Indeed, it is a fact," replied the other, "I wish she would take
+you as her model, my dear Bellward. You are the pattern of
+prudence, are you not?"
+
+He paused perceptibly and Desmond held his breath.
+
+"She has very few reputable friends," Mortimer continued
+presently, "under a cloud as she is, she could hardly frequent
+the company of her old associates, Mowbury and Lazarro and Mrs.
+Malplaquet, you doubtless know whom I mean. I know she has a very
+strong recommendation to you, so I naturally thought--well, no
+matter!"
+
+He rose and extended his hand.
+
+"Au revoir, Bellward," he said, "you shall hear from me very
+soon. You've got a snug little place here, I must say, and
+everything in charming taste. I like your pretty cushions."
+
+The blood flew to Desmond's face and he bent down, on pretense of
+examining the cushions, to hide his confusion.
+
+"They aren't bad," he said, "I got them at Harrod's!"
+
+He accompanied Mortimer to the front door and watched him
+disappear down the short drive and turn out of the gate into the
+road. Then feeling strangely ill at ease, he went back to join
+Nur-el-Din in the dining-room. But only the housekeeper was
+there, clearing the table.
+
+"If you're looking for the young lady, sir," said old Martha,
+"she's gone out!"
+
+"Oh!" said Desmond, with a shade of disappointment in his voice,
+"will she be back for tea?"
+
+"She's not coming back at all," answered the old woman, "she told
+me to tell you she could not stop, sir. And she wouldn't let me
+disturb you, neither, sir."
+
+"But did she leave no note or anything for me?" asked Desmond.
+
+"No, sir," answered old Martha as she folded up the cloth.
+
+Gone! Desmond stared gloomily out at the sopping garden with an
+uneasy feeling that he had failed in his duty.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIII. WHAT SHAKESPEARE'S COMEDIES REVEALED
+
+In a very depressed frame of mind, Desmond turned into the
+library. As he crossed the hall, he noticed how cheerless the
+house was. Again there came to him that odor of mustiness--of all
+smells the most eerie and drear--which he had noticed on his
+arrival. Somehow, as long as Nur-el-Din had been there, he had
+not remarked the appalling loneliness of the place.
+
+A big log fire was blazing cheerfully in the grate, throwing out
+a bright glow into the room which, despite the early hour, was
+already wreathed in shadows. Wearily Desmond pulled a big
+armchair up to the blaze and sat down. He told himself that he
+must devote every minute of his spare time to going over in his
+mind the particulars he had memorized of Mr. Bellward's habits
+and acquaintanceships. He took the list of Bellward's friends
+from his pocket-book.
+
+But this afternoon he found it difficult to concentrate his
+attention. His gaze kept wandering back to the fire, in whose
+glowing depths he fancied he could see a perfect oval face with
+pleading eyes and dazzling teeth looking appealingly at him.
+
+Nur-el-Din! What an entrancing creature she was! What passion
+lurked in those black eyes of hers, in her moods, swiftly
+changing from gusts of fierce imperiousness to gentle airs of
+feminine charm! What a frail little thing she was to have fought
+her way alone up the ladder from the lowest rung to the very top!
+She must have character and grit, Desmond decided, for he was a
+young man who adored efficiency: to him efficiency spelled
+success.
+
+But a spy needs grit, he reflected, and Nur-el-Din had many
+qualities which would enable her to win the confidence of men.
+Hadn't she half-captivated him, the would-be spy-catcher,
+already?
+
+Desmond laughed ruefully to himself. Indeed, he mused, things
+looked that way. What would the Chief say if he could see his
+prize young man, his white-headed boy, sitting sentimentalizing
+by the fire over a woman who was, by her own confession,
+practically an accredited German agent? Desmond thrust his chin
+out and shook himself together. He would put the feminine side of
+Nur-el-Din out of his head. He must think of her henceforth only
+as a member of the band that was spotting targets for those
+sneaking, callous brutes of U-boat commanders.
+
+He went back to the study of the list of Mr. Bellward's friends.
+But he found it impossible to focus his mind upon it. Do what he
+would, he could not rid himself of the sensation that he had
+failed at the very outset of his mission. He was, indeed, he told
+himself, the veriest tyro at the game. Here he had had under his
+hand in turn Nur-el-Din and Mortimer (who, he made no doubt, was
+the leader of the gang which was so sorely troubling the Chief),
+and he had let both get away without eliciting from either even
+as much as their address. By the use of a little tact, he had
+counted on penetrating something of the mystery enveloping the
+dancer and her relationship with the gang; for he thought he
+divined that Nur-el-Din was inclined to make him her confidant.
+With the information thus procured, he had hoped to get on to the
+track of the leader of the band.
+
+But that ugly brute; Mortimer, with his goggle eyes, had spoiled
+everything. His appearance had taken Desmond completely by
+surprise: to tell the truth, it had thrown our young man rather
+off his guard. "If only I might have had a little longer
+acquaintance with my part," he reflected bitterly as he sat by
+the fire, "I should have been better able to deal with that
+pompous ass!"
+
+Afterwards, when thinking over the opening events of this
+extraordinary episode of his career, Desmond rather wondered why
+he had not followed Mortimer out of the house that afternoon and
+tracked him down to his hiding place. But, as a matter of fact,
+the idea did not occur to him at the time. His orders were
+positive not to leave the house, and he never even thought of
+breaking them--at any rate, not then.
+
+His orders, also, it is true, were to report to headquarters any
+communication that might be made to him; but these instructions,
+at least as far as Nur-el-Din's and Mortimer's visits were
+concerned, he resolved to ignore.
+
+For one thing, he felt angry with the Chief who, he argued rather
+irrationally, ought to have foreseen and prevented Mortimer thus
+taking him by surprise. The Chief liked secrets--well, for a
+change, he should be kept in the dark and the laugh would be on
+Desmond's side. For a few minutes after Mortimer's departure,
+Desmond had felt strongly inclined to go to the telephone which
+stood on the desk in the library and ring up Mr. Elias, as he
+should have done, but he resisted this impulse. Now, thinking
+things over in the firelight, he was glad he had refrained. He
+would ferret out for himself the exact part that Nur-el-Din and
+Mortimer were playing in this band of spies. Nothing definite had
+come of his interviews with them as yet. It would be time enough
+to communicate with Headquarters when he had something positive
+to report.
+
+Then Desmond thrust the paper he had been studying back in his
+pocket-book and jumped up. He felt that the inaction was stifling
+him. He determined to go for a walk round the garden. That, at
+least, was in the spirit of his orders.
+
+Remembering that he was supposed to be suffering from a chill he
+donned a heavy Ulster of Bellward's which was hanging in the hall
+and wound a muffler round his neck. Then cramming a soft cap on
+his head (he noted with satisfaction that Bellward's hats fitted
+him remarkably well) he opened the front door and stepped
+outside.
+
+The rain had stopped, but the whole atmosphere reeked of
+moisture. Angry-looking, dirty-brown clouds chased each other
+across the lowering sky, and there was a constant sound of water,
+trickling and gurgling and splashing, in his ears.
+
+An untidy-looking lawn with a few unkempt and overgrown
+rhododendron bushes dotted here and there ran its length in front
+of the house and terminated in an iron railing which separated
+the grounds from a little wood. A badly water-logged drive, green
+with grass in places, ran past the lawn in a couple of short
+bends to the front gate. On the other side the drive was bordered
+by what had once been a kitchen garden but was now a howling
+wilderness of dead leaves, mud and gravel with withered bushes
+and half a dozen black, bare and dripping apple trees set about
+at intervals. At the side of the house the kitchen garden stopped
+and was joined by a flower garden--at least so Desmond judged it
+to have been by a half ruined pergola which he had noticed from
+the drawing-room windows. Through the garden ran the mill-race
+which poured out of the grounds through a field and under a
+little bridge spanning the road outside.
+
+Desmond followed the drive as far as the front gate. The
+surrounding country was as flat as a pancake, and in almost every
+field lay great glistening patches of water where the land had
+been flooded by the incessant rain. The road on which the house
+was built ran away on the left to the mist-shrouded horizon
+without another building of any kind in sight. Desmond surmised
+that Morstead Fen lay in the direction in which he was looking.
+To the right, Desmond caught a glimpse of a ghostly spire
+sticking out of some trees and guessed that this was Wentfield
+Church. In front of him the distant roar of a passing train
+showed where the Great Eastern Railway line lay.
+
+More depressed than ever by the utter desolation of the scene,
+Desmond turned to retrace his steps to the house. Noticing a path
+traversing the kitchen garden, he followed it. It led to the back
+of the house, to the door of a kind of lean-to shed. The latch
+yielded on being pressed and Desmond entered the place.
+
+He found himself in a fair-sized shed, very well and solidly
+built of pitch-pine, with a glazed window looking out on the
+garden, a table and a couple of chairs, and a large cupboard
+which occupied the whole of one side of the wall of the house
+against which the shed was built. In a corner of the shed stood a
+very good-looking Douglas motor-cycle, and on a nail on the wall
+hung a set of motor-cyclist's overalls. A few petrol cans, some
+full, some empty, stood against the wall.
+
+Desmond examined the machine. It was in excellent condition,
+beautifully clean, the tank half full of spirits. A little dry
+sand on the tires showed that it had been used fairly recently.
+
+"Old man Bellward's motor-bike that he goes to the station on,"
+Desmond noted mentally. "But what's in the big cupboard, I
+wonder? Tools, I expect!"
+
+Then he caught sight of a deep drawer in the table. It was
+half-open and he saw that it contained various tools and spare
+parts, neatly arranged, each one in its appointed place.
+
+He went over to the cupboard and tried it. It was locked. Desmond
+had little respect for Mr. Bellward's property so he went over to
+the tool drawer and selected a stout chisel with which to burst
+the lock of the cupboard. But the cupboard was of oak, very
+solidly built, and he tried in vain to get a purchase for his
+implement. He leant his left hand against the edge of the
+cupboard whilst with his right he jabbed valiantly with the
+chisel.
+
+Then an extraordinary thing happened. The whole cupboard
+noiselessly swung outwards while Desmond, falling forward, caught
+his forehead a resounding bang against the edge of the recess in
+which it moved. He picked himself up in a very savage frame of
+mind--a severe blow on the head is not the ideal cure for
+hypochondria--but the flow of objurgatives froze on his lips. For
+he found himself looking into Mr. Bellward's library.
+
+He stepped into the room to see how the cupboard looked from the
+other side. He found that a whole section of bookshelves had
+swung back with the cupboard, in other words that the cupboard in
+the toolshed and the section of bookshelves were apparently all
+of one piece.
+
+He carefully examined the walls on either side of the recess in
+the library to see how the mechanism worked. The bookshelves were
+open, made of mahogany, the sides elaborately carved with leaves
+and flowers. Desmond ran his hand down the perpendicular section
+immediately on the right of the recess. About halfway down--to be
+exact, it was in line with the fifth shelf from the floor--his
+fingers encountered a little knob which gave under pressure--the
+heart of a flower which released the section of bookshelves.
+Going back to the shed, Desmond examined the place against which
+his hand had rested as he sought to force the lock of the
+cupboard. As he expected, he found a similar catch let into the
+surface of the oak, but so cunningly inlaid that it could scarce
+be detected with the naked eye.
+
+Before proceeding further with his investigations, Desmond softly
+turned the lock of the library door. He also shot forward a bolt
+he found on the inside of the door of the shed. He did not want
+to be interrupted by the housekeeper or the odd man.
+
+Then he went back to the library and pulled the cupboard to
+behind him. It moved quite easily into place. He wanted to have a
+look at the bookshelves; for he was curious to know whether the
+cupboard was actually all of one piece with the section of
+bookshelves as it seemed to be. He was prepared to find that the
+books were merely library dummies, but no! He tried half a dozen
+shelves at random, and every book he pulled out was real.
+
+Desmond was not easily baffled, and he determined to scrutinize
+every shelf, of this particular section in turn. With the aid of
+one of those step-ladders folding into a chair which you
+sometimes see in libraries, he examined the topmost shelves but
+without result. He took down in turn Macaulay's History of
+England, a handsome edition of the works of Swift, and a set of
+Moliere without getting any nearer the end of his quest.
+
+The fourth shelf from the top was devoted to a library edition of
+Shakespeare, large books bound in red morocco. Desmond, who, by
+this time was getting cramp in the arms from stretching upwards
+and had made his hands black with dust, pulled out a couple of
+volumes at hazard from the set and found them real books like the
+rest.
+
+"Oh, damn!" he exclaimed, and had half a mind to abandon the
+search and have a go with hammer and chisel at the cupboard in
+the shed. By this time it was almost dusk in the library, and
+Desmond, before abandoning the search, struck a match to have a
+final rapid glance over the shelves. The light showed him a
+curious flatness about the backs of the last six volumes of
+Shakespeare. He dropped the match and laid hold of a volume of
+the Comedies. It resisted. He tugged. Still it would not come.
+Exerting all his strength, he pulled, the gilt-lettered backs of
+the last six volumes came away in his hands in one piece and he
+crashed off the ladder to the ground.
+
+This time he did not swear. He picked himself up quickly, lit the
+lamp on the table by the window, and brought it over to the
+bookcase. Where Shakespeare's Comedies had stood was now a gaping
+void with a small key stuck in a lock, above a brass handle.
+Desmond mounted on the steps again and eagerly turned the key.
+Then he grasped the handle and puled, the section of bookshelves
+swung back like a door, and he found himself face to face with a
+great stack of petrol cans. They lay in orderly piles stretching
+from the floor to the top of the bookshelves near the railing,
+several tiers deep. At a rough computation there must have been
+several hundred cans in the recess. And they were all full.
+
+In a flash Desmond realized what his discovery signified. The
+motor-cycle in the shed without was the connecting link between
+Bellward and the man with whom he was co-operating in the
+organization. Under pretext of reading late in his library
+Bellward would send old Martha to bed, and once the house was
+quiet, sally forth by his secret exit and meet his confederate.
+Even when he was supposed to be sleeping in London he could still
+use the Mill House for a rendezvous, entering and leaving by the
+secret door, and no one a bit the wiser. In that desolate part of
+Essex, the roads are practically deserted after dark. Bellward
+could come and go much as he pleased on his motor-cycle. Were he
+stopped, he always had the excuse ready that he was going to--or
+returning from the station. The few petrol cans that Desmond had
+seen openly displayed in the shed without seemed to show that
+Bellward received a small quantity of spirit from the Petrol
+Board to take him to and from the railway.
+
+The cache, so elaborately concealed, however, pointed to long
+journeys. Did Bellward undertake these trips to fetch news or to
+transmit it? And who was his confederate? Whom did he go to meet?
+Not Mortimer; for he had only, corresponded with Bellward. Nor
+was it Nur-el-Din; for she had never met Bellward, either.
+
+Who was it, then?
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIV. BARBARA TAKES A HAND
+
+"No luck, Mr. Marigold," said the Assistant Provost Marshal, "I'm
+sorry, but there it is! We've made every possible inquiry about
+this Private... er..." he glanced at the buff-colored leave pass
+in his hand, "... this Gunner Barling, but we can't trace him so
+far. He should have gone back to France the afternoon before the
+day on which you found his pass. But he hasn't rejoined his unit.
+He's been posted as an absentee, and the police have been warned.
+I'm afraid we can't do any more than that!"
+
+The detective looked at the officer with mild reproach in his
+eyes.
+
+"Dear, dear," he replied, "and I made sure you'd be able to trace
+him with that pass!"
+
+He clicked his tongue against his teeth and shook his head.
+
+"Dear, dear!" he said again.
+
+"What's the feller been up to?" asked the A.P.M. Detectives have
+a horror of leading questions, and Mr. Marigold shrank visibly
+before the directness of the other's inquiry. Before replying,
+however, he measured the officer with his calm, shrewd eye. Mr.
+Marigold was not above breaking his own rules of etiquette if
+thereby he might gain a useful ally.
+
+"Well, Captain Beardiston," he answered slowly,
+"I'll tell you because I think that you may be able to help me a
+little bit. It's part of your work to look after deserters and
+absentees and those sort o' folk, isn't it?"
+
+The A.P.M. groaned.
+
+"Part of my work?" he repeated, "it seems to be my whole life
+ever since I came back from the front."
+
+"If you want to know what this young fellow has been up to," said
+Mr. Marigold in his even voice, "it's murder, if I'm not
+mistaken!"
+
+"Murder?" echoed the other in surprise. "Why, not the Seven Kings
+murder, surely?"
+
+The detective gave a brisk nod.
+
+"That's it," he replied, "I'm in charge of that case, if you
+follow me. I found that pass in the front garden of the
+Mackwayte's house in Laleham Villas, half trodden into the earth
+of the flower-bed by a heavy boot, a service boot, studded with
+nails. There had been a lot of rain in the night, and it had
+washed the mosaic-tiled pathway up to the front door almost
+clean. When I was having a look round the garden, I picked up
+this pass, and then I spotted the trace of service boots, a bit
+faint, on the beds. You know the way the nails are set in the
+issue boots?"
+
+The officer nodded:
+
+"I ought to know that foot-print," he said. "It's all over the
+roads in northern France."
+
+"We made inquiries through you," the detective resumed, "and when
+I found that this Gunner Barling, the owner of the pass, was
+missing, well, you will admit, it looked a bit suspicious."
+
+"Still, you know," the A.P.M. objected, "this man appears to have
+the most excellent character. He's got a clean sheet; he's never
+gone absent before. And he's been out with his battery almost
+since the beginning of the war."
+
+"I'm not making any charge against him as yet," answered the
+detective, picking up his hat, "but it would interest me very
+much, very much indeed, Captain Beardiston, to have five minutes'
+chat with this gunner. And so I ask you to keep a sharp lookout
+for a man answering to his description, and if you come across
+him, freeze on to him hard, and give me a ring on the telephone."
+
+"Right you are," said the officer, "I'll hold him for you, Mr.
+Marigold. But I hope your suspicions are not well-founded."
+
+For a brief moment the detective became a human being.
+
+"And so do I, if you want to know," he said. "One can forgive
+those lads who are fighting out there almost anything. I've got a
+boy in France myself!"
+
+A little sigh escaped him, and then Mr. Marigold remembered "The
+Yard."
+
+"I'll bid you good-day!" he added in his most official voice and
+took his leave.
+
+He walked down the steps by the Duke of York's column and through
+the Horse Guards into Whitehall, seemingly busy with his own
+thoughts. A sprucely dressed gentleman who was engaged in the
+exciting and lucrative sport of war profiteering turned color and
+hastily swerved out towards the Park as he saw the detective
+crossing the Horse Guards' Parade. He was unpleasantly reminded
+of making the acquaintance of Mr. Marigold over a bucketshop a
+few years ago with the result that he had vanished from the eye
+of his friends for eighteen months. He congratulated himself on
+thinking that Mr. Marigold had not seen him, but he would have
+recognized his mistake could he but have caught sight of the
+detective's face. A little smile flitted across Mr. Marigold's
+lips and he murmured to himself:
+
+"Our old friend is looking very prosperous just now. I wonder
+what he's up to?"
+
+Mr. Marigold didn't miss much.
+
+The detective made his way to the Chief's office. Barbara
+Mackwayte, in a simple black frock with white linen collar and
+cuffs, was at her old place in the ante-room. A week had elapsed
+since the murder, and the day before, Mr. Marigold knew, the
+mortal remains of poor old Mackwayte had been laid to rest. He
+was rather surprised to see the girl back at work so soon.
+
+She did not speak to him as she showed him into the Chief, but
+there was a question lurking in her gray eyes.
+
+Mr. Marigold looked at her and gravely shook his head.
+
+"Nothing fresh," he said.
+
+The Chief was unusually exuberant. Mr. Marigold found him
+surrounded, as was his wont, by papers, and a fearsome collection
+of telephone receivers. He listened in silence to Mr. Marigold's
+account of his failure to trace Barling.
+
+"Marigold," he said, when the other had finished, "we must
+undoubtedly lay hold of this fellow. Let's see now... ah! I have
+it!"
+
+He scribbled a few lines on a writing-pad and tossed it across to
+the detective.
+
+"If your friend's innocent," he chuckled, "that'll fetch him to a
+dead certainty. If he murdered Mackwayte, of course he won't
+respond. Read it out and let's hear how it sounds!"
+
+The Chief leaned back in his chair and lit a cigarette while the
+detective read out:
+
+"If Gunner Barling, etcetera, etcetera, will communicate with
+Messrs. Blank and Blank, solicitors, he will hear of something to
+his advantage. Difficulties with the military can be arranged."
+
+"But I say, sir," objected Mr. Marigold, "the military
+authorities will hardly stand for that last, will they?"
+
+"Won't they, by Jove" retorted the Chief grimly. "They will if I
+tell 'em to. No official soullessness for me; thank you! And now,
+Marigold, just ask Matthews to fill in Barling's regimental
+number and all that and the name and address of the solicitors
+who do this kind of thing for us. And tell him we'll insert the
+ad. daily until further notice in the Mail, Chronicle, Daily
+News, Sketch, Mirror, Evening News..."
+
+"And Star," put in Mr. Marigold who had Radical tendencies.
+
+"The Star, too, by all means. That ought to cover the extent of
+your pal's newspaper reading, I fancy, eh, Marigold! Right!"
+
+He held out a hand in farewell. But Mr. Marigold stood his
+ground. He was rather a slow mover, and there were a lot of
+things he wanted to discuss with the Chief.
+
+"I was very sorry to see poor Major Okewood in the casualty list
+this morning, sir," he said. "I was going to ask you..."
+
+"Ah, terrible, terrible!" said the Chief. Then he added:
+
+"Just tell Miss Mackwayte I want her as you go out, will you?"
+
+The detective was used to surprises but the Chief still bowled
+him out occasionally. Before he knew what he was doing, Mr.
+Marigold found himself in the ante-room doing as he was bid.
+
+As soon as her father's funeral was over; Barbara had insisted on
+returning to work. The whole ghastly business of the murder and
+the inquest that followed seemed to her like a bad dream which
+haunted her day and night. By tacit consent no one in the office
+had made any further allusion, to the tragedy. She had just
+slipped back into her little niche, prompt, punctual, efficient
+as ever.
+
+"No, it's not for the letters," the Chief said to her as she came
+in with her notebook and pencil. "I'm going to give you a little
+trip down to the country this afternoon, Miss Mackwayte... to,
+Essex... the Mill House, Wentfield... you know whom it is you are
+to see, eh? I'm getting a little restless as we've had no reports
+since he arrived there. I had hoped, by this, to have been able
+to put him on the track of Nur-el-Din, but, for the moment, it
+looks as if we had lost the scent. But you can tell our friend
+all we know about the lady's antecedents--what we had from my
+French colleague the other day, you know? Let him have all the
+particulars about this Barling case--you know about that, don't
+you? Good, and, see here, try and find out from our mutual friend
+what he intends doing. I don't want to rush him... don't let him
+think that... but I should rather like to discover whether he has
+formed any plan. And now you get along. There's a good train
+about three which gets you down to Wentfield in just under the
+hour. Take care of yourself! See you in the morning!"
+
+Pressing a bell with one hand and lifting up a telephone receiver
+with the other, the Chief immersed himself again in his work. He
+appeared to have forgotten Miss Mackwayte's very existence.
+
+At a quarter to five that evening, Barbara unlatched the front
+gate of the Mill House and walked up the drive. She had come on
+foot from the station and the exercise had done her good. It had
+been a deliciously soft balmy afternoon, but with the fall of
+dusk a heavy mist had come creeping up from the sodden, low-lying
+fields and was spreading out over the neglected garden of Mr.
+Bellward's villa as Barbara entered the avenue.
+
+The damp gloom of the place, however, depressed her not at all.
+She exulted in the change of scene and the fresh air; besides,
+she knew that the presence of Desmond Okewood would dispel the
+vague fears that had hung over her incessantly ever since her
+father's murder. She had only met him twice, she told herself
+when this thought occurred to her, but there was something
+bracing and dependable about him that was just the tonic she
+wanted.
+
+A porter at the station, who was very intelligent as country
+porters go, had told her the way to the Mill House. The way was
+not easy to find for there were various turns to make but, with
+the aid of such landmarks as an occasional inn, a pond or a barn,
+given her by the friendly porter, Barbara reached her
+destination. Under the porch she pulled the handle of the bell,
+all dank and glistening with moisture, and heard it tinkle loudly
+somewhere within the house.
+
+How lonely the place was, thought Barbara with a little shiver!
+The fog was growing thicker every minute and now seemed suspended
+like a vast curtain between her and the drive. Somewhere in the
+distance she heard the hollow gurgling of a stream. Otherwise,
+there was no sound.
+
+She rang the bell again rather nervously and waited. In her bag
+she had a little torch-light (for she was a practical young
+person), and taking it out, she flashed it on the door. It
+presented a stolid, impenetrable oaken front. She stepped out
+into the fog and scanned the windows which were already almost
+lost to view. They were dark and forbidding.
+
+Again she tugged at the bell. Again, with a groaning of wires,
+responded the hollow tinkle. Then silence fell once more. Barbara
+began to get alarmed. What had happened to Major Okewood? She had
+understood that there was no question of his leaving the house
+until the Chief gave him the word. Where, then, was he? He was
+not the man to disobey an order. Rather than believe that, she
+would think that something untoward had befallen him. Had there
+been foul play here, too?
+
+A sudden panic seized her. She grasped the bell and tugged and
+tugged until she could tug no more. The bell jangled and pealed
+and clattered reverberatingly from the gloomy house, and then,
+with a jarring of wires, relapsed into silence. Barbara beat on
+the door with her hands, for there was no knocker; but all
+remained still within. Only the dank mist swirled in ever denser
+about her as she stood beneath the dripping porch.
+
+"This won't do!" said Barbara, pulling herself together. "I
+mustn't get frightened, whatever I do! Major Okewood is very well
+capable of defending himself. What's happened is that the man has
+been called away and the servants have taken advantage of his
+absence to go out! Barbara, my dear, you'll just have to foot it
+back to the station without your tea!"
+
+She turned her back on the door and torch in hand, plunged
+resolutely into the fog-bank. The mist was bewilderingly thick.
+Still, by going slow and always keeping the gravel under her
+feet, she reached the front gate and turned out on the road.
+
+Here the mist was worse than ever. She had not taken four paces
+before she had lost all sense of her direction. The gate, the
+railways, were gone. She was groping in a clinging pall of fog.
+
+Her torch was worse than useless. It only illuminated swirling
+swathes of mist and confused her, so she switched it out. In vain
+she looked about her, trying to pick up some landmark to guide
+her. There was no light, no tree, no house visible, nothing but
+the dank, ghostly mist.
+
+To some temperaments, Nature has no terrors. Barbara, to whose
+imagination an empty house at dusk had suggested all kinds of
+unimaginable fears, was not in the least frightened by the fog.
+She only hoped devoutly that a motor-car or a trap would not come
+along behind and run her down for she was obliged to keep to the
+road; the hard surface beneath her feet was her only guide.
+
+She smiled over her predicament as she made her way along. She
+frequently found herself going off the road, more than once into
+patches of water, with the result that in a few minutes her feet
+were sopping. Still she forged ahead, with many vain halts to
+reconnoitre while the fog, instead of lifting, seemed to thicken
+with every step she took.
+
+By this time she knew she was completely lost. Coming from the
+station there had been, she remembered, a cross-roads with a
+sign-board set up on a grass patch, about a quarter of a mile
+from the Mill House. She expected every minute to come upon this
+fork; again and again she swerved out to the left from her line
+of march groping for the sign-post with her hands but she never
+encountered it.
+
+Few sounds came to break in upon the oppressive silence of the
+mist. Once or twice Barbara heard a train roaring along in the
+distance and, at one of her halts, her ear caught the high rising
+note of a motor engine a long way off. Except for these
+occasional reminders of the proximity of human beings, she felt
+she must be on a desert island instead of less than two score
+miles from London.
+
+Her wrist watch showed her that she had walked for an hour when
+she heard a dog barking somewhere on the left of the road.
+Presently, she saw a blurred patch of radiance apparently on the
+ground in front of her. So deceptive are lights seen through a
+fog that she was quite taken aback suddenly to come upon a long
+low house with a great beam of light streaming out of the door.
+
+The house was approached by a little bridge across a broad ditch.
+By the bridge stood a tall, massive post upon which a sign
+squeaked softly as it swayed to and fro. The inn was built round
+three sides of a square, the left-hand side being the house
+itself, the centre, the kitchen, and the right-hand side a
+tumble-down stable and some sheds.
+
+The welcome blaze of light coming from the open door was very
+welcome to Barbara after her, long journey through the mist. She
+dragged her wet and weary feet across the little bridge and went
+up to the inn-door.
+
+She stood for a moment at the entrance dazzled by the effect of
+the light on her eyes, which were smarting with the fog. She
+found herself looking into a long, narrow, taproom, smelling of
+stale beer and tobacco fumes, and lit by oil lamps suspended in
+wire frames from the raftered ceiling. The windows were curtained
+in cheerful red rep and the place was pleasantly warmed by a
+stove in one corner. By the stove was a small door apparently
+leading into the bar, for beside it was a window through which
+Barbara caught a glimpse of beer-engines and rows of bottles.
+Opposite the doorway in which she stood was another door leading
+probably to the back of the house. Down the centre of the room
+ran a long table.
+
+The tap-room was empty when Barbara entered but as she sat down
+at the table, the door opposite opened, and a short,
+foreign-looking woman came out. She stepped dead on seeing the
+girl: Her face seemed familiar to Barbara.
+
+"Good evening" said the latter, "I've lost my way in the fog and
+I'm very wet. Do you think I could have my shoes and stockings
+dried and get some tea? I..."
+
+"A moment! I go to tell Meester Rass," said the woman with a very
+marked foreign accent and in a frightened kind of voice and
+slipped out by the way she came.
+
+"Where have I met that woman before?" Barbara asked herself, as
+she crossed to tile stove to get warm. The woman's face seemed to
+be connected in her mind with something unpleasant, something she
+wanted to forget. Then a light dawned on her. Why, it was...
+
+A shrill cry broke in upon her meditations, a harsh scream of
+rage. Barbara turned quickly and saw Nur-el-Din standing in the
+centre of the room. She was transfigured with passion. Her whole
+body quivered, her nostrils were dilated, her eyes flashed fire,
+and she pointed an accusing finger at Barbara.
+
+"Ah! miserable!" she cried in a voice strangled with rage, "ah!
+miserable! Te voile enrol."
+
+A cold chill struck at Barbara's heart. Wherever she went, the
+hideous spectre of the tragedy of her father seemed to follow
+her. And now Nur-el-Din had come to upbraid her with losing the
+treasure she had entrusted to her.
+
+"Nur-el-Din," the girl faltered in a voice broken with tears.
+
+"Where is it I Where is the silver box I gave into your charge?
+Answer me. Mais reponds, donc, canaille!"
+
+The dancer stamped furiously with her foot and advanced
+menacingly on Barbara.
+
+An undersized; yellow-faced man came quickly out of the small
+door leading from the bar and stood an instant, a helpless
+witness of the scene, as men are when women quarrel.
+
+Nur-el-Din rapped out an order to him in a tongue which was
+unknown to Barbara. It sounded something like Russian. The man
+turned and locked the door of the bar, then stepped swiftly
+across the room and bolted the outer door.
+
+Barbara recognized the threat that the action implied and it
+served to steady her nerves. She shrank back no longer but drew
+herself up and waited calmly for the dancer to reach her.
+
+"The box you gave me," said Barbara very quietly, "was stolen
+from me by the person who... who murdered my father!"
+
+Nur-el-Din burst into a peal of malicious laughter.
+
+"And you?" she cried, "you are 'ere to sell it back to me, hein,
+or to get your blood money from your accomplice? Which is it?"
+
+On this Barbara's self-control abandoned her.
+
+"Oh, how dare you! How dare you!" she exclaimed, bursting into
+tears, "when that wretched box you made me take was the means of
+my losing the dearest friend I ever had!"
+
+Nur-el-Din thrust her face, distorted with passion, into
+Barbara's. She spoke in rapid French, in a low, menacing voice.
+
+"Do you think this play-acting will deceive me? Do you think I
+don't know the value of the treasure I was fool enough to entrust
+to your safe keeping? Grand Dieu! I must have been mad not to
+have remembered that no woman could resist the price that they
+were willing to pay for it! And to think what I have risked for
+it! Is all my sacrifice to have been in vain?"
+
+Her voice rose to a note of pleading and the tears started from
+her eyes. Her mood changed. She began to wheedle.
+
+"Come, ma petite, you will help me recover my little box,
+n'est-ce pas? You will find me generous. And I am rich, I have
+great savings. I can..."
+
+Barbara put up her hands and pushed the dancer away from her.
+
+"After what you have said to me to-night," she said, "I wouldn't
+give you back your box even if I had it."
+
+She turned to the man.
+
+"Will you tell me the way to the nearest station" she went on,
+"and kindly open that door!"
+
+The man looked interrogatively at Nur-el-Din who spoke a few
+words rapidly in the language she had used before. Then she cried
+to Barbara:
+
+"You stay here until you tell me what you have done with the
+box!"
+
+Barbara had turned to the dancer when the latter spoke so that
+she did not notice that the man had moved stealthily towards her.
+Before she could struggle or cry out, a hand as big as a spade
+was clapped over her mouth, she was seized in an iron grip and
+half-dragged, half-carried out of the taproom through the small
+door opposite the front entrance.
+
+The door slammed behind them and Barbara found herself in
+darkness. She was pushed round a corner and down a flight of
+stairs into some kind of cellar which smelt of damp straw. Here
+the grip on her mouth was released for a second but before she
+could utter more than a muffled cry the man thrust a handkerchief
+into her mouth and effectually gagged her. Then he tied her hands
+and feet together with some narrow ropes that cut her wrists
+horribly. He seemed to be able to see in the dark for, though the
+place was black as pitch, he worked swiftly and skillfully.
+Barbara felt herself lifted and deposited on a bundle of straw.
+In a little she heard the man's heavy foot-step on the stair,
+there was a crash as of a trap-door falling to, the noise of a
+bolt. Then Barbara fainted.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XV. MR. BELLWARD IS CALLED TO THE TELEPHONE
+
+A knocking at the door of the library aroused Desmond from his
+cogitations. He hastened to replace the volumes of Shakespeare on
+their shelf and restore all to its former appearance. Then he
+went to the door and opened it. Old Martha stood in the hall.
+
+"If you please, sir," she wheezed, "the doctor's come!"
+
+"Oh," said Desmond, rather puzzled, "what doctor?"
+
+"It's not Dr. Haines from the village, Mr. Bellward, sir," said
+the housekeeper, "It's a genel'man from Lunnon!"
+
+Then Desmond remembered Crook's promise to look him up and
+guessed it must be he. He bade Martha show the doctor in and
+bring tea for two.
+
+Desmond's surmise was right. The old woman ushered in Crook,
+looking the very pattern of medical respectability, with Harley
+Street written all over him from the crown of his glossy top-hat
+to the neat brown spats on his feet. In his hand he carried a
+small black bag.
+
+"Well," he said, surveying Desmond, "and how do we find ourselves
+to-day? These chills are nasty things to shake off, my dear sir!"
+
+"Oh, stow that!" growled Desmond, who was in little mood for
+joking.
+
+"Voice inclined to be laryngeal," said Crook putting down his hat
+and bag on a chair, "we shall have to take care of our bronchial
+tubes! We are not so young as we were!"
+
+"You can drop all that mumming, Crook!" snapped Desmond
+irascibly.
+
+"Voice rotten," replied Crook calmly surveying him through his
+pince-nez. "Really, Major--I should say, Mr. Bellward--you must
+take more pains than that. You are talking to me exactly as
+though I were a British Tommy. Tut, tut, this will never do, sir!
+You must talk thicker, more guttural-like, and open the vowels
+well."
+
+He had dropped his jesting manner altogether and spoke with the
+deep earnestness of the expert airing his pet topic. He was so
+serious that Desmond burst out laughing. It must be said,
+however, that he laughed as much like a German as he knew how.
+This appeared to mollify Crook who, nevertheless, read him a long
+lecture against ever, for a moment, even when alone, quitting the
+role he was playing. Desmond took it in good part; for he knew
+the soundness of the other's advice.
+
+Then old Martha brought tea, and over the cups and saucers Crook
+gave Desmond a budget of news. He told of the warrant issued for
+the arrest of Nur-el-Din and of the search being made for her.
+
+Desmond heard the news of Nur-el-Din's disappearance from London
+with some consternation. He began to realize that his failure to
+detain Nur-el-Din that afternoon might have incalculable
+consequences. Sunk in thought, he let Crook run on. He was
+wondering whether he ought to give him a message for the Chief,
+telling him of Nur-el-Din's visit and of her flight on the
+arrival of Mortimer.
+
+Now, Desmond had a good deal of pride, and like most proud
+people, he was inclined to be obstinate. To confess to the Chief
+that he had let both Nur-el-Din and Mortimer slip through his
+fingers was more than he could face. He could not bear to think
+that the Chief might believe him capable of failure, and take
+independent measures to guard against possible mistakes. Also, in
+his heart of hearts, Desmond was angry with the Chief. He thought
+the latter had acted precipitately in getting out a warrant for
+Nur-el-Din's arrest before he, Desmond, had had time to get into
+the skin of his part.
+
+So Desmond heard Crook out and made no comment. When the other
+asked him if he had anything to tell the Chief, he shook his
+head. He was not to know then the consequences which his
+disobedience of orders was destined to have. If he had realized
+what the result of his obstinacy would be, he would not have
+hesitated to send a full report by Crook--and this story might
+never have been written!
+
+But if youth followed reason instead of impulse, the world would
+stand still. Desmond was still at an age at which a man is
+willing to take on anything and anybody, and he was confident of
+bringing his mission to a successful conclusion without any
+extraneous aid. So Crook, after changing Desmond's make-up and
+giving him a further rehearsal of his role, packed up his pots
+and paints and brushes in his black bag and returned to London
+with "nothing to report" as the communiques say.
+
+He repeated his visit every day for the next four days. Crook's
+arrival each afternoon was the only break in the monotony of a
+life which was rapidly becoming unbearable to Desmond's mercurial
+temperament. He found himself looking forward to the wizened
+little man's visits and for want of better employment, he threw
+himself wholeheartedly into the study of his role under the
+expert's able direction. Desmond's beard had sprouted
+wonderfully, and Crook assured him that, by about the end of the
+week, the tow substitute, which Desmond found a most unmitigated
+nuisance, would be no longer necessary. He also showed his pupil
+how to paint in the few deft lines about the eyes which completed
+the resemblance between Bellward and his impersonator.
+
+The time hung terribly heavily on Desmond's hands. He had long
+since memorized and destroyed the list of Mr. Bellward's friends.
+Every morning he spent at least an hour before the mirror in his
+bedroom working up the role. With every day he felt more
+confident of himself; with every day he grew more anxious to go
+to London, and, taking the bull by the horns, boldly visit one of
+Mr. Bellward's acquaintances and test the effect of his disguise.
+
+But no orders came from Headquarters to release him from his
+confinement. Moreover, no word arrived from Nur-el-Din nor did
+Mortimer send any message or call again at the Mill House. The
+silence of the two conspirators made Desmond uneasy. Suppose
+Mortimer, who, he felt sure, had caught him out lying about
+Nur-el-Din's presence in the house at the time of his visit, had
+grown suspicious! What if Nur-el-Din had succeeded in making good
+her escape to the Continent? He had had his chance of laying hold
+of both suspects and he had failed. Would that chance come again?
+
+Desmond doubted it. Every morning he awoke long before the dawn
+and lay awake until daylight, his mind racked by these
+apprehensions. He chafed bitterly at his inaction and he plied
+Crook with questions as to whether he had any orders for him.
+Each time Crook replied in the negative.
+
+In the library Desmond found an Ordnance map of Essex. His
+military training had given him a good schooling in the use of
+maps, and he spent many hours studying the section of the country
+about the Mill House, seeking to impress it upon his mind against
+future emergencies.
+
+He was surprised to find how remote the Mill House lay from other
+habitations. Between it and Wentfield station, once Wentfield
+village was passed, there were only a few lonely farms; but to
+the south there was an absolutely uninhabited tract of fen
+traversed by the road running past the front gate of the Mill
+House. The Mill House was duly marked on the map; with a little
+blue line showing the millrace which Desmond traced to its
+junction with one of the broad dykes intersecting Morstead Fen.
+The only inhabited house to the south of the Bellward villa
+appeared to be a lonely public house situated on the far edge of
+the fen, a couple of hundred yards away from the road. It was
+called "The Dyke Inn."
+
+One afternoon--it was the fifth day after Desmond's arrival at
+Bellward's--Mr. Crook announced that this was to be his last
+visit.
+
+"I go abroad to-night, Mr. Bellward," he said (he always insisted
+on addressing Desmond by his assumed name), "a little job o' work
+in Switzerland; at Berne, to be precise. Urgent, you might call
+it, and really, sir, you've made so much progress that I think I
+can safely leave you. And I was to say that you will be able to
+go out very soon now."
+
+"Good!" exclaimed Desmond, rubbing his hands together. "And you
+think I'll do, Crook, eh?"
+
+Crook rubbed his nose meditatively.
+
+"I'll be quite frank with you, Mr. Bellward," he said: "With a
+superficial acquaintance, even with an intimate friend, if he's
+as unobservant as most people are, you'll pass muster. But I
+shouldn't like to guarantee anything if you were to meet, say,
+Mrs. Bellward, if the gentleman has got a wife, or his mother.
+Keep out of a strong light; don't show your profile more than you
+can help, and remember that a woman is a heap more observant than
+a man.
+
+"That's my advice to you, sir. And now I'll take my leave! You
+won't want that tow beard any more after to-day."
+
+That night Desmond slept well and did not awake until the
+sunshine was streaming in between the Venetian blinds in his
+bedroom. He felt keen and vigorous, and he had an odd feeling
+that something was going to happen to him that day.
+
+It was a delicious morning, the air as balmy as spring. As he
+brushed his hair in front of the window, Desmond saw the peewits
+running about in the sunshine on the fields by the road. He made
+an excellent breakfast and then, lighting a pipe, opened the
+Times which lay folded by his plate.
+
+He turned first, as was his daily habit, to the casualty list.
+There it was! Under the names of the "Killed in Action," he read:
+"Okewood, Major D. J. P.," followed by the name of his regiment.
+It gave him an odd little shock, though he had looked for the
+announcement every day; but the feeling of surprise was quickly
+followed by one of relief. That brief line in the casualty list
+meant the severing of all the old ties until he had hunted down
+his quarry.
+
+Now he was ready to start.
+
+He spent the morning in the garden. Here, for the first time, he
+met Mr. Hill, the odd man, who, on seeing him, became intensely
+busy picking up handfuls of leaves and conveying them to a fire
+which was smouldering in a corner. Desmond essayed to enter into
+conversation with him but the man was so impenetrably deaf that
+Desmond, tiring of bawling, "It's a fine day!" in Mr. Hill's ear,
+left him and strolled over to the shed where the motor-cycle was
+stored. Here he amused himself for more than an hour in taking
+the machine to pieces and putting it together again. He satisfied
+himself that the bike was in working order and filled up the
+tank. He had an idea that this means of conveyance might come in
+useful.
+
+The day was so mild that he lunched by the open window with the
+sunshine casting rainbows on the tablecloth through the
+wine-glasses. He was just finishing his coffee when the
+housekeeper came in and told him he was wanted on the telephone.
+
+Desmond sprang from his chair with alacrity. His marching orders
+at last! he thought, as he hurried across the hall to the
+library.
+
+"Hullo!" he cried as he picked up the receiver.
+
+"Is that Mr. Bellward?" answered a nasal voice.
+
+"Bellward speaking!" said Desmond, wondering who had called him
+up. The voice was a man's but it was not the abrupt clear tones
+of the Chief nor yet Mr. Matthews' careful accents.
+
+"Madame Le Bon wishes to see you!"
+
+Madame Le Bon? thought Desmond. Why, that was the name that
+Nur-el-Din had given him. "I am Madame Le Bon, a Belgian
+refugee," she had said.
+
+"Do you know whom I mean?" the voice continued.
+
+"Certainly," replied Desmond.  "You will come alone. Otherwise,
+Madame will not see you. You understand? If you do not come
+alone, you will waste your time!"
+
+"Where are you speaking from?" Desmond asked.
+
+"If you will turn to the left on leaving your front gate," the
+voice resumed, "and follow the road, a messenger will meet you
+and take you to the lady."
+
+"But..." Desmond began.
+
+"Will you come at once? And alone?" the nasal voice broke in
+sharply.
+
+Desmond took a moment's thought. To go was to disobey orders; not
+to go was to risk losing a second chance of meeting Nur-el-Din.
+To telephone to 700 Stanning for assistance would bring a
+hornets' nest about his ears; yet he might only see the dancer if
+he went alone. He lost no time in making up his mind. The Chief
+must allow him latitude for meeting emergencies of this kind. He
+would go.
+
+"I will come at once," said Desmond.
+
+"Good," said the voice and the communication ceased.
+
+Somewhere aloft there sits a sweet little cherub whose especial
+job is to look after the headstrong. It was doubtless this
+emissary of providence that leant down from his celestial seat
+and whispered in Desmond's ear that it would be delightful to
+walk out across the fen on this sunny afternoon. Desmond was in
+the act of debating whether he would not take the motor-bike, but
+the cherub's winning way clinched it and he plumped for walking.
+
+In the hall he met the housekeeper who told him she wanted to go
+into Stanning to do some shopping that afternoon. Desmond told
+her that he himself was going out and would not be back for tea.
+Then, picking a stout blackthorn out of the hallstand, he strode
+down the drive and out into the road.
+
+It was still beautifully fine, but already the golden sunshine
+was waning and there were little wisps and curls of mist stealing
+low along the fields. Desmond turned to the left, on leaving the
+Mill House, as he was bid and saw the road running like a khaki
+ribbon before him into the misty distance.
+
+Swinging his stick, he strode on rapidly. The road was neglected,
+broken and flinty and very soft. After he had gone about a mile
+it narrowed to pursue its way between two broad ditches lined
+with pollard willows and brimful of brown peaty water. By this
+time he judged, from his recollection of the map, that he must be
+on Morstead Fen. An interminable waste of sodden, emerald green
+fields, intersected by ditches, stretched away on either hand.
+
+He had walked for half an hour when he made out in the distance a
+clump of trees standing apart and seemingly in the middle of the
+fields. Then in the foreground he descried a gate. A figure was
+standing by it.
+
+As he approached the gate he saw it was a small boy. On remarking
+the stranger, the urchin opened the gate and without looking to
+right or left led off down the road towards the clump of trees:
+Desmond followed at his leisure.
+
+As they neared the trees, the low red roof of a house detached
+itself. By this time the sun was sinking in a smear of red across
+a delicately tinted sky. Its dying rays held some glittering
+object high up on the side of the house.
+
+At first Desmond thought it was a window, but presently the light
+went out, kindled again and once more vanished. It was too small
+for a window, Desmond decided, and then, turning the matter over
+in his mind, as observant people are accustomed to do even with
+trifles, he suddenly realized that the light he had seen was the
+reflection of the sun on a telescope or glasses.
+
+They were now within a few hundred yards of the house. The road
+had made a right angle turn to the left, but the diminutive guide
+had quitted it and struck out along a very muddy cart track.
+Shading his eyes, Desmond gazed at the house and presently got a
+glimpse of a figure at a window surveying the road through a pair
+of field glasses. Even as he looked, the figure bobbed down and
+did not reappear.
+
+"They want to be sure I'm alone," thought Desmond, and
+congratulated himself on having had the strength of mind to break
+his orders.
+
+The cart-track led up to a little bridge over a ditch. By the
+bridge stood a tall pole, on the top of which was a blue and gold
+painted sign-board inscribed, "The Dyke Inn by J. Rass." The
+urchin led him across the bridge and up to the door of the inn.
+
+An undersized, yellow-faced man, wearing neither collar nor tie,
+came to the door as they approached. Although of short stature,
+he was immensely broad with singularly long arms. Altogether he
+had something of the figure of a gorilla, Desmond thought on
+looking at him.
+
+The man put a finger up and touched his forelock.
+
+"Madame Le Bon is upstairs waiting for you!" he said in a nasal
+voice which Desmond recognized as that he had heard on the
+telephone. "Please to follow me!"
+
+He led the way across a long low tap-room through a door and past
+the open trap-door of a cellar to a staircase. On the first
+landing, lit by a window looking out on a dreary expanse of fen,
+he halted Desmond.
+
+"That's her room," he said, pointing to a door opposite the head
+of the staircase, half a dozen steps up, and so saying, the
+yellow-faced man walked quickly downstairs and left him. Desmond
+heard his feet echo on the staircase and the door of the tap-room
+slam.
+
+He hesitated a moment. What if this were a trap? Suppose
+Mortimer, growing suspicious, had made use of Nur-el-Din to lure
+him to an ambush in this lonely place? Why the devil hadn't he
+brought a revolver with him?
+
+Then Desmond's Irish blood came to his rescue. He gave his head a
+little shake, took a firm hold of his stick which was a stoutish
+sort of cudgel and striding boldly up to the door indicated,
+tapped.
+
+"Entrez!" said a pretty voice that made Desmond's heart flutter.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVI. THE STAR OF POLAND
+
+The room in which Desmond found Nur-el-Din was obviously the
+parlor of the house. Everything in it spoke of that dreary period
+in art, the middle years of the reign of Victoria the Good. The
+wall-paper, much mildewed in places, was an ugly shade of green
+and there were dusty and faded red curtains at the windows and
+draping the fireplace. Down one side of the room ran a hideous
+mahogany sideboard, almost as big as a railway station buffet,
+with a very dirty tablecloth. The chairs were of mahogany,
+upholstered in worn black horsehair and there were two pairs of
+fly-blown steel engravings of the largest size on the wall. In
+the centre of the apartment stood a small round table, covered
+with a much stained red tablecloth and there was a door in the
+corner.
+
+The dainty beauty of Nur-el-Din made a very forlorn picture amid
+the unmatched savagery of this English interior. The dancer, who
+was wearing the same becoming gray tweed suit in which Desmond
+had last seen her, was sitting sorrowfully at the table when
+Desmond entered. At the sight of him she sprang up and ran to
+meet him with outstretched hands.
+
+"Ah!" she cried, "comme je suis heureuse de vous voir! It is good
+of you to come!"
+
+And then, without any warning, she burst into tears and putting
+her hands on the man's shoulders, hid her head against his chest
+and sobbed bitterly.
+
+Desmond took one of her hands, small and soft and warm, and
+gently disengaged her. His mind was working clearly and rapidly.
+He felt sure of himself, sure of his disguise; if this were an
+exhibition of woman's wiles, it would find him proof; on that he
+was resolved. Yet, dissolved in tears as she was, with her long
+lashes glistening and her mouth twitching pitifully, the dancer
+seemed to touch a chord deep down in his heart.
+
+"Come, come," said Desmond gutturally, with a touch of bonhomie
+in his voice in keeping with his ample girth, "you mustn't give
+way like this, my child! What's amiss? Come, sit down here and
+tell me what's the matter."
+
+He made her resume her seat by the table and pulled up one of the
+horsehair chairs for himself. Nur-el-Din wiped her eyes on a tiny
+lace handkerchief, but continued to sob and shudder at intervals.
+
+"Marie, my maid," she said in French in a broken voice, "joined
+me here to-day. She has told me of this dreadful murder!"
+
+Desmond stiffened to attention. His mind swiftly reverted to the
+last woman he had seen cry, to Barbara Mackwayte discovering the
+loss of the package entrusted to her charge by the woman who sat
+before him.
+
+"What murder?" he asked, striving to banish any trace of interest
+from his voice. He loathed the part he had to play. The dancer's
+distress struck him as genuine.
+
+"The murder of Monsieur Mackwayte," said Nur-el-Din, and her
+tears broke forth anew.
+
+"I have read of this in the newspapers," said Desmond. "I
+remember you told me he was a friend of yours."
+
+Briefly, with many sobs, the dancer told him of the silver box
+which she had entrusted to Barbara Mackwayte's charge.
+
+"And now," she sobbed, "it is lost and all my sacrifice, all my
+precautions, have been in vain!"
+
+"But how?" asked Desmond. "Why should you think this box should
+have been taken? From what I remember reading of this case in the
+English newspapers there was a burglary at the house, but the
+thief has been arrested and the property restored. You have only
+to ask this Miss--what was the name? ah! yes, Mackwayte for your
+box and she will restore it!"
+
+"No, no!" Nur-el-Din answered wearily, "you don't understand.
+This was no burglary. The man who murdered Monsieur Arthur
+murdered him to get my silver box."
+
+"But," objected Desmond, "a silver box! What value has a trifling
+object like that? My dear young lady, murder is not done for a
+silver box!"
+
+"No, no," Nur-el-Din repeated, "you don't understand! You don't
+know what that box contained!"
+
+Then she relapsed into silence, plucking idly at the shred of
+cambric she held between her fingers.
+
+Already dusk was falling and the room was full of shadows. The
+golden radiance of the afternoon had died and eerie wraiths of
+fog were peering-in at the window.
+
+Desmond held his peace. He felt he was on the threshold of a
+confession that might rend the veil of mystery surrounding the
+murder at Seven Kings. He stared fixedly at the ugly red
+tablecloth, conscious that the big eyes of the girl were
+searching his face.
+
+"You have honest eyes," she said presently. "I told you that once
+before... that night we met at your house... do you remember?
+Your eyes are English. But you are a German, hein?"
+
+"My mother was Irish," said Desmond and felt a momentary relief
+that, for once, he had been able to speak the truth.
+
+"I want a friend," the girl resumed wearily, "someone that I can
+trust. But I look around and I find no one. You serve the German
+Empire, do you not?"
+
+Desmond bowed.
+
+"But not the House of Hohenzollern?" the girl cried, her voice
+trembling with passion.
+
+"I am not of the Emperor's personal service, if that is what you
+mean, madame," Desmond returned coldly.
+
+"Then, since you are not altogether an iron Prussian," Nur-el-Din
+resumed eagerly, "you can differentiate. You can understand that
+there is a difference between working for the cause of Germany
+and for the personal business of her princes."
+
+"But certainly," answered Desmond, "I am not an errand boy nor
+yet a detective. I regard myself as a German officer doing his
+duty on the front. We have many fronts besides the Western and
+the Eastern. England is one.
+
+"Ah," exclaimed the girl, clasping her hands together and looking
+at him with enraptured eyes, "I see you understand! My friend, I
+am much tempted to make a confidant of you!"
+
+Desmond looked at her but did not speak. Again he felt that
+silence was now his only role. He tried hard to fix his mind on
+his duty; but the man in him was occupied with the woman who
+looked so appealingly at him.
+
+"... but if I do," the girl went on and her voice was hurried and
+anxious, "you must swear to me that you will respect my
+confidence, that you will not betray me to the others and that
+you will, if need be, protect me."
+
+Seeing that Desmond remained silent, she hastened to add:
+
+"Believe me, what I ask you to do is not in opposition to your
+duty. My friend, for all my surroundings, I am not what I seem.
+Fate has drawn me into the system of which you form part; but,
+believe me, I know nothing of the service to which you and
+Mortimer and the rest belong!"
+
+She spoke with painful earnestness and in a tone so mournful that
+Desmond felt himself profoundly moved. "If only she is not
+acting!" he thought, and sought to shake himself free from the
+spell which this girl seemed able to cast about him at will.
+
+"Promise me that you will respect my confidence and help me!" she
+said and held out her hand.
+
+Desmond's big hand closed about hers and he felt an odd thrill of
+sympathy with her as their hands met.
+
+"I promise!" he said and murmured to himself something very like
+a prayer that he might not be called upon to redeem his word.
+
+She let her eyes rest for a moment on his.
+
+"Be careful!" she urged warningly, while the ghost of a smile
+flitted across her face. "Very soon I may call upon you to make
+good your words!"
+
+"I promise!" he repeated--and his eyes never left hers.
+
+"Then," she cried passionately, "find out who has stolen for the
+Crown Prince the Star of Poland at the price of the life of a
+harmless old man!"
+
+"The Star of Poland!" repeated Desmond. "What is the Star of
+Poland?"
+
+The girl drew herself up proudly and there was a certain dignity
+about her manner as she answered.
+
+"I am a Pole," she said, "and to us Poles, the Star of Poland has
+stood for centuries as a pledge of the restoration of our
+long-lost kingdom. It was the principal jewel of the Polish
+Coronation sword which vanished many hundreds of years ago--in
+the thirteenth century, one of my compatriots once told me--and
+it was one of the most treasured national possessions in the
+Chateau of our great king, John Sobieski at Villanoff, outside
+Warsaw. My friend, I am not religious, and since my childhood I
+have renounced the ancient faith of my fathers, but, when I think
+of the extraordinary chain of circumstances by which this
+treasure came into my possession, I almost believe that God has
+chosen me to restore this gem to the King of an independent
+Poland.
+
+"Four years ago I was in the United States, a very humble dancer
+in vaudeville of the third or fourth class. When I was appearing
+at Columbus, Ohio, I met a German, a man who had been an officer
+in the Prussian Guard but had come to grief and had been forced
+to emigrate.
+
+"This man's name was Hans von Schornbeek. Like so many German
+officers who go to America, in his time he had been
+everything--waiter, lift-man, engine-driver and heaven knows what
+else, but when I met him he was apparently well-off. It was only
+later on that I knew he was one of your principal secret agents
+in America.
+
+"He praised my talents highly and offered to furnish the capital
+to start me as an Oriental dancer with a large company of my own.
+There was only one condition attaching to his offer, a condition,
+ma foi! which was not disagreeable to me. It was that, after six
+months tour in the States and Canada, I should go to Brussels and
+settle down there in a house that Herr von Schornbeek would
+present me with.
+
+"Mon ami, in those days, I understood nothing at all of
+diplomacy. I knew only that I was often hungry and that I had a
+little talent which, were it given a chance, might keep me from
+want. Herr von Schornbeek fulfilled his promises to me. I had my
+company, I did my tour of America and Canada with great success
+and finally I came to Europe and made my debut at Brussels.
+
+"I knew Brussels already from the old days. As a half-starved,
+unhappy child with a troupe of acrobats, I had often appeared
+there. But now I came to Brussels as a conqueror. A beautiful
+villa in the suburb of Laeken was ready to receive me and I found
+that a large credit had been opened in my name at one of the
+principal banks so that I could keep open house.
+
+"I think I scarcely realized then the role that I was destined to
+fill by the German Secret Service. In all my life before, I had
+never been happy, I had never ceased to struggle for my bare
+existence, I had never had pretty clothes to wear, and motor-cars
+and servants of my own."
+
+She paused and glanced around her. The room was almost dark; the
+fog outside hung like a veil before the window.
+
+"Light the lamp!" she begged, "I do not like the dark!"
+
+Desmond struck a match and kindled an oil lamp, which stood on
+the sideboard.
+
+"Ah! my friend," the girl resumed. "I took my fill of life with
+both hands. The year was 1913. Now I know that I was one of the
+German agents for the penetration of Belgium in preparation of
+what was coming. My mission was to make friends among the
+Belgians and the French and the cosmopolitan society of Brussels
+generally, and invite them to my house where your people were
+waiting to deal with them.
+
+"My pretty villa became the rendezvous for half the rascals of
+Europe, men and women, who used to meet there with all kinds of
+mysterious Germans. Sometimes there was a scandal. Once a Belgian
+Colonel was found shot in the billiard-room; they said it was
+suicide and the thing was hushed up, but dame! now that I know
+what I know...
+
+"Enfin! I shut my eyes to it all... it was none of my business...
+and I revelled in my robes, my dancing, my new life of luxury!
+
+"And then the war came. I was at Laeken, resting after a visit to
+Rome. There was a lot of talk about the war amongst the people
+who came to my house, but I did not see how it could affect me,
+an artiste, and I never read the newspapers. My German friends
+assured me that, in a little while, the German army would be at
+Brussels; that, if I remained quietly at home, all would be well.
+They were very elated and confident, these German friends of
+mine. And rightly; for within a few weeks the Germans entered the
+city and a General quartered himself in my villa. It was he who
+brought the Crown Prince to see me.
+
+"Mon cher, you know this young man and his reputation. I am not
+excusing myself; but all my life had been spent up to then in the
+bas-fonds of society. I had never known what it was to be courted
+and admired by one who had the world at his feet. Parbleu! one
+does not meet a future Emperor every day!
+
+"Enfin! the Prince carried me with him back to Metz, where he had
+his headquarters. He was very epris with me, but you know his
+temperament! No woman can hold him for more than a few weeks,
+vain and weak and arrogant as he is. But pardon! I was forgetting
+that you are a good German. I fear I offend your
+susceptibilities..."
+
+Desmond laughed drily.
+
+"Madame," he said, "I hope I have preserved sufficient liberty of
+judgment to have formed my own opinion about our future
+sovereign. Most Germans have..."
+
+"Alors," she broke in fiercely, her voice shaking with passion,
+"you know what an ignoble canaille is this young man, without
+even enough decency of feeling to respect the troops of whom he
+has demanded such bloody sacrifices. At Metz we were near enough
+to the fighting to realize the blood and tears of this war. But
+the Prince thought of nothing, but his own amusement. To live as
+he did, within sound of the guns, with parties every night, women
+and dancing and roulette and champagne suppers--bah! c'etait trop
+fort! It awakened in me the love of country which lies dormant in
+all of us. I wanted to help my country, lest I might sink as low
+as he..."
+
+"One day the Prince brought a young officer friend of his to dine
+with me. This officer had come from the Eastern front and had
+been present at the capture of Warsaw. After dinner he took a
+leather case out of his pocket and said to the Prince: 'I have
+brought your Imperial Highness a little souvenir from Poland!' As
+he spoke he touched a spring and the case flew open, displaying
+an enormous diamond, nearly as big as the great Orloff diamond
+which I have seen at Petrograd, surrounded by five other
+brilliants, the whole set like a star.
+
+"'The Star of Poland,' said the young officer (the Prince called
+him 'Erich;' I never heard his full name), 'it comes from the
+long-lost Coronation sword of the Polish kings. I took it for
+your Imperial Highness from the Chateau of John Sobieski at
+Villanoff.
+
+"I could not take my eyes off the gem. As the Prince held it down
+under the lamp to study it, it shone like an electric light. I
+had met many of my fellow countrymen in America and I had often
+heard of this jewel, famous in our unhappy history.
+
+"The Prince, who was gay with champagne, laughed and said:
+
+"'These lousy Poles will have no further use for this pretty
+trinket, thanks to our stout German blows, will they, Erich?'
+
+"And his friend replied:
+
+"'We'll give them a nice new German constitution instead, your
+Imperial Highness!'
+
+"The Prince, as I have said, was very merry that night. He let me
+take the jewel from its case and hold it in my hands. Then I
+fastened it in my hair before the mirror and turned to show
+myself to the Prince and his companion.
+
+"'Donnerwetter! said Willie. 'It looks wonderful in your hair,
+Marcelle!'
+
+"Then, as if struck by a sudden thought, he cried:
+
+"'Erich! What do you say, Marcelle is a Pole. She shall have the
+Star of Poland and wear it in memory of me!'
+
+"The other thought this a famous idea, and so the jewel passed
+into my hands. That same evening I resolved that it should be a
+sacred duty on my part to keep it in safety until I could hand it
+back to the lawful sovereign of an independent Poland.
+
+"I was very unhappy at Metz until the Star of Poland came to
+comfort me. When I was alone, I used to take it from its case and
+feast my eyes upon it. I made many attempts to get away, but the
+Prince would never let me go, though he had long since tired of
+me and I was merely one of his harem of women. Pfui!"
+
+She gave an exclamation of disgust.
+
+"It was the Crown Princess who eventually came to my rescue," she
+continued. "Long-suffering wife as she is, the stories that came
+to her ears from Metz were such that she went to the Emperor and
+declared that she would insist upon a divorce. There was a great
+scandal. The Prince's headquarters were moved and at length I got
+my release.
+
+"I had no money. This was a detail which the Prince overlooked.
+But I wanted to resume my stage work, so, with great difficulty,
+through the influence of the Prince, I obtained a passport to
+Holland and from there got across to England.
+
+"I had hoped to turn my back once and for all on my connection
+with the Prince. But your German Secret Service had been warned
+about me. The Imperial Authorities were obviously afraid that I
+might tell tales out of school. Scarcely had I arrived in London
+when a man who called himself Bryan Mowbury, but who looked and
+spoke like a German, came to see me and said he had been
+instructed to 'look after me.' What that meant, I was soon to
+discover. In a very few days I found that I was under the
+supervision of your Secret Service here. In fact, Mowbury gave me
+to understand that any indiscretion on my part as to my stay at
+Metz would result in my immediate denunciation to the English
+police as a spy.
+
+"My friend, I had no alternative. I am not German; I am not
+English; I am a Pole. I have good friends in Germany, I have good
+friends in England, and their quarrels are not mine. I held my
+peace about the past and submitted to the incessant watch which
+Mowbury and his friends kept on my movements.
+
+"And then one day I had a letter. It was from Count Plettenbach,
+the Crown Prince's aide-de-camp, as I knew by the hand-writing,
+for it was signed with an assumed name. In this letter the Count,
+'on behalf of a mutual friend,' as he put it, requested me to
+hand back to a certain Mr. Mortimer, his accredited
+representative, 'Erich's present.' There were cogent reasons, it
+was added, for this unusual request.
+
+"I sent no reply to that letter, although an address in
+Switzerland was given to which an answer might be despatched. I
+was resolved, come what may, not to part with the Star of Poland.
+When Mortimer came, five days later, I told him the jewel was not
+mine to hand over, that it was part of the regalia of Poland and
+that I would never give it up.
+
+"Mortimer replied that the German and Austrian Governments had
+decided to restore the independence of Poland, that probably an
+Austrian Archduke would be made king and that it was essential
+that the Star of Poland should be restored in order to include it
+in the regalia for the Coronation. But I knew what this
+Austro-German kingdom of Poland was to be, a serf state with not
+a shadow of that liberty for which every Pole is longing. Since I
+have been in England, I have kept in touch with the Polish
+political organizations in this country. Rass, as he calls
+himself, the landlord of this inn, is one of the most prominent
+of the Polish leaders in England.
+
+"Mortimer reasoned with me in vain and finally went away
+empty-handed. But he did not abandon hope. Four successive
+attempts were made to get the jewel away from me. Twice my
+apartments at the Nineveh Hotel were rifled; once my
+dressing-room at the theatre was entered and searched whilst I
+was on the stage. But I wore the jewel day and night in a little
+bag suspended by a chain from my neck and they never got it from
+me.
+
+"Two days before I came down to your house--it was the day before
+the murder--I was hustled by a group of men as I came out of the
+theatre. Fortunately the stage-door keeper came up unexpectedly
+and the men made off. But the encounter frightened me, and I
+resolved to break my contract with the Palaceum and bury myself
+down here in the country.
+
+"But somehow Mortimer learnt of my intention. The next night--it
+was the night of the murder--he came to the theatre and warned me
+against trying to elude his vigilance by flight. I have never
+forgotten his words.
+
+"'I can afford to wait,' he said, 'for I shall get what I want: I
+always do. But you have chosen to set yourself against me and you
+will bitterly repent it!"
+
+As though the recollection proved too much for her, Nur-el-Din
+broke off her narrative and covered her face with her hands.
+
+"And do you think that Mortimer did this murder?" asked Desmond
+gently.
+
+Wearily the girl raised her head.
+
+"Either he or one of his accomplices, of whom this girl is one!"
+she answered.
+
+"But why not have put the jewel in a bank or one of the safe
+deposits? Surely it was risky to have entrusted it to a girl of
+whom you knew nothing?"
+
+"My friend,", said the dancer, "I was desperate. Mortimer sees
+and knows all. This unexpected meeting with the daughter of my
+old friend seemed at the moment like a heaven-sent chance to
+place the jewel, unknown to him, in safe hands. I felt that as
+long as I carried it on me, my life was in constant danger. It
+was only to-day, when I heard of the murder, that it dawned on me
+how indiscreet I had been. I might have guessed, since Miss
+Mackwayte knew Mortimer--"
+
+"Miss Mackwayte knows Mortimer?" echoed Desmond in stupefaction.
+
+"But certainly," replied Nur-el-Din. "Was it not I myself--" She
+broke off suddenly with terror in her eyes.
+
+"Ah, no!" she whispered. "It is enough. Already I have said too
+much..."
+
+Desmond was about to speak when the door opened and a
+foreign-looking maid, whom Desmond remembered to have seen in the
+dancer's dressing-room, came in. She went swiftly to her mistress
+and whispered something in her ear.
+
+The dancer sprang to her feet.
+
+"A little moment... you will excuse me..." she cried to Desmond
+and ran from the room. The maid followed her, leaving Desmond
+alone.
+
+Presently, the sound of Nur-el-Din's voice raised high in anger
+struck on his ears. He stole softly to the door and opened it.
+Before him lay the staircase deserted. He tiptoed down the stairs
+to the first landing and listened. The murmur of voices reached
+him indistinctly from the room below. Then he heard Nur-el-Din
+crying out again in anger.
+
+He craned his ear over the well of the staircase, turning his
+face to the window which stood on the landing. The window gave on
+a small yard with a gate over which a lamp was suspended and
+beyond it the fen now swathed in fog. The dancer's maid stood
+beneath the lamp in earnest conversation with a man in rough
+shooting clothes who held a gun under his arm. As Desmond looked
+the man turned his head so that the rays of the lamp fell full
+upon his face. To his unspeakable consternation and amazement,
+Desmond recognized Strangwise.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVII. MR. BELLWARD ARRANGES A BRIDGE EVENING
+
+Oblivious of the voices in the room below, Desmond stood with his
+face pressed against the glass of the window. Was Strangwise
+staying at "The Dyke Inn"? Nothing was more probable; for the
+latter had told him that he was going to spend his leave shooting
+in Essex, and Morstead Fen must abound in snipe and duck.
+
+But he and Strangwise must not meet. Desmond was chary of
+submitting his disguise to the other's keen, shrewd eyes.
+Strangwise knew Nur-el-Din: indeed, the dancer might have come to
+the inn to be with him. If he recognized Desmond and imparted his
+suspicions to the dancer, the game world be up; on the other
+hand, Desmond could not take him aside and disclose his identity;
+for that would be breaking faith with the Chief. There was
+nothing for it, he decided, but flight.
+
+Yet how could he get away unobserved? There was no exit from the
+staircase by the door into the tap-room where Nur-el-Din was, and
+to go through the tap-room was to risk coming face to face with
+Strangwise.
+
+So Desmond remained where he was by the window and watched.
+Presently, the woman turned and began to cross the yard,
+Strangwise, carrying his gun, following her. Desmond waited until
+he heard a door open somewhere below and then he acted.
+
+Beside the window ran an old lead water-pipe which drained the
+roof above his head. On a level with the sill of the landing
+below, this pipe took a sharp turn to the left and ran diagonally
+down to a tall covered-in water-butt that stood on the flat roof
+of an outhouse in the little yard.
+
+Desmond raised the window very gently and tested the pipe with
+his hand. It seemed rather insecure and shook under his pressure.
+With his eye he measured the distance from the sill to the pipe;
+it was about four feet. Desmond reckoned that, if the pipe would
+hold, by getting out of the window and hanging on to the sill, he
+might, by a pendulum-like motion, gain sufficient impulse to
+swing his legs across the diagonally-running pipe, then transfer
+his hands and so slide down to the outhouse roof.
+
+He wasted no time in debating the chances of the pipe collapsing
+under his weight. All his life it had been his practice to take a
+risk, for such is the Irish temperament--if the object to be
+attained in any way justified it; and he was determined to avoid
+at all costs the chance of a meeting with Strangwise. The latter
+had probably read the name of Okewood in that morning's casualty
+list, but Desmond felt more than ever that he distrusted the man,
+and his continued presence in the neighborhood of Nur-el-Din
+gravely preoccupied him.
+
+He stood a moment by the open window and listened. The murmur of
+voices went on in the taproom, but from another part of the house
+he heard a deep laugh and knew it to be Strangwise's. Trusting to
+Providence that the roof of the outhouse would be out of sight of
+the yard door, Desmond swung his right leg over the window-sill
+and followed it with the other, turning his back on the yard. The
+next moment he was dangling over the side of the house.
+
+Then from the yard below he heard Strangwise call:
+
+"Rufus! Rufus!"
+
+A heavy footstep sounded on the flags. Desmond remained perfectly
+still. The strain on his arms was tremendous. If Strangwise
+should go as far as the gate, so as to get clear of the yard, he
+must infallibly see that figure clinging to the window-sill.
+
+"Where the devil is that doggy" said Strangwise. Then he
+whistled, and called again:
+
+"Rufus! Rufus!"
+
+Desmond made a supreme effort to support the strain on his
+muscles. The veins stood out at his temples and he felt the blood
+singing in his ears. Another minute and he knew he must drop. He
+no longer had the power to swing himself up to the window ledge
+again.
+
+A bark rang out in the courtyard, followed by the patter of feet.
+Desmond heard Strangwise speak to the dog and reenter the house.
+Then silence fell again. With a tremendous effort Desmond swung
+his legs athwart the pipe, gripped it with his right hand, then
+his left, and very gently commenced to let himself down. The pipe
+quivered beneath his weight, but it held fast and in a minute he
+was standing on the roof of the outhouse, cautiously peering
+through the dank fog that hung about the yard.
+
+Screening himself from view behind the tall waterbutt, he
+reconnoitred the back of the inn. The upper part of the house was
+shrouded in darkness, but a broad beam of light from a half-open
+door and a tall window on the ground floor cleft the pall of fog.
+The window showed a snug little bar with Strangwise standing by
+the counter, a glass in his hand. As Desmond watched him, he
+heard a muffled scream from somewhere within the house.
+Strangwise heard it too, for Desmond saw him put his glass down
+on the bar and raise his head sharply. There followed a dull
+crash from the interior of the inn and the next moment the
+yellow-faced man, whom Desmond judged to be Rass, stepped into
+the circle of light inside the window. He said something to
+Strangwise with thumb jerked behind him, whereupon the latter
+clapped him, as though in approval, on the shoulder, and both
+hurried out together.
+
+Puzzled though he was by the scene he had just witnessed, Desmond
+did not dare to tarry longer. The roof of the outhouse was only
+some ten feet from the ground, an easy drop. He let himself
+noiselessly down and landing on his feet without mishap, darted
+out of the yard gate. As he did so, he heard the inn door open
+and Strangwise's voice cry out:
+
+"Who's that?"
+
+But Desmond heeded not. He dashed out upon the fen. Before he had
+gone a dozen paces the fog had swallowed up inn and all. Out of
+the white pall behind him he heard confused shouts as he skirted
+swiftly round the house and reached the road.
+
+Once he had gained the freedom of the highway; Desmond breathed
+again. The dense fog that enveloped him, the hard road beneath
+his feet, gave him a sense of security that he had missed as long
+as he was in the atmosphere of that lonely, sinister place. He
+struck out at a good pace for home, intent upon one thing,
+namely, to send an immediate summons for help to surround the
+Dyke Inn and all within it. Nur-el-Din, it was clear, whether a
+spy or no (and Desmond believed her story), was the only person
+who could throw any light on the mysterious circumstances
+surrounding old Mackwayte's murder. Besides, her arrest would
+safeguard her against further machinations on the part of
+Mortimer, though Desmond suspected that the latter, now that he
+had secured the jewel, would leave the dancer in peace. As for
+Strangwise, it would be for him to explain as best he could his
+continued association with a woman for whose arrest a warrant had
+been issued.
+
+Desmond let himself in with his key. The housekeeper had returned
+and was laying the dinner-table. In the library the curtains were
+drawn and a fire burned brightly in the grate. The room looked
+very snug and cosy by contrast with the raw weather outside.
+
+Desmond shut and locked the door and then went to the telephone
+at the desk. "Ring up 700 Stanning"--he repeated his instructions
+to himself "and ask for Mr. Elias. Assistance'll be with you
+within fifteen minutes afterwards."
+
+By the clock on the mantelpiece it was a quarter to seven. If aid
+arrived promptly, with a car they could be at the Dyke Inn by a
+quarter past seven.
+
+The telephone gave no sign of life. Desmond impatiently jerked
+the receiver hook up and down. This time, at least, he would not
+fail, he told himself. Before he went to bed that night
+Nur-el-Din, her maid, Rass, and if needs be, Strangwise (who
+needed a lesson to teach him discretion), should be in custody.
+
+Still no reply.
+
+"Hullo! Hullo!" cried Desmond, depressing the hook repeatedly.
+"Hullo, Exchange!"
+
+But there was no answer. Then it struck Desmond that the line was
+dead: his ear detected none of that busy whirr which is heard in
+the telephone when one is waiting to get a number.
+
+He spent five minutes in vain attempts to obtain a reply, then
+abandoned the endeavor in disgust.
+
+"I shall have to take the motor-bike and go over to Stunning," he
+said to himself, "how I shall find my way there in this fog, the
+Lord only knows! And I don't know whom to apply to when I get
+there. The police-station, I suppose!"
+
+He unlocked the door and rang for Martha.
+
+"I have to go over to Stunning, Martha," he said, "I will try and
+be back for dinner at eight!"
+
+He had no intention of accompanying the party to the Dyke Inn. He
+must preserve his incognito until Mortimer, the main quarry, had
+been run down.
+
+He filled his case from the box of cigarettes on the table and
+thrust a box of matches into his pocket to light his head-lamp.
+Then, taking a cap from the hat-stand, he opened the front door.
+Even as he did so a big open car slowed down throbbing outside
+the porch. A man sprang out and advanced into the light streaming
+from the front door into the eddying mist. It was Mortimer.
+
+"Fortune," thought Desmond, "has broken her rule. She has given
+me a second chance!"
+
+"Well met, Bellward!" cried Mortimer, blinking at the other
+through his thick glasses. "Tut, tut! What a night! You were
+never going out, I swear."
+
+Already Desmond had decided in his mind the course of action he
+would pursue. For the moment he must let the party at the Dyke
+Inn slide in favor of the bigger catch. He must slip away later
+and have another try at the telephone and if it were still out of
+order, he must endeavor to overpower Mortimer and then go for
+assistance himself. On a night like this it was useless to think
+of employing a half-blind old dolt like Martha to take a message.
+As for the odd man, he lived at Wakefield, and went away at dusk
+every evening.
+
+So Desmond muttered some plausible lie about wanting to have a
+look at the weather and cordially invited Mortimer in.
+
+"You will stay for dinner" he said.
+
+"Gladly," replied the other, sinking with aunt into the settee.
+"And I should be glad if we might dine early."
+
+Desmond raised his eyebrows.
+
+"... Because," Mortimer resumed, "I have ventured to ask a few
+friends round here to... to have an evening at bridge. Doubtless,
+you have cards, eh?"
+
+Desmond pointed to a card-table standing in the corner with
+several packs of cards and markers. Then he rang and told the
+housekeeper that they would dine as soon as possible.
+
+"The coming fortnight," said Mortimer, tucking his napkin into
+his collar as they sat at the dinner table, "is pregnant with
+great events. No less than ten divisions are, I understand, to be
+transferred to the other side. I have waited to communicate with
+you until I had confirmation of this report. But now that the
+matter has been decided, it only remains for us to perfect our
+arrangements for communicating these plans to our friends beyond
+the North Sea. Therefore, I thought a friendly bridge evening at
+the hospitable home of our dear colleague Bellward would be in
+place."
+
+He smiled affably and bent over his soup-plate.
+
+"I shall be delighted to receive our friends," Desmond replied,
+"a glass of sherry?"
+
+"Thank you," said Mortimer.
+
+"I shall have to provide a few refreshments," said Desmond. "May
+I ask how many guests I may expect?"
+
+Mortimer reckoned on his fingers.
+
+"Let's see," he answered, "there's Max, that's one, and Madame
+Malplaquet, that's two. No. 13 and Behrend makes four and myself,
+five!"
+
+"And Madame Nur-el-Din?" queried Desmond innocently, but inwardly
+quaking at his rashness.
+
+Mortimer genially shook a finger at him.
+
+"Sly dog!" he chuckled, "you're one too many for me in that
+quarter, I see! I know all about your tete-a-tete with our
+charming young friend this afternoon!"
+
+Desmond felt the blood rush to his face. He thought of
+Nur-el-Din's words: "Mortimer sees and knows all." He picked up
+his sherry glass and drained it to cover his confusion.
+
+"... It was hardly gallant of you to bolt so suddenly and leave
+the lady!" Mortimer added.
+
+How much did this uncanny creature know?
+
+Without waiting for him to reply, Mortimer went on.
+
+"I suppose she told you a long story of my persecution, eh,
+Bellward? You needn't shake your head. I taxed her with it and
+she admitted as much."
+
+"I had no idea that you were staying at the Dyke Inn!" said
+Desmond at a venture.
+
+"My friend," replied Mortimer, lowering his voice, "your fair
+charmer is showing a decided inclination to make a nuisance of
+herself. I have had to keep an eye on her. It's been a very
+serious inconvenience to my plans, I can assure you. But you
+haven't answered my question. What sent you away in such a hurry
+this afternoon? and in so romantic a fashion? By the window, was
+it not?"
+
+Through sheer apprehension, Desmond was now keyed up to a kind of
+desperate audacity. The truth is sometimes a very effective
+weapon in the game of bluff, and Desmond determined to employ it.
+
+"I saw someone I didn't want to meet," he replied.
+
+"Ah!" said Mortimer, "who was that, I wonder? The Dyke Inn could
+hardly be described as a frequented resort, I imagine!"
+
+The entry of old Martha to change the plates prevented Desmond
+from replying. He used the brief respite to review the situation.
+He would tell Mortimer the truth. They were man to man now and he
+cared nothing even if the other should discover the fraud that
+had been practised upon him. Come what might, Mortimer, dead or
+alive, should be delivered up to justice that night.
+
+The housekeeper left the room and Desmond spoke.
+
+"I saw an officer I knew in the courtyard," he said.
+
+"Oh, Strangwise, I suppose!" said Mortimer carelessly. "There's
+nothing to fear from him, Bellward. He's of the beef and beer and
+no brains stamp of British officer. But how do you know
+Strangwise?"
+
+"I met him at the Nineveh Hotel in town one night," replied
+Desmond. "I don't care about meeting officers, however, and
+that's a fact!"
+
+Mortimer looked at him keenly for a brief instant. "What
+prudence!" he cried. "Bellward, you are the very model of what a
+secret agent should be! This pheasant is delicious!"
+
+He turned the conversation into a different channel but Desmond
+could not forget that brief searching look. His mind was in a
+turmoil of half-digested facts, of semi-completed deductions. He
+wanted to go away somewhere alone and think out this mystery and
+disentangle each separate web of this baffling skein of intrigue.
+
+He must focus his attention on Mortimer and Nur-el-Din. If
+Mortimer and Strangwise were both staying at the Dyke Inn, then
+they were probably acquainted. Strangwise knew Nur-el-Din, too,
+knew her well; for Desmond remembered how familiarly they had
+conversed together that night in the dancer's dressing-room at
+the Palaceum. Strangwise knew Barbara Mackwayte also. Nur-el-Din
+had introduced them, Desmond remembered, on that fateful night
+when he had accompanied Strangwise to the Palaceum. Strange, how
+he was beginning to encounter the man Strangwise at every turn in
+this sinister affair.
+
+And then, with a shock that struck him like a blow in the face,
+Desmond recalled Barbara's parting words to him in the taxi. He
+remembered how she had told him of seeing Nur-el-Din's face in
+the mirror as the dancer was talking to Strangwise that night at
+the Palaceum, and of the look of terror in the girl's eyes.
+Nur-el-Din was terrified of Mortimer; for so much she had
+admitted to Desmond that very afternoon; she was terrified of
+Strangwise, too, it seemed, of this Strangwise who, like
+Mortimer, kept appearing at every stage of this bewildering
+affair. What confession had been on Nur-el-Din's lips when she
+had broken off that afternoon with the cry:
+
+"Already I have said too much!"
+
+Thereafter Desmond's eyes were never long absent from Mortimer's
+face, scrutinizing each feature in turn, the eyes, set rather
+close together, grotesquely shielded by the thick spectacles, the
+narrow cheeks, the rather cynical mouth half hidden by the heavy,
+drooping moustache, the broad forehead broken by a long lock of
+dark hair brushed out flat in a downward direction from an
+untidy, unkempt crop.
+
+They talked no more of Strangwise or of Nur-el-Din. The rest of
+dinner was passed in conversation of a general order in which Mr.
+Mortimer showed himself to great advantage. He appeared to be a
+widely traveled, well-read man, with a fund of dry, often rather
+grim humor. And all the time Desmond watched, watched,
+unobtrusively but unceasingly, looking out for something he was
+confident of detecting through the suave, immobile mask of this
+brilliant conversationalist.
+
+Skillfully, almost imperceptibly, Desmond edged the talk on to
+the war. In this domain, too, Mortimer showed himself a man of
+broad views, of big, comprehensive ideas. Towards the strategy
+and tactics of the two sides, he adopted the attitude of an
+impartial onlooker, but in his comments he proved himself to have
+a thorough grasp of the military situation. He talked freely and
+ably of such things as tanks, the limited objective in the attack
+and the decentralization of responsibility in the field.
+
+Encouraged by his volubility, for he was a man who delighted in
+conversation, Desmond gradually gave the talk a personal turn.
+But willing as Mortimer showed himself to discuss the war
+generally, about his personal share he was as mute as a fish. Try
+as he would Desmond could get nothing out of him. Again and
+again, he brought the conversation round to personal topics; but
+every time his companion contrived to switch it back to general
+lines.
+
+At last Desmond risked a direct question. By this time a pint of
+Pommery and Greno was tingling in his veins and he felt he didn't
+care if the roof fell in.
+
+"Ever since Nur-el-Din told me you were of the Crown Prince's
+personal service," he said, "I have been devoured with curiosity
+to know what you were doing before you came to England. Were you
+at Metz with his Imperial Highness? Did you see the assault at
+Verdun? Were you present at the capture of the Fort of
+Douaumont?"
+
+Mortimer shook his head, laughing, and held up a deprecating
+hand.
+
+"Professional discretion, my dear fellow, professional
+discretion!" he retorted. "You know what it is!"
+
+Then lowering his voice, he added:
+
+"Between ourselves the less said about my connection with Master
+Willie the better. Our colleagues are already restless at what
+they consider my neglect of my professional work. They attribute
+it to the wiles of Nur-el-Din. They may if they like and I don't
+propose to disillusion them. You understand, Bellward?"
+
+His voice was commanding and he bent his brows at Desmond, who
+hastened to protest that his discretion in the matter would be
+absolute.
+
+When they had had their coffee and Mortimer was contentedly
+puffing one of Bellward's excellent double Coronas, Desmond rose
+from the table.
+
+"If you will excuse me a minute," he said, "I will just go across
+to the library and see if my housekeeper has put all in order for
+our guests!"
+
+Instantly Mortimer got up from the table.
+
+"By all means," he said, and emptied his glass of brandy, "so, I
+will come with you!"
+
+Mortimer meant to stick to him, thought Desmond; that was
+evident. Then an idea struck him. Why should he not telephone in
+Mortimer's presence? To ask for Mr. Elias was in no way
+incriminating and if help came promptly, Mortimer could be
+secured and the other spies pounced upon in their turn as they
+arrived.
+
+Therefore, as soon as they reached the library, Desmond walked
+over to the desk and picked up the telephone receiver from its
+hook.
+
+"Excuse me," he said to Mortimer, "I had forgotten I had to ring
+up Stanning!"
+
+"Oh, dear," said Mortimer from his place on the hearth rug where
+he was warming his coat tails in front of the fire, "isn't that
+unfortunate? I wish I had known! Tut, tut, how annoying for you!"
+
+The telephone seemed quite dead.
+
+"I don't understand!" said Desmond to Mortimer. "What's
+annoying?"
+
+"The telephone, my dear Bellward,"--Mortimer spoke in a pompous
+voice--"the telephone is the symbol of the age in which we live,
+the age of publicity but also of indiscretion. It is almost as
+indiscreet to have a telephone in your house as to keep a diary.
+Therefore, in view of our little party here this evening, to
+prevent us from being disturbed in any way, I took the liberty
+of... of severing the connection... temporarily, mind you, only
+temporarily; it shall be restored as soon as we break up. I have
+some small acquaintance with electrical engineering."
+
+Desmond was silent. Disappointment had deprived him for the
+moment of the power of speech. It was to be man to man then,
+after all. If he was to secure Mortimer and the rest of the gang
+that night, he must do it on his own. He could not hope for aid.
+The prospect did not affright him. If Mortimer could have seen
+the other's eyes at that moment he might have remarked a light
+dancing in them that was not solely of Messrs. Pommery and
+Greno's manufacture.
+
+"If I had known you wanted to use the instrument, my dear
+fellow," Mortimer continued in his bland voice, "I should
+certainly have waited until you had done your business!"
+
+"Pray don't mention it," replied Desmond, "you do well to be
+prudent, Mr. Mortimer!"
+
+Mortimer shot a sudden glance at him. Desmond met it with a
+frank, easy smile.
+
+"I'm a devil for prudence myself!" he observed brightly.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVIII. THE GATHERING OF THE SPIES
+
+Action, or the promise of action, always acted on Desmond Okewood
+like a nerve tonic. His visit to the inn, followed by the fencing
+with Mortimer at dinner, had galvanized his nerves jaded with the
+inaction of the preceding days. He averted his eyes from the
+future, he put the past resolutely away. He bent his whole
+attention on the problem immediately before him--how to carry off
+the role of Bellward in front of four strangers, one of whom, at
+least, he thought, must know the man he was impersonating; how to
+extract as much information as possible about the gang and its
+organization before uncovering his hand; finally, how to
+overpower the four men and the one woman when the moment had come
+to strike.
+
+Mortimer and he were in the library. By Desmond's direction old
+Martha had put out two bridge tables and cards. A tantalus stand
+with siphons and glasses, an assortment of different colored
+liqueurs in handsome cut-glass carafes and some plates of
+sandwiches stood on a side-table. At Mortimer's suggestion
+Desmond had told the housekeeper that, once the guests had
+arrived, she might go to bed.
+
+The library was very still. There was no sound except for the
+solemn ticking of the clock on the mantelpiece or the occasional
+rustle of the evening paper in Mortimer's hand as he stood in
+front of the fire. Desmond was sitting on the settee, tranquilly
+smoking, studying Mortimer and thinking out the problem before
+him.
+
+He measured Mortimer with his eye. The latter was a bigger man
+than Desmond in every way and Desmond suspected that he was even
+stronger than he looked. Desmond wondered whether he should try
+and overpower him then and there. The other was almost certain to
+carry a revolver, he thought, while he was unarmed. Failure, he
+knew, would ruin everything. The gang would disperse to the four
+winds of heaven while as for Mr. Bellward--well, he would
+certainly be "for it," as the soldiers say.
+
+No, he must hold his hand until the meeting had taken place. This
+was the first conference that Mortimer had summoned, and Desmond
+intended to see that it should be the last. But first he meant to
+find out all there was to know about the working of the gang.
+
+He resolved to wait and see what the evening would bring forth.
+The telephone was "a washout": the motor-cycle was now his only
+chance to summon aid for he knew it was hopeless to think of
+tackling single-handed odds of four to one (to say nothing of the
+lady in the case). It must be his business to make an opportunity
+to slip away on the motor-bike to Stanning. Ten minutes to get
+there, five minutes to deliver his message at the police station
+(if the Chief's people made their headquarters there), and ten
+minutes to get back if they had a car. Could he leave the meeting
+for 25 minutes without arousing suspicions? He doubted it; but it
+must be. There was no other way. And then with a shock that made
+him cold with fear he remembered Mortimer's motor-car.
+
+If, during his absence, anything occurred to arouse their
+suspicions, the whole crowd could pile into the car and be away
+long before Desmond could be back with help. The fog had lifted
+and it was a clear night outside. The car would have to be got
+rid of before he left the house, that was all about it. But how?
+A means to that end must also be discovered as the evening
+progressed. By the way, what had Mortimer done with his car?
+
+A very faint throbbing somewhere outside answered Desmond's
+unspoken question.
+
+Mortimer flung aside his paper.
+
+"Isn't that a car?" he asked, "that'll be they. I sent Max to
+Wentfield station to meet our friends!"
+
+There was the sound of voices, of bustle in the hall. Then the
+door opened and a man came in. Desmond had a brief moment of
+acute suspense. Was he supposed to know him?
+
+He was a short, ugly fellow with immensely broad shoulders, a
+heavy puffy face, a gross, broad nose, and a tooth-brush
+moustache. He might have been a butcher to look at. In the top
+edge of his coat lapel, he wore a small black pin with a glass
+head.
+
+"Well, Max," said Mortimer. "Have you brought them all?"
+
+The man was mustering Desmond with a suspicious, unfriendly
+stare.
+
+"My friend, Bellward!" said Mortimer, clapping Desmond on the
+shoulder. "You've heard of Bellward, Max!"
+
+And to Desmond's surprise he made some passes in the air.
+
+The man's mien underwent a curious change. He became cringing;
+almost overawed.
+
+"Reelly," he grunted, "reelly now! You don't siy! Glad to know
+yer, mister, I'm shore!"
+
+He spoke with a vile snuffing cockney accent, and thrust out his
+hand to Desmond. Then he added to Mortimer:
+
+"There's three on 'em. That's the count, ain't it? I lef' the car
+outside on the drive!"
+
+At this moment two more of the guests entered: One was a tall,
+emaciated looking man of about fifty who seemed to be in the last
+stages of consumption; the other a slightly built young fellow
+with a shock of black hair brushed back and an olive complexion.
+He wore pince-nez and looked like a Russian revolutionary. They,
+too, wore the badge of the brotherhood--the black pin in the coat
+lapel.
+
+"Goot efening, Mr. Mortimer," said the tall man in a guttural
+voice, "this is Behrend"--he indicated the young man by his
+side--"you haft not meet him no?"
+
+Then, leaving Behrend to shake hands with Mortimer, he literally
+rushed at Desmond and shook him by the hand exactly as though he
+were working a pump handle.
+
+"My tear Pellward," he cried, "it is a hondred year since I haf
+see you, not? And how are the powers!"
+
+He lowered his voice and gazed mysteriously at him.
+
+Desmond, at a loss what to make of this extraordinary individual,
+answered at random:
+
+"The powers? Still fighting, I believe!"
+
+The tall man stared open-mouthed at him for a moment. Then,
+clapping his hands together, he burst into a high-pitched cackle
+of laughter.
+
+"A joke," he yelled, "a mos' excellent joke! I must tell this to
+Minna. My vriend, I haf not mean the great Powers."
+
+He looked dramatically about him, then whispered:
+
+"I mean, the oggult!"
+
+Desmond, who was now quite out of his depth, wagged his head
+solemnly at the other as though to indicate that, his occult
+powers were something not to be lightly mentioned. He had no fear
+of the tall man, at any rate. He placed him as a very ordinary
+German, a common type in the Fatherland, simple-minded, pedantic,
+inquisitive, and a prodigious bore withal but dangerous, for of
+this stuff German discipline kneads militarists.
+
+But the door opened again to admit the last of the guests. A
+woman entered. Desmond was immediately struck by the contrast she
+presented to the others, Mortimer with his goggle eyes and untidy
+hair, Max, gross and bestial, Behrend, Oriental and shifty, and
+the scarecrow figure of the tall man.
+
+Despite her age, which must have been nearly sixty, she still
+retained traces of beauty. Her features were very regular, and
+she had a pair of piercing black eyes of undimmed brightness. Her
+gray hair was tastefully arranged, and she wore a becoming black
+velvet gown with a black lace scarf thrown across the shoulders.
+A white silk rose was fastened to her bodice by a large black pin
+with a glass head.
+
+Directly she appeared, the tall man shouted to her in German.
+
+"Sag' mal, Minna..." he began.
+
+Mortimer turned on him savagely.
+
+"Hold your tongue, No. 13," he cried, "are you mad? What the
+devil do you mean by it? You know the rules!"
+
+By way of reply, "No. 13" broke into a regular frenzy of coughing
+which left him gasping for breath.
+
+"Pardon! I haf' forgot!" he wheezed out between the spasms.
+
+The woman went over to Mortimer and put out tier gloved hand.
+
+"I am Mrs. Malplaquet," she said in a pleasant voice. "And you
+are Mr. Mortimer, I think!"
+
+Mortimer bowed low over her hand.
+
+"Madame, I am charmed to meet one of whom I have heard nothing
+but praise," he said.
+
+"Verry pretty!" replied Mrs. Malplaquet smiling. "They tell me
+you have a great way with the ladies, my dear sir!"
+
+"But," she went on, "I am neglecting our host, my dear Mr.
+Bellward. How are you, my friend? How well you are looking... so
+young... so fresh! I declare you seem to have got five years
+younger!"
+
+The keen black eyes searched Desmond's face. He felt horribly
+uncomfortable. The woman's eyes were like gimlets boring right
+into him. He suddenly felt that his disguise was a poor one. He
+remembered Crook's warning to be wary of women, and he inwardly
+quailed.
+
+"I am so glad to meet you again!" he murmured. He didn't like
+Mrs. Malplaquet's eyes. They assorted strangely with the rest of
+her gentle and refined appearance. They were hard and cruel,
+those black eyes. Thy put him in mind of a snake.
+
+"It is so long since I've seen you," she said, "that positively
+your voice seems to have changed."
+
+"That's because I have a cold," said Desmond.
+
+"Fiddlesticks!" retorted the lady, "the timbre is quite
+different! Bellward, I believe you're in love! Don't tell me
+you've been running after that hank of hair that Mortimer is so
+devoted to!" She glanced in Mortimer's direction, but that
+gentleman was engaged in earnest conversation with Behrend and
+the tall man.
+
+"Whom do you meant" asked Desmond.
+
+"Where are your eyes, man?" rapped out Mrs. Malplaquet. "The
+dancer woman, of course, Nur-el-what-do-you-call-it. There's the
+devil of a row brewing about the way our friend over there is
+neglecting us to run after the minx. They're getting sharp in
+this country, Bellward--I've lived here for forty years so I know
+what I'm talking about--and we can't afford to play any tricks.
+Mortimer will finish by bringing destruction on every one of us.
+And I shall tell him so tonight. And so will No. 13! And so will
+young Behrend! You ought to hear Behrend about it!"
+
+Mrs. Malplaquet began to interest Desmond. She was obviously a
+woman of refinement, and he was surprised to find her in this odd
+company. By dint of careful questioning, he ascertained the fact
+that she lived in London, at a house on Campden Hill. She seemed
+to know a good many officers, particularly naval men.
+
+"I've been keeping my eyes open as I promised, Bellward," she
+said, "and I believe I've got hold of a likely subject for you--a
+submarine commander he is, and very psychic. When will you come
+and meet him at my house?"
+
+Mortimer's voice, rising above the buzz of conversation, checked
+his reply.
+
+"If you will all sit down," he said, "we'll get down to
+business."
+
+Despite all distractions, Desmond had been watching for this
+summons. He had marked down for himself a chair close to the
+door. For this he now made, after escorting Mrs. Malplaquet to
+the settee where she sat down beside Behrend. Max took the
+armchair on the left of the fireplace; while No. 13 perched
+himself grotesquely on a high music-stool, his long legs curled
+round the foot. Mortimer stood in his former position on the
+hearth, his back to the fire.
+
+A very odd-looking band! Desmond commented to himself but he
+thought he could detect in each of the spies a certain ruthless
+fanaticism which experience taught him to respect as highly
+dangerous. And they all had hard eyes!
+
+When they were seated, Mortimer said:
+
+"About the 14th of this month the British Admiralty will begin
+the work of shipping to France ten divisions of American troops
+now training in this country. The most extraordinary precautions
+are being taken to complete this huge undertaking with success.
+It seems to me that the moment has come for us to demonstrate the
+efficiency of our new organization."
+
+He looked round at his audience but no one said a word. Desmond
+felt very distinctly that there was a hostile atmosphere against
+Mortimer in that room.
+
+"I asked you to come here to-night," Mortimer went on, "to
+discuss the plans for sending prompt and accurate information
+regarding the movements of these transports to the other side. I
+warn you that this time our mode of procedure will have to be
+radically different from the methods we have pursued on former
+occasions. To expend our energies in collecting information at
+half a dozen different ports of war will be waste of time. The
+direction of the whole of this enterprise lies in the hands of
+one man at the Admiralty."
+
+Behrend, who had struck Desmond as a rather taciturn young man,
+shook his head dubiously.
+
+"That makes things very difficult," he remarked.
+
+"Wait," replied Mortimer. "I agree, it is very difficult, the
+more so as I have reason to believe that the authorities have
+discovered the existence of our organization."
+
+Mrs. Malplaquet and Behrend turned to one another simultaneously.
+
+"What did I say?" said Behrend.
+
+"I told you so," said the lady.
+
+"Therefore," Mortimer resumed, "our former activities on the
+coast will practically be paralyzed. We shall have to confine our
+operations to London while Max and Mr. Behrend here will be
+entrusted with the task of getting the news out to our
+submarines."
+
+No. 13 broke in excitedly.
+
+"Vork in London, vork in London!" he cried. "It is too dangerous,
+my vriend. Vot do I know of London? Portsmouth" (he called it
+Portsmouse), "Sout'ampton, the Isle of Vight... good... it is my
+province. But, London... it is senseless!"
+
+Mortimer turned his gig-lamps on the interrupter.
+
+"You will take your orders from me as before," he said quietly.
+
+Behrend adjusted his pince-nez.
+
+"No. 13 is perfectly right," he remarked, "he knows his
+territory, and he should be allowed to work there."
+
+"You, too," Mortimer observed in the same calm tone as before,
+"will take your orders from me!"
+
+With a quick gesture the young man dashed his long black hair out
+of his eyes.
+
+"Maybe," he replied, "but only as long as I feel sure that your
+orders are worth following.
+
+"Do you dare..." began Mortimer, shouting.
+
+"... At present," the other continued, as though Mortimer had not
+spoken. "I don't feel at all sure that they are."
+
+The atmosphere was getting a trifle heated, thought Desmond. If
+he judged Mortimer aright, he was not the man to let himself be
+dictated to by anybody. He was wondering how the scene would end
+when suddenly something caught his eye that took his mind right
+away from the events going forward in the room.
+
+Opposite him, across the library, was a French window across
+which the curtains had been drawn. One of the curtains, however,
+had got looped up on a chair so that there was a gap at the
+bottom of the window showing the pane.
+
+In this gap was a face pressed up against the glass. To his
+astonishment Desmond recognized the weather-beaten features of
+the odd man, Mr. John Hill. The face remained there only for a
+brief instant. The next moment it was gone and Desmond's
+attention was once more claimed by the progress of the
+conference.
+
+"Do I understand that you refuse to serve under me any longer?"
+Mortimer was saying to Behrend, who had risen from the settee and
+stood facing him.
+
+"As long as you continue to behave as you are doing at present,"
+replied the other, "you may understand that!"
+
+Mortimer made a quick dive for his pocket. In an instant Max had
+jumped at him and caught his arm.
+
+"Don't be a fool!" he cried, "for Gawd's sake, put it away,
+carn't yer? D 'you want the 'ole ruddy plice abart our ears?"
+
+"I'll have no disobedience of orders," roared Mortimer,
+struggling with the other. In his fist he had a big automatic
+pistol. It was a prodigious weapon, the largest pistol that
+Desmond had ever seen.
+
+"He threatened him, he threatened him!" screamed No. 13 jumping
+about on his stool.
+
+"Take it away from him, Max, for Heaven's sake!" cried the lady.
+
+Everybody was talking at once. The noise was so loud that Desmond
+wondered whether old Martha would hear the din. He sat in his
+chair by the door, a silent witness of the scene. Then suddenly,
+at the height of the hubbub, he heard the faint humming of a
+motor-car. It lasted for perhaps thirty seconds, then gradually
+died away.
+
+"What did it mean?" he asked himself. The only living being he
+knew of outside was John Hill, the odd man, whose face he had
+just seen; the only car was Mortimer's. Had the odd man gone off
+in Mortimer's car? He was thankful to note that, in the din, none
+save him seemed to have heard the car.
+
+By this time Mortimer had put up his pistol and Mrs. Malplaquet
+was speaking. Her remarks were effective and very much to the
+point. She upbraided Mortimer with his long and mysterious
+absences which she attributed to his infatuation for Nur-el-Din
+and complained bitterly of the dancer's imprudence in consorting
+openly with notorious folk like Lazarro and Bryan Mowbury.
+
+"I went to the girl myself," she said, "and begged her to be more
+circumspect. But Madame would not listen to advice; Madame was
+doubtless sure of her position with our revered leader, and
+thought she could reject the friendly counsel of one old enough
+to be her mother. Behrend and Max and No. 13 there--all of
+us--are absolutely agreed that we are not going on with this sort
+of thing any longer. If you are to remain in charge of our
+organization, Mr. Mortimer, we want to know where you are to be
+found and how you spend your time. In short, we want to be sure
+that you are not playing a game that most of us have at different
+times played on subordinate agents... I mean, that when the
+crisis comes, we fall into the trap and you walk away. You had
+better realize once and for all that we are too old hands for
+that sort of trick."
+
+Here Max took up the thread. "Mrs. Malplaquet had put it very
+strite, so she 'ad, and wot he wanted to know was what Mortimer
+'ad to siy?"
+
+Mortimer was very suave in his reply; a bad sign, thought
+Desmond, for it indicated that he was not sure of himself. He was
+rather vague, spoke about a vitally important mission that he had
+had to fulfil but which he had now brought to a successful
+conclusion, so that he was at length free to devote his whole
+attention once more to the great task in hand.
+
+Behrend brought his fist crashing down on the arm of the settee.
+
+"Words, words," he cried, "it won't do for me. Isn't there a man
+in the room besides me? You, Bellward, or you, Max, or you,
+No.13? Haven't you got any guts any of You? Are you going to sit
+here and listen to the soft soap of a fellow who has probably
+sent better men than himself to their death with tripe of this
+kind? It may do for you, but by the Lord, it won't do for me!"
+
+Mortimer cleared his throat uneasily.
+
+"Our host is silent," said Mrs. Malplaquet, "what does Mr.
+Bellward think about it?"
+
+Desmond spoke up promptly.
+
+"I think it would be very interesting to hear something further
+about this mission of Mortimer's," he observed:
+
+Mortimer cast him a glance of bitter malice.
+
+"Well," he said, after a pause, "you force my hand. I shall tell
+you of this mission of mine and I shall show you the evidence,
+because it seems essential in the interests of our organization.
+But I assure you I shall not forget this want of confidence you
+have shown in me; and I shall see that you don't forget it,
+either!"
+
+As he spoke, he glared fiercely at Desmond through his glasses.
+
+"Let's hear about the precious mission," jeered Behrend, "let's
+see the evidence. The threats'll keep!"
+
+Then Mortimer told them of how the Star of Poland came into
+Nur-el-Din's possession, and of the Crown Prince's embarrassment
+when the German authorities claimed it for the regalia of the new
+Kingdom of Poland.
+
+"The Crown Prince," he said, "summoned me to him in person and
+gave me the order to make my way to England immediately and
+recover the gem at all costs and by any means. Did I whine or
+snivel about being sent to my death as some of you were doing
+just now? No! That is not the way of the Prussian Guard..."
+
+"The Prussian Guard?" cried No. 13 in an awed voice. "Are you also
+of the Prussian Guard, comrade?"
+
+He had risen from his seat and there was something almost of
+majesty about his thin, ungainly figure as he drew himself to his
+full height.
+
+"Ay, comrade, I was," replied Mortimer.
+
+"Then," cried No. 13, "you are..."
+
+"No names, comrade," warned Mortimer, "no names, I beg!"
+
+"No names, no names!" repeated the other and relapsed into his
+seat in a reverie.
+
+"How I got to England," Mortimer continued, "matters nothing; how
+I fulfilled my mission is neither here nor there. But I recovered
+the gem and the proof..."
+
+He thrust a hand into the inner pocket of his coat and plucked
+out a white paper package sealed up with broad red seals.
+
+Desmond held his breath. It was the white paper package, exactly
+as Barbara had described.
+
+"Look at it well, Behrend," said Mortimer, holding it up for the
+young man to see, "it cost me a man's life to get that. If it had
+sent twenty men to their death, I should have had it just the
+same!"
+
+Mrs. Malplaquet clapped her hands, her eyes shining.
+
+"Bravo, bravo!" she exclaimed, "that's the spirit! That's the way
+to talk, Mortimer!"
+
+"Cut it out," snarled Behrend, "and let's see the goods!"
+
+All had left their seats and were gathered in a group about
+Mortimer as he began to break the gleaming red wag seals. One by
+one he burst them, the white paper slipped off and disclosed... a
+box of cigarettes.
+
+Mortimer stood gazing in stupefaction at the gaudy green and gold
+lettering of the box. Then, running his thumb-nail swiftly along
+the edge of the box, he broke the paper wrapping, the box burst
+open and a shower of cigarettes fell to the ground.
+
+"So that's your Star of Poland, is it?" cried Behrend in a
+mocking voice.
+
+"Wot 'ave yer done wiv' the sparklers, eh?" demanded Max,
+catching Mortimer roughly by the arm.
+
+But Mortimer stood, aimlessly shaking the empty box in front of
+him, as though to convince himself that the gem was not there.
+Behrend fell on his knees and raked the pile of cigarettes over
+and over with his fingers.
+
+"Nothing there!" he shouted angrily, springing to his feet. "It's
+all bluff! He's bluffing to the end! See, he doesn't even attempt
+to find his famous jewel! He knows it isn't there!"
+
+But Mortimer paid no heed. He was staring straight in front of
+him, a strangely woe-begone figure with his thatch of untidy hair
+and round goggle eyes. Then the cigarette box fell to the floor
+with a crash as Mortimer's hands dropped, with, a hopeless
+gesture, to his sides.
+
+"Barbara Mackwayte!" he whispered in a low voice, not seeming to
+realize that he was speaking aloud, "so that's what she wanted
+with Nur-el-Din!"
+
+Desmond was standing at Mortimer's elbow and caught the whisper.
+As he heard Mortimer speak Barbara's name, he had a sudden
+premonition that his own unmasking was imminent, though he
+understood as little of the purport of the other's remark as of
+the pile of cigarettes lying on the carpet. As Mortimer turned to
+look at him, Desmond nerved himself to meet the latter's gaze.
+But Mortimer's face wore the look of a desperate man. There was
+no recognition in his eyes.
+
+Not so with Desmond. Perhaps the bitterness of his disappointment
+had made Mortimer careless, perhaps the way in which he had
+pronounced Barbara's name struck a familiar chord in Desmond's
+memory. The unkempt hair brushed down across the forehead, the
+thick glasses, the heavy moustache still formed together an
+impenetrable mask which Desmond's eyes failed to pierce. But now
+he recalled the voice. As Mortimer looked at him, the truth
+dawned on Desmond and he knew that the man standing beside him
+was Maurice Strangwise, his comrade-in-arms in France.
+
+At that very moment a loud crash rang through the room, a cold
+blast of damp air came rushing in and the lamp on the table
+flared up wildly, flickered an instant and went out, leaving the
+room in darkness save for the glow of the fire.
+
+A deep voice cried:
+
+"May I ask what you are all doing in my house?"
+
+The secret door of the bookshelves had swung back and there,
+framed in the gaping void, Desmond saw the dark figure of a man.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIX. THE UNINVITED GUEST
+
+There are moments in life when the need for prompt action is so
+urgent that thought, decision and action must be as one operation
+of the brain. In the general consternation following on the
+dramatic appearance of this uninvited guest, Desmond had a brief
+respite in which to think over his position.
+
+Should he make a dash for it or stay where he was and await
+developments?
+
+Without a second's hesitation; he decided on the latter course.
+With the overpowering odds against him it was more than doubtful
+whether he could ever reach the library door. Besides, to go was
+to abandon absolutely all hope of capturing the gang; for his
+flight would warn the conspirators that the game was up. On the
+other hand, the new-comer might be an ally, perhaps an emissary
+of the Chief's. The strange behavior of the odd man had shown
+that something was afoot outside of which those in the library
+were unaware. Was the uninvited guest the deus ex machina who was
+to help him, Desmond, out of his present perilous fix?
+
+Meanwhile the stranger had stepped into the room, drawing the
+secret door to behind him. Desmond heard his heavy step and the
+dull thud of the partition swinging into place. The sound seemed
+to break the spell that hung over the room.
+
+Mortimer was the first to recover his presence of mind. Crying
+out to No. 13 to lock the door leading into the hall, he fumbled
+for a moment at the table. Desmond caught the noise of a match
+being scratched and the next moment the library was again bathed
+in the soft radiance of the lamp.
+
+Picking up the light, Mortimer strode across to the stranger.
+
+"What do you want here" he demanded fiercely, "and who the
+devil..."
+
+He broke off without completing his sentence, drawing back in
+amazement. For the rays of the lamp fell upon the pale face of a
+stoutish, bearded man, veering towards middle age standing in
+front of Mortimer. And the face was the face of the stoutish,
+bearded man, veering towards middle age, who stood in the shadow
+a few paces behind Mortimer. Each man was a complete replica of
+the other, save that the face of the new arrival was thin and
+haggard with that yellowish tinge which comes from long
+confinement.
+
+As Mortimer staggered back, the uninvited guest recoiled in his
+turn. He was staring fixedly across the room at his double who
+met his gaze firmly, erect, tense, silent. The others looked in
+sheer stupefaction from one to the other of the two Mr.
+Bellwards. For nearly a minute the only sound in the room was the
+deep ticking of the clock, counting away the seconds separating
+him from eternity, Desmond thought.
+
+It was Mrs. Malplaquet who broke the silence. Suddenly her nerves
+snapped under the strain, and she screamed aloud.
+
+"A--ah!" she cried, "look! There are two of them! No, no, it
+can't be!"
+
+And she sank half fainting on the sofa.
+
+Behrend whipped out a pistol from his hip pocket and thrust it in
+Mortimer's face.
+
+"Is this another of your infernal surprise packets?" he demanded
+fiercely.
+
+All the spies seemed on a sudden to be armed, Desmond noted, all,
+that is, save Mrs. Malplaquet who lay cowering on the settee.
+Mortimer had pulled out his super-Mauser; No. 13, who was
+guarding the door, had a revolver in his hand, and Behrend, as
+has been stated, was threatening Mortimer with his Browning.
+
+Now Max advanced threateningly into the room, a long seaman's
+knife in his hand..
+
+"Put that blarsted shooting-iron awiy!" he snarled at Mortimer,
+"and tell us wot's the little gime, will yer! Come on, egpline!"
+
+With absolute self-possession Mortimer turned from the stranger
+to Desmond.
+
+"I think it is up to the twins to explain," he said almost
+nonchalantly, "suppose we hear what this gentleman, who arrived
+so surprisingly through the book-shelves, has to say?"
+
+Though threatened with danger from two sides, from the gang and
+possibly, as far as he knew, from the stranger, Mortimer was
+perfectly calm. Desmond never admired Maurice Strangwise more
+than in that moment. All eyes now turned questioningly towards
+the new arrival. As for Desmond he drew back as far as he dared
+into the shadow. He knew he was in the direst peril; but he was
+not afraid for himself. He was crushed to the ground by the
+sickening feeling that he was going to be beaten, that the gang
+were going to slip through his fingers after all... and he was
+powerless to prevent it.
+
+He guessed at once what had happened. Bellward must have escaped
+from custody; for there was no disguise about this pale,
+flustered creature who had the cowed look of a hunted man in his
+eyes. He must have come to the Mill House to get his motorcycle;
+for he surely would have known that the villa would be the first
+place to which the police would follow him up.
+
+Desmond saw a little ray of hope. If--it was a very big
+if--Bellward's flight were discovered promptly, the police might
+be expected to reach the Mill House very soon behind him.
+Bellward must have come straight there; for he had not even taken
+the very elementary precaution of shaving off his beard. That
+made Desmond think that he must have escaped some time that
+evening after the barbers' shops were closed.
+
+With thumping heart, with bated breath, he waited for what was to
+come. In a very little while, he told himself, the truth must
+come out. His only chance was to try and bluff his way out of
+this appalling dilemma and above all, at all costs--this was the
+essential fact which, he told himself, he must keep steadfastly
+before his eyes--not to lose sight of Mortimer whatever happened.
+
+Bellward's voice--and its tones showed Desmond what an
+accomplished mime Crook had been--broke the silence.
+
+"I have nothing to explain," he said, turning from the sofa where
+he had been exchanging a few words in an undertone with Mrs.
+Malplaquet, "this is my house. That is sufficient explanation for
+my presence here, I imagine. But I confess I am curious to know
+what this person"--he indicated Desmond--"is doing in my clothes,
+if I mistake not, giving what I take to be a very successful
+impersonation of myself."
+
+Then Desmond stepped boldly out of the shadow into the circle of
+light thrown by the lamp.
+
+"I don't know what you all think," he said firmly, "but it seems
+to me singularly unwise for us to stand here gossiping when there
+is a stranger amongst us. I fail to understand the motive of this
+gentleman in breaking into my house by my private door, wearing
+my clothes, if I am to believe my eyes; but I clearly realize the
+danger of admitting strangers to a gathering of this kind."
+
+"Quite right," agreed Behrend, nodding his head in assent.
+
+"You have had one singular surprise to-night already," Desmond
+resumed, "in the matter of the jewel which our respected leader
+was about to show us: if you recollect, our friend was only
+prevented from giving us the explanation which he certainly owed
+us over his little hoax by the arrival, the most timely arrival,
+of his confederate..."
+
+"Confederate?" shouted Mortimer, "what the devil do you mean by
+that?"
+
+"Yes, confederate," Desmond repeated. "Max, Behrend, Mrs.
+Malplaquet, all of you, look at this wretched fellow"--he pointed
+a finger of scorn at Bellward--"trembling with fright at the role
+that has been thrust upon him, to force his way into our midst,
+to give his accomplice the tip to clear out before the police
+arrive."
+
+"Stop!" exclaimed Mortimer, raising his pistol. Behrend caught
+his hand.
+
+"We'll hear you in a minute!" he said.
+
+"Let him finish!" said Mrs. Malplaquet, and there was a certain
+ominous quietness in her tone that startled Desmond.
+
+As for Bellward, he remained silent, with arms folded, listening
+very intently.
+
+"Doubtless, this double of mine," continued Desmond in a mocking
+voice, "is the bearer of the Star of Poland, the wonderful jewel
+which has required our beloved leader to devote so much of his
+time to a certain charming lady. Bah! are you going to let a man
+like this," and he pointed to Mortimer disdainfully with his
+hand, "a man who puts you in the fighting line while he amuses
+himself in the rear, are you going to let this false friend, this
+bogus spy, cheat you like this? My friends, my advice to you, if
+you don't want to have another and yet more disagreeable
+surprise, is to make sure that this impudent imposter is not here
+for the purpose of selling us all!"
+
+He raised his voice until it rang through the room, at the same
+time looking round the group at the faces of the spies to see how
+his harangue had worked upon their feelings. Max and Behrend, he
+could see, were on his side; No. 13 was obviously, undecided;
+Mortimer and Bellward were, of course, against him; Mrs.
+Malplaquet sat with her hands in her lap, her eyes cast down,
+giving no sign.
+
+"It's high time..." Mortimer began violently but Mrs. Malplaquet
+put up her hand and checked him.
+
+"Better hear Bellward!" she said softly.
+
+"I know nothing of what has been taking place in my absence," he
+said, "either here or outside. I only know that I escaped from
+the escort that was taking me back from Scotland Yard to Brixton
+Prison this evening and that the police are hard on my track. I
+have delayed too long as, it is. Every one of us in this room,
+with the exception of the traitor who is amongst us"--he pointed
+a finger in denunciation at Desmond--"is in the most imminent
+peril as long as we stay here. The rest of you can please
+yourselves. I'm off!"
+
+He turned and pressed the spring. The book shelves swung open.
+Behrend sprang forward.
+
+"Not so fast," he cried. "You don't leave this room until we
+know who you are!"
+
+And he covered him with his pistol.
+
+"Fool!" exclaimed Bellward who had stopped on the threshold of
+the secret door, "do you want to trap the lot of us! Tell him,
+Minna," he said to Mrs. Malplaquet, "and for Heaven's sake, let
+us be gone!"
+
+Mrs. Malplaquet stood up.
+
+"This is Basil Bellward," she said, "see, he's wearing the ring I
+gave him, a gold snake with emerald eyes! And now," she cried,
+raising her voice shrilly, "before we go, kill that man!"
+
+And she pointed at Desmond.
+
+Bellward had seized her by the arm and was dragging her through
+the opening in the shed when a shrill whistle resounded from the
+garden. Without any warning Mortimer swung round and fired
+point-blank at Desmond. But Desmond had stooped to spring at the
+other and the bullet went over his head. With ears singing from
+the deafening report of the pistol in the confined space, with
+the acrid smell of cordite in his nostrils, Desmond leapt at
+Mortimer's throat, hoping to bear him to the ground before he
+could shoot again. As he sprang he heard the crash of glass and a
+loud report. Someone cried out sharply "Oh!" as though in
+surprise and fell prone between him and his quarry; then he
+stumbled and at the same time received a crashing blow on the
+head. Without a sound he dropped to the ground across a body that
+twitched a little and then lay still.
+
+      *       *       *       *      *
+
+Somewhere in the far, far distance Desmond heard a woman
+crying--long drawn-out wailing lamentations on a high, quavering
+note. He had a dull, hard pain in his head which felt curiously
+stiff. Drowsily he listened for a time to the woman's sobbing, so
+tired, so curiously faint that he scarcely cared to wonder what
+it signified. But at last it grated on him by its insistency and
+he opened his eyes to learn the cause of it.
+
+His bewildered gaze fell upon what seemed to him a gigantic,
+ogre-like face, as huge, as grotesque, as a pantomime mask.
+Beside it was a light, a brilliant light, that hurt his eyes.
+
+Then a voice, as faint as a voice on a long distance telephone,
+said:
+
+"Well, how are you feeling?"
+
+The voice was so remote that Desmond paid no attention to it. But
+he was rather surprised to hear a voice reply, a voice that came
+from his own lips, curiously enough:
+
+"Fine!"
+
+So he opened his eyes again to ascertain the meaning of this
+phenomenon. This time the ogre-like face came into focus, and
+Desmond saw a man with a tumbler in his hand bending over him.
+
+"That's right," said the man, looking very intently at him, "feel
+a bit better, eh? Got a bit of a crack, what? Just take a
+mouthful of brandy... I've got it here!"
+
+Desmond obediently swallowed the contents of the glass that the
+other held to his lips. He was feeling horribly weak, and very
+cold. His collar and shirt were unbuttoned, and his neck and
+shoulders were sopping wet with water. On his ears still fell the
+wailing of the woman.
+
+"Corporal," said the man bending over him, "just go and tell that
+old hag to hold her noise! She'll have to go out of the house if
+she can't be quiet!"
+
+Desmond opened his eyes again. He was lying on the settee in the
+library. A tall figure in khaki, who had been stirring the fire
+with his boot, turned at the doctor's summons and left the room.
+On the table the lamp was still burning but its rays were
+neutralized by the glare of a crimson dawn which Desmond could
+see flushing the sky through the shattered panes of the French
+window. In the centre of the floor lay a long object covered by a
+tablecloth, beside it a table overturned with a litter of broken
+glass strewn about the carpet.
+
+The woman's sobbing ceased. The corporal came back into the room.
+
+"She'll be quiet now, sir," he said, "I told her to get you and
+the gentlemen a cup o' tea."
+
+Then, to Desmond, he said:
+
+"Nasty ding you got, sir! My word, I thought they'd done for you
+when I come in at the winder!"
+
+The telephone on the desk tingled sharply. The door opened at the
+same moment and a shabby little old man with sandy side whiskers
+and moleskin trousers came briskly in.
+
+His appearance had a curious effect on the patient on the settee.
+Despite the doctor's restraining hand, he struggled into a
+sitting position, staring in bewilderment at the shabby old man
+who had gone straight to the telephone and lifted the receiver.
+And well might Desmond stare; for here was Mr. John Hill, the odd
+man, talking on the telephone. And his voice...
+
+"Well?" said the man at the telephone, curtly.
+
+"Yes, speaking. You've got her, eh? Good. What's that? Well,
+that's something. No trace of the others? Damn!"
+
+He slammed down the receiver and turned to face the settee.
+
+"Francis!" cried Desmond.
+
+And then he did a thing highly unbecoming in a field officer. He
+burst into tears.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XX. THE ODD MAN
+
+Desmond and Francis Okewood sat in the dining-room of the Mill
+House finishing an excellent breakfast of ham and eggs and coffee
+which old Martha had prepared for them.
+
+Francis was still wearing Mr. John Hill's greasy jacket and
+moleskins, but the removal of the sandy whiskers and a remarkable
+wig, consisting of a bald pate with a fringe of reddish hair, had
+gone far to restore him to the semblance of his former self.
+
+Desmond was feeling a good deal better. His head had escaped the
+full force of the smashing blow dealt at him by Strangwise with
+the butt of his pistol. He had instinctively put up his arm to
+defend his face and the thickly padded sleeve of Bellward's
+jacket had broken the force of the blow. Desmond had avoided a
+fractured skull at the price of an appalling bruise on the right
+forearm and a nasty laceration of the scalp.
+
+Francis had resolutely declined to enlighten him as to the events
+of the night until both had breakfasted. After despatching the
+corporal of military police to hurry the housekeeper on with the
+breakfast, Francis had taken his brother straight to the
+dining-room, refusing to let him ask the questions which thronged
+his brain until they had eaten and drunk. Only when all the ham
+and eggs had disappeared, did Francis, lighting one of Mr.
+Bellward's cigars, consent to satisfy his brother's curiosity.
+
+"It was only yesterday morning," he said, "that I landed at
+Folkstone from the Continent. How I got the Chief's message
+recalling me and how I made my escape through the Turkish lines
+to Allenby's headquarters is a long story which will keep. The
+Chief had a car waiting for me at Folkstone and I reached London
+in time to lunch with him. We had a long talk and he gave me
+carte blanche to jump into this business now, when and where I
+thought I could best help you."
+
+Desmond smiled bitterly.
+
+"The Chief couldn't trust me to make good on my own, I suppose,"
+he said.
+
+"The Chief had a very good idea of the character of the people
+you had to deal with, Des.," retorted Francis, "and he was a
+trifle apprehensive that the role you were playing might lead to
+complications, supposing the gang were to see through your
+impersonation. He's a wonderful man, that, Des., and he was dead
+right--as he always is."
+
+"But how?" asked Desmond. "Did the crowd spot me?"
+
+"No," answered the other; "but it was your disguise which was
+responsible for the escape of Strangwise--"
+
+"What?" cried Desmond. "He's escaped after all!"
+
+Francis nodded.
+
+"Yes," he said, "got clear away and left no trace. Wait a minute
+and you shall hear! When I have told my story, you shall tell
+yours and between us, we'll piece things together!
+
+"Well, when I left the Chief yesterday, I came down here. The
+description of Mr. John Hill, your odd man, rather tickled my
+fancy. I wanted badly to get at you for a quiet chat and it
+seemed to me that if I could borrow Mr. Hill's appearance for a
+few hours now and then I might gain access to you without rousing
+any suspicion. You see, I knew that old Hill left here about dusk
+every afternoon, so I guessed the coast would be clear.
+
+"Clarkson's fitted me out with the duds and the make-up and I got
+down to Wentfield by half-past six. The fog was so infernally
+thick that it took me more than an hour to get here on foot. It
+must have been close on eight o'clock when I pushed open your
+front gate. I thought of going boldly into the kitchen and asking
+for you, but, fortunately, I decided to have a preliminary prowl
+round the place. Through a chink in the curtains of the library I
+saw you and a stranger talking together. The stranger was quite
+unknown to me; but one thing about him I spotted right off. I saw
+that he was disguised; so I decided to hang about a bit and await
+developments.
+
+"I loafed around in the fog for about half an hour. Then I heard
+a car coming up the drive. I hid myself in the rhododendron bush
+opposite the front door and saw two men and a woman get out. They
+hurried into the house, so that I didn't have a chance of seeing
+their faces. But I got a good, glimpse of the chauffeur as he
+bent down to turn out the headlights. And, yes, I knew him!"
+
+"Max, they called him," said Desmond.
+
+"His name was Mirsky when last I saw him," answered Francis, "and
+mine was Apfelbaum, if you want to know. He was a German agent in
+Russia and as ruthless and unscrupulous a rascal as you'll find
+anywhere in the German service. I must say I never thought he'd
+have the nerve to show his face in this country, though I believe
+he's a Whitechapel Jew born and bred. However, there he was and
+the sight of his ugly mug told me that something was doing. But
+like a fool I decided to hang on a bit and watch, instead of
+going right off in that car and fetching help from Stanning."
+
+"It was just as well you waited," said Desmond, "for if you'd
+gone off at once they must have heard the car and the fat would
+have been in the fire straight away!"
+
+And he told Francis of the loud dispute among the confederates in
+the library, the noise of which had effectually covered the sound
+of the departing ear.
+
+Francis laughed.
+
+"From my observation post outside," he said, "I could only see
+you, Des, and that blackguard, Mug, as you two were sitting
+opposite the window. I couldn't see more than the feet of the
+others. But your face told me the loud voices which reached me
+even outside meant that a crisis of some sort was approaching, so
+I thought it was time to be up and doing. So I sneaked round to
+the front of the house, got the engine of the car going and
+started off down the drive.
+
+"I had the very devil of a job to get to Stanning. Ever since
+you've been down here, the Chief has had special men on duty day
+and night at the police-station there. I didn't dare stop to
+light the head-lamps and as a result the first thing I did was to
+charge the front gate and get the back wheel so thoroughly jammed
+that it took me the best part of twenty minutes to get the
+blooming car clear. When at last I got to the station, I found
+that Matthews, the Chief's man, you know, had just arrived by car
+from London with a lot of plain-clothes men and some military
+police. He was in the very devil of a stew. He told me that
+Bellward had escaped, that the Chief was out of town for the
+night and ungetatable, and that he (Matthews) had come down on
+his own to prevent the gaff being blown on you and also to
+recapture Mr. Bellward if he should be mad enough to make for his
+old quarters.
+
+"I told Matthews of the situation up at the Mill House. Neither
+of us was able to understand why you had not telephoned for
+assistance--we only discovered later that the telephone had been
+disconnected--but I went bail that you were up against a very
+stiff proposition. I told Matthews that, by surrounding the
+house, we might capture the whole gang.
+
+"Matthews is a cautious cuss and he wanted a good deal of
+persuading, so we lost a lot of time. In the end, he wouldn't
+take my advice to rush every available man to the scene, but only
+consented to take two plainclothes men and two military police.
+He was so precious afraid of upsetting your arrangements. The
+Chief, it appears, had warned everybody against doing that. So we
+all piled into the car and I drove them back to the Mill House.
+
+"This time I left the car at the front gate and we went up to the
+house on foot. We had arranged that Matthews and one of the
+military police, both armed, should stay and guard the car, while
+the two plainclothes men and the other military policeman, the
+corporal here, should accompany me to the house. Matthews
+believed my yarn that we were only going to 'investigate.' What I
+intended to do in reality was to round up the whole blessed lot.
+
+"I put one of the plain-clothes men on the front door and the
+other round at the back of the house. Their orders were to stop
+anybody who came out and at the same time to whistle for
+assistance. The corporal and I went to our old observation post
+outside the library window.
+
+"The moment I glanced into the room I knew that matters had
+reached a climax. I saw you--looking pretty blue, old man--facing
+that woman who seemed to be denouncing you. Max stood beside you
+with a pistol, and beside him was our friend, Mortimer, with a
+regular whopper of an automatic. Before I had time to move, the
+plain-clothes man at the back of the house whistled. He had found
+the secret door with Bellward and the woman coming out of it.
+
+"Then I saw Mortimer fire point-blank at you. I had my gun out in
+a second, but I was afraid of shooting, for fear of hitting you
+as you went for the other man.
+
+"But the corporal at my side wasn't worrying much about you. Just
+as you jumped he put up his gun and let fly at Mortimer with a
+sense of discrimination which does him infinite credit. He missed
+Mortimer, but plugged Max plumb through the forehead and my old
+friend dropped in his tracks right between you and the other
+fellow. On that we hacked our way through the French window. The
+corporal found time to have another shot and laid out a tall,
+odd-looking man..."
+
+"No. 13," elucidated Desmond.
+
+"... When we got inside we found him dead across the threshold of
+the door leading into the hall. Behrend we caught hiding in a
+brush cupboard by the back stairs. As for the others--"
+
+"Gone?" queried Desmond with a sudden sinking at his heart.
+
+Francis nodded.
+
+"We didn't waste any time getting through that window," he said,
+"but the catch was stiff and the broken glass was deuced
+unpleasant. Still, we were too late. You were laid out on the
+floor; Mortimer, Bellward and the lady had made their lucky
+escape. And the secret door showed us how they had gone..."
+
+"But I thought you had a man posted at the back?"
+
+"Would you believe it? When the shooting began, the infernal
+idiot must rush round to our assistance, so, of course, Mortimer
+and Co., nipping out by the secret door, got clear away down the
+drive. But that is not the worst. Matthews gave them the car!"
+
+"No!" said Desmond incredulously.
+
+"He did, though," answered Francis. "Mind you, Mortimer had had
+the presence of mind to throw off his disguise. He presented
+himself to Matthews as Strangwise. Matthews knows Strangwise
+quite well: he has often seen him with the Chief.
+
+"'My God, Captain Strangwise,' says Matthews, as the trio
+appeared, 'What's happened?'
+
+"'You're wanted up at the house immediately, Matthews,' says
+Strangwise quite excitedly. 'We're to take the car and go for
+assistance.'
+
+"Matthews had a look at Strangwise's companions, and seeing
+Bellward, of course, takes him for you. As for the lady, she had
+a black lace muffler wound about her face.
+
+"'Miss Mackwayte's coming with us, Matthews,' Strangwise says,
+seeing Matthews look at the lady. That removed the last of any
+lurking suspicions that old Matthews might have had. He left the
+military policeman at the gate and tore off like mad up the drive
+while Strangwise and the others jumped into the car and were away
+before you could say 'knife.' The military, policeman actually
+cranked up the car for them!
+
+"When Matthews burst into the library with the story of you and
+Strangwise and Miss Mackwayte having gone off for help in our
+only car, I knew we had been sold. You were there, knocked out of
+time on the floor, in your disguise as Bellward, so I knew that
+the man with Strangwise was the real Bellward and I consequently
+deduced that Strangwise was Mortimer and consequently the very
+man we had to catch.
+
+"We were done brown. If we had had a little more time to think
+things out, we should have found that motor-bike and I would have
+gone after the trio myself. But my first idea was to summon aid.
+I tried to telephone without success and then we found the wire
+cut outside. Then I had the idea of pumping Behrend. I found him
+quite chatty and furious against Mortimer, whom he accused of
+having sold them. He told us that the party would be sure to make
+for the Dyke Inn, as Nur-el-Din was there.
+
+"By this time Strangwise and his party had got at least an hour
+clear start of us. I had set a man to repair the telephone and in
+the meantime was thinking of sending another on foot to Stanning
+to fetch one of our cars. Then I found the motor-bike and
+despatched one of the military policemen on it to Stanning.
+
+"In about half an hour's time he was back with a car in which
+were Gordon and Harrison and some more military police. I put
+Matthews in charge of the party and sent them off to the Dyke
+Inn, though I felt pretty sure we were too late to catch the
+trio. That was really the reason I stayed behind; besides, I
+wanted to look after you. I got a turn when I saw you spread out
+all over the carpet, old man, I can tell you."
+
+Desmond, who had listened with the most eager attention, did not
+speak for a minute. The sense of failure was strong upon him. How
+he had bungled it all!
+
+"Look here," he said presently in a dazed voice, "you said just
+now that Matthews mistook Mrs. Malplaquet for Miss Mackwayte. Why
+should Matthews think that Miss Mackwayte was down here? Did she
+come down with you?"
+
+Francis looked at him quickly.
+
+"That crack on the head makes you forget things," he said. "Don't
+you remember Miss Mackwayte coming down here to see you yesterday
+afternoon Matthews thought she had stayed on..."
+
+Desmond shook his head.
+
+"She's not been here," he replied. "I'm quite positive about that!"
+
+Francis sprang to his feet.
+
+"Surely you must be mistaken," he said in tones of concern. "The
+Chief sent her down yesterday afternoon on purpose to see you.
+She reached Wentfield Station all right; because the porter told
+Matthews that she asked him the way to the Mill House."
+
+An ominous foreboding struck chill at Desmond's heart. He held
+his throbbing head for an instant. Someone had mentioned Barbara
+that night in the library but who was it? And what had he said?
+
+Ah! of course, it was Strangwise. "So that's what she wanted with
+Nur-el-Din!" he had said.
+
+Desmond felt it all coming back to him now. Briefly he told
+Francis of his absence from the Mill House in response to the
+summons from Nur-el-Din, of his interview with the dancer and her
+story of the Star of Poland, of his hurried return just in time
+to meet Mortimer, and of Mortimer's enigmatical reference to the
+dancer in the library that night.
+
+Fancis looked graver and graver as the story proceeded. Desmond
+noted it and reproached himself most bitterly with his initial
+failure to inform the Chief of the visits of Nur-el-Din and
+Mortimer to the Mill House. When he had finished speaking, he did
+not look at Francis, but gazed mournfully out of the window into
+the chilly drizzle of a sad winter's day.
+
+"I don't like the look of it at all, Des," said his brother
+shaking his head, "but first we must make sure that there has
+been no misunderstanding about Miss Mackwayte. You say your
+housekeeper was already here when you came back from the Dyke
+Inn. She may have seen her. Let's have old Martha in!"
+
+Between fright, bewilderment and indignation at the invasion of
+the house, old Martha was, if anything, deafer and more stupid
+than usual. After much interrogation they had to be satisfied
+with her repeated assertion that "she 'adn't seen no young lady"
+and allowed her to hobble back to her kitchen.
+
+The two brothers stared at one another blankly. Francis was the
+first to speak. His eyes were shining and his manner was rather
+tense.
+
+"Des," he asked; "what do you make of it? From what Strangwise
+let fall in the library here tonight, it seems probable that Miss
+Mackwayte, instead of coming here to see you as she was told--or
+she may have called during your absence--went to the Dyke Inn and
+saw Nur-el-Din. The muffed cry you heard at the inn suggests foul
+play to me and that suspicion is deepened in my mind by the fact
+that Matthews found Nur-el-Din at the Dyke Inn, as he reported to
+me by telephone just now; but he says nothing about Miss
+Mackwayte. Des, I fear the worst for that poor girl if she has
+fallen into the hands of that gang!"
+
+Desmond remained silent for a moment. He was trying to piece
+things together as best as his aching head would allow. Both
+Nur-el-Din and Strangwise were after the jewel. Nur-el-Din
+believed that afternoon that Strangwise had it, while Strangwise,
+on discovering his loss, had seemed to suggest that Barbara
+Mackwayte had recovered it.
+
+"Either Strangwise or Nur-el-Din, perhaps both of them," said
+Desmond, "must know what has become of Miss Mackwayte."
+
+And he explained his reasoning to Francis. His brother nodded
+quickly.
+
+"Then Nur-el-Din shall tell us," he answered sternly.
+
+"They've arrested her?" asked Desmond with a sudden pang.
+
+"Yes," said Francis curtly. But too late to prevent a crime being
+committed. When Matthews and his party arrived, they found
+Nur-el-Din in the very act of leaving the inn. The landlord,
+Rass, was lying dead on the floor of the tap-room with a bullet
+through the temple. That looks to me, Des, as though Nur-el-Din
+had recovered the jewel!"
+
+"But Rass is a compatriot of hers," Desmond objected.
+
+"But he was also an inconvenient witness of her dealings with
+Strangwise," retorted Francis. "If either Nur-el-Din or
+Strangwise have regained possession of the Star of Poland, Des, I
+fear the worst for Barbara Mackwayte. Come in!"
+
+The corporal stood, saluting, at the door.
+
+"Mr. Matthews on the telephone, sir!"
+
+Francis hurried away, leaving Desmond to his thoughts, which were
+not of the most agreeable. Had he been wrong in thinking
+Nur-el-Din a victim? Was he, after all, nothing but a credulous
+fool who had been hoodwinked by a pretty woman's play-acting? And
+had he sacrificed Barbara Mackwayte to his obstinacy and his
+credulousness?
+
+Francis burst suddenly into the room.
+
+"Des," he cried, "they've found Miss Mackwayte's hat on the floor
+of the tap-room... it is stained with blood..."
+
+Desmond felt himself growing pale:
+
+"And the girl herself," he asked thickly, "what of her?"
+
+Francis shook his head.
+
+"Vanished," he replied gravely. "Vanished utterly.
+Desmond," he added, "we must go over to the Dyke Inn at once!"
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXI. THE BLACK VELVET TOQUE
+
+Across Morsted Fen the day was breaking red and sullen. The
+brimming dykes, fringed with bare pollards, and the long sheets
+of water spread out across the lush meadows, threw back the fiery
+radiance of the sky from their gleaming surface. The tall
+poplars about the Dyke Inn stood out hard and clear in the ruddy
+light; beyond them the fen, stretched away to the flaming horizon
+gloomy and flat and desolate, with nothing higher than the
+stunted pollards visible against the lurid background.
+
+Upon the absolute silence of the scene there presently broke the
+steady humming of a car. A great light, paled by the dawn, came
+bobbing and sweeping, along the road that skirted the fen's edge.
+A big open car drew up by the track and branched, off to the inn.
+Its four occupants consulted together for an instant and then
+alighted. Three of them were in plain clothes; the other was a
+soldier. The driver was also in khaki.
+
+"They're astir, Mr. Matthews," said one, of the plain clothes
+men, pointing towards the house, "see, there's a light in the
+inn!"
+
+They followed the direction of his finger and saw a beam of
+yellow light gleaming from among the trees.
+
+"Get your guns out, boys!" said Matthews. "Give them a chance to
+put their hands up, and if they don't obey, shoot!"
+
+Very swiftly but very quietly, the four men picked their way over
+the miry track to the little bridge leading to the yard in front
+of the inn. The light they had remarked shone from the inn door,
+a feeble, flickering light as of an expiring candle.
+
+Matthews, who was leading, halted and listened. Everything was
+quite still. Above their head the inn sign groaned uneasily as it
+was stirred by the fresh morning breeze.
+
+"You, Gordon," whispered Matthews to the man behind him--they had
+advanced in Indian file--"take Bates and go round to the back.
+Harrison will go in by the front with me."
+
+Even as he spoke a faint noise came from the interior of the
+house. The four men stood stock-still and listened. In the
+absolute stillness of the early morning, the sound fell
+distinctly on their ears. It was a step--a light step--descending
+the stairs.
+
+Gordon and the soldier detached themselves from the party as
+Matthews and the other plain clothes man crossed the bridge
+swiftly and went up to the inn door. Hardly had Matthews got his
+foot on the stone step of the threshold than, a piercing shriek
+resounded from the room quite close at hand. The next minute a
+flying figure burst out of the door and fell headlong into the
+arms of Matthews who was all but overbalanced by the force of the
+impact.
+
+He closed with the figure and grappled it firmly. His arms
+encountered a frail, light body, shaking from head to foot,
+enveloped in a cloak of some soft, thick material.
+
+"It's a woman!" cried Matthews.
+
+"It's Nur-el-Din!" exclaimed his companion in the same breath,
+seizing the woman by the arm.
+
+The dancer made no attempt to escape. She stood with bowed head,
+trembling violently, in a cowering, almost a crouching posture.
+
+Harrison, who had the woman by the arm, had turned her head so
+that he could see her face. She was deathly pale and her black
+eyes were wide open, the pupils dilated. Her teeth were
+chattering in her head. She seemed incapable of speech or motion.
+
+"Nur-el-Din?" exclaimed Matthews in accents of triumph. "Bring
+her in, Harrison, and let's have a look at her!"
+
+But the woman recoiled in terror. She arched her body stiff, like
+a child in a passion, and strained every muscle to remain where
+she was cowering by the inn-door.
+
+"Come on, my girl," said the man not unkindly, "don't you 'ear
+wot the Guv'nor sez! In you go!"
+
+Then the girl screamed aloud.
+
+"No, no!" she cried, "not in that house! For the love of God,
+don't take me back into that room! Ah! For pity's sake, let me
+stay outside! Take me to prison but not, not into that house
+again!"
+
+She half fell on her knees in the mire, pleading, entreating, her
+body shaken by sobs.
+
+Then Harrison, who was an ex-Guardsman and a six-footer at that,
+plucked her off her feet and carried her, still struggling, still
+imploring with piteous cries, over the threshold into the house:
+Matthews followed behind.
+
+The shutters of the tap-room were still closed. Only a strip of
+the dirty floor, strewn with sawdust, was illuminated by a bar of
+reddish light from the daybreak outside. On the table a candle,
+burnt down to the socket of its brass candlestick, flared and
+puttered in a riot of running wag. Half in the bar of daylight
+from outside, half in the darkness beyond the open door, against
+which the flickering candlelight struggled feebly, lay the body
+of a yellow-faced, undersized man with a bullet wound through the
+temple.
+
+Without effort Harrison deposited his light burden on her feet by
+the table. Instantly, the girl fled, like some frightened animal
+of the woods, to the farthest corner of the room. Here she
+dropped sobbing on her knees, rocking herself to and fro in a
+sort of paroxysm of hysteria. Harrison moved quickly round the
+table after her; but he was checked by a cry from Matthews who
+was kneeling by the body.
+
+"Let her be," said Matthews, "she's scared of this and no wonder!
+Come here a minute, Harrison, and see if you know, this chap!"
+
+Harrison crossed the room and looked down at the still figure. He
+whistled softly.
+
+"My word!" he said, "but he copped it all right, sir! Ay, I know
+him well enough! He's Rass, the landlord of this pub, that's who
+he is, as harmless a sort of chap as ever was! Who did it, d'you
+think, sir?"
+
+Matthews, who had been going through the dead man's pockets, now
+rose to his feet.
+
+"Nothing worth writing home about there," he said half aloud.
+Then to Harrison, he added: "That's what we've got to
+discover... hullo, who's this?"
+
+The door leading from the bar to the tap-room was thrust open.
+Gordon put his head in.
+
+"I left Bates on guard outside, sir," he said in answer to an
+interrogatory glance from Matthews, "I've been all over the
+ground floor and there's not a soul here..."
+
+He checked himself suddenly.
+
+"God bless my soul!" he exclaimed, his eyes on the figure
+crouching in the corner, "you don't mean to say you've got her? A
+pretty dance she led Dug and myself! Well, sir, it looks to me
+like a good night's work!".
+
+Matthews smiled a self-satisfied smile.
+
+"I fancy the Chief will be pleased," he said, "though the rest of
+'em seem to have given us the slip. Gordon, you might take a look
+upstairs--that door in the corner leads to the upper rooms, I
+fancy whilst I'm telephoning to Mr. Okewood. He must know about
+this without delay. You, Harrison, keep an eye on the girl!"
+
+He went through the door leading into the bar, and they heard him
+speaking on the telephone which hung on the wall behind the
+counter. He returned presently with a white tablecloth which he
+threw over the prostrate figure on the floor.
+
+Then he turned to the dancer.
+
+"Stand up," he said sternly, "I want to speak to you."
+
+Nur-el-Din cast a frightened glance over her shoulder at the
+floor beside the table where Rass lay. On seeing the white pall
+that hid him from view, she became somewhat reassured. She rose
+unsteadily to her feet and stood facing Matthews.
+
+"In virtue of the powers conferred upon me by the Defence of the
+Realm Acts, I arrest you for espionage... Matthews rolled off in
+glib, official gabble the formula of arrest ending with the usual
+caution that anything the prisoner might say might be used
+against her at her trial. Then he said to Harrison:
+
+"Better put them on her, Harrison!"
+
+The plain clothes man took a pace forward and touched the
+dancer's slender wrists, there was a click and she was
+handcuffed.
+
+"Now take her in there," said Matthews pointing to the bar.
+"There's no exit except by this room. And don't take your eyes
+off her. You understand? Mr. Okewood will be along presently with
+a female searcher."
+
+"Sir!" said the plain clothes man with military precision and
+touched the dancer on the shoulder. Without a word she turned and
+followed him into the bar.
+
+Gordon entered by the door at the end of the room.
+
+"I'd like you to have a look upstairs, sir," he said to Matthews,
+"there's not a soul in the house, but somebody has been locked up
+in one of the rooms. The door is still locked but one of the
+panels has been forced out. I think you ought to see it!"
+
+The two men passed out of the tap-room together, and mounted the
+stairs. On the landing Matthews paused a moment to glance out of
+the window on to the bleak and inhospitable fen which was almost
+obscured from view by a heavy drizzle of rain.
+
+"Brr!" said Mr. Matthews, "what a horrible place!"
+
+Looking up the staircase from the landing, they could see that
+one of the panels of the door facing the head of the stairs had
+been pressed out and lay on the ground. They passed up the stairs
+and Matthews, putting one arm and his head through the opening,
+found himself gazing into that selfsame ugly sitting room where
+Desmond had talked with Nur-el-Din.
+
+A couple of vigorous heaves burst the fastening of the door. The
+sitting-room was in the wildest confusion. The doors of the
+sideboard stood wide with its contents scattered
+higgledy-piggledy on the carpet. A chest of drawers in the corner
+had been ransacked, some of the drawers having been taken bodily
+out and emptied on the floor.
+
+The door leading to the inner room stood open and showed that a
+similar search had been conducted there as well. The inner room
+proved to be a bare white-washed place, very plainly furnished as
+a bedroom. On the floor stood a small attache case, and beside it
+a little heap of miscellaneous articles such as a woman would
+take away with her for a weekend, a crepe-de-chine nightdress, a
+dainty pair of bedroom slippers and some silver-mounted toilet
+fittings. From these things Matthews judged that this had been
+Nur-el-Din's bedroom.
+
+The two men spent a long time going through the litter with which
+the floor in the bedroom and sitting room was strewed. But their
+labors were vain, and they turned their attention to the
+remaining rooms, of which there were three.
+
+The first room they visited, adjoining Nur-el-Din's bedroom, was
+scarcely better than an attic. It contained in the way of
+furniture little else than a truckle-bed, a washstand, a table
+and a chair. Women's clothes were hanging on hooks behind the
+door. The place looked like a servant's bedroom.
+
+They pursued their search. Across the corridor two rooms stood
+side by side. One proved to be Rass's. His clothes lay about the
+room, and on a table in the corner, where writing materials
+stood, were various letters and bills made out in his name.
+
+The other room had also been occupied; for the bed was made and
+turned back for the night and there were clean towels on the
+washstand. But there was no clue as to its occupant save for a
+double-barreled gun which stood in the corner. It had evidently
+been recently used; for fresh earth was adhering to the stock and
+the barrel, though otherwise clean, showed traces of
+freshly-burnt powder.
+
+There being nothing further to glean upstairs, the two men went
+down to the tap-room again. As Matthews came through the door
+leading from the staircase his eye caught a dark object which lay
+on the floor under the long table. He fished it out with his
+stick.
+
+It was a small black velvet toque with a band of white and black
+silk flowers round it. In one part the white flowers were
+besmeared with a dark brown stain.
+
+Matthews stared at the little hat in his hand with puckered
+brows. Then he called to Gordon.
+
+"Do you know that hat?" he asked, holding it up for the man to
+see.
+
+Gordon shook his head.
+
+"I might have seen it," he replied, "but I don't take much
+account of such things, Mr. Matthews, being a married man..."
+
+"Tut, tut," fussed Matthews, "I think you have seen it. Come,
+think of the office for a minute!"
+
+"Of the office?" repeated Gordon. Then he exclaimed suddenly:
+
+"Miss Mackwayte!"
+
+"Exactly," answered Matthews, "it's her hat, I recall it
+perfectly. She wore it very often to the office. Look at the
+blood on it!"
+
+He put the hat down on the table and ran into the bar where
+Nur-el-Din sat immobile on her chair, wrapped in a big overcoat
+of some soft blanket cloth in dark green, her chin sunk on her
+breast.
+
+Matthews called up the Mill House and asked for Francis Okewood.
+When he mentioned the finding of Barbara Mackwayte's hat, the
+dancer raised her head and cast a frightened glance at Matthews.
+But she said nothing and when Matthews turned from the telephone
+to go back to the tap-room she had resumed her former listless
+attitude.
+
+Matthews and Gordon made a thorough search of the kitchen and
+back premises without finding anything of note. They had just
+finished when the sound of a car outside attracted their
+attention. On the road beyond the little bridge outside the inn
+Francis and Desmond Okewood were standing, helping a woman to
+alight. Francis was still wearing his scarecrow-like apparel,
+while Desmond, with his beard and pale face and bandaged head,
+looked singularly unlike the trim Brigade Major who had come home
+on leave only a week or so before.
+
+Matthews went out to meet them and, addressing the woman--a
+brisk-looking person--as Mrs. Butterworth, informed her that it
+was shocking weather. Then he led the way into the inn.
+
+The first thing that Desmond saw was the little toque with the
+brown stain on its flowered band lying on the table. Francis
+picked it up, turned it over and laid it down again.
+
+"Where did you find it?" he asked Matthews. The latter informed
+him of the circumstances of the discovery. Then Francis, sending
+the searcher in to Nur-el-Din in the bar, pointed to the body on
+the floor.
+
+"Let's have a look at that!" he said.
+
+Matthews removed the covering and the three men gazed at the set
+face of the dead man. There was a clean bullet wound in the right
+temple. Matthews showed the papers he had taken off the body and
+exchanged a few, words in a low tone with Francis. There is
+something about the presence of death which impels respect
+whatever the circumstances.
+
+Five minutes later Mrs. Butterworth came out of the bar. In her
+hands she held a miscellaneous assortment of articles, a small
+gold chain purse, a pair of gloves, a gold cigarette case, a tiny
+handkerchief, and a long blue envelope. She put all the articles
+down on the tables save the envelope which she handed to Francis.
+
+"This was in the lining of her overcoat, sir," she said.
+
+Francis took the envelope and broke the seal. He drew out half a
+dozen sheets of thin paper, folded lengthwise. Leisurely he
+unfolded them, but he had hardly glanced at the topmost sheet
+than he turned to the next and the next until he had run through
+the whole bunch. Desmond, peering over his shoulder, caught a
+glimpse of rows of figures, very neatly set out in a round hand
+and knew that he was looking at a message in cipher code.
+
+The door at the end of the tap-room was flung open and a soldier
+came in quickly.
+
+He stopped irresolute on seeing the group.
+
+"Well, Bates," said Matthews.
+
+"There's a woman lying dead in the cellar back yonder," said the
+man, jerking his thumb over his shoulder.
+
+"The cellar?" cried Matthews.
+
+"Yes, sir... I think you must ha' overlooked it."
+
+Francis, Desmond and Matthews exchanged a brief glance. A name
+was on the lips of each one of them but none dared speak it.
+Then, leaving Harrison and Mrs. Butterworth with Nur-el-Din, the
+three men followed the soldier and hurriedly quitted the room.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXII. WHAT THE CELLAR REVEALED
+
+On opening the door at the farther end of the tap-room they saw
+before them a trap-door standing wide with a shallow flight of
+wooden steps leading to the darkness below. Bates pointed with
+his foot to a square of linoleum which lay on one side.
+
+"That was covering the trap," he said, "I wouldn't ha' noticed
+nothing out of the ordinary myself only I slipped, see, and
+kicked this bit o' ilecloth away and there was the ring of the
+trap staring me in the face, as you might say. Show us a light
+here, Gordon!"
+
+Gordon handed him an electric torch. He flashed it down the
+stair. It fell upon something like a heap of black clothes
+huddled up at the foot of the ladder.
+
+"Is it Miss Mackwayte?" whispered Francis to his brother. "I've
+never seen her, you know!"
+
+"I can't tell," Desmond whispered back, "until I see her face."
+
+He advanced to descend the ladder but Matthews was before him.
+Producing an electric torch from his pocket, Matthews slipped
+down the stair with Gordon close behind. There was a pause, so
+tense that it seemed an eternity to Desmond, as he waited
+half-way down the ladder with the musty smell of the cellar in
+his nostrils. Then Matthews cried:
+
+"It's not her!"
+
+"Let me look!" Gordon broke in. Then Desmond heard him exclaim.
+
+"It's Nur-el-Din's French maid! It's Marie... she's been stabbed
+in the back!"
+
+Desmond suddenly felt rather sick. This progress from one deed of
+violence to another revolted him. The others crowded into the
+cellar; but he did not follow them. He remained at the top of the
+trap, leaning against the wall, trying to collect his thoughts.
+
+Barbara Mackwayte was now his sole preoccupation. If anything had
+happened to her,--it was through his fault alone; for he began to
+feel sure she must have come to the Mill House in his absence.
+What then had become of her? The blood-stained toque pointed to
+foul play. But if they had murdered her, what had they done with
+the body?
+
+His thoughts flew back to his interview with Nur-el-Din upstairs
+on the previous afternoon. He remembered the entrance of the maid
+and the dancer's hurried exit. Might not Marie have come to tell
+her that Barbara Mackwayte was below asking for her? It was very
+shortly after this interruption that, crouching on the roof of
+the shed, he had heard that muffled cry from the house and seen
+Rass enter the bar and speak with Strangwise. He had seen, too,
+the maid, Marie, in earnest conversation with Strangwise by the
+back gate on the fen. Had both Marie and Rass been in league with
+Strangwise against the dancer? And had Nur-el-Din discovered
+their treachery? His mind refused to follow these deductions to
+their logical sequence; for, black as things looked against
+Nur-el-Din, he could not bring himself to believe her a
+murderess.
+
+But now there were footsteps on the ladder. They were all coming
+out of the cellar again. As soon as Francis saw Desmond's face,
+he caught his brother by the arm and said:
+
+"The open air for you, my boy! You look as if you'd seen a ghost!
+I should have remembered all you've gone through!"
+
+He walked him quickly through the tap-room and out through the
+inn door into the yard.
+
+The rain had ceased and the sun was making a brave attempt to
+shine through the clouds. The cold air did Desmond good and
+after a turn or two in the yard, arm in arm with Francis, he felt
+considerably better.
+
+"Where is Miss Mackwayte?" he asked.
+
+"Des," said his brother, "I don't know and I don't want to
+cross-examine Nur-el-Din in there until I have reasoned out some
+theory which will fit Miss Mackwayte in her place in this
+horrible affair. The men have gone to search the outhouses and
+precincts of the inn to see if they can find any traces of her
+body, but I don't think they will find anything. I believe that
+Miss Mackwayte is alive."
+
+"Alive?" said Desmond.
+
+"The blood on that toque of hers might have been Rass's. There is
+a good deal of blood on the floor. You see, I still think Miss
+Mackwayte's safety depends on that jewel not being recovered by
+either Strangwise or Nur-el-Din. Strangwise, we know, has lost
+the jewel and there is no trace of it here: moreover, we know
+that, as late as yesterday afternoon, Nur-el-Din did not have it.
+Therefore, she cannot have sent it away! I am inclined to
+believe, too, that Strangwise, before going over to the Mill
+House last night, carried off Miss Mackwayte somewhere with the
+aid of Rass and Marie, who were evidently his accomplices, in
+order to find out from her where the jewel is concealed..."
+
+"But Miss Mackwayte cannot know what has become of it," objected
+Desmond.
+
+"Maybe not," retorted his brother, "but both Strangwise and
+Nur-el-Din know that the jewel was originally entrusted to her
+charge. Nur-el-Din did not, it is true, tell Miss Mackwayte what
+the silver box contained but the latter may have found out, at
+least the dancer might suppose so; while Strangwise might think
+the same. Therefore, both Strangwise and Nur-el-Din had an
+interest in detaining Miss Mackwayte, and I think Strangwise
+forestalled the dancer. When Nur-el-Din discovered it, both Rass
+and her maid paid the penalty of their betrayal."
+
+They walked once up and down the yard before Desmond replied.
+
+"Francis," he said, "you remember Nur-el-Din's story--I told it
+to you just as I had it from her."
+
+"Perfectly," answered his brother.
+
+"Well," Desmond went on deliberately, "I think that story gives
+us the right measure of Nur-el-Din's, character. She may be vain,
+she may be without morals, she may be weak, she may be an
+adventuress, but she's not a murderess. If anything, she's a
+victim!"
+
+Francis laughed shortly.
+
+"Victim be damned!" he cried. "Man alive," he went on, "how can
+you talk such nonsense in face of the evidence, with this
+bloody-minded woman's victims hardly cold yet? But, horrible as
+these murders are, the private squabbles of this gang of spies
+represent neither your interest nor mine in this case. For us the
+fact remains that Nur-el-Din, besides being a monster of
+iniquity, is the heart and soul and vitals of the whole
+conspiracy!"
+
+Jaded and nervous, Desmond felt a quick sting of resentment at
+his brother's tone. Why should Francis thus lay down the law to
+him about Nur-el-Din? Francis knew nothing of the girl or her
+antecedents while he, Desmond, flattered himself that he had at
+least located the place she occupied in this dark conspiracy. And
+he cried out vehemently:
+
+"You're talking like a fool! I grant you that Nur-el-Din has been
+mixed up with this spy crowd; but she herself stands absolutely
+apart from the organization..."
+
+"Half a minute!" put in Francis, "aren't you forgetting that blue
+envelope we took off her just now?"
+
+"What about it?" asked Desmond sharply.
+
+"Merely this; the cipher is in five figure groups, addressed to a
+four figure group and signed by a six figure group..."
+
+"Well?"
+
+"That happens to be the current secret code of the German Great
+General Staff. If you were to tap a German staff message out in
+France to-day, ten to one it would be in that code. Curious
+coincidence, isn't it?"
+
+When one is angry, to be baffled in argument does not have a
+sedative effect as a rule. If we were all philosophers it might;
+but being merely human beings, cold reason acts on the inflamed
+temperament as a red rag is said to affect a bull.
+
+Desmond, sick with the sense of failure and his anxiety about
+Barbara, was in no mood to listen to reason. The cold logic of
+his brother infuriated him mainly because Desmond knew that
+Francis was right.
+
+"I don't care a damn for the evidence," vociferated Desmond; "It
+may look black against Nur-el-Din; I daresay it does; but I have
+met and talked to this girl and I tell you again that she is not
+a principal in this affair but a victim!"
+
+"You talk as if you were in love with the woman!" Francis said
+mockingly.
+
+Desmond went rather white.
+
+"If pity is a form of love," he replied in a low voice, "then I
+am, for God knows I never pitied any woman as I pity Nur-el-Din!
+Only you, I suppose," he added bitterly, "are too much of the
+policeman, Francis, to appreciate anything like that!" Hot
+tempers run in families and Francis flared up on the instant.
+
+"I may be a policeman, as you say," he retorted, "but I've got
+enough sense of my duty, I hope, not to allow sentimentality to
+interfere with my orders!"
+
+It was a shrewd thrust and it caught Desmond on the raw.
+
+"I'm sick of arguing here," he said hotly, "if you're so mighty
+clever, you'd better shoot Nur-el-Din first and arrest Strangwise
+afterwards. Then you'll find out which of us two is right!"
+
+He turned on his heel and started for the little bridge leading
+out onto the fen.
+
+Francis stood still a moment watching him, then ran after him. He
+caught up with Desmond as the latter reached the bridge.
+
+"Desmond!" he said, pleadingly.
+
+"Oh, go to hell!" retorted the other savagely, whereupon Francis
+turned his back on him and walked back to the inn.
+
+A car had stopped by the bridge and a man was getting out of it
+as Desmond moved towards the fen. The next moment he found
+himself face to face with the Chief.
+
+The Chief's face was hard and cold and stern. There was a furrow
+between his eyes which deepened when he recognized Desmond.
+
+"Well," he said curtly, "and where is my secretary?"
+
+"I don't know," Desmond faltered.
+
+"Why are you here, then?" came back in that hard, uncompromising
+voice.
+
+Desmond was about to reply; but the other checked him.
+
+"I know all you have to say," he resumed, "but no excuse you can
+offer can explain away the disappearance of Miss Mackwayte. Your
+orders were formal to remain at home. You saw fit to disobey them
+and thereby, maybe, sent Miss Mackwayte to her death. No!" he
+added, seeing that Desmond was about to expostulate, "I want to
+hear nothing from you. However obscure the circumstances of Miss
+Mackwayte's disappearance may be, one fact is perfectly clear,
+namely, that she went to the Mill House, as she was ordered and
+you were not there. For no man or woman in my service ever dares
+to disobey an order I have given."
+
+"Chief..." Desmond broke in, but again that inexorable voice
+interposed.
+
+"I will hear nothing from you," said the Chief, "it is a rule of
+mine never to interfere with my men in their work or to see them
+until their mission has been successfully completed. When you
+have found Miss Mackwayte I will hear you but not before!"
+
+Desmond drew himself up.
+
+"In that case, sir," he said stiffly, "I will bid you good
+morning. And I trust you will hear from me very soon again!"
+
+He walked over to one of the cars waiting outside the inn, spoke
+a word to the driver and got in. The driver started the engine
+and presently the car was bumping slowly along the muddy track to
+the main road.
+
+The Chief stood looking after him.
+
+"Well," he murmured to himself. "I soaked it into him pretty
+hard; but he took it like a brick. I do believe he'll find her
+yet!"
+
+He shook his head sagely and continued on his way across the
+yard.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIII. MRS. MALPLAQUET GOES DOWN TO THE CELLAR
+
+In the age of chivalry woman must have been built of sterner
+stuff than the girl of to-day. At least, we read in medieval
+romance of fair ladies who, after being knocked down by a
+masterful suitor and carried off across his saddle bow thirty or
+forty miles, are yet able to appear, cold but radiantly
+beautiful, at the midnight wedding and the subsequent marriage
+feast.
+
+But this is a romance of the present day, the age of nerves and
+high velocity. Barbara Mackwayte, strong and plucky as she was,
+after being half throttled and violently thrown into the cellar
+of the Dyke Inn, suddenly gave way under the strain and
+conveniently evaded facing the difficulties of her position by
+fainting clear away.
+
+The precise moment when she came out of her swoon she never knew.
+The cellar was dark; but it was nothing compared to the darkness
+enveloping her mind. She lay there on the damp and mouldy straw,
+hardly able, scarcely wanting, to move, overwhelmed by the
+extraordinary adventure which had befallen her. Was this to be
+the end of the pleasant trip into the country on which she had
+embarked so readily only a few hours before? She tried to
+remember that within twenty miles of her were policemen and taxis
+and lights and all the attributes of our present day
+civilization; but her thoughts always returned, with increasing
+horror, to that undersized yellow-faced man in the room above, to
+the face of Nur-el-Din, dark and distorted with passion.
+
+A light shining down the cellar stairs drew her attention to the
+entrance. The woman she had already seen and in whom she now
+recognized Marie, the dancer's maid, was descending, a tray in
+her hand. She placed the tray on the ground without a word, then
+went up the stairs again and fetched the lamp. She put the lamp
+down by the tray and, stooping, cut the ropes that fastened
+Barbara's hands and feet.
+
+"So, Mademoiselle," she said, drawing herself erect with a grunt,
+"your supper: some tea and meat!"
+
+She pulled a dirty deal box from a corner of the cellar and put
+the tray upon it. Then she rose to her feet and sat down. The
+maid watched Barbara narrowly while she ate a piece of bread and
+drank the tea.
+
+"At least," thought Barbara to herself, "they don't mean to
+starve me!"
+
+The tea was hot and strong; and it did her good. It seemed to
+clear her faculties, too; for her brain began to busy itself with
+the problem of escaping from her extraordinary situation.
+
+"Mademoiselle was a leetle too clevaire," said the maid with an
+evil leer,--"she would rob Madame, would she? She would play the
+espionne, hein? Eh bien, ma petite, you stay 'ere ontil you say
+what you lave done wiz ze box of Madame!"
+
+"Why do you say I have stolen the box?" protested Barbara, "when
+I tell you I know nothing of it. It was stolen from me by the man
+who killed my father. More than that I don't know. You don't
+surely think I would conspire to kill" her voice trembled--"my
+father, to get possession of this silver box that means nothing
+to me!"
+
+Marie laughed cynically.
+
+"Ma foi," she cried, "when one is a spy, one will stop at
+nothing! But tiens, here is Madame!"
+
+Nur-el-Din picked her way carefully down the steps, the
+yellow-faced man behind her. He had a pistol in his hand. The
+dancer said something in French to her maid who picked up the
+tray and departed.
+
+"Now, Mademoiselle," said Nur-el-Din, "you see this pistol. Rass
+here will use it if you make any attempt to escape. You
+understand me, hein? I come to give you a las' chance to say
+where you 'ave my box..."
+
+Barbara looked at the dancer defiantly.
+
+"I've told you already I know nothing about it. You, if any one,
+should be better able to say what has become of it..."
+
+"Quoi?" exclaimed Nur-el-Din in genuine surprise, "comment?"
+
+"Because," said Barbara, "a long black hair--one of your
+hairs--was found adhering to the straps with which I was
+fastened!"
+
+"Tiens!" said the dancer, her black eyes wide with surprise,
+"tiens!"
+
+She was silent for a minute, lost in thought. The man, Rass,
+suddenly cocked his ear towards the staircase and said something
+to Nur-el-Din in the same foreign tongue which Barbara had heard
+them employ before.
+
+The dancer made a gesture, bidding him to be silent.
+
+"He was at my dressing-table that night;" she murmured in French,
+as though to herself, "then it was he who did it!"
+
+She spoke rapidly to Barbara.
+
+"This man who tied you up... you didn't see him?"
+
+Barbara shook her head.
+
+"I could see nothing; I don't even know that it was a man. He
+seized me so suddenly that in the dark I could distinguish
+nothing... it might have been a woman... yourself, for instance,
+for all I know!"
+
+Nur-el-Din clasped her hands together.
+
+"It was he, himself, then," she whispered, "I might have known.
+Yet he has not got it here!"
+
+Heavy footsteps resounded in the room above. Rass cried out
+something swiftly to the dancer, thrust the pistol into her
+hands, and dashed up the ladder. The next moment there was a loud
+report followed by the thud of a heavy body falling. Somewhere in
+the rooms above a woman screamed.
+
+Nur-el-Din's hands flew to her face and the pistol crashed to the
+ground. Two men appeared at the head of the cellar stairs. One
+was Strangwise, in uniform, the other was Bellward.
+
+"They're both here!" said Strangwise over his shoulder to
+Bellward.
+
+"Ah, thank God, you've come!" cried Barbara, running to the foot
+of the ladder.
+
+Strangwise brushed past her and caught Nur-el-Din by the arm.
+
+"Run her upstairs," he said quickly to Bellward who had followed
+behind him, "and lock her in her room. I've seen to the rest.
+You, Miss Mackwayte," he added to Barbara, "you will come with
+us!"
+
+Barbara was staring in fascination at Bellward. She had never
+believed that any disguise could be so baffling, so complete;
+Major Okewood, she thought, looked like a different man.
+
+But Bellward had grasped the dancer by the two arms and forced
+her up the stairs in front of him. Nur-el-Din seemed too overcome
+with terror to utter a sound.
+
+"Oh, don't be so rough with her, Major Okewood!" entreated
+Barbara, "you'll hurt her!"
+
+She had her back turned to Strangwise so she missed the very
+remarkable change that came over his features at her words.
+
+"Okewood," he whispered but too low for the girl to distinguish
+the words, "Okewood? I might have guessed! I might have guessed!"
+Then he touched Barbara lightly on the shoulder.
+
+"Come," he said, "we must be getting upstairs. We have much to
+do!"
+
+He gently impelled her towards the ladder up which Bellward and
+Nur-el-Din had already disappeared. At the top, he took the lead
+and conducted Barbara into the taproom. A single candle stood on
+the table, throwing a wan light into the room. Rass lay on his
+back in the centre of the floor, one hand doubled up under him,
+one knee slightly drawn up.
+
+Barbara started back in horror.
+
+"Is he... is he..." she stammered, pointing at the limp still
+form.
+
+Strangwise nodded.
+
+"A spy!" he said gravely, "we were well rid of him. Go over there
+in the corner where you won't see it. Stay!" he added, seeing how
+pale the girl had become, "you shall have some brandy!"
+
+He produced a flask and measured her out, a portion in the cup.
+Suddenly, the door leading from the bar opened and a woman came
+into the room. Her black velvet dress, her gray hair and general
+air of distinction made her a bizarre figure in that squalid room
+lit by the guttering candle.
+
+"Time we were off!" she said to Strangwise, "Bellward's just
+coming down!"
+
+"There's the maid..." began Strangwise, looking meaningly at
+Barbara.
+
+The woman in black velvet cast a questioning glance at him.
+
+Strangwise nodded.
+
+"I'll do it," said the woman promptly, "if you'll call her down!"
+
+Strangwise went to the other door of the tap-room and called:
+
+"Marie!"
+
+There was a step outside and the maid came in, pale and
+trembling.
+
+"Your mistress wants you; she is downstairs in the cellar," he
+said pleasantly.
+
+Marie hesitated an instant and surveyed the group.
+
+"Non, non," she said nervously, "je n'veux pas descendre!"
+
+Strangwise smiled, showing his teeth.
+
+"No need to be frightened, ma fille," he replied. "Madame here
+will go down with you!" and he pointed to the woman in black
+velvet.
+
+This seemed to reassure the maid and she walked across the room
+to the door, the woman following her. As the latter passed
+Strangwise he whispered a word in her ear.
+
+"No, no," answered the other, "I prefer my own way," and she
+showed him something concealed in her hand.
+
+The two women quitted the room together, leaving Strangwise and
+Barbara alone with the thing on the floor. Strangwise picked up a
+military great-coat which was hanging over the back of a chair
+and put it on, buttoning it all the way up the front and turning
+up the collar about the neck. Then he crammed a cap on his head
+and stood listening intently.
+
+A high, gurgling scream, abruptly checked, came through the open
+door at the farther end of the room.
+
+Barbara sprang up from the chair into which she had sunk.
+
+"What was that" she asked, whispering.
+
+Strangwise did not reply. He was still listening, a tall, well
+set-up figure in the long khaki great-coat.
+
+"But those two women are alone in the cellar," exclaimed Barbara,
+"they are being murdered! Ah! what was that?"
+
+A gentle thud resounded from below.
+
+A man came in through the door leading from the bar:
+
+He had a fat, smooth-shaven face, heavily jowled.
+
+"All ready, Bellward?" asked Strangwise carelessly.
+
+Barbara stared at the man thus addressed. She saw that he was
+wearing the same clothes as the man who had come down into the
+cellar with Strangwise but the beard was gone. And the man she
+saw before her was not Desmond Okewood.
+
+Without waiting to reason out the metamorphosis, she ran towards
+Bellward.
+
+"They're murdering those two women down in the cellar," she
+cried, "oh, what has happened? Won't you go down and see?"
+
+Bellward shook her off roughly.
+
+"Neat work!" said Strangwise.
+
+"She's a wonder with the knife!" agreed the other.
+
+Barbara stamped her foot.
+
+"If neither of you men have the courage to go down," she cried,
+"then I'll go alone! As for you, Captain Strangwise, a British
+officer..."
+
+She never finished the sentence. Strangwise caught her by the
+shoulder and thrust the cold barrel of a pistol in her face.
+
+"Stay where you are!" he commanded. "And if you scream I shoot!"
+
+Barbara was silent, dumb with horror and bewilderment, rather
+than with fear. A light shone through the open door at the end of
+the tap-room and the woman in black velvet appeared, carrying a
+lamp in her hand She was breathing rather hard and her carefully
+arranged gray hair was a little untidy; but she was quite calm
+and self-possessed.
+
+"We haven't a moment to lose!" she said, putting the lamp down on
+the table and blowing it out.
+
+"Bellward, give me my cloak!"
+
+Bellward advanced with a fur cloak and wrapped it about her
+shoulders.
+
+"You are the perfect artiste, Minna," he said.
+
+"Practise makes perfect!" replied Mrs. Malplaquet archly.
+
+Strangwise had flung open the door leading to the front yard. A
+big limousine stood outside.
+
+"Come on," he said impatiently, "don't stand there gossiping you
+two!"
+
+Then Barbara revolted.
+
+"I'll not go!" she exclaimed, "you can do what you like but I'll
+stay where I am! Murderers..."
+
+"Oh," said Strangwise wearily, "bring her along, Bellward!"
+
+Bellward and the woman seized the girl one by each arm and
+dragged her to the car. Strangwise had the door open and between
+them they thrust her in. Bellward and the woman mounted after her
+while Strangwise, after starting the engine, sprang into the
+driving-seat outside. With a low hum the big car glided forth
+into the cold, starry night.
+
+From the upper floor of the Dyke Inn came the sound of a woman's
+terrified sobs. Below there reigned the silence of death.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIV. THE TWO DESERTERS
+
+Desmond drove to Wentfield Station in an angry and defiant mood.
+He was incensed against Francis, incensed against the Chief, yet,
+if the truth were told, most of all incensed against himself.
+
+Not that he admitted it for a moment. He told himself that he was
+very hardly used. He had undergone considerable danger in the
+course of discharging a mission which was none of his seeking,
+and he had met with nothing but taunts from his brother and abuse
+from the Chief.
+
+"I wash my hands of the whole thing," Desmond declared, as he
+paced the platform at Wentfield waiting for his train. "As
+Francis is so precious cocksure about it all, let him carry on in
+my place! He's welcome to the Chief's wiggings! The Chief won't
+get me to do his dirty work again in a hurry! That's flat!"
+
+Yet all the while the little gimlet that men call conscience was
+patiently drilling its way through the wall of obduracy behind
+which Desmond's wounded pride had taken cover. Rail as he would
+against his hard treatment at the hands of the Chief, he knew
+perfectly well that he could never wash his hands of his mission
+until Barbara Mackwayte had been brought back into safety. This
+thought kept thrusting itself forward into the foreground of his
+mind; and he had to focus his attention steadfastly on his
+grievances to push it back again.
+
+But we puny mortals are all puppets in the hands of Fate. Even as
+the train was bearing Desmond, thus rebellious, Londonwards,
+Destiny was already pulling the strings which was to force the
+"quitter" back into the path he had forsaken. For this purpose
+Fate had donned the disguise of a dirty-faced man in a greasy old
+suit and a spotted handkerchief in lieu of collar... but of him
+presently.
+
+On arriving at Liverpool Street, Desmond, painfully conscious of
+his unkempt appearance, took a taxi to a Turkish bath in the West
+End. There his first care was to submit himself to the hands of
+the barber who, after a glance at his client's bandaged head,
+muddy clothes and shaggy beard, coughed ominously and relapsed
+into a most unbarber-like reserve.
+
+Desmond heard the cough and caught the look of commiseration on
+the man's face.
+
+"I rather think I want a shave!" he said, weakly. "I rather think
+you do, sir!" replied the man, busy with his lather.
+
+"... Had a nasty accident," murmured Desmond, "I fell down and
+cut my head..."
+
+"We're used to that here, sir," answered the barber, "but the
+bath'll make you as right as, rain. W'y we 'ad a genel'man in
+'ere, only lars' week it was, as 'adn't been 'ome for five days
+and nights and the coat mos tore off 'is back along with a bit of
+turn-up 'e'd 'at one o' them night clubs. And drunk I... w'y 'e
+went to bite the rubber, so they wos tellin' me! But, bless you,
+'e 'ad a nice shave and a couple of hours in the bath and a bit
+of a nap; we got him his clothes as was tore mended up fine for
+'im and 'e went 'ome as sober as a judge and as fresh as a
+daisy!"
+
+Desmond had it in his mind to protest against this material
+interpretation of his disreputable state; but the sight in the
+mirror of his ignominiously scrubby and battered appearance
+silenced him. The barber's explanation was as good as any, seeing
+that he himself could give no satisfactory account of the
+circumstances which had reduced him to his sorry pass. So Desmond
+held his peace though he felt constrained to reject the barber's
+offer of a pick-me-up.
+
+From the shaving saloon, Desmond sent a messenger out for some
+clothes, and for the next three hours amused himself by
+exhausting the resources of the Turkish bath. Finally, about the
+hour of noon, he found himself, considerably refreshed, swathed
+in towel, reposing on a couch, a cup of coffee at his elbow and
+that morning's Daily Telegraph spread out before him.
+
+Advertisements, so the experts say, are printed on the front and
+back of newspapers in order to catch the eye of the indolent, on
+the chance that having exhausted the news, they may glance idly
+over the front and back of the paper before laying it aside. So
+Desmond, before he even troubled to open his paper, let his gaze
+wander down the second column of the front page whence issue
+daily those anguishing appeals, mysterious messages,
+heart-rending entreaties and barefaced begging advertisements
+which give this column its characteristic name.
+
+There his eye fell on an advertisement couched in the following
+terms:
+
+"If Gunner Martin Barling, 1820th Battery, R.F.C., will
+communicate with Messrs. Mills & Cheyne, solicitors 130 Bedford
+Row, W. C., he will hear of something to his advantage.
+Difficulties with the military can be arranged."
+
+Desmond read this advertisement over once and then, starting at
+the beginning, read it over again. Gunner Barling... the name
+conjured up a picture of a jolly, sun-burned man, always very
+spick and span, talking the strange lingo of our professional
+army gleaned from India, Aden, Malta and the Rock, the type of
+British soldier that put the Retreat from Mons into the history
+books for all time.
+
+Advertisements like this; Desmond reflected dreamily, meant
+legacies as a rule; he was glad of it, for the sake of Barling
+whom he hadn't seen since the far-away days of Aldershot before
+the war.
+
+"Buzzer" Barling was the brother of one Private Henry Barling who
+had been Desmond's soldier-servant. He derived the nickname of
+"Buzzer" from the fact that he was a signaller. As the
+vicissitudes of service had separated the two brothers for many
+years, they had profited by the accident of finding themselves at
+the same station to see as much of one another as possible, and
+Desmond had frequently come across the gunner at his quarters in
+barracks. Henry Barling had gone out to France with Desmond but a
+sniper in the wood at Villers Cotterets had deprived Desmond of
+the best servant and the truest friend he had ever had. Now here
+was Henry's brother cropping up again. Desmond hoped that
+"Buzzer" Barling would see the advertisement, and half asleep,
+formed a mental resolve to cut out the notice and send it to the
+gunner who, he felt glad to think, was still alive. The rather
+curiously worded reference to difficulties with the military must
+mean, Desmond thought, that leave could be obtained for Martin
+Barling to come home and collect his legacy.
+
+At this point the Daily Telegraph fell to the ground and Desmond
+went off to sleep. When he awoke, the afternoon hush had fallen
+upon the bath. He seemed to be the only occupant of the cubicles.
+His clothes which had arrived from the shop during his slumbers,
+were very neatly laid out on a couch opposite him.
+
+He dressed himself leisurely. The barber was quite right. The
+bath had made a new man of him. Save for a large bump on the back
+of his head he was none the worse for Strangwise's savage blow.
+The attendant having packed Bellward's apparel in the suit-case
+in which Desmond's clothes had come from the club, Desmond left
+the suit-case in the man's charge and strolled out into the soft
+air of a perfect afternoon. He had discarded his bandage and in
+his well fitting blue suit and brown boots he was not
+recognizable as the scrubby wretch who had entered the bath six
+hours before.
+
+Desmond strolled idly along the crowded streets in the sunshine.
+He was rather at a loss as to what his next move should be. Now
+that his mental freshness was somewhat restored, his thoughts
+began to busy themselves again with the disappearance of Barbara
+Mackwayte. He was conscious of a guilty feeling towards Barbara.
+It was not so much the blame he laid upon himself for not being
+at the Mill House to meet her when she came as the sense that he
+had been unfaithful to the cause of her murdered father.
+
+Now that he was away from Nur-el-Din with her pleading eyes and
+pretty gestures, Desmond's thoughts turned again to Barbara
+Mackwayte. As he walked along Piccadilly, he found himself
+contrasting the two women as he had contrasted them that night he
+had met them in Nur-el-Din's dressing room at the Palaceum. And,
+with a sense of shame; he became aware of how much he had
+succumbed to the dancer's purely sensual influence; for away from
+her he found he could regain his independence of thought and
+action.
+
+The thought of Barbara in the hands of that woman with the cruel
+eyes or a victim to the ruthlessness of Strangwise made Desmond
+cold with apprehension. If they believed the girl knew where the
+jewel had disappeared to, they would stop at nothing to force a
+confession from her; Desmond was convinced of that. But what had
+become of the trio?
+
+In vain he cast about him for a clue. As far as he knew, the only
+London address that Strangwise had was the Nineveh; and he was as
+little likely to return there as Bellward was to make his way to
+his little hotel in Jermyn Street. There remained Mrs. Malplaquet
+who, he remembered, had told him of her house at Campden Hill.
+
+For the moment, Desmond decided, he must put both Strangwise and
+Bellward out of his calculations. The only direction in which he
+could start his inquiries after Barbara Mackwayte pointed towards
+Campden Hill and Mrs. Malplaquet.
+
+The delightful weather suggested to his mind the idea of walking
+out to Campden Hill to pursue his investigations on the spot. So
+he made his way across the Park into Kensington Gardens heading
+for the pleasant glades of Notting Hill. In the Bayswater Road he
+turned into a postoffice and consulted the London Directory. He
+very quickly convinced himself that among the hundreds of
+thousands of names compiled by Mr. Kelly's indefatigable industry
+Mrs. Malplaquet's was not to be found. Neither did the street
+directory show her as the tenant of any of the houses on Campden
+Hill.
+
+I don't know that there is a more pleasant residential quarter of
+London than the quiet streets and gardens that straggle over this
+airy height. The very steepness of the slopes leading up from the
+Kensington High Street on the one side and from Holland Park
+Avenue on the other effectually preserves the atmosphere of
+old-world languor which envelops this retired spot. The hill,
+with its approaches so steep as to suggest to the imaginative the
+pathway winding up some rock-bound fastness of the Highlands,
+successfully defies organ-grinders and motor-buses and other
+aspirants to the membership in the great society for the
+propagation of street noises. As you near the summit, the quiet
+becomes more pronounced until you might fancy yourself a thousand
+leagues, instead of as many yards, removed from the busy commerce
+of Kensington or the rather strident activity of Notting Hill.
+
+So various in size and condition are the houses that it is as
+though they had broken away from the heterogeneous rabble of
+bricks and mortar that makes up the Royal Borough of Kensington,
+and run up in a crowd to the summit of the hill to look down
+contemptuously upon their less fortunate brethren in the plain.
+On Campden Hill there are houses to suit all purses and all
+tastes from the vulgar mansion with its private garden to the
+little one-story stable that Art (which flourishes in these
+parts) and ten shillings worth of paint has converted into a
+cottage.
+
+For half an hour Desmond wandered in a desultory fashion along
+the quiet roads of natty houses with brightly painted doors and
+shining brass knockers. He had no definite objective; but he
+hoped rather vaguely to pick up some clue that might lead him to
+Mrs. Malplaquet's. He walked slowly along surveying the houses
+and scrutinizing the faces of the passers-by who were few and far
+between, yet without coming any nearer the end of his search.
+
+It was now growing dusk. Enthroned on the summit of the hill the
+water-tower stood out hard and clear against the evening sky.
+Desmond, who had lost his bearings somewhat in the course of his
+wanderings, came to a full stop irresolutely, where two streets
+crossed, thinking that he would retrace his footsteps to the
+main-road on the chance of picking up a taxi to take him back to
+town. He chose one of the streets at random; but it proved to be
+a crescent and brought him back practically to the spot he had
+started from. Thereupon, he took the other and followed it up,
+ignoring various side-turnings which he feared might be pitfalls
+like the last: But the second road was as bad as the first. It
+was a cul de sac and brought Desmond face to face with a blank
+wall.
+
+He turned and looked about him for somebody of whom to ask the
+way. But the street was entirely deserted. He seemed to be on the
+very summit of the hill; for all the roads were a-tilt. Though
+the evening was falling fast, no light appeared in any of the
+houses and the street lamps were yet unlit. Save for the distant
+bourdon of the traffic which rose to his ears like the beating of
+the surf, the breeze rustling the bushes in the gardens was the
+only sound.
+
+Desmond started to walk back slowly the way he had come.
+Presently, his eyes caught the gleam of a light from above a
+front door. When he drew level with it, he saw that a gas-jet was
+burning in the fanlight over the entrance to a neat little
+two-story house which stood by itself in a diminutive garden. As
+by this time he was thoroughly sick of wandering aimlessly about,
+he went up to the neat little house and rang the bell.
+
+A maid-servant in a cap and apron who seemed to be drawn to the
+scale of the house, such an insignificant little person she was,
+opened the door.
+
+"Oh, sir," she exclaimed when she saw him, "was it about the
+rooms?"
+
+And she pointed up at the fan-light where, for the first time,
+Desmond noticed a printed card with the inscription-:
+
+"Furnished Rooms to Let."
+
+The servant's unexpected question put an idea into Desmond's
+head. He could not return to the club, he reflected, since he was
+supposed to be killed in action. Why not take a room in this
+house in the heart of the enemy's country and spend some days on
+the watch for Mrs. Malplaquet or for any clue that might lead him
+to her?
+
+So Desmond answered, yes, it was about the rooms he had come.
+
+Promising that she would tell "the missus," the little servant
+showed him into a tiny sitting-room, very clean and bright, with
+blue cretonne curtains and a blue carpet and an engraving of
+"King Cophetua and The Beggar Maid" over the mantelpiece.
+Directly you came into the room, everything in it got up and
+shouted "Tottenham Court Road."
+
+Then the door opened and, with a great tinkling and rustling, a
+stoutish, brisk-looking woman sailed in. The tinkling proceeded
+from the large amount of cheap jewelry with which she was
+adorned; the rustling from a black and shiny glace silk dress.
+With every movement she made the large drops she wore in her ears
+chinked and were answered by a melodious chime from the charm
+bangles she had on her wrists.
+
+She measured Desmond in a short glance and his appearance seemed
+to please her for she smiled as she said in rather a mincing
+voice:
+
+"My (she pronounced it 'may') maid said you wished to see the
+rooms!"
+
+Desmond intimated that such was his desire.
+
+"Pray be seated," said the little woman: "You will understand,
+I'm sure, that ay am not in the habit of taking in paying guests,
+but may husband being at the front, ay have a bedroom and this
+sitting-room free and ay thought..."
+
+She stopped and looked sharply at Desmond.
+
+"You are an officer, I think" she asked.
+
+Desmond bowed.
+
+"May husband is also an officer," replied the woman, "Captain
+Viljohn-Smythe; you may have met him. No? Of course, had you not
+been of commissioned rank, ay should not..."
+
+She trailed off vaguely.
+
+Desmond inquired her terms and surprised her somewhat by
+accepting them on the spot.
+
+"But you have not seen the bedroom!" protested Mrs.
+Viljohn-Smythe.
+
+"I will take it on trust," Desmond replied, "and here," he added,
+pulling out his note-case, "is a week's rent in advance. I'll go
+along now and fetch my things. By the way," he went on, "I know
+some people here at Campden Hill but very foolishly, I've mislaid
+the address. Malplaquet... Mrs. Malplaquet. Do you happen to know
+her house?"
+
+"Ay know most of the naice people living round about here,"
+replied the lady, "but for the moment, ay cannot recollect... was
+it one of the larger houses on the hill, do you know?"
+
+"I'm afraid I don't know," said Desmond. "You see, I've lost the
+address!"
+
+"Quayte!" returned Mrs. Viljohn-Smythe. "Ay can't say ay know the
+name!" she added.
+
+However, she consented to consult the handmaiden, who answered to
+the name of Gladays, as to Mrs. Malplaquet's address, but she was
+as ignorant as her mistress.
+
+Promising to return in the course of the evening with his things
+and having received exact instructions as to the shortest way to
+Holland Park Avenue, Desmond took his leave. He felt that he had
+embarked on a wild goose chase; for, even if the fugitives had
+made their way to Mrs. Malplaquet's (which was more than
+doubtful) he imagined they would take care to lie very low so
+that his chances of coming across any of them were of the most
+meager.
+
+Following the directions he had received, he made his way easily
+back to the main road. He halted under a street-lamp to catch the
+eye of any passing taxi which might happen to be disengaged. A
+dirty faced man in a greasy old suit and a spotted handkerchief
+knotted about his throat came slouching along the pavement,
+keeping close to the wall. On catching sight of Desmond's face by
+the light of the lamp, he stopped irresolutely and then advanced
+slowly towards him.
+
+"Excuse me, sir!" he said falteringly.
+
+Desmond looked round at the sound of the man's voice and seeing a
+typical street loafer, asked the fellow to get him a taxi.
+
+"It is Captain Okewood," said the loafer, "you don't remember me,
+sir?"
+
+Desmond looked at the dirty, rather haggard face with its
+unshaven chin and shook his head.
+
+"I don't think I do," he answered, "though you seem to know my
+name!"
+
+The vagrant fumbled in his pocket for a minute and extracting a
+scrap of paper, unfolded it and held it out to Desmond.
+
+"That's me, sir!" he said, "and, oh, sir! if you would kindly
+help me with a word of good advice, just for old times' sake, I'd
+be very grateful!"
+
+Desmond took the scrap of paper which the man tendered and held
+it so as to catch the rays of the lamp. It was a fragment torn
+from a newspaper. He had hardly set eyes on the cutting than he
+stretched out his hand to the vagrant.
+
+"Why, Gunner Barling," he cried, "I didn't know you! How on
+earth do you come to be in this state?"
+
+The man looked shamefacedly down on the ground.
+
+"I'm a deserter, sir!" he said in a low voice.
+
+"Are you, by George?" replied Desmond, "and now I come to think
+of it, so am I!"
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXV. TO MRS. MALPLAQUET'S
+
+Clasping Barbara's wrist in a bony grip, Mrs. Malplaquet sat at
+the girl's side in the back seat of the limousine whilst Bellward
+placed himself on the seat opposite. The car was powerfully
+engined; and, once the cart track up to the inn was passed and
+the main road reached, Strangwise opened her out.
+
+By the track leading to the inn the high road made a right angle
+turn to the right. This turn they took, leaving the Mill House
+away in the distance to the left of them, and, after skirting the
+fen for some way and threading a maze of side roads, presently
+debouched on a straight, broad road.
+
+Dazed and shaken by her experiences, Barbara lost all count of
+time, but after running for some time through the open country in
+the gray light of dawn, they reached the edge of those long
+tentacles of bricks and mortar which London thrusts out from her
+on every side. The outer fringes of the metropolis were still
+sleeping as the great car roared by. The snug "High Streets,"
+the red brick "Parades" and "Broadways," with their lines of
+houses with blinds drawn, seemed to have their eyes shut, so
+blank, so somnolent was their aspect.
+
+With their lamps alight, the first trams were gliding out to
+begin the new day, as the big car swiftly traversed the eastern
+suburbs of London. To Barbara, who had had her home at Seven
+Kings, there was something familiar about the streets as they
+flickered by; but her powers of observation were dulled, so great
+was the sense of helplessness that weighed her down.
+
+High-booted scavengers with curious snake-like lengths of hose on
+little trolleys were sluicing the asphalt as the limousine
+snorted past the Mansion House into Poultney and Cheapside. The
+light was growing clearer now; the tube stations were open and
+from time to time a motor-bus whizzed by.
+
+Barbara stirred restlessly and Mrs. Malplaquet's grip on her
+wrist tightened.
+
+"Where are you taking me?" the girl said.
+
+Mrs. Malplaquet spoke a single word.
+
+"Bellward!" she said in a gentle voice; but it was a voice of
+command.
+
+Bellward leaned forward.
+
+"Look at me, Miss Mackwayte!" he said.
+
+There was a curious insistence in his voice that made Barbara
+obey. She struggled for a moment against the impulse to do his
+bidding; for some agency within her told her to resist the
+summons. But an irresistible force seemed to draw her eyes to
+his. Bellward did not move. He simply leaned forward a little,
+his hands on his knees, and looked at her. Barbara could not see
+his eyes, for the light in the car was still dim, but inch by
+inch they captured hers.
+
+She looked at the black outline of his head and instantly was
+conscious of a wave of magnetic power that transmitted itself
+from his will to hers. She would have cried out, have struggled,
+have sought to break away; but that invisible dance held her as
+in a vice. A little gasp broke from her lips; but that was all.
+
+"So!" said Bellward with the little sigh of a man who has just
+accomplished some bodily effort, "so! you will keep quiet now and
+do as I tell you. You understand?"
+
+No reply came from the girl. She had thrust her head forward and
+was gazing fixedly at the man. Bellward leaned towards the girl
+until his stubbly hair actually touched her soft brown curls. He
+was gazing intently at her eyes.
+
+He was apparently well satisfied with his inspection, for he gave
+a sigh of satisfaction and turned to Mrs. Malplaquet.
+
+"She'll give no more trouble now!" he remarked airily.
+
+"Ah! Bellward," sighed Mrs. Malplaquet, "you're incomparable!
+What an undefeatable combination you and I would have made if
+we'd met twenty years sooner!"
+
+And she threw him a coquettish glance.
+
+"Ah, indeed!" returned Bellward pensively. "But a night like this
+makes me feel twenty years older, Minna. He's a daredevil, this
+Strangwise. Imagine going back to that infernal inn when the
+police might have broken in on us any minute. But he is a
+determined chap. He doesn't seem to know what it is to be beaten.
+He wanted to make sure that Nur-el-Din had not recovered the
+jewel from him, though he declares that it has never left him day
+or night since he got possession of it. He fairly made hay of her
+room back at the inn there."
+
+"Well," said Mrs. Malplaquet rather spitefully, "he seems to be
+beaten this time. He hasn't found his precious Star of Poland."
+
+"No," answered the man reflectively, "but I think he will!"
+
+Mrs. Malplaquet laughed shrilly.
+
+"And how, may I ask? From what Strangwise told me himself, the
+thing has utterly vanished. And he doesn't seem to have any clue
+as to who has taken it!"
+
+"Perhaps not," replied Bellward, who appeared to have a high
+opinion of Strangwise, "but, like all Germans, our friend is
+thorough. If he does not see the direct road, he proceeds by a
+process of elimination until he hits upon it. He did not expect
+to find the jewel in Nur-el-Din's room; he told me as much
+himself, but he searched because he is thorough in everything. Do
+you know why he really went back to the Dyke Inn?"
+
+"Why?" asked Mrs. Malplaquet.
+
+"To secure our young friend here," answered Bellward with a
+glance at Barbara.
+
+Mrs. Malplaquet made a little grimace to bid him to be prudent in
+what he said before the girl.
+
+"Bah!" the man laughed, "you understand nothing of what we are
+saying, do you?" he said, addressing Barbara.
+
+The girl moved uneasily.
+
+"I understand nothing of what you are saying," she replied in a
+strained voice.
+
+"This girl was the last person to have the jewel before
+Strangwise," Bellward said, continuing his conversation with
+Mrs. Malplaquet, "and she is employed at the Headquarters of the Secret
+Service. Strangwise was satisfied that nobody connected him with
+the theft of the silver box which Nur-el-Din gave to this girl
+until our young lady here appeared at the Dyke Inn yesterday
+afternoon. Nur-el-Din played his game for him by detaining the
+girl. Strangwise believes--and I must say I agree with him--that
+probably two persons know where the Star of Poland is. One is
+this girl..."
+
+"The other being the late Mr. Bellward?" queried Mrs. Malplaquet.
+
+"Precisely. The late Mr. Bellward or Major Desmond Okewood!" said
+Bellward. "Between him and this girl here I think we ought to be
+able to recover Strangwise's lost property for him!"
+
+"But you haven't got Okewood yet!" observed the lady in a mocking
+voice.
+
+The man looked evilly at her, his heavy, fat chin set square.
+
+"But we shall get him, never fear. With a little bird-lime as
+attractive as this--"
+
+He broke off and jerked his head in the direction of Barbara.
+
+"... I shall do the rest!" he added.
+
+"Ah!"
+
+Mrs. Malplaquet drew a deep sigh of admiration.
+
+"That's a clever idea. He is so _ruse_, this Strangwise. You are
+quite right, Bellward, he never admits himself beaten. And he
+never is! But tell me," she added, "what about Nur-el-Din?
+They'll nab her, eh?"
+
+"Unless our British friends are even more inefficient than I
+believe them to be, they most certainly will," he replied.
+
+"And then?"
+
+Bellward shrugged his shoulders and spread wide his hands.
+
+"A little morning ceremony at the Tower," he answered, "unless
+these idiotic English are too sentimental to execute a woman..."
+
+The car was running down the long slope to Paddington Station. It
+drew up at the entrance to the booking office, and Strangwise,
+springing from the driver's seat, flung open the door.
+
+"Come on!" he cried, "we must look sharp or we'll miss our
+train!"
+
+He dragged a couple of bags off the roof and led the way into the
+station. In the booking-hall he inquired of a porter what time
+the express left for Bath, then went to the ticket office and
+took four first-class tickets to that place. Meanwhile, the car
+remained standing empty in the carriageway.
+
+Strangwise led his little party up some stairs and across a long
+bridge, down some stairs and up some stairs again, emerging,
+finally, at the Bakerloo Tube Station. There he despatched
+Bellward to fetch a taxi.
+
+Taxis are rare in the early hours of the morning in war-time and
+Bellward was gone fully twenty minutes. Strangwise fidgeted
+continually, drawing out his watch repeatedly and casting many
+anxious glances this way and that.
+
+His nervous demeanor began to affect Mrs. Malplaquet, who had
+linked her arm affectionately in Barbara's. The girl remained
+absolutely apathetic. Indeed, she seemed almost as one in a
+trance.
+
+"Aren't we going to Bath?" at length demanded Mrs. Malplaquet of
+Strangwise.
+
+"Don't ask questions!" snapped the latter.
+
+"But the car?" asked the lady.
+
+"Hold your tongue!" commanded the officer; and Mrs. Malplaquet
+obeyed.
+
+Then Mr. Bellward returned with the news that he had at last got
+a taxi. Strangwise turned to Bellward.
+
+"Can Minna and the girl go to Campden Hill alone?" he asked. "Or
+will the girl try and break away, do you think?"
+
+Bellward held up his hand to enjoin silence.
+
+"You will go along with Mrs. Malplaquet," he said to Barbara in
+his low purring voice, "you will stay with her until I come. You
+understand?"
+
+"I will go with Mrs. Malplaquet!" the girl replied in the same
+dull tone as before.
+
+"Upon my word," exclaimed Mrs. Malplaquet, "you might have told me
+that we were going to my own place..."
+
+But Strangwise shut her up.
+
+"Bellward and I will come on by tube... it is safer," he said,
+"hurry, hurry! We must all be under cover by eight o'clock... we
+have no time to lose!"
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVI. THE MAN IN THE SUMMER-HOUSE
+
+The hour of the theatre rush was long since over and its passing
+had transformed the taxi-drivers from haughty autocrats to humble
+suppliants. One taxi after another crawled slowly past the street
+corner where Desmond had stood for over an hour in deep converse
+with Gunner Barling, but neither flaunting flag nor appealingly
+uplifted finger attracted the slightest attention from the
+athletic-looking man who was so earnestly engaged in talk with a
+tramp. But at last the conversation was over; the two men
+separated and the next taxi passing thereafter picked up a fare.
+
+At nine o'clock the next morning Desmond appeared for breakfast
+in his sitting-room at Santona Road; for such was the name of the
+street in which his new rooms were situated. When he had finished
+his meal, he summoned Gladys and informed her that he would be
+glad to speak to Mrs. Viljohn-Smythe. That lady having duly
+answered the summons, Desmond asked whether, in consideration of
+terms to be mutually agreed upon, she could accommodate his
+soldier servant. He explained that the last-named was of the most
+exemplary character and threw out a hint of the value of a batman
+for such tasks as the cleaning of the family boots and the
+polishing of brass or silver.
+
+The landlady made no objections and half an hour later a clean
+and respectable-looking man arrived whom Desmond with difficulty
+recognized as the wretched vagrant of the previous evening. This
+was, indeed, the Gunner Barling he used to know, with his
+smooth-shaven chin and neat brown moustache waxed at the ends and
+characteristic "quiff" decorating his brow. And so Desmond and
+his man installed themselves at Santona Road.
+
+The house was clean and comfortable, and Mrs. Viljohn-Smythe, for
+all her "refaynement," as she would have called it, proved
+herself a warm-hearted, motherly soul. Desmond had a small but
+comfortably furnished bedroom at the top of the house, on the
+second floor, with a window which commanded a view of the
+diminutive garden and the back of a row of large houses standing
+on the lower slopes of the hill. So precipitous was the fall of
+the ground, indeed, that Desmond could look right into the garden
+of the house backing on Mrs. Viljohn-Smythe's. This garden had a
+patch of well-kept green sward in the centre with a plaster nymph
+in the middle, while in one corner stood a kind of large
+summer-house or pavilion built on a slight eminence, with a
+window looking into Mrs. Viljohn-Smythe's' back garden.
+
+In accordance with a plan of action he had laid down in his mind,
+Desmond took all his meals at his rooms. The rest of the day he
+devoted to walking about the streets of Campden Hill and setting
+on foot discreet inquiries after Mrs. Malplaquet amongst the
+local tradespeople.
+
+For three or four days he carried out this arrangement without
+the slightest success. He dogged the footsteps of more than one
+gray-haired lady of distinguished appearance without lighting
+upon his quarry. He bestowed largesse on the constable on point
+duty, on the milkman and the baker's young lady; but none of them
+had ever heard of Mrs. Malplaquet or recognized her from
+Desmond's description.
+
+On the morning of the fourth day Desmond returned to lunch,
+dispirited and heart-sick. He had half a mind to abandon his
+quest altogether and to go and make his peace with the Chief and
+ask to be sent back to France. He ate his lunch and then, feeling
+that it would be useless to resume his aimless patrol of the
+streets, lit a cigar and strolled out into the little
+back-garden.
+
+It was a fine, warm afternoon, and already the crocuses were
+thrusting their heads out of the neat flower-beds as if to
+ascertain whether the spring had really arrived. There was,
+indeed, a pleasant vernal scent in the air.
+
+"A fine day!" said a voice.
+
+Desmond looked up. At the open window of the summerhouse of the
+garden backing on Mrs. Viljohn-Smythe's, his elbows resting on
+the pitch-pine frame, was a middle-aged man. A cigarette was in
+his mouth and from his hands dangled a newspaper. He had a
+smooth-shaven, heavily-jowled face and a large pair of
+tortoise-shell spectacles on his nose.
+
+Desmond remembered to have seen the man already looking out of a
+window opposite his on one of the upper floors of the house. In
+reply to a casual inquiry, Mrs. Viljohn-Smythe had informed him
+that the house was a nursing home kept by a Dr. Radcombe, a nerve
+specialist.
+
+"It is quite like spring!" replied Desmond, wondering if this
+were the doctor. Doctors get about a good deal and Dr. Radcombe
+might be able to tell him something about Mrs. Malplaquet.
+
+"I think we have seen one another in the mornings sometimes,"
+said the heavily-fowled man, "though I have noticed that you are
+an earlier riser than I am. But when one is an invalid--"
+
+"You are one of Dr. Radcombe's patients, then!" said Desmond.
+
+"I am," returned the other, "a great man, that, my dear sir. I
+doubt if there is his equal for diagnosis in the kingdom."
+
+"He has lived here for some years, I suppose?"
+
+"Oh yes!" answered the man, "in fact, he is one of the oldest and
+most-respected residents of Kensington, I believe!"
+
+"I am rather anxious to find some friends of mine who live about
+here," Desmond remarked, quick to seize his opportunity, "I
+wonder whether your doctor could help me..."
+
+"I'm sure he could," the man replied, "the doctor knows
+everybody..."
+
+"The name--" began Desmond, but the other checked him.
+
+"Please don't ask me to burden my memory with names," he
+protested. "I am here for a complete rest from over-work, and
+loss of memory is one of my symptoms. But look here; why not come
+over the wall and step inside the house with me? Dr. Radcombe is
+there and will, I am sure, be delighted to give you any
+assistance in his power!"
+
+Desmond hesitated.
+
+"Really," he said, "it seems rather unconventional. Perhaps the
+doctor would object..."
+
+"Object" said the heavily-fowled man, "tut, tut, not at all. Come
+on, I'll give you a hand up!"
+
+He thrust out a large, white hand. Desmond was about to grasp it
+when he saw gleaming on the third finger a gold snake ring with
+emerald eyes--the ring that Mrs. Malplaquet had given Bellward.
+He was about to draw back but the man was too quick for him.
+Owing to the slope of the ground the window of the summer-house
+was on a level with Desmond's throat. The man's two hands shot
+out simultaneously. One grasped Desmond's wrist in a steel grip
+whilst the other fastened itself about the young man's throat,
+squeezing the very breath out of his body. It was done so quickly
+that he had no time to struggle, no time to shout. As Bellward
+seized him, another arm was shot out of the window. Desmond felt
+himself gripped by the collar and lifted, by a most amazing
+effort of strength, bodily over the wall.
+
+His brain swimming with the pressure on his throat, he struggled
+but feebly to recover his freedom. However, as Desmond was
+dropped heavily on to the grass on the other side of the wall,
+Bellward's grip relaxed just for a second and in that instant
+Desmond made one desperate bid for liberty. He fell in a
+crouching position and, as he felt Bellward loosen his hold for a
+second with the jerk of his victim's fall, Desmond straightened
+himself up suddenly, catching his assailant a violent blow with
+his head on the point of the chin.
+
+Bellward fell back with a crash on to the timber flooring of the
+pavilion. Desmond heard his head strike the boards with a thud,
+heard a muttered curse. He found himself standing in a narrow
+lane, less than three feet wide, which ran between the garden
+wall and the summer-house; for the pavilion, erected on a slight
+knoll surrounded by turf, was not built against the wall as is
+usually the case with these structures.
+
+In this narrow space Desmond stood irresolute for the merest
+fraction of a second. It was not longer; for, directly after
+Bellward had crashed backwards, Desmond heard a light step
+reverberate within the planks of the summerhouse. His most
+obvious course was to scramble back over the wall again into
+safety, in all thankfulness at having escaped so violent an
+attack. But he reflected that Bellward was here and that surely
+meant that the others were not far off. In that instant as he
+heard the stealthy footstep cross the floor of the summer-house,
+Desmond resolved he would not leave the garden until he had
+ascertained whether Barbara Mackwayte was there.
+
+Desmond decided that he would stay where he was until he no
+longer heard that footstep on the planks within; for then the
+person inside the summer-house would have reached the grass at
+the door. Desmond remembered the arm which had shot out beside
+Bellward at the window and swung him so easily off his feet. He
+knew only one man capable of achieving that very respectable
+muscular performance; for Desmond weighed every ounce of twelve
+stone. That man was Maurice Strangwise.
+
+As soon as the creaking of the timbers within ceased, Desmond
+moved to the left following the outer wall of the pavilion. On
+the soft green sward his feet made no sound. Presently he came to
+a window which was let in the side of the summerhouse opposite
+the window from which Bellward had grappled with him. Raising his
+eyes to the level of the sill, Desmond took a cautious peep. He
+caught a glimpse of the face of Maurice Strangwise, brows knit,
+nostrils dilated, the very picture of venomous, watchful rancor.
+
+Strangwise had halted and was now looking back over the wall into
+Mrs. Viljohn-Smythe's back garden. Was it possible, Desmond
+wondered, that he could believe that Desmond had scrambled back
+over the wall? Strangwise remained motionless, his back now fully
+turned to Desmond, peering into the other garden.
+
+The garden in which the summer-house stood was oblong in shape
+and more than twice as broad as it was long. The pavilion was not
+more than forty yards from the back entrance of the house.
+Desmond weighed in his mind the possibility of being able to dash
+across those forty yards, the turf deadening the sound of his
+feet, before Strangwise turned round again. The entrance to the
+back of the house was through a door in the side of the house, to
+which two or three wrought-iron steps gave access. Once he had
+gained the steps Desmond calculated that the side of the house
+would shelter him from Strangwise's view. He turned these things
+over in his mind in the twinkling of an eye; for all his life he
+had been used to quick decision and quick action. To cover those
+forty yards across the open in one bound was, he decided, too
+much to risk; for he must at all costs gain access to the house
+and discover, if possible, whether Barbara Mackwayte were
+confined within, before he was caught.
+
+Then his eye fell on the plaster nymph in the middle of the
+grass. She was a stoutly-built female, life-size, standing upon a
+solid-looking pedestal fully four feet broad. Desmond measured
+the distance separating him from the nymph. It was not more than
+twenty yards at the outside and the pedestal would conceal him
+from the eyes of Strangwise if the latter should turn round
+before he had made his second bound and reached the steps at the
+side of the house.
+
+He peeped through the window again. Strangwise stood in his old
+attitude gazing over the garden wall. Then Desmond acted. Taking
+long strides on the points of his toes, he gained the statue and
+crouched down behind it. Even as he started, he heard a loud
+grunt from the inside of the summerhouse and from his cover
+behind the nymph saw Strangwise turn quickly and enter the
+summerhouse. On that Desmond sprang to his feet again, heedless
+of whether he was seen from the house, ran lightly across the
+grass and reached the steps at the side of the house.
+
+The door stood ajar.
+
+He stood still on the top step and listened for a moment. The
+house was wrapped in silence. Not a sign of life came from
+within.
+
+But now he heard voices from the garden and they were the voices
+of two angry men, raised in altercation. As he listened, they
+drew nearer.
+
+Desmond tarried no longer. He preferred the unknown perils which
+that silent house portended to the real danger advancing from the
+garden. He softly pushed the door open and slipped into the
+house.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVII. THE RED LACQUER ROOM
+
+The side-door led into a little white passage with a green baize
+door at the end. A staircase, which from its white-washed treads,
+Desmond judged to be the back stairs, gave on the passage.
+Calculating that the men in the garden would be certain to use
+the main staircase, Desmond took the back stairs which, on the
+first landing, brought him face to face with a green baize door,
+similar in every respect to that on the floor below.
+
+He pushed this door open and listened. Hearing nothing he passed
+on through it. He found himself in a broad corridor on to which
+gave the main staircase from below and its continuation to the
+upper floors. Three rooms opened on to this corridor, a large
+drawing-room, a small study and what was obviously the doctor's
+consulting room, from the operating table and the array of
+instruments set out in glass cases. The rooms were empty and
+Desmond was about to return to the back stairs and proceed to the
+next floor when his attention was caught by a series of framed
+photographs with which the walls of the corridor were lined.
+
+These were groups of doctors taken at various medical congresses.
+You will find such photographs in many doctors' houses. Below
+each group were neatly printed the names of the persons therein
+represented. Anxious to see what manner of man was this Doctor
+Radcombe in whose house spies were apparently at liberty to
+consort with impunity, Desmond looked for his name.
+
+There it was--Dr. A. J. Radcombe. But, on looking at the figure
+above the printed line, what was his astonishment to recognize
+the angular features and drooping moustache of "No. 13"!
+
+There was no possible mistake about it. The photographs were
+excellent and Desmond had no difficulty in identifying the
+eccentric-looking German in each of them. So this was Mrs.
+Malplaquet's house, was it? A nursing-home run by "No. 13," who
+in addition to being a spy, would seem to have been a nerve
+specialist as well. In this guise, no doubt, he had made trips to
+the South of England which had gained for him that intimate
+acquaintance with Portsmouth and Southsea of which he had boasted
+at the gathering in the library. In this capacity, moreover, he
+had probably met Bellward whose "oggult" powers, to which "No.
+13" had alluded, seem to point to mesmerism and kindred practices
+in which German neurasthenic research has made such immense
+progress.
+
+Pondering over his surprising discovery, Desmond pursued his way
+to the floor above. Here, too, was a green baize door which
+opened on to a corridor. Desmond walked quickly along it,
+glancing in, as he passed, at the open doors of two or three
+bedrooms. Just beyond where the staircase crossed the corridor
+were two doors, both of which were closed. The one was a white
+door and might have been a bathroom; the other was enameled a
+brilliant, glossy red.
+
+The second floor was as silent and deserted as the corridor
+below. But just as Desmond passed the head of the main staircase
+he heard the sound of voices. He glanced cautiously down the well
+of the stairs and saw Strangwise and Bellward talking together.
+Bellward was on the stairs while Strangwise stood in the
+corridor.
+
+"It's our last chance," Strangwise was saying.
+
+"No, no," Bellward replied heatedly, "I tell you it is madness.
+We must not delay a minute. For Heaven's sake, leave the girl
+alone and let's save ourselves."
+
+"What?" cried Strangwise, "and abandon Minna!"
+
+"Minna is well able to look after herself," answered Bellward in
+a sulky voice, "it's a question of sauve qui peut now... every
+man for himself!"
+
+"No!" said Strangwise firmly, "we'll wait for Minna, Bellward.
+You exaggerate the danger. I tell you I was at the garden wall
+within a few seconds of our friend laying you out, and I saw no
+sign of him in his garden. It was a physical impossibility for
+him to have got over the wall and back into the house in the
+time. And in his garden there's nowhere to hide. It's as bare as
+the Sahara!"
+
+"But, good Heavens!" cried Bellward, throwing his hands excitedly
+above his head, "the man can't dissolve into thin air. He's gone
+back to the house, I tell you, and the police will be here at any
+minute. You know he's not in our garden; for you searched every
+nook and corner of it yourself. Okewood may be too clever for
+you, Strangwise; but he's not a magician!"
+
+"No," said Strangwise sternly, "he is not." And he added in a low
+voice:
+
+"That's why I am convinced that he is in this house!"
+
+Desmond felt his heart thump against his ribs.
+
+Bellward seemed surprised for he cried quickly:
+
+"What? Here?"
+
+Strangwise nodded.
+
+"You stand here gossiping with that man loose in the house?"
+exclaimed Bellward vehemently, "why the next thing we know the
+fellow will escape us again!"
+
+"Oh, no, he won't" retorted the other. "Every window on the
+ground floor is barred... this is a home for neurasthenics, you
+know, and that is sometimes a polite word for a lunatic, my
+friend... and the doors, both front and back are locked. The keys
+are here!"
+
+Desmond heard a jingle as Strangwise slapped his pocket.
+
+"All the same," the latter went on, "it is as well to be prepared
+for a sudden change of quarters. That's why I want you to finish
+off the girl at once. Come along, we'll start now..."
+
+"No, no!" declared Bellward. "I'm far too upset. You seem to
+think you can turn me on and off like you do the gas!"
+
+"Well, as you like," said Strangwise, "but the sooner we clear up
+this thing the better. I'm going to see if our clever young
+friend has taken refuge in the servants' quarters upstairs. He's
+not on this floor, that's certain!"
+
+Desmond drew back in terror. He heard the green baize door on the
+floor below swing back as Strangwise went out to the back stairs
+and Bellward's heavy step ascended the main staircase. There was
+something so horribly sinister in that firm, creaking tread as it
+mounted towards him that for the moment he lost his head. He
+looked round wildly for a place of concealment; but the corridor
+was bare. Facing him was the red enamel door. Boldly he turned
+the handle and walked in, softly closing the door behind him.
+
+It was as though he had stepped into another world. The room in
+which he found himself was a study in vivid red emphasized by
+black. Red and black; these were the only colors in the room. The
+curtains, which were of black silk, were drawn, though it was not
+yet dark outside, and from the ceiling was suspended a lamp in
+the shape of a great scarlet bowl which cast an eerie red light
+on one of the most bizarre apartments that Desmond had ever seen.
+
+It was a lacquer room in the Chinese style, popularized by the
+craze for barbaric decoration introduced by Bakst and the Russian
+Ballet into England. The walls were enameled the same brilliant
+glossy red as the door and hung at intervals with panels of
+magnificent black and gold lacquer work. The table which ran down
+the centre of the room was of scarlet and gold lacquer like the
+fantastically designed chairs and the rest of the furniture. The
+heavy carpet was black.
+
+Desmond did not take in all these details at once; for his
+attention was immediately directed to a high-backed armchair
+covered in black satin which stood with its back to the door. He
+stared at this chair; for, peeping out above the back, making a
+splash of deep golden brown against the black sheen of the
+upholstery, was a mass of curls... Barbara Mackwayte's hair.
+
+As he advanced towards the girl, she moaned in a high, whimpering
+voice:
+
+"No, no, not again! Let me sleep! Please, please, leave me
+alone!"
+
+Desmond sprang to her side.
+
+"Barbara!" he cried and never noticed that he called her by her
+Christian name.
+
+Barbara Mackwayte sat in the big black armchair, facing the
+black-curtained window. Her face was pale and drawn, and there
+were black circles under her eyes. There was a listless yet
+highly-strung look about her that you see in people who
+habitually take drugs.
+
+She heeded not the sound of his voice. It was as though he had
+not spoken. She only continued to moan and mutter, moving her
+body about uneasily as a child does when its sleep is disturbed
+by nightmares. Then, to his inexpressible horror, Desmond saw
+that her feet were bound with straps to the legs of the chair.
+Her arms were similarly tethered to the arms of the chair, but
+her hands had been left free.
+
+"Barbara!" said Desmond softly, "you know me! I'm Desmond Okewood!
+I've come to take you home!"
+
+The word "home" seemed to catch the girl's attention; for now she
+turned her head and looked at the young man. The expression in
+her eyes, wide and staring, was horrible; for it was the look of
+a tortured animal.
+
+Desmond was bending to unbind the straps that fastened Barbara's
+arms when he heard a step outside the door. The curtains in front
+of the window were just beside him. They were long and reached to
+the floor. Without a second's hesitation he slipped behind them
+and found himself in the recess of a shallow bow window.
+
+The bow window was in three parts and the central part was open
+wide at the bottom. It gave on a little balcony which was in
+reality the roof of a bow window of one of the rooms on the floor
+below. Desmond promptly scrambled out of the window and letting
+himself drop on to the balcony crouched down blow the sill.
+
+A door opened in the room he had just left. He heard steps moving
+about and cupboards opened and shut. Then, there was the sound of
+curtains being drawn back and a voice said just above him:
+
+"He's not here! I tell you the fellow's not in the house! Now
+perhaps you'll believe me!"
+
+The balcony was fairly deep and it was growing dusk; but Desmond
+could scarcely hope to escape detection if Bellward, for he had
+recognized his voice, should think of leaning out of the window
+and looking down upon the balcony. With his coat collar turned up
+to hide the treacherous white of his linen, Desmond pressed
+himself as close as possible against the side of the house and
+waited for the joyful cry that would proclaim that he had been
+discovered. There was no possible means of escape; for the
+balcony stood at an angle of the house with no windows or
+water-pipes anywhere within reach, to give him a foothold,
+looking out on an inhospitable and gloomy area.
+
+Whether Bellward, who appeared bent only on getting away from the
+house without delay, examined the balcony or not, Desmond did not
+know; but after the agony of suspense had endured for what seemed
+to him an hour, he heard Strangwise say:
+
+"It's no good, Bellward! I'm not satisfied! And until I am
+satisfied that Okewood is not here, I don't leave this house. And
+that's that!"
+
+Bellward swore savagely.
+
+"We've searched the garden and not found him: we've ransacked the
+house from top to bottom without result. The fellow's not here;
+but by God, he'll be here presently with a bunch of police, and
+then it'll be too late! For the last time, Strangwise, will you
+clear out?"
+
+There was a moment's pause. Then Desmond heard Strangwise's
+clear, calm voice.
+
+"There's a balcony there... below the window, I mean."
+
+"I've looked," replied Bellward, "and he's not there. You can see
+for yourself!"
+
+The moment of discovery had arrived. To Desmond the strain seemed
+unbearable and to alleviate it, he began to count, as one counts
+to woo sleep. One! two! three! four! He heard a grating noise as
+the window was pushed further up. Five! six! seven! eight!
+
+"Strange!"
+
+Strangwise muttered the word just above Desmond's head. Then, to
+his inexpressible relief, he heard the other add:
+
+"He's not there!"
+
+And Desmond realized that the depth of the balcony had saved him.
+Short of getting out of the window, as he had done, the others
+could not see him.
+
+The two men returned to the room and silence fell once more.
+Outside on the damp balcony in the growing darkness Desmond was
+fighting down the impulse to rush in and stake all in one
+desperate attempt to rescue the girl from her persecutors. But he
+was learning caution; and he knew he must bide his time.
+
+Some five minutes elapsed during which Desmond could detect no
+definite sound from the red lacquer room except the occasional
+low murmur of voices. Then, suddenly, there came a high,
+quavering cry from the girl.
+
+Desmond raised himself quickly erect, his ear turned so as to
+catch every sound from the room. The girl wailed again, a
+plaintive, tortured cry that seemed to issue forth unwillingly
+from her.
+
+"My God!" said Desmond to himself, "I can't stand this!"
+
+His head was level with the sill of the window which was
+fortunately broad. Getting a good grip on the rough cement with
+his hands, he hoisted himself up on to the sill, by the sheer
+force of his arms alone, sat poised there for an instant, then
+very lightly and without any noise, clambered through the window
+and into the room. Even as he did so, the girl cried out again.
+
+"I can't! I can't!" she wailed.
+
+Every nerve in Desmond's body was tingling with rage. The blood
+was hotly throbbing against his temples and he was literally
+quivering all over with fury. But he held himself in check. This
+time he must not fail. Both those men were armed, he knew. What
+chance could he, unarmed as he was, have against them? He must
+wait, wait, that they might not escape their punishment.
+
+Steadying the black silk curtains with his hands, he looked
+through the narrow chink where the two panels met. And this was
+what he saw.
+
+Barbara Mackwayte was still in the chair; but they had unfastened
+her arms though her feet were still bound. She had half-risen
+from her seat. Her body was thrust forward in a strained,
+unnatural attitude; her eyes were wide open and staring; and
+there was a little foam on her lips. There was something
+hideously deformed, horribly unlife-like about her. Though her
+eyes were open, her look was the look of the blind; and, like the
+blind, she held her head a little on one side as though eager not
+to miss the slightest sound.
+
+Bellward stood beside her, his face turned in profile to Desmond.
+His eyes were dilated and the sweat stood out in great beads on
+his forehead and trickled in broad lanes of moisture down his
+heavy cheeks. He was half-facing the girl and every time he bent
+towards her, she tugged and strained at her bonds as though to
+follow him.
+
+"You say he has been here. Where is he? Where is he? You shall
+tell me where he is."
+
+Bellward was speaking in a strange, vibrating voice. Every
+question appeared to be a tremendous nervous effort. Desmond, who
+was keenly sensitive to matters psychic, could almost feel the
+magnetic power radiating from the man. In the weird red light of
+the room, he could see the veins standing out like whipcords on
+the back of Bellward's hands.
+
+"Tell me where he is? I command you!"
+
+The girl wailed out again in agony and writhed in her bonds. Her
+voice rose to a high, gurgling scream.
+
+"There!" she cried, pointing with eyes staring, lips parted,
+straight at the curtains behind which Desmond stood.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVIII. AN OFFER FROM STRANGWISE
+
+Desmond sprang for the window; but it was too late. Strangwise
+who had not missed a syllable of the interrogatory was at the
+curtains in a flash. As he plucked the hangings back, Desmond
+made a rush for him; but Strangwise, wary as ever, kept his head
+and, drawing back, jabbed his great automatic almost in the
+other's face.
+
+And then Desmond knew the game was up.
+
+Barbara had collapsed in her chair. Her face was of an ivory
+pallor and she seemed to have fallen back into the characteristic
+hypnotic trance. As for Bellward, he had dropped on to a sofa, a
+loose mass, exhausted but missing nothing of what was going
+forward, though, for the moment, he seemed too spent to take any
+active part in the proceedings. In the meantime Strangwise, his
+white, even teeth bared in a quiet smile, was very steadily
+looking at his prisoner.
+
+"Well, Desmond," he said at last, "here's a pleasant surprise! I
+thought you were dead!"
+
+Desmond said nothing. He was not a coward as men go; but he was
+feeling horribly afraid just then. The deviltry of the scene he
+had just witnessed had fairly unmanned him. The red and black
+setting of the room had a suggestion of Oriental cruelty in its
+very garishness. Desmond looked from Strangwise, cool and
+smiling, to Bellward, gross and beastly, and from the two men to
+Barbara, wan and still and defenceless. And he was afraid.
+
+Then Bellward scrambled clumsily to his feet, plucking a revolver
+from his inside pocket as he did so.
+
+"You sneaking rascal," he snarled, "we'll teach you to play your
+dirty tricks on us!"
+
+He raised the pistol; but Strangwise stepped between the man and
+his victim.
+
+"Kill him!" cried Bellward, "and let's be rid of him once and for
+all!"
+
+"What" said Strangwise. "Kill Desmond? Ah, no, my friend, I don't
+think so!"
+
+And he added drily:
+
+"At least not quite yet!"
+
+"But you must be mad," exclaimed Bellward, toying impatiently
+with his weapon, "you let him escape through your fingers before!
+I know his type. A man like him is only safe when he's dead. And
+if you won't..."
+
+"Now, Bellward," said Strangwise not budging but looking the
+other calmly in the eye, "you're getting excited, you know."
+
+But Bellward muttered thickly:
+
+"Kill him! That's all I ask. And let's get out of here! I tell
+you it isn't safe! Minna can shift for herself!" he added
+sulkily.
+
+"As she has always done!" said a voice at the door. Mrs.
+Malplaquet stood there, a very distinguished looking figure in
+black with a handsome set of furs.
+
+"But who's this?" she asked, catching sight of Desmond, as she
+flashed her beady black eyes round the group. Of Barbara she took
+not the slightest notice. Desmond remarked it and her
+indifference shocked him profoundly.
+
+"Of course, you don't recognize him!" said Strangwise. "This is
+Major Desmond Okewood, more recently known as Mr. Basil
+Bellward!"
+
+The woman evinced no surprise.
+
+"So!" she said, "I thought we'd end by getting him. Well,
+Strangwise, what are we waiting for? Is our friend to live for
+ever?"
+
+"That's what I want to know!" bellowed Bellward savagely.
+
+"I have not finished with our friend here!" observed Strangwise.
+
+"No, no," cried Mrs. Malplaquet quickly, Strangwise, "you've had
+your lesson. You've lost the jewel and you're not likely to get
+it back unless you think that this young man has come here with
+it on him. Do you want to lose your life, the lives of all of us,
+as well? Come, come, the fellow's no earthly good to us! And he's
+a menace to us all as long as he's alive!"
+
+"Minna," said Strangwise, "you must trust me. Besides..." he
+leaned forward and whispered something in her ear. "Now," he
+resumed aloud, "you shall take Bellward downstairs and leave me
+to have a little chat with our friend here."
+
+To Bellward he added:
+
+"Minna will tell you what I said. But first," he pointed to
+Barbara who remained apparently lifeless in her chair, "bring her
+round. And then I think she'd better go to bed."
+
+"But what about the treatment to-night" asked Mrs. Malplaquet.
+
+Strangwise smiled mysteriously.
+
+"I'm not sure that any further treatment will be required," he
+said.
+
+In the meantime, Bellward had leaned over the girl and with a few
+passes of his hand had brought her back to consciousness. She sat
+up, one hand pressed to her face, and looked about her in a dazed
+fashion. On recognizing Desmond she gave a little cry.
+
+"Take her away!" commanded Strangwise.
+
+Bellward had unfastened the ropes binding her feet, and he and
+Mrs. Malplaquet between them half-dragged, half-lifted the girl
+(for she was scarcely able to walk) from the room.
+
+When the door had closed behind them, Strangwise pointed to a
+chair and pulled out his cigarette case. "Sit down, Desmond," he
+said, "and let's talk. Will you smoke?"
+
+He held out his case. A cigarette was the one thing for which
+Desmond craved. He took one and lit it. Strangwise sat down on
+the other side of a curiously carved ebony table, his big
+automatic before him.
+
+"I guess you're sharp enough to know when you're beaten,
+Desmond," he said. "You've put up a good fight and until this
+afternoon you were one up on me. I'll grant you that. And I don't
+mind admitting that you've busted up my little organization--for
+the present at any rate. But I'm on top now and you're in our
+power, old man."
+
+"Well," replied Desmond shortly, "what are you going to do about
+it?"
+
+"I'm going to utilize my advantage to the best I know how,"
+retorted Strangwise, snapping the words, "that's good strategy,
+isn't it, Desmond? That's what Hamley and all the military
+writers teach, isn't it? And I'm going to be frank with you. I
+suppose you realize that your life hung by a thread in this very
+room only a minute ago. Do you know why I intervened to save
+you?"
+
+Desmond smiled. All his habitual serenity was coming back to him.
+He found it hard to realize that this old brother officer of his,
+blowing rings of cigarette smoke at him across the table, was an
+enemy.
+
+"I don't suppose it was because of the love you bear me," replied
+Desmond.
+
+And he rubbed the bump on his head.
+
+Strangwise noted the action and smiled.
+
+"Listen here," he resumed, planking his hands down on the table
+and leaning forward, "I'm ready and anxious to quit this spying
+business. It was only a side line with me anyway. My main object
+in coming to this country was to recover possession of that
+diamond star. Once I've got it back, I'm through with England..."
+
+"But not with the army," Desmond broke in, "thank God, we've got
+a swift way with traitors in this country!"
+
+"Quite so," returned the other, "but you see, my friend, the army
+hasn't got me. And I have got you! But let us drop talking
+platitudes," he went on. "I'm no great hand at driving a bargain,
+Desmond--few army men are, you know--so I won't even attempt to
+chaffer with you. I shall tell you straight out what I am ready
+to offer. You were given the job of breaking up this
+organization, weren't you?"
+
+Desmond was silent. He was beginning to wonder what Strangwise
+was driving at.
+
+"Oh, you needn't trouble to deny it. I never spotted you, I
+admit, even when the real Bellward turned up: that idea of
+putting your name in the casualty list as 'killed' was a
+masterstroke; for I never looked to find you alive and trying to
+put it across me. But to return to what I was saying--your job
+was to smash my little system, and if you pull it off, it's a
+feather in your cap. Well, you've killed two of my people and
+you've arrested the ringleader."
+
+"Meaning Behrend?" asked Desmond.
+
+"Behrend be hanged! I mean Nur-el-Din!"
+
+"Nur-el-Din was not the ringleader," said Desmond, "as well you
+know, Strangwise!"
+
+"Your employers evidently don't share your views, Desmond," he
+replied, "all the documents were found on Nur-el-Din!"
+
+"Bah!" retorted Desmond, "and what of it? Mightn't they have been
+planted on her in order to get her arrested to draw the suspicion
+away from the real criminal, yourself?"
+
+Strangwise laughed a low, mellow laugh.
+
+"You're devilish hard to convince," he remarked. "Perhaps you'll
+change your mind about it when I tell you that Nur-el-Din was
+sentenced to death by a general court-martial yesterday
+afternoon."
+
+The blow struck Desmond straight between the eyes. The execution
+of spies followed hard on their conviction, he knew. Was he too
+late?
+
+"Has... has she... has the sentence already been carried out?" he
+asked hoarsely.
+
+Strangwise shrugged his shoulders.
+
+"My information didn't go as far as that!" he replied. "But I
+expect so. They don't waste much time over these matters, old
+man! You see, then," he continued, "you've got the ringleader,
+and you shall have the other two members of the organization and
+save your own life into the bargain if you will be reasonable and
+treat with me."
+
+Desmond looked straight at him; and Strangwise averted his eyes.
+
+"Let me get this right," said Desmond slowly. "You let me go
+free--of course, I take it that my liberty includes the release
+of Miss Mackwayte as well--and in addition, you hand over to me
+your two accomplices, Bellward and the Malplaquet woman. That is
+your offer, isn't it? Well, what do you want from me in
+exchange?"
+
+"The Star of Poland!" said Strangwise in a low voice.
+
+"But," Desmond began. He was going to add "I haven't got it," but
+checked himself in time. Why should he show his hand?
+
+Strangwise broke in excitedly.
+
+"Man," he cried, "it was grandly done. When first I discovered
+the gem, I opened the package in which the silver box was wrapped
+and took the jewel from its case to make sure that it was there.
+Then I sealed it up again, silver box and all, with the firm
+intention that no other hand should break the seals but the hand
+of His Imperial Highness the Crown Prince when I reported to him
+that I had fulfilled my mission. So you will understand that I
+was loth to open it to satisfy those blockheads that evening at
+the Mill House.
+
+"I carried the package on me night and day and I could hardly
+believe my eyes when I discovered that a box of cigarettes had
+been substituted for the silver casket containing the jewel. I
+then suspected that Barbara Mackwayte, in collusion with
+Nur-el-Din, whom she had visited at the Dyke Inn that evening,
+had played this trick on me. But before I escaped from the Mill
+House I picked up one of the cigarettes which fell from the box
+when I broke the seals. Ah! There you made a slip, Desmond. When
+I looked at the cigarette I found it was a 'Dionysus'--your own
+particular brand--why, I have smoked dozens of them with you in
+France. The sight of the familiar name reminded me of you and
+then I remembered your unexpected visit to me at the Nineveh when
+I was packing up to go away on leave the evening you were going
+back to France. I remembered that I had put the package with the
+jewel on my table for a moment when I was changing my tunic. Your
+appearance drove it out of my head for the time, and you utilized
+the chance to substitute a similar package for mine. It was
+clever, Desmond, 'pon my word it was a stroke of genius, a master
+coup which in my country would have placed you at the very top of
+the tree in the Great General Staff!"
+
+Desmond listened to this story in amazement. He did not attempt
+to speculate on the different course events would have taken had
+he but known that the mysterious jewel which had cost old
+Mackwayte his life, had been in his, Desmond's, possession from
+the very day on which he had assumed the guise and habiliments of
+Mr. Bellward. He was racking his brains to think what he had done
+with the box of cigarettes he had purchased at the Dionysus shop
+on the afternoon of the day he had taken the leave train back to
+France.
+
+He remembered perfectly buying the cigarettes for the journey.
+But he didn't have them on the journey; for the captain of the
+leave boat had given him some cigars as Desmond had nothing to
+smoke. And then with a flash he remembered. He had packed the
+cigarettes in his kit--his kit which had gone over to France in
+the hold of the leave boat? And to think that there was a 100,000
+pound jewel in charge of the M.L.O. at a French port!
+
+The idea tickled Desmond's sense of humor and he smiled.
+
+"Come," cried Strangwise, "you've heard my terms. This jewel,
+this Star of Poland, it is nothing to you or your Government. You
+restore it to me and I won't even ask you for a safe conduct back
+to Germany. I'll just slide out and it will be as if I had never
+been to England at all. As for my organization, you, Desmond
+Okewood, have blown it sky-high!"
+
+He stretched out his hand to Desmond as though he expected the
+other to produce the gem from his pocket. But Desmond rose to his
+feet and struck the hand contemptuously on one side. The smile
+had vanished from his face.
+
+"Are you sure that is all you have to say to me?" he asked.
+
+Strangwise had stood up as well.
+
+"Why, yes!" he said, "I think so!"
+
+"Well, then," said Desmond firmly, "just listen to me for a
+moment! Here's my answer. You've lost the jewel for good and all,
+and you will never get it back. Your offer to betray your
+accomplices to me in exchange for the Star of Poland is an empty
+one; for your accomplices will be arrested with you. And lastly I
+give you my word that I shall make it my personal duty to see
+that you are not shot by clean-handed British soldiers, but
+strung up by the neck by the common hangman--as the murderer that
+you are!"
+
+Strangwise's face underwent an extraordinary change. His suavity
+vanished, his easy smile disappeared and he looked balefully
+across the table as the other fearlessly confronted him.
+
+"If you are a German, as you seem to be," Desmond went on, "then
+I tell you I shall never have guessed it until this interview
+between us. But a man who can murder a defenceless old man and
+torture a young girl and then propose to sell his pals to a
+British officer at the price of that officer's honor can only be
+a Hun! And you seem to be a pretty fine specimen of your race!"
+
+Strangwise mastered his rising passion by an obvious effort; but
+his face was evil as he spoke.
+
+"I put that Malplaquet woman off by appealing to her avarice," he
+said, "I've promised her and Bellward a thousand pounds apiece as
+their share of my reward for recovering the jewel. I only have to
+say the word, Okewood, and your number's up! And you may as well
+know that Bellward will try his hand on you before he kills you.
+If that girl had known where the Star of Poland was, Bellward
+would have had it out of her! Three times a day he's put her into
+the hypnotic sleep. I warn you, you won't like the
+interrogatory!"
+
+The door flew open and Bellward came in. He went eagerly to
+Strangwise.
+
+"Well, have you got it!" he demanded.
+
+"Have you anything further to say, Desmond?" asked Strangwise.
+"Perhaps you would care to reconsider your decisions?"
+
+Desmond shook his head.
+
+"You've had my answer!" he said doggedly.
+
+"Then, my friend," said Strangwise to Bellward, "after dinner you
+shall try your hand on this obstinate fool. But first we'll take
+him upstairs."
+
+He was close beside Desmond and as he finished speaking he
+suddenly caught him by the throat and forced him back into the
+chair to which Barbara had been tethered. To struggle was
+useless, and Desmond suffered them to bind his arms and feet to
+the arms and legs of the chair. Then the two men picked him up,
+chair and all, and bore him from the room upstairs to the third
+floor. There they carried him into a dark room where they left
+him, turning the key in the lock as they went away.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIX. DOT AND DASH
+
+For a long time after the retreating footsteps of Strangwise and
+Bellward had died away, Desmond sat listless, preoccupied with
+his thoughts. They were somber enough. The sinister atmosphere of
+the house, weighing upon him, seemed to deepen his depression.
+
+About his own position he was not concerned at all. This is not
+an example of unselfishness it is simply an instance of the force
+of discipline which trains a man to reckon the cause as
+everything and himself as naught. And Desmond was haunted by the
+awful conviction that he had at length reached the end of his
+tether and that nothing could now redeem the ignominious failure
+he had made of his mission.
+
+He had sacrificed Barbara Mackwayte; he had sacrificed
+Nur-el-Din; he had not even been clever enough to save his own
+skin. And Strangwise, spy and murderer, had escaped and was now
+free to reorganize his band after he had put Barbara and Desmond
+out of the way.
+
+The thought was so unbearable that it stung Desmond into action.
+Strangwise should not get the better of him, he resolved, and he
+had yet this brief interval of being alone in which he might
+devise some scheme to rescue Barbara and secure the arrest of
+Strangwise and his accomplices. But how?
+
+He raised his head and looked round the room. The curtains had
+not been drawn and enough light came into the room from the
+outside to enable him to distinguish the outlines of the
+furniture. It was a bedroom, furnished in rather a massive style,
+with some kind of thick, soft carpet into, which the feet sank.
+
+Desmond tested his bonds. He was very skillfully tied up. He
+fancied that with a little manipulation he might contrive to
+loosen the rope round his right arm, for one of the knots had
+caught in the folds of his coat. The thongs round his left arm
+and two legs were, however, so tight that he thought he had but
+little chance of ridding himself of them, even should he get his
+right arm free; for the knots were tied at the back under the
+seat of the chair in such a way that he could not reach them.
+
+He, therefore, resigned himself to conducting operations in the
+highly ridiculous posture in which he found himself, that is to
+say, with a large arm-chair attached to him, rather like a snail
+with its house on its back. After a certain amount of maneuvering
+he discovered that, by means of a kind of slow, lumbering crawl,
+he was able to move across the ground. It might have proved a
+noisy business on a parquet floor; but Desmond moved only a foot
+or two at a time and the pile carpet deadened the sound.
+
+They had deposited him in his chair in the centre of the room
+near the big brass bedstead. After ten minutes' painful crawling
+he had reached the toilet table which stood in front of the
+window with a couple of electric candles on either side of the
+mirror. He moved the toilet table to one side, then bumped
+steadily across the carpet until he had reached the window. And
+then he gave a little gasp of surprise.
+
+He found himself looking straight at the window of his own
+bedroom at Mrs. Viljohn-Smythe's. There was no mistaking it. The
+electric light was burning and the curtains had not yet been
+drawn. He could see the black and pink eiderdown on his bed and
+the black lining of the chintz curtains. Then he remembered the
+slope of the hill. He must be in the room from which he had seen
+Bellward looking out.
+
+The sight of the natty bedroom across the way moved Desmond
+strangely. It seemed to bring home to him for the first time the
+extraordinary position in which he found himself, a prisoner in a
+perfectly respectable suburban house in a perfectly respectable
+quarter of London, in imminent danger of a violent death.
+
+He wouldn't give in without a struggle. Safety stared him in the
+face, separated only by a hundred yards of grass and shrub and
+wall. He instinctively gripped the arms of the chair to raise
+himself to get a better view from the window, forgetting he was
+bound. The ropes cut his arms cruelly and brought him back to
+earth.
+
+He tested again the thongs fastening his right arm. Yes! they
+were undoubtedly looser than the others. He pulled and tugged and
+writhed and strained. Once in his struggles he crashed into the
+toilet table and all but upset one of the electric candles which
+slid to the table's very brink and was saved, as by a miracle,
+from falling to the floor. He resumed his efforts, but with less
+violence. It was in vain. Though the ropes about his right arm
+were fairly loose, the wrist was solidly fastened to the chair,
+and do what he would, he could not wrest it free. He clawed
+desperately with his fingers and thumb, but all in vain.
+
+In the midst of his struggles he was arrested by the sound of
+whistling. Somebody in the distance outside was whistling,
+clearly and musically, a quaint, jingling sort of jig that struck
+familiarly on Desmond's ear. Somehow it reminded him of the
+front. It brought with it dim memory of the awakening to the
+early morning chill of a Nissen hut, the smell of damp earth, the
+whirr of aircraft soaring through the morning sky, the squeak of
+flutes, the roll of drums... why, it was the Grand Reveille,
+that ancient military air which every soldier knows.
+
+He stopped struggling and peered cautiously out into the dusk.
+The time for darkening the windows must be at hand, he thought,
+for in most of the houses the blinds were already drawn. Here and
+there, however, an oblong of yellow light showed up against the
+dark mass of the houses on the upper slopes of the hill. The
+curtains of his bedroom at Mrs. Viljohn-Smythe's were not yet
+drawn and the light still burned brightly above the bed.
+
+The whistling continued with occasional interruptions as though
+the whistler were about some work or other. And then suddenly
+"Buzzer" Barling, holding something in one hand and rubbing
+violently with the other, stepped into the patch of light between
+the window and the bed in Desmond's bedroom.
+
+Desmond's heart leaped within him. Here was assistance close at
+hand. Mechanically he sought to raise his hand to open the
+window, but an agonising twinge reminded him of his thongs. He
+swiftly reviewed in his mind the means of attracting the
+attention of the soldier opposite. Whatever he was going to do,
+he must do quickly; for the fact that people were beginning to
+darken their windows showed that it must be close on half-past
+six, and about seven o'clock, Barling, after putting out
+Desmond's things, was accustomed to go out for the evening.
+
+Should he shout? Should he try and break the window? Desmond
+rejected both these suggestions. While it was doubtful whether
+Barling would hear the noise or, if he heard it, connect it with
+Desmond, it was certain that Strangwise and Bellward would do
+both and be upon Desmond without a moment's delay.
+
+Then Desmond's eye fell upon the electric candle which had slid
+to the very edge of the table. It was mounted in a heavy brass
+candle-stick and the switch was in the pedestal, jutting out over
+the edge of the table in the position in which the candle now
+stood. The candle was clear of the mirror and there was nothing
+between it and the window. Desmond's brain took all this in at a
+glance. That glance showed him that Providence was being good to
+him.
+
+A couple of jerks of the chair brought him alongside the table.
+Its edge was practically level with the arms of the chair so
+that, by getting into the right position, he was able to
+manipulate the switch with his fingers. And then, thanking God
+and the Army Council for the recent signalling course he had
+attended, he depressed the switch with a quick, snapping movement
+and jerked it up again, sending out the dots and dashes of the
+Morse code.
+
+"B-A-R-L-I-N-G" he spelt out, slowly and laboriously, it is true;
+for he was not an expert.
+
+As he worked the switch, he looked across at the illuminated
+window of the room in which Barling stood, with bent head,
+earnestly engaged upon his polishing.
+
+"B-a-r-l-i-n-g-ack-ack-ack-B-a-r-l-i-n-g-ack-ack-ack"
+
+The light flickered up and down in long and short flashes. Still
+"Buzzer" Barling trilled away at the "Grand Reveille" nor raised
+his eyes from his work.
+
+Desmond varied the call:
+
+"O-K-E-W-O-O-D T-O B-A-R-L-I-N-G" he flashed.
+
+He repeated the call twice and was spelling it out for the third
+time when Desmond saw the "Buzzer" raise his head.
+
+The whistling broke off short.
+
+"O-k-e-w-o-o-d t-o B-a-r-l-i-n-g" flickered the light.
+
+The next moment the bedroom opposite was plunged in darkness.
+Immediately afterwards the light began to flash with bewildering
+rapidity. But Desmond recognized the call.
+
+"I am ready to take your message," it said.
+
+"S-t-r-a-n-g-w-i-s-e h-a-s g-o-t m-e ack-ack-ack," Desmond
+flashed back, "f-e-t-c-h h-e-l-p a-t o-n-c-e ack-ack-ack: d-o-n-t
+r-e-p-l-y; ack-ack-ack; s-e-n-d o-n-e d-o-t o-n-e d-a-s-h t-o
+s-h-o-w y-o-u u-n-d-e-r-s-t-a-n-d ack-ack-ack!"
+
+For he was afraid lest the light flashing from the house opposite
+might attract the attention of the men downstairs.
+
+He was very slow and he made many mistakes, so that it was with
+bated breath that, after sending his message, he watched the
+window opposite for the reply.
+
+It came quickly. A short flash and a long one followed at once.
+After that the room remained in darkness. With a sigh of relief
+Desmond, as quietly as possible, manoeuvred the dressing-table
+back into place and then jerked the chair across the carpet to
+the position where Strangwise and Bellward had left him in the
+middle of the floor:
+
+It was here that the two men found him, apparently asleep, when
+they came up half-an-hour later. They carried him down to the red
+lacquer room again.
+
+"Well, Desmond!" said Strangwise, when their burden had been
+deposited on the floor under the crimson lamp.
+
+"Well, Maurice?" answered the other.
+
+Strangwise noticed that Desmond had addressed him by his
+Christian name for the first time since he had been in the house
+and his voice was more friendly when he spoke again.
+
+"I see you're going to be sensible, old man," he said. "Believe
+me, it's the only thing for you to do. You're going to give up
+the Star of Poland, aren't you?"
+
+"Oh, no, Maurice, I'm not," replied Desmond in a frank, even
+voice. "I've told you what I'm going to do. I'm going to hand you
+over to the people at Pentonville to hang as a murderer. And I
+shouldn't be at all surprised if they didn't run up old Bellward
+there alongside of you!"
+
+Strangwise shook his head at him.
+
+"You are very ill-advised to reject my offer, Desmond," he said,
+"for it simply means that I can do nothing more for you. Our
+friend Bellward now assumes the direction of affairs. I don't
+think you can realize what you are letting yourself in for. You
+appear to have been dabbling in Intelligence work. Perhaps it
+would interest you to hear something about this, our latest
+German method for extracting accurate information from reluctant
+or untruthful witnesses. Bellward, perhaps you would enlighten
+him."
+
+Bellward smiled grimly.
+
+"It is a blend," he explained glibly, "of that extreme form of
+cross-examination which the Americans call 'the third degree' and
+hypnotic treatment. Many people, as you are doubtless aware, are
+less responsive to hypnotic influence than others. An intensified
+course of the third degree and lack of sleep renders such
+refractory natures extraordinarily susceptible to mesmeric
+treatment. It prepares the ground as it were!"
+
+Bellward coughed and looked at Desmond over his tortoise-shell
+spectacles which he had put on again.
+
+"The method has had its best results when practised on women," he
+resumed. "Our people in Holland have found it very successful in
+the case of female spies who come across the Belgian frontier.
+But some women--Miss Barbara, for example--seem to have greater
+powers of resistance than others. We had to employ a rather
+drastic form of the third degree for her, didn't we, Strangwise?"
+
+He laughed waggishly.
+
+"And you'll be none too easy either," he added.
+
+"You beasts," cried Desmond, "but just you wait, your turn will
+come!"
+
+"Yours first, however," chuckled Bellward. "I rather fancy you
+will think us beasts by the time we have done with you, my young
+friend!"
+
+Then he turned to Strangwise.
+
+"Where's Minna?" he asked.
+
+"With the girl."
+
+"Is the girl sleeping?"
+
+Strangwise nodded.
+
+"She wanted it," he replied, "no sleep for four days... I tell
+you it takes some constitution to hold out against that!"
+
+"Well," said Bellward, rubbing the palms of his hands together,
+"as we're not likely to be disturbed, I think we'll make a
+start!"
+
+He advanced a pace to where Desmond sat trussed up, hand and
+foot, in his chair. Bellward's eyes were large and luminous, and
+as Desmond glanced rather nervously at the face of the man
+approaching him, he was struck by the compelling power they
+seemed to emit.
+
+Desmond bent his head to avoid the insistent gaze. But in a
+couple of quick strides Bellward was at his side and stooping
+down, had thrust his face right into his victim's. Bellward's
+face was so close that Desmond felt his warm breath on his cheek
+whilst those burning eyes seemed to stab through his closed
+eyelids and steadily, stealthily, draw his gaze.
+
+Resolutely Desmond held his head, averted. All kinds of queer
+ideas were racing through his brain, fragments of nursery rhymes,
+scenes from his regimental life in India, memories of the front,
+which he had deliberately summoned up to keep his attention
+distracted from those merciless eyes, like twin search-lights
+pitilessly playing on his face.
+
+Bellward could easily have taken Desmond by the chin and forced
+his face up until his eyes came level with the other's. But he
+offered no violence of any kind. He remained in his stooping
+position, his face thrust forward, so perfectly still that
+Desmond began to be tormented by a desire to risk a rapid peep
+just to see what the mesmerist was doing.
+
+He put the temptation aside. He must keep his eyes shut, he told
+himself. But the desire increased, intensified by the strong
+attraction radiating from Bellward, and finally Desmond
+succumbed. He opened his eyes to dart a quick glance at Bellward
+and found the other's staring eyes, with pupils distended, fixed
+on his. And Desmond felt his resistance ebb. He tried to avert
+his gaze; but it was too late. That basilisk glare held him fast.
+
+With every faculty of his mind he fought against the influence
+which was slowly, irresistibly, shackling his brain. He laughed,
+he shouted defiance at Bellward and Strangwise, he sang snatches
+of songs. But Bellward never moved a muscle. He seemed to be in a
+kind of cataleptic trance, so rigid his body, so unswerving his
+stare.
+
+The lights in the room seemed to be growing dim. Bellward's
+eyeballs gleamed redly in the dull crimson light flooding the
+room. Desmond felt himself longing for some violent shock that
+would disturb the hideous stillness of the house. His own voice
+was sounding dull and blunted in his ears. What was the use of
+struggling further? He might as well give up...
+
+A loud crash, the sound of a door slamming, reechoed through the
+house. The room shook. The noise brought Desmond back to his
+senses and at the same time the chain binding him to Bellward
+snapped. For Bellward started and raised his head and Strangwise
+sprang to the door. Then Desmond heard the door burst open, there
+was the deafening report of a pistol, followed by another, and
+Bellward crashed forward on his knees with a sobbing grunt. As
+Desmond had his back to the door he could see nothing of what was
+taking place, but some kind of violent struggle was going on; for
+he heard the smash of glass as a piece of furniture was upset.
+
+Then suddenly the room seemed full of people. The thongs binding
+his hands and feet fell to the ground. "Buzzer" Barling stood at
+his side.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXX. HOHENLINDEN TRENCH
+
+A man broke quickly away from the throng of people pressing into
+the room. It was Francis. The Chief and Mr. Marigold were close
+at his heels.
+
+"Des," cried Francis, "ah! thank God! you are all right!"
+
+Desmond looked in a dazed fashion from one to the other. The
+rapid transition from the hush of the room to the scene of
+confusion going on around him had left him bewildered. His glance
+traveled from the faces of the men gathered round his chair to
+the floor. The sight of Bellward, very still, hunched up with his
+face immersed in the thick black carpet, seemed to recall
+something to his mind.
+
+"Barbara!" he murmured in a strained voice.
+
+"She's all right!" replied his brother, "we found her on the bed
+in a room on the floor below sleeping the sleep of the just. The
+woman's vanished, though. I'm afraid she got away! But who's
+this?"
+
+He pointed to "Buzzer" Barling who stood stiffly at attention
+beside Desmond's chair.
+
+"Ay, who are you, young fellow" repeated Mr. Marigold coming up
+close to the soldier. "Ask him!" said Desmond, raising his arm,
+"he knows!"
+
+The group around the door had broken up. Strangwise, his wrists
+handcuffed together, his hair dishevelled and his collar torn,
+stood there between two plain clothes men. And at him Desmond
+pointed.
+
+Strangwise was staring at the straight, square figure of the
+gunner, awkwardly attired in one of Desmond's old suits.
+Berling's frank, honest eyes returned the other's gaze
+unflinchingly. But Strangwise was obviously taken aback, though
+only for the moment. The flush that mounted to his cheek quickly
+died down, leaving him as cool and impassive as ever.
+
+"Do you know this man!" the Chief, asked sternly, addressing
+Strangwise.
+
+"Certainly," retorted Strangwise, "it's Gunner Barling, one of
+the Brigade signallers!"
+
+Mr. Marigold gave a keen glance at the soldier.
+
+"So you're Barling, eh?" he muttered as though talking to
+himself, "ah! this is getting interesting!"
+
+"Yes," said Desmond, "this is Gunner Barling. Have a good look at
+him, Strangwise. It is he who summoned these gentlemen to my
+assistance. It is he who's going to tell them who and what you
+are!"
+
+Turning to the Chief he added with a touch of formality: "May
+Gunner Barling tell his story, sir?"
+
+"By all means," replied the Chief. "I am all attention. But first
+let this fellow be removed."
+
+And beckoning to two of his men; he pointed to the body of
+Bellward.
+
+"Is he dead" asked Desmond.
+
+The Chief shook his head.
+
+"He drew a bead on one of my men as we came in," he answered,
+"and got a bullet through the chest for his pains. We'll have to
+cure him of this gunshot wound so as to get him ready to receive
+another!"
+
+He laughed a grim dry laugh at his little joke.
+
+"Now, Barling," said Desmond, when Bellward had been borne away,
+"I want you to tell these gentlemen the story of the raid on the
+Hohenlinden trench."
+
+Barling glanced rather self-consciously about him. But the look
+of intense, almost nervous watchfulness on the face of Maurice
+Strangwise seemed to reassure him. And when he spoke, he spoke
+straight at Strangwise.
+
+"Well," he said, "Major Okewood here, what I used to know along
+of my brother being his servant, says as how you gentlemen'll
+make it all right about my stoppin' absent if I tells you what I
+know about this orficer. Tell it I will and gladly; for it was
+all along of him that I spoiled a clean sheet of eighteen years'
+service, gentlemen.
+
+"When we was down Arras way a few months ago the infantry was
+a-goin' to do a raid, see? And the Captain here was sent along of
+the infantry party to jine up a lineback to the 'tillery brigade
+headquarters. Well, he took me and another chap, name o'
+Macdonald--Bombardier he was--along with him as signallers.
+
+"This was a daylight raid, d'ye see, gentlemen? Our chaps went
+over at four o'clock in the afternoon. They was to enter a sort
+o' bulge in the German front line wot they called Hohenlinden
+Trench, bomb the Gers. out o' that, push on to the support line
+and clear out that and then come back. The rocket to fetch 'em
+home was to go up forty minutes after they started.
+
+"Well, me and Mac--that's the Bombardier--went over with th'
+officer here just behind the raiding party. O' course Fritz knew
+we was comin' for it was broad daylight, and that clear you could
+see for miles over the flats. First thing we knew Fritz had put
+down a roarin', tearin' barrage, and we hadn't gone not twenty
+yards before ole Mac. cops one right on the nut; about took his
+head off, it did. So me and the captain we goes on alone and
+drops all nice and comfortable in the trench, and I starts
+getting my line jined up.
+
+"It was a longish job but I got the brigade line goin' at last.
+Our chaps had cleared out the front line and was off down the
+communication trenches to the support. What with machine-guns
+rattlin' and bombs a-goin' off down the trench and Fritz's
+barrage all over the shop the row was that awful we had to buzz
+every single word.
+
+"There was a bit of a house like, a goodish way in front, X farm,
+they called it, and presently the Brigade tells the Captain, who
+was buzzin' to them, to register B battery on to the farm.
+
+"'I can't see the farm nohow from here,' sez the Captain. I could
+see it as plain as plain, and I pointed it out to him. But no! he
+couldn't see it.
+
+"'I'll crawl out of the trench a bit, gunner,' sez he to me, 'you
+sit tight,' he sez, 'I'll let you know when to follow!"
+
+"With that he up and out o' the trench leavin' me and the
+instruments behind all among the dead Gers., and our lads had
+killed a tidy few. It was pretty lonely round about were I was;
+for our chaps had all gone on and was bombin' the Gers., like
+they was a lot o' rabbits, up and down the support line.
+
+"I followed the Captain with me eye, gentlemen, and I'm blessed
+if he didn't walk straight across the open and over the support
+trench. Then he drops into a bit of a shell-hole and I lost sight
+of him. Well, I waited and waited and no sign of th' orficer. The
+rocket goes up and our lads begin to come back with half a dozen
+Huns runnin' in front of them with their hands up. Some of the
+chaps as they passed me wanted to know if I was a-goin' to stay
+there all night! And the Brigade buzzin' like mad to talk to the
+Captain.
+
+"I sat in that blessed trench till everybody had cleared out.
+Then, seeing as how not even the docket had brought th' orficer
+back, I sez to myself as how he must ha' stopped one. So I gets
+out of the trench and starts crawling across the top towards the
+place where I see the Captain disappear. As I got near the
+support line the ground went up a little and then dropped, so I
+got a bit of a view on to the ground ahead. And then I sees the
+Captain here!"
+
+Buzzer Barling stopped. All had listened to his story with the
+deepest interest, especially Strangwise, who never took his eyes
+off the gunner's brown face. Some men are born story-tellers and
+there was a rugged picturesqueness about Barling's simple
+narrative which conjured up in the minds of his hearers the
+picture of the lonely signaller cowering in the abandoned trench
+among the freshly slain, waiting for the officer who never came
+back.
+
+"It's not a nice thing to have to say about an orficer," the
+gunner presently continued, "and so help me God, gentlemen, I
+kep' my mouth shut about it until... until..."
+
+He broke off and looked quickly at Desmond.
+
+"Keep that until the end, Barling," said Desmond, "finish about
+the raid now!"
+
+"Well, as I was sayin', gentlemen, I was up on a bit of hillock
+near Fritz's support line when I sees the Captain here. He was
+settin' all comfortable in a shell-hole, his glasses in his hand,
+chattin' quite friendly like with two of the Gers. orficers, I
+reckoned they was, along o' the silver lace on their collars. One
+was wearin' one o' them coal-scuttle helmets, t'other a little
+flat cap with a shiny peak. And the Captain here was a-pointin'
+at our lines and a-wavin' his hand about like he was a-tellin'
+the two Fritzes all about it, and the chap in the coal-scuttle
+hat was a-writin' it all down in a book."
+
+Barling paused. He was rather flushed and his eyes burned
+brightly in his weather-beaten face.
+
+"Eighteen year I done in the Royal Regiment," he went on, and his
+voice trembled a little, "and me father a battery sergeant-major
+before me, and I never thought to see one of our orficers go over
+to the enemy. Fritz was beginnin' to come back to his front line:
+I could see their coal-scuttle hats a-bobbin' up and down the
+communication trenches, so I crawled back the way I come and made
+a bolt for our lines.
+
+"I meant to go straight to the B.C. post and report wot I seen to
+the Major. But I hadn't the heart to, gentlemen, when I was up
+against it. It was an awful charge to bring against an orficer,
+d'you see? I told myself I didn't know but what the Captain
+hadn't been taken prisoner and was makin' the best of it, w'en I
+see him, stuffin' the Fritzes up with a lot o' lies. And so I
+jes' reported as how th' orficer 'ad crawled out of the trench
+and never come back. And then this here murder happened..."
+
+Mr. Marigold turned to the Chief.
+
+"If you remember, sir," he said, "I found this man's leave paper
+in the front garden of the Mackwayte's house at Laleham Villas,
+Seven Kings, the day after the murder. There are one or two
+questions I should like to put..."
+
+"No need to arsk any questions," said Barling. "I'll tell you the
+whole story meself, mister. I was on leave at the time, due to go
+back to France the next afternoon. I'd been out spending the
+evenin' at my niece's wot's married and livin' out Seven Kings
+way. Me and her man wot works on the line kept it up a bit late
+what with yarnin' about the front an' that and it must a' been
+nigh on three o'clock w'en I left him to walk back to the Union
+Jack Club where I had a bed.
+
+"There's a corfee-stall near their road and the night bein' crool
+damp I thought as how a nice cup o' corfee'd warm me up afore I
+went back to the Waterloo Bridge Road. I had me cup o' corfee and
+was jes' a-payin' the chap what has the pitch w'en a fellow
+passes by right in the light o' the lamp on the stall. It was th'
+orficer here, in plain clothes--shabby-like he was dressed--but I
+knew him at once.
+
+"'Our orficers don't walk about these parts after midnight
+dressed like tramps,' I sez to meself, and rememberin' what I
+seen at the Hohenlinden Trench I follows him..."
+
+"Just a minute!"
+
+The Chief's voice broke in upon the narrative.
+
+"Didn't you know, Barling, hadn't you heard, about Captain
+Strangwise's escape from a German prisoners of war camp?"
+
+"No, sir!" replied the gunner.
+
+"There was a good deal about it in the papers."
+
+"I've not got much eddication, sir," said Barling, "that's w'y I
+never took the stripe and I don't take much account of the
+newspapers an' that's a fact!"
+
+"Well, go on!" the Chief bade him.
+
+"It was pretty dark in the streets and I follered him along
+without his seeing me into the main-road and then down a
+turnin'..."
+
+"Laleham Villas," prompted Mr. Marigold.
+
+"I wasn't payin' much attention to were he was leadin' me," said
+Barling, "what I wanted to find out was what he was up to!
+Presently he turned in at a gate. I was closer up than I meant to
+be, and he swung in so sudden that I had to drop quick and crouch
+behind the masonry of the front garden wall. My leave pass must
+a' dropped out o' my pocket and through the railin's into the
+garden.
+
+"Well, the front door must a' been on the jar for th' orficer
+here just pushes it open and walks in, goin' very soft like. I
+crep' in the front gate and got as far as the door w'ich was
+a-standin' half open. I could 'ear the stair creakin' under 'im
+and I was just wonderin' whether I should go into the house w'en
+I hears a bang and wi' that someone comes aflyin' down the
+stairs, dodges through the front hall and out at the back. I see
+him come scramblin' over the back gate and was a-goin' to stop
+him thinkin' it was th' orficer here w'en I sees it is a tubby
+little chap, not big like the Captain. And then it come over me
+quite sudden-like that burglary and murder had been done in the
+house and wot would I say if a p'liceman come along? So I slipped
+off and went as hard as I could go back to the old Union Jack
+Club.
+
+"The next mornin' I found I'd lost me leave paper. I was afraid
+to go and report it in case it had been picked up, and they'd run
+me in for this murder job. That's how I come to desert,
+gentlemen, and spoilt a eighteen years' conduct sheet without a
+entry over this murderin' spy here!"
+
+Gunner Barling broke off abruptly as though he had committed
+himself to a stronger opinion than discipline would allow. It was
+the Chief who broke the silence following the termination of the
+gunner's story.
+
+"Strangwise," he said, "hadn't you better tell us who you are?"
+
+"He's an officer of the Prussian Guard," Desmond said, "and he
+was sent over here by the German secret service organization in
+the United States to get a commission in the British Army. When a
+good man was wanted to recover the Star of Poland for the Crown
+Prince, the secret service people in Berlin sent word to
+Strangwise (who was then serving with the gunners in France) to
+get himself captured. The German military authorities duly
+reported him a prisoner of war and then let him 'escape' as' the
+easiest and least suspicious means of getting him back to
+London!"
+
+The Chief smiled genially.
+
+"That's a dashed clever idea," he observed shrewdly, "'pon my
+word, that's bright! That's very bright! I should like to
+compliment the man who thought of that!"
+
+"Then you may address your compliments to me, Chief," said
+Strangwise.
+
+The Chief turned and looked at him.
+
+"I've met many of your people in my time, Strangwise," he said,
+"but I don't know you! Who are you?"
+
+Strangwise laughed.
+
+"Ask Nur-el-Din," he said, "that is to say, if you haven't shot
+her yet!"
+
+"And if we have?" asked the Chief.
+
+Desmond sprang tip.
+
+"It isn't possible!" he cried. "Why, the woman's a victim, not a
+principal! Chief..."
+
+"What if we have?" asked the Chief again.
+
+A curious change had come over the prisoner. His jaunty air had
+left him and there was an apprehensive look in his eyes.
+
+"I would have saved her if I could have," Strangwise said, "but
+she played me false over the jewel. She imperiled the success of
+my mission. You English have no idea of discipline. To us
+Prussian officers an order stands above everything else. There is
+nothing we would not sacrifice to obey our orders. And my order
+was to recover the Star of Poland for His Imperial Highness the
+Crown Prince, Lieutenant Colonel in the Regiment to which I have
+the honor to belong, the First Regiment of Prussian Foot Guards.
+But Nur-el-Din plotted with our friend here and with that little
+fool upstairs to upset my plans, and I had no mercy on her. I
+planted those documents in her dress--or rather Bellward did--to
+draw suspicion away from me. I thought you English would be too
+flabby to execute a woman; but I reckoned on you putting the girl
+away for some years to come. I would have shot her as I shot Rass
+if..." His voice trembled and he was silent.
+
+"If what?" asked the Chief.
+
+"If she hadn't been my wife," said Strangwise.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXI. THE 100,000 KIT
+
+It was a clear, crisp morning with a sparkle of frost on jetty
+and breakwater. The English Channel stretched flashing like a
+living sheet of glass to the filmy line marking the coast of
+France, as serene and beautiful in its calm as it is savage and
+cruel in its anger. It was high tide; but only a gentle murmur
+came from the little waves that idly beat upon the shore in front
+of the bungalow.
+
+A girl lay in a deck chair on the verandah, well wrapped up
+against the eager air. But the fresh breeze would not be denied
+and, foiled by the nurse's vigilance of its intents against the
+patient, it revenged itself by blowing havoc among the soft brown
+curls which peeped out from under the girl's hat.
+
+She turned to the man at her side.
+
+"Look!" she said, and pointed seawards with her finger.
+
+A convoy of vessels was standing out to sea framed in the
+smoke-blurs of the escorting destroyers. Ugly, weatherbeaten
+craft were the steamers with trails of smoke blown out in the
+breeze behind them. They rode the sea's highway with confidence,
+putting their trust in the unseen power that swept the road clear
+for them.
+
+"Transports, aren't they?" asked the man.
+
+But he scarcely looked at the transports. He was watching the
+gleam of the sun on the girl's brown hair and contrasting the
+deep gray of her eyes with the ever-changing hues of the sea.
+
+"Yes," replied the girl. "It's the third day they've gone across!
+By this time next week there'll be ten fresh divisions in France.
+How secure they look steaming along! And to think they owe it all
+to you!"
+
+The man laughed and flushed up.
+
+"From the strictly professional standpoint the less said about me
+the better," he said.
+
+"What nonsense you talk!" cried the girl. "When the Chief was
+down to see me yesterday, he spoke of nothing but you. 'They beat
+him, but he won out!' he said, 'they shook him off but he went
+back and found 'em!' He told me it was a case of grit versus
+violence--and grit won. In all the time I've known the Chief,
+I've never heard him talk so much about one man before. Do you
+know," Barbara went on, looking up at Desmond, "I think you've
+made the Chief feel a little bit ashamed of himself. And that I
+may tell you is a most extraordinary achievement!"
+
+"Do you think you're strong enough to hear some news?" asked
+Desmond after a pause.
+
+"Of course," replied the girl. "But I think I can guess it. It's
+about Strangwise, isn't it?"
+
+Desmond nodded.
+
+"He was shot yesterday morning," he replied. "I'm glad they did
+it in France. I was terrified lest they should want me to go to
+it."
+
+"Why?" asked the girl with a suspicion of indignation in her
+voice, "he deserved no mercy."
+
+"No," replied Desmond slowly, "he was a bad fellow--a Prussian
+through and through. He murdered your poor father, he shot Rass,
+he instigated the killing of the maid, Marie, he was prepared to
+sacrifice his own wife even, to this Prussian God of militarism
+which takes the very soul out of a man's body and puts it into
+the hands of his superior officer. And yet, and yet, when one has
+soldiered with a man, Barbara, and roughed it with him and been
+shelled and shot at with him, there seems to be a bond of
+sympathy between you and him for ever after. And he was a brave
+man, Barbara, cruel and unscrupulous, I admit, but there was no
+fear in him, and I can't help admiring courage. I seem to think
+of him as two men--the man I soldiered with and the heartless
+brute who watched while that beast Bellward..."
+
+He broke off as a spasm of pain crossed the girl's face. "I shall
+remember the one and forget the other," he concluded simply.
+
+"Tell me," said the girl suddenly, "who was Strangwise?"
+
+"After he was arrested and just before they were going to take
+him off," Desmond said, "he asked to be allowed to say a word
+privately to the Chief. We were all sent away and he told the
+Chief his real name. He thought he was going to be hanged, you
+see, and while he never shrank from any crime in the fulfilment
+of his mission, he was terrified of a shameful death. He begged
+the Chief to see that his real name was not revealed for the
+disgrace that his execution would bring upon his family.
+Curiously Prussian attitude of mind, isn't it?"
+
+"And what did the Chief say?"
+
+"I don't know; but he was mighty short with him, I expect."
+
+"And what was Strangwise's real name?"
+
+"When he told us that Nur-el-Din was his wife, I knew at once who
+he was. His name is Hans von Schornbeek. He was in the Prussian
+Foot Guards, was turned out for some reason or other and went to
+America where, after a pretty rough time, he was taken on by the
+German secret service organization. He was working for them when
+he met Nur-el-Din. They were married out there and, realizing the
+possibilities of using her as a decoy in the secret service, he
+sent her to Brussels where the Huns were very busy getting ready
+for war. He treated her abominably; but the girl was fond of him
+in her way and even when she was in fear of her life from this
+man she never revealed to me the fact that he was Hans von
+Schornbeek and her husband."
+
+Barbara sat musing for a while, her eyes on the restless sea.
+
+"How strange it is," she said, "to think that they are all
+dispersed now... and the transports are sailing securely to
+France. Two were killed at the Mill House, Behrend committed
+suicide in prison, Bellward died in hospital, Mrs. Malplaquet has
+disappeared, and now Strangwise has gone. There only remains..."
+
+She cast a quick glance at Desmond but he was gazing seaward at
+the smoke of the transports smudging the horizon.
+
+"What are they going to do with Nur-el-Din?" she asked rather
+abruptly.
+
+"Didn't the Chief tell you?" said Desmond.
+
+"He only asked me what I had to say in the matter as I had had to
+suffer at her hands. But I told him I left the matter entirely to
+him. I said I took your point of view that Nur-el-Din was the
+victim of her husband..."
+
+"That was generous of you, Barbara," Desmond said gently.
+
+She sighed.
+
+"Daddy knew her as a little girl," she answered, "and he was so
+pleased to see her again that night. She never had a chance. I
+hope she'll get one now!"
+
+"They're going to intern her, I believe," said Desmond, "until
+the end of the war; they could do nothing else, you know. But she
+will be well looked after, and I think she will be safer in our
+charge than if she were allowed to remain at liberty. The German
+Secret Service has had a bad knock, you know. Somebody has got to
+pay for it!"
+
+"I know," the girl whispered, "and it frightens me."
+
+"You poor child!" said Desmond, "you've had a rough time. But
+it's all over now. And that reminds me, Barney is coming up for
+sentence to-day; they charged him with murder originally; but
+Marigold kept on getting him remanded until they were able to
+alter the charge to one of burglary. He'll probably get two
+years' hard labor, Marigold says."
+
+"Poor Barney!" said Barbara, "I wish they would let him go free.
+All these weeks the mystery of poor Daddy's death has so weighed
+upon my mind that now it has been cleared up I feel as though one
+day I might be happy again. And I want everybody to be happy,
+too!"
+
+"Barbara," said Desmond and took her hand.
+
+Barbara calmly withdrew it from his grasp and brushed an
+imaginary curl out of her eye.
+
+"Any news of your hundred thousand pound kit?" she asked, by way
+of turning the conversation.
+
+"By Jove," said Desmond, "there was a letter from Cox's at the
+club this morning but I was so rushed to catch my train that I
+shoved it in my pocket and forgot all about it. I wrote and asked
+them weeks ago to get my kit back from France. Here we are!"
+
+He pulled a letter out of his pocket, slit open the envelope and
+took out a printed form. Barbara, propping herself up with one
+hand on his shoulder, leaned over him to read the communication.
+This is what she read.
+
+"We are advised," the form ran, "that a Wolseley valise forwarded
+to you on the 16th inst. from France has been lost by enemy
+action. We are enclosing a compensation form which..."
+
+But neither troubled to read further.
+
+"Gone to the bottom, by Jove!" cried Desmond. "But isn't it
+strange," he went on, "to think of the Star of Poland lying out
+there on the bed of the Channel? Well, I'm not so sure that it
+isn't the best place for it. It won't create any further trouble
+in this world at least!"
+
+"Poor Nur-el-Din!" sighed the girl.
+
+They sat awhile in silence together and watched the gulls
+circling unceasingly above the receding tide.
+
+"You're leaving here to-morrow then?" said Desmond presently.
+
+Barbara nodded
+
+"And going back to your work with the Chief?"
+
+Barbara nodded again.
+
+"It's not good enough," cried Desmond. "This is no job for a girl
+like you, Barbara. The strain is too much; the risks are too
+great. Besides, there's something I wanted to say..."
+
+Barbara stopped him.
+
+"Don't say it!" she bade him.
+
+"But you don't know what I was going to say!" he protested.
+
+Barbara smiled a little happy smile.
+
+"Barbara..." Desmond began.
+
+Her hand still rested on his shoulder and he put his hand over
+hers. For a brief moment she let him have his way.
+
+Then she withdrew her hand.
+
+"Desmond," she said, looking at him with kindly eyes, "we both
+have work to do..."
+
+"We have," replied the man somberly, "and mine's at the front!"
+
+The girl shook her head.
+
+"No!" she said. "Henceforward it's where the Chief sends you!"
+
+Desmond set his jaw obstinately.
+
+"I may have been a Secret Service agent by accident," he
+answered, "but I'm a soldier by trade. My place is in the
+fighting-line!"
+
+"The Secret Service has its fighting-line, too," Barbara replied,
+"though the war correspondents don't write about it. It never
+gets a mention in despatches, and Victoria Crosses don't come its
+way. The newspapers don't publish its casualty list, though you
+and I know that it's a long one. A man slips quietly away and
+never comes back, and after a certain lapse of time we just mark
+him off the books and there's an end of it. But it's a great
+service; and you've made your mark in it. The Chief wants men
+like you. You'll have to stay!"
+
+Desmond was about to speak; but the girl stopped him. "What do
+you and I matter," she asked, "when the whole future of England
+is at stake! If you are to give of your best to this silent game
+of ours, you must be free with no responsibilities and no ties,
+with nothing that will ever make you hesitate to take a supreme
+risk. And I never met a man that dared more freely than you!"
+
+"Oh, please..." said Desmond and got up.
+
+He stood gazing seawards for a while.
+
+Then he glanced at his watch.
+
+"I must be going back to London," he said. "I have to see the
+Chief at four this afternoon. And you know why!"
+
+The girl nodded.
+
+"What will you tell him?" she asked. "Will you accept his offer
+to remain on in the Secret Service?"
+
+Desmond looked at her ruefully.
+
+"You're so eloquent about it," he said slowly, "that I think I
+must!"
+
+Smiling, she gave him her hand. Desmond held it for an instant in
+his.
+
+Then, without another word, he turned and strode off towards the
+winding white road that led to the station.
+
+Barbara watched him until a turn in the road hid him from her
+sight. Then she pulled out her handkerchief.
+
+"Good Heavens, girl!" she said to herself, "I believe you're
+crying!"
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Okewood of the Secret Service, by
+Valentine Williams
+
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+Project Gutenberg's Etext of Okewood of the Secret Service by^M
+Valentine Williams^M
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+Project Gutenberg's Etext of Okewood of the Secret Service
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+December, 2000  [Etext #2417]
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+Project Gutenberg's Etext of Okewood of the Secret Service
+by Valentine Williams
+******This file should be named valen10.txt or valen10.zip******
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+
+
+
+Project Gutenberg's Etext of Okewood of the Secret Service by^M
+Valentine Williams^M
+
+
+
+OKEWOOD OF THE SECRET SERVICE
+
+by Valentine Williams (pseud. Douglas Valentine)
+
+
+
+CONTENTS
+
+I.         THE DEPUTY TURN
+II.        CAPTAIN STRANGWISE ENTERTAINS A GUEST
+III.       MR. MACKWAYTE MEETS AN OLD FRIEND
+IV.        MAJOR OKEWOOD ENCOUNTERS A NEW TYPE
+V.         THE MURDER AT SEVEN KINGS
+VI.        "NAME O'BARNEY"
+VII.       NUR-EL-DIN
+VIII.      THE WHITE PAPER PACKAGE
+IX.        METAMORPHOSIS
+X.         D. O. R. A. IS BAFFLED
+XI.        CREDENTIALS
+XII.       AT THE MILL HOUSE
+XIII.      WHAT SHAKESPEARE'S COMEDIES REVEALED
+XIV.       BARBARA TAKES A HAND
+XV.        MR. BELLWARD IS CALLED TO THE TELEPHONE
+XVI.       THE STAR OF POLAND
+XVII.      MR. BELLWARD ARRANGES A BRIDGE EVENING
+XVIII.     THE GATHERING OF THE SPIES
+XIX.       THE UNINVITED GUEST
+XX.        THE ODD MAN
+XXI.       THE BLACK VELVET TOQUE
+XXII.      WHAT THE CELLAR REVEALED
+XXIII.     MRS. MALPLAQUET GOES DOWN TO THE CELLAR
+XXIV.      THE TWO DESERTERS
+XXV.       TO MRS. MALPLAQUET'S
+XXVI.      THE MAN IN THE SUMMER HOUSE
+XXVII.     THE RED LACQUER ROOM
+XXVIII.    AN OFFER FROM STRANGWISE
+XXIX.      DOT AND DASH
+XXX.       HOHENLINDEN TRENCH
+XXXI.      THE 100,000 POUND KIT
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I. THE DEPUTY TURN
+
+Mr. Arthur Mackwayte slipped noiselessly into the dining-room and
+took his place at the table. He always moved quietly, a look of
+gentle deprecation on his face as much as to say: "Really, you
+know, I can't help being here: if you will just overlook me this
+time, by and by you won't notice I'm there at all!" That was how
+he went through life, a shy, retiring little man, quiet as a
+mouse, gentle as a dove, modesty personified.
+
+That is, at least, how Mr. Arthur Mackwayte struck his friends in
+private life. Once a week, however, he fairly screamed at the
+public from the advertisement columns of "The Referee":
+"Mackwayte, in his Celebrated Kerbstone Sketches. Wit! Pathos!
+Tragedy!!! The Epitome of London Life. Universally Acclaimed as
+the Greatest Portrayer of London Characters since the late Chas.
+Dickens. In Tremendous Demand for Public Dinners. The Popular
+Favorite. A Few Dates still Vacant. 23, Laleham Villas, Seven
+Kings. 'Phone" and so on.
+
+But only professionally did Mr. Mackwayte thus blow his own
+trumpet, and then in print alone. For the rest, he had nothing
+great about him but his heart. A long and bitter struggle for
+existence had left no hardness in his smooth-shaven flexible
+face, only wrinkles. His eyes were gray and keen and honest, his
+mouth as tender as a woman's.
+
+His daughter, Barbara, was already at table pouring out the
+tea--high tea is still an institution in music-hall circles. Mr.
+Mackwayte always gazed on this tall, handsome daughter of his
+with amazement as the great miracle of his life. He looked at her
+now fondly and thought how.... how distinguished, yes, that was
+the word, she looked in the trim blue serge suit in which she
+went daily to her work at the War Office.
+
+"Rations a bit slender to-night, daddy, she said, handing him his
+cup of tea, "only sardines and bread and butter and cheese. Our
+meatless day, eh?"
+
+"It'll do very well for me, Barbara, my dear," he answered in his
+gentle voice, "there have been times when your old dad was glad
+enough to get a cup of tea and a bite of bread and butter for his
+supper. And there's many a one worse off than we are today!"
+
+"Any luck at the agent's, daddy?"
+
+Mr. Mackwayte shook his head.
+
+"These revues are fair killing the trade, my dear, and that's a
+fact. They don't want art to-day, only rag-time and legs and all
+that. Our people are being cruelly hit by it and that's a fact.
+Why, who do you think I ran into at Harris' this morning? Why,
+Barney who used to work with the great Charles, you know, my
+dear. For years he drew his ten pound a week regular. Yet there
+he was, looking for a job the same as the rest of us. Poor
+fellow, he was down on his luck!"
+
+Barbara looked up quickly.
+
+"Daddy, you lent him money...."
+
+Mr. Mackwayte looped extremely uncomfortable.
+
+"Only a trifle, my dear, just a few shillings.... to take him
+over the week-end.... he's getting something.... he'll repay me,
+I feel sure...."
+
+"It's too bad of you, daddy," his daughter said severely. "I gave
+you that ten shillings to buy yourself a bottle of whiskey. You
+know he won't pay you back. That Barney's a bad egg!"
+
+"Things are going bad with the profession, replied Mr. Mackwayte.
+"They don't seem to want any of us old stagers today, Barbara!"
+
+"Now, daddy, you know I don't allow you to talk like that. Why,
+you are only just finished working.... the Samuel Circuit, too!"
+
+Barbara looked up at the old man quickly.
+
+"Only, four weeks' trial, my dear.... they didn't want me, else
+they would have given me the full forty weeks. No, I expect I am
+getting past my work. But it's hard on you child...."
+
+Barbara sprang up and placed her hand across her father's mouth.
+
+"I won't have you talk like that, Mac"--that was her pet name for
+him--"you've worked hard all your life and now it's my turn. Men
+have had it all their own way before this war came along: now
+women are going to have a look in. Presently' when I get to be
+supervisor of my section and they raise my pay again, you will be
+able to refuse all offers of work. You can go down to Harris with
+a big cigar in your mouth and patronize him, daddy..."
+
+The telephone standing on the desk in the corner of the cheap
+little room tingled out sharply. Barbara rose and went across to
+the desk. Mr. Mackwayte thought how singularly graceful she
+looked as she stood, very slim, looking at him whimsically across
+the dinner-table, the receiver in her hand.
+
+Then a strange thing happened. Barbara quickly put the receiver
+down on the desk and clasped her hands together, her eyes opened
+wide in amazement.
+
+"Daddy," she cried, "it's the Palaceum... the manager's office...
+they want you urgently! Oh, daddy, I believe it is an
+engagement!"
+
+Mr. Mackwayte rose to his feet in agitation, a touch of color
+creeping into his gray cheeks.
+
+"Nonsense, my dear!" he answered, "at this time of night! Why,
+it's past eight... their first house is just finishing... they
+don't go engaging people at this time of day... they've got other
+things to think of!"
+
+He went over to the desk and picked up the receiver.
+
+"Mackwayte speaking!" he said, with a touch of stage majesty in
+his voice.
+
+Instantly a voice broke in on the other end of the wire, a
+perfect torrent of words.
+
+"Mackwayte? Ah! I'm glad I caught you at home. Got your props
+there? Good. Hickie of Hickie and Flanagan broke his ankle during
+their turn at the first house just now, and I want you to take
+their place at the second house. Your turn's at 9.40: it's a
+quarter past eight now: I'll have a car for you at your place at
+ten to nine sharp. Bring your band parts and lighting directions
+with you... don't forget! You get twenty minutes, on! Right!
+Goodbye!"
+
+"The Palaceum want me to deputize for Hickie and Flanagan, my
+dear," he said a little tremulously' "9.40... the second house...
+it's... it's very unexpected!"
+
+Barbara ran up and throwing her arms about his neck, kissed him.
+
+"How splendid!" she exclaimed, "the Palaceum, daddy! You've never
+had an engagement like this before... the biggest hall in
+London...!!
+
+"Only for a night, my dear"' said Mr. Mackwayte modestly.
+
+"But if they like you, daddy, if it goes down... what will you
+give them, daddy?"
+
+Mr. Mackwayte scratched his chin.
+
+"It's the biggest theatre in London"' he mused, "It'll have to be
+broad effects... and they'll want something slap up modern, my
+dear, I'm thinking..."
+
+"No, no, daddy" his daughter broke in vehemently "they want the
+best. This is a London audience, remember, not a half-baked
+provincial house. This is London, Mac, not Wigan! And Londoners
+love their London! You'll give 'em the old London horse bus
+driver, the sporting cabby, and I believe you'll have time to
+squeeze in the hot potato man..."
+
+"Well, like your poor dear mother, I expect you know what's the
+best I've got" replied Mr. Mackwayte, "but it'll be a bit awkward
+with a strange dresser... I can't get hold of Potter at this
+time, of night... and a stranger is sure to mix up my, wigs and
+things..."
+
+"Why, daddy, I'm going with you to put out your things..."
+
+"But a lady clerk in the War Office, Barbara... a Government
+official, as you might say... go behind at a music-hall... it
+don't seem proper right. my dear!"
+
+"Nonsense, Mac. Where Is your theatre? Come along. We'll have to
+try and get a taxi!"
+
+"They're sending a car at ten to nine, my dear!"
+
+"Good gracious! what swells we are! And it's half-past eight
+already! Who is on the bill with you?"
+
+"My dear, I haven't an idea... I'm not very well up in the London
+programmes' I'm afraid... but it is sure to be a good programme.
+The Palaceum is the only house that's had the courage to break
+away from this rotten revue craze!"
+
+Barbara was in the hall now, her arms plunged to the shoulder in
+a great basket trunk that smelt faintly of cocoa-butter. Right
+and left she flung coats and hats and trousers and band parts,
+selecting with a sure eye the properties which Mr. Mackwayte
+would require for the sketches he would play that evening. In the
+middle of it all the throbbing of a car echoed down the quiet
+road outside. Then there came a ring at the front door.
+
+*       *        *       *       *       *
+
+At half-past nine that night, Barbara found herself standing
+beside her father in the wings of the vast Palaceum stage. Just
+at her back was the little screened-off recess where Mr.
+Mackwayte was to make the quick changes that came in the course
+of his turn. Here, since her arrival in the theatre, Barbara had
+been busy laying out coats and hats and rigs and grease-paints on
+the little table below the mirror with its two brilliant electric
+bulbs, whilst Mr. Mackwayte was in his dressing-room upstairs
+changing into his first costume.
+
+Now, old Mackwayte stood at her elbow in his rig-out as an old
+London bus-driver in the identical, characteristic clothes which
+he had worn for this turn for the past 25 years. He was far too
+old a hand to show any nervousness he might feel at the ordeal
+before him. He was chatting in undertones in his gentle,
+confidential way to the stage manager.
+
+All around them was that curious preoccupied stillness hush of
+the power-house which makes the false world of the stage so
+singularly unreal by contrast when watched from the back. The
+house was packed from floor to ceiling, for the Palaceum's policy
+of breaking away from revue and going back to Mr. Mackwayte
+called "straight vaudeville" was triumphantly justifying itself.
+
+Standing in the wings, Barbara could almost feel the electric
+current running between the audience and the comedian who, with
+the quiet deliberation of the finished artist, was going through
+his business on the stage. As he made each of his carefully
+studied points, he paused, confident of the vast rustle of
+laughter swelling into a hurricane of applause which never failed
+to come from the towering tiers of humanity before him,
+stretching away into the roof where the limelights blazed and
+spluttered. Save for the low murmur of voices at her side, the
+silence behind the scenes was absolute. No one was idle. Everyone
+was at his post, his attention concentrated on that diminutive
+little figure in the ridiculous clothes which the spot-lights
+tracked about the stage.
+
+It was the high-water mark of modern music-hall development. The
+perfect smoothness of the organization gave Barbara a great
+feeling of contentment for she knew how happy her father must be.
+Everyone had been so kind to him. "I shall feel a stranger
+amongst the top-liners of today, my dear," he had said to her in
+the car on their way to the hall. She had had no answer ready for
+she had feared he spoke the truth.
+
+Yet everyone they had met had tried to show them that Arthur
+Mackwayte was not forgotten. The stage-door keeper had known him
+in the days of the old Aquarium and welcomed him by name. The
+comedian who preceded Mr. Mackwayte and who was on the stage at
+that moment had said, "Hullo, Mac! Come to give us young 'uns
+some tips?" And even now the stage manager was talking over old
+days with her father.
+
+"You had a rough but good schooling, Mac," he was saying, "but,
+by Jove, it gave us finished artists. If you saw the penny
+reading line that comes trying to get a job here... and gets it,
+by Gad!... it'd make you sick. I tell you I have my work cut out
+staving them off! It's a pretty good show this week, though, and
+I've given you a good place, Mac... you're in front of
+Nur-el-Din!"
+
+"Nur-el-Din?" repeated Mr. Mackwayte' "what is it, Fletcher? A
+conjurer?"
+
+"Good Lord' man' where have you been living?" replied Fletcher.
+"Nur-el-Din is the greatest vaudeville proposition since Lottie
+Collins. Conjurer! That's what she is, too, by Jove! She's the
+newest thing in Oriental dancers... Spaniard or something...
+wonderful clothes, what there is of 'em... and jewelry... wait
+till you see her!"
+
+"Dear me"' said Mr. Mackwayte' "I'm afraid I'm a bit behind the
+times. Has she been appearing here long?"
+
+"First appearance in London, old man' and she's made good from
+the word 'Go!' She's been in Paris and all over the Continent,
+and America, too, I believe, but she had to come to me to soar to
+the top of the bill. I saw at once where she belonged! She's a
+real artiste, temperament, style and all that sort of thing and a
+damn good producer into the bargain! But the worst devil that
+ever escaped out of hell never had a wickeder temper! She and I
+fight all the time! Not a show, but she doesn't keep the stage
+waiting! But I won! I won't have her prima donna tricks in this
+theatre and so I've told her! Hullo, Georgie's he's finishing..."
+
+The great curtain switched down suddenly, drowning a cascade of
+applause, and a bundle of old clothes, twitching nerves, liquid
+perspiration and grease paint hopped off the stage into the
+centre of the group. An electric bell trilled, the limelights
+shut off, with a jerk that made the eyes ache, a back-cloth
+soared aloft and another glided down into its place, the comedian
+took two, three, four calls, then vanished into a horde of dim
+figures scuttling about in the gloom.
+
+An electric bell trilled again and deep silence fell once more,
+broken only by the hissing of the lights.
+
+"You ought to stop behind after your turn and see her, Mac," the
+stage manager's voice went on evenly. "All right, Jackson! On you
+go, Mac!"
+
+Barbara felt her heart jump. Now for it, daddy!
+
+The great curtain mounted majestically and Arthur Mackwayte,
+deputy turn, stumped serenely on to the stage.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II. CAPTAIN STRANGWISE ENTERTAINS A GUEST
+
+It was the slack hour at the Nineveh Hotel. The last groups about
+the tea-tables in the Palm Court had broken up, the Tzigane
+orchestra had stacked its instruments together on its little
+platform and gone home, and a gentle calm rested over the great
+hotel as the forerunner of the coming dinner storm.
+
+The pre-dinner hour is the uncomfortable hour of the modern hotel
+de luxe. The rooms seem uncomfortably hot, the evening paper
+palls, it is too early to dress for dinner, so one sits yawning
+over the fire, longing for a fireside of one's own. At least that
+is how it strikes one from the bachelor standpoint, and that is
+how it appeared to affect a man who was sitting hunched up in a
+big arm-chair in the vestibule of the Ninevah Hotel on this
+winter afternoon.
+
+His posture spoke of utter boredom. He sprawled length in his
+chair, his long legs stretched out in front of him, his, eyes
+half-closed, various editions of evening papers strewn about the
+ground at his feet. He was a tall, well-groomed man, and his
+lithe, athletic figure looked very well in its neat uniform.
+
+A pretty little woman who sat at one of the writing desks in the
+vestibule glanced at him more once. He was the sort of man that
+women look at with interest. He had a long, shrewd, narrow head,
+the hair dark and close-cropped, a big, bold, aquiline nose, and
+a firm masterful chin, dominated by a determined line of mouth
+emphasised by a thin line of moustache. He would have been very
+handsome but for his eyes, which, the woman decided as she
+glanced at him, were set rather too close together. She thought
+she would prefer him as he was now, with his eyes glittering in
+the fire-light through their long lashes.
+
+But what was most apparent was the magnificent physical fitness
+of the man. His was the frame of the pioneer, the man of the
+earth's open spaces and uncharted wilds. He looked as hard as
+nails, and the woman murmured to herself, as she went on with her
+note, "On leave from the front."
+
+Presently, the man stirred, stretched himself and finally sat up.
+Then he started, sprang to his feet, and strode easily across the
+vestibule to the reception desk. An officer was standing there in
+a worn uniform, a very shabby kit-bag by his side, a dirty old
+Burberry over his arm.
+
+"Okewood!" said the young man and touched the other on the
+shoulder, "isn't it Desmond Okewood?  By Jove, I am glad to see
+you!"
+
+The new-comer turned quickly.
+
+"Why, hullo," he said, "if it isn't Maurice Strangwise! But, good
+heavens, man, surely I saw your name in the casualty list...
+missing, wasn't it?"
+
+"Yep!" replied the other smiling, "that's so! It's a long story
+and it'll keep! But tell me about yourself... this," he kicked
+the kit-bag with the toe of his boot, looks like a little leave!
+Just in from France?"
+
+He smiled again, baring his firm, white teeth, and looking at him
+Desmond suddenly remembered, as one recalls a trifle, his trick
+of smiling. It was a frank enough smile but... well, some people
+smile too much.
+
+"Got in just now by the leave train," answered Desmond.
+
+"How much leave have you got?" asked Strangwise.
+
+"Well," said the other, "it's a funny thing, but I don't know!"
+
+"Say, are they giving unlimited leave over there now?"
+
+Desmond laughed.
+
+"Hardly," he replied. "But the War Office just applied for me to
+come over and here I am! What they want me for, whether it's to
+advise the War Council or to act as Quartermaster to the Jewish
+Battalion I can't tell you! I shan't know until tomorrow morning!
+In the meantime I'm going to forget the war for this evening!"
+
+"What are you going to do to-night?" asked Strangwise.
+
+Desmond began to check off on his fingers.
+
+"Firstly, I'm going to fill the biggest bath in this hotel with
+hot water, get the biggest piece of Pears' soap in London, and
+jump in: Then, if my tailor hasn't betrayed me, I'm going to put
+on dress clothes, and whilst I am dressing summon Julien (if he's
+maitre d'hotel here) to a conference, then I'm going to eat the
+best dinner that this pub can provide. Then..."
+
+Strangwise interrupted him.
+
+"The bath is on you, if you like," he said, "but the dinner's on
+me and a show afterwards. I'm at a loose end, old man, and so are
+you, so we'll hit up together! We'll dine in the restaurant here
+7.30, and Julien shall come up to your room so this you can order
+the dinner. Is it a go?"
+
+"Rather," laughed Desmond, "I'll eat your dinner, Maurice, and
+you shall tell me how you managed; to break out of the casualty
+list into the Nineveh Hotel. But what do all these anxious-
+looking gentry want?"
+
+The two officers turned to confront a group of four men who were
+surveying them closely. One of them, a fat, comfortable looking
+party with grizzled hair, on seeing Desmond, walked up to him.
+
+"Hullo!" said Desmond, "it's Tommy Spencer! How are you, Spencer?
+What's the betting in Fleet Street on the war lasting another
+five years?  Have you come to interview me?"
+
+The tubby little man beamed and shook hands effusively.
+
+"Glad to see you looking so well, Major," he said, "It's your
+friend we want..."
+
+"What? Strangwise? Here, Maurice, come meet my friend Tommy
+Spencer of the "Daily Record," whom I haven't seen since we went
+on manoeuvres together down at Aldershot! Captain Strangwise,
+Tommy Spencer! Now, then, fire away; Spencer!"
+
+Strangwise smiled and shook his head.
+
+"I'm very pleased to know your friend, Desmond," he said, "but,
+you know, I can't talk! I had the strictest orders from the War
+Office... It's on account of the other fellows, you know..."
+
+Desmond looked blankly at him. Then he--turned to Spencer.
+
+"You must let me into this, Spencer," he said, "what's old
+Maurice been up to? Has he been cashiered for wearing shoes or
+what?"
+
+Spencer's manner became a trifle formal.
+
+"Captain Strangwise has escaped from a prisoners' of war camp in
+Germany, Major," he said, "we've been trying to get hold of him
+for days! He's the talk of London!"
+
+Desmond turned like a shot.
+
+"Maurice!" he cried, "'pon my soul, I'm going to have an
+interesting evening... why, of course, you are just the sort of
+fellow to do a thing like that. But, Spencer, you know, it won't
+do... fellows are never allowed to talk to the newspaper men
+about matters of this kind. And if you're a good fellow, Spencer,
+you won't even say that you have seen Strangwise here... you'll
+only get him into trouble!"
+
+The little man looked rather rueful.
+
+"Oh, of course, Major, if you put it that way," he said.
+
+"... And you'll use your influence to make those other fellows
+with you drop it, will you, Spencer? And then come along to the
+bar and we'll haven a drink for old times' sake!"
+
+Spencer seemed doubtful about the success of his representations
+to his colleagues but he obediently trotted away. Apparently, he
+succeeded in his mission for presently he joined the two officers
+alone in the American Bar.
+
+"I haven't seen Strangwise for six months, Spencer," said Desmond
+over his second cocktail. "Seeing him reminds me how astonishing
+it is the way fellows drop apart in war. Old Maurice was attached
+to the Brigade of which I am the Brigade Major as gunner officer,
+and we lived together for the best part of three months, wasn't
+it, Maurice? Then he goes back to his battery and the, next thing
+I hear of him is that he is missing. And then I'm damned if he
+doesn't turn up here!"
+
+Spencer cocked an eye at Strangwise over him Martini.
+
+"I'd like to hear your story, despite the restrictions," he said.
+
+Strangwise looked a trifle embarrassed.
+
+"Maybe I'll tell you one day," he replied in his quiet way,
+"though, honestly, there's precious little to tell..."
+
+Desmond marked his confusion and respected him for it. He rushed
+in to the rescue.
+
+"Spencer," he said abruptly, "what's worth seeing in London? We
+are going to a show to-night. I want to be amused, mark you, not
+elevated!"
+
+"Nur-el-Din at the Palaceum," replied the reporter.
+
+"By Jove, we'll go there," said Desmond, turning to Maurice.
+"Have you ever seen her? I'm told she's perfectly marvelous..."
+
+"It's an extraordinarily artistic turn," said Spencer, "and
+they're doing wonderful business at the Palaceum. You'd better go
+and see the show soon, though, for they tell me the lady is
+leaving the programme."
+
+"No!" exclaimed Strangwise so suddenly that Desmond turned round
+and stared at him. "I thought she was there for months yet..."
+
+"They don't want her to go," answered Spencer, "she's a perfect
+gold-mine to them but I gather the lady is difficult... in fact,
+to put it bluntly she's making such a damn nuisance of herself
+with her artistic temperament that they can't get on with her at
+all."
+
+"Do you know this lady of the artistic temperament, Maurice?"
+asked Desmond.
+
+Strangwise hesitated a moment.
+
+"I met her in Canada a few years ago," he said slowly, "she was a
+very small star then. She's a very handsome and attractive girl,
+in spite of our friend's unfavorable verdict. There's something
+curiously real about her dancing, too, that you don't find in
+this sort of show as a rule!"
+
+He stopped a moment, then added abruptly:
+
+"We'll go along to the Palaceum to-night, if you like, Desmond,"
+and Desmond joyfully acquiesced. To one who has been living for
+weeks in an ill-ventilated pill-box on the Passchendaele Ridge,
+the lights and music and color of a music-hall seem as a
+foretaste of Paradise.
+
+And that was what Desmond Okewood thought as a few hours later he
+found himself with Maurice Strangwise in the stalls of the vast
+Palaceum auditorium. In the unwonted luxury of evening clothes he
+felt clean and comfortable, and the cigar he way smoking was the
+climax of one of Julien's most esoteric efforts.
+
+The cards on either side of the proscenium opening bore the
+words: "Deputy Turn." On the stage wad a gnarled old man with
+ruddy cheeks and a muffler a seedy top hat on his head, a
+coaching whip in his hand, the old horse bus-driver of London in
+his habit as he had lived. The old fellow stood there and just
+talked to the audience of a fine sporting class of men that
+petrol has driven from the streets, without exaggerated humor or
+pathos. Desmond, himself a born Cockney, at once fell under the
+actor's spell and found all memories of the front slipping away
+from him as the old London street characters succeeded one
+another on the stage. Then the orchestra blared out, the curtain
+descended, and the house broke into a great flutter of applause.
+
+Desmond, luxuriating in his comfortable stall puffed at his cigar
+and fell into a pleasant reverie.
+
+He was contrasting the ghastly nightmare of mud and horrors from
+which he had only just emerged with the scene of elegance, of
+civilization; around him.
+
+Suddenly, his attention became riveted on the stage. The
+atmosphere of the theatre had changed. Always quick at picking up
+"influences," Desmond instantly sensed a new mood in the throngs
+around him. A presence was in the theatre, an instinct-awakening,
+a material influence. The great audience was strangely hushed.
+The air was heavy with the tent of incense. The stringed
+instruments and oboes in the orchestra were wandering into
+rhythmic dropped,
+
+Maurice touched his elbow.
+
+"There she is!" he said.
+
+Desmond felt inclined to shake him off roughly. The interruption
+jarred on him. For he was looking at this strangely beautiful
+girl with her skin showing very brown beneath a wonderful silver
+tiara-like headdress, and in the broad interstices of a
+cloth-of-silver robe with short, stiffly wired-out skirt. She was
+seated, an idol, on a glittering black throne, at her feet with
+their tapering dyed nails a fantastically attired throng of
+worshipers.
+
+The idol stirred into life, the music of the orchestra died away.
+Then a tom-tom began to beat its nervous pulse-stirring throb,
+the strident notes of a reed-pipe joined in and the dancer,
+raised on her toes on the dais, began to sway languorously to and
+fro. And so she swayed and swayed with sinuously curving limbs
+while the drums throbbed out faster with ever-shortening beats,
+with now and then a clash of brazen cymbals that was torture to
+overwrought nerves.
+
+The dancer was the perfection of grace. Her figure was lithe and
+supple as a boy's. There was a suggestion of fire and strength
+and agility about her that made one think of a panther as she
+postured there against a background of barbaric color. The grace
+of her movements, the exquisite blending of the colors on the
+stage, the skillful grouping of the throng of worshipers, made up
+a picture which held the audience spellbound and in silence until
+the curtain dropped.
+
+Desmond turned to find Strangwise standing up.
+
+"I thought of just running round behind the scenes for a few
+minutes," he said carelessly.
+
+"What, to see Nur-el-Din? By Jove, I'm coming, too!" promptly
+exclaimed Desmond.
+
+Strangwise demurred. He didn't quite know if he could take him:
+there might be difficulties: another time... But Desmond got up
+resolutely.
+
+"I'11 be damned if you leave me behind, Maurice," he laughed, "of
+course I'm coming, too! She's the most delightful creature I've
+ever set eyes on!"
+
+And so it ended by them going through the pass-door together.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III. MR. MACKWAYTE MEETS AN OLD FRIEND
+
+That night Nur-el-Din kept the stage waiting for five minutes. It
+was a climax of a long series of similar unpardonable crimes in
+the music-hall code. The result was that Mr. Mackwayte, after
+taking four enthusiastic "curtains," stepped off the stage into a
+perfect pandemonium.
+
+He found Fletcher, the stage manager, livid with rage, surrounded
+by the greater part of the large suite with which the dancer
+traveled. There was Madame's maid, a trim Frenchwoman, Madame's
+business manager, a fat, voluble Italian, Madame's secretary, an
+olive-skinned South American youth in an evening coat with velvet
+collar, and Madame's principal male dancer in a scanty Egyptian
+dress with grotesquely painted face. They were all talking at the
+same time, and at intervals Fletcher muttered hotly: "This time
+she leaves the bill or I walk out of the theatre!"
+
+Then a clear voice cried:
+
+"Me voila!" and a dainty apparition in an ermine wrap tripped
+into the centre of the group, tapped the manager lightly on the
+shoulder and said:
+
+"Allons! I am ready!"
+
+Mr. Mackwayte's face creased its mask of paint into a thousand
+wrinkles. For, on seeing him, the dancer's face lighted up, and,
+running to him with hands outstretched, she cried:
+
+"Tiens! Monsieur Arthur!" while he ejaculated:
+
+"Why, it's little Marcelle!"
+
+But now the stage manager interposed. He whisked Madame's wrap
+off her with one hand and with the other, firmly propelled her on
+to the stage. She let him have his way with a merry smile, dark
+eyes and white teeth flashing, but as she went she said to Mr.
+Mackwayte:
+
+"My friend, wait for me! Et puis nous causerons! We will 'ave a
+talk, nest-ce pas?"
+
+"A very old friend of mine, my dear," Mr. Mackwayte said to
+Barbara when, dressed in his street clothes, he rejoined her in
+the wings where she stood watching Nur-el-Din dancing. "She was
+an acrobat in the Seven Duponts, a turn that earned big money in
+the old days. It must be... let's see... getting on for twenty
+years since I last set eyes on her. She was a pretty kid in those
+days! God bless my soul! Little Marcelle a big star! It's really
+most amazing!"
+
+Directly she was off the stage, Nur-el-Din cams straight to Mr.
+Mackwayte, pushing aside her maid who was waiting with her wrap.
+
+"My friend," she cooed in her pretty broken English, "I am so
+glad, so glad to see you. And this is your girl... ah! she 'as
+your eyes, Monsieur Arthur, your nice English gray eyes! Such a
+big girl... ah! but she make me feel old!"
+
+She laughed, a pretty gurgling laugh, throwing back her head so
+that the diamond collar she was wearing heaved and flashed.
+
+"But you will come to my room, hein?" she went on. "Marie, my
+wrap!" and she led the way to the lift.
+
+Nur-el-Din's spacious dressing-room seemed to be full of people
+and flowers. All her little court was assembled amid a perfect
+bower of hot-house blooms and plants". Head and shoulders above
+everybody else in the room towered the figure of an officer in
+uniform, with him another palpable Englishman in evening dress.
+
+Desmond Okewood thought he had never seen anything in his life
+more charming than the picture the dancer made as she came into
+the room. Her wrap had fallen open and beneath the broad bars of
+her cloth-of-silver dress her bosom yet rose and fell after the
+exertions of her dance. A jet black curl had strayed out from
+beneath her lofty silver head-dress, and she thrust it back in
+its place with one little brown bejeweled hand whilst she
+extended the other to Strangwise.
+
+"Tiens, mon capitaine!" she said. Desmond was watching her
+closely, fascinated by her beauty, but noticed an unwilling,
+almost a hostile tone, in her voice.
+
+Strangwise was speaking in his deep voice.
+
+"Marcelle," he said, "I've brought a friend who is anxious to
+meet you. Major Desmond Okewood! He and I soldiered together in
+France!" The dancer turned her big black eyes full on Desmond as
+she held out her hand to him.
+
+"Old friends, new friends," she cried, clapping, her hands like a
+child, "I love friends. Captaine, here is a very old friend," she
+said to Strangwise as Mr. Mackwayte and Barbara came into the
+rooms, "Monsieur Arthur Mackwayte and 'is daughter. I 'ave know
+Monsieur Arthur almos' all my life. And, Mademoiselle, permit me?
+I introduce le Captaine Strangwise and 'is friend... what is the
+name? Ah, Major Okewood!"
+
+Nur-el-Din sank into a bergere chair beside her great mirror.
+
+"There are too many in this room," she cried, "there is no air!
+Lazarro, Ramiro, all of you, go outside, my friends!"
+
+As Madame's entourage surged out, Strangwise said:
+
+"I hear you are leaving the Palaceum, Marcelle!"
+
+He spoke so low that Mr. Mackwayte and Barbara, who were talking
+to Desmond, did not hear. Marcelle, taking off her heavy
+head-dress, answered quickly:
+
+"Who told you that?"
+
+"Never mind," replied Strangwise. "But you never told me you were
+going. Why didn't you?"
+
+His voice was stern and hard now, very different from his usual
+quiet and mellow tones. But he was smiling.
+
+Marcelle cast a glance over her shoulder. Barbara was looking
+round the room and caught the reflection of the dancer's face in
+a mirror hanging on the wall. To her intense astonishment, she
+saw a look of despair, almost of terror, in Nur-el-Din's dark
+eyes. It was like the frightened stare of some hunted beast.
+Barbara was so much taken aback that she instinctively glanced
+over her shoulder at the door, thinking that the dancer had seen
+something there to frighten her. But the door was shut. When
+Barbara looked into the mirror again, she saw only the reflection
+of Nur-el-Din's pretty neck and shoulders. The dancer was talking
+again in low tones to Strangwise.
+
+But Barbara swiftly forgot that glimpse of the dancer's face in
+the glass. For she was very happy. Happiness, like high spirits,
+is eminently contagious, and the two men at her side were
+supremely content.
+
+Her father's eyes were shining with his little success fit, of
+the evening: on the way upstairs Fletcher had held out hopes to
+him of a long engagement at the Palaceum while as for the other,
+he was radiant with the excitement of his first night in town
+after long months of campaigning.
+
+He was thinking that his leave had started most propitiously.
+After a man has been isolated for months amongst muddy
+masculinity, the homeliest woman will find favor in his eyes. And
+to neither of these women, in whose presence he so unexpected
+found himself within a few hours of landing in England, could the
+epithet "homely" be applied. Each represented a distinct type of
+beauty in herself, and Desmond, as he chatted with Barbara, was
+mentally contrasting the two women. Barbara, tall and slim and
+very healthy, with her braided brown hair, creamy complexion and
+gray eyes, was essentially English. She was the typical woman of
+England, of England of the broad green valleys and rolling downs
+and snuggling hamlets, of England of the white cliffs gnawed by
+the restless ocean, The other was equally essentially a woman of
+the South. Her dark eyes, her upper lip just baring her firm
+white teeth, spoke of hot Latin or gypsy blood surging in her
+veins. Hers was the beauty of the East, sensous, arresting,
+conjuring up pictures of warm, perfumed nights, the thrumming of
+guitars, a great yellow moon hanging low behind the palms.
+
+"Barbara!" called Nur-el-Din from the dressing table. Mr.
+Mackwayte had joined her there and was chatting to Strangwise.
+
+"You will stay and talk to me while I change n'est-ce pas? Your
+papa and these gentlemen are going to drink a whiskey-soda with
+that animal Fletcher... quel homme terrible... and you shall join
+them presently."
+
+The men went out, leaving Barbara alone with the dancer. Barbara
+noticed how tired Nur-el-Din was looking. Heir pretty, childish
+ways seemed to have evaporated with her high spirits. Her face
+was heavy and listless. There were lines round heir eyes, and her
+mouth had a hard, drawn look.
+
+"Child," she said, "give me, please, my peignoir... it is behind
+the door,... and, I will get this paint off my face!"
+
+Barbara fetched the wrapper and sat down beside the dancer. But
+Nur-el-Din did not move. She seemed to be thinking. Barbara saw
+the hunted look she had already observed in her that evening
+creeping over her face again.
+
+"It is a hard life; this life of ours, a life of change, ma
+petite! A great artiste has no country, no home, no fireside! For
+the past five years I have been roaming about the world! Often I
+think I will settle down, but the life holds me!"
+
+She took up from her dressing-table a little oblong plain silver
+box.
+
+"I want to ask you a favor, ma petite Barbara!" she said. "This
+little box is a family possession of mine: I have had it for many
+years. The world is so disturbed to-day that life is not safe for
+anybody who travels as much as I do! You have a home, a safe home
+with your dear father! He was telling me about it! Will you take
+this little box and keep it safely for me until... until... the
+war is over... until I ask you for it?"
+
+"Yes, of course," said Barbara, "if you wish it, though, what
+with these air raids, I don't know that London is particularly
+safe, either."
+
+"Ah! that is good of you," cried Nur-el-Din, "anyhow, the little
+box is safer with you than with me. See, I will wrap it up and
+seal it, and then you will take it home with you, n'est-ce pas?"
+
+She opened a drawer and swiftly hunting among its contents
+produced a sheet, of white paper, and some sealing-wax. She
+wrapped the box in the paper and sealed it up, stamping the seals
+with a camel signet ring she drew off her finger. Then she handed
+the package to Barbara.
+
+There was a knock at the door. The maid, noiselessly arranging
+Madame's dresses in the corner opened it.
+
+"You will take care of it well for me," the dancer said to
+Barbara, and her voice vibrated with a surprising eagerness, "you
+will guard it preciously until I come for it..." She laughed and
+added carelessly: "Because it is a family treasure, a life
+mascotte of mine, hein?"
+
+Then they heard Strangwise's deep voice outside.
+
+Nur-el-Din started.
+
+"Le Captaine is there, Madame," said the French maid, "'e say
+Monsieur Mackwayte ask for Mademoiselle!"
+
+The dancer thrust a little hand from the folds of her silken
+kimono.
+
+"Au revoir, ma petite," she said, "we shall meet again. You will
+come and see me, nest-ce pas? And say nothing to anybody
+about..." she pointed to Barbara's bag where the little package
+was reposing, "it shall be a secret between us, hein? Promise me
+this, mon enfant!"
+
+"Of course, I promise, if you like!" said Barbara, wonderingly.
+
+At half-past eight the next morning Desmond Okewood found himself
+in the ante-room of the Chief of the Secret Service in a cross
+and puzzled mood. The telephone at his bedside had roused him at
+8 a.m. from the first sleep he had had in a real bed for two
+months. In a drowsy voice he had protested that he had an
+appointment at the War Office at 10 o'clock, but a curt voice had
+bidden him dress himself and come to the Chief forthwith. Here he
+was, accordingly, breakfastless, his chin smarting from a hasty
+shave. What the devil did the Chief want with him anyhow? He
+wasn't in the Secret Service, though his brother, Francis, was.
+
+A voice broke in upon his angry musing.
+
+"Come in, Okewood!" it said.
+
+The Chief stood at the door of his room, a broad-shouldered
+figure in a plain jacket suit. Desmond had met him before. He
+knew him for a man of many questions but of few confidences, yet
+his recollection of him was of a suave, imperturbable
+personality. To-day, however, the Chief seemed strangely
+preoccupied. There was a deep line between his bushy eyebrows as
+he bent them at Desmond, motioning him to a chair. When he spoke,
+his manner was very curt.
+
+"What time did you part from the Mackwaytes at the theatre last
+night?"
+
+Desmond was dumbfounded. How on earth did the Chief know about
+his visit to the Palaceum? Still, he was used to the omniscience
+of the British Intelligence, so he answered promptly:
+
+"It was latish, sir; about midnight, I think!"
+
+"They went home to Seven Kings alone!"
+
+"Yes, sir, in a taxi!" Desmond replied.
+
+The Chief contemplated his blotting-pad gloomily. Desmond knew it
+for a trick of his when worried.
+
+"Did you have a good night?" he said to Desmond, suddenly.
+
+"Yes," he said, not in the least understanding the drift of the
+question. "... though I didn't mean to get up quite so early!"
+
+The Chief ignored this sally.
+
+"Nothing out of the ordinary happened during the night, I
+suppose?" he asked again.
+
+Desmond shook his head.
+
+"Nothing that I know of, sir," he said.
+
+"Seen Strangwise this morning?"
+
+Desmond gasped for breath. So the Chief knew about him meeting
+Strangwise, too!
+
+"No, sir!"
+
+A clerk put his head in at the door.
+
+"Well, Matthews!"
+
+"Captain Strangwise will be along very shortly, sir," he said.
+
+The Chief looked up quickly.
+
+"Ah, he's all right then! Good."
+
+"And, sir," Matthews added, "Scotland Yard telephoned to say that
+the doctor is with Miss Mackwayte now."
+
+Desmond started up.
+
+"Is Miss Mackwayte ill?" he exclaimed.
+
+The Chief answered slowly, as Matthew s withdrew: "Mr. Mackwayte
+was found murdered at his house early this morning!"
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV. MAJOR OKEWOOD ENCOUNTERS A NEW TYPE
+
+There is a sinister ring about the word "murder," which reacts
+upon even the most hardened sensibility. Edgar Allan Poe, who was
+a master of the suggestive use of words, realized this when he
+called the greatest detective story ever written "The Murders in
+the Rue Morgue." From the very beginning of the war, Desmond had
+seen death in all its forms but that word "murdered," spoken with
+slow emphasis in the quiet room, gave him an ugly chill feeling
+round the heart that he had never experienced on the battlefield.
+
+"Murdered!" Desmond repeated dully and sat down. He felt stunned.
+He was not thinking of the gentle old man cruelly done to death
+or of the pretty Barbara prostrate with grief. He was overawed by
+the curious fatality that had plucked him from the horrors of
+Flanders only to plunge him into a tragedy at home.
+
+"Yes," said the Chief bluntly, "by a burglar apparently--the
+house was ransacked!"
+
+"Chief," he broke out, "you must explain. I'm all at sea! Why did
+you send for me? What have you got to do with criminal cases,
+anyway? Surely, this is a Scotland Yard matter!"
+
+The Chief shook his head.
+
+"I sent for you in default of your brother, Okewood!" he said.
+"You once refused an offer of mine to take you into my service,
+but this time I had to have you, so I got the War Office to
+wire..."
+
+"Then my appointment for ten o'clock to-day was with you?"
+Desmond exclaimed in astonishment.
+
+The Chief nodded.
+
+"It was," he said curtly.
+
+"But," protested Desmond feebly, "did you know about this murder
+beforehand!"
+
+The Chief threw back his head and laughed.
+
+"My dear fellow," he said; "I'm not quite so deep as all that. I
+haven't second sight, you know!"
+
+"You've got something devilish like it, sir!" said Desmond.  "How
+on earth did you know that I was at the Palaceum last night?"
+
+The Chief smiled grimly.
+
+"Oh, that's very simple," he said. "Shall I tell you some more
+about yourself?  You sat..." he glanced down at the desk in front
+of him,"... in Stall E 52 and, after Nur-el-Din's turn,
+Strangwise took you round and introduced you to the lady. In her
+dressing-room you met Mr. Mackwayte and his daughter. After
+that..."
+
+"But," Desmond interrupted quickly, "I must have been followed by
+one of your men. Still, I can't see why my movements should
+interest the Secret Service, sir!"
+
+The Chief remained silent for a moment. Then he said:
+
+"Fate often unexpectedly takes a hand in this game of ours,
+Okewood. I sent for you to come back from France but old man
+Destiny wouldn't leave it at that. Almost as soon as you landed
+he switched you straight on to a trail that I have been patiently
+following up for months past. That trail is..."
+
+The telephone on the desk rang sharply.
+
+"Whose trail?" Desmond could not forbear to ask as the Chief took
+off the receiver.
+
+"Just a minute," the Chief said. Then he spoke into the
+telephone:
+
+"Marigold? Yes. Really? Very well, I'll come straight along
+now... I'll be with you in twenty minutes. Good-bye!"
+
+He put down the receiver and rose to his feet.
+
+"Okewood," he cried gaily, "what do you say to a little detective
+work? That was Marigold of the Criminal Investigation
+Department... he's down at Seven Kings handling this murder case.
+I asked him to let me know when it would be convenient for me to
+come along and have a look round, and he wants me to go now. Two
+heads are better than one. You'd better come along!"
+
+He pressed a button on the desk.
+
+The swift and silent Matthews appeared.
+
+"Matthews," he said, "when Captain Strangwise comes, please tell
+him I've been called away and ask him to call back here at two
+o'clock to see me."
+
+He paused and laid a lean finger reflectively along his nose.
+
+"Are you lunching anywhere, Okewood?" he 'said. Desmond shook his
+head.
+
+"Then you will lunch with me, eh? Right. Come along and we'll try
+to find the way to Seven Kings."
+
+The two men threaded the busy corridors to the lift which
+deposited them at the main entrance. A few minutes later the
+Chief was dexterously guiding his Vauxhall car through the
+crowded traffic of the Strand, Desmond beside him on the front
+seat.
+
+Desmond was completely fogged in his mind. He couldn't see light
+anywhere. He asked himself in vain what possible connection could
+exist between this murder in an obscure quarter of London and the
+man at his side who, he knew, held in his firm hands lines that
+stretched to the uttermost ends of the earth? What kind of an
+affair was this, seemingly so commonplace that could take the
+Chief's attention from the hundred urgent matters of national
+security that occupied him?
+
+The Chief seemed absorbed in his driving and Desmond felt it
+would be useless to attempt to draw him out. They wended their
+way through the city and out into the squalid length of the Mile
+End Road. Then the Chief began to talk.
+
+"I hate driving through the City," he exclaimed, "but I always
+think it's good for the nerves. Still, I have a feeling that I
+shall smash this old car up some day. That friend of yours,
+Strangwise, now he's a remarkable man!"  Do you know his story?"
+
+"About his escape from Germany?" asked Desmond.
+
+The Chief nodded.
+
+He told me something about it at dinner last night," said
+Desmond, "but he's such a modest chap he doesn't seem to like
+talking about it!"
+
+"He must have a cool nerve," replied the Chief, "he doesn't know
+a word of German, except a few scraps he picked up in camp. Yet,
+after he got free, he made his way alone from somewhere in
+Hanover clear to the Dutch frontier. And I tell you he kept his
+eyes and ears open!"
+
+"Was he able to tell you anything good" asked Desmond.
+
+"The man's just full of information. He couldn't take a note of
+any kind, of course, but he seems to have a wonderful memory. He
+was able to give us the names of almost every unit of troops he
+came across."
+
+He stopped to skirt a tram, then added suddenly:
+
+"Do you know him well, Okewood?"
+
+"Yes, I think I do," said Desmond. "I lived with him for about
+three months in France, and we got on top-hole together. He's a
+man absolutely without fear."
+
+"Yes," agreed the Chief. "But what about his judgment? Would you
+call him a well-balanced fellow? Or is he one of these
+harum-scarum soldier of fortune sort of chaps?"
+
+"I should say he was devilish shrewd," replied the other.
+"Strangwise is a very able fellow and a fine soldier. The
+Brigadier thought a lot of him. There's very little about
+artillery work that Strangwise doesn't know. Our Brigadier's a
+good judge, too... he was a gunner himself once, you know."
+
+"I'm glad to hear you say that," answered the Chief, "because
+there are some things he has told us, about the movements of
+troops, particularly, that don't agree in the least with our own
+Intelligence reports. I am an old enough hand at my job to know
+that very often one man may be right where fifty independent
+witnesses are dead wrong. Yet our reports from Germany have been
+wonderfully accurate on the whole."
+
+He stopped.
+
+"Tell me," he asked suddenly, "is Strangwise a liar, do you
+think?"
+
+Desmond laughed. The question was so very unexpected.
+
+"Let me explain what I mean," said the Chief. "There is a type of
+man who is quite incapable of telling the plain, unvarnished
+truth. That type of fellow might have the most extraordinary
+adventure happen to him and yet be unable to let it stand on its
+merits. When he narrates it, he trims it up with all kinds of
+embroidery. Is Strangwise that type?"
+
+Desmond thought a moment.
+
+"Your silence is very eloquent," said the Chief drily.
+
+Desmond laughed.
+
+"It's not the silence of consent," he said, "but if you want me
+to be quite frank about Strangwise, Chief, I don't mind telling
+you I don't like him overmuch. We were very intimate in France.
+We were in some very tight corners together and he never let me
+down. He showed himself to be a very fine fellow, indeed. There
+are points about him I admire immensely. I love his fine
+physique, his manliness. I'm sure he's got great strength of
+character, too. It's because I admire all this about him that I
+think perhaps it's just jealousy on my part when I feel..."
+
+"What?" said the Chief.
+
+"Well," said Desmond slowly, "I feel myself trying to like
+something below the surface in the man. And then I am balked.
+There seems to be something abysmally deep behind the facade, if
+you know what I mean. If I think about it much, it seems to me
+that there is too much surface about Strangwise and not enough
+foundation! And he smiles... Well, rather often, doesn't he?"
+
+"I know what you mean," said the Chief. "I always tell my young
+men to be wary when a man smiles too much. Smiles are sometimes
+camouflage, to cover up something that mustn't be seen
+underneath! Strangwise is a Canadian, isn't he?"
+
+"I think so," answered Desmond, "anyhow, he has lived there. But
+he got his commission over here. He came over some time in 1915,
+I believe, and joined up."
+
+"Ah, here we are!" cried the Chief, steering the car down a
+turning marked "Laleham Villas."
+
+Laleham Villas proved to be an immensely long terrace of small
+two-story houses, each one exactly like the other, the only
+difference between them lying in the color of the front doors and
+the arrangement of the small strip of garden in front of each.
+The houses stretched away on either side in a vista of
+smoke-discolored yellow brick. The road was perfectly straight
+and, in the dull yellow atmosphere of the winter morning,
+unspeakably depressing.
+
+The abode of small clerks and employees, Laleham Villas had
+rendered up, an hour before, its daily tribute of humanity to the
+City-bound trains of the Great Eastern Railway. The Mackwayte's
+house was plainly indicated, about 200 yards down on the
+right-hand side, by a knot of errand boys and bareheaded women
+grouped on the side-walk. A large, phlegmatic policeman stood at
+the gate.
+
+"You'll like Marigold," said the Chief to Desmond as they got out
+of the car, "quite a remarkable man and very sound at his work!"
+
+British officers don't number detective inspectors among their
+habitual acquaintances, and the man that came out of the house to
+meet them was actually the first detective that Desmond had ever
+met. Ever since the Chief had mentioned his name, Desmond had
+been wondering whether Mr. Marigold would be lean and pale and
+bewildering like Mr. Sherlock Holmes or breezy and wiry like the
+detectives in American crook plays.
+
+The man before him did not bear the faintest resemblance to
+either type. He was a well-set up, broad-shouldered person of
+about forty-five, very carefully dressed in a blue serge suit and
+black overcoat, with a large, even-tempered countenance, which
+sloped into a high forehead. The neatly brushed but thinning
+locks carefully arranged across the top of the head testified to
+the fact that Mr. Marigold had sacrificed most of his hair to the
+vicissitudes of his profession. When it is added that the
+detective had a small, yellow moustache and a pleasant,
+cultivated voice, there remains nothing further to say about Mr.
+Marigold's external appearance. But there was something so patent
+about the man, his air of reserve, his careful courtesy, his
+shrewd eyes, that Desmond at once recognized him for a type, a
+cast from a certain specific mould. All services shape men to
+their own fashion. There is the type of Guardsman, the type of
+airman, the type of naval officer. And Desmond decided that Mr.
+Marigold must be the type of detective, though, as I have said,
+he was totally unacquainted with the genus.
+
+"Major Okewood, Marigold," said the Chief, "a friend of mine!"
+
+Mr. Marigold mustered Desmond in one swift, comprehensive look.
+
+"I won't give you my hand, Major," the detective said, looking
+down at Desmond's proffered one, "for I'm in a filthy mess and no
+error. But won't you come in, sir?" he said to the Chief and led
+the way across the mosaic tile pathway to the front door which
+stood open.
+
+"I don't think this is anything in your line, sir," said Mr.
+Marigold to the Chief as the three men entered the house, "it's
+nothing but just a common burglary. The old man evidently heard a
+noise and coming down, surprised the burglar who lost his head
+and killed him. The only novel thing about the whole case is that
+the old party was shot with a pistol and not bludgeoned, as is
+usually the case in affairs of this kind. And I shouldn't have
+thought that the man who did it was the sort that carries a
+gun..."
+
+"Then you know who did it?" asked the Chief quietly.
+
+"I think I can safely say I do, sir," said Mr. Marigold with the
+reluctant air of one who seldom admits anything to be a fact, "I
+think I can go as far as that! And we've got our man under lock
+and key!"
+
+"That's a smart piece of work, Marigold," said the Chief.
+
+"No, sir," replied the other, "you could hardly call it that. He
+just walked into the arms of a constable over there near
+Goodmayes Station with the swag on him. He's an old hand... we've
+known him for a receiver for years!
+
+"Who is it?" asked the Chief, "not one of my little friends, I
+suppose, eh, Marigold!"
+
+"Dear me, no, sir," answered Mr. Marigold, chuckling, "it's one
+of old Mackwayte's music-hall pals, name o' Barney!"
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V. THE MURDER AT SEVEN KINGS
+
+"This is Mrs. Chugg, sir," said Mr. Marigold, "the charwoman who
+found the body!"
+
+The Chief and Desmond stood at the detective's side in the
+Mackwaytes' little dining-room. The room was in considerable
+disorder. There was a litter of paper, empty bottles, overturned
+cruets and other debris on the floor, evidence of the
+thoroughness with which the burglar had overhauled the cheap
+fumed oak sideboard which stood against the wall with doors and
+drawers open. In the corner, the little roll-top desk showed a
+great gash in the wood round the lock where it had been forced.
+The remains of a meal still stood on the table.
+
+Mrs. Chugg, a diminutive, white-haired, bespectacled woman in a
+rusty black cape and skirt, was enthroned in the midst of this
+scene of desolation. She sat in an armchair by the fire, her
+hands in her lap, obviously supremely content with the position
+of importance she enjoyed. At the sound of Mr. Marigold's voice,
+she bobbed up and regarded the newcomers with the air of a
+tragedy queen.
+
+"Yus mister," she said with the slow deliberation of one who
+thoroughly enjoys repeating an oft-told tale, "I found the pore
+man and a horrid turn it give me, too, I declare! I come in early
+this morning a-purpose to turn out these two rooms, the
+dining-room and the droring-room, same as I always do of a
+Saturday, along of the lidy's horders and wishes. I come in 'ere
+fust, to pull up the blinds and that, and d'reckly I switches on
+the light 'Burglars!' I sez to meself, 'Burglars! That's wot it
+is!' seeing the nasty mess the place was in. Up I nips to Miss
+Mackwayte's room on the first floor and in I bursts. 'Miss,' sez
+I, 'Miss, there's been burglars in the house!' and then I sees
+the pore lamb all tied up there on 'er blessed bed! Lor, mister,
+the turn it give me and I ain't telling you no lies! She was
+strapped up that tight with a towel crammed in 'er mouth she
+couldn't 'ardly dror 'er breath! I undid 'er pretty quick and the
+fust thing she sez w'en I gets the towl out of her mouth, the
+pore dear, is 'Mrs. Chugg,' she sez all of a tremble as you might
+say, 'Mrs. Chugg' sez she, 'my father!" my father!' sez she. With
+that up she jumps but she 'adn't put foot to the floor w'en down
+she drops! It was along of 'er being tied up orl that time, dyer
+see, mister! I gets 'er back on the bed. 'You lie still, Miss,'
+says I, 'and I'll pop in and tell your pa to come in to you!'
+Well; I went to the old genelmun's room. Empty!"
+
+Mrs. Chugg paused to give her narrative dramatic effect.
+
+"And where did you find Mr. Mackwayte?" asked the Chief in such a
+placid voice that Mrs. Chugg cast an indignant glance at him.
+
+"I was jes' going downstairs to see if 'e was in the kitching or
+out at the back," she continued, unheeding the interruption,
+"when there on the landing I sees a foot asticking out from under
+the curting. I pulls back the curting and oh, Lor! oh, dear, oh,
+dear, the pore genelmun, 'im as never did a bad turn to no one!"
+
+"Come, come, Mrs. Chugg!" said the detective.
+
+The charwoman wiped her eyes and resumed.
+
+"'E was a-lying on his back in 'is dressing-gown, 'is face all
+burnt black, like, and a fair smother o' blood. Under 'is hed
+there was a pool o' blood, mister, yer may believe me or not..."
+
+Mr. Marigold cut in decisively.
+
+"Do you wish to see the body, sir?" the detective asked the
+Chief, "they're upstairs photographing it!"
+
+The Chief nodded. He and Desmond followed the detective upstairs,
+whilst Mrs. Chugg resentfully resumed her seat by the fire. On
+her face was the look of one who has cast pearls before swine.
+
+"Any finger-prints?" asked the Chief in the hall.
+
+"Oh, no," he said, "Barney's far too old a hand for that sort o'
+thing!"
+
+The landing proved to be a small space, covered with oilcloth and
+raised by a step from the bend made by the staircase leading to
+the first story. On the left-hand side was a window looking on a
+narrow passage separating the Mackwayte house from its neighbors
+and leading to the back-door. By the window stood a small
+wicker-work table with a plant on it. At the back of the landing
+was a partition, glazed half-way up and a door--obviously the
+bath-room.
+
+The curtain had been looped right over its brass rod. The body
+lay on its back at the foot of the table, arms flung outward, one
+leg doubled up, the other with the foot just jutting out over the
+step leading down to the staircase. The head pointed towards the
+bath-room door. Over the right eye the skin of the face was
+blackened in a great patch and there was a large blue swelling,
+like a bruise, in the centre. There was a good deal of blood on
+the face which obscured the hole made by the entrance of the
+bullet. The eyes were half-closed. A big camera, pointed
+downwards, was mounted on a high double ladder straddling the
+body and was operated by a young man in a bowler hat who went on
+with his work without taking the slightest notice of the
+detective and his companions.
+
+"Close range," murmured Desmond, after glancing at the dead man's
+face, "a large calibre automatic pistol, I should think!"
+
+"Why do you think it was a large calibre pistol, Major?" asked
+Mr. Marigold attentively.
+
+"I've seen plenty of men killed at close range by revolver and
+rifle bullets out at the front," replied Desmond, "but I never
+saw a man's face messed up like this. In a raid once I shot a
+German at point blank range with my revolver, the ordinary Army
+issue pattern, and I looked him over after. But it wasn't
+anything like this. The only thing I've seen approaching it was
+one of our sergeants who was killed out on patrol by a Hun
+officer who put his gun right in our man's face. That sergeant
+was pretty badly marked, but..."
+
+He shook his head. Then he added, addressing the detective:
+"Let's see the gun! Have you got it?"
+
+Mr. Marigold shook his head.
+
+"He hadn't got it on him," he answered, "he swears he never had a
+gun. I expect he chucked it away somewhere. It'll be our business
+to find it for him!"
+
+He smiled rather grimly, then added:
+
+"Perhaps you'd care to have a look at Miss Mackwayte's room,
+sir!"
+
+"Is Miss Mackwayte there" asked the Chief.
+
+"I got her out of this quick," replied Mr. Marigold, "she's had a
+bad shock, poor girl, though she gave her evidence clearly enough
+for all that... as far as it goes and that's not much. Some
+friends near by have taken her in! The doctor has given her some
+bromide and says she's got to be kept quiet..."
+
+"What's her story!" queried the Chief.
+
+"She can't throw much light on the business. She and her father
+reached home from the theatre about a quarter past twelve, had a
+bit of supper in the dining-room and went up to bed before one
+o'clock. Miss Mackwayte saw her father go into his room, which is
+next to hers, and shut the door. The next thing she knows is that
+she woke up suddenly with some kind of a loud noise in her
+ears... that was the report of the pistol, I've no doubt... she
+thought for a minute it was an air raid. Then suddenly a hand was
+pressed over her mouth, something was crammed into her mouth and
+she was firmly strapped down to the bed."
+
+"Did she see the man?" asked Desmond.
+
+"She didn't see anything from first to last," answered the
+detective, "as far as she is concerned it might have been a woman
+or a black man who trussed her up. It was quite dark in her
+bedroom and this burglar fellow, after binding and gagging her,
+fastened a bandage across her eyes into the bargain. She says she
+heard him moving about her room and then creep out very softly.
+The next thing she knew was Mrs. Chugg arriving at her bedside
+this morning."
+
+"What time did this attack take place?" asked the Chief.
+
+"She has no idea," answered the detective. "She couldn't see her
+watch and they haven't got a striking clock in the house."
+
+"But can she make no guess!"
+
+"Well, she says she thinks it was several hours before Mrs. Chugg
+arrived in the morning... as much as three hours, she thinks!"
+
+A"nd what time did Mrs. Chugg arrive!"
+
+"At half-past six!"
+
+"About Mackwayte... how long was he dead when they found him?
+What does the doctor say?"
+
+"About three hours approximately, but you know, they can't always
+tell to an hour or so!"
+
+"Well," said the Chief slowly, "it looks as if one might figure
+the murder as having been committed some time between 3 and 3.30
+a.m."
+
+"My idea exactly," said Mr. Marigold. "Shall we go upstairs?"
+
+He conducted the Chief and Desmond up the short flight of stairs
+to the first story. He pushed open the first door he came to.
+
+"Mackwayte's room, on the back," he said, "bed slept in, as you
+see, old gentleman's clothes on a chair--obviously he was
+disturbed by some noise made by the burglar and came out to see
+what was doing! And here," he indicated a door adjoining, Mis
+Miss Mackwayte's room, on the front; as you observe. They don't
+use the two rooms on the second floor, except for box-rooms...
+one's full of old Mackwayte's theatre trunks and stuff. They keep
+no servant; Mrs. Chugg comes in each morning and stays all day.
+She goes away after supper every evening."
+
+Desmond found himself looking into a plainly furnished but dainty
+bedroom with white furniture and a good deal of chintz about.
+There were some photographs and pictures hanging on the walls.
+The room was spotlessly clean and very tidy.
+
+Desmond remarked on this, asking if the police had put the room
+straight.
+
+Mr. Marigold looked quite shocked.
+
+"Oh, no, everything is just as it was when Mrs. Chugg found Miss
+Mackwayte this morning. There's Miss Mackwayte's gloves and
+handbag on the toilet-table just as she left 'em last night. I
+wouldn't let her touch her clothes even. She went over to Mrs.
+Appleby's in her dressing-gown, in a taxi."
+
+"Then Master Burglar didn't burgle this room?" asked the Chief.
+
+"Nothing touched, not even the girl's money," replied Marigold.
+
+"Then why did he come up here at all?" asked Desmond.
+
+"Obviously, the old gentleman disturbed him," was the detective's
+reply. "Barney got scared and shot the old gentleman, then came
+up here to make sure that the daughter would not give him away
+before he could make his escape. He must have known the report of
+the gun would wake her up."
+
+"But are there no clues or finger-prints or anything of that kind
+here, Marigold?" asked the Chief.
+
+"Not a finger-print anywhere," responded the other, "men like
+Barney are born wise to the fingerprint business, sir."
+
+He dipped a finger and thumb into his waistcoat pocket.
+
+"Clues? Well, I've got one little souvenir here which I daresay a
+writer of detective stories would make a good bit of."
+
+He held in his hand a piece of paper folded flat. He unfolded it
+and disclosed a loop of dark hair.
+
+"There!" he said mockingly, straightening out the hair and
+holding it up in the light. "That's calculated to set one's
+thoughts running all over the place, isn't it? That piece of hair
+was caught in the buckle of one of the straps with which Miss
+Mackwayte was bound to the bed. Miss Mackwayte, I would point
+out, has brown hair. Whose hair do you think that is?"
+
+Desmond looked closely at the strand of hair in the detective's
+fingers. It was long and fine and glossy and jetblack.
+
+The Chief laughed and shook his head.
+
+"Haven't an idea, Marigold," he answered, "Barney's, I should
+imagine, that is, if he goes about with black ringlets falling
+round his shoulders
+
+"Barney?" echoed the detective. "Barney's as bald as I am.
+Besides, if you saw his sheet, you'd realize that he has got into
+the habit of wearing his hair short!"
+
+He carefully rolled the strand of hair up, replaced it in its
+paper and stowed it in his waistcoat pocket.
+
+"It just shows how easily one is misled in a matter of this
+kind," he went on. "Supposing Barney hadn't got himself nabbed,
+supposing I hadn't been able to find out from Miss Mackwayte her
+movements on the night previous to the murder, that strand of
+hair might have led me on a fine wild goose chase!"
+
+"But, damn it, Marigold," exclaimed the Chief, laughing, "you
+haven't told us whose hair it is?"
+
+"Why, Nur-el-Din's, of course!"
+
+The smile froze on the Chief's lips, the laughter died out of his
+eyes. Desmond was amazed at the change in the man. The languid
+interest he had taken in the different details of the crime
+vanished. Something seemed to tighten up suddenly in his face and
+manner.
+
+"Why Nur-el-Din?" he asked curtly.
+
+Mr. Marigold glanced quickly at him. Desmond remarked that the
+detective was sensible of the change too.
+
+"Simply because Miss Mackwayte spent some time in the dancer's
+dressing-room last night, sir," he replied quietly, "she probably
+sat at her dressing-table and picked up this hair in hers or in
+her veil or something and it dropped on the bed where one of
+Master Barney's buckles caught it up."
+
+He spoke carelessly but Desmond noticed that he kept a watchful
+eye on the other.
+
+The Chief did not answer. He seemed to have relapsed into the
+preoccupied mood in which Desmond had found him that morning.
+
+"I was going to suggest, sir," said Mr. Marigold diffidently, "if
+you had the time, you might care to look in at the Yard, and see
+the prisoner. I don't mind telling you that he is swearing by all
+the tribes of Judah that he's innocent of the murder of old
+Mackwayte. He's got an amazing yarn... perhaps you'd like to hear
+it!"
+
+Mr. Marigold suddenly began to interest Desmond. His proposal was
+put forward so modestly that one would have thought the last
+thing he believed possible was that the Chief should acquiesce in
+his suggestion. Yet Desmond had the feeling that the detective
+was far from being so disinterested as he wished to seem. It
+struck Desmond that the case was more complicated than Mr.
+Marigold admitted and that the detective knew it. Had Mr.
+Marigold discovered that the Chief knew a great deal more about
+this mysterious affair than the detective knew himself? And was
+not his attitude of having already solved the problem of the
+murder, his treatment of the Chief as a dilettante criminologist
+simply an elaborate pose, to extract from the Chief information
+which had not been proffered?
+
+The Chief glanced at his watch.
+
+"Right," he said, "I think I'd like to go along."
+
+"I have a good deal to do here still," observed Mr. Marigold,
+"so, if you don't mind, I won't accompany you. But perhaps, sir,
+you would like to see me this afternoon?"
+
+The Chief swung round on his heel and fairly searched Mr.
+Marigold with a glance from beneath his bushy eyebrows. The
+detective returned his gaze with an expression of supreme
+innocence.
+
+"Why, Marigold," answered the Chief, "I believe I should. Six
+o'clock suit you?"
+
+"Certainly, sir," said Mr. Marigold.
+
+Desmond stood by the door, vastly amused by this duel of wits.
+The Chief and Mr. Marigold made a move towards the door, Desmond
+turned to open it and came face to face with a large framed
+photograph of the Chief hanging on the wall of Miss Mackwayte's
+bedroom.
+
+"Why, Chief," he cried, "you never told me you knew Miss
+Mackwayte!"
+
+The Chief professed to be very taken aback by this question.
+"Dear me, didn't I, Okewood?" he answered with eyes laughing,
+"she's my secretary!"
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI. "NAME 0'BARNEY"
+
+
+"Miss Mackwayte telephoned to ask if I could go and see, her,"
+said the Chief to Desmond as they motored back to White hall,
+Marigold gave me the message just as we were coming out. She
+asked if I could come this afternoon. I'm going to send you in my
+place, Okewood. I've got a conference with the head of the French
+Intelligence at three, and the Lord knows when I shall get away.
+I've a notion that you and Miss Mackwayte will work very well
+together."
+
+"Certainly," said Desmond, "she struck me as being a very
+charming and clever girl. Now I know the source of your
+information about my movements last night!"
+
+"That you certainly don't!" answered the Chief promptly, " if I
+thought you did Duff and No.39 should be sacked on the spot!"
+
+"Then it wasn't Miss Mackwayte who told you?"
+
+"I haven't seen or heard from Miss Mackwayte since she left my
+office yesterday evening. You were followed!"
+
+"But why?"
+
+"I'll tell you all about it at, lunch!"
+
+Bated once more, Desmond retired into his shell. By this he was
+convinced of the utter impossibility of making the Chief
+vouchsafe any information except voluntarily.
+
+Mr. Marigold had evidently announced their coming to Scotland
+Yard, for a very urbane and delightful official met them at the
+entrance and conducted them to a room where the prisoner was
+already awaiting them in charge of a plain clothes man. There the
+official excused himself and retired, leaving them alone with the
+prisoner and his escort.
+
+Barney proved to be a squat, podgy, middle-aged Jew of the
+familiar East End Polish or Russian type. He had little black
+beady eyes, a round fat white face, and a broad squabby Mongol
+nose. His clothes were exceedingly seedy, and the police had
+confiscated his collar and tie. This absence of neckwear, coupled
+with the fact that the lower part of his face was sprouting with
+a heavy growth of beard, gave him a peculiarly villainous
+appearance:
+
+He was seated on a chair, his head sunk on his breast. His eyes
+were hollow, and his face overspread with a horrible sickly
+greenish pallor, the hue of the last stage of fear. His hands,
+resting on his knees, twisted and fiddled continually. Every now
+and then convulsive shudders shook him. The man was quite
+obviously on the verge of a collapse.
+
+As the Chief and Desmond advanced into the room, the Jew looked
+up in panic. Then he sprang to his feet with a scream and flung
+himself on his knees, crying:
+
+"Ah, no! Don't take me away! I ain't done no 'arm, gentlemen!
+S'welp me, gentlemen, I ain't a murderer! I swear..."
+
+"Get him up!" said the Chief in disgust, "and, look here, can't
+you give him a drink? I want to speak to him. He's not fit to
+talk rationally in this state!"
+
+The detective pushed a bell in the wall, a policeman answered it,
+and presently the prisoner was handed a stiff glass of whiskey
+and water.
+
+After Barney had swallowed it, the Chief said:
+
+"Now, look here, my man, I want you to tell me exactly what
+happened last night. No fairy tales, remember! I know what you
+told the police, and if I catch you spinning me any yarns on to
+it, well, it'll only be the worse for you. I don't mind telling
+you, you're in a pretty bad mess!"
+
+The prisoner put down the glass wearily and wiped his forehead
+with the back of his hand. Though the room was bitterly cold, the
+perspiration stood out in beads on his brow.
+
+"I have told the trewth, sir," he said hoarsely, "and it goes
+against me, don't it? Hafen't I not gif myself op to the
+policeman? Couldn't I not haf drop the svag and ron away? For
+sure! And vy didn't I not do it? For vy, because of vot I seen in
+that house. I've 'ad my bit of trobble mit the police and vy
+should I tell them how I vos op to a game last night if I vas not
+a-telling the trewth, eh! I've been on the crook, gentlemen, I
+say it, ja, but I ain't no murderer, God choke me I ain't!
+
+"I've earned gut monney in my time on the 'alls but life is very
+'ardt, and I've been alvays hongry these days. Yesterday I meet
+old Mac wot I used to meet about the 'alls I vos workin' along o'
+my boss... at the agent's it vos were I vos lookin' for a shop!
+The perfesh always makes a splash about its salaries, gentlemen,
+and Mac 'e vos telling me vot a lot o' monney he make on the
+Samuel Circuit and 'ow 'e 'ad it at home all ready to put into
+var savings certif'kits. I never done a job like this von before,
+gentlemen, but I vos hardt pushed for money, s'welp me I vos!
+
+"I left it till late last night because of these air raids... I
+vanted to be sure that ole Mac and 'is daughter should be asleep.
+I god in from the back of the louse, oi, oi, bot it vos dead
+easy! through the scollery vindow. I cleared op a bagful of stuff
+in the dining-room... there vosn't, anything vorth snatching
+outer the parlor... and sixty-five quid out of an old cigar-box
+in the desk. The police 'as got it... I give it all back! I say I
+haf stolen, but murder? No!" He paused.
+
+"Go on," said the Chief.
+
+The prisoner looked about him in a frightened way.
+
+"I vos jus' thinking I had better be getting avay, he continued
+in his hoarse, gutteral voice, 'ven snick.!... I hears a key in
+the front door. I vos, standing by the staircase... I had no time
+to get out by the vay I had kom so I vent opstairs to the landing
+vere there vos a curtain. I shlip behind the curtain and vait! I
+dare not look out but I listen, I listen.. I hear some one go
+into the dining-room and move about. I open the curtain a little
+way... so!... because I think I vill shlip downstairs vile the
+other party is in the dining-room... and there I sees ole Mac in
+his dressing-gown just coming down from the first floor. The same
+moment I hear a step in the front hall.
+
+"I see ole Mac start but he does not stop. He kom right
+downstairs, and I step back behind the curtain ontil I find a
+door vich I push. I dare not svitch on my light but presently I
+feel the cold edge of a bath with my hands. I stay there and
+vait. Oi, oi, oi, how shall you belief vot I tell?"
+
+He broke off trembling.
+
+"Go on, Barney," said the detective, "can't you see the gentlemen
+are waiting?"
+
+The Jew resumed, his voice sinking almost to a whisper.
+
+"It vos quite dark behind the curtain but from the bathroom,
+through the open door, I could just see ole Mac standing with his
+back to me, a-holding the curtain. He must haf shlip in there to
+watch the other who vos komming opstairs. Then... then... I hear
+a step on the stair... a little, soft step... then ole Mac he
+open the curtain and cry 'Who are you?' Bang! the... the... other
+on the stairs he fire a shot. I see the red flash and I smell
+the... the powder not? The other, he does not vait... he just go
+on opstairs and ole Mac is lying there on his back with the blood
+a-trickling out on the oil-cloth. And I, vith my bag on my back,
+I creep downstair and out by the back again, and I ron and ron
+and then I valks. Gott! how I haf walked! I vos so frightened!
+And then, at last, I go to a policeman and gif 'myself op!"
+
+Barney stopped. The tears burst from his eyes and laying his
+grimy face on his arm, he sobbed.
+
+The detective patted him on the back.
+
+"Pull yourself together, man!" he said encouragingly.
+
+"This man on the stairs," queried the Chief, "did you see him?"
+
+"Ach was!" replied the prisoner, turning a tearstained face
+towards him, "I haf seen nothing, except old Mac's back vich vos
+right in vront of me, it vos so dark!"
+
+"But couldn't you see the other person at all, not even the
+outline" persisted the Chief.
+
+The prisoner made a gesture of despair.
+
+"It vos so dark, I say! Nothing haf I seen! I haf heard only his
+step!"
+
+"What sort of step I Pas it heavy or light or what? Did this
+person seem in a hurry?"
+
+"A little light tread... so! won, two! won, two! , and qvick like
+'e think 'e sneak opstairs vithout nobody seeing!"
+
+"Did he make much noise"
+
+"Ach was! hardly at all... the tread, 'e vos so light like a
+woman's..."
+
+"Like a woman's, eh!", repeated the Chief, as if talking to
+himself, "Why do you think that?"
+
+"Because for vy it vos so gentle! The' staircase, she haf not
+sqveak as she haf sqveak when I haf creep away!"
+
+The Chief turned to the plain clothes man.
+
+"You can take him away now, officer," he said.
+
+Barney sprang up trembling.
+
+"Not back to the cell," he cried imploringly, "I cannot be alone.
+Oh, gentlemen, you vill speak for me! I haf not had trobble vith
+the police this long time! My vife's cousin, he is an elder of
+the Shool he vill tell you 'ow poor ve haf been..."
+
+But the Chief crossed the room to the door rind the detective
+hustled the prisoner away,
+
+Then the official whom they had seen before came in.
+
+"Glad I caught you," he said. "I thought you would care to see
+the post mortem report. The doctor has just handed it in."
+
+The chief waved him off.
+
+"I don't think there's any doubt about the cause of death," he
+replied, "we saw the body ourselves..."
+
+"Quite so," replied the other, "but there is something
+interesting about this report all the, same. They were able to
+extract the bullet!"
+
+"Oh," said the Chief, "that ought to tell us something!"
+
+"It does," answered the official. "We've submitted it to our
+small arms expert, and he pronounces it to be a bullet fired by
+an automatic pistol of unusually large calibre."
+
+The Chief looked at Desmond.
+
+"You were right there," he said.
+
+"And," the official went on, "our man says, further, that, as far
+as he knows, there is only one type of automatic pistol that
+fires a bullet as big as this one!"
+
+"And that is?" asked the Chief.
+
+"An improved pattern of the German Mauser pistol," was the
+other's startling reply.
+
+The Chief tapped a cigarette meditatively on the back of his
+hand.
+
+"Okewood," he said, "you are the very model of discretion. I have
+put your reticence to a pretty severe test this morning, and you
+have stood it very well. But I can see that you are bristling
+with questions like a porcupine with quills. Zero hour has
+arrived. You may fire away!"
+
+They were sitting in the smoking-room of the United Service Club.
+"The Senior," as men call it, is the very parliament of Britain's
+professional navy and army. Even in these days when war has flung
+wide the portals of the two services to all-comers, it retains a
+touch of rigidity. Famous generals and admirals look down from
+the lofty walls in silent testimony of wars that have been. Of
+the war that is, you will hear in every cluster of men round the
+little tables. Every day in the hour after luncheon battles are
+fought over again, personalities criticized, and decisions
+weighed with all the vigorous freedom of ward-room or the mess
+ante-room.
+
+And so to-day, as he sat in his padded leather chair, surveying
+the Chief's quizzing face across the little table where their
+coffee was steaming, Desmond felt the oddness of the contrast
+between the direct, matter-of-fact personalities all around them,
+and the extraordinary web of intrigue which seemed to have spun
+itself round the little house at Seven Kings.
+
+Before he answered the Chief's question, he studied him for a
+moment under cover of lighting a cigarette. How very little, to
+be sure, escaped that swift and silent mind! At luncheon the
+Chief had scrupulously avoided making, the slightest allusion to
+the thoughts with which Desmond's mind was seething. Instead he
+had told, with the gusto of the born raconteur, a string of
+extremely droll yarns about "double crosses," that is, obliging
+gentlemen who will spy for both sides simultaneously, he had come
+into contact with during his long and varied career. Desmond had
+played up to him and repressed the questions which kept rising to
+his lips. Hence the Chief's unexpected tribute to him in the
+smoking room,
+
+"Well," said Desmond slowly, "there are one or two things I
+should like to know. What am I here for? Why did you have me
+followed last night? How did you know, before we ever went to
+Seven Kings, that Barney did not murder old Mackwayte? And
+lastly..."
+
+He paused, fearing to be rash; then he risked it:
+
+"And lastly, Nur-el-Din?"
+
+The Chief leant back in his chair and laughed.
+
+"I'm sure you feel much better now," he said. Then his face grew
+grave and he added:
+
+"Your last question answers all the others!"
+
+"Meaning Nur-el-Din?" asked Desmond.
+
+The Chief nodded.
+
+"Nur-el-Din," he repeated. "That's why you're here, that's why I
+had you followed last night, that's why I..." he hesitated for
+the word, "let's say, presumed (one knows for certain so little
+in our work) that our friend Barney had nothing to do with the
+violent death of poor old Mackwayte. Nur-el-Din in the center,
+the kernel, the hub of everything!"
+
+The Chief leant across the table and Desmond pulled his chair
+closer.
+
+"There's only one other man in the world can handle this job,
+except you," he began, "and that's your brother Francis. Do you
+know where he is, Okewood?"
+
+"He wrote to me last from Athens," answered Desmond, "but that
+must be nearly two months ago."
+
+The Chief laughed.
+
+"His present address is not Athens," he said, "if you want to
+know, he's serving on a German Staff somewhere at the back of
+Jerusalem the Golden. Frankly, I know you don't care about our
+work, and I did my best to get your brother. He has had his
+instructions and as soon as he can get away he will. That was not
+soon enough for me. It had to be him or you. So I sent for you."
+
+He stopped and cleared his throat. Desmond stared at him. He
+could hardly believe his eyes. This quiet, deliberate man was
+actually embarrassed.
+
+"Okewood," the Chief went on, "you know I like plain speaking,
+and therefore you won't make the mistake of thinking I'm trying
+to flatter you."
+
+Desmond made a gesture.
+
+"Wait a moment and hear me out," the Chief went on. "What is
+required for this job is a man of great courage and steady nerve.
+Yes, we have plenty of fellows like that. But the man I am
+looking for must, in addition to possessing those qualities, know
+German and the Germans thoroughly, and when I say thoroughly I
+mean to the very core so that, if needs be, he may be a German,
+think German, act German. I have men in my service who know
+German perfectly and can get themselves up to look the part to
+the life. But they have never been put to the real, the searching
+test. Not one of them has done what you and your brother
+successfully accomplished. The first time I came across you, you
+had just come out of Germany after fetching your brother away. To
+have lived for weeks in Germany in wartime and to have got clear
+away is a feat which shows that both you and he can be trusted to
+make a success of one of the most difficult and critical missions
+I have ever had to propose. Francis is not here. That's why I
+want you."
+
+The Chief paused as if weighing something in his mind.
+
+"It's not the custom of either service, Okewood," he said, "to
+send a man to certain death. You're not in this creepy, crawly
+business of ours. You're a pukka soldier and keen on your job. So
+I want you to know that you are free to turn down this offer of
+mine here and now, and go back to France without my thinking a
+bit the worse of you."
+
+"Would you tell me something about it?" asked Desmond.
+
+"I'm sorry I can't," replied the other. "There must be only two
+men in this secret, myself and the fellow who undertakes the
+mission. Of course, it's not certain death. If you take this
+thing on, you'll have a sporting chance for your life, but that's
+all. It's going to be a desperate game played against a desperate
+opponent. Now do you understand why I didn't want you to think I
+was flattering you? You've got your head screwed on right, I
+know, but I should hate to feel afterwards, if anything went
+wrong, that you thought I had buttered you up in order to entice
+you into taking the job on!"
+
+Desmond took two or three deep puffs of his cigarette and dropped
+it into the ash-tray.
+
+"I'll see you!" he said.
+
+The Chief grinned with delight.
+
+"By Jove!" he exclaimed, "I knew you were my man!"
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII. NUR-EL-DIN
+
+The love of romance is merely the, nobler form of curiosity. And
+there was something in Desmond Okewood's Anglo-Irish parentage
+that made him fiercely inquisitive after adventure. In him two
+men were constantly warring, the Irishman, eager for romance yet
+too indolent to go out in search of it, and the Englishman,
+cautious yet intensely vital withal, courting danger for danger's
+sake.
+
+All his ill-humor of the morning at being snatched away from his
+work in France had evaporated. In the Chief he now saw only the
+magician who was about to unlock to him the realms of Adventure.
+Desmond's eyes shone with excitement as the other, obviously
+simmering with satisfaction, lit another cigarette and began to
+speak.
+
+"The British public, Okewood," he said, hitching his chair
+closer, "would like to see espionage in this country rendered
+impossible. Such an ideal state of things is, unfortunately out
+of the question. Quite on the contrary, this country of ours is
+honeycombed with spies. So it will ever be, as long as we have to
+work with natural means: at present we have no caps of
+invisibility or magician's carpets available.
+
+"As we cannot hope to kill the danger, we do our best to scotch
+it. Personally, my modest ambition is to make espionage as
+difficult as possible for the enemy by knowing as many as
+possible of his agents and their channels of communication, and
+by keeping him happy with small results, to prevent him from
+finding out the really important things, the disclosure of which
+would inevitably compromise our national safety."
+
+He paused and Desmond nodded.
+
+"The extent of our business," the Chief resumed, "is so large,
+the issues at stake so vital, that we at the top have to ignore
+the non-essentials and stick to the essentials. By the
+nonessentials I mean the little potty spies, actuated by sheer
+hunger or mere officiousness, the neutral busybody who makes a
+tip-and-run dash into England, the starving waiter, miserably
+underpaid by some thieving rogue in a neutral country--or the
+frank swindler who sends back to the Fatherland and is duly paid
+for long reports about British naval movements which he has
+concocted without setting foot outside his Bloomsbury lodgings.
+
+"These folk are dealt with somehow and every now and then one of
+'em gets shot, just to show that we aren't asleep, don't you
+know? But spasmodic reports we can afford to ignore. What we are
+death on is anything like a regular news service from this
+country to Germany; and to keep up this steady flow of reliable
+information is the perpetual striving of the men who run the
+German Secret Service.
+
+"These fellows, my dear Okewood, move in darkness. Very often we
+have to grope after 'em in darkness, too. They don't get shot, or
+hardly ever; they are far too clever for that. Between us and
+them it is a never-ending series of move and countermove, check
+and counter-check. Very often we only know of their activities by
+enemy action based on their reports. Then there is another leak
+to be caulked, another rat-hole to be nailed up, and so the game
+goes on. Hitherto I think I may say we have managed to hold our
+own!"
+
+The Chief stopped to light another cigarette. Then he resumed but
+in a lower voice.
+
+"During the past month, Okewood," he said, "a new organization
+has cropped up. The objective of every spy operating in this
+country is, as you may have surmised, naval matters, the
+movements of the Fleet, the military transports, and the food
+convoys. This new organization has proved itself more efficient
+than any of its predecessors. It specializes in the movement of
+troops to France, and in the journeys of the hospital ships
+across the Channel. Its information is very prompt and extremely
+accurate, as we know too well. There have been some very
+disquieting incidents in which, for once in a way, luck has been
+on our side, but as long as this gang can work in the dark there
+is the danger of a grave catastrophe. With its thousands of miles
+of sea to patrol, the Navy has to take a chance sometimes, you
+know! Well, on two occasions lately, when chances were taken, the
+Hun knew we were taking a chance, and what is more, when and
+where we were taking it!"
+
+The Chief broke off, then looking Desmond squarely in the eyes,
+said:
+
+"This is the organization that you're going to beak up!"
+
+Desmond raised his eyebrows.
+
+"Who is at the head of it?" he asked quietly.
+
+The Chief, smiled a little bitterly.
+
+"By George!" he cried, slapping his thigh, "you've rung the bell
+in one. Okewood, I'm not a rich man, but I would gladly give a
+year's pay to be able to answer that question. To be perfectly
+frank with you, I don't know who is at the back of this crowd,
+but..." his mouth set in a grim line, "I'm going to know!"
+
+He added whimsically:
+
+"What's more, you're going to find out for me!"
+
+Desmond smiled at the note of assurance in his voice.
+
+"I suppose you've got something to go on?" he asked. "There's
+Nur-el-Din, for instance. What about her?"
+
+"That young person," replied the Chief, "is to be your particular
+study. If she is not the center of the whole conspiracy, she is,
+at any rate, in the thick of it. It will be part of your job to
+ascertain the exact role she is playing."
+
+"But what is there against her?" queried Desmond.
+
+"What is there against her? The bad company she keeps is against
+her. 'Tell me who your friends are and I'll tell you who you are'
+is a maxim that we have to go on in our profession, Okewood. You
+have met the lady. Did you see any of her entourage? Her business
+manager, a fat Italian who calls himself Lazarro, did you notice
+him? Would you be surprised to hear that Lazarro alias Sacchetti
+alias Le Tardenois is a very notorious international spy who
+after working in the Italian Secret Service in the pay of the
+Germans was unmasked and kicked out of Italy... that was before
+the war? This pleasant gentleman subsequently did five years in
+the French penal settlements in New Caledonia for robbery with
+violence at Aix-les-Bains... oh, we know a whole lot about him!
+And this woman's other friends! Do you know, for instance, where
+she often spends the week-end? At the country-place of one Bryan
+Mowbury, whose name used to be Bernhard Marburg, a very old hand
+indeed in the German Secret Service. She has identified herself
+right and left with the German espionage service in this country.
+One day she lunches with a woman spy, whose lover was caught and
+shot by the French. Then she goes out motoring with..."
+
+"But why in Heaven's name are all these people allowed to run
+loose?" broke in Desmond. "Do you mean to say you can't arrest
+them?"
+
+"Arrest 'em? Arrest 'em? Of course, we can arrest 'em. But what's
+the use? They're all small fry, and we have to keep out a few
+lines baited with minnows to catch the Tritons. None of 'em can
+do any harm: we watch 'em much too closely for that. Once you've
+located your spy, the battle's won. It's when he--or it may be a
+she--is running loose, that I get peeved!"
+
+The Chief sprang impatiently to his feet and strode across the
+smoking-room, which was all but empty by this time, to get a
+match from a table. He resumed his seat with a grunt of
+exasperation.
+
+"I can't see light, Okewood!" he sighed, shaking his head.
+
+"But is this all you've got against Nur-el-Din?" asked Desmond.
+
+"No," answered the other slowly, "it isn't. If it were, I need
+not have called you in. We would have interned or deported her.
+No, we've traced back to her a line leading straight from the
+only member of the new organization we have been able to lay by
+the heels."
+
+"Then you've made an arrest?"
+
+The Chief nodded.
+
+"A fortnight ago... a respectable, retired English business man,
+by name of Basil Bellward... taken with the goods on him, as the
+saying is..."
+
+"An Englishman, by Jove!"
+
+"It's hardly correct to call him an Englishman, though he's posed
+as an English business man for so long that one is almost
+justified in doing so. As ,a matter of fact, the fellow is a
+German named Wolfgang Bruhl and it is my belief that he was
+planted in this country at least a dozen years ago solely for the
+purpose of furnishing him with good, respectable credentials for
+an emergency like this."
+
+"But sorely if you found evidence of his connection with this
+gang of spies, it should be easy to get a clue to the rest of the
+crowd?"
+
+"Not so easy as you think," the Chief replied. "The man who
+organized this system of espionage is a master at his craft. He
+has been careful to seal both ends of every connection, that is
+to say, though we found evidence of Master Bellward-Bruhl being
+in possession of highly confidential information relating to the
+movements of troops, we discovered nothing to show whence he
+received it or how or where he was going to forward it. But we
+did find a direct thread leading straight back to Nur-el-Din."
+
+"Really," said Desmond, "that rather complicates things for her,
+doesn't it?"
+
+"It was in the shape of a letter of introduction, in French,
+without date or address, warmly recommending the dancer to our
+friend, Bellward."
+
+"Who is this letter from?"
+
+"It is simply signed 'P.', but you shall see it for yourself when
+you get the other documents in the case."
+
+"But surely, sir, such a letter might be presented in perfectly
+good faith..."
+
+"It might, but not this one. This letter, as an expert has
+ascertained beyond all doubt, is written on German manufactured
+note-paper of a very superior quality;, the writing is stiff and
+angular and not French: and lastly, the French in which it is
+phrased, while correct, is unusually pompous and elaborate."
+
+"Then..."
+
+"The letter was, in all probability, written by a German!"
+
+There was a moment's silence. Desmond was thinking despairingly
+of the seeming hopelessness of untangling this intricate webwork
+of tangled threads.
+
+"And this murder, sir," he began.
+
+The Chief shrugged his shoulders.
+
+"The motive, Okewood, I am searching for the motive. I can see
+none except the highly improbable one of Miss Mackwayte being my
+confidential secretary. In that case why murder the father, a
+harmless old man who didn't even know that his daughter is in my
+service, why kill him, I ask you, and spare the girl? On the
+other hand, I believe the man Barney's story, and can see that
+Marigold does, too. When I first heard the news of the murder
+over the telephone this morning, I had a kind of intuition that
+we should discover in it a thread leading back to this mesh of
+espionage. Is it merely a coincidence that a hair, resembling
+Nur-el-Din's, is found adhering to the straps with which Barbara
+Mackwayte was bound? I can't think so... and yet..."
+
+"But do you believe then, that Nur-el-Din murdered-old Mackwayte?
+My dear Chief, the idea is preposterous..."
+
+The Chief rose from his chair with a sigh.
+
+"Nothing is preposterous in our work, Okewood," he replied. "But
+it's 3.25, and my French colleague hates to be kept waiting."
+
+"I thought you were seeing Strangwise, at two?" asked Desmond.
+
+"I put him off until six o'clock," replied the Chief, "he knows
+Nur-el-Din, and he may be able to give Marigold some pointers
+about this affair. You're off to see Miss Mackwayte now, I
+suppose. You know where she's staying? Good. Well, I'll say
+good-bye, Okewood. I shan't see you again..."
+
+"You won't see me again? How do you mean, sir?"
+
+"Because you're going back to France!"
+
+"Going back to France? When?"
+
+"By the leave-boat to-night!"
+
+Desmond smiled resignedly.
+
+"My dear Chief," he said, "you must be more explicit. What am I
+going back to France for?"
+
+"Why, now I come to think of it," replied the Chief, "I never
+told you. You're going back to France to be killed, of course!"
+
+"To be killed!"
+
+Desmond looked blankly at the other's blandly smiling face.
+
+"Two or three days from now," said the Chief, "you will be killed
+in action in France. I thought of making it a shell. But we'll
+have it a machine gun bullet if you like. Whichever you prefer;
+it's all the same to me!"
+
+He laughed at the dawn of enlightenment in Desmond's eyes.
+
+"I see," said Desmond.
+
+"I hope you don't mind," the Chief went on more seriously, "but I
+know you have no people to consider except your brother and his
+wife. She's in America, and Francis can't possibly hear about it.
+So you needn't worry on that score. Or do you?"
+
+Desmond laughed.
+
+"No-o-o!" he said slowly, "but I'm rather young to die. Is it
+absolutely necessary for me to disappear?"
+
+"Absolutely!" responded the Chief firmly.
+
+"But how will we manage it?" asked Desmond.
+
+"Catch the leave-boat to-night and don't worry. You will receive
+your instructions in due course."
+
+"But whey shall I see you again?"
+
+The Chief chuckled.
+
+"Depends entirely on yourself, Okewood," he retorted. "When
+you're through with your job, I expect. In the meantime, Miss
+Mackwayte will act between us. On that point also you will be
+fully instructed. And now I must fly!"
+
+"But I say, sir," Desmond interposed hastily. "You haven't told
+me what I am to do. What part am I to play in this business
+anyway?"
+
+"To-morrow," said the Chief, buttoning up his goat, "you become
+Mr. Basil Bellward!"
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII. THE WHITE PAPER PACKAGE
+
+A taxi was waiting in Pall Mall outside the club and Desmond
+hailed it, though secretly wondering what the driver would think
+of taking him out to Seven Kings. Rather to his surprise, the man
+was quite affable, took the address of the house where Barbara
+was staying with her friends and bade Desmond "hop in."
+Presently, for the second time that day, he was heading for the
+Mils End Road.
+
+As they zigzagged in and out of the traffic, Desmond's thoughts
+were busy with the extraordinary mission entrusted to him. So he
+was to sink his own identity and don that of an Anglo-German
+business man, his appearance, accent, habits, everything. The
+difficulties of the task positively made him cold with fear. The
+man must have relations, friends, business acquaintances who
+would be sufficiently familiar with his appearance and manner to
+penetrate, at any rate in the long run, the most effective
+disguise. What did Bellward look like? Where did lie live? How
+was he, Desmond, to disguise himself to resemble him? And, above
+all, when this knotty problem of make-up had been settled, how
+was he to proceed? What should be his first step to pick out from
+among all the millions of London's teeming populace the one
+obscure individual who headed and directed this gang of spies?
+
+Why hadn't he asked the Chief all these questions? What an
+annoying man the Chief was to deal with to be sure! All said and
+done, what had he actually told Desmond? That there was a German
+Secret service organization spying on the movements of troops to
+France, that this man, Basil Bellward, who had been arrested, was
+one of the gang and that the dancer, Nur-el-Din, was in some way
+implicated in the affair! And that was the extent of his
+confidence! On the top of all this fog of obscurity rested the
+dense cloud surrounding the murder of old Mackwayte with the
+unexplained, the fantastic, clue of that single hair pointing
+back to Nur-el-Din.
+
+Desmond consoled himself finally by saying that the would be able
+too get some light on his mission from Barbara Mackwayte, whom he
+judged to be in the Chief's confidence. But here he was doomed to
+disappointment. Barbara could tell him practically ;nothing save
+what he already knew, that they were to work together in this
+affair. Like him, she was waiting for her instructions.
+
+Barbara received him in a neat little suburban drawing-room in
+the house of her friends, who lived a few streets away from the
+Mackwaytes. She was wearing a plainly-made black crepe de chine
+dress which served to accentuate the extreme pallor of her face,
+the only outward indication of the great shock she had sustained.
+She was perfectly calm and collected, otherwise, and she stopped
+Desmond who would have murmured some phrases of condolence.
+
+"Ah, no, please," she said, "I don't think I can speak about it
+yet."
+
+She pulled a chair over for him arid began to talk about the
+Chief.
+
+"There's not the least need for you to worry," she said with a
+little woeful smile, like a sun-ray piercing a rain-cloud, "if
+the Chief says 'Go back to France and wait for instructions,' you
+may be sure that everything is arranged, and you will receive
+your orders in due course. So shall I. That's the Chief all over.
+Until you know him, you think he loves mystery for mystery's
+sake. It isn't that at all. He just doesn't trust us. He trusts
+nobody!"
+
+"But that hardly semis fair to us..." began Desmond.
+
+"It's merely a precaution," replied Barbara, "the Chief takes no
+risks. I've not the least doubt that he has decided to tell you
+nothing whatsoever about your part until you are firmly settled
+in your new role. I'm perfectly certain that every detail of your
+part has already been worked out."
+
+"Oh, that's not possible," said Desmond. "Why, he didn't know
+until an hour ago that I was going to take on this job."
+
+Barbara laughed.
+
+"The Chief has taught me a lot about judging men by their looks,"
+she said: "Personally, if I'd been in the Chief's places I should
+have gone ahead without consulting you, too."
+
+The girl spoke with such directness that there was not the least
+suggestion of a compliment in her remark, but Desmond blushed to
+the roots of his hair. Barbara noticed it and added hastily:
+
+"I'm not trying to pay you a compliment: I'm just judging by your
+type. I believe I can always tell the man that will take on any
+job, however dangerous, and carry it through to the end."
+
+Desmond blushed more furiously than ever.
+
+He made haste to divert the conversation into a safer channel.
+
+"Well," he said slowly, "seeing that you and I were intended to
+work together, it seems to me to be a most extraordinary
+coincidence our meeting like that last night..."
+
+"It was more than a coincidence," said Barbara, shaking her dark
+brown head. "Forty-eight hours ago I'd never heard of you, then
+the Chief gave me a telegram to send to your Divisional General
+summoning you home, after that he told me that we were to work
+together, and a few hours later I run into you in Nur-el-Din's
+dressing-room..."
+
+She broke off suddenly, her gray eyes big with fear. She darted
+across the room to an ormolu table as which her handbag was
+lying. With astonishment, Desmond watched her unceremoniously
+spill out the contents on to the table and rake hastily amongst
+the collection of articles which a pretty girl carries round in
+her bag.
+
+Presently she raised herself erect and turning, faced the
+officer. She was trembling as though with cold and when she
+spoke, her voice was low and husky.
+
+"Gone!" she whispered.
+
+"Have you lost anything" Desmond asked anxiously.
+
+"How could I have forgotten it?" she went on as though he had not
+spoken, "how could I have forgotten it? Nearly twelve hours
+wasted, and it explains everything. What will the Chief think of
+me!"
+
+Slowly she sank down on the sofa where she had been sitting,
+then, without any warning, dropped her head into her hands and
+burst into tears.
+
+Desmond went over to her.
+
+"Please don't cry," he said gently, "you have borne up so bravely
+against this terrible blow; you must try and not let it overwhelm
+you."
+
+All her business-like calm had disappeared now she was that most
+distracting of all pictures of woman, a pretty girl overwhelmed
+with grief. She crouched curled upon the sofa, with shoulders
+heaving, sobbing as though her heart would break.
+
+"Perhaps you would like me to leave you?" Desmond asked. "Let me
+ring for your friends... I am sure you would rather be alone!"
+
+She raised a tear-stained face to his, her long lashes
+glittering.
+
+"No, no," she said, "don't go, don't go! I want your help. This
+is such a dark and dreadful business, more than I ever realized.
+Oh, my poor daddy, my poor daddy!"
+
+Again she hid her face in her hands and cried whilst Desmond
+stood erect by her aide, compassionate but very helpless.
+
+After a little, she dabbed her eyes with a tiny square of
+cambric, and sitting up, surveyed the other.
+
+"I must go to the Chief at once," she said, "it is most urgent.
+Would you ring and ask the maid to telephone for a taxi?"
+
+"I have one outside," answered Desmond. "But won't you tell me
+what has happened"
+
+"Why," said Barbara, "it has only just dawned on me why our house
+was broken into last night and poor daddy so cruelly murdered!
+Whoever robbed the house did not come after our poor little bits
+of silver or daddy's savings in the desk in the dining room. They
+came after something that I had!"
+
+"And what was that" asked Desmond.
+
+Then Barbara told him of her talk with Nur-el-Din in the dancer's
+dressing-room on the previous evening and of the package which
+Nur-el-Din had entrusted to her care.
+
+"This terrible business put it completely out of my head," said
+Barbara. "In the presence of the police this morning, I looked
+over my bedroom and even searched my hand-bag which the police
+sent back to me this afternoon without finding that the burglars
+had stolen anything. It was only just now, when we were talking
+about our meeting in Nur-el-Din's room last night, that her
+little package suddenly flashed across my mind. And then I looked
+through my handbag again and convinced myself that it was not
+there."
+
+"But are you sure the police haven't taken it?"
+
+"Absolutely certain," was the reply. "I remember perfectly what
+was in my hand-bag this morning when I went through it, and the
+same things are on that table over there now."
+
+"Do you know what was in this package!" said Desmond.
+
+"Just a small silver box, oblong and quite plain, about so big,"
+she indicated the size with her hands, "about as large as a
+cigarette-box. Nur-el-Din said it was a treasured family
+possession of hers, and she was afraid of losing it as she
+traveled about so much. She asked me to say nothing about it and
+to keep it until the war was over or until she asked me for it."
+
+"Then," said Desmond, "this clears Nur-el-Din!"
+
+"What do you mean," said Barbara, looking up.
+
+"Simply that she wouldn't have broken into year place and killed
+your father in order to recover her own package..."
+
+"But why on earth should Nur-el-Din be suspected of such a
+thing?"
+
+"Have you heard nothing about this young lady from the Chief?"
+
+"Nothing. I had not thought anything about her until daddy
+discovered an old friend in her last night and introduced me."
+
+The Chief's infernal caution again! thought Desmond, secretly
+admiring the care with which that remarkable man, in his own
+phrase, "sealed both ends of every connection."
+
+"If I'm to work with this girl," said Desmond to himself, "I'm
+going to have all the cards on the table here and now," so
+forthwith he told her of the Chief's suspicions of the dancer,
+the letter recommending her to Bellward found when the cheese
+merchant had been arrested, and lastly of the black hair which
+had been discovered on the thongs with which Barbara had been
+fastened.
+
+"And now," Desmond concluded, "the very next thing we must do is
+to go to the Chief and tell him about this package of
+Nur-el-Din's that is missing." Barbara interposed quickly.
+
+"It's no use your coming, " she said. "The Chief won't see you.
+When he has sent a man on his mission, he refuses to see him
+again until the work has been done. If he wishes to send for you
+or communicate with you, he will. But it's useless for you to try
+and see him yourself. You can drop me at the office!"
+
+Desmond was inclined to agree with her on this point and said so.
+
+"There is one thing especially that puzzles me, Miss Mackwayte,"
+Desmond observed as they drove westward again, "and that its, how
+anyone could have known about your having this box of
+Nur-el-Din's. Was there anybody else in the room when she gave
+you the package?"
+
+"No," said Barbara:, "I don't think so. Wait a minute, though,
+Nur-el-Din's maid must have come in very shortly after for I
+remember the opened the door when Captain Strangwise came to tell
+me daddy was waiting to take me home."
+
+"Do you remember if Nur-el-Din actually mentioned the package in
+the presence of the maid!"
+
+"As far as I can recollect just as the maid opened the door to
+Captain Strangwise, Nur-el-Din was impressing on me again to take
+great care of the package. I don't think she actually mentioned
+the box but I remember her pointing at my bag where I had put the
+package."
+
+"The maid didn't see Nur-el-Din give you the box?"
+
+"No, I'm sure of that. The room was empty save for us two. It was
+only just before Captain Strangwise knocked that I noticed Marie
+arranging Nur-el-Din's dresses. She must have come in afterwards
+without my seeing her."
+
+"Well then, this girl, Marie, didn't see the dancer give you the
+box but she heard her refer to it. Is that right?"
+
+"Yes, and, of course, Captain Strangwise..."
+
+"What about him?"
+
+"He must have heard what Nur-el-Din was saying, too!"
+
+Desmond rubbed his chin.
+
+"I say, you aren't going to implicate old Strangwise, too, are
+you?" he asked.
+
+Barbara did not reflect his smile.
+
+"He seems to know Nur-el-Din pretty well," she said, "and I'll
+tell you something else, that woman's afraid of your friend, the
+Captain!"
+
+"What do you mean?" asked Desmond.
+
+"I was watching her in the glass last night as he was talking to
+her while you and I and daddy were chatting in the corner. I
+don't know what he said to her, but she glanced over her shoulder
+with a look of terror in her eyes. I was watching her face in the
+glass. She looked positively hunted!"
+
+The taxi stopped. Desmond jumped out and helped his companion to
+alight.
+
+"Au revoir." she said to him, "never fear, you and I will meet
+very soon again!"
+
+With that she was gone. Desmond looked at his watch. It pointed
+to a quarter to six.
+
+"Now I wonder what time the leave-train starts tonight," he said
+aloud, one foot on the sideboard of the taxi.
+
+"At 7.45, sir," said a voice.
+
+"Desmond glanced round him. Then he saw it was the taxi-driver
+who had spoken.
+
+"7.45, eh?" said Desmond. "From Victoria, I suppose?"
+
+"Yes, sir," said the taxi-man.
+
+By Jove, I haven't much time," ejaculated the officer "and there
+are some things I want to get before I go back across the
+Channel. And I shall have to see the Railway Transport Officer
+about my pass."
+
+"That's all right, sir," said the taxi-man, "I have your papers
+here"; he handed Desmond a couple of slips of paper which he took
+from his coat-pocket; "those will take yon back to France all
+right, I think you'll find!"
+
+Desmond looked at the papers: they were quite in order and
+correctly filled up with his name, rank and regiment, and date.
+
+The taxi-man cut short any further question by saying:
+
+"If you'll get into the cab again, sir, I'll drive you where you
+want to go, and then wait while you have your dinner and take you
+to the station. By the way, your dinner's ordered too!"
+
+"But who the devil are you?" asked Desmond in amazement.
+
+"On special service, the same as yon, sir!" said the man with a
+grin and Desmond understood.
+
+Really, the Chief was extremely thorough.
+
+They went to the stores in the Haymarket, to Fortnum and Mason's,
+and lastly, to a small, grubby shop at the back of Mayfair where
+Desmond and his brother had bought their cigarettes for years
+past. Desmond purchased a hundred of their favored brand, the
+Dionysus, as a reserve for his journey back to France, and stood
+chatting over old times with the fat, oily-faced Greek manager as
+the latter tied up his cigarettes into a clean white paper
+parcel, neatly sealed up with red sealing wax.
+
+Then Desmond drove back to the Nineveh Hotel where he left his
+taxi-driving colleague in the courtyard on the understanding that
+at 7.25 the taxi would be waiting to drive him to the station.
+
+Desmond went straight upstairs to his room to put his kit
+together. In the strong, firmly woven web spread by the Chief, he
+felt as helpless as a fly caught in a spider's mesh. He had no
+idea of what his plans were. He only knew that he was going back
+to France, and that it was his business to get on the leave-boat
+that night.
+
+As he passed along the thickly carpeted, silent corridor to his
+room, he saw the door of Strangwise's room standing ajar. He
+pushed open the door and walked in unceremoniously. A suitcase
+stood open on the floor with Strangwise bending over it. At his
+elbow was a table crowded with various parcels, a case of razors,
+different articles of kit, and some books. Desmond halted at the
+door, his box of cigarettes dangling from his finger.
+
+"Hullo, Maurice," he said, "are you off, too?"
+
+Strangwise spun round sharply. The blood had fished to his face,
+staining it with a dark, angry flush.
+
+"My God, how you startled me!" he exclaimed rather testily. "I
+never heard you come in!"
+
+He turned rather abruptly and went on with his packing. He struck
+Desmond as being rather annoyed at the intrusion; the latter had
+never seen him out of temper before.
+
+"Sorry if I butted in," said Desmond, sliding his box of
+cigarettes off his finger on to the littered table and sitting
+down on a chair. "I came in to say good-bye. I'm going back to
+France to-night!"
+
+Maurice looked round quickly. He appeared to be quite his old
+self again and was all smiles now.
+
+"So soon?" he said. "Why, I thought you were getting a job at the
+War Office!"
+
+Desmond shook his head.
+
+"Not good enough," he replied, "it's back to the sandbags for
+mine. But where are you off to?"
+
+"Got a bit of leave; the Intelligence folk seem to be through
+with me at last, so they've given me six weeks!"
+
+"Going to the country" asked Desmond.
+
+Strangwise nodded.
+
+"Yep," he said, "down to Essex to see if I can get a few duck or
+snipe on the fens. I wish you were coming with me!"
+
+"So do I, old man," echoed Desmond heartily. Then he added in a
+serious voice:
+
+"By the way, I haven't seen you since last night. What a shocking
+affair this is about old Mackwayte, isn't it? Are there any
+developments, do you know?"
+
+Strangwise very deliberately fished a cigarette out of his case
+which was lying open on the table and lit it before replying.
+
+"A very dark affair," he said, blowing out a cloud of smoke and
+flicking the match into the grate. "You are discreet, I know,
+Okewood. The Intelligence people had me up this morning... to
+take my evidence..."
+
+Strangwise's surmise about Desmond's discretion was perfectly
+correct. With Desmond Okewood discretion was second nature, and
+therefore he answered with feigned surprise: "Your evidence about
+what? About our meeting the Mackwaytes last night?"
+
+After he had spoken he realized he had blundered. Surely, after
+all, the Chief would have told Strangwise about their
+investigations at Seven Kings. still...
+
+"No," replied Strangwise,, "but about Nur-el-Din!"
+
+The Chief had kept his own counsel about their morning's work.
+Desmond was glad now that he had dissimulated.
+
+"You see, I know her pretty well," Strangwise continued, "between
+ourselves, I got rather struck on the lady when she was touring
+in Canada some years ago, and in fact I spent so much more money
+that I could afford on her that I had to discontinue the
+acquaintance. Then I met her here when I got away from Germany a
+month ago; she was lonely, so I took her about a bit. Okewood,
+I'm afraid I was rather indiscreet."
+
+"How do you mean?" Desmond asked innocently.
+
+"Well," said Strangwise slowly, contemplating the end of his
+cigarette, "it appears that the lady is involved in certain
+activities which considerably interest our Intelligence. But
+there, I mustn't say any more!"
+
+"But how on earth is Nur-el-what's her name concerned in this
+murder, Maurice?"
+
+Strangwise shrugged his shoulders.
+
+"Ah, you'd better ask the police. But I tell you she'll be
+getting into trouble if she's not careful!"
+
+Throughout this conversation Desmond seemed to hear in his ears
+Barbara's words: "That woman's afraid of your friend!" He divined
+that for some reason or other, Strangwise wanted to create a bad
+impression in his mind about the dancer. He scanned Maurice's
+face narrowly. Its impenetrability was absolute. There was
+nothing to be gleaned from those careless, smiling features.
+
+"Well," said Desmond, getting up, "nous verrons. I shall have to
+make a bolt for it now if I don't want to miss my train.
+Good-bye, Maurice, and I hope you'll get some birds!"
+
+"Thanks, old man. Au revoir, and take care of yourself. My
+salaams to the General!".
+
+They shook hands warmly, then Desmond grabbed his box of
+cigarettes in its neat white wrapper with the bold red seals and
+hurried off to his room.
+
+Strangwise stood for a moment gazing after him. He was no longer
+the frank, smiling companion of a minute before. His mouth was
+set hard and his chin stuck out at a defiant angle.
+
+He bent over the table and picked up a white paper package sealed
+with bold red seals. He poised it for a moment in his hands while
+a flicker of a smile stole into the narrow eyes and played for an
+instant round the thin lips. Then, with a quick movement, he
+thrust the little package into the side pocket of his tunic and
+buttoned the flap.
+
+Whistling a little tune, he went on with his packing.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX. METAMORPHOSIS
+
+
+It was a clear, cold night. A knife-edge icy wind blew from the
+north-east and kept the lanyards dismally flapping on the
+flag-mast over the customs house. The leave train lay in the
+station within a biscuit's throw of the quayside and the black,
+blank Channel beyond, a long line of cheerfully illuminated
+windows that to those returning from leave seemed as the last
+link with home.
+
+The Corporal of Military Police, who stood at the gangway
+examining the passes, stopped Desmond Okewood as the latter held
+out his pass into the rays of the man's lantern.
+
+"There was a message for you, sir," said the Corporal. "The
+captain of the Staff boat would h-esteem it a favor, sir, if you
+would kindly go to his cabin immediately on h-arriving on board,
+sir!"
+
+"Very good, Corporal!" answered the officer and passed up the
+gang plank, enviously regarded by the press of brass-hats and
+red-tabs who, for the most part, had a cramped berth below or
+cold quarters on deck to look forward to.
+
+A seaman directed Desmond to the Captain's cabin. It was built
+out just behind the bridge, a snug, cheery room with bright
+chintz curtains over the carefully screened portholes, a couple
+of comfortable benches with leather seats along the walls, a
+small bunk, and in the middle of the floor a table set out with a
+bottle of whiskey, a siphon and some glasses together with a box
+of cigars.
+
+The Captain was sitting there chatting to the pilot, a short,
+enormously broad man with a magenta face and prodigious hands
+which were folded round a smoking glass of toddy.
+
+"Pick 'em up? Rescue 'em?" the pilot ejaculated, as Desmond
+walked in, "I'd let 'em sink, every man Jack o' them, the
+outrageous murderin' scoundrels. I don't like to hear you
+a-talking of such nonsense, Cap'en!"
+
+On Desmond's entrance the Captain broke off the conversation. He
+proved to be a trimly-built man of about fifty with a grizzled
+beard, and au air of quiet efficiency which is not uncommonly
+found in seamen. The pilot drained his glass and, scrambling to
+his feet, nodded to Desmond and stumped out into the cold night
+air.
+
+"Jawin' about the U boats!" said the Captain, with a jerk of his
+head towards the cabin door, "I don't know what the feelings of
+your men in the trenches are towards Fritz, Major, but I tell you
+that no German will dare set foot in any coast port of the United
+Kingdom in my life-time or yours, either! Accommodation's a bit
+narrow on board. I thought maybe you'd care to spend the night up
+here!"
+
+"Any orders about me?" asked Desmond.
+
+The Captain went a shade deeper mahogany in the face.
+
+"Oh no," he replied, with an elaborate assumption of innocence.
+"But won't you mix yourself a drink? And try one of my cigars, a
+present from a skipper friend of mine who sailed into Tilbury
+from Manila last week."
+
+"Desmond sat in the snug cabin, puffing a most excellent cigar
+and sipping his whiskey and soda while, amid much shouting of
+seamen and screaming of windlasses, the staff boat got clear.
+Presently they were gliding past long low moles and black,
+inhospitable lighthouses, threading their way through the dark
+shapes of war craft of all kinds into the open Channel. There was
+a good deal of swell, but the sea was calm, and the vessel soon
+steadied down to regular rise and fall.
+
+They had been steaming for nearly an hour when, through the open
+door of the cabin, Desmond saw a seaman approach the captain on
+the bridge. He handed the skipper a folded paper.
+
+"From the wireless operator, sir!" Desmond heard him say.
+
+The skipper scanned it. Then the engine telegraph rang sharply,
+there was the sound of churning water, and the vessel slowed
+down. The next moment the Captain appeared at the door of the
+cabin.
+
+"I'm afraid we're going to lose you, Major," he said pleasantly,
+"a destroyer is coming up to take you off. There was a wireless
+from the Admiral about you."
+
+"Where are they going to take me, do you know?" asked Desmond.
+
+The Captain shook his head.
+
+"I haven't an idea. I've only got to hand you over!"
+
+He grinned and added:
+
+"Where's your kit?"
+
+"In the hold, I expect!" answered Desmond. "The porter at
+Victoria told me not to worry about it, and that I should find it
+on the other side. And, oh damn it!--I've got a hundred
+cigarettes in my kit, too! I bought them specially for the
+journey!"
+
+"Well, take some of my cigars," said the skipper hospitably, "for
+your traps'll have to go to France this trip, Major. There's no
+time to get 'em up now. I'll pass the word to the Military
+Landing Officer over there about 'em, if you like. He'll take
+care of 'em for you. Now will you come with me?"
+
+Desmond scrambled into his coat and followed the Captain down the
+steps to the deck. A little distance away from the vessel, the
+long shape of a destroyer was dimly visible tossing to and fro in
+the heavy swell. A ladder had been let down over the side of the
+steamer, and at its foot a boat, manned by a number of heavily
+swathed and muffled forms, was pitching.
+
+A few officers stood by the rail watching the scene with
+interest. The skipper adroitly piloted Desmond past them and
+fairly thrust him out on to the ladder.
+
+Desmond took the hint and with a hasty "Good night" to the
+friendly captain, staggered down the swaying ladder and was
+helped into the boat. The boat shoved off, the bell of the engine
+telegraph on the steamer resounded sharply, and the vessel
+resumed her interrupted voyage whilst the rowing boat was headed
+towards the destroyer. On board the latter vessel an officer met
+Desmond at the rail and piloted him to the ward-room. Almost
+before they got there, the destroyer was under way.
+
+The officer who had welcomed him proved to be the second in
+command, a joyous person who did the honors of the tiny ward-room
+with the aplomb of a Commander in a super-Dreadnought. He mixed
+Desmond a drink and immediately started to converse about life at
+the front without giving the other a chance of asking whither
+they were bound.
+
+The suspense was not of long duration, however, for in about half
+an hour's time, the destroyer slowed down and Desmond's host
+vanished. When he reappeared, it was to summon Desmond on deck.
+
+They lay aside a mole by some steps cut in the solid concrete.
+Here Desmond's host took leave of him.
+
+"There should be a car waiting for you up there," he said.
+
+There on top of the mole, exposed to the keen blast of the wind,
+a large limousine was standing. A chauffeur, who looked blue with
+cold, got down from his seat as Desmond emerged from the stairs
+and touched his cap.
+
+"Major Okewood?" he asked.
+
+"That's my name!" said Desmond.
+
+"If you'll get in, sir, we'll start at once!" the man replied.
+
+Befogged and bewildered, Desmond entered the car, which
+cautiously proceeded along the breakwater, with glimpses of black
+water and an occasional dim light on either hand. They bumped
+over the railway-lines and rough cobblestones of a dockyard,
+glided through a slumbering town, and so gradually drew out into
+the open country where the car gathered speed and fairly raced
+along the white, winding road. Desmond had not the faintest idea
+of their whereabouts or ultimate destination. He was fairly
+embarked on the great adventure now, and he was philosophically
+content to let Fate have its way with him. He found himself
+wondering rather indolently what the future had in store.
+
+The car slowed down and the chauffeur switched the headlights on.
+Their blinding glare revealed some white gate-posts at the
+entrance of a quiet country station. Desmond looked at his watch.
+It was half-past one. The car stopped at the entrance to the
+booking-office where a man in an overcoat and bowler was waiting.
+
+"This way, Major, please," said the man in the bowler, and led
+the way into the dark and silent station. At the platform a short
+train consisting of an engine, a Pullman car and a brakesman's
+van stood, the engine under steam. By the glare from the furnace
+Desmond recognized his companion. It was Matthews, the Chief's
+confidential clerk.
+
+Matthews held open the door of the Pullman for Desmond and
+followed him into the carriage. A gruff voice in the night
+shouted:
+
+"All right, Charley!" a light was waved to and fro, and the
+special pulled out of the echoing station into the darkness
+beyond.
+
+In the corner of, the Pullman a table was laid for supper. There
+was a cold chicken, a salad, and a bottle of claret. On another
+table was a large tin box and a mirror with a couple of electric
+lights before it. At this table was seated a small man with gray
+hair studying a large number of photographs.
+
+"If you will have your supper, Major Okewood, sir," said
+Matthews, "Mr. Crook here will get to work. We've not got too
+much time."
+
+The sea air had made Desmond ravenously hungry. He sat down
+promptly and proceeded to demolish the chicken and make havoc of
+the salad. Also he did full justice to the very excellent St.
+Estephe.
+
+As he ate he studied Matthews, who was one of those undefinable
+Englishmen one meets in tubes and 'buses, who might be anything
+from a rate collector to a rat catcher. He had sandy hair
+plastered limply across his forehead, a small moustache, and a
+pair of watery blue eyes. Mr. Crook, who continued his study of
+his assortment of photographs without taking the slightest notice
+of Desmond, was a much more alert looking individual, with a
+shock of iron gray hair brushed back and a small pointed beard.
+
+"Matthew's," said Desmond as he supped, "would it be indiscreet
+to ask where we are?"
+
+"In Kent, Major," replied Matthews.
+
+"What station was that we started from?"
+
+"Faversham."
+
+"And where are we going, might I inquire?"
+
+"To Cannon Street, sir!"
+
+"And from there?"
+
+Mr. Matthews coughed discreetly.
+
+"I can't really say, sir, I'm sure! A car will meet you there and
+I can go home to bed."
+
+The ends sealed again! thought Desmond. What a man of caution,
+the Chief!
+
+"And this gentleman here, Matthews?" asked Desmond, lighting one
+of the skipper's cigars.
+
+"That, sir, is Mr. Crook, who does any little jobs we require in
+the way of make-up. Our expert on resemblances, if I may put it
+that way, sir, for we really do very little in the way of
+disguises. Mr. Crook is an observer of what I may call people's
+points, sir, their facial appearance, their little peculiarities
+of manner, of speech, of gait. Whenever there is any question of
+a disguise, Mr. Crook is called in to advise as to the
+possibilities of success. I believe I am correct in saying,
+Crook, that you have been engaged on the Major here for some
+time. Isn't it so?"
+
+Crook looked up a minute from his table.
+
+"That's right," he said shortly, and resumed his occupation of
+examining the photographs.
+
+"And what's your opinion about this disguise of mine?" Desmond
+asked him.
+
+"I can make a good job of you, Major," said the expert, "and so I
+reported to the Chief. You'll want to do your hair a bit
+different and let your beard grow, and then, if you pay attention
+to the lessons I shall give you, in a week or two, you'll be this
+chap here," and he tapped the photograph in his hand, "to the
+life."
+
+So saying he handed Desmond the photograph. It was the portrait
+of a man about forty years of age, of rather a pronounced
+Continental type, with a short brown beard, a straight, rather
+well-shaped nose and gold-rimmed spectacles. His hair was cut en
+brosse, and he was rather full about the throat and neck. Without
+a word, Desmond stretched out his hand and gathered up a sheaf of
+other photos, police photos of Mr. Basil Bellward, front face and
+profile seen from right and left, all these poses shown on the
+same picture, some snapshots and various camera studies. Desmond
+shook his head in despair. He was utterly unable to detect the
+slightest resemblance between himself and this rather commonplace
+looking type of business man.
+
+"Now if you'd just step into the compartment at the end of the
+Pullman, Major," said Crook, "you'll find some civilian clothes
+laid out. Would you mind putting them on? You needn't trouble
+about the collar and tie, or coat and waistcoat for the moment.
+Then we'll get along with the work."
+
+The train rushed swaying on through the darkness. Desmond was
+back in the Pullman car in a few minutes arrayed in a pair of
+dark gray tweed trousers, a white shirt and black boots and
+socks. A cut-away coat and waistcoat of the same tweed stuff, a
+black bowler hat of rather an old-fashioned and staid pattern,
+and a black overcoat with a velvet collar, he left in the
+compartment where he changed.
+
+He found that Crook had opened his tin box and set out a great
+array of grease paints, wigs, twists of tow of various colors,
+and a number of pots and phials of washes and unguents together
+with a whole battery of fine paint brushes. In his hand he held a
+pair of barber's clippers and the tips of a comb and a pair of
+scissors protruded from his vest pocket.
+
+Crook whisked a barber's wrap round Desmond and proceeded, with
+clippers and scissors, to crop and trim his crisp black hair.
+
+"Tst-tst" he clicked with his tongue. "I didn't realize your hair
+was so dark, Major. It'll want a dash of henna to lighten it."
+
+The man worked with incredible swiftness. His touch was light and
+sure, and Desmond, looking at his reflection in the glass,
+wondered to see what fine; delicate hands this odd little expert
+possessed. Matthews sat and smoked in silence and watched the
+operation, whilst the special ran on steadily Londonwards.
+
+When the clipping was done, Crook smeared some stuff on a towel
+and wrapped it round Desmond's head.
+
+"That'll brighten your hair up a lot, sir. Now for a crepe beard
+just to try the effect. We've got to deliver you at Cannon Street
+ready for the job, Mr. Matthews and me, but you won't want to
+worry with this nasty messy beard once you get indoors. You can
+grow your own beard, and I'll pop in and henna it a bit for you
+every now and then."
+
+There was the smart of spirit gum on Desmond's cheeks and Crook
+gently applied a strip of tow to his face. He had taken the
+mirror away so that Desmond could no longer see the effect of the
+gradual metamorphosis.
+
+"A mirror only confuses me," said the expert, breathing hard as
+he delicately adjusted the false beard, "I've got this picture
+firm in my head, and I want to get it transferred to your face.
+Somehow a mirror puts me right off. It's the reality I want."
+
+As he grew more absorbed in his work, he ceased to speak
+altogether. He finished the beard, trimmed the eyebrows, applied
+a dash of henna with a brush, leaning backwards continually to
+survey the effect. He sketched in a wrinkle or two round the eyes
+with a pencil, wiped them out, then put them in again. Then he
+fumbled in his tin box, and produced two thin slices of grey
+rubber.
+
+"Sorry," he said, "I'm afraid you'll have to wear these inside
+your cheeks to give the effect of roundness. You've got an oval
+face and the other man has a round one. I can get the fullness of
+the throat by giving you a very low collar, rather open and a
+size too large for you."
+
+Desmond obediently slipped the two slices of rubber into his
+mouth and tucked them away on either side of his upper row of
+teeth. They were not particularly uncomfortable to wear.
+
+"There's your specs," said Crook, handing him a spectacle case,
+"and there's the collar. Now if you'll put on the rest of the
+duds, we'll have a look at you, sir."
+
+Desmond went out and donned the vest and coat and overcoat, and,
+thus arrayed, returned to the Pullman, hat in hand.
+
+Crook called out to him as he entered
+
+"Not so springy in the step, sir, if you please. Remember you're
+forty-three years of age with a Continental upbringing. You'll
+have to walk like a German, toes well turned out and down on the
+heel every time. So, that's better. Now, have a look at
+yourself!"
+
+He turned and touched a blind. A curtain rolled up with a click,
+disclosing a full length mirror immediately opposite Desmond.
+
+Desmond recoiled in astonishment. He could scarcely credit his
+own eyes. The glass must be bewitched, he thought for a moment,
+quite overwhelmed by the suddenness of the shock. For instead of
+the young face set on a slight athletic body that the glass was
+wont to show him, he saw a square, rather solid man in ugly,
+heavy clothes, with a brown silky beard and gold spectacles. The
+disguise was baffling in its completeness. The little wizard, who
+had effected this change and who now stood by, bashfully twisting
+his fingers about, had transformed youth into middle age. And the
+bewildering thing was that the success of the disguise did not
+lie so much in the eternal adjuncts, the false beard, the
+pencilled wrinkles, as in the hideous collar, the thick padded
+clothes, in short, in the general appearance.
+
+For the first time since his talk with the Chief at the United
+Service Club, Desmond felt his heart grow light within him. If
+such miracles were possible, then he could surmount the other
+difficulties as well.
+
+"Crook," he said, "I think you've done wonders. What do you say,
+Matthews?"
+
+"I've seen a lot of Mr. Crook's work in my day, sir," answered
+the clerk, "but nothing better than this. It's a masterpiece,
+Crook, that's what it is."
+
+"I'm fairly well satisfied," the expert murmured modestly, "and I
+must say the Major carries it off very well. But how goes the
+enemy, Matthews?"
+
+"It's half past two," replied, the latter, "we should reach
+Cannon Street by three. She's running well up to time, I think."
+
+"We've got time for a bit of a rehearsal," said Crook. "Just
+watch me, will you please, Major, and I'll try and give you an
+impression of our friend. I've been studying him at Brixton for
+the past twelve days, day and night almost, you might say, and I
+think I can convey an idea of his manner and walk. The walk is a
+very important point. Now, here is Mr. Bellward meeting one of
+his friends. Mr. Matthews, you will be the friend!"
+
+Then followed one of the most extraordinary performances that
+Desmond had ever witnessed. By some trick of the actor's art, the
+shriveled figure of the expert seemed to swell out and thicken,
+while his low, gentle voice deepened into a full, metallic
+baritone. Of accent in his speech there was none, but Desmond's
+ear, trained to foreigners' English, could detect a slight
+Continental intonation, a little roll of the "r's," an unfamiliar
+sound about those open "o's" of the English tongue, which are so
+fatal a trap for foreigners speaking our language. As he watched
+Crook, Desmond glanced from time to time at the photograph of
+Bellward which he had picked up from the table. He had an
+intuition that Bellward behaved and spoke just as the man before
+him.
+
+Then, at Crook's suggestion, Desmond assumed the role of
+Bellward. The expert interrupted him continually.
+
+"The hands, Major, the hands, you must not keep them down at your
+sides. That is military! You must move them when you speak! So
+and so!"
+
+Or again:
+
+"You speak too fast. Too... too youthfully, if you understand me,
+sir. You are a man of middle age. Life has no further secrets for
+you. You are poised and getting a trifle ponderous. Now try
+again!"
+
+But the train was slackening speed. They were running between
+black masses of squalid houses. As the special thumped over the
+bridge across the river, Mr. Crook gathered up his paints and
+brushes and photographs and arranged them neatly in his black tin
+box.
+
+To Desmond he said:
+
+"I shall be coming along to give you some more lessons very soon,
+Major. I wish you could see Bellward for yourself: you are very
+apt at this game, and it would save us much time. But I fear
+that's impossible."
+
+Even before the special had drawn up alongside the platform at
+Cannon Street, Crook and Matthews swung themselves out and
+disappeared. When the train stopped, a young man in a bowler hat
+presented himself at the door of the Pullman.
+
+"The car is there, Mr. Bellward, sir!" he said, helping Desmond
+to alight. Desmond, preparing to assume his new role, was about
+to leave the carriage when a sudden thought struck him. What
+about his uniform strewn about the compartment where he had
+changed? He ran back. The compartment was empty. Not a trace
+remained of the remarkable scenes of their night journey.
+
+"This is for you," said the young man, handing Desmond a note as
+they walked down the platform.
+
+Outside the station a motor-car with its noisy throbbing awoke
+the echoes of the darkened and empty courtyard. Desmond waited
+until he was being whirled over the smooth asphalt of the City
+streets before he opened the letter.
+
+He found a note and a small key inside the envelope.
+
+"On reaching the house to which you will be conveyed," the note
+said, "you will remain indoors until further orders. You can
+devote your time to studying the papers you will find in the desk
+beside the bed. For the present you need not fear detection as
+long as you do not leave the house." Then followed a few rough
+jottings obviously for his guidance.
+
+"Housekeeper, Martha, half blind, stupid; odd man, John Hill,
+mostly invisible, no risk from either. You are confined to house
+with heavy chill. Do not go out until you get the word."
+
+The last sentence was twice underlined.
+
+The night was now pitch-dark. Heavy clouds had come up and
+obscured the stars and a drizzle of rain was falling. The car
+went forward at a good pace and Desmond, after one or two
+ineffectual attempts to make out where they were going, was
+lulled by the steady motion into a deep sleep. He was dreaming
+fitfully of the tossing Channel as he had seen it but a few hours
+before when he came to his senses with a start. He felt a cold
+draught of air on his face and his feet were dead with cold.
+
+A figure stood at the open door of the car. It was the chauffeur.
+
+"Here we are, sir," he said.
+
+Desmond stiffly descended to the ground. It was so dark that he
+could distinguish nothing, but he felt the grit of gravel under
+his feet and he heard the melancholy gurgle of running water. He
+took a step forward and groped his way into a little porch
+smelling horribly of mustiness and damp. As he did so, he heard a
+whirr behind him and the car began to glide off. Desmond shouted
+after the chauffeur. Now that he stood on the very threshold of
+his adventure, he wanted to cling desperately to this last link
+with his old self. But the chauffeur did not or would not hear,
+and presently the sound of the engine died away, leaving Desmond
+to the darkness, the sad splashing of distant water and his own
+thoughts.
+
+And then, for one brief moment, all his courage seemed to ooze
+out of him. If he had followed his instinct, he would have turned
+and fled into the night, away from that damp and silent house,
+away from the ceaseless splashing of waters, back to the warmth
+and lights of civilization. But his sense of humor, which is very
+often better than courage, came to his rescue.
+
+"I suppose I ought to be in the devil of a rage," he said to
+himself, "being kept waiting like this outside my own house!
+Where the deuce is my housekeeper? By Gad, I'll ring the place
+down!"
+
+The conceit amused him, and he advanced further into the musty
+porch hoping to find a bell. But as he did so his ear caught the
+distant sound of shuffling feet. The shuffle of feet drew nearer
+and presently a beam of light shone out from under the door. A
+quavering voice called out:
+
+"Here I am, Mr. Bellward, here I am, sir!"
+
+Then a bolt was drawn back, a key turned, and the door swung
+slowly back, revealing an old woman, swathed in a long shawl and
+holding high in her hand a lamp as she peered out into the
+darkness.
+
+"Good evening, Martha," said Desmond, and stepped into the house.
+
+Save for Martha's lamp, the lobby was in darkness, but light was
+streaming into the hall from the half open door of a room leading
+off it at the far end. While Martha, wheezing asthmatically,
+bolted the front door, Desmond went towards the room where the
+light was and walked in.
+
+It was a small sitting-room, lined with bookshelves, illuminated
+by an oil lamp which stood on a little table beside a
+chintz-covered settee which had been drawn up in front of the
+dying fire.
+
+On the settee Nur-el-Din was lying asleep.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X. D. O. R. A. IS BAFFLED
+
+When Barbara reached the Chief's ante-room she found it full of
+people. Mr. Marigold was there, chatting with Captain Strangwise
+who seemed to be just taking his leave; there was a short, fat,
+Jewish-looking man, very resplendently dressed with a large
+diamond pin in his cravat and a small, insignificant looking
+gentleman with a gray moustache and the red rosette of the Legion
+of Honor in his button-hole. Matthews came out of the Chief's
+room as Barbara entered the outer office.
+
+"Miss Mackwayte," he said, "we are all so shocked and so very,
+sorry..."
+
+"Mr. Matthews," she said hastily in a low voice, "never mind
+about that now. I must see the Chief at once. It is most urgent."
+
+Matthews gesticulated with his arm round the room.
+
+"All these people, excepting the officer there, are waiting to
+see him, Miss, and he's got a dinner engagement at eight..."
+
+"It is urgent, Mr. Matthews, I tell you. If you won't take my
+name in, I shall go in myself!"
+
+"Miss Mackwayte, I daren't interrupt him now. Do you know who's
+with him...?"
+
+Strangwise crossed the room to where Barbara was standing.
+
+"I can guess what brings you here, Miss Mackwayte," he said
+gently. "I hope you will allow me to express my condolences'...?"
+
+The girl shrank back, almost imperceptibly, yet Strangwise, whose
+eyes were fixed on her pale face, noticed the spontaneous recoil.
+The sunshine seemed to fade out of his debonair countenance, and
+for a moment Barbara Mackwayte saw Maurice Strangwise as very few
+people had ever seen him, stern and cold and hard, without a
+vestige of his constant smile. But the shadow lifted as quickly
+as it had fallen. His face had resumed its habitually engaging
+expression as he murmured:
+
+"Believe me, I am truly sorry for you!"
+
+"Thank you, thank you!" Barbara said hastily and brushed past
+him. She walked straight across the room to the door of the
+Chief's room, turned the handle and walked in.
+
+The room was in darkness save for an electric reading lamp on the
+desk which threw a beam of light on the faces of two men thrust
+close together in eager conversation. One was the Chief, the
+other a face that Barbara knew well from the illustrated papers.
+
+At the sound of the door opening, the Chief sprang to his feet.
+
+"Oh, it's Miss Mackwayte," he said, and added something in a low
+voice to the other man who had risen to his feet. "My dear," he
+continued aloud to Barbara, "I will see you immediately; we must
+not be disturbed now. Matthews should have told you."
+
+"Chief," cried Barbara, her hands clasped convulsively together,
+"you must hear me now. What I have to say cannot wait. Oh, you
+must hear me!"
+
+The Chief looked as embarrassed as a man usually looks when he is
+appealed to in a busy moment by an extremely attractive girl.
+
+"Miss Mackwayte," he said firmly but with great courtesy, "you
+must wait outside. I know how unnerved you are by all that you
+have gone through, but I am engaged just now. I shall be free
+presently."
+
+"It is about my father, Chief," Barbara said in a trembling
+voice, "I have found out what they came to get!"
+
+"Ah!" said the Chief and the other man simultaneously.
+
+"We had better hear what she has to say!" said the other man,
+"but won't you introduce me first?"
+
+"This is Sir Bristowe Marr, the First Sea Lord," said the Chief,
+bringing up a chair for Barbara, "Miss Mackwayte, my secretary,
+Admiral!"
+
+Then in a low impassioned voice Barbara told her tale of the
+package entrusted to her by Nur-el-Din and its disappearance from
+her bedroom on the night of the murder. As she proceeded a deep
+furrow appeared between the Chief's bushy eyebrows and he stared
+absently at the blotting-pad in front of him. When the girl had
+finished her story, the Chief said:
+
+"Lambelet ought to hear this, sir: he's the head of the French
+Intelligence, you know. He's outside now. Shall we have him in?
+Miss Mackwayte shall tell her story, and you can then hear what
+Lambelet has to say about this versatile young dancer."
+
+Without waiting for further permission, he pressed a bell on the
+desk and presently Matthews ushered in the small man with the
+Legion of Honor whom Barbara had seen in the ante-room.
+
+The Chief introduced the Frenchman and in a few words explained
+the situation to him. Then he turned to Barbara:
+
+"Colonel Lambelet speaks English perfectly," he said, "so fire
+away and don't be nervous!"
+
+When she had finished, the Chief said, addressing Lambelet:
+
+"What do you make of it, Colonel?"
+
+The little Frenchman made an expressive gesture.
+
+"Madame has become aware of the interest you have been taking in
+her movements, mon cher. She seized the opportunity of this
+meeting with the daughter of her old friend to get rid of
+something compromising, a code or something of the kind, qui
+sait? Perhaps this robbery and its attendant murder was only an
+elaborate device to pass on some particularly important report of
+the movements of your ships... qui sait?"
+
+"Then you are convinced in your own mind, Colonel, that this
+woman is a spy?" The clear-cut voice of the First Sea Lord rang
+out of the darkness of the room outside the circle of light on
+the desk.
+
+"Mail certainement!" replied the Frenchman quietly. "Listen and
+you shall hear! By birth she is a Pole, from Warsaw, of good,
+perhaps, even, of noble family. I cannot tell you, for her real
+name we have not been able to ascertain... parbleu, it is
+impossible, with the Boches at Warsaw, hein? We know, however,
+that at a very early age, under the name of la petite Marcelle,
+she was a member of a troupe of acrobats who called themselves
+The Seven Duponts. With this troupe she toured all over Europe.
+Bien! About ten years ago, she went out to New York as a singer,
+under the name of Marcelle Blondinet, and appeared at various
+second-class theatres in the United States and Canada. Then we
+lose track of her for some years until 1913, the year before the
+war, when the famous Oriental dancer, Nur-el-Din, who has made a
+grand success by the splendor of her dresses in America and
+Canada, appears at Brussels, scores a triumph and buys a fine
+mansion in the outskirts of the capital. She produces herself at
+Paris, Bordeaux, Lyons, Marseilles, Madrid, Milan and Rome, but
+her home in Brussels, always she returns there, your understand
+me, hein? La petite Marcelle of The Seven Duponts, Marcelle
+Blondinet of the cafe chantant, has blossomed out into a star of
+the first importance."
+
+The Colonel paused and cleared his throat.
+
+"To buy a mansion in Brussels, to run a large and splendid
+troupe, requires money. It is the men who pay for these things,
+you would say. Quite right, but listen who were the friends of
+Madame Nur-el-Din. Bischoffsberg, the German millionaire of
+Antwerp, von Wurzburg, of Berne... ah ha! you know that
+gentleman, mon cher?" he turned, chuckling, to the Chief who
+nodded his acquiescence; "Prince Meddelin of the German Embassy
+in Paris and administrator of the German Secret Service funds in
+France, and so on and so on. I will not fatigue you with the
+list. The direct evidence is coming now.
+
+"When the war broke out in August, 1914, Madame, after finishing
+her summer season in Brussels, was resting in her Brussels
+mansion. What becomes of her? She vanishes."
+
+"She told Samuel, the fellow who runs the Palaceum, that she
+escaped from Brussels!" interposed the Chief.
+
+The Frenchman threw his hands above his head.
+
+"Escaped, escaped? Ah, oui, par exemple, in a German Staff car.
+As I have told my colleague here," he went on, addressing the
+Admiral, "she escaped to Metz, the headquarters of the Army Group
+commanded by the... the... how do you say? the Prince Imperial?"
+
+"The Crown Prince," rectified the Chief.
+
+"Ah, oui,--the Crown Prince. Messieurs, we have absolute
+testimony that this woman lived for nearly two years either in
+Metz or Berlin, and further, that at Metz, the Crown Prince was a
+constant visitor at her house. She was one of the ladies who
+nearly precipitated a definite rupture between the Crown Prince
+and his wife. Mon Admiral," he went on, addressing the First Sea
+Lord again, that this woman should be at large is a direct menace
+to the security of this country and of mine. It is only this
+morning that I at length received from Paris the facts which I
+have just laid before you. It is for you to order your action
+accordingly!"
+
+The little Frenchman folded his arms pompously and gazed at the
+ceiling.
+
+"How does she explain her movements prior to her coming to this
+country" the First Sea Lord asked the Chief.
+
+For an answer the Chief pressed the bell.
+
+"Samuel, who engaged her, is outside. You shall hear her story
+from him," he said.
+
+Samuel entered, exuding business acumen, prosperity, geniality.
+He nodded brightly to the Chief and stood expectant.
+
+"Ah, Mr. Samuel," said the Chief, " I wanted to see you about
+Nur-el-Din. You remember our former conversation on the subject.
+Where did she say she went to when she escaped to Brussels?"
+
+"First to Ostend," replied the music-hall proprietor, "and then,
+when the general exodus took place from there, to her mother's
+country place near Lyons, a village called Sermoise-aux-Roses."
+
+"And what did she say her mother's name was?"
+
+"Madame Blondinet, sir!"
+
+The Frenchman rapped smartly on a little pocketbook which he had
+produced and now held open in his hand.
+
+"There, is a Madame Blondinet who has a large farm near
+Sermoise-aux-Roses," he said, "and she has a daughter called
+Marcelle, who went to America."
+
+"Why then...?" began the First Sea Lord.
+
+"Attendez un instant!"
+
+The Colonel held up a plump hand.
+
+"Unfortunately for Madame Nur-el-Din, this Marcelle Blondinet
+spent the whole of her childhood, in fact, the whole of her life
+until she was nineteen years of age, on her mother's farm at a
+time when this Marcelle Blondinet was touring Europe with The
+Seven Duponts. The evidence is absolute. Mademoiselle here heard
+the dancer herself confirm it last night!"
+
+"Thank you, Mr. Samuel," said the Chief, "we shan't require you
+any more. But I'm afraid your Nur-el-Din will have to break her
+contract with you."
+
+"She's done that already, sir!" said Samuel ruefully.
+
+The Chief sprang to his feet excitedly.
+
+"Broken it already?" he cried. "What do you mean? Explain
+yourself! Don't stand there staring at me!"
+
+Mr. Samuel looked startled out of his life.
+
+"There was a bit of a row between her and the stage manager last
+night about her keeping the stage waiting again," he said; "and
+after lunch today she rang up to say she would not appear at the
+Palaceum to-night or any more at all! It's very upsetting for us;
+and I don't mind telling you, gentlemen, that I've been to my
+solicitors about it..."
+
+"And why the blazes didn't you come and tell me?" demanded the
+Chief furiously.
+
+"Well, sir, I thought it was only a bit of pique on her part, and
+I hoped to be able to talk the lady round. I know what these
+stars are!"
+
+"You've seen her then?" the Chief snapped out.
+
+"No, I haven't!" Mr. Samuel lamented. "I've been twice to the
+Nineveh--that's where she's stopping--and each time she was out!"
+
+The Chief dismissed him curtly.
+
+When the door had closed behind him, the Chief said to the First
+Sea Lord:
+
+"This is where D.O.R.A. steps in, I think, sir!"
+
+"Decidedly!" replied the Admiral. "Will you take the necessary
+steps"
+
+The Chief nodded and pressed the bell. Matthews appeared.
+
+"Anything from the Nineveh?" he asked.
+
+"The lady has not returned, sir!"
+
+"Anything from Gordon and Duff?"
+
+"No, sir, nothing all day!"
+
+The telephone on the desk whirred. The Chief lifted the receiver.
+
+"Yes. Oh, it's you, Gordon? No, you can say it now: this is a
+private line."
+
+He listened at the receiver for a couple of minutes. The room was
+very still.
+
+"All right, come to the office at once!"
+
+The Chief hung up the receiver and turned to the Admiral.
+
+"She's given us the slip for the moment!" he said. "That was
+Gordon speaking. He and Duff have been shadowing our lady friend
+out of doors for days. She left the hotel on foot after lunch
+this afternoon with my two fellows in her wake. There was a bit
+of a crush on the pavement near Charing Cross and Duff was pushed
+into the roadway and run over by a motor-'bus. In the confusion
+Gordon lost the trail. He's wasted all this time trying to pick
+it up again instead of reporting to me at once."
+
+"Zut!" cried the Frenchman.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI. CREDENTIALS
+
+The sight of Nur-el-Din filled Desmond with alarm. For a moment
+his mind was overshadowed by the dread of detection. He had
+forgotten all about Mr. Crook's handiwork in the train, and his
+immediate fear was that the dancer would awake and recognize him.
+But then he caught sight of his face in the mirror over the
+mantelpiece. The grave bearded man staring oddly at him out of
+the glass gave him a shock until he realized the metamorphosis
+that had taken place in his personality. The realization served
+instantly to still his apprehension.
+
+Nur-el-Din lay on her side, one hand under her face which was
+turned away from the fire. She was wearing a big black musquash
+coat, and over her feet she had flung a tweed overcoat,
+apparently one of Mr. Bellward's from the hatstand in the hall.
+Her hat, a very dainty little affair of plain black velvet, was
+skewered with a couple of jewelled hatpins to the upholstery of
+the settee.
+
+Desmond watched her for a moment. Her face looked drawn and tired
+now that her eyelids, with their long sweeping black lashes, were
+closed, shutting off the extraordinary luminosity of her eyes. As
+he stood silently contemplating her, she stirred and moaned in
+her sleep and muttered some word three or four times to herself.
+Desmond was conscious of a great feeling of compassion for this
+strangely beautiful creature. Knowing as he did of the
+hundred-eyed monster of the British Secret Service that was
+watching her, he found himself thinking how frail, how helpless,
+how unprotected she looked, lying there in the flickering light
+of the fire.
+
+A step resounded behind him and old Martha shuffled into the
+room, carefully shading the lamp she still carried so that its
+rays should not fall on the face of the sleeper.
+
+"I don't know as I've done right, sir," she mumbled, "letting the
+pore lady wait here for you like this, but I couldn't hardly help
+it, sir! She says as how she must see you, and seeing as how your
+first tellygram said you was coming at half-past nine, I lets her
+stop on!"
+
+"When did she arrive" asked Desmond softly.
+
+"About six o'clock," answered the old, woman. "Walked all the way
+up from Wentfield Station, too, sir, and that cold she was when
+she arrived here, fair blue with the cold she was, pore dear.
+D'reckly she open her lips, I sees she's a furrin' lady, sir. She
+asks after you and I tells her as how you are away and won't be
+back till this evening. 'Oh!' she says, I then I wait!' And in
+she comes without so much as with your leave or by your leave.
+She told me as how you knew her, sir, and were expecting to see
+her, most important, she said it was, so I hots her up a bit o'
+dinner. I hopes as how I didn't do wrong,, Mr. Bellward, sir!"
+
+"Oh, no, Martha, not at all!" Desmond replied--at random. He was
+sorely perplexed as to his next move. Obviously the girl could
+not stay in the house. What on earth did she want with him? And
+could he, at any rate, get at the desk and read the papers of
+which the note spoke and which, he did not doubt, were the
+dossier of the Bellward case, before she awoke? They might, at
+least, throw some light on his relations with the dancer.
+
+"She had her dinner here by the fire," old Martha resumed her
+narrative, "and about a quarter past nine comes your second
+tellygram, sir, saying as how you could not arrive till five
+o'clock in the morning."
+
+Desmond glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece. The hands
+pointed to a quarter past five! He had lost all count of the time
+in his peregrinations of the night.
+
+"I comes in here and tells the young lady as how you wouldn't be
+back last night, sir," the old woman continued, "and she says,
+'Oh,' she says, 'then, where shall I go?' she says. 'Why don't
+you go home, my dear?' says I, 'and pop round and see the master
+in the morning,' I says, thinking the pore young lady lives about
+here. And then she tells me as how she come all the way from
+Lunnon and walked up from the station. As well you know, sir, the
+last train up leaves Wentfield Station at five minutes to nine,
+and so the pore young lady couldn't get back that night. So here
+she had to stop. I got the spare room ready for her and lit a
+nice fire and all, but she wouldn't go to bed not until she had
+seen you. I do hope as how I've not done wrong, sir. I says to
+Mr. Hill, I says..."
+
+Desmond held up his hand to restrain her toothless babble.
+Nur-el-Din had stirred and was sitting up, rubbing her eyes. Then
+she caught sight of Desmond and scrambled rather unsteadily to
+her feet.
+
+"Monsieur Bellward?" she said in French, "oh, how glad I am to
+see you!"
+
+"All right, Martha," said Desmond, "see that the spare room is
+ready for this lady, and don't go to bed just yet. I shall want
+you to take this lady to her room."
+
+The old woman hobbled away, leaving the two alone. As soon as the
+door had closed behind her, Nur-el-Din exclaimed:
+
+"You know me; hein!"
+
+Desmond bowed in the most correct Continental manner.
+
+"Who does not know the charming Nur-el-Din?" he replied.
+
+"No!" Nur-el-Din commanded with flashing eyes, "no, not that
+name! I am Madame Le Bon, you, understand, a Belgian refugee,
+from Termonde!"
+
+Rather taken aback by her imperious manner, Desmond bowed again
+but said nothing.
+
+"I received your letter," the dancer resumed, "but I did not
+answer it as I did not require your assistance. But now I wish
+your help. It is unfortunate that you were absent from home at
+the very time I counted upon your aid."
+
+She flashed a glance at him as though awaiting an apology.
+
+"I am extremely sorry," said Desmond, "if I had but known..."
+
+Nur-el-Din nodded carelessly.
+
+"I wish to pass the night here," she went on, "in fact, I may be
+here for several days. They are becoming inconvenient in London,
+you understand."
+
+"But the theatre, your professional engagements?"
+
+"Bah, I have left the theatre. I have had enough of these stupid
+English people... they know nothing of art!"
+
+Desmond reflected a moment. Nur-el-Din's manner was most
+perplexing. What on earth could induce her to adopt this tone of
+condescension towards him? It nettled him. He resolved to try and
+find out on what it was based.
+
+"I am only too happy to be of assistance to you," he said,
+"especially in view of the letter of introduction you sent me,
+but I must tell you plainly that what you ask is impossible."
+
+"Impossible?" repeated Nur-el-Din, stamping her feet.
+"Impossible? Do you know what you are saying?"
+
+"Perfectly," replied Desmond negligently. "Obviously, you must
+stay here for the rest of the night since you cannot return to
+London until the trains start running, but to stay here
+indefinitely as you propose to do is out of the question. People
+would talk!"
+
+"Then it is your business to see that they don't!"
+
+"Your letter of introduction came from one whom I am always
+anxious to oblige," Desmond went on. "but the service he is
+authorized to claim from me does not entitle him to jeopardize my
+other activities."
+
+He drew a breath. It was a long shot. Would it draw her?
+
+It did. Nur-el-Din fumbled in her bag, produced a leather
+pocket-book and from it produced a slip of paper folded in two.
+
+"Read that!" she cried, "and then you shall apologize!"
+
+Desmond took the paper. It was a sheet torn from a book of German
+military field messages. "Meldedienst" (Message Service) was
+printed in German at the top and there were blanks to be filled
+in for the date, hour and place, and at the bottom a printed form
+of acknowledgment for the recipient to sign.
+
+In a large ostentatious, upright German handwriting was written
+what follows:
+
+"To All Whom it May Concern.
+
+"The lady who is the bearer of this, whose description is set out
+overleaf, is entitled to the full respect and assistance of the
+German forces on land and sea and in the air, wherever it may be.
+Her person and property are inviolate.
+
+"Given At Our Headquarters at Metz                        
+"Friedrich Wilhelm                             "Kronprinz des     
+                                           "Deutschen Reiches."
+
+Across the signature was the impress of a green stamp,
+lozenge-shaped, inscribed "Headquarters of the Fifth Army,
+General Staff, 21st September, 1914."
+
+On the back of the slip was a detailed description of Nur-el-Din.
+
+Desmond bowed and handed the paper back to its owner.
+
+"Madame must accept my humble excuses," he murmured, hardly
+knowing what he was saying, so great was his surprise, "my house
+and services are at Madame's disposal!"
+
+"The other letter was from Count Plettenbach, the Prince's
+A.D.C., whom I think you know!" added the dancer in a mollified
+voice as she replaced the slip of paper in its pocketbook and
+stowed it away in her hand-bag. Then, looking up archly at
+Desmond, she said:
+
+"Am I so distasteful, then, to have in your house?"
+
+She made a charming picture. Her heavy fur coat had fallen open,
+disclosing her full round throat, very brown against the V-shaped
+opening of her white silk blouse. Her mouth was a perfect cupid's
+bow, the upper lip slightly drawn up over her dazzlingly white
+teeth. Before Desmond could answer her question, if answer were
+needed, her mood had swiftly changed again. She put her hand out,
+a little brown hand, and laying it on his shoulder, looked up
+appealingly into his eyes.
+
+"You will protect me," she said in a low voice, "I cannot bear
+this hunted life. From this side, from that, they, are closing in
+on me, and I am frightened, so very frightened. Promise you will
+keep me from harm!"
+
+Desmond gazed down into her warm, expressive eyes helplessly.
+What she asked was impossible, he knew, but he was a soldier, not
+a policeman, he told himself, and under his breath he cursed the
+Chief for landing him in such a predicament. To Nur-el-Din he
+said gently:
+
+"Tell me what has happened to frighten you. Who is hunting you?
+Is it the police?"
+
+She withdrew her hand with a gesture of contempt.
+
+"Bah!" she said bitterly. "I am not afraid of the police."
+
+Then she sank into a reverie, her gaze fixed on the dying embers
+of the fire.
+
+"All my life has been a struggle," she went on, after a moment,
+"first with hunger, then with men, then the police. I am used to
+a hard life. No, it is not the police!"
+
+"Who is it, then" asked Desmond, completely nonplused.
+
+Nur-el-Din let her eyes rest on his face for a moment.
+
+"You have honest eyes," she said, "your eyes are not German...
+pardon me, I would not insult your race... I mean they are
+different from the rest of you. One day, perhaps, those eyes of
+yours may persuade me to answer your question. But I don't know
+you well enough yet!"
+
+She broke off abruptly, shaking her head.
+
+"I am tired," she sighed and all her haughty manner returned,
+"let the old woman show me to my room. I will take dejeuner with
+you at one o'clock."
+
+Desmond bowed and stepping out into the hall, called the
+housekeeper. Old Martha shuffled off with the girl, leaving
+Desmond staring with vacant eyes into the fire. He was conscious
+of a feeling of exultation, despite his utter weariness and
+craving for sleep. This girl, with her queenly ways, her swiftly
+changing moods, her broad gusts of passion, interested him
+enormously. If she were the quarry, why, then, the chase were
+worth while! But the end? For a brief moment, he had a vision of
+that frail, clinging figure swaying up against some blank wall
+before a file of levelled rifles.
+
+Then again he seemed to see old Mackwayte lying dead on the
+landing of the house at Seven Kings. Had this frail girl done
+this unspeakable deed? To send her to the gallows or before a
+firing-squad--was this to be the end of his mission? And the
+still, small voice of conscience answered: " Yes! that is what
+you have come here to do! "
+
+Old Martha came shuffling down the staircase. Desmond called to
+her, remembering that he did not yet know where his bedroom was.
+
+"Will you light me up to my room, Martha?" he said, "I want to be
+sure that the sheets are not damp!"
+
+So saying he extinguished the lamp on the table and followed the
+old woman upstairs.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII. AT THE MILL HOUSE
+
+Clad in a suit of Mr. Basil Bellward's pyjamas of elaborate
+blue-flowered silk, Desmond lay propped up in bed in Mr.
+Bellward's luxuriously fitted bedroom, sipping his morning
+coffee, and studying with absorbed interest a sheet of blue
+foolscap. A number of papers lay strewn about the eiderdown
+quilt. At the head of the bed a handsome Sheraton bureau stood
+open.
+
+As the French say, Mr. Bellward had refused himself nothing. His
+bedroom was most tastefully furnished. The furniture was
+mahogany, every piece carefully chosen, and the chintz of
+curtains and upholstery was bright and attractive. A most
+elaborate mahogany wardrobe was fitted into the wall, and
+Desmond, investigating it, had found it to contain a very large
+assortment of clothes of every description, all new or nearly so,
+and bearing the name of a famous tailor of Cork Street. Folding
+doors, resembling a cupboard, disclosed, when open, a marble
+basin with hot water laid on, while a curtained door in the
+corner of the room gave access to a white tiled bathroom. Mr.
+Bellward, Desmond had reflected after his tour of the room on his
+arrival, evidently laid weight on his personal comfort; for the
+contrast between the cheerful comfort of his bedroom and the
+musty gloom of the rooms downstairs was very marked.
+
+A bright log fire hissed on the open hearth and the room was
+pleasantly warm. Old Martha's coffee was excellent, and Desmond,
+very snug in Mr. Bellward's comfortable bed, noted with regret
+that the clock on the mantel-shelf marked a quarter to twelve.
+But then he thought of the tete-a-tete luncheon that awaited him
+at one o'clock and his face cleared. He didn't mind getting up so
+much after all.
+
+He fell again to the perusal of the documents which he had found,
+as indicated in the note from headquarters, in the desk by the
+bed. They were enclosed in two envelopes, one large, the other
+small, both without any superscription. The large envelope
+enclosed Mr. Bellward 's dossier which consisted of a fairly
+detailed account of his private life, movements, habits and
+friends, and an account of his arrest. The small envelope
+contained Desmond's eagerly expected orders.
+
+Desmond examined the papers in the large envelope first. From
+them he ascertained that the house in which he found himself was
+called The Mill House, and was situated two and a half miles from
+the station of Wentfield on the Great Eastern Railway in Essex.
+Mr. Bellward had taken the place some eight years before, having
+moved there from the Surrey hills, but had been wont to spend not
+more than two months in the year there. For the rest of the time
+he traveled abroad, usually passing the winter months on the
+Riviera, and the spring in Switzerland or Italy. The war had
+brought about a change in his habits, and Harrogate, Buxton and
+Bath had taken the place of the Continental resorts which he had
+frequented in peace time.
+
+When in residence at The Mill House, Mr. Bellward had gone up to
+London nearly every morning, either walking or going by
+motor-cycle to the station, and not returning until dinner-time
+in the evening. Sometimes he passed the night in London, and on
+such occasions slept at a small hotel in Jermyn Street. His
+dossier included, a long and carefully compiled list of the
+people he knew in London, mostly men of the rich business set,
+stockbrokers, manufacturers, solicitors, and the like. Against
+every name was set a note of the exact degree of intimacy
+existing between Bellward and the man in question, and any other
+information that might serve Bellward's impersonator in good
+stead. Desmond laid this list aside for the moment, intending to
+study it more closely at his leisure.
+
+Of intercourse with his neighbors in, the country, Mr. Bellward
+apparently had none. The Mill House stood in a lonely part of the
+country, remote from the more thickly populated centres of
+Brentwood and Romford, on the edge of a wide tract of
+inhospitable marshland, known as Morstead Fen, intersected by
+those wide deep ditches which in this part of the world are known
+as dykes. At this stage in the report there was a note to the
+effect that the rector of Wentfield had called twice at The Mill
+House but had not found Mr. Bellward at home, and that his visits
+had not been returned. There were also some opinions apparently
+culled locally regarding the tenant of the Mill House, set out
+something in this wise:--
+
+"Landlord of the Red Lion, Wentfield: The gentleman has never
+been to the Red Lion, but sometimes orders my Ford car and always
+pays regularly.
+
+"The Stationmaster at Wentfield: A gentleman who keeps himself to
+himself but very liberal with his money.
+
+"Sir Marsham Dykes, of The Chase, Stanning: A damned unsociable
+churlish fellow.
+
+"Mr. Tracy Wentfield, of the Channings, Home Green: A very rude
+man. He slammed the front door of the house in my face when I
+went to ask him for a contribution to our Cottage Hospital. It is
+not my habit to repeat idle gossip, but they do say he is a heavy
+drinker.
+
+There was a lot more of this sort of thing, and Desmond turned
+from it with a smile to take up the account of Bellward's arrest.
+It appeared that, about a fortnight before, on the eve of the
+departure for France of a very large draft of troops, a telegram
+was handed in at the East Strand telegraph office addressed to
+Bellward. This telegram ran thus:
+
+"Bellward, Bellward Hotel, Jermyn Street.
+"Shipping to you Friday 22,000 please advise correspondents.      
+                               "Mortimer."
+
+The authorities were unable to deliver this telegram gram as no
+such an hotel as the Hotel Bellward was found to exist in Jermyn
+Street. An examination of the address showed clearly that the
+sender had absent mindedly repeated the addressee's name in
+writing the name of the hotel. An advice was therefore addressed
+to the sender, Mortimer, at the address he had given on the back
+of the form, according to the regulations, to inform him that his
+telegram had not been delivered. It was then discovered that the
+address given by Mortimer was fictitious.
+
+Suspicion being thus aroused, the telegram was forwarded to the
+Postal Censor's department whence it reached the Intelligence
+Authorities who promptly spotted the connection between the
+wording of the telegram and the imminent departure of the drafts,
+more especially as the dates tallied. Thereupon, Mr. Bellward was
+hunted up and ultimately traced by his correspondence to The Mill
+House. He was not found there, but was eventually encountered at
+his London hotel, and requested to appear before the authorities
+with a view to throwing some light on Mortimer. Under
+cross-examination Bellward flatly denied any knowledge of
+Mortimer, and declared that a mistake had been made. He cited
+various well known city men to speak for his bona-fides and
+protested violently against the action of the authorities in
+doubting his word. It was ultimately elicited that Bellward was
+of German birth and had never been naturalized, and he was
+detained in custody while a search was made at The Mill House.
+
+The search was conducted with great discretion, old Martha being
+got out of the way before the detectives arrived and a careful
+watch being kept to avoid any chance of interruption. The search
+had the most fruitful results. Hidden in a secret drawer of the
+Sheraton desk in Bellward's bedroom, was found a most elaborate
+analysis of the movements of the transports to France, extremely
+accurate and right up to date. There was absolutely no
+indication, however, as to whence Bellward received his reports,
+and how or to whom he forwarded them. It was surmised that
+Mortimer was his informant, but an exhaustive search of the post
+office files of telegrams despatched showed no trace of any other
+telegram from Mortimer to Bellward save the one in the possession
+of the authorities. As for Mortimer, he remained a complete
+enigma.
+
+That, summarised, was the gist of the story of Bellward's arrest.
+The report laid great stress on the fact that no one outside half
+a dozen Intelligence men had any knowledge (a) of Bellward being
+an unnaturalized German, (b) of his arrest."
+
+Desmond's orders, which he reserved to the last ere short and to
+the point. They consisted of five numbered clauses.
+
+"1. You will have a free hand. The surveillance of the house was
+withdrawn on your arrival and will not be renewed.
+
+"2. You will not leave the house until further orders.
+
+"3. You will keep careful note of any communication that may be
+made to you, whether verbal or in writing, of whatever nature it
+is. When you have anything to be forwarded, ring up 700 Slanning
+on the telephone and give Bellward's name. You will hand your
+report to the first person calling at the house thereafter asking
+for the letter for Mr. Elias.
+
+"4. If help is urgently required, ring up 700 Stanning and ask
+for Mr. Elias. Assistance will be with you within 15 minutes
+after. This expedient must only be used in the last extremity.
+
+"5. Memorize these documents and burn the lot before you leave
+the house."
+
+"Handy fellow, Mr. Elias," was Desmond's commentary, as he sprang
+out of bed and made for the bathroom. At a quarter to one he was
+ready dressed, feeling very scratchy and uncomfortable about the
+beard which he had not dared to remove owing to Nur-el-Din's
+presence in the house. Before he left the bedroom, he paused a
+moment at the desk, the documents of the Bellward case in his
+hands. He had a singularly retentive memory, and he was loth to
+have these compromising papers in the house whilst Nur-el-Din was
+there. He took a quick decision and pitched the whole lot into
+the fire, retaining only the annotated list of Mr. Bellward's
+friends. This he placed in his pocket-book and, after watching
+the rest of the papers crumble away into ashes, went downstairs
+to lunch.
+
+Nur-el-Din was in the drawing-room, a long room with two high
+windows which gave on a neglected looking garden. A foaming,
+churning brook wound its way through the garden, among stunted
+bushes and dripping willows, obviously the mill-race from which
+the house took its name. The drawing-room was a bare,
+inhospitable room, studded here and there with uncomfortable
+looking early Victorian armchairs swathed in dust-proof cloths. A
+fire was making an unsuccessful attempt to burn in the open
+grate.
+
+Nur-el-Din turned as he entered the room. She was wearing a gray
+cloth tailor-made with a white silk, blouse and a short skirt
+showing a pair of very natty brown boots. By contrast with her
+ugly surroundings she looked fresh and dainty. Her eyes were
+bright and her face as smooth and unwrinkled as a child's.
+
+"Bon jour," she cried gaily, "ah! but I am 'ungry!  It is the air
+of the country!  I love so the country!"
+
+"I hope you slept well, Madame!" said Desmond solicitously,
+looking admiringly at her trim figure.
+
+"Like a dead man," she replied with a little laugh, translating
+the French idiom. "Shall we make a leetle promenade after the,
+dejeuner? And you shall show me your pretty English country,
+voulez-vous? You see, I am dressed for le footing!"
+
+She lifted a little brown foot.
+
+They had a delightful luncheon together. Old Martha, who proved
+to be quite a passable cook, waited on them. There was some
+excellent Burgundy and a carafe of old brandy with the coffee.
+Nur-el-Din was in her most gracious and captivating mood. She had
+dropped all her arrogance of their last interview and seemed to
+lay herself out to please. She had a keen sense of humor and
+entertained Desmond vastly by her anecdotes of her stage career,
+some not a little risque, but narrated with the greatest
+bon-homie.
+
+But, strongly attracted as he was to the girl, Desmond did not
+let himself lose sight of his ultimate object. He let her run on
+as gaily as she might but steadily, relentlessly he swung the
+conversation round to her last engagement at the Palaceum. He
+wanted to see if she would make any reference to the murder at
+Seven Kings. If he could only bring in old Mackwayte's name, he
+knew that the dancer must allude to the tragedy.
+
+Then the unexpected happened. The girl introduce the old
+comedian's name herself.
+
+"The only pleasant memory I shall preserve of the Palaceum," she
+said in French, "is my meeting with an old comrade of my youth.
+Imagine, I had not seen him for nearly twenty years. Monsieur
+Mackwayte, his name is, we used to call him Monsieur Arthur in
+the old days when I was the child acrobat of the Dupont Troupe.
+Such a charming fellow; and not a bit changed!  He was doing a
+deputy turn at the Palaceum on the last night I appeared there!
+And he introduced me to his daughter! Une belle Anglaise! I shall
+hope to see my old friend again when I go back to London!"
+
+Desmond stared at her. If this were acting, the most hardened
+criminal could not have carried it off better. He searched the
+girl's face. It was frank and innocent. She ran on about
+Mackwayte in the old days, his kindliness to everyone, his pretty
+wife, without a shadow of an attempt to avoid an unpleasant
+topic. Desmond began to believe that not only did the girl have
+nothing to do with the tragedy but that actually she knew nothing
+about it.
+
+"Did you see the newspapers yesterday?" he asked suddenly.
+
+"My friend," said Nur-el-Din, shaking her curls at him. "I never
+read your English papers. There is nothing but the war in them.
+And this war!"
+
+She gave a little shudder and was silent.
+
+At this moment old Martha, who had left them over their coffee
+and cigarettes, came into the room.
+
+"There's a gentleman called to see you, sir!" she said to
+Desmond.
+
+Desmond started violently. He was scarcely used to his new role
+as yet.
+
+"Who is it, Martha?" he said, mastering his agitation.
+
+"Mr. Mortimer!" mumbled the old woman in her tired voice, "at
+least that's what he said his name was. The gentleman hadn't got
+a card!"
+
+Nur-el-Din sprang up from her chair so vehemently that she upset
+her coffee.
+
+"Don't let him come in!" she cried in French.
+
+"Did you say I was in?" Desmond asked the old housekeeper, who
+was staring at the dancer.
+
+"Why, yes, sir," the woman answered.
+
+Desmond made a gesture of vexation.
+
+"Where is this Mr. Mortimer?" he asked
+
+"In the library, sir!"
+
+"Tell him I will be with him at once."
+
+Martha hobbled away and Desmond turned to the girl.
+
+"You heard what my housekeeper said? The man is here. I shall
+have to see him."
+
+Nur-el-Din, white to the lips, stood by the table, nervously
+twisting a little handkerchief.
+
+"Non, non," she said rapidly, "you must not see him. He has come
+to find me. Ah! if he should find out what I have done... you
+will not give me up to this man?"
+
+"You need not see him," Desmond expostulated gently, "I will say
+you are not here! Who is this Mortimer that he should seek to do
+you harm?"
+
+"My friend," said the dancer sadly, "he is my evil genius. If I
+had dreamt that you knew him I would never have sought refuge in
+your house."
+
+"But I've never set eyes on the man in my life!" exclaimed
+Desmond.
+
+The dancer shook her head mournfully at him.
+
+"Very few of you have, my friend," she replied, "but you are all
+under his orders, nest-ce pas?"
+
+Desmond's heart leaped. Was Mortimer's the guiding hand of this
+network of conspiracy?
+
+"I've trusted you, Monsieur," Nur-el-Din continued in a pleading
+voice, "you will respect the laws of hospitality, and hide me
+from this man. You will not give me up! Promise it, my friend?"
+
+Desmond felt strangely moved. Was this a callous murderess, a
+hired spy, who, with her great eyes brimming over with tears,
+entreated his protection so simply, so appealingly?
+
+"I promise I will not give you up to him, Mademoiselle!" he said
+and hated himself in the same breath for the part he had to play.
+Then he left her still standing by the table, lost in thought.
+
+Desmond walked through the hall to the room in which he had found
+Nur-el-Din asleep on his arrival. His nerves were strung up tight
+for the impending encounter with this Mortimer, whoever, whatever
+he was. Desmond did not hesitate on the threshold of the room. He
+quietly opened the door and walked in.
+
+A man in a black and white check suit with white gaiters stood on
+the hearthrug, his hands tucked behind his back. He had a
+curiously young-old appearance, such as is found in professors
+and scientists of a certain type. This suggestion was probably
+heightened by the very strong spectacles he wore, which magnified
+his eyes until they looked like large colored marbles. He had a
+heavy curling moustache resembling that affected by the late Lord
+Randolph Churchill. There was a good deal of mud on his boots,
+showing that he had come on foot.
+
+The two men measured one another in a brief but courteous glance.
+Desmond wondered what on earth this man's profession was. He was
+quite unable to place him.
+
+"Mr. Bellward?" said Mortimer, in a pleasant cultivated voice, "I
+am pleased to have this opportunity of meeting you personally."
+
+Desmond bowed and muttered something conventional. Mortimer had
+put out his hand but Desmond could not nerve himself to take it.
+Instead he pushed forward a chair.
+
+"Thanks," said Mortimer sitting down heavily, "I've had quite a
+walk across the fen. It's pleasant out but damp! I suppose you
+didn't get my letter?"
+
+"Which letter was that" asked Desmond.
+
+"Why the one asking you to let me know when you would be back so
+that we might meet at last!"
+
+Desmond shook his head.
+
+"No," he said, "I didn't get that one. It must have gone astray.
+As a matter of fact," he added, "I only got back this morning."
+
+"Oh, well then, I am fortunate in my visit," said Mortimer. "Did
+everything go off all right?"
+
+"Oh, yes," Desmond hastened to say, not knowing what he was
+talking about, "everything went off all right."
+
+"I don't in the least grudge you the holiday," the other
+observed, "one should always be careful to pay the last respects
+to the dead. It makes a good impression. That is so important in
+some countries!"
+
+He beamed at Desmond through his spectacles.
+
+"Was there anything left in your absence?" he asked, "no, there
+would be nothing; I suppose!"
+
+Desmond took a firm resolution. He must know what the man was
+driving at.
+
+"I don't know what you mean," he said bluntly.
+
+"God bless my soul!" ejaculated Mortimer turning round to stare
+at him through his grotesque glasses. And then he said very
+deliberately in German:
+
+"War niemand da?"
+
+Desmond stood up promptly.
+
+"What do you want with me?" he asked quietly, "and why do you
+speak German in my house?" Mortimer gazed at him blankly.
+
+"Excellence, most excellent," he gasped. "I love prudence. My
+friend, where are your eyes?"
+
+He put a large, firm hand up and touched the upper edge of the
+left lapel of his jacket. Desmond followed his gesture with his
+eyes and saw the other's first finger resting on the shiny glass
+head of a black pin. Almost instinctively Desmond imitated the
+gesture. His fingers came into contact with a glassheaded pin
+similarly embedded in the upper edge of the lapel of his own
+coat.
+
+Then he understood. This must be the distinguishing badge of this
+confraternity of spies. It was a clever idea, for the black pin
+was practically invisible, unless one looked for it, and even if
+seen, would give rise to no suspicions. It had obviously escaped
+the notice of the Chief and his merry men, and Desmond made a
+mental resolve to rub this omission well into his superior on the
+first opportunity. He felt he owed the Chief one.
+
+Mr. Mortimer cleared his throat, as though to indicate the
+conclusion of the episode. Desmond sat down on the settee.
+
+"Nothing came while I was away!" he said.
+
+"Now that you are back," Mortimer remarked, polishing his glasses
+with a bandanna handkerchief, "the service will be resumed. I
+have come to see you, Mr. Bellward," he went on, turning to
+Desmond, "contrary to my usual practice, mainly because I wished
+to confirm by personal observation the very favorable opinion I
+had formed of your ability from our correspondence. You have
+already demonstrated your discretion to me. If you continue to
+show that your prudence is on a level with your zeal, believe I
+shall not prove myself ungrateful."
+
+So saying he settled his glasses on his nose again.
+
+The action woke Desmond from a brown study. During the operation
+of wiping his spectacles, Mr. Mortimer had given Desmond a
+glimpse of his eyes in their natural state without the protection
+of those distorting glasses. To his intense surprise Desmond had
+seen, instead of the weak, blinking eyes of extreme myopia, a
+pair of keen piercing eyes with the clear whites of perfect
+health. Those blue eyes, set rather close together, seemed dimly
+familiar. Someone, somewhere, had once looked at him like that.
+
+"You are too kind," murmured Desmond, grappling for the thread of
+the conversation.
+
+Mortimer did not apparently notice his absentmindedness.
+
+"Everything has run smoothly," he resumed, "on the lines on which
+we have been working hitherto, but more important work lies
+before us. I have found it necessary to select a quiet rendezvous
+where I might have an opportunity of conferring in person with my
+associates. The first of these conferences will take place very
+shortly. I count upon your attendance, Bellward!"
+
+"I shall ,not fail you," replied Desmond. "But where is this
+rendezvous of yours, might I ask?"
+
+Mortimer shot a quick glance at him.
+
+"You shall know in good time," he answered drily. Then he added:
+
+"Do you mind if I have a few words with Nur-el-Din before I go!"
+
+The unexpected question caught Desmond off his guard.
+
+"Nur-el-Din?" he stammered feebly.
+
+"She is staying with you, I believe," said Mortimer pleasantly.
+
+Desmond shook his head.
+
+"There must be some mistake," he averred stoutly, "of course I
+know who you mean, but I have never met the lady. She is not
+here. What led you to suppose she was?"
+
+But even as he spoke, his eyes fell on a black object which lay
+near his arm stretched out along the back of the settee. It was a
+little velvet hat, skewered to the upholstery of the settee by a
+couple of jewelled hat-pins. A couple of gaudy cushions lay
+between it and Mortimer's range of vision from the chair in which
+the latter was sitting. If only Mortimer had not spotted it
+already!
+
+Desmond's presence of mind did not desert him. On the pretext of
+settling himself more comfortably he edged up another cushion
+until it rested upon the other two, thus effectively screening
+the hat from Mortimer's view even when he should get up.
+
+"I wish she were here," Desmond added, smiling, "one could not
+have a more delightful companion to share one's solitude, I
+imagine."
+
+"The lady has disappeared from London under rather suspicious
+circumstances;" Mortimer said, letting his grotesque eyes rest
+for a moment on Desmond's face, "to be quite frank with you, my
+dear fellow, she has been indiscreet, and the police are after
+her."
+
+"You don't say!" cried Desmond.
+
+"Indeed, it is a fact," replied the other, "I wish she would take
+you as her model, my dear Bellward. You are the pattern of
+prudence, are you not?"
+
+He paused perceptibly and Desmond held his breath.
+
+"She has very few reputable friends," Mortimer continued
+presently, "under a cloud as she is, she could hardly frequent
+the company of her old associates, Mowbury and Lazarro and Mrs.
+Malplaquet, you doubtless know whom I mean. I know she has a very
+strong recommendation to you, so I naturally thought--well, no
+matter!"
+
+He rose and extended his hand.
+
+"Au revoir, Bellward," he said, "you shall hear from me very
+soon. You've got a snug little place here, I must say, and
+everything in charming taste. I like your pretty cushions."
+
+The blood flew to Desmond's face and he bent down, on pretense of
+examining the cushions, to hide his confusion.
+
+"They aren't bad," he said, "I got them at Harrod's!"
+
+He accompanied Mortimer to the front door and watched him
+disappear down the short drive and turn out of the gate into the
+road. Then feeling strangely ill at ease, he went back to join
+Nur-el-Din in the dining-room. But only the housekeeper was
+there, clearing the table.
+
+"If you're looking for the young lady, sir," said old Martha,
+"she's gone out!"
+
+"Oh!" said Desmond, with a shade of disappointment in his voice,
+"will she be back for tea?"
+
+"She's not coming back at all," answered the old woman, "she told
+me to tell you she could not stop, sir. And she wouldn't let me
+disturb you, neither, sir."
+
+"But did she leave no note or anything for me?" asked Desmond.
+
+"No, sir," answered old Martha as she folded up the cloth.
+
+Gone! Desmond stared gloomily out at the sopping garden with an
+uneasy feeling that he had failed in his duty.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIII. WHAT SHAKESPEARE'S COMEDIES REVEALED
+
+In a very depressed frame of mind, Desmond turned into the
+library. As he crossed the hall, he noticed how cheerless the
+house was. Again there came to him that odor of mustiness--of all
+smells the most eerie and drear--which he had noticed on his
+arrival. Somehow, as long as Nur-el-Din had been there, he had
+not remarked the appalling loneliness of the place.
+
+A big log fire was blazing cheerfully in the grate, throwing out
+a bright glow into the room which, despite the early hour, was
+already wreathed in shadows. Wearily Desmond pulled a big
+armchair up to the blaze and sat down. He told himself that he
+must devote every minute of his spare time to going over in his
+mind the particulars he had memorized of Mr. Bellward's habits
+and acquaintanceships. He took the list of Bellward's friends
+from his pocket-book.
+
+But this afternoon he found it difficult to concentrate his
+attention. His gaze kept wandering back to the fire, in whose
+glowing depths he fancied he could see a perfect oval face with
+pleading eyes and dazzling teeth looking appealingly at him.
+
+Nur-el-Din! What an entrancing creature she was! What passion
+lurked in those black eyes of hers, in her moods, swiftly
+changing from gusts of fierce imperiousness to gentle airs of
+feminine charm! What a frail little thing she was to have fought
+her way alone up the ladder from the lowest rung to the very top!
+She must have character and grit, Desmond decided, for he was a
+young man who adored efficiency: to him efficiency spelled
+success.
+
+But a spy needs grit, he reflected, and Nur-el-Din had many
+qualities which would enable her to win the confidence of men.
+Hadn't she half-captivated him, the would-be spy-catcher,
+already?
+
+Desmond laughed ruefully to himself. Indeed, he mused, things
+looked that way. What would the Chief say if he could see his
+prize young man, his white-headed boy, sitting sentimentalizing
+by the fire over a woman who was, by her own confession,
+practically an accredited German agent? Desmond thrust his chin
+out and shook himself together. He would put the feminine side of
+Nur-el-Din out of his head. He must think of her henceforth only
+as a member of the band that was spotting targets for those
+sneaking, callous brutes of U-boat commanders.
+
+He went back to the study of the list of Mr. Bellward's friends.
+But he found it impossible to focus his mind upon it. Do what he
+would, he could not rid himself of the sensation that he had
+failed at the very outset of his mission. He was, indeed, he told
+himself, the veriest tyro at the game. Here he had had under his
+hand in turn Nur-el-Din and Mortimer (who, he made no doubt, was
+the leader of the gang which was so sorely troubling the Chief),
+and he had let both get away without eliciting from either even
+as much as their address. By the use of a little tact, he had
+counted on penetrating something of the mystery enveloping the
+dancer and her relationship with the gang; for he thought he
+divined that Nur-el-Din was inclined to make him her confidant.
+With the information thus procured, he had hoped to get on to the
+track of the leader of the band.
+
+But that ugly brute; Mortimer, with his goggle eyes, had spoiled
+everything. His appearance had taken Desmond completely by
+surprise: to tell the truth, it had thrown our young man rather
+off his guard. " If only I might have had a little longer
+acquaintance with my part," he reflected bitterly as $e sat by
+the fire, "I should have been better able to deal with that
+pompous ass!"
+
+Afterwards, when thinking over the opening events of this
+extraordinary episode of his career, Desmond rather wondered why
+he had not followed Mortimer out of the house that afternoon and
+tracked him down to his hiding place. But, as a matter of fact,
+the idea did not occur to him at the time. His orders were
+positive not to leave the house, and he never even thought of
+breaking them--at any rate, not then.
+
+His orders, also, it is true, were to report to headquarters any
+communication that might be made to him; but these instructions,
+at least as far as Nur-el-Din's and Mortimer's visits were
+concerned, he resolved to ignore.
+
+For one thing, he felt angry with the Chief who, he argued rather
+irrationally, ought to have foreseen and prevented Mortimer thus
+taking him by surprise. The Chief liked secrets--well, for a
+change, he should be kept in the dark and the laugh would be on
+Desmond's side. For a few minutes after Mortimer's departure,
+Desmond had felt strongly inclined to go to the telephone which
+stood on the desk in the library and ring up Mr. Elias, as he
+should have done, but he resisted this impulse. Now, thinking
+things over in the firelight, he was glad he had refrained. He
+would ferret out for himself the exact part that Nur-el-Din and
+Mortimer were playing in this band of spies. Nothing definite had
+come of his interviews with them as yet. It would be time enough
+to communicate with Headquarters when he had something positive
+to report.
+
+Then Desmond thrust the paper he had been studying back in his
+pocket-book and jumped up. He felt that the inaction was stifling
+him. He determined to go for a walk round the garden. That, at
+least, was in the spirit of his orders.
+
+Remembering that he was supposed to be suffering from a chill he
+donned a heavy Ulster of Bellward's which was hanging in the hall
+and wound a muffler round his neck. Then cramming a soft cap on
+his head (he noted with satisfaction that Bellward's hats fitted
+him remarkably well) he opened the front door and stepped
+outside.
+
+The rain had stopped, but the whole atmosphere reeled of
+moisture. Angry-looking, dirty-brown clouds chased each other
+across the lowering sky, and there was a constant sound of water,
+trickling and gurgling and splashing, in his ears.
+
+An untidy-looking lawn with a few unkempt and overgrown
+rhododendron bushes dotted here and there ran its length in front
+of the house and terminated in an iron railing which separated
+the grounds from a little wood. A badly water-logged drive, green
+with grass in places, ran past the lawn in a couple of short
+bends to the front gate. On the other side the drive was bordered
+by what had once been a kitchen garden but was now a howling
+wilderness of dead leaves, mud and gravel with withered bushes
+and half a dozen black, bare and dripping apple trees set about
+at intervals. At the side of the house the kitchen garden stopped
+and was joined by a flower garden--at least so Desmond judged it
+to have been by a half ruined pergola which he had noticed from
+the drawing-room windows. Through the garden ran the mill-race
+which poured out of the grounds through a field and under a
+little bridge spanning the road outside.
+
+Desmond followed the drive as far as the front gate. The
+surrounding country was as flat as a pancake, and in almost every
+field lay great glistening patches of water where the land had
+been flooded by the incessant rain. The road on which the house
+was built ran away on the left to the mist-shrouded horizon
+without another building of any kind in sight. Desmond surmised
+that Morstead Fen lay in the direction in which he was looking.
+To the right, Desmond caught a glimpse of a ghostly spire
+sticking out of some trees and guessed that this was Wentfield
+Church. In front of him the distant roar of a passing train
+showed where the Great Eastern Railway line lay.
+
+More depressed than ever by the utter desolation of the scene,
+Desmond turned to retrace his steps to the house. Noticing a path
+traversing the kitchen garden, he followed it. It led to the back
+of the house, to the door of a kind of lean-to shed. The latch
+yielded on being pressed and Desmond entered the place.
+
+He found himself in a fair-sized shed, very well and solidly
+built of pitch-pine, with a glazed window looking out on the
+garden, a table and a couple of chairs, and a large cupboard
+which occupied the whole of one side of the wall of the house
+against which the shed was built. In a corner of the shed stood a
+very good-looking Douglas motor-cycle, and on a nail ,on the wall
+hung a set of motor-cyclist's overalls. A few petrol cans, some
+full, some empty, stood against the wall.
+
+Desmond examined the machine. It was in excellent condition,
+beautifully clean, the tank half full of spirits. A little dry
+sand on the tires showed that it had been used fairly recently.
+
+"Old man Bellward's motor-bike that he goes to the station on,"
+Desmond noted mentally. "But what's in the big cupboard, I
+wonder? Tools, I expect!"
+
+Then he caught sight of a deep drawer in the table. It was
+half-open and he saw that it contained various tools and spare
+parts, neatly arranged, each one in its appointed place.
+
+He went over to the cupboard and tried it. It was locked. Desmond
+had little respect for Mr. Bellward's property so he went over to
+the tool drawer and selected a stout chisel with which to burst
+the lock of the cupboard. But the cupboard was of oak, very
+solidly built, and he tried in vain to get a purchase for his
+implement. He leant his left hand against the edge of the
+cupboard whilst with his right he jabbed valiantly with the
+chisel.
+
+Then an extraordinary thing happened. The whole cupboard
+noiselessly swung outwards while Desmond, falling forward, caught
+his forehead a resounding bang against the edge of the recess in
+which it moved. He picked himself up in a very savage frame of
+mind--a severe blow on the head is not the ideal cure for
+hypochondria--but the flow of objurgatives froze on his lips. For
+he found himself looking into Mr. Bellward's library.
+
+He stepped into the room to see how the cupboard looked from the
+other side. He found that a whole section of bookshelves had
+swung back with the cupboard, in other words that the cupboard in
+the toolshed and the section of bookshelves were apparently all
+of one piece.
+
+He carefully examined the walls on either side of the recess in
+the library to see how the mechanism worked. The bookshelves were
+open, made of mahogany, the sides elaborately carved with leaves
+and flowers. Desmond ran his hand down the perpendicular section
+immediately on the right of the recess. About halfway down--to be
+exact, it was in line with the fifth shelf from the floor--his
+fingers encountered a little knob which gave under pressure--the
+heart of a flower which released the section of bookshelves.
+Going back to the shed, Desmond examined the place against which
+his hand had rested as he sought to force the lock of the
+cupboard. As he expected, he found a similar catch let into the
+surface of the oak, but so cunningly inlaid that it could scarce
+be detected with the naked eye.
+
+Before proceeding further with his investigations, Desmond softly
+turned the lock of the library door. He also shot forward a bolt
+he found on the inside of the door of the shed. He did not want
+to be interrupted by the housekeeper or the odd man.
+
+Then he went back to the library and pulled the cupboard to
+behind him. It moved quite easily into place. He wanted to have a
+look at the bookshelves; for he was curious to know whether the
+cupboard was actually all of one piece with the section of
+bookshelves as it seemed to be. He was prepared to find that the
+books were merely library dummies, but no! He tried half a dozen
+shelves at random, and every book he pulled out was real.
+
+Desmond was not easily baled, and he determined to scrutinize
+every shelf, of this particular section in turn. With the aid of
+one of those step-ladders folding into a chair which you
+sometimes see in libraries, he examined the topmost shelves but
+without result. He took down in turn Macaulay 's History of
+England, a handsome edition of the works of Swift, and a set of
+Moliere without getting any nearer the end of his quest.
+
+The fourth shelf from the top was devoted to a library edition of
+Shakespeare, large books bound in red morocco. Desmond, who, by
+this time was getting cramp in the arms from stretching upwards
+and had made his hands black with dust, pulled out a couple of
+volumes at hazard from the set and found them real books like the
+rest.
+
+"Oh, damn!" he exclaimed, and had half a mind to abandon the
+search and have a go with hammer and chisel at the cupboard in
+the shed. By this time it was almost dusk in the library, and
+Desmond, before abandoning the search, struck a match to have a
+final rapid glance over the shelves. The light showed him a
+curious flatness about the backs of the last six volumes of
+Shakespeare. He dropped the match and laid hold of a volume of
+the Comedies. It resisted. He tugged. Still it would not come.
+Exerting all his strength, he pulled, the gilt-lettered backs of
+the last six volumes came away in his hands in one piece and he
+crashed off the ladder to the ground.
+
+This time he did not swear. He picked himself up quickly, lit the
+lamp on the table by the window, and brought it over to the
+bookcase. Where Shakespeare's Comedies had stood was now a gaping
+void with a small key stuck in a lock, above a brass handle.
+Desmond mounted on the steps again and eagerly turned the key.
+Then he grasped the handle and puled, the section of bookshelves
+swung back like a door, and he found himself face to face with a
+great stack of petrol cans. They lay in orderly piles stretching
+from the floor to the top of the bookshelves near the railing,
+several tiers deep. At a rough computation there must have been
+several hundred cans in the recess. And they were all full.
+
+In a flash Desmond realized what his discovery signified. The
+motor-cycle in the shed without was the connecting link between
+Bellward and the man with whom he was co-operating in the
+organization. Under pretext of reading late in his library
+Bellward would send old Martha to bed, and once the house was
+quiet, sally forth by his secret exit and meet his confederate.
+Even when he was supposed to be sleeping in London he could still
+use the Mill House for a rendezvous, entering and leaving by the
+secret door, and no one a bit the wiser. In that desolate part of
+Essex, the roads are practically deserted after dark. Bellward
+could come and go much as he pleased on his motor-cycle. Were he
+stopped, he always had the excuse ready that he was going to--or
+returning from the station. The few petrol cans that Desmond had
+seen openly displayed in the shed without seemed to show that
+Bellward received a small quantity of spirit from the Petrol
+Board to take him to and from the railway.
+
+The cache, so elaborately concealed, however, pointed to long
+journeys. Did Bellward undertake these trips to fetch news or to
+transmit it? And who was his confederate? Whom did he go to meet?
+Not Mortimer; for he had only, corresponded with Bellward. Nor
+was it Nur-el-Din; for she had never met Bellward, either.
+
+Who was it, then?
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIV. BARBARA TAKES A HAND
+
+"No luck, Mr. Marigold," said the Assistant Provost Marshal, "I'm
+sorry, but there it is! We've made every possible inquiry about
+this Private... er..." he glanced at the buff-colored leave pass
+in his hand, "... this Gunner Barling, but we can't trace him so
+far. He should have gone back to France the afternoon before the
+day on which you found his pass. But he hasn't rejoined his unit.
+He's been posted as an absentee, and the police have been warned.
+I'm afraid we can't do any more than that!"
+
+The detective looked at the officer with mild reproach in his
+eyes.
+
+"Dear, dear," he replied, "and I made sure you'd be able to trace
+him with that pass!"
+
+He clicked his tongue against his teeth and shook his head.
+
+"Dear, dear!" he said again.
+
+"What's the feller been up to?" asked the A.P.M. Detectives have
+a horror of leading questions, and Mr. Marigold shrank visibly
+before the directness of the other's inquiry. Before replying,
+however, he measured the officer with his calm, shrewd eye. Mr.
+Marigold was not above breaking his own rules of etiquette if
+thereby he might gain a useful ally.
+
+"Well, Captain Beardiston," he answered slowly,
+
+I'll tell you because I think that you may be able to help me a
+little bit. It's part of your work to look after deserters and
+absentees and those sort o' folk, isn't it?"
+
+The A.P.M. groaned.
+
+"Part of my work?" he repeated, "it seems to be my whole life
+ever since I came back from the front."
+
+"If you want to know what this young fellow has been up to," said
+Mr. Marigold in his even voice, "it's murder, if I'm not
+mistaken!"
+
+"Murder?" echoed the other in surprise. "Why, not the Seven Kings
+murder, surely?"
+
+The detective gave a brisk nod.
+
+"That's it," he replied, "I'm in charge of that case, if you
+follow me. I found that pass in the front garden of the
+Mackwayte's house in Laleham Villas, half trodden into the earth
+of the flower-bed by a heavy boot, a service boot, studded with
+nails. There had been a lot of rain in the night, and it had
+washed the mosaic-tiled pathway up to the front door almost
+clean. When I was having a look round the garden, I picked up
+this pass, and then I spotted the trace of service boots, a bit
+faint, on the beds. You know the way the nails are set in the
+issue boots?"
+
+The officer nodded:
+
+"I ought to know that foot-print," he said. "It's all over the
+roads in northern France."
+
+"We made inquiries through you," the detective resumed, "and when
+I found that this Gunner Barling, the owner of the pass, was
+missing, well, you will admit, it looked a bit suspicious."
+
+"Still, you know," the A.P.M. objected, this man appears to have
+the most excellent character. He's got a clean sheet; he's never
+gone absent before. And he's been out with his battery almost
+since the beginning of the war."
+
+"I'm not making any charge against him as yet," answered the
+detective, picking up his hat, "but it would interest me very
+much, very much indeed, Captain Beardiston, to have five minutes'
+chat with this gunner. And so I ask you to keep a sharp lookout
+for a man answering to his description, and if you come across
+him, freeze on to him hard, and give me a ring on the telephone."
+
+"Right you are," said the officer, "I'll hold him for you, Mr.
+Marigold. But I hope your suspicions are not well-founded."
+
+For a brief moment the detective became a human being.
+
+"And so do I, if you want to know," he said. "One can forgive
+those lads who are fighting out there almost anything. I've got a
+boy in France myself!"
+
+A little sigh escaped him, and then Mr. Marigold remembered "The
+Yard."
+
+"I'll bid you good-day!" he added in his most official voice and
+took his leave.
+
+He walked down the steps by the Duke of York's column and through
+the Horse Guards into Whitehall, seemingly busy with his own
+thoughts. A sprucely dressed gentleman who was engaged in the
+exciting and lucrative sport of war profiteering turned color and
+hastily swerved out towards the Park as he saw the detective
+crossing the Horse Guards' Parade. He was unpleasantly reminded
+of making the acquaintance of Mr. Marigold over a bucketshop a
+few years ago with the result that he had vanished from the eye
+of his friends for eighteen months. He congratulated himself on
+thinking that Mr. Marigold had not seen him, but he would have
+recognized his mistake could he but have caught sight of the
+detective's face. A little smile flitted across Mr. Marigold's
+lips and he murmured to himself:
+
+"Our old friend is looking very prosperous just now. I wonder
+what he's up to?"
+
+Mr. Marigold didn't miss much.
+
+The detective made his way to the Chief's office. Barbara
+Mackwayte, in a simple black frock with white linen collar and
+cuffs, was at her old place in the ante-room. A week had elapsed
+since the murder, and the day before, Mr. Marigold knew, the
+mortal remains of poor old Mackwayte had been laid to rest. He
+was rather surprised to see the girl back at work so soon.
+
+She did not speak to him as she showed him into the Chief, but
+there was a question lurking in her gray eyes.
+
+Mr. Marigold looked at her and gravely shook his head.
+
+"Nothing fresh," he said.
+
+The Chief was unusually exuberant. Mr. Marigold found him
+surrounded, as was his wont, by papers, and a fearsome collection
+of telephone receivers. He listened in silence to Mr. Marigold's
+account of his failure to trace Barling.
+
+"Marigold," he said, when the other had finished, "we must
+undoubtedly lay hold of this fellow. Let's see now... ah! I have
+it!"
+
+He scribbled a few lines on a writing-pad and tossed it across to
+the detective.
+
+"If your friend's innocent," he chuckled, "that'll fetch him to a
+dead certainty. If he murdered Mackwayte, of course he won't
+respond. Read it out and let's hear how it sounds!"
+
+The Chief leaned back in his chair and lit a cigarette while the
+detective read out:
+
+"If Gunner Barling, etcetera, etcetera, will communicate with
+Messrs. Blank and Blank, solicitors, he will hear of something to
+his advantage. Difficulties with the military can be arranged."
+
+"But I say, sir," objected Mr. Marigold, "the military
+authorities will hardly stand for that last, will they?"
+
+"Won't they, by Jove" retorted the Chief grimly. "They will if I
+tell 'em to. No official soullessness for me; thank you! And now,
+Marigold, just ask Matthews to fill in Barling's regimental
+number and all that and the name and address of the solicitors
+who do this kind of thing for us. And tell him we'll insert the
+ad. daily until further notice in the Mail, Chronicle, Daily
+News, Sketch, Mirror, Evening News..."
+
+"And Star," put in Mr. Marigold who had Radical tendencies.
+
+"The Star, too, by all means. That ought to cover the extent of
+your pal's newspaper reading, I fancy, eh, Marigold! Right!"
+
+He held out a hand in farewell. But Mr. Marigold stood his
+ground. He was rather a slow mover, and there were a lot of
+things he wanted to discuss with the Chief.
+
+"I was very sorry to see poor Major Okewood in the casualty list
+this morning, sir," he said. "I was going to ask you..."
+
+"All terrible, terrible!" said the Chief. Then he added:
+
+"Just tell Miss Mackwayte I want her as you go out, will you?"
+
+The detective was used to surprises but the Chief still bowled
+him out occasionally. Before he knew what he was doing, Mr.
+Marigold found himself in the ante-room doing as he was bid.
+
+As soon as her father's funeral was over; Barbara had insisted on
+returning to work. The whole ghastly business of the murder and
+the inquest that followed seemed to her like a bad dream which
+haunted her day and night. By tacit consent no one in the office
+had made any further allusion, to the tragedy. She had just
+slipped back into her little niche, prompt, punctual, efficient
+as ever.
+
+"No, it's not for the letters," the Chief said to her as she came
+in with her notebook and pencil. "I'm going to give you a little
+trip down to the, country this afternoon, Miss Mackwayte... to,
+Essex... the Mill House, Wentfield... you know whom it is you are
+to see, eh? I'm getting a little restless as we've had no reports
+since he arrived there. I had hoped, by this, to have been able
+to put him on the track of Nur-el-Din, but, for the moment, it
+looks as if we had lost the scent. But you can tell our friend
+all we know about the lady's antecedents--what we had from my
+French colleague the other day, you know? Let him have all the
+particulars about this Barling case--you know about that, don't
+you? Good, and, see here, try and find out from our mutual friend
+what he intends doing. I don't want to rush him... don't let him
+think that... but I should rather like to discover whether he has
+formed any plan. And now you get along. There's a good train
+about three which gets you down to Wentfield in just under the
+hour. Take care of yourself! See you in the morning!"
+
+Pressing a bell with one hand and lifting up a telephone receiver
+with the other, the Chief immersed himself again in his work. He
+appeared to have forgotten Miss Mackwayte's very existence.
+
+At a quarter to five that evening, Barbara unlatched the front
+gate of the Mill House and walked up the drive. She had come on
+foot from the station and the exercise had done her good. It had
+been a deliciously soft balmy afternoon, but with the fall of
+dusk a heavy mist had come creeping up from the sodden, low-lying
+fields and was spreading out over the neglected garden of Mr.
+Bellward's villa as Barbara entered the avenue.
+
+The damp gloom of the place, however, depressed her not at all.
+She exulted in the change of scene and the fresh air; besides,
+she knew that the presence of Desmond Okewood would dispel the
+vague fears that had hung over her incessantly ever since her
+father's murder. She had only met him twice, she told herself
+when this thought occurred to her, but there was something
+bracing and dependable about him that was just the tonic she
+wanted.
+
+A porter at the station, who was very intelligent as country
+porters go, had told her the way to the Mill House. The way was
+not easy to find for there were various turns to make but, with
+the aid of such landmarks as an occasional inn, a pond or a barn,
+given her by the friendly porter, Barbara reached her
+destination. Under the porch she pulled the handle of the bell,
+all dank and glistening with moisture, and heard it tinkle loudly
+somewhere within the house.
+
+How lonely the place was, thought Barbara with a little shiver!
+The fog was growing thicker every minute and now seemed suspended
+like a vast curtain between her and the drive. Somewhere in the
+distance she heard the hollow gurgling of a stream. Otherwise,
+there was no sound.
+
+She rang the bell again rather nervously and waited. In her bag
+she had a little torch-light (for she was a practical young
+person), and taking it out, she flashed it on the door. It
+presented a stolid, impenetrable oaken front. She stepped out
+into the fog and scanned the windows which were already almost
+lost to view. They were dark and forbidding.
+
+Again she tugged at the bell. Again, with a groaning of wires,
+responded the hollow tinkle. Then silence fell once more. Barbara
+began to get alarmed. What had happened to Major Okewood? She had
+understood that there was no question of his leaving the house
+until the Chief gave him the word. Where, then, was he? He was
+not the man to disobey an order. Rather than believe that, she
+would think that something untoward had befallen him. Had there
+been foul play here, too?"
+
+A sudden panic seized her. She grasped the bell and tugged and
+tugged until she could tug no more. The bell jangled and pealed
+and clattered reverberatingly from the gloomy house, and then,
+with a jarring of wires, relapsed into silence. Barbara beat on
+the door with her hands, for there was no knocker; but all
+remained still within. Only the dank mist swirled in ever denser
+about her as she stood beneath the dripping porch.
+
+"This won't do!" said Barbara, pulling herself together. "I
+mustn't get frightened, whatever I do! Major Okewood is very well
+capable of defending himself. What's happened is that the man has
+been called away and the servants have taken advantage of his
+absence to go out! Barbara, my dear, you'll just have to foot it
+back to the station without your tea!"
+
+She turned her back on the door and torch in hand, plunged
+resolutely into the fog-bank. The mist was bewilderingly thick.
+Still, by going slow and always keeping the gravel under her
+feet, she reached the front gate and turned out on the road.
+
+Here the mist was worse than ever. She had not taken four paces
+before she had lost all sense of her direction. The gate, the
+railways, were gone. She was groping in a clinging pall of fog.
+
+Her torch was worse than useless. It only illuminated swirling
+swathes of mist and confused her, so she switched it out. In vain
+she looked about her, trying to pick up some landmark to guide
+her. There was no light, no tree, no house visible, nothing but
+the dank, ghostly mist.
+
+To some temperaments, Nature has no terrors. Barbara, to whose
+imagination an empty house at dusk had suggested all kinds of
+unimaginable fears, was not in the least frightened by the fog.
+She only hoped devoutly that a motor-car or a trap would not come
+along behind and run her down for she was obliged to keep to the
+road; the hard surface beneath her feet was her only guide.
+
+She smiled over her predicament as she made her way along. She
+frequently found herself going off the road, more than once into
+patches of water, with the result that in a few minutes her feet
+were sopping. Still she forged ahead, with many vain halts to
+reconnoitre while the fog, instead of lifting, seemed to thicken
+with every step she took.
+
+By this time she knew she was completely lost. Coming from the
+station there had been, she remembered, a cross-roads with a
+sign-board set up on a grass patch, about a quarter of a mile
+from the Mill House. She expected every minute to come upon this
+fork; again and again she swerved out to the left from her line
+of march groping for the sign-post with her hands but she never
+encountered it.
+
+Few sounds came to break in upon the oppressive silence of the
+mist. Once or twice Barbara heard a train roaring along in the
+distance and, at one of her halts, her ear caught the high rising
+note of a motor engine a long way off. Except for these
+occasional reminders of the proximity of human beings. she felt
+she must be on a desert island instead of less than two score
+miles from London.
+
+Her wrist watch showed her that she had walked for an hour when
+she heard a dog barking somewhere on the left of the road.
+Presently, she saw a blurred patch of radiance apparently on the
+ground in front of her. So deceptive are lights seen through a
+fog that she was quite taken aback suddenly to come upon a long
+low house with a great beam of light streaming out of the door.
+
+The house was approached by a little bridge across a broad ditch.
+By the bridge stood a tall, massive post upon which a sign
+squeaked softly as it swayed to and fro. The inn was built round
+three sides of a square, the left-hand side being the house
+itself, the centre, the kitchen, and the right-hand side a
+tumble-down stable and some sheds.
+
+The welcome blaze of light coming from the open door was very
+welcome to Barbara after her, long journey through the mist. She
+dragged her wet and weary feet across the little bridge and went
+up to the inn-door.
+
+She stood for a moment at the entrance dazzled by the effect of
+the light on her eyes, which were smarting with the fog. She
+found herself looking into a long, narrow, taproom, smelling of
+stale beer and tobacco fumes, and lit by oil lamps suspended in
+wire frames from the raftered ceiling. The windows were curtained
+in cheerful red rep and the place was pleasantly warmed by a
+stove in one corner. By the stove was a small door apparently
+leading into the bar, for beside it was a window through which
+Barbara caught a glimpse of beer-engines and rows of bottles.
+Opposite the doorway in which she stood was another door leading
+probably to the back of the house. Down the centre of the room
+ran a long table.
+
+The tap-room was empty when Barbara entered but as she sat down
+at the table, the door opposite opened, and a short,
+foreign-looking woman came out. She stepped dead on seeing the
+girl: Her face seemed familiar to Barbara.
+
+"Good evening" said the latter, "I've lost my way in the fog and
+I'm very wet. Do you think I could have my shoes and stockings
+dried and get some tea? I..."
+
+"A moment! I go to tell Meester Rass," said the woman with a very
+marked foreign accent and in a frightened kind of voice and
+slipped out by the way she came.
+
+"Where have I met that woman before?" Barbara asked herself, as
+she crossed to tile stove to get warm. The woman's face seemed to
+be connected in her mind with something unpleasant, something she
+wanted to forget. Then a light dawned on her. Why, it was...
+
+A shrill cry broke in upon her meditations, a harsh scream of
+rage. Barbara turned quickly and saw Nur-el-Din standing in the
+centre of the room. She was transfigured with passion. Her whole
+body quivered, her nostrils were dilated, her eyes flashed fire,
+and she pointed an accusing finger at Barbara.
+
+"Ah! miserable!" she cried in a voice strangled with rage, "ah!
+miserable! Te voile enrol."
+
+A cold chill struck at Barbara's heart. Wherever she went, the
+hideous spectre of the tragedy of her father seemed to follow
+her. And now Nur-el-Din had come to upbraid her with losing the
+treasure she had entrusted to her.
+
+"Nur-el-Din," the girl faltered in a voice broken with tears.
+
+"Where is it I Where is the silver box I gave into your charge?
+Answer me. Mais reponds, donc, canaille!"
+
+The dancer stamped furiously with her foot and advanced
+menacingly on Barbara.
+
+An undersized; yellow-faced man came quickly out of the small
+door leading from the bar and stood an instant, a helpless
+witness of the scene, as men are when women quarrel.
+
+Nur-el-Din rapped out an order to him in a tongue which was
+unknown to Barbara. It sounded something like Russian. The man
+turned and locked the door of the bar, then stepped swiftly
+across the room and bolted the outer door.
+
+Barbara recognized the threat that the action implied and it
+served to steady her nerves. She shrank back no longer but drew
+herself up and waited calmly for the dancer to reach her.
+
+"The box you gave me," said Barbara very quietly, "was stolen
+from me by the person who... who murdered my father!"
+
+Nur-el-Din burst into a peal of malicious laughter.
+
+"And you?" she cried, "you are 'ere to sell it back to me, hein,
+or to get your blood money from your accomplice? Which is it?"
+
+On this Barbara's self-control abandoned her.
+
+"Oh, how dare you! How dare you!" she exclaimed, bursting into
+tears, "when that wretched box you made me take was the means of
+my losing the dearest friend I ever had!"
+
+Nur-el-Din thrust her face, distorted with passion, into
+Barbara's. She spoke in rapid French, in a low, menacing voice.
+
+"Do you think this play-acting will deceive me? Do you think I
+don't know the value of the treasure I was fool enough to entrust
+to your safe keeping? Grand Dieu! I must have been mad not to
+have remembered that no woman could resist the price that they
+were willing to pay for it! And to think what I have risked for
+it! Is all my sacrifice to have been in vain?"
+
+Her voice rose to a note of pleading and the tears started from
+her eyes. Her mood changed. She began to wheedle.
+
+"Come, ma petite, you will help me recover my little box,
+n'est-ce pas? You will find me generous. And I am rich, I have
+great savings. I can..."
+
+Barbara put up her hands and pushed the dancer away from her.
+
+"After what you have said to me to-night," she said, "I wouldn't
+give you back your box even if I had it."
+
+She turned to the man.
+
+"Will you tell me the way to the nearest station" she went on,
+"and kindly open that door!"
+
+The man looked interrogatively at Nur-el-Din who spoke a few
+words rapidly in the language she had used before. Then she cried
+to Barbara:
+
+"You stay here until you tell me what you have done with the
+box!"
+
+Barbara had turned to the dancer when the latter spoke so that
+she did not notice that the man had moved stealthily towards her.
+Before she could struggle or cry out, a hand as big as a spade
+was clapped over her mouth, she was seized in an iron grip and
+half-dragged, half-carried out of the taproom through the small
+door opposite the front entrance.
+
+The door slammed behind them and Barbara found herself in
+darkness. She was pushed round a corner and down a flight of
+stairs into some kind of cellar which smelt of damp straw. Here
+the grip on her mouth was released for a second but before she
+could utter more than a muffled cry the man thrust a handkerchief
+into her mouth and effectually gagged her. Then he tied her hands
+and feet together with some narrow ropes that cut her wrists
+horribly. He seemed to be able to see in the dark for, though the
+place was black as pitch, he worked swiftly and skillfully.
+Barbara felt herself lifted and deposited on a bundle of straw.
+In a little she heard the man's heavy foot-step on the stair,
+there was a crash as of a trap-door falling to, the noise of a
+bolt. Then Barbara fainted.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XV. MR. BELLWARD IS CALLED TO THE TELEPHONE
+
+A knocking at the door of the library aroused Desmond from his
+cogitations. He hastened to replace the volumes of Shakespeare on
+their shelf and restore all to its former appearance. Then he
+went to the door and opened it. Old Martha stood in the hall.
+
+"If you please, sir," she wheezed, "the doctor's come!"
+
+"Oh," said Desmond, rather puzzled, "what doctor?"
+
+"It's not Dr. Haines from the village, Mr. Bellward, sir," said
+the housekeeper, "It's a genel'man from Lunnon!"
+
+Then Desmond remembered Crook's promise to look him up and
+guessed it must be he. He bade Martha show the doctor in and
+bring tea for two.
+
+Desmond's surmise was right. The old woman ushered in Crook,
+looking the very pattern of medical respectability, with Harley
+Street written all over him from the crown of his glossy top-hat
+to the neat brown spats on his feet. In his hand he carried a
+small black bag.
+
+"Well," he said, surveying Desmond, "and how do we find ourselves
+to-day? These chills are nasty things to shake off, my dear sir!"
+
+"Oh, stow that!" growled Desmond, who was in little mood for
+joking.
+
+"Voice inclined to be laryngeal," said Crook putting down his hat
+and bag on a chair, "we shall have to take care of our bronchial
+tubes! We are not so young as we were!"
+
+"You can drop all that mumming, Crook!" snapped Desmond
+irascibly.
+
+"Voice rotten," replied Crook calmly surveying him through his
+pince-nez. "Really, Major--I should say, Mr. Bellward--you must
+take more pains than that. You are talking to me exactly as
+though I were a British Tommy. Tut, tut, this will never do, sir!
+You must talk thicker, more guttural-like, and open the vowels
+well."
+
+He had dropped his jesting manner altogether and spoke with the
+deep earnestness of the expert airing his pet topic. He was so
+serious that Desmond burst out laughing. It must be said,
+however, that he laughed as much like a German as he knew how.
+This appeared to mollify Crook who, nevertheless, read him a long
+lecture against ever, for a moment, even when alone, quitting the
+role he was playing. Desmond took it in good part; for he knew
+the soundness of the other's advice.
+
+Then old Martha brought' tea, and over the cups and saucers Crook
+gave Desmond a budget of news. He told of the warrant issued for
+the arrest of Nur-el-Din and of the search being made for her.
+
+Desmond heard the news of Nur-el-Din's disappearance from London
+with some consternation. He began to realize that his failure to
+detain Nur-el-Din that afternoon might have incalculable
+consequences. Sunk in thought, he let Crook run on. He was
+wondering whether he ought to give him a message for the Chief,
+telling him of Nur-el-Din's visit and of her flight on the
+arrival of Mortimer.
+
+Now, Desmond had a good deal of pride, and like most proud
+people, he was inclined to be obstinate. To confess to the Chief
+that he had let both Nur-el-Din and Mortimer slip through his
+fingers was more than he could face. He could not bear to think
+that the Chief might believe him capable of failure, and take
+independent measures to guard against possible mistakes. Also, in
+his heart of hearts, Desmond was angry with the Chief. He thought
+the latter had acted precipitately in getting out a warrant for
+Nur-el-Din's arrest before he, Desmond, had had time to get into
+the skin of his part.
+
+So Desmond heard Crook out and made no comment. When the other
+asked him if he had anything to tell the Chief, he shook his
+head. He was not to know then the consequences which his
+disobedience of orders was destined to have. If he had realized
+what the result of his obstinacy would be, he would not have
+hesitated to send a full report by Crook--and this story might
+never have been written!
+
+But if youth followed reason instead of impulse, the world would
+stand still. Desmond was still at an age at which a man is
+willing to take on anything and anybody, and he was confident of
+bringing his mission to a successful conclusion without any
+extraneous aid. So Crook, after changing Desmond's make-up and
+giving him a further rehearsal of his role, packed up his pots
+and paints and brushes in his black bag and returned to London
+with "nothing to report" as the communiques say.
+
+He repeated his visit every day for the next four days. Crook's
+arrival each afternoon was the only break in the monotony of a
+life which was rapidly becoming unbearable to Desmond's mercurial
+temperament. He found himself looking forward to the wizened
+little man's visits and for want of better employment, he threw
+himself wholeheartedly into the study of his role under the
+expert's able direction. Desmond's beard had sprouted
+wonderfully, and Crook assured him that, by about the end of the
+week, the tow substitute, which Desmond found a most unmitigated
+nuisance, would be no longer necessary. He also showed his pupil
+how to paint in the few deft lines about the eyes which completed
+the resemblance between Bellward and his impersonator.
+
+The time hung terribly heavily on Desmond's hands. He had long
+since memorized and destroyed the list of Mr. Bellward's friends.
+Every morning he spent at least an hour before the mirror in his
+bedroom working up the role. With every day he felt more
+confident of himself; with every day he grew more anxious to go
+to London, and, taking the bull by the horns, boldly visit one of
+Mr. Bellward's acquaintances and test the effect of his disguise.
+
+But no orders came from Headquarters to release him from his
+confinement. Moreover, no word arrived from Nur-el-Din nor did
+Mortimer send any message or call again at the Mill House. The
+silence of the two conspirators made Desmond uneasy. Suppose
+Mortimer, who, he felt sure, had caught him out lying about
+Nur-el-Din's presence in the house at the time of his visit, had
+grown suspicious! What if Nur-el-Din had succeeded in making good
+her escape to the Continent? He had had his chance of laying hold
+of both suspects and he had failed. Would that chance come again?
+
+Desmond doubted it. Every morning he awoke long before the dawn
+and lay awake until daylight, his mind racked by these
+apprehensions. He chafed bitterly at his inaction and he plied
+Crook with questions as to whether he had any orders for him.
+Each time Crook replied in the negative.
+
+In the library Desmond found an Ordnance map of Essex. His
+military training had given him a good schooling in the use of
+maps, and he spent many hours studying the section of the country
+about the Mill House, seeking to impress it upon his mind against
+future emergencies.
+
+He was surprised to find how remote the Mill House lay from other
+habitations. Between it and Wentfield station, once Wentfield
+village was passed, there were only a few lonely farms; but to
+the south there was an absolutely uninhabited tract of fen
+traversed by the road running past the front gate of the Mill
+House. The Mill House was duly marked on the map; with a little
+blue line showing the millrace which Desmond traced to its
+junction with one of the broad dykes intersecting Morstead Fen.
+The only inhabited house to the south of the Bellward villa
+appeared to be a lonely public house situated on the far edge of
+the fen, a couple of hundred yards away from the road. It was
+called "The Dyke Inn."
+
+One afternoon--it was the fifth day after Desmond's arrival at
+Bellward's--Mr. Crook announced that this was to be his last
+visit.
+
+"I go abroad to-night, Mr. Bellward," he said (he always insisted
+on addressing Desmond by his assumed name), "a little job o' work
+in Switzerland; at Berne, to be precise. Urgent, you might call
+it, and really, sir, you've made so much progress that I think I
+can safely leave you. And I was to say that you will be able to
+go out very soon now."
+
+"Good!" exclaimed Desmond, rubbing his hands together. "And you
+think I'll do, Crook, eh?"
+
+Crook rubbed his nose meditatively.
+
+"I'll be quite frank with you, Mr. Bellward," he said: "With a
+superficial acquaintance, even with an intimate friend, if he's
+as unobservant as most people are, you'll pass muster. But I
+shouldn't like to guarantee anything if you were to meet, say,
+Mrs. Bellward, if the gentleman has got a wife, or his mother.
+Keep out of a strong light; don't show your profile more than you
+can help, and remember that a woman is a heap more observant than
+a man.
+
+"That's my advice to you, sir. And now I'll take my leave! You
+won't want that tow beard any more after to-day."
+
+That night Desmond slept well and did not awake until the
+sunshine was streaming in between the Venetian blinds in his
+bedroom. He felt keen and vigorous, and he had an odd feeling
+that something was going to happen to him that day.
+
+It was a delicious morning, the air as balmy as spring. As he
+brushed his hair in front of the window, Desmond saw the peewits
+running about in the sunshine on the fields by the road. He made
+an excellent breakfast and then, lighting a pipe, opened the
+Times which lay folded by his plate.
+
+He turned first, as was his daily habit, to the casualty list.
+There it was! Under the names of the "Killed in Action," he read:
+"Okewood, Major D. J. P.," followed by the name of his regiment.
+It gave him an odd little shock, though he had looked for the
+announcement every day; but the feeling of surprise was quickly
+followed by one of relief. That brief line in the casualty list
+meant the severing of all the old ties until he had hunted down
+his quarry.
+
+Now he was ready to start.
+
+He spent the morning in the garden. Here, for the first time, he
+met Mr. Hill, the odd man, who, on seeing him, became intensely
+busy picking up handfuls of leaves and conveying them to a fire
+which was smouldering in a corner. Desmond essayed to enter into
+conversation with him but the man was so impenetrably deaf that
+Desmond, tiring of bawling, "It's a fine day!" in Mr. Hill's ear,
+left him and strolled over to the shed where the motor-cycle was
+stored. Here he amused himself for more than an hour in taking
+the machine to pieces and putting it together again. He satisfied
+himself that the bike was in working order and filled up the
+tank. He had an idea that this means of conveyance might come in
+useful.
+
+The day was so mild that he lunched by the open window with the
+sunshine casting rainbows can the tablecloth through the
+wine-glasses. He was just finishing his coffee when the
+housekeeper came in and told him he was wanted on the telephone.
+
+Desmond sprang from his chair with alacrity. His marching orders
+at last! he thought, as he hurried across the hall to the
+library.
+
+"Hullo!" he cried as he picked up the receiver.
+
+"Is that Mr. Bellward?" answered a nasal voice.
+
+"Bellward speaking!" said Desmond, wondering who had called him
+up. The voice was a man's but it was not the abrupt clear tones
+of the Chief nor yet Mr. Matthews' careful accents.
+
+"Madame Le Bon wishes to see you!"
+
+Madame Le Bon? thought Desmond. Why, that was the name that
+Nur-el-Din had given him. "I am Madame Le Bon, a Belgian
+refugee," she had said.
+
+"Do you know whom I mean?" the voice continued.
+
+"Certainly," replied Desmond.  "You will come alone. Otherwise,
+Madame will not see you. You understand? If you do not come
+alone, you will waste your time!"
+
+"Where are you speaking from?" Desmond asked.
+
+"If you will turn to the left on leaving your front gate," the
+voice resumed, "and follow the road, a messenger will meet you
+and take you to the lady."
+
+"But..." Desmond began.
+
+"Will you come at once? And alone?" the nasal voice broke in
+sharply.
+
+Desmond took a moment's thought. To go was to disobey orders; not
+to go was to risk losing a second chance of meeting Nur-el-Din.
+To telephone to 700 Stanning for assistance would bring a
+hornets' nest about his ears; yet he might only see the dancer if
+he went alone. He lost no time in making up his mind. The Chief
+must allow him latitude for meeting emergencies of this kind. He
+would go.
+
+"I will come at once," said Desmond.
+
+"Good," said the voice and the communication ceased.
+
+Somewhere aloft there sits a sweet little cherub whose especial
+job is to look after the headstrong. It was doubtless this
+emissary of providence that leant down from his celestial seat
+and whispered in Desmond's ear that it would be delightful to
+walk out across the fen on this sunny afternoon. Desmond was in
+the act of debating whether he would not take the motor-bike, but
+the cherub's winning way clinched it and he plumped for walking.
+
+In the hall he met the housekeeper who told him she wanted to go
+into Stanning to do some shopping that afternoon. Desmond told
+her that he himself was going out and would not be back for tea.
+Then, picking a stout blackthorn out of the hallstand, he strode
+down the drive and out into the road.
+
+It was still beautifully fine, but already the golden sunshine
+was waning and there were little wisps and curls of mist stealing
+low along the fields. Desmond turned to the left, on leaving the
+Mill House, as he was bid and saw the road running like a khaki
+ribbon before him into the misty distance.
+
+Swinging his stick, he strode on rapidly. The road was neglected,
+broken and flinty and very soft. After he had gone about a mile
+it narrowed to pursue its way between two broad ditches lined
+with pollard willows and brimful of brown peaty water. By this
+time he judged, from his recollection of the map, that he must be
+on Morstead Fen. An interminable waste of sodden, emerald green
+fields, intersected by ditches, stretched away on either hand.
+
+He had walked for half an hour when he made out in the distance a
+clump of trees standing apart and seemingly in the middle of the
+fields. Then in the foreground he descried a gate. A figure was
+standing by it.
+
+As he approached the gate he saw it was a small boy. On remarking
+the stranger, the urchin opened the gate and without looking to
+right or left led off down the road towards the clump of trees:
+Desmond followed at his leisure.
+
+As they neared the trees, the low red roof of a house detached
+itself. By this time the sun was sinking in a smear of red across
+a delicately tinted sky. Its dying rays held some glittering
+object high up on the side of the house.
+
+At first Desmond thought it was a window, but presently the light
+went out, kindled again and once more vanished. It was too small
+for a window, Desmond decided, and then, turning the matter over
+in his mind, as observant people are accustomed to do even with
+trifles, he suddenly realized that the light he had seen was the
+reflection of the sun on a telescope or glasses.
+
+They were now within a few hundred yards of the house. The road
+had made a right angle turn to the left, but the diminutive guide
+had quitted it and struck out along a very muddy cart track.
+Shading his eyes, Desmond gazed at the house and presently got a
+glimpse of a figure at a window surveying the road through a pair
+of field glasses. Even as he looked, the figure bobbed down and
+did not reappear.
+
+"They want to be sure I'm alone," thought Desmond, and
+congratulated himself on having had the strength of mind to break
+his orders.
+
+The cart-track led up to a little bridge over a ditch. By the
+bridge stood a tall pole, on the top of which was a blue and gold
+painted sign-board inscribed, "The Dyke Inn by J. Rass." The
+urchin led him across the bridge and up to the door of the inn.
+
+An undersized, yellow-faced man, wearing neither collar nor tie,
+came to the door as they approached. Although of short stature,
+he was immensely broad with singularly long arms. Altogether he
+had something of the figure of a gorilla, Desmond thought on
+looking at him.
+
+The man put a finger up and touched his forelock.
+
+"Madame Le Bon is upstairs waiting for you!" he said in a nasal
+voice which Desmond recognized as that he had heard on the
+telephone. "Please to follow me!"
+
+He led the way across a long low tap-room through a door and past
+the open trap-door of a cellar to a staircase. On the first
+landing, lit by a window looking out on a dreary expanse of fen,
+he halted Desmond.
+
+"That's her room," he said, pointing to a door opposite the head
+of the staircase, half a dozen steps up, and so saying, the
+yellow-faced man walked quickly downstairs and left him. Desmond
+heard his feet echo on the staircase and the door of the tap-room
+slam.
+
+He hesitated a moment. What if this were a trap? Suppose
+Mortimer, growing suspicious, had made use of Nur-el-Din to lure
+him to an ambush in this lonely place? Why the devil hadn't he
+brought a revolver with him?
+
+Then Desmond's Irish blood came to his rescue. He gave his head a
+little shake, took a firm hold of his stick which was a stoutish
+sort of cudgel and striding boldly up to the door indicated,
+tapped.
+
+"Entrez!" said a pretty voice that made Desmond's heart flutter.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVI. THE STAR OF POLAND
+
+The room in which Desmond found Nur-el-Din was obviously the
+parlor of the house. Everything in it spoke of that dreary period
+in art, the middle years of the reign of Victoria the Good. The
+wall-paper, much mildewed in places, was an ugly shade of green
+and there were dusty and faded red curtains at the windows and
+draping the fireplace. Down one side of the room ran a hideous
+mahogany sideboard, almost as big as a railway station buffet,
+with a very dirty tablecloth. The chairs were of mahogany,
+upholstered in worn black horsehair and there were two pairs of
+fly-blown steel engravings of the largest size on the wall. In
+the centre of the apartment stood a small round table, covered
+with a much stained red tablecloth and there was a door in the
+corner.
+
+The dainty beauty of Nur-el-Din made a very forlorn picture amid
+the unmatched savagery of this English interior. The dancer, who
+was wearing the same becoming gray tweed suit in which Desmond
+had last seen her, was sitting sorrowfully at the table when
+Desmond entered. At the sight of him she sprang up and ran to
+meet him with outstretched hands.
+
+"Ah!" she cried, "comme je suis heureuse de vows voir! It is good
+of you to come!"
+
+And then, without any warning, she burst into tears and putting
+her hands on the man's shoulders, hid her head against his chest
+and sobbed bitterly.
+
+Desmond took one of her hands, small and soft and warm, and
+gently disengaged her. His mind was working clearly and rapidly.
+He felt sure of himself, sure of his disguise; if this were an
+exhibition of woman's wiles, it would find him proof; on that he
+was resolved. Yet, dissolved in tears as she was, with her long
+lashes glistening and her mouth twitching pitifully, the dancer
+seemed to touch a chord deep down in his heart.
+
+"Come, come," said Desmond gutturally, with a touch of bonhomie
+in his voice in keeping with his ample girth, "you mustn't give
+way like this, my child! What's amiss? Come, sit down here and
+tell me what's the matter."
+
+He made her resume her seat by the table and pulled up one of the
+horsehair chairs for himself. Nur-el-Din wiped her eyes on a tiny
+lace handkerchief, but continued to sob and shudder at intervals.
+
+"Marie, my maid," she said in French in a broken voice, "joined
+me here to-day. She has told me of this dreadful murder!"
+
+Desmond stiffened to attention. His mind swiftly reverted to the
+last woman he had seen cry, to Barbara Mackwayte discovering the
+loss of the package entrusted to her charge by the woman who sat
+before him.
+
+"What murder?" he asked, striving to banish any trace of interest
+from his voice. He loathed the part he had to play. The dancer's
+distress struck him as genuine.
+
+"The murder of Monsieur Mackwayte," said Nur-el-Din, and her
+tears broke forth anew.
+
+"I have read of this in the newspapers," said Desmond. "I
+remember you told me he was a friend of yours."
+
+Briefly, with many sobs, the dancer told him of the silver box
+which she had entrusted to Barbara Mackwayte's charge.
+
+"And now," she sobbed, "it is lost and all my sacrifice, all my
+precautions, have been in vain!"
+
+"But how?" asked Desmond. "Why should you think this box should
+have been taken? From what I remember reading of this case in the
+English newspapers there was a burglary at the house, but the
+thief has been arrested and the property restored. You have only
+to ask this Miss--what was the name? ah! yes, Mackwayte for your
+box and she will restore it!"
+
+"No, no!" Nur-el-Din answered wearily, "you don't understand.
+This was no burglary. The man who murdered Monsieur Arthur
+murdered him to get my silver box."
+
+"But," objected Desmond, "a silver box! What value has a trifling
+object like that? My dear young lady, murder is not done for a
+silver box!"
+
+"No, no," Nur-el-Din repeated, "you don't understand! You don't
+know what that box contained!"
+
+Then she relapsed into silence, plucking idly at the shred of
+cambric she held between her fingers.
+
+Already dusk was falling and the room was full of shadows. The
+golden radiance of the afternoon had died and eerie wraiths of
+fog were peering-in at the window.
+
+Desmond held his peace. He felt he was on the threshold of a
+confession that might rend the veil of mystery surrounding the
+murder at Seven Kings. He stared fixedly at the ugly red
+tablecloth, conscious that the big eyes of the girl were
+searching his face.
+
+"You have honest eyes," she said presently. "I told you that once
+before... that night we met.at your house... do you remember?
+Your eyes are English. But you are a German, hein?"
+
+"My mother was Irish," said Desmond and felt a momentary relief
+that, for once, he had been able to speak the truth.
+
+"I want a friend," the girl resumed wearily, "someone that I can
+trust. But I look around and I find no one. You serve the German
+Empire, do you not?"
+
+Desmond bowed.
+
+"But not the House of Hohenzollern?" the girl cried, her voice
+trembling with passion.
+
+"I am not of the Emperor's personal service, if that is what you
+mean, madame," Desmond returned coldly.
+
+"Then, since you are not altogether an iron Prussian," Nur-el-Din
+resumed eagerly, "you can differentiate. You can understand that
+there is a difference between working for the cause of Germany
+and for the personal business of her princes."
+
+"But certainly," answered Desmond, "I am not an errand boy nor
+yet a detective. I regard myself as a German officer doing his
+duty on the front. We have many fronts besides the Western and
+the Eastern. England is one.
+
+"Ah," exclaimed the girl, clasping her hands together and looking
+at him with enraptured eyes, "I see you understand! My friend, I
+am much tempted to make a confidant of you!"
+
+Desmond looked at her but did not speak. Again he felt that
+silence was now his only role. He tried hard to fix his mind on
+his duty; but the man in him was occupied with the woman who
+looked so appealingly at him.
+
+"... but if I do," the girl went on and her voice was hurried and
+anxious, "you must swear to me that you will respect my
+confidence, that you will not betray me to the others and that
+you will, if need be, protect me."
+
+Seeing that Desmond remained silent, she hastened to add:
+
+"Believe me, what I ask you to do is not in opposition to your
+duty. My friend, for all my surroundings, I am not what I seem.
+Pate has drawn me into the system of which you form part; but,
+believe me, I know nothing of the service to which you and
+Mortimer and the rest belong!"
+
+She spoke with painful earnestness and in a tone so mournful that
+Desmond felt himself profoundly moved. "If only she is not
+acting!" he thought, and sought to shake himself free from the
+spell which this girl seemed able to cast about him at will.
+
+"Promise me that you will respect my confidence and help me!" she
+said and held out her hand.
+
+Desmond's big hand closed about hers and he felt an odd thrill of
+sympathy with her as their hands met.
+
+"I promise!" he said and murmured to himself something very like
+a prayer that he might not be called upon to redeem his word.
+
+She let her eyes rest for a moment on his.
+
+"Be careful!" she urged warningly, while the ghost of a smile
+flitted across her face. "Very soon I may call upon you to make
+good your words!"
+
+"I promise!" he repeated--and his eyes never left hers.
+
+"Then," she cried passionately, "find out who has stolen for the
+Crown Prince the Star of Poland at the price of the life of a
+harmless old man!"
+
+"The Star of Poland!" repeated Desmond. "What is the Star of
+Poland"
+
+The girl drew herself up proudly and there was a certain dignity
+about her manner as she answered.
+
+"I am a Pole," she said, "and to us Poles, the Star of Poland has
+stood for centuries as a pledge of the restoration of our
+long-lost kingdom. It was the principal jewel of the Polish
+Coronation sword which vanished many hundreds of years ago--in
+the thirteenth century, one of my compatriots once told me--and
+it was one of the most treasured national possessions in the
+Chateau of our great king, John Sobieski at Villanoff, outside
+Warsaw. My friend, I am not religious, and since my childhood I
+have renounced the ancient faith of my fathers, but, when I think
+of the extraordinary chain of circumstances by which this
+treasure came into my possession, I almost believe that God has
+chosen me to restore this gem to the King of an independent
+Poland.
+
+"Four years ago I was in the United States, a very humble dancer
+in vaudeville of the third or fourth class. When I was appearing
+at Columbus, Ohio, I met a German, a man who had been an officer
+in the Prussian Guard but had come to grief and had been forced
+to emigrate.
+
+"This man's name was Hans von Schornbeek. Like so many German
+officers who go to America, in his time he had been
+everything--waiter, lift-man, engine-driver and heaven knows what
+else, but when I met him he was apparently well-off. It was only
+later on that I knew he was one of your principal secret agents
+in America.
+
+"He praised my talents highly and offered to furnish the capital
+to start me as an Oriental dancer with a large company of my own.
+There was only one condition attaching to his offer, a condition,
+ma foi! which was not disagreeable to me. It was that, after six
+months tour in the States and Canada, I should go to Brussels and
+settle down there in a house that Herr von Schornbeek would
+present me with.
+
+"Mon ami, in those days, I understood nothing at all of
+diplomacy. I knew only that I was often hungry and that I had a
+little talent which, were it given a chance, might keep me from
+want. Herr von Schornbeek fulfilled his promises to me. I had my
+company, I did my tour of America and Canada with great success
+and finally I came to Europe and made my debut at Brussels.
+
+"I knew Brussels already from the old days. As a half-starved,
+unhappy child with a troupe of acrobats, I had often appeared
+there. But now I came to Brussels as a conqueror. A beautiful
+villa in the suburb of Laeken was ready to receive me and I found
+that a large credit had been opened in my name at one of the
+principal banks so that I could keep open house.
+
+"I think I scarcely realized then the role that I was destined to
+fill by the German Secret Service. In all my life before, I had
+never been happy, I had never ceased to struggle for my bare
+existence, I had never had pretty clothes to wear, and motor-cars
+and servants of my own."
+
+She paused and glanced around her. The room was almost dark; the
+fog outside hung like a veil before the window.
+
+"Light the lamp!" she begged, "I do not like the dark!"
+
+Desmond struck a match and kindled an oil lamp, which stood on
+the sideboard.
+
+"Ah! my friend," the girl resumed. "I took my fill of life with
+both hands. The year was 1913. Now I know that I was one of the
+German agents for the penetration of Belgium in preparation of
+what was coming. My mission was to make friends among the
+Belgians and the French and the cosmopolitan society of Brussels
+generally, and invite them to my house where your people were
+waiting to deal with them.
+
+"My pretty villa became the rendezvous for half the rascals of
+Europe, men and women, who used to meet there with all kinds of
+mysterious Germans. Sometimes there was a scandal. Once a Belgian
+Colonel was found shot in the billiard-room; they said it was
+suicide and the thing was hushed up, but dame! now that I know
+what I know...
+
+"Enfin! I shut my eyes to it all... it was none of my business...
+and I revelled in my robes, my dancing, my new life of luxury!
+
+"And then the war came. I was at Laeken, resting after a visit to
+Rome. There was a lot of talk about the war amongst the people
+who came to my house, but I did not see how it could affect me,
+an artiste, and I never read the newspapers. My German friends
+assured me that, in a little while, the German army would be at
+Brussels; that, if I remained quietly at home, all would be well.
+They were very elated and confident, these German friends of
+mine. And rightly; for within a few weeks the Germans entered the
+city and a General quartered himself in my villa. It was he who
+brought the Crown Prince to see me.
+
+"Mon cher, you know this young man and his reputation. I am not
+excusing myself; but all my life had been spent up to then in the
+bas-fonds of society. I had never known what it was to be courted
+and admired by one who had the world at his feet. Parbleu! one
+does not meet a future Emperor every day!
+
+"Enfin! the Prince carried me with him back to Metz, where he had
+his headquarters. He was very epris with me, but you know his
+temperament! No woman can hold him for more than a few weeks,
+vain and weak and arrogant as he is. But pardon! I was forgetting
+that you are a good German. I fear I offend your
+susceptibilities..."
+
+Desmond laughed drily.
+
+"Madame," he said, "I hope I have preserved sufficient liberty of
+judgment to have formed my own opinion about our future
+sovereign. Most Germans have..."
+
+"Alors," she broke in fiercely, her voice shaking with passion,
+"you know what an ignoble canaille is this young man, without
+even enough decency of feeling to respect the troops of whom he
+has demanded such bloody sacrifices. At Metz we were near enough
+to the fighting to realize the blood and tears of this war. But
+the Prince thought of nothing, but his own amusement. To live as
+he did, within sound of the guns, with parties every night, women
+and dancing and roulette and champagne suppers--bah! c'etait trop
+fort! It awakened in me the love of country which lies dormant in
+all of us. I wanted to help my country, lest I might sink as low
+as he..."
+
+"One day the Prince brought a young officer friend of his to dine
+with me. This officer had come from the Eastern front and had
+been present at the capture of Warsaw. After dinner he took a
+leather case out of his pocket and said to the Prince: "I have
+brought your Imperial Highness a little souvenir from Poland!" As
+he spoke he touched a spring and the case flew open, displaying
+an enormous diamond, nearly as big as the great Orloff diamond
+which I have seen at Petrograd, surrounded by five other
+brilliants, the whole set like a star.
+
+"'The Star of Poland,' said the young officer (the Prince called
+him 'Erich;' I never heard his full name), 'it comes from the
+long-lost Coronation sword of the Polish kings. I took it for
+your Imperial Highness from the Chateau of John Sobieski at
+Villanoff.
+
+"I could not take my eyes off the gem. As the Prince held it down
+under the lamp to study it, it shone like an electric light. I
+had met many of my fellow countrymen in America and I had often
+heard of this jewel, famous in our unhappy history.
+
+"The Prince, who was gay with champagne, laughed and said:
+
+"'These lousy Poles will have no further use for this pretty
+trinket, thanks to our stout German blows, will they, Erich?'
+
+"And his friend replied:
+
+"'We'll give them a nice new German constitution instead, your
+Imperial Highness!'
+
+"The Prince, as I have said, was very merry that night. He let me
+take the jewel from its case and hold it in my hands. Then I
+fastened it in my hair before the mirror and turned to show
+myself to the Prince and his companion.
+
+"'Donnerwetter! said Willie. 'It looks wonderful in your hair,
+Marcelle!'
+
+"Then, as if struck by a sudden thought, he cried:
+
+"'Erich! What do you say, Marcelle is a Pole. She shall have the
+Star of Poland and wear it in memory of me!'
+
+"The other thought this a famous idea, and so the jewel passed
+into my hands. That same evening I resolved that it should be a
+sacred duty on my part to keep it in safety until I could hand it
+back to the lawful sovereign of an independent Poland.
+
+"I was very unhappy at Metz until the Star of Poland came to
+comfort me. When I was alone, I used to take it from its case and
+feast my eyes upon it. I made many attempts to get away, but the
+Prince would never let me go, though he had long since tired of
+me and I was merely one of his harem of women. Pfui!"
+
+She gave an exclamation of disgust.
+
+"It was the Crown Princess who eventually came to my rescue," she
+continued. "Long-suffering wife as she is, the stories that came
+to her ears from Metz were such that she went to the Emperor and
+declared that she would insist upon a divorce. There was a great
+scandal. The Prince's headquarters were moved and at length I got
+my release.
+
+"I had no money. This was a detail which the Prince overlooked.
+But I wanted to resume my stage work, so, with great difficulty,
+through the influence of the Prince, I obtained a passport to
+Holland and from there got across to England.
+
+"I had hoped to turn my back once and for all on my connection
+with the Prince. But your German Secret Service had been warned
+about me. The Imperial Authorities were obviously afraid that I
+might tell tales out of school. Scarcely had I arrived in London
+when a man who called himself Bryan Mowbury, but who looked and
+spoke like a German, came to see me and said he had been
+instructed to 'look after me.' What that meant, I was soon to
+discover. In a very few days I found that I was under the
+supervision of your Secret Service here. In fact, Mowbury gave me
+to understand that any indiscretion on my part as to my stay at
+Metz would result in my immediate denunciation to the English
+police as a spy.
+
+"My friend, I had no alternative. I am not German; I am not
+English; I am a Pole. I have good friends in Germany, I have good
+friends in England, and their quarrels are not mine. I held my
+peace about the past and submitted to the incessant watch which
+Mowbury and his friends kept on my movements.
+
+"And then one day I had a letter. It was from Count Plettenbach,
+the Crown Prince's aide-de-camp, as I knew by the hand-writing,
+for it was signed with an assumed name. In this letter the Count,
+'on behalf of a mutual friend,' as he put it, requested me to
+hand back to a certain Mr. Mortimer, his accredited
+representative, 'Erich's present.' There were cogent reasons, it
+was added, for this unusual request.
+
+"I sent no reply to that letter, although an address in
+Switzerland was given to which an answer might be despatched. I
+was resolved, come what may, not to part with the Star of Poland.
+When Mortimer came, five days later, I told him the jewel was not
+mine to hand over, that it was part of the regalia of Poland and
+that I would never give it up.
+
+"Mortimer replied that the German and Austrian Governments had
+decided to restore the independence of Poland, that probably an
+Austrian Archduke would be made king and that it was essential
+that the Star of Poland should be restored in order to include it
+in the regalia for the Coronation. But I knew what this
+Austro-German kingdom of Poland was to be, a serf state with not
+a shadow of that liberty for which every Pole is longing. Since I
+have been in England, I have kept in touch with the Polish
+political organizations in this country. Rass, as he calls
+himself, the landlord of this inn, is one of the most prominent
+of the Polish leaders in England.
+
+"Mortimer reasoned with me in vain and finally went away
+empty-handed. But he did not abandon hope. Four successive
+attempts were made to get the jewel away from me. Twice my
+apartments at the Nineveh Hotel were rifled; once my
+dressing-room at the theatre was entered and searched whilst I
+was on the stage. But I wore the jewel day and night in a little
+bag suspended by a chain from my neck and they never got it from
+me.
+
+"Two days before I came down to your house--it was the day before
+the murder--I was hustled by a group of men as I came out of the
+theatre. Fortunately the stage-door keeper came up unexpectedly
+and the men made off. But the encounter frightened me, and I
+resolved to break my contract with the Palaceum and bury myself
+down here in the country.
+
+"But somehow Mortimer learnt of my intention. The next night--it
+was the night of the murder--he came to the theatre and warned me
+against trying to elude his vigilance by flight. I have never
+forgotten his words.
+
+"'I can afford to wait,' he said, 'for I shall get what I want: I
+always do. But you have chosen to set yourself against me and you
+will bitterly repent it!"
+
+As though the recollection proved too much for her, Nur-el-Din
+broke off her narrative and covered her face with her hands.
+
+"And do you think that Mortimer did this murder?" asked Desmond
+gently.
+
+Wearily the girl raised her head.
+
+"Either he or one of his accomplices, of whom this girl is one!"
+she answered.
+
+"But why not have put the jewel in a bank or one of the safe
+deposits? Surely it was risky to have entrusted it to a girl of
+whom you knew nothing"
+
+"My friend,", said the dancer, "I was desperate. Mortimer sees
+and knows all. This unexpected meeting with the daughter of my
+old friend seemed at the moment like a heaven-sent chance to
+place the jewel, unknown to him, in safe hands. I felt that as
+long as I carried it on me, my life was in constant danger. It
+was only to-day, when I heard of the murder, that it dawned on me
+how indiscreet I had been. I might have guessed, since Miss
+Mackwayte knew Mortimer--"
+
+"Miss Mackwayte knows Mortimer?" echoed Desmond in stupefaction.
+
+"But certainly," replied Nur-el-Din. "Was it not I myself--" She
+broke off suddenly with terror in her eyes.
+
+"Ah, no!" she whispered. "It is enough. Already I have said too
+much..."
+
+Desmond was about to speak when the door opened and a
+foreign-looking maid, whom Desmond remembered to have seen in the
+dancer's dressing-room, came in. She went swiftly to her mistress
+and whispered something in her ear.
+
+The dancer sprang to her feet.
+
+"A little moment... you will excuse me..." she cried to Desmond
+and ran from the room. The maid followed her, leaving Desmond
+alone.
+
+Presently, the sound of Nur-el-Din's voice raised high in anger
+struck on his ears. He stole softly to the door and opened it.
+Before him lay the staircase deserted. He tiptoed down the stairs
+to the first landing and listened. The murmur of voices reached
+him indistinctly from the room below. Then he heard Nur-el-Din
+crying out again in anger.
+
+He craned his ear over the well of the staircase, turning his
+face to the window which stood on the landing. The window gave on
+a small yard with a gate over which a lamp was suspended and
+beyond it the fen now swathed in fog. The dancer's maid stood
+beneath the lamp in earnest conversation with a man in rough
+shooting clothes who held a gun under his arm. As Desmond looked
+the man turned his head so that the rays of the lamp fell full
+upon his face. To his unspeakable consternation and amazement,
+Desmond recognized Strangwise.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVII. MR. BELLWARD ARRANGES A BRIDGE EVENING
+
+Oblivious of the voices in the room below, Desmond stood with his
+face pressed against the glass of the window. Was Strangwise
+staying at "The Dyke Inn"? Nothing was more probable; for the
+latter had told him that he was going to spend his leave shooting
+in Essex, and Morstead Fen must abound in snipe and duck.
+
+But he and Strangwise must not meet. Desmond was chary of
+submitting his disguise to the other's keen, shrewd eyes.
+Strangwise knew Nur-el-Din: indeed, the dancer might have come to
+the inn to be with him. If he recognized Desmond and imparted his
+suspicions to the dancer, the game world be up; on the other
+hand, Desmond could not take him aside and disclose his identity;
+for that would be breaking faith with the Chief. There was
+nothing for it, he decided, but flight.
+
+Yet how could he get away unobserved? There was no exit from the
+staircase by the door into the tap-room where Nur-el-Din was, and
+to go through the tap-room was to risk coming face to face with
+Strangwise.
+
+So Desmond remained where he was by the window and watched.
+Presently, the woman turned and began to cross the yard,
+Strangwise, carrying his gun, following her. Desmond waited until
+he heard a door open somewhere below and then he acted.
+
+Beside the window ran an old lead water-pipe which drained the
+roof above his head. On a level with the sill of the landing
+below, this pipe took a sharp turn to the left and ran diagonally
+down to a tall covered-in water-butt that stood on the fiat roof
+of an outhouse in the little yard.
+
+Desmond raised the window very gently and tested the pipe with
+his hand. It seemed rather insecure and shook under his pressure.
+With his eye he measured the distance from the sill to the pipe;
+it was about four feet. Desmond reckoned that, if the pipe would
+hold, by getting out of the window and hanging on to the sill, he
+might, by a pendulum-like motion, gain sufficient impulse to
+swing his legs across the diagonally-running pipe, then transfer
+his hands and so slide down to the outhouse roof.
+
+He wasted no time in debating the chances of the pipe collapsing
+under his weight. All his life it had been his practice to take a
+risk, for such is the Irish temperament--if the object to be
+attained in any way justified it; and he was determined to avoid
+at all costs the chance of a meeting with Strangwise. The latter
+had probably read the name of Okewood in that morning's casualty
+list, but Desmond felt more than ever that he distrusted the man,
+and his continued presence in the neighborhood of Nur-el-Din
+gravely preoccupied him.
+
+He stood a moment by the open window and listened. The murmur of
+voices went on in the taproom, but from another part of the house
+he heard a deep laugh and knew it to be Strangwise's. Trusting to
+Providence that the roof of the outhouse would be out of sight of
+the yard door, Desmond swung his right leg over the window-sill
+and followed it with the other, turning his back on the yard. The
+next moment he was dangling over the side of the house.
+
+Then from the yard below he heard Strangwise call:
+
+"Rufus! Rufus!"
+
+A heavy footstep sounded on the flags. Desmond remained perfectly
+still. The strain on his arms was tremendous. If Strangwise
+should go as far as the gate, so as to get clear of the yard, he
+must infallibly see that figure clinging to the window-sill.
+
+"Where the devil is that doggy" said Strangwise. Then he
+whistled, and called again:
+
+"Rufus! Rufus!"
+
+Desmond made a supreme effort to support the strain on his
+muscles. The veins stood out at his temples and he felt the blood
+singing in his ears. Another minute and he knew he must drop. He
+no longer had the power to swing himself up to the window ledge
+again.
+
+A bark rang out in the courtyard, followed by the patter of feet.
+Desmond heard Strangwise speak to the dog and reenter the house.
+Then silence fell again. With a tremendous effort Desmond swung
+his legs athwart the pipe, gripped it with his right hand, then
+his left, and very gently commenced to let himself down. The pipe
+quivered beneath his weight, but it held fast and in a minute he
+was standing on the roof of the outhouse, cautiously peering
+through the dank fog that hung about the yard.
+
+Screening himself from view behind the tall waterbutt, he
+reconnoitred the back of the inn. The upper part of the house was
+shrouded in darkness, but a broad beam of light from a half-open
+door and a tall window on the ground floor cleft the pall of fog.
+The window showed a snug little bar with Strangwise standing by
+the counter, a glass in his hand. As Desmond watched him, he
+heard a muffled scream from somewhere within the house.
+Strangwise heard it too, for Desmond saw him put his glass down
+on the bar and raise his head sharply. There followed a dull
+crash from the interior of the inn and the next moment the
+yellow-faced man, whom Desmond judged to be Rass, stepped into
+the circle of light inside the window. He said something to
+Strangwise with thumb jerked behind him, whereupon the latter
+clapped him, as though in approval, on the shoulder, and both
+hurried out together.
+
+Puzzled though he was by the scene he had just witnessed, Desmond
+did not dare to tarry longer. The roof of the outhouse was only
+some ten feet from the ground, an easy drop. He let himself
+noiselessly down and landing on his feet without mishap, darted
+out of the yard gate. As he did so, he heard the inn door open
+and Strangwise's voice cry out:
+
+"Who's that?"
+
+But Desmond heeded not. He dashed out upon the fen. Before he had
+gone a dozen paces the fog had swallowed up inn and all. Out of
+the white pall behind him he heard confused shouts as he skirted
+swiftly round the house and reached the road.
+
+Once he had gained the freedom of the highway; Desmond breathed
+again. The dense fog that enveloped him, the hard road beneath
+his feet, gave him a sense of security that he had missed as long
+as he was in the atmosphere of that lonely, sinister place. He
+struck out at a good pace for home, intent upon one thing,
+namely, to send an immediate summons for help to surround the
+Dyke Inn and all within it. Nur-el-Din, it was clear, whether a
+spy or no (and Desmond believed her story), was the only person
+who could throw any light on the mysterious circumstances
+surrounding old Mackwayte's murder. Besides, her arrest would
+safeguard her against further machinations on the part of
+Mortimer, though Desmond suspected that the latter, now that he
+had secured the jewel, would leave the dancer in peace. As for
+Strangwise, it would be for him to explain as best he could his
+continued association with a woman for whose arrest a warrant had
+been issued.
+
+Desmond let himself in with his key. The housekeeper had returned
+and was laying the dinner-table. In the library the curtains were
+drawn and a fire burned brightly in the grate. The room looked
+very snug and cosy by contrast with the raw weather outside.
+
+Desmond shut and locked the door and then went to the telephone
+at the desk. "Ring up 700 Stanning"--he repeated his instructions
+to himself "and ask for Mr. Elias. Assistance'll be with you
+within fifteen minutes afterwards."
+
+By the clock on the mantelpiece it was a quarter to seven. If aid
+arrived promptly, with a car they could be at the Dyke Inn by a
+quarter past seven.
+
+The telephone gave no sign of life. Desmond impatiently jerked
+the receiver hook up and down. This time, at least, he would not
+fail, he told himself. Before he went to bed that night
+Nur-el-Din, her maid, Rass, and if needs be, Strangwise (who
+needed a lesson to teach him discretion), should be in custody.
+
+Still no reply.
+
+"Hullo! Hullo!" cried Desmond, depressing the hook repeatedly.
+"Hullo, Exchange!"
+
+But there was no answer. Then it struck Desmond that the line was
+dead: his ear detected none of that busy whirr which is heard in
+the telephone when one is waiting to get a number.
+
+He spent five minutes in vain attempts to obtain a reply, then
+abandoned the endeavor in disgust.
+
+"I shall have to take the motor-bike and go over to Stunning," he
+said to himself, "how I shall find my way there in this fog, the
+Lord only knows! And I don't know whom to apply to when I get
+there. The police-station, I suppose!"
+
+He unlocked the door and rang for Martha.
+
+"I have to go over to Stunning, Martha," he said, "I will try and
+be back for dinner at eight!"
+
+He had no intention of accompanying the party to the Dyke Inn. He
+must preserve his incognito until Mortimer, the main quarry, had
+been run down.
+
+He filled his case from the box of cigarettes on the table and
+thrust a box of matches into his pocket to light his head-lamp.
+Then, taking a cap from the hat-stand, he opened the front door.
+Even as he did so a big open car slowed down throbbing outside
+the porch. A man sprang out and advanced into the light streaming
+from the front door into the eddying mist. It was Mortimer.
+
+"Fortune," thought Desmond, "has broken her rule. She has given
+me a second chance! "
+
+"Well met, Bellward!" cried Mortimer, blinking at the other
+through his thick glasses. "Tut, tut! What a night! You were
+never going out, I swear."
+
+Already Desmond had decided in his mind the course of action he
+would pursue. For the moment he must let the party at the Dyke
+Inn slide in favor of the bigger catch. He must slip away later
+and have another try at the telephone and if it were still out of
+order, he must endeavor to overpower Mortimer and then go for
+assistance himself. On a night like this it was useless to think
+of employing a half-blind old dolt like Martha to take a message.
+As for the odd man, he lived at Wakefield, and went away at dusk
+every evening.
+
+So Desmond muttered some plausible lie about wanting to have a
+look at the weather and cordially invited Mortimer in.
+
+"You will stay for dinner" he said.
+
+"Gladly," replied the other, sinking with aunt into the settee.
+"And I should be glad if we might dine early."
+
+Desmond raised his eyebrows.
+
+"... Because," Mortimer resumed, "I have ventured to ask a few
+friends round here to... to have an evening at bridge. Doubtless,
+you have cards, eh?"
+
+Desmond pointed to a card-table standing in the corner with
+several packs of cards and markers. Then he rang and told the
+housekeeper that they would dine as soon as possible.
+
+"The coming fortnight," said Mortimer, tucking his napkin into
+his collar as they sat at the dinner table, "is pregnant with
+great events. No less than ten divisions are, I understand, to be
+transferred to the other side. I have waited to communicate with
+you until I had confirmation of this report. But now that the
+matter has been decided, it only remains for us to perfect our
+arrangements for communicating these plans to our friends beyond
+the North Sea. Therefore, I thought a friendly bridge evening at
+the hospitable home of our dear colleague Bellward would be in
+place."
+
+He smiled affably and bent over his soup-plate.
+
+"I shall be delighted to receive our friends," Desmond replied,
+"a glass of sherry?"
+
+"Thank you," said Mortimer.
+
+"I shall have to provide a few refreshments," said Desmond. "May
+I ask how many guests I may expect?"
+
+Mortimer reckoned on his fingers.
+
+"Let's see," he answered, "there's Max, that's one, and Madame
+Malplaquet, that's two. No. 13 and Behrend makes four and myself,
+five!"
+
+"And Madame Nur-el-Din?" queried Desmond innocently, but inwardly
+quaking at his rashness.
+
+Mortimer genially shook a finger at him.
+
+"Sly dog!" he chuckled, "you're one too many for me in that
+quarter, I see! I know all about your tete-a-tete with our
+charming young friend this afternoon!"
+
+Desmond felt the blood rush to his face. He thought of
+Nur-el-Din's words: "Mortimer sees and knows all." He picked up
+his sherry glass and drained it to cover his confusion.
+
+"... It was hardly gallant of you to bolt so suddenly and leave
+the lady!" Mortimer added.
+
+How much did this uncanny creature know?
+
+Without waiting for him to reply, Mortimer went on.
+
+"I suppose she told you a long story of my persecution, eh,
+Bellward? You needn't shake your head. I taxed her with it and
+she admitted as much."
+
+"I had no idea that you were staying at the Dyke Inn!" said
+Desmond at a venture.
+
+"My friend," replied Mortimer, lowering his voice, "your fair
+charmer is showing a decided inclination to make a nuisance of
+herself. I have had to keep an eye on her. It's been a very
+serious inconvenience to my plans, I can assure you. But you
+haven't answered my question. What sent you away in such a hurry
+this afternoon? and in so romantic a fashion? By the window, was
+it not?"
+
+Through sheer apprehension, Desmond was now keyed up to a kind of
+desperate audacity. The truth is sometimes a very effective
+weapon in the game of bluff, and Desmond determined to employ it.
+
+"I saw someone I didn't want to meet," he replied.
+
+"Ah!" said Mortimer, "who was that, I wonder? The Dyke Inn could
+hardly be described as a frequented resort, I imagine!"
+
+The entry of old Martha to change the plates prevented Desmond
+from replying. He used the brief respite to review the situation.
+He would tell Mortimer the truth. They were man to man now and he
+cared nothing even if the other should discover the fraud that
+had been practised upon him. Come what might, Mortimer, dead or
+alive, should be delivered up to justice that night.
+
+The housekeeper left the room and Desmond spoke.
+
+"I saw an officer I knew in the courtyard," he said.
+
+"Oh, Strangwise, I suppose!" said Mortimer carelessly. "There's
+nothing to fear from him, Bellward. He's of the beef and beer and
+no brains stamp of British officer. But how do you know
+Strangwise?"
+
+"I met him at the Nineveh Hotel in town one night," replied
+Desmond. "I don't care about meeting officers, however, and
+that's a fact!"
+
+Mortimer looked at him keenly for a brief instant. "What
+prudence!" he cried. "Bellward, you are the very model of what a
+secret agent should be! This pheasant is delicious!"
+
+He turned the conversation into a different channel but Desmond
+could not forget that brief searching look. His mind was in a
+turmoil of half-digested facts, of semi-completed deductions. He
+wanted to go away somewhere alone and think out this mystery and
+disentangle each separate web of this baffling skein of intrigue.
+
+He must focus his attention on Mortimer and Nur-el-Din. If
+Mortimer and Strangwise were both staying at the Dyke Inn, then
+they were probably acquainted. Strangwise knew Nur-el-Din, too,
+knew her well; for Desmond remembered how familiarly they had
+conversed together that night in the dancer's dressing-room at
+the Palaceum. Strangwise knew Barbara Mackwayte also. Nur-el-Din
+had introduced them, Desmond remembered, on that fateful night
+when he had accompanied Strangwise to the Palaceum. Strange, how
+he was beginning to encounter the man Strangwise at every turn in
+this sinister affair.
+
+And then, with a shock that struck him like a blow in the face,
+Desmond recalled Barbara's parting words to him in the taxi. He
+remembered how she had told him of seeing Nur-el-Din's face in
+the mirror as the dancer was talking to Strangwise that night at
+the Palaceum, and of the look of terror in the girl's eyes.
+Nur-el-Din was terrified of Mortimer; for so much she had
+admitted to Desmond that very afternoon; she was terrified of
+Strangwise, too, it seemed, of this Strangwise who, like
+Mortimer, kept appearing at every stage of this bewildering
+affair. What confession had been on Nur-el-Din's lips when she
+had broken off that afternoon with the cry:
+
+"Already I have said too much!"
+
+Thereafter Desmond's eyes were never long absent from Mortimer's
+face, scrutinizing each feature in turn, the eyes, set rather
+close together, grotesquely shielded by the thick spectacles, the
+narrow cheeks, the rather cynical mouth half hidden by the heavy,
+drooping moustache, the broad forehead broken by a long lock of
+dark hair brushed out flat in a downward direction from an
+untidy, unkempt crop.
+
+They talked no more of Strangwise or of Nur-el-Din. The rest of
+dinner was passed in conversation of a general order in which Mr.
+Mortimer showed himself to great advantage. He appeared to be a
+widely traveled, well-read man, with a fund of dry, often rather
+grim humor. And all the time Desmond watched, watched,
+unobtrusively but unceasingly, looking out for something he was
+confident of detecting through the suave, immobile mask of this
+brilliant conversationalist.
+
+Skillfully, almost imperceptibly, Desmond edged the talk on to
+the war. In this domain, too, Mortimer showed himself a man of
+broad views, of big, comprehensive ideas. Towards the strategy
+and tactics of the two sides, he adopted the attitude of an
+impartial onlooker, but in his comments he proved himself to have
+a thorough grasp of the military situation. He talked freely and
+ably of such things as tanks, the limited objective in the attack
+and the decentralization of responsibility in the field.
+
+Encouraged by his volubility, for he was a man who delighted in
+conversation, Desmond gradually gave the talk a personal turn.
+But willing as Mortimer showed himself to discuss the war
+generally, about his personal share he was as mute as a fish. Try
+as he would Desmond could get nothing out of him. Again and
+again, he brought the conversation round to personal topics; but
+every time his companion contrived to switch it back to general
+lines.
+
+At last Desmond risked a direct question. By this time a pint of
+Pommery and Greno was tingling in his veins and he felt he didn't
+care if the roof fell in.
+
+"Ever since Nur-el-Din told me yon were of the Crown Prince's
+personal service," he said, "I have been devoured with curiosity
+to know what you were doing before you came to England. Were you
+at Metz with his Imperial Highness? Did you see the assault at
+Verdun? Were you present at the capture of the Fort of
+Douaumont?" '
+
+Mortimer shook his head, laughing, and held up a deprecating
+hand.
+
+"Professional discretion, my dear fellow, professional
+discretion!" he retorted. "You know what it is!"
+
+Then lowering his voice, he added:
+
+"Between ourselves the less said about my connection with Master
+Willie the better. Our colleagues are already restless at what
+they consider my neglect of my professional work. They attribute
+it to the wiles of Nur-el-Din. They may if they like and I don't
+propose to disillusion them. You understand, Bellward?"
+
+His voice was commanding and he bent his brows at Desmond, who
+hastened to protest that his discretion in the matter would be
+absolute.
+
+When they had had their coffee and Mortimer was contentedly
+puffing one of Bellward's excellent double Coronas, Desmond rose
+from the table.
+
+"If you will excuse me a minute," he said, "I will just go across
+to the library and see if my housekeeper has put all in order for
+our guests!"
+
+Instantly Mortimer got up from the table.
+
+"By all means," he said, and emptied his glass of brandy, "so, I
+will come with you!"
+
+Mortimer meant to stick to him, thought Desmond; that was
+evident. Then an idea struck him. Why should he not telephone in
+Mortimer's presence? To ask for Mr. Elias was in no way
+incriminating and if help came promptly, Mortimer could be
+secured and the other spies pounced upon in their turn as they
+arrived.
+
+Therefore, as soon as they reached the library, Desmond walked
+over to the desk and picked up the telephone receiver from its
+hook.
+
+"Excuse me," he said to Mortimer, "I had forgotten I had to ring
+up Stanning!"
+
+"Oh, dear," said Mortimer from his place on the hearth rug where
+he was warming his coat tails in front of the fire, "isn't that
+unfortunate? I wish I had known! Tut, tut, how annoying for you!"
+
+The telephone seemed quite dead.
+
+"I don't understand!" said Desmond to Mortimer. "What's
+annoying?"
+
+"The telephone, my dear Bellward,"--Mortimer spoke in a pompous
+voice--"the telephone is the symbol of the age in which we live,
+the age of publicity but also of indiscretion. It is almost as
+indiscreet to have a telephone in your house as to keep a diary.
+Therefore, in view of our little party here this evening, to
+prevent us from being disturbed in any way, I took the liberty
+of... of severing the connection... temporarily, mind you, only
+temporarily; it shall be restored as soon as we break up. I have
+some small acquaintance with electrical engineering."
+
+Desmond was silent. Disappointment had deprived him for the
+moment of the power of speech. It was to be man to man then,
+after all. If he was to secure Mortimer and the rest of the gang
+that night, he must do it on his own. He could not hope for aid.
+The prospect did not affright him. If Mortimer could have seen
+the other's eyes at that moment he might have remarked a light
+dancing in them that was not solely of Messrs. Pommery and
+Greno's manufacture.
+
+"If I had known you wanted to use the instrument, my dear
+fellow," Mortimer continued in his bland voice, "I should
+certainly have waited until you had done your business!"
+
+"Pray don't mention it," replied Desmond, "you do well to be
+prudent, Mr. Mortimer!"
+
+Mortimer shot a sudden glance at him. Desmond met it with a
+frank, easy smile.
+
+"I'm a devil for prudence myself!" he observed brightly.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVIII. THE GATHERING OF THE SPIES
+
+Action, or the promise of action, always acted on Desmond Okewood
+like a nerve tonic. His visit to the inn, followed by the fencing
+with Mortimer at dinner, had galvanized his nerves jaded with the
+inaction of the preceding days. He averted his eyes from the
+future, he put the past resolutely away. He bent his whole
+attention on the problem immediately before him--how to carry off
+the role of Bellward in front of four strangers, one of whom, at
+least, he thought, must know the man he was impersonating; how to
+extract as much information as possible about the gang and its
+organization before uncovering his hand; finally, how to
+overpower the four men and the one woman when the moment had come
+to strike.
+
+Mortimer and he were in the library. By Desmond's direction old
+Martha had put out two bridge tables and cards. A tantalus stand
+with siphons and glasses, an assortment of different colored
+liqueurs in handsome cut-glass carafes and some plates of
+sandwiches stood on a side-table. At Mortimer's suggestion
+Desmond had told the housekeeper that, once the guests had
+arrived, she might go to bed.
+
+The library was very still. There was no sound except for the
+solemn ticking of the clock on the mantelpiece or the occasional
+rustle of the evening paper in Mortimer's hand as he stood in
+front of the fire. Desmond was sitting on the settee, tranquilly
+smoking, studying Mortimer and thinking out the problem before
+him.
+
+He measured Mortimer with his eye. The latter was a bigger man
+than Desmond in every way and Desmond suspected that he was even
+stronger than he looked. Desmond wondered whether he should try
+and overpower him then and there. The other was almost certain to
+carry a revolver, he thought, while he was unarmed. Failure, he
+knew, would ruin everything. The gang would disperse to the four
+winds of heaven while as for Mr. Bellward--well, he would
+certainly be "for it," as the soldiers say.
+
+No, he must hold his hand until the meeting had taken place. This
+was the first conference that Mortimer had summoned, and Desmond
+intended to see that it should be the last. But first he meant to
+find out all there was to know about the working of the gang.
+
+He resolved to wait and see what the evening would bring forth.
+The telephone was "a washout": the motor-cycle was now his only
+chance to summon aid for he knew it was hopeless to think of
+tackling single-handed odds of four to one (to say nothing of the
+lady in the case). It must be his business to make an opportunity
+to slip away on the motor-bike to Stanning. Ten minutes to get
+there, five minutes to deliver his message at the police station
+(if the Chief's people made their headquarters there), and ten
+minutes to get back if they had a car. Could he leave the meeting
+for 25 minutes without arousing suspicions? He doubted it; but it
+must be. There was no other way. And then with a shock that made
+him cold with fear he remembered Mortimer's motor-car.
+
+If, during his absence, anything occurred to arouse their
+suspicions, the whole crowd could pile into the car and be away
+long before Desmond could be back with help. The fog had lifted
+and it was a clear night outside. The car would have to be got
+rid of before he left the house, that was all about it. But how?
+A means to that end must also be discovered as the evening
+progressed. By the way, what had Mortimer done with his car?
+
+A very faint throbbing somewhere outside answered Desmond's
+unspoken question.
+
+Mortimer flung aside his paper.
+
+"Isn't that a car?" he asked, "that'll be they. I sent Max to
+Wentfield station to meet our friends!"
+
+There was the sound of voices, of bustle in the hall. Then the
+door opened and a man came in. Desmond had a brief moment of
+acute suspense. Was he supposed to know him?
+
+He was a short, ugly fellow with immensely broad shoulders, a
+heavy puffy face, a gross, broad nose, and a tooth-brush
+moustache. He might have been a butcher to look at. In the top
+edge of his coat lapel, he wore a small black pin with a glass
+head.
+
+"Well, Max," said Mortimer. "Have you brought them all?"
+
+The man was mustering Desmond with a suspicious, unfriendly
+stare.
+
+"My friend, Bellward!" said Mortimer, clapping Desmond on the
+shoulder. "You've heard of Bellward, Max!"
+
+And to Desmond's surprise he made some passes in the air.
+
+The man's mien underwent a curious change. He became cringing;
+almost overawed.
+
+"Reelly," he grunted, "reelly now! You don't siy! Glad to know
+yer, mister, I'm shore!"
+
+He spoke with a vile snuffing cockney accent, and thrust out his
+hand to Desmond. Then he added to Mortimer:
+
+"There's three on 'em. That's the count, ain't it? I lef' the car
+outside on the drive!"
+
+At this moment two more of the guests entered: One was a tall,
+emaciated looking man of about fifty who seemed to be in the last
+stages of consumption; the other a slightly built young fellow
+with a shock of black hair brushed back and an olive complexion.
+He wore pince-nez and looked like a Russian revolutionary. They,
+too, wore the badge of the brotherhood--the black pin in the coat
+lapel.
+
+"Goot efening, Mr. Mortimer," said the tall man in a guttural
+voice, "this is Behrend"--he indicated the young man by his
+side--"you haft not meet him no?"
+
+Then, leaving Behrend to shake hands with Mortimer, he literally
+rushed at Desmond and shook him by the hand exactly as though he
+were working a pump handle.
+
+"My tear Pellward," he cried, "it is a hondred year since I haf
+see you, not? And how are the powers!"
+
+He lowered his voice and gazed mysteriously at him.
+
+Desmond, at a loss what to make of this extraordinary individual,
+answered at random:
+
+"The powers? Still fighting, I believe!"
+
+The tall man stared open-mouthed at him for a moment. Then,
+clapping his hands together, he burst into a high-pitched cackle
+of laughter.
+
+"A joke," he yelled, "a mos' excellent joke! I must tell this to
+Minna. My vriend, I haf not mean the great Powers."
+
+He looked dramatically about him, then whispered:
+
+"I mean, the oggult!"
+
+Desmond, who was now quite out of his depth, wagged his head
+solemnly at the other as though to indicate that, his occult
+powers were something not to be lightly mentioned. He had no fear
+of the tall man, at any rate. He placed him as a very ordinary
+German, a common type in the Fatherland, simple-minded, pedantic,
+inquisitive,, and a prodigious bore withal but dangerous, for of
+this stuff German discipline kneads militarists.
+
+But the door opened again to admit the last of the guests. A
+woman entered. Desmond was immediately struck by the contrast she
+presented to the others, Mortimer with his goggle eyes and untidy
+hair, Max, gross and bestial, Behrend, Oriental and shifty, and
+the scarecrow figure of the tall man.
+
+Despite her age, which must have been nearly sixty, she still
+retained traces of beauty. Her features were very regular, and
+she had a pair of piercing black eyes of undimmed brightness. Her
+gray hair was tastefully arranged, and she wore a becoming black
+velvet gown with a black lace scarf thrown across the shoulders.
+A white silk rose was fastened to her bodice by a large black pin
+with a glass head.
+
+Directly she appeared, the tall man shouted to her in German.
+
+"Sag' mal, Minna..." he began.
+
+Mortimer turned on him savagely.
+
+"Hold your tongue, No. 13," he cried, "are you mad? What the
+devil do you mean by it? You know the rules!"
+
+By way of reply, "No. 13" broke into a regular frenzy of coughing
+which left him gasping for breath.
+
+"Pardon! I haf' forgot!" he wheezed out between the spasms.
+
+The woman went over to Mortimer and put out tier gloved hand.
+
+"I am Mrs. Malplaquet," she said in a pleasant voice. "And you
+are Mr. Mortimer, I think!"
+
+Mortimer bowed low over her hand.
+
+"Madame, I am charmed to meet one of whom I have heard nothing
+but praise," he said.
+
+"Verry pretty!" replied Mrs. Malplaquet smiling. "They tell me
+you have a great way with the ladies, my dear sir!"
+
+"But," she went on, "I am neglecting our host, my dear Mr.
+Bellward. How are you, my friend? How well you are looking... so
+young... so fresh! I declare you seem to have got five years
+younger!"
+
+The keen black eyes searched Desmond's face. He felt horribly
+uncomfortable. The woman's eyes were like gimlets boring right
+into him. He suddenly felt that his disguise was a poor one. He
+remembered Crook's warning to be wary of women, and he inwardly
+quailed.
+
+"I am so glad to meet you again!" he murmured. He didn't like
+Mrs. Malplaquet's eyes. They assorted strangely with the rest of
+her gentle and refined appearance. They were hard and cruel,
+those black eyes. Thy put him in mind of a snake.
+
+"It is so long since I've seen you," she said, "that positively
+your voice seems to have changed."
+
+"That's because I have a cold," said Desmond.
+
+"Fiddlesticks!" retorted the lady, "the timbre is quite
+different! Bellward, I believe you're in love! Don't tell me
+you've been running after that hank of hair that Mortimer is so
+devoted to!" She glanced in Mortimer's direction, but that
+gentleman was engaged in earnest conversation with Behrend and
+the tall man.
+
+"Whom do you meant" asked Desmond.
+
+"Where are your eyes, man?" rapped out Mrs. Malplaquet. "The
+dancer woman, of course, Nur-el-what-do-you-call-it. There's the
+devil of a row brewing about the way our friend over there is
+neglecting us to run after the minx. They're getting sharp in
+this country, Bellward--I've lived here for forty years so I know
+what I'm talking about--and we can't afford to play any tricks.
+Mortimer will finish by bringing destruction on every one of us.
+And I shall tell him so tonight. And so will No. 13! And so will
+young Behrend! You ought to hear Behrend about it!"
+
+Mrs. Malplaquet began to interest Desmond. She was obviously a
+woman of refinement, and he was surprised to find her in this odd
+company. By dint of careful questioning, he ascertained the fact
+that she lived in London, at a house on Campden Hill. She seemed
+to know a good many officers, particularly naval men.
+
+"I've been keeping my eyes open as I promised, Bellward," she
+said, "and I believe I've got hold of a likely subject for you--a
+submarine commander he is, and very psychic. When will you come
+and meet him at my house?"
+
+Mortimer's voice, rising above the buzz of conversation, checked
+his reply.
+
+"If you will all sit down," he said, "we'll get down to
+business."
+
+Despite all distractions, Desmond had been watching for this
+summons. He had marked down for himself a chair close to the
+door. For this he now made, after escorting Mrs. Malplaquet to
+the settee where she sat down beside Behrend. Max took the
+armchair on the left of the fireplace; while No. 13 perched
+himself grotesquely on a high music-stool, his long legs curled
+round the foot. Mortimer stood in his former position on the
+hearth, his back to the fire.
+
+A very odd-looking band! Desmond commented to himself but he
+thought he could detect in each of the spies a certain ruthless
+fanaticism which experience taught him to respect as highly
+dangerous. And they all had hard eyes!
+
+When they were seated, Mortimer said:
+
+"About the 14th of this month the British Admiralty will begin
+the work of shipping to France ten divisions of American troops
+now training in this country. The most extraordinary precautions
+are being taken to complete this huge undertaking with success.
+It seems to me that the moment has come for us to demonstrate the
+efficiency of our new organization."
+
+He looked round at his audience but no one said a word. Desmond
+felt very distinctly that there was a hostile atmosphere against
+Mortimer in that room.
+
+"I asked you to come here to-night," Mortimer went on, "to
+discuss the plans for sending prompt and accurate information
+regarding the movements of these transports to the other side. I
+warn you that this time our mode of procedure will have to be
+radically different from the methods we have pursued on former
+occasions. To expend our energies in collecting information at
+half a dozen different ports of war will be waste of time. The
+direction of the whole of this enterprise lies in the hands of
+one man at the Admiralty."
+
+Behrend, who had struck Desmond as a rather taciturn young man,
+shook his head dubiously.
+
+"That makes things very difficult," he remarked.
+
+"Wait," replied Mortimer. "I agree, it is very difficult, the
+more so as I have reason to believe that the authorities have
+discovered the existence of our organization."
+
+Mrs. Malplaquet and Behrend turned to one another simultaneously.
+
+"What did I say?" said Behrend.
+
+"I told you so," said the lady.
+
+"Therefore," Mortimer resumed, "our former activities on the
+coast will practically be paralyzed. We shall have to confine our
+operations to London while Max and Mr. Behrend here will be
+entrusted with the task of getting the news out to our
+submarines."
+
+No. 13 broke in excitedly.
+
+"Vork in London, vork in London!" he cried. "It is too dangerous,
+my vriend. Vot do I know of London? Portsmouth" (he called it
+Portsmouse), Sout'ampton, the Isle of Vight... good... it is my
+province. But, London... it is senseless!"
+
+Mortimer turned his gig-lamps on the interrupter.
+
+"You will take your orders from me as before," he said quietly.
+
+Behrend adjusted his pince-nez.
+
+"No. 13 is perfectly right," he remarked, "he knows his
+territory, and he should be allowed to work there."
+
+"You, too," Mortimer observed in the same calm tone as before,
+"will take your orders from me!"
+
+With a quick gesture the young man dashed his long black hair out
+of his eyes.
+
+"Maybe," he replied, "but only as long as I feel sure that your
+orders are worth following.
+
+"Do you dare..." began Mortimer, shouting.
+
+"... At present," the other continued, as though Mortimer had not
+spoken. "I don't feel at all sure that they are."
+
+The atmosphere was getting a trifle heated, thought Desmond. If
+he judged Mortimer aright, he was not the man to let himself be
+dictated to by anybody. He was wondering how the scene would end
+when suddenly something caught his eye that took his mind right
+away from the events going forward in the room.
+
+Opposite him, across the library, was a French window across
+which the curtains had been drawn. One of the curtains, however,
+had got looped up on a chair so that there was a gap at the
+bottom of the window showing the pane.
+
+In this gap was a face pressed up against the glass. To his
+astonishment Desmond recognized the weather-beaten features of
+the odd man, Mr. John Hill. The face remained there only for a
+brief instant. The next moment it was gone and Desmond's
+attention was once more claimed by the progress of the
+conference.
+
+"Do I understand that you refuse to serve under we any longer?"
+Mortimer was saying to Behrend, who had risen from the settee and
+stood facing him.
+
+"As long as you continue to behave as you are doing at present,"
+replied the other, "you may understand that!"
+
+Mortimer made a quick dive for his pocket. In an instant Max had
+jumped at him and caught his arm.
+
+"Don't be a fool!" he cried, "for Gawd's sake, put it away,
+carn't yer? D 'you want the 'ole ruddy plice abart our ears?"
+
+"I'll have no disobedience of orders," roared Mortimer,
+struggling with the other. In his fist he had a big automatic
+pistol. It was a prodigious weapon, the largest pistol that
+Desmond had ever seen.
+
+"He threatened him, he threatened him!" screamed No. 13 jumping
+about on his stool.
+
+"Take it away from him, Max, for Heaven's sake!" cried the lady.
+
+Everybody was talking at once. The noise was so loud that Desmond
+wondered whether old Martha would hear the din. He sat in his
+chair by the door, a silent witness of the scene. Then suddenly,
+at the height of the hubbub, he heard the faint humming of a
+motor-car. It lasted for perhaps thirty seconds, then gradually
+died away.
+
+"What did it mean?" he asked himself. The only living being he
+knew of outside was John Hill, the odd man, whose face he had
+just seen; the only car was Mortimer's. Had the odd man gone off
+in Mortimer's car? He was thankful to note that, in the din, none
+save him seemed to have heard the car.
+
+By this time Mortimer had put up his pistol and Mrs. Malplaquet
+was speaking. Her remarks were effective and very much to the
+point. She upbraided Mortimer with his long and mysterious
+absences which she attributed to his infatuation for Nur-el-Din
+and complained bitterly of the dancer's imprudence in consorting
+openly with notorious folk like Lazarro and Bryan Mowbury.
+
+"I went to the girl myself," she said, "and begged her to be more
+circumspect. But Madame would not listen to advice; Madame was
+doubtless sure of her position with our revered leader, and
+thought she could reject the friendly counsel of one old enough
+to be her mother. Behrend and Max and No. 13 there--all of
+us--are absolutely agreed that we are not going on with this sort
+of thing any longer. If you are to remain in charge of our
+organization, Mr. Mortimer, we want to know where you are to be
+found and how you spend your time. In short, we want to be sure
+that you are not playing a game that most of us have at different
+times played on subordinate agents... I mean, that when the
+crisis comes, we fall into the trap and you walk away. You had
+better realize once and for all that we are too old hands for
+that sort of trick."
+
+Here Max took up the thread. "Mrs. Malplaquet had put it very
+strite, so she 'ad, and wot he wanted to know was what Mortimer
+'ad to siy?"
+
+Mortimer was very suave in his reply; a bad sign, thought
+Desmond, for it indicated that he was not sure of himself. He was
+rather vague, spoke about a vitally important mission that he had
+had to fulfil but which he had now brought to a successful
+conclusion, so that he was at length free to devote his whole
+attention once more to the great task in hand.
+
+Behrend brought his fist crashing down on the arm of the settee.
+
+"Words, words," he cried, "it won't do for me. Isn't there a man
+in the room besides me? You, Bellward, or you, Max, or you,
+No.13? Haven't you got any guts any of You? Are you going to sit
+here and listen to the soft soap of a fellow who has probably
+sent better men than himself to their death with tripe of this
+kind? It may do for you, but by the Lord, it won't do for me!"
+
+Mortimer cleared his throat uneasily.
+
+"Our host is silent," said Mrs. Malplaquet, "what does Mr.
+Bellward think about it?"
+
+Desmond spoke up promptly.
+
+"I think it would be very interesting to hear something further
+about this mission of Mortimer's," he observed:
+
+Mortimer cast him a glance of bitter malice.
+
+"Well," he said, after a pause, "you force my hand. I shall tell
+you of this mission of mine and. I shall show you the evidence,
+because it seems essential in the interests of our organization.
+But I assure you I shall not forget this want of confidence you
+have shown in me; and I shall see that you don't forget it,
+either!"
+
+As he spoke, he glared fiercely at Desmond through his glasses.
+
+"Let's hear about the precious mission," jeered Behrend, "let's
+see the evidence. The threats'll keep!"
+
+Then Mortimer told them of how the Star of Poland came into
+Nur-el-Din's possession, and of the Crown Prince's embarrassment
+when the German authorities claimed it for the regalia of the new
+Kingdom of Poland.
+
+"The Crown Prince," he said, "summoned me to him in person and
+gave me the order to make my way to England immediately and
+recover the gem at all costs and by any means. Did I whine or
+snivel about being sent to my death as some of you were doing
+just now? No! That is not the way of the Prussian Guard..."
+
+The Prussian Guard?" cried No. 13 in an awed voice. "Are you also
+of the Prussian Guard, comrade?"
+
+He had risen from his seat and there was something almost of
+majesty about his thin, ungainly figure as he drew himself to his
+full height.
+
+"Ay, comrade, I was," replied Mortimer.
+
+"Then," cried No. 13, "you are..."
+
+"No names, comrade," warned Mortimer, "no names, I beg!"
+
+"No names, no names!" repeated the other and relapsed into his
+seat in a reverie.
+
+"How I got to England," Mortimer continued, "matters nothing; how
+I fulfilled my mission is neither here nor there. But I recovered
+the gem and the proof..."
+
+He thrust a hand into the inner pocket of his coat and plucked
+out a white paper package sealed up with broad red seals.
+
+Desmond held his breath. It was the white paper package, exactly
+as Barbara had described.
+
+"Look at it well, Behrend," said Mortimer, holding it up for the
+young man to see, "it cost me a man's life to get that. If it had
+sent twenty men to their death, I should have had it just the
+same!"
+
+Mrs. Malplaquet clapped her hands, her eyes shining.
+
+"Bravo, bravo!" she exclaimed, "that's the spirit! That's the way
+to talk, Mortimer!"
+
+"Cut it out," snarled Behrend, "and let's see the goods!"
+
+All had left their seats and were gathered in a group about
+Mortimer as he began to break the gleaming red wag seals. One by
+one he burst them, the white paper slipped off and disclosed... a
+box of cigarettes.
+
+Mortimer stood gazing in stupefaction at the gaudy green and gold
+lettering of the box. Then, running his thumb-nail swiftly along
+the edge of the box, he broke the paper wrapping, the box burst
+open and a shower of cigarettes fell to the ground.
+
+"So that's your Star of Poland, is it?" cried Behrend in a
+mocking voice.
+
+"Wot 'ave yer done wiv' the sparklers, eh?" demanded Max,
+catching Mortimer roughly by the arm.
+
+But Mortimer stood, aimlessly shaking the empty box in front of
+him, as though to convince himself that the gem was not there.
+Behrend fell on his knees and raked the pile of cigarettes over
+and over with his fingers.
+
+"Nothing there!" he shouted angrily, springing to his feet. "It's
+all bluff! He's bluffing to the end! See, he doesn't even attempt
+to find his famous jewel! He knows it isn't there!"
+
+But Mortimer paid no heed. He was staring straight in front of
+him, a strangely woe-begone figure with his thatch of untidy hair
+and round goggle eyes. Then the cigarette box fell to the floor
+with a crash as Mortimer's hands dropped, with, a hopeless
+gesture, to his sides.
+
+"Barbara Mackwayte!" he whispered in a low voice, not seeming to
+realize that he was speaking aloud, "so that's what she wanted
+with Nur-el-Din!"
+
+Desmond was standing at Mortimer's elbow and caught the whisper.
+As he heard Mortimer speak Barbara's name, he had a sudden
+premonition that his own unmasking was imminent, though he
+understood as little of the purport of the other's remark as of
+the pile of cigarettes lying on the carpet. As Mortimer turned to
+look at him, Desmond nerved himself to meet the latter's gaze.
+But Mortimer's face wore the look of a desperate man. There was
+no recognition in his eyes.
+
+Not so with Desmond. Perhaps the bitterness of his disappointment
+had made Mortimer careless, perhaps the way in which he had
+pronounced Barbara's name struck a familiar chord in Desmond's
+memory. The unkempt hair brushed down across the forehead, the
+thick glasses, the heavy moustache still formed together an
+impenetrable mask which Desmond's eyes failed to pierce. But now
+he recalled the voice. As Mortimer looked at him, the truth
+dawned on Desmond and he knew that the man standing beside him
+was Maurice Strangwise, his comrade-in-arms in France.
+
+At that very moment a loud crash rang through the room, a cold
+blast of damp air came rushing in and the lamp on the table
+flared up wildly, flickered an instant and went out, leaving the
+room in darkness save for the glow of the fire.
+
+A deep voice cried:
+
+"May I ask what you are all doing in my house?"
+
+The secret door of the bookshelves had swung back and there,
+framed in the gaping void, Desmond saw the dark figure of a man.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIX. THE UNINVITED GUEST
+
+There are moments in life when the need for prompt action is so
+urgent that thought, decision and action must be as one operation
+of the brain. In the general consternation following on the
+dramatic appearance of this uninvited guest, Desmond had a brief
+respite in which to think over his position.
+
+Should he make a dash for it or stay where he was and await
+developments?
+
+Without a second's hesitation; he decided on the latter course.
+With the overpowering odds against him it was more than doubtful
+whether he could ever reach the library door. Besides, to go was
+to abandon absolutely all hope of capturing the gang; for his
+flight would warn the conspirators that the game was up. On the
+other hand, the new-comer might be an ally, perhaps an emissary
+of the Chief's. The strange behavior of the odd man had shown
+that something was afoot outside of which those in the library
+were unaware. Was the uninvited guest the deus ex machina who was
+to help him, Desmond, out of his present perilous fix?
+
+Meanwhile the stranger had stepped into the room, drawing the
+secret door to behind him. Desmond heard his heavy step and the
+dull thud of the partition swinging into place. The sound seemed
+to break the spell that hung over the room.
+
+Mortimer was the first to recover his presence of mind. Crying
+out to No. 13 to lock the door leading into the hall, he fumbled
+for a moment at the table. Desmond caught the noise of a match
+being scratched and the next moment the library was again bathed
+in the soft radiance of the lamp.
+
+Picking up the light, Mortimer strode across to the stranger.
+
+"What do you want here" he demanded fiercely, "and who the
+devil..."
+
+He broke off without completing his sentence, drawing back in
+amazement. For the rays of the lamp fell upon the pale face of a
+stoutish, bearded man, veering towards middle age standing in
+front of Mortimer. And the face was the face of the stoutish,
+bearded man, veering towards middle age, who stood in the shadow
+a few paces behind Mortimer. Each man was a complete replica of
+the other, save that the face of the new arrival was thin and
+haggard with that yellowish tinge which comes from long
+confinement.
+
+As Mortimer staggered back, the uninvited guest recoiled in his
+turn. He was staring fixedly across the room at his double who
+met his gaze firmly, erect, tense, silent. The others looked in
+sheer stupefaction from one to the other of the two Mr.
+Bellwards. For nearly a minute the only sound in the room was the
+deep ticking of the clock, counting away the seconds separating
+him from eternity, Desmond thought.
+
+It was Mrs. Malplaquet who broke the silence. Suddenly her nerves
+snapped under the strain, and she screamed aloud.
+
+"A--ah!" she cried, "look! There are two of them! No, no, it
+can't be!"
+
+And she sank half fainting on the sofa.
+
+Behrend whipped out a pistol from his hip pocket and thrust it in
+Mortimer's face.
+
+"Is this another of your infernal surprise packets?" he demanded
+fiercely.
+
+All the spies seemed on a sudden to be armed, Desmond noted, all,
+that is, save Mrs. Malplaquet who lay cowering on the settee.
+Mortimer had pulled out his super-Mauser; No. 13, who was
+guarding the door, had a revolver in his hand, and Behrend, as
+has been stated, was threatening Mortimer with his Browning.
+
+Now Max advanced threateningly into the room, a long seaman's
+knife in his hand..
+
+"Put that blarsted shooting-iron awiy!" he snarled at Mortimer,
+"and tell us wot's the little gime, will yer! Come on, egpline!"
+
+With absolute self-possession Mortimer turned from the stranger
+to Desmond.
+
+"I think it is up to the twins to explain," he said almost
+nonchalantly, "suppose we hear what this gentleman, who arrived
+so surprisingly through the book-shelves, has to say?"
+
+Though threatened with danger from two sides, from the gang and
+possibly, as far as he knew, from the stranger, Mortimer was
+perfectly calm. Desmond never admired Maurice Strangwise more
+than in that moment. All eyes now turned questioningly towards
+the new arrival. As for Desmond he drew back as far as he dared
+into the shadow. He knew he was in the direst peril; but he was
+not afraid for himself. He was crushed to the ground by the
+sickening feeling that he was going to be beaten, that the gang
+were going to slip through his fingers after all... and he was
+powerless to prevent it.
+
+He guessed at once what had happened. Bellward must have escaped
+from custody; for there was no disguise about this pale,
+flustered creature who had the cowed look of a hunted man in his
+eyes. He must have come to the Mill House to get his motorcycle;
+for he surely would have known that the villa would be the first
+place to which the police would follow him up.
+
+Desmond saw a little ray of hope. If--it was a very big
+if--Bellward's flight were discovered promptly, the police might
+be expected to reach the Mill House very soon behind him.
+Bellward must have come straight there; for he had not even taken
+the very elementary precaution of shaving off his beard. That
+made Desmond think that he must have escaped some time that
+evening after the barbers' shops were closed.
+
+With thumping heart, with bated breath, he waited for what was to
+come. In a very little while, he told himself, the truth must
+come out. His only chance was to try and bluff his way out of
+this appalling dilemma and above all, at all costs--this was the
+essential fact which, he told himself, he must keep steadfastly
+before his eyes--not to lose sight of Mortimer whatever happened.
+
+Bellward's voice--and its tones showed Desmond what an
+accomplished mime Crook had been--broke the silence.
+
+"I have nothing to explain," he said, turning from the sofa where
+he had been exchanging a few words in an undertone with Mrs.
+Malplaquet, "this is my house. That is sufficient explanation for
+my presence here, I imagine. But I confess I am curious to know
+what this person"--he indicated Desmond--"is doing in my clothes,
+if I mistake not, giving what I take to be a very successful
+impersonation of myself."
+
+Then Desmond stepped boldly out of the shadow into the circle of
+light thrown by the lamp.
+
+"I don't know what you all think," he said firmly, but it seems
+to me singularly unwise for us to stand here gossiping when there
+is a stranger amongst us. I fail to understand the motive of this
+gentleman in breaking into my house by my private door, wearing
+my clothes, if I am to believe my eyes; but I clearly realize the
+danger of admitting strangers to a gathering of this kind."
+
+"Quite right," agreed Behrend, nodding his head in assent.
+
+"You have had one singular surprise to-night already," Desmond
+resumed, "in the matter of the jewel which our respected leader
+was about to show us: if you recollect, our friend was only
+prevented from giving us the explanation which he certainly owed
+us over his little hoax by the arrival, the most timely arrival,
+of his confederate..."
+
+"Confederate?" shouted Mortimer, "what the devil do you mean by
+that?"
+
+"Yes, confederate," Desmond repeated. "Max, Behrend, Mrs.
+Malplaquet, all of you, look at this wretched fellow"--he pointed
+a finger of scorn at Bellward--"trembling with fright at the role
+that has been thrust upon him, to force his way into our midst,
+to give his accomplice the tip to clear out before the police
+arrive."
+
+"Stop!" exclaimed Mortimer, raising his pistol. Behrend caught
+his hand.
+
+"We'll hear you in a minute!" he said.
+
+"Let him finish!" said Mrs. Malplaquet, and there was a certain
+ominous quietness in her tone that startled Desmond.
+
+As for Bellward, he remained silent, with arms folded, listening
+very intently.
+
+"Doubtless, this double of mine," continued Desmond in a mocking
+voice, "is the bearer of the Star of Poland, the wonderful jewel
+which has required our beloved leader to devote so much of his
+time to a certain charming lady. Bah! are you going to let a man
+like this," and he pointed to Mortimer disdainfully with his
+hand, "a man who puts you in the fighting line while he amuses
+himself in the rear, are you going to let this false friend, this
+bogus spy, cheat you like this? My friends, my advice to you, if
+you don't want to have another and yet more disagreeable
+surprise, is to make sure that this impudent imposter is not here
+for the purpose of selling us all!"
+
+He raised his voice until it rang through the room, at the same
+time looking round the group at the faces of the spies to see how
+his harangue had worked upon their feelings. Max and Behrend, he
+could see, were on his side; No. 13 was obviously, undecided;
+Mortimer and Bellward were, of course, against him; Mrs.
+Malplaquet sat with her hands in her lap, her eyes cast down,
+giving no sign.
+
+"It's high time..." Mortimer began violently but Mrs. Malplaquet
+put up her hand and checked him.
+
+"Better hear Bellward!" she said softly.
+
+"I know nothing of what has been taking place in my absence," he
+said, "either here or outside. I only know that I escaped from
+the escort that was taking me back from Scotland Yard to Brixton
+Prison this evening and that the police are hard on my track. I
+have delayed too long as, it is. Every one of us in this room,
+with the exception of the traitor who is amongst us"--he pointed
+a finger in denunciation at Desmond--"is in the most imminent
+peril as long as we stay here. The rest of you can please
+yourselves. I'm off!"
+
+He turned and pressed the spring. The book shelves swung open.
+Behrend sprang forward.
+
+"Not so fast," he cried. " Yon don't leave this room until we
+know who you are!"
+
+And he covered him with his pistol.
+
+"Fool!" exclaimed Bellward who had stopped on the threshold of
+the secret door, "do you want to trap the lot of us! Tell him,
+Minna," he said to Mrs. Malplaquet, "and for Heaven's sake, let
+us be gone!"
+
+Mrs. Malplaquet stood up.
+
+"This is Basil Bellward," she said, "see, he's wearing the ring I
+gave him, a gold snake with emerald eyes! And now," she cried,
+raising her voice shrilly, "before we go, kill that man!"
+
+And she pointed at Desmond.
+
+Bellward had seized her by the arm and was dragging her through
+the opening in the shed when a shrill whistle resounded from the
+garden. Without any warning Mortimer swung round and fired
+point-blank at Desmond. But Desmond had stooped to spring at the
+other and the bullet went over his head. With ears singing from
+the deafening report of the pistol in the confined space, with
+the acrid smell of cordite in his nostrils, Desmond leapt at
+Mortimer's throat, hoping to bear him to the ground before he
+could shoot again. As he sprang he heard the crash of glass and a
+loud report. Someone cried out sharply "Oh!" as though in
+surprise and fell prone between him and his quarry; then he
+stumbled and at the same time received a crashing blow on the
+head. Without a sound he dropped to the ground across a body that
+twitched a little and then lay still.
+
+ *      *       *       *       *      *     *
+
+Somewhere in the far, far distance Desmond heard a woman
+crying--long drawn-out wailing lamentations on a high, quavering
+note. He had a dull, hard pain in his head which felt curiously
+stiff. Drowsily he listened for a time to the woman's sobbing, so
+tired, so curiously faint that he scarcely cared to wonder what
+it signified. But at last it grated on him by its insistency and
+he opened his eyes to learn the cause of it.
+
+His bewildered gaze fell upon what seemed to him a gigantic,
+ogre-like face, as huge, as grotesque, as a pantomime mask.
+Beside it was a light, a brilliant light, that hurt his eyes.
+
+Then a voice, as faint as a voice on a long distance telephone,
+said:
+
+"Well, how are you feeling?"
+
+The voice was so remote that Desmond paid no attention to it. But
+he was rather surprised to hear a voice reply, a voice that came
+from his own lips, curiously enough:
+
+"Fine!"
+
+So he opened his eyes again to ascertain the meaning of this
+phenomenon. This time the ogre-like face came into focus, and
+Desmond saw a man with a tumbler in his hand bending over him.
+
+"That's right," said the man, looking very intently at him, "feel
+a bit better, eh? Got a bit of a crack, what? Just take a
+mouthful of brandy... I've got it here!"
+
+Desmond obediently swallowed the contents of the glass that the
+other held to his lips. He was feeling horribly weak, and very
+cold. His collar and shirt were unbuttoned, and his neck and
+shoulders were sopping wet with water. On his ears still fell the
+wailing of the woman.
+
+"Corporal," said the man bending over him, "just go and tell that
+old hag to hold her noise! She'll have to go out of the house if
+she can't be quiet!"
+
+Desmond opened his eyes again. He was lying on the settee in the
+library. A tall figure in khaki, who had been stirring the fire
+with his boot, turned at the doctor's summons and left the room.
+On the table the lamp was still burning but its rays were
+neutralized by the glare of a crimson dawn which Desmond could
+see flushing the sky through the shattered panes of the French
+window. In the centre of the floor lay a long object covered by a
+tablecloth, beside it a table overturned with a litter of broken
+glass strewn about the carpet.
+
+The woman's sobbing ceased. The corporal came back into the room.
+
+"She'll be quiet now, sir," he said, "I told her to get you and
+the gentlemen a cup o' tea."
+
+Then, to Desmond, he said:
+
+"Nasty ding you got, sir! My word, I thought they'd done for you
+when I come in at the winder!"
+
+The telephone on the desk tingled sharply. The door opened at the
+same moment and a shabby little old man with sandy side whiskers
+and moleskin trousers came briskly in.
+
+His appearance had a curious effect on the patient on the settee.
+Despite the doctor's restraining hand, he struggled into a
+sitting position, staring in bewilderment at the shabby old man
+who had gone straight to the telephone and lifted the receiver.
+And well might Desmond stare; for here was Mr. John Hill, the odd
+man, talking on the telephone. And his voice...
+
+"Well?" said the man at the telephone, curtly.
+
+"Yes, speaking. You've got her, eh? Good. What's that? Well,
+that's something. No trace of the others? Damn!"
+
+He slammed down the receiver and turned to face the settee.
+
+"Francis!" cried Desmond.
+
+And then he did a thing highly unbecoming in a field officer. He
+burst into tears.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XX. THE ODD MAN
+
+Desmond and Francis Okewood sat in the dining-room of the Mill
+House finishing an excellent breakfast of ham and eggs and coffee
+which old Martha had prepared for them.
+
+Francis was still wearing Mr. John Hill's greasy jacket and
+moleskins, but the removal of the sandy whiskers and a remarkable
+wig, consisting of a bald pate with a fringe of reddish hair, had
+gone far to restore him to the semblance of his former self.
+
+Desmond was feeling a good deal better. His head had escaped the
+full force of the smashing blow dealt at him by Strangwise with
+the butt of his pistol. He had instinctively put up his arm to
+defend his face and the thickly padded sleeve of Bellward's
+jacket had broken the force of the blow. Desmond had avoided a
+fractured skull at the price of an appalling bruise on the right
+forearm and a nasty laceration of the scalp.
+
+Francis had resolutely declined to enlighten him as to the events
+of the night until both had breakfasted. After despatching the
+corporal of military police to hurry the housekeeper on with the
+breakfast, Francis had taken his brother straight to the
+dining-room, refusing to let him ask the questions which thronged
+his brain until they had eaten and drunk. Only when all the ham
+and eggs had disappeared, did Francis, lighting one of Mr.
+Bellward's cigars, consent to satisfy his brother's curiosity.
+
+"It was only yesterday morning," he said, "that I landed at
+Folkstone from the Continent. How I got the Chief's message
+recalling me and how I made my escape through the Turkish lines
+to Allenby's headquarters is a long story which will keep. The
+Chief had a car waiting for me at Folkstone and I reached London
+in time to lunch with him. We had a long talk and he gave me
+carte blanche to jump into this business now, when and where I
+thought I could best help you."
+
+Desmond smiled bitterly.
+
+"The Chief couldn't trust me to make good on my own, I suppose,"
+he said.
+
+"The Chief had a very good idea of the character of the people
+you had to deal with, Des.," retorted Francis, "and he was a
+trifle apprehensive that the role you were playing might lead to
+complications, supposing the gang were to see through your
+impersonation. He's a wonderful man, that, Des., and he was dead
+right--as he always is."
+
+"But how?" asked Desmond. "Did the crowd spot me?"
+
+"No," answered the other; "but it was your disguise which was
+responsible for the escape of Strangwise--"
+
+"What?" cried Desmond. "He's escaped after all!"
+
+Francis nodded.
+
+"Yes," he said, "got clear away and left no trace. Wait a minute
+and you shall hear! When I have told my story, you shall tell
+yours and between us, we'll piece things together!
+
+"Well, when I left the Chief yesterday, I came down here. The
+description of Mr. John Hill, your odd man, rather tickled my
+fancy. I wanted badly to get at you for a quiet chat and it
+seemed to me that if I could borrow Mr. Hill's appearance for a
+few hours now and then I might gain access to you without rousing
+any suspicion. You see, I knew that old Hill left here about dusk
+every afternoon, so I guessed the coast would be clear.
+
+"Clarkson's fitted me out with the duds and the make-up and I got
+down to Wentfield by half-past six. The fog was so infernally
+thick that it took me more than an hour to get here on foot. It
+must have been close on eight o'clock when I pushed open your
+front gate. I thought of going boldly into the kitchen and asking
+for you, but, fortunately, I decided to have a preliminary prowl
+round the place. Through a chink in the curtains of the library I
+saw you and a stranger talking together. The stranger was quite
+unknown to me; but one thing about him I spotted right off. I saw
+that he was disguised; so I decided to hang about a bit and await
+developments.
+
+"I loafed around in the fog for about half an hour. Then I heard
+a car coming up the drive. I hid myself in the rhododendron bush
+opposite the front door and saw two men and a woman get out. They
+hurried into the house, so that I didn't have a chance of seeing
+their faces. But I got a good, glimpse of the chauffeur as he
+bent down to turn out the headlights. And, yes, I knew him!"
+
+"Max, they called him," said Desmond.
+
+"His name was Mirsky when last I saw him," answered Francis, "and
+mine was Apfelbaum, if you want to know. He was a German agent in
+Russia and as ruthless and unscrupulous a rascal as you'll find
+anywhere in the German service. I must say I never thought he'd
+have the nerve to show his face in this country, though I believe
+he's a Whitechapel Jew born and bred. However, there he was and
+the sight of his ugly mug told me that something was doing. But
+like a fool I decided to hang on a bit and watch, instead of
+going right off in that car and fetching help from Stanning."
+
+"It was just as well you waited," said Desmond, "for if you'd
+gone off at once they must have heard the car and the fat would
+have been in the fire straight away!"
+
+And he told Francis of the loud dispute among the confederates in
+the library, the noise of which had effectually covered the sound
+of the departing ear.
+
+Francis laughed.
+
+"From my observation post outside," he said, "I could only see
+you, Des, and that blackguard, Mug, as you two were sitting
+opposite the window. I couldn't see more than the feet of the
+others. But your face told me the loud voices which reached me
+even outside meant that a crisis of some sort was approaching, so
+I thought it was time to be up and doing. So I sneaked round to
+the front of the house, got the engine of the car going and
+started off down the drive.
+
+"I had the very devil of a job to get to Stanning. Ever since
+you've been down here, the Chief has had special men on duty day
+and night at the police-station there. I didn't dare stop to
+light the head-lamps and as a result the first thing I did was to
+charge the front gate and get the back wheel so thoroughly jammed
+that it took me the best part of twenty minutes to get the
+blooming car clear. When at last I got to the station, I found
+that Matthews, the Chief's man, you know, had just arrived by car
+from London with a lot of plain-clothes men and some military
+police. He was in the very devil of a stew. He told me that
+Bellward had escaped, that the Chief was out of town for the
+night and ungetatable, and that he (Matthews) had come down on
+his own to prevent the gaff being blown on you and also to
+recapture Mr. Bellward if he should be mad enough to make for his
+old quarters.
+
+"I told Matthews of the situation up at the Mill House. Neither
+of us was able to understand why you had not telephoned for
+assistance--we only discovered later that the telephone had been
+disconnected--but I went bail that you were up against a very
+stiff proposition. I told Matthews that, by surrounding the
+house, we might capture the whole gang.
+
+"Matthews is a cautious cuss and he wanted a good deal of
+persuading, so we lost a lot of time. In the end, he wouldn't
+take my advice to rush every available man to the scene, but only
+consented to take two plainclothes men and two military police.
+He was so precious afraid of upsetting your arrangements. The
+Chief, it appears, had warned everybody against doing that. So we
+all piled into the car and I drove them back to the Mill House.
+
+"This time I left the car at the front gate and we went up to the
+house on foot. We had arranged that Matthews and one of the
+military police, both armed, should stay and guard the car, while
+the two plainclothes men and the other military policeman, the
+corporal here, should accompany me to the house. Matthews
+believed my yarn that we were only going to 'investigate.' What I
+intended to do in reality was to round up the whole blessed lot.
+
+"I put one of the plain-clothes men on the front door and the
+other round at the back of the house. Their orders were to stop
+anybody who came out and at the same time to whistle for
+assistance. The corporal and I went to our old observation post
+outside the library window.
+
+"The moment I glanced into the room I knew that matters had
+reached a climax. I saw you--looking pretty blue, old man--facing
+that woman who seemed to be denouncing you. Max stood beside you
+with a pistol, and beside him was our friend, Mortimer, with a
+regular whopper of an automatic. Before I had time to move, the
+plain-clothes man at the back of the house whistled. He had found
+the secret door with Bellward and the woman coming out of it.
+
+Then I saw Mortimer fire point-blank at you. I had my gun out in
+a second, but I was afraid of shooting, for fear of hitting you
+as you went for the other man.
+
+"But the corporal at my side wasn't worrying much about you. Just
+as you jumped he put up his gun and let fly at Mortimer with a
+sense of discrimination which does him infinite credit. He missed
+Mortimer, but plugged Max plumb through the forehead and my old
+friend dropped in his tracks right between you and the other
+fellow. On that we hacked our way through the French window. The
+corporal found time to have another shot and laid out a tall,
+odd-looking man..."
+
+"No. 13," elucidated Desmond.
+
+"... When we got inside we found him dead across the threshold of
+the door leading into the hall. Behrend we caught hiding in a
+brush cupboard by the back stairs. As for the others--"
+
+"Gone?" queried Desmond with a sudden sinking at his heart.
+
+Francis nodded.
+
+"We didn't waste any time getting through that window," he said,
+"but the catch was stiff and the broken glass was deuced
+unpleasant. Still, we were too late. You were laid out on the
+floor; Mortimer, Bellward and the lady had made their lucky
+escape. And the secret door showed us how they had gone..."
+
+"But I thought you had a man posted at the back?"
+
+"Would you believe it? When the shooting began, the infernal
+idiot must rush round to our assistance, so, of course, Mortimer
+and Co., nipping out by the secret door, got clear away down the
+drive. But that is not the worst. Matthews gave them the car!"
+
+"No!" said Desmond incredulously.
+
+"He did, though," answered Francis. "Mind you, Mortimer had had
+the presence of mind to throw off his disguise. He presented
+himself to Matthews as Strangwise. Matthews knows Strangwise
+quite well: he has often seen him with the Chief.
+
+"'My God, Captain Strangwise,' says Matthews, as the trio
+appeared, 'What's happened?'
+
+"'You're wanted up at the house immediately, Matthews,' says
+Strangwise quite excitedly. 'We're to take the car and go for
+assistance.'
+
+"Matthews had a look at Strangwise's companions, and seeing
+Bellward, of course, takes him for you. As for the lady, she had
+a black lace muffler wound about her face.
+
+"'Miss Mackwayte's coming with us, Matthews,' Strangwise says,
+seeing Matthews look at the lady. That removed the last of any
+lurking suspicions that old Matthews might have had. He left the
+military policeman at the gate and tore off like mad up the drive
+while Strangwise and the others jumped into the car and were away
+before you could say 'knife.' The military, policeman actually
+cranked up the car for them!
+
+"When Matthews burst into the library with the story of you and
+Strangwise and Miss Mackwayte having gone off for help in our
+only car, I knew we had been sold. You were there, knocked out of
+time on the floor, in your disguise as Bellward, so I knew that
+the man with Strangwise was the real Bellward and I consequently
+deduced that Strangwise was Mortimer and consequently the very
+man we had to catch.
+
+"We were done brown. If we had had a little more time to think
+things out, we should have found that motor-bike and I would have
+gone after the trio myself. But my first idea was to summon aid.
+I tried to telephone without success and then we found the wire
+cut outside. Then I had the idea of pumping Behrend. I found him
+quite chatty and furious against Mortimer, whom he accused of
+having sold them. He told us that the party would be sure to make
+for the Dyke Inn, as Nur-el-Din was there.
+
+"By this time Strangwise and his party had got at least an hour
+clear start of us. I had set a man to repair the telephone and in
+the meantime was thinking of sending another on foot to Stanning
+to fetch one of our cars. Then I found the motor-bike and
+despatched one of the military policemen on it to Stanning.
+
+"In about half an hour's time he was back with a car in which
+were Gordon and Harrison and some more military police. I put
+Matthews in charge of the party and sent them off to the Dyke
+Inn, though I felt pretty sure we were too late to catch the
+trio. That was really the reason I stayed behind; besides, I
+wanted to look after you. I got a turn when I saw you spread out
+all over the carpet, old man, I can tell you."
+
+Desmond, who had listened with the most eager attention, did not
+speak for a minute. The sense of failure was strong upon him. How
+he had bungled it all!
+
+"Look here," he said presently in a dazed voice, "you said just
+now that Matthews mistook Mrs. Malplaquet for Miss Mackwayte. Why
+should Matthews think that Miss Mackwayte was down here? Did she
+come down with you?"
+
+Francis looked at him quickly.
+
+"That crack on the head makes you forget things," he said. "Don't
+you remember Miss Mackwayte coming down here to see you yesterday
+afternoon Matthews thought she had stayed on..."
+
+Desmond shook his head.
+
+"She's not been here," he replied I'm quite positive about that!"
+
+Francis sprang to his feet.
+
+"Surely you must be mistaken," he said in tones of concern. "The
+Chief sent her down yesterday afternoon on purpose to see you.
+She reached Wentfield Station all right; because the porter told
+Matthews that she asked him the way to the Mill House."
+
+An ominous foreboding struck chill at Desmond's heart. He held
+his throbbing head for an instant. Someone had mentioned Barbara
+that night in the library but who was it? And what had he said?
+
+Ah! of course, it was Strangwise. "So that's what she wanted with
+Nur-el-Din!" he had said;
+
+Desmond felt it all coming back to him now. Briefly he told
+Francis of his absence from the Mill House in response to the
+summons from Nur-el-Din, of his interview with the dancer and her
+story of the Star of Poland, of his hurried return just in time
+to meet Mortimer, and of Mortimer's enigmatical reference to the
+dancer in the library that night.
+
+Fancis looked graver and graver as the story proceeded. Desmond
+noted it and reproached himself most bitterly with his initial
+failure to inform the Chief of the visits of Nur-el-Din and
+Mortimer to the Mill House. When he had finished speaking, he did
+not look at Francis, but gazed mournfully out of the window into
+the chilly drizzle of a sad winter's day.
+
+"I don't like the look of it at all, Des," said his brother
+shaking his head, "but first we must make sure that there has
+been no misunderstanding about Miss Mackwayte. You say your
+housekeeper was already here when you came back from the Dyke
+Inn. She may have seen her. Let's have old Martha in!"
+
+Between fright, bewilderment and indignation at the invasion of
+the house, old Martha was, if anything, deafer and more stupid
+than usual. After much interrogation they had to be satisfied
+with her repeated assertion that "she 'adn't seen no young lady"
+and allowed her to hobble back to her kitchen.
+
+The two brothers stared at one another blankly. Francis was the
+first to speak. His eyes were shining and his manner was rather
+tense.
+
+"Des," he asked; "what do you make of it? From what Strangwise
+let fall in the library here tonight, it seems probable that Miss
+Mackwayte, instead of coming here to see you as she was told--or
+she may have called during your absence--went to the Dyke Inn and
+saw Nur-el-Din. The muffed cry you heard at the inn suggests foul
+play to me and that suspicion is deepened in my mind by the fact
+that Matthews found Nur-el-Din at the Dyke Inn, as he reported to
+me by telephone just now; but he says nothing about Miss
+Mackwayte. Des, I fear the worst for that poor girl if she has
+fallen into the hands of that gang!"
+
+Desmond remained silent for a moment. He was trying to piece
+things together as best as his aching head would allow. Both
+Nur-el-Din and Strangwise were after the jewel. Nur-el-Din
+believed that afternoon that Strangwise had it, while Strangwise,
+on discovering his loss, had seemed to suggest that Barbara
+Mackwayte had recovered it.
+
+"Either Strangwise or Nur-el-Din, perhaps both of them," said
+Desmond, "must know what has become of Miss Mackwayte."
+
+And he explained his reasoning to Francis. His brother nodded
+quickly.
+
+"Then Nur-el-Din shall tell us," he answered sternly.
+
+"They've arrested her?" asked Desmond with a sudden pang.
+
+"Yes," said Francis curtly. But too late to prevent a crime being
+committed. When Matthews and his party arrived. they found
+Nur-el-Din in the very act of leaving the inn. The landlord,
+Rass, was lying dead on the floor of the tap-room with a bullet
+through the temple. That looks to me, Des, as though Nur-el-Din
+had recovered the jewel!"
+
+"But Rass is a compatriot of hers," Desmond objected.
+
+"But he was also an inconvenient witness of her dealings with
+Strangwise," retorted Francis. "If either Nur-el-Din or
+Strangwise have regained possession of the Star of Poland, Des, I
+fear the worst for Barbara Mackwayte. Come in!"
+
+The corporal stood, saluting, at the door.
+
+"Mr. Matthews on the telephone, sir!"
+
+Francis hurried away, leaving Desmond to his thoughts, which were
+not of the most agreeable. Had he been wrong in thinking
+Nur-el-Din a victim? Was he, after all, nothing but a credulous
+fool who had been hoodwinked by a pretty woman's play-acting? And
+had he sacrificed Barbara Mackwayte to his obstinacy and his
+credulousness?
+
+Francis burst suddenly into the room.
+
+Des," he cried, "they've found Miss Mackwayte's hat on the floor
+of the tap-room... it is stained with blood..."
+
+Desmond felt himself growing pale:
+
+"And the girl herself," he asked thickly, "what of her?"
+
+Francis shook his head.
+
+"Vanished," he replied gravely. "Vanished utterly.
+
+Desmond," he added, "we must go over to the Dyke Inn at once!"
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXI. THE BLACK VELVET TOQUE
+
+Across Morsted Fen the day was breaking red and sullen. The
+brimming dykes, fringed with bare pollards, and the long sheets
+of water spread out across the lush meadows, threw back the fiery
+radiance of the sky from their gleaming surface. The, tall
+poplars about the Dyke Inn stood out hard and clear in the ruddy
+light; beyond them the fen, stretched away to the flaming horizon
+gloomy and flat and desolate, with nothing higher than the
+stunted pollards visible against the lurid background.
+
+Upon the absolute silence of the scene there presently broke the
+steady humming of a car. A great light, paled by the dawn, came
+bobbing and sweeping, along the road that skirted the fen's edge.
+A big open car drew up by the track and branched, off to the inn.
+Its four occupants consulted together for an instant and then
+alighted. Three of them were in plain clothes; the other was a
+soldier. The driver was also in khaki.
+
+"They're astir, Mr. Matthews," said one, of the plain clothes
+men, pointing towards the house, "see, there's a light in the
+inn!"
+
+They followed the direction of his finger and saw a beam of
+yellow light gleaming from among the trees.
+
+"Get your guns out, boys!" said Matthews. "Give them a chance to
+put their hands up, and if they don't obey, shoot!"
+
+Very swiftly but very quietly, the four men picked their way over
+the miry track to the little bridge leading to the yard in front
+of the inn. The light they had remarked shone from the inn door,
+a feeble, flickering light as of an expiring candle.
+
+Matthews, who was leading, halted and listened. Everything was
+quite still. Above their head the inn sign groaned uneasily as it
+was stirred by the fresh morning breeze.
+
+"You, Gordon," whispered Matthews to the man behind him--they had
+advanced in Indian file--"take Bates and go round to the back.
+Harrison will go in by the front with me."
+
+Even as he spoke a faint noise came from the interior of the
+house. The four men stood stock-still and listened. In the
+absolute stillness of the early morning, the sound fell
+distinctly on their ears. It was a step--a light step--descending
+the stairs.
+
+Gordon and the soldier detached themselves from the party as
+Matthews and the other plain clothes man crossed the bridge
+swiftly and went up to the inn door. Hardly had Matthews got his
+foot on the stone step of the threshold than, a piercing shriek
+resounded from the room quite close at hand. The next minute a
+flying figure burst out of the door and fell headlong into the
+arms of Matthews who was all but overbalanced by the force of the
+impact.
+
+He closed with the figure and grappled it firmly. His arms
+encountered a frail, light body, shaking from head to foot,
+enveloped in a cloak of some soft, thick material.
+
+"It's a woman!" cried Matthews.
+
+"It's Nur-el-Din!" exclaimed his companion in the same breath,
+seizing the woman by the arm.
+
+The dancer made no attempt to escape. She stood with bowed head,
+trembling violently, in a cowering, almost a crouching posture.
+
+Harrison, who had the woman by the arm, had turned her head so
+that he could see her face. She was deathly pale and her black
+eyes were wide open, the pupils dilated. Her teeth were
+chattering in her head. She seemed incapable of speech or motion.
+
+"Nur-el-Din?" exclaimed Matthews in accents of triumph. "Bring
+her in, Harrison, and let's have a look at her!"
+
+But the woman recoiled in terror. She arched her body stiff, like
+a child in a passion, and strained every muscle to remain where
+she was cowering by the inn-door.
+
+"Come on, my girl," said the man not unkindly, "don't you 'ear
+wot the Guv'nor sez! In you go!"
+
+Then the girl screamed aloud.
+
+"No, no!" she cried, "not in that house! For the love of God,
+don't take me back into that room! Ah! For pity's sake, let me
+stay outside! Take me to prison but not, not into that house
+again!"
+
+She half fell on her knees in the mire, pleading, entreating, her
+body shaken by sobs.
+
+Then Harrison, who was an ex-Guardsman and a six-footer at that,
+plucked her off her feet and carried her, still struggling, still
+imploring with piteous cries, over the threshold into the house:
+Matthews followed behind.
+
+The shutters of the tap-room were still closed. Only a strip of
+the dirty floor, strewn with sawdust, was illuminated by a bar of
+reddish light from the daybreak outside. On the table a candle,
+burnt down to the socket of its brass candlestick, flared and
+puttered in a riot of running wag. Half in the bar of daylight
+from outside, half in the darkness beyond the open door, against
+which the flickering candlelight struggled feebly, lay the body
+of a yellow-faced, undersized man with a bullet wound through the
+temple.
+
+Without effort Harrison deposited his light burden on her feet by
+the table. Instantly, the girl fled, like some frightened animal
+of the woods, to the farthest corner of the room. Here she
+dropped sobbing on her knees, rocking herself to and fro in a
+sort of paroxysm of hysteria. Harrison moved quickly round the
+table after her; but he was checked by a cry from Matthews who
+was kneeling by the body.
+
+"Let her be," said Matthews, "she's scared of this and no wonder!
+Come here a minute, Harrison, and see if you know, this chap!"
+
+Harrison crossed the room and looked down at the still figure. He
+whistled softly.
+
+"My word!" he said, "but he copped it all right, sir! Ay, I know
+him well enough! He's Rass, the landlord of this pub, that's who
+he is, as harmless a sort of chap as ever was! Who did it, d'you
+think, sir?"
+
+Matthews, who had been going through the dead man's pockets, now
+rose to his feet.
+
+"Nothing worth writing home about there," he said half aloud.
+Then to Harrison, he added
+
+"That's what we've got to discover... hullo, who's this?"
+
+The door leading from the bar to the tap-room was thrust open.
+Gordon put his head in.
+
+"I left Bates on guard outside, sir," he said in answer to an
+interrogatory glance from Matthews, "I've been all over the
+ground floor and there's not a soul here..."
+
+He checked himself suddenly.
+
+"God bless my soul!" he exclaimed, his eyes on the figure
+crouching in the corner, "you don't mean to say you've got her? A
+pretty dance she led Dug and myself! Well, sir, it looks to me
+like a good night's work!".
+
+Matthews smiled a self-satisfied smile.
+
+"I fancy the Chief will be pleased," he said, "though the rest of
+'em seem to have given us the slip. Gordon, you might take a look
+upstairs--that door in the corner leads to the upper rooms, I
+fancy whilst I'm telephoning to Mr. Okewood. He must know about
+this without delay. You, Harrison, keep an eye on the girl!"
+
+He went through the door leading into the bar, and they heard him
+speaking on the telephone which hung on the wall behind the
+counter. He returned presently with a white tablecloth which he
+threw over the prostrate figure on the floor.
+
+Then he turned to the dancer.
+
+"Stand up," he said sternly, "I want to speak to you."
+
+Nur-el-Din cast a frightened glance over her shoulder at the
+floor beside the table where Rass lay. On seeing the white pall
+that hid him from view, she became somewhat reassured. She rose
+unsteadily to her feet and stood facing Matthews.
+
+"In virtue of the powers conferred upon me by the Defence of the
+Realm Acts, I arrest you foil espionage... Matthews rolled off in
+glib, official gabble the formula of arrest ending with the usual
+caution that anything the prisoner might say might be used
+against her at her trial. Then he said to Harrison:
+
+"Better put them on her, Harrison!"
+
+The plain clothes man took a pace forward and touched the
+dancer's slender wrists, there was a click and she was
+handcuffed.
+
+"Now take her in there," said Matthews pointing to the bar.
+"There's no exit except by this room. And don't take your eyes
+off her. You understand? Mr. Okewood will be along presently with
+a female searcher."
+
+"Sir!" said the plain clothes man with military precision and
+touched the dancer on the shoulder. Without a word she turned and
+followed him into the bar.
+
+Gordon entered by the door at the end of the room.
+
+"I'd like you to have a look upstairs, sir," he said to Matthews,
+"there's not a soul in the house, but somebody has been locked up
+in one of the rooms. The door is still locked but one of the
+panels has been forced out. I think you ought to see it!"
+
+The two men passed out of the tap-room together, and mounted the
+stairs. On the landing Matthews paused a moment to glance out of
+the window on to the bleak and inhospitable fen which was almost
+obscured from view by a heavy drizzle of rain.
+
+"Brr!" said Mr. Matthews, "what a horrible place!"
+
+Looking up the staircase from the landing, they could see that
+one of the panels of the door facing the head of the stairs had
+been pressed out and lay on the ground. They passed up the stairs
+and Matthews, putting one arm and his head through the opening,
+found himself gazing into that selfsame ugly sitting room where
+Desmond had talked with Nur-el-Din.
+
+A couple of vigorous heaves burst the fastening of the door. The
+sitting-room was in the wildest confusion. The doors of the
+sideboard stood wide with its contents scattered
+higgledy-piggledy on the carpet. A chest of drawers in the corner
+had been ransacked, some of the drawers having been taken bodily
+out and emptied on the floor.
+
+The door leading to the inner room stood open and showed that a
+similar search had been conducted there as well. The inner room
+proved to be a bare white-washed place, very plainly furnished as
+a bedroom. On the floor stood a small attache case, and beside it
+a little heap of miscellaneous articles such as a woman would
+take away with her for a weekend, a crepe-de-chine nightdress, a
+dainty pair of bedroom slippers and some silver-mounted toilet
+fittings. From these things Matthews judged that this had been
+Nur-el-Din's bedroom.
+
+The two men spent a long time going through the litter with which
+the floor in the bedroom and sitting room was strewed. But their
+labors were vain, and they turned their attention to the
+remaining rooms, of which there were three.
+
+The first room they visited, adjoining Nur-el-Din's bedroom, was
+scarcely better than an attic. It contained in the way of
+furniture little else than a truckle-bed, a washstand, a table
+and a chair. Women's clothes were hanging on hooks behind the
+door. The place looked like a servant's bedroom.
+
+They pursued their search. Across the corridor two rooms stood
+side by side. One proved to be Rass's. His clothes lay about the
+room, and on a table in the corner, where writing materials
+stood, were various letters and bills made out in his name.
+
+The other room had also been occupied; for the bed was made and
+turned back for the night and there were clean towels on the
+washstand. But there was no clue as to its occupant save for a
+double-barreled gun which stood in the corner. It had evidently
+been recently used; for fresh earth was adhering to the stock and
+the barrel, though otherwise clean, showed traces of
+freshly-burnt powder.
+
+There being nothing further to glean upstairs, the two men went
+down to the tap-room again. As Matthews came through the door
+leading from the staircase his eye caught a dark object which lay
+on the floor under the long table. He fished it out with his
+stick.
+
+It was a small black velvet toque with a band of white and black
+silk flowers round it. In one part the white flowers were
+besmeared with a dark brown stain.
+
+Matthews stared at the little hat in his hand with puckered
+brows. Then he called to Gordon.
+
+"Do you know that hat?" he asked, holding it up for the man to
+see.
+
+Gordon shook his head.
+
+"I might have seen it," he replied, "but I don't take much
+account of such things, Mr. Matthews, being a married man..."
+
+"Tut, tut," fussed Matthews, "I think you have seen it. Come,
+think of the office for a minute!"
+
+"Of the office?" repeated Gordon. Then he exclaimed suddenly:
+
+"Miss Mackwayte!"
+
+"Exactly," answered Matthews, "it's her hat, I recall it
+perfectly. She wore it very often to the office. Look at the
+blood on it!"
+
+He put the hat down on the table and ran into the bar where
+Nur-el-Din. sat immobile on her chair, wrapped in a big overcoat
+of some soft blanket cloth in dark green, her chin sunk on her
+breast.
+
+Matthews called up the Mill House and asked for Francis Okewood.
+When he mentioned the finding of Barbara Mackwayte's hat, the
+dancer raised her head and cast a frightened glance at Matthews.
+But she said nothing and when Matthews turned from the telephone
+to go back to the tap-room she had resumed her former listless
+attitude.
+
+Matthews and Gordon made a thorough search of the kitchen and
+back premises without finding anything of note. They had just
+finished when the sound of a car outside attracted their
+attention. On the road beyond the little bridge outside the inn
+Francis and Desmond Okewood were standing, helping a woman to
+alight. Francis was still wearing his scarecrow-like apparel,
+while Desmond, with his beard and pale face and bandaged head,
+looked singularly unlike the trim Brigade Major who had come home
+on leave only a week or so before.
+
+Matthews went out to meet them and, addressing the woman--a
+brisk-looking person-as Mrs. Butterworth, informed her that it
+was shocking weather. Then he led the way into the inn.
+
+The first thing that Desmond saw was the little toque with the
+brown stain on its flowered band lying on the table. Francis
+picked it up, turned it over and land it down again.
+
+Where did you find it?" he asked Matthews. The latter informed
+him of the circumstances of the discovery. Then Francis, sending
+the searcher in to Nur-el-Din in the bar, pointed to the body on
+the floor.
+
+"Let's have a look at that!" he said.
+
+Matthews removed the covering and the three men gazed at the set
+face of the dead man. There was a clean bullet wound in the right
+temple. Matthews showed the papers he had taken off the body and
+exchanged a few, words in a low tone with Francis. There is
+something about the presence of death which impels respect
+whatever the circumstances.
+
+Five minutes later Mrs. Butterworth came out of the bar. In her
+hands she held a miscellaneous assortment of articles, a small
+gold chain purse, a pair of gloves, a gold cigarette case, a tiny
+handkerchief, and a long blue envelope. She put all the articles
+down on the tables save the envelope which she handed to Francis.
+
+"This was in the lining of her overcoat, sir," she said.
+
+Francis took the envelope and broke the seal. He drew out half a
+dozen sheets of thin paper, folded lengthwise. Leisurely he
+unfolded them, but he had hardly glanced at the topmost sheet
+than he turned to the next and the next until he had run through
+the whole bunch. Desmond, peering over his shoulder, caught a
+glimpse of rows of figures, very neatly set out in a round hand
+and knew that he was looking at a message in cipher code.
+
+The door at the end of the tap-room was flung open and a soldier
+came in quickly.
+
+He stopped irresolute on seeing the group.
+
+"Well, Bates," said Matthews.
+
+"There's a woman lying dead in the cellar back yonder," said the
+man, jerking his thumb over his shoulder.
+
+"The cellar?" cried Matthews.
+
+"Yes, sir... I think you must ha' overlooked it."
+
+Francis, Desmond and Matthews exchanged a brief glance. A name
+was on the lips of each one of them but none dared speak it.
+Then, leaving Harrison and Mrs. Butterworth with Nur-el-Din, the
+three men followed the soldier and hurriedly quitted the room.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXII. WHAT THE CELLAR REVEALED
+
+0n opening the door at the farther end of the tap-room they saw
+before them a trap-door standing wide with a shallow flight of
+wooden steps leading to the darkness below. Bates pointed with
+his foot to a square of linoleum which lay on one side.
+
+"That was covering the trap," he said, "I wouldn't ha' noticed
+nothing out of the ordinary myself only I slipped, see, and
+kicked this bit o' ilecloth away and there was the ring of the
+trap staring me in the face, as you might say. Show us a light
+here, Gordon!"
+
+Gordon handed him an electric torch. He flashed it down the
+stair. It fell upon something like a heap of black clothes
+huddled up at the foot of the ladder.
+
+"Is it Miss Mackwayte?" whispered Francis to his brother. "I've
+never seen her, you know!"
+
+"I can't tell," Desmond whispered back, "until I see her face."
+
+He advanced to descend the ladder but Matthews was before him.
+Producing an electric torch from his pocket, Matthews slipped
+down the stair with Gordon close behind. There was a pause, so
+tense that it seemed an eternity to Desmond, as he waited
+half-way down the ladder with the musty smell of the cellar in
+his nostrils. Then Matthews cried:
+
+"It's not her!"
+
+"Let me look!" Gordon broke in. Then Desmond heard him exclaim.
+
+"It's Nur-el-Din's French maid! It's Marie... she's been stabbed
+in the back!"
+
+Desmond suddenly felt rather sick. This progress from one deed of
+violence to another revolted him. The others crowded into the
+cellar; but he did not follow them. He remained at the top of the
+trap, leaning against the wall, trying to collect his thoughts.
+
+Barbara Mackwayte was now his sole preoccupation. If anything had
+happened to her,--it was through his fault alone; for he began to
+feel sure she must have come to the Mill House in his absence.
+What then had become of her? The blood-stained toque pointed to
+foul play. But if they had murdered her, what had they done with
+the body?
+
+His thoughts flew back to his interview with Nur-el-Din upstairs
+on the previous afternoon. He remembered the entrance of the maid
+and the dancer's hurried exit. Might not Marie have come to tell
+her that Barbara Mackwayte was below asking for her? It was very
+shortly after this interruption that, crouching on the roof of
+the shed, he had heard that muffled cry from the house and seen
+Rass enter the bar and speak with Strangwise. He had seen, too,
+the maid, Marie, in earnest conversation with Strangwise by the
+back gate on the fen. Had both Marie and Rass been in league with
+Strangwise against the dancer? And had Nur-el-Din discovered
+their treachery? His mind refused to follow these deductions to
+their logical sequence; for, black as things looked against
+Nur-el-Din, he could not bring himself to believe her a
+murderess.
+
+But now there were footsteps on the ladder. They were all coming
+out of the cellar again. As soon as Francis saw Desmond's face,
+he caught his brother by the arm and said:
+
+"The open air for you, my boy! You look as if you'd seen a ghost!
+I should have remembered all you've gone through!"
+
+He walked him quickly through the tap-room and out through the
+inn door into the yard.
+
+The rain had ceased and the sun was making a brave attempt to
+shine through the, clouds. The cold air did Desmond good and
+after a turn or two in the yard, arm in arm with Francis, he felt
+considerably better.
+
+"Where is Miss Mackwayte?" he asked.
+
+"Des," said his brother, " I don't know and I don't want to
+cross-examine Nur-el-Din in there until I have reasoned out some
+theory which will fit Miss Mackwayte in her place in this
+horrible affair. The men have gone to search the outhouses and
+precincts of the inn to see if they can find any traces of her
+body. but I don't think they will find anything. I believe that
+Miss Mackwayte is alive."
+
+"Alive?" said Desmond.
+
+"The blood on that toque of hers might have been Rass's. There is
+a good deal of blood on the floor. You see, I still think Miss
+Mackwayte's safety depends on that jewel not being recovered by
+either Strangwise or Nur-el-Din. Strangwise, we know, has lost
+the jewel and there is no trace of it here: moreover, we know
+that, as late as yesterday afternoon, Nur-el-Din did not have it.
+Therefore, she cannot have sent it away! I am inclined to
+believe, too, that Strangwise, before going over to the Mill
+House last night, carried off Miss Mackwayte somewhere with the
+aid of Rass and Marie, who were evidently his accomplices, in
+order to find out from her where the jewel is concealed..."
+
+"But Miss Mackwayte cannot know what has become of it," objected
+Desmond.
+
+"Maybe not," retorted his brother, "but both Strangwise and
+Nur-el-Din know that the jewel was originally entrusted to her
+charge. Nur-el-Din did not, it is true, tell Miss Mackwayte what
+the silver box contained but the latter may have found out, at
+least the dancer might suppose so; while Strangwise might think
+the same. Therefore, both Strangwise and Nur-el-Din had an
+interest in detaining Miss Mackwayte, and I think Strangwise
+forestalled the dancer. When Nur-el-Din discovered it, both Rass
+and her maid paid the penalty of their betrayal."
+
+They walked once up and down the yard before Desmond replied.
+
+"Francis," he said, "you remember Nur-el-Din's story--I told it
+to you just as I had it from her."
+
+"Perfectly," answered his brother.
+
+"Well," Desmond went on deliberately, "I think that story gives
+us the right measure of Nur-el-Din's, character. She may be vain,
+she may be without morals, she may be weak, she may be an
+adventuress, but she's not a murderess. If anything, she's a
+victim!"
+
+Francis laughed shortly.
+
+"Victim be damned!" he cried. "Man alive," he went on, "how can
+you talk such nonsense in face of the evidence, with this
+bloody-minded woman's victims hardly cold yet? But, horrible as
+these murders are, the private squabbles of this gang of spies
+represent neither your interest nor mine in this case. For us the
+fact remains that Nur-el-Din, besides being a monster of
+iniquity, is the heart and soul and vitals of the whole
+conspiracy!"
+
+Jaded and nervous, Desmond felt a quick sting of resentment at
+his brother's tone. Why should Francis thus lay down the law to
+him about Nur-el-Din? Francis knew nothing of the girl or her
+antecedents while he, Desmond, flattered himself that he had at
+least located the place she occupied in this dark conspiracy. And
+he cried out vehemently:
+
+"You're talking like a fool! I grant you that Nur-el-Din has been
+mixed up with this spy crowd; but she herself stands absolutely
+apart from the organization..."
+
+"Half a minute!" put in Francis, "aren't you forgetting that blue
+envelope we took off her just now?"
+
+"What about it?" asked Desmond sharply.
+
+"Merely this; the cipher is in five figure groups, addressed to a
+four figure group and signed by a six figure group..."
+
+"Well?"
+
+"That happens to be the current secret code of the German Great
+General Staff. If you were to tap a German staff message out in
+France to-day, ten to one it would be in that code. Curious
+coincidence, isn't it?"
+
+When one is angry, to be baffled in argument does not have a
+sedative effect as a rule. If we were all philosophers it might;
+but being merely human beings, cold reason acts on the inflamed
+temperament as a red rag is said to affect a bull.
+
+Desmond, sick with the sense of failure and his anxiety about
+Barbara, was in no mood to listen to reason. The, cold logic of
+his brother infuriated him mainly because Desmond knew that
+Francis was right.
+
+"I don't care a damn for the evidence," vociferated Desmond; "It
+may look black against Nur-el-Din; I daresay it does; but I have
+met and talked to this girl and. I tell you again that she is not
+a principal in this affair but a victim!"
+
+"You talk as if you were in love with the woman!" Francis said
+mockingly.
+
+Desmond went rather white.
+
+"If pity is a form of love," he replied in a low voice, "then I
+am, for God knows I never pitied any woman as I pity Nur-el-Din!
+Only you, I suppose," he added bitterly, "are too much of the
+policeman, Francis, to appreciate anything like that!" Hot
+tempers run in families and Francis flared up on the instant.
+
+"I may be a policeman, as you say," he retorted, but I've got
+enough sense of my duty, I hope, not to allow sentimentality to
+interfere with my orders!"
+
+It was a shrewd thrust and it caught Desmond on the raw.
+
+"I'm sick of arguing here," he said hotly, "if you're so mighty
+clever, you'd better shoot Nur-el-Din first and arrest Strangwise
+afterwards. Then you'll find out which of us two is right!"
+
+He turned on his heel and started for the little bridge leading
+out onto the fen.
+
+Francis stood still a moment watching him, then ran after him. He
+caught up with Desmond as the latter reached the bridge.
+
+"Desmond!" he said, pleadingly.
+
+"Oh, go to hell!" retorted the other savagely, whereupon Francis
+turned his back on him and walked back to the inn.
+
+A car had stopped by the bridge and a man was getting out of it
+as Desmond moved towards the fen. The next moment he found
+himself face to face with the Chief.
+
+The Chief's face was hard and cold and stern. There was a furrow
+between his eyes which deepened when he recognized Desmond.
+
+"Well," he said curtly, "and where is my secretary?"
+
+"I don't know," Desmond faltered.
+
+"Why are you here, then?" came back in that hard, uncompromising
+voice.
+
+Desmond was about to reply; but the other checked him.
+
+"I know all you have to say," he resumed, "but no excuse you can
+offer can explain away the disappearance of Miss Mackwayte. Your
+orders were formal to remain at home. You saw fit to disobey them
+and thereby, maybe, sent Miss Mackwayte to her death. No!" he
+added, seeing that Desmond was about to expostulate, "I want to
+hear nothing from you. However obscure the circumstances of Miss
+Mackwayte's disappearance may be, one fact is perfectly clear,
+namely, that she went to the Mill House, as she was ordered and
+you were not there. For no man or woman in my service ever dares
+to disobey an order I have given."
+
+"Chief..." Desmond broke in, but again that inexorable voice
+interposed.
+
+"I will hear nothing from you," said the Chief, "it is a rule of
+mine never to interfere with my men in their work or to see them
+until their mission has been successfully completed. When you
+have found Miss Mackwayte I will hear you but not before!"
+
+Desmond drew himself up.
+
+"In that case, sir," he said stiffly, "I will bid you good
+morning. And I trust you will hear from me very soon again!"
+
+He walked over to one of the cars waiting outside the inn, spoke
+a word to the driver and got in. The driver started the engine
+and presently the car was bumping slowly along the muddy track to
+the main road.
+
+The Chief stood looking after him.
+
+"Well," he murmured to himself. "I soaked it into him pretty
+hard; but he took it like a brick. I do believe he'll find her
+yet!"
+
+He shook his head sagely and continued on hid way across the
+yard.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIII. MRS. MALPLAQUET GOES DOWN TO THE CELLAR
+
+In the age of chivalry woman must have been built of sterner
+stuff than the girl of to-day. At least, we read in medieval
+romance of fair ladies who, after being knocked down by a
+masterful suitor and carried off across his saddle bow thirty or
+forty miles, are yet able to appear, cold but radiantly
+beautiful, at the midnight wedding and the subsequent marriage
+feast.
+
+But this is a romance of the present day, the age of nerves and
+high velocity. Barbara Mackwayte, strong and plucky as she was,
+after being half throttled and violently thrown into the cellar
+of the Dyke Inn, suddenly gave way under the strain and
+conveniently evaded facing the difficulties of her position by
+fainting clear away.
+
+The precise moment when she came out of her swoon she never knew.
+The cellar was dark; but it was nothing compared to the darkness
+enveloping her mind. She lay there on the damp and mouldy straw,
+hardly able, scarcely wanting, to move, overwhelmed by the
+extraordinary adventure which had befallen her. Was this to be
+the end of the pleasant trip into the country on which she had
+embarked so readily only a few hours before? She tried to
+remember that within twenty miles of her were policemen and taxis
+and lights and all the attributes of our present day
+civilization; but her thoughts always returned, with increasing
+horror, to that undersized yellow-faced man in the room above, to
+the face of Nur-el-Din, dark and distorted with passion.
+
+A light shining down the cellar stairs drew her attention to the
+entrance. The woman she had already seen and in whom she now
+recognized Marie, the dancer's maid, was descending, a tray in
+her hand. She placed the tray on the ground without a word, then
+went up the stairs again and fetched the lamp. She put the lamp
+down by the tray and, stooping, cut the ropes that fastened
+Barbara's hands and feet.
+
+"So, Mademoiselle," she said, drawing herself erect with a grunt,
+"your supper: some tea and meat!"
+
+She pulled a dirty deal box from a corner of the cellar and put
+the tray upon it. Then she rose to her feet and sat down. The
+maid watched Barbara narrowly while she ate a piece of bread and
+drank the tea.
+
+"At least," thought Barbara to herself, "they don't mean to
+starve me!"
+
+The tea was hot and strong; and it did her good. It seemed to
+clear her faculties, too; for her brain began to busy itself with
+the problem of escaping from her extraordinary situation.
+
+"Mademoiselle was a leetle too clevaire," said the maid with an
+evil leer,--she would rob Madame, would she? She would play the
+espionne, hein? Eh bien, ma petite, you stay 'ere ontil you say
+what you lave done wiz ze box of Madame!"
+
+"Why do you say I have stolen the box?" protested Barbara, "when
+I tell you I know nothing of it. It was stolen from me by the man
+who killed my father. More than that I don't know. You don't
+surely think I would conspire to kill" her voice trembled--"my
+father, to get possession of this silver box that means nothing
+to me!"
+
+Marie laughed cynically.
+
+"Ma foi," she cried, "when one is a spy, one will stop at
+nothing! But tiers, here is Madame!"
+
+Nur-el-Din picked her way carefully down the steps, the
+yellow-faced man behind her. He had a pistol in his hand. The
+dancer said something in French to her maid who picked up the
+tray and departed.
+
+"Now, Mademoiselle," said Nur-el-Din, "you see this pistol. Rass
+here will use it if you make any attempt to escape. You
+understand me, hein? I come to give you a las' chance to say
+where you 'ave my box..."
+
+Barbara looked at the dancer defiantly.
+
+"I've told you already I know nothing about it. You, if any one,
+should be better able to say what has become of it..."
+
+"Quoi?" exclaimed Nur-el-Din in genuine surprise, "comment?"
+
+"Because," said Barbara, " a long black hair--one of your
+hairs--was found adhering to the straps with which I was
+fastened!"
+
+"Tiens!" said the dancer, her black eyes wide with surprise,
+"tiens!"
+
+She was silent for a minute, lost in thought. The man, Rass,
+suddenly cocked his ear towards the staircase and said something
+to Nur-el-Din in the same foreign tongue which Barbara had heard
+them employ before.
+
+The dancer made a gesture, bidding him to be silent.
+
+"He was at my dressing-table that night;" she murmured in French,
+as though to herself, "then it was he who did it!"
+
+She spoke rapidly to Barbara.
+
+"This man who tied you up... you didn't see him?"
+
+Barbara shook her head.
+
+"I could see nothing; I don't even know that it was a man. He
+seized me so suddenly that in the dark I could distinguish
+nothing... it might have been a woman... yourself, for instance,
+for all I know!"
+
+Nur-el-Din clasped her hands together.
+
+"It was he, himself, then," she whispered, I might have known.
+Yet he has not got it here!"
+
+Heavy footsteps resounded in the room above. Rass cried out
+something swiftly to the dancer, thrust the pistol into her
+hands, and dashed up the ladder. The next moment there was a loud
+report followed by the thud of a heavy body falling. Somewhere in
+the rooms above a woman screamed.
+
+Nur-el-Din's hands flew to her face and the pistol crashed to the
+ground. Two men appeared at the head of the cellar stairs. One
+was Strangwise, in uniform, the other was Bellward.
+
+"They're both here!" said Strangwise over his shoulder to
+Bellward.
+
+"Ah, thank God, you've come!" cried Barbara, running to the foot
+of the ladder.
+
+Strangwise brushed past her and caught Nur-el-Din by the arm.
+
+"Run her upstairs," he said quickly to Bellward who had followed
+behind him, " and lock her in her room. I've seen to the rest.
+You, Miss Mackwayte," he added to Barbara, "you will come with
+us!"
+
+Barbara was staring in fascination at Bellward. She had never
+believed that any disguise could be so baffling, so complete;
+Major Okewood, she thought, looked like a different man.
+
+But Bellward had grasped the dancer by the two arms and forced
+her up the stairs in front of him. Nur-el-Din seemed too overcome
+with terror to utter a sound.
+
+"Oh, don't be so rough with her, Major Okewood!" entreated
+Barbara, "you'll hurt her!"
+
+She had her back turned to Strangwise so she missed the very
+remarkable change that came over his features at her words.
+
+"Okewood," he whispered but too low for the girl to distinguish
+the words, "Okewood? I might have guessed! I might have guessed!"
+Then he touched Barbara lightly on the shoulder.
+
+"Come," he said, "we must be getting upstairs. We have much to
+do!"
+
+He gently impelled her towards the ladder up which Bellward and
+Nur-el-Din had already disappeared. At the top, he took the lead
+and conducted Barbara into the taproom. A single candle stood on
+the table, throwing a wan light into the room. Rass lay on his
+back in the centre of the floor, one hand doubled up under him,
+one knee slightly drawn up.
+
+Barbara started back in horror.
+
+"Is he... is he..." she stammered, pointing at the limp still
+form.
+
+Strangwise nodded.
+
+"A spy!" he said gravely, "we were well rid of him. Go over there
+in the corner where you won't see it. Stay!" he added, seeing how
+pale the girl had become, "you shall have some brandy!"
+
+He produced a flask and measured her out, a portion in the cup.
+Suddenly, the door leading from the bar opened and a woman came
+into the room. Her black velvet dress, her gray hair and general
+air of distinction made her a bizarre figure in that squalid room
+lit by the guttering candle.
+
+"Time we were off!" she said to Strangwise, "Bellward's just
+coming down!"
+
+"There's the maid..." began Strangwise, looking meaningly at
+Barbara.
+
+The woman in black velvet cast a questioning glance at him.
+
+Strangwise nodded.
+
+"I'll do it," said the woman promptly, "if you'll call her down!"
+
+Strangwise went to the other door of the tap-room and called:
+
+"Marie!"
+
+There was a step outside and the maid came in, pale and
+trembling.
+
+"Your mistress wants you; she is downstairs in the cellar," he
+said pleasantly.
+
+Marie hesitated an instant and surveyed the group.
+
+"Non, non," she said nervously, "je n'veux pas descendre!"
+
+Strangwise smiled, showing his teeth.
+
+"No need to be frightened, ma fille," he replied. "Madame here
+will go down with you!" and he pointed to the woman in black
+velvet.
+
+This seemed to reassure the maid and she walked across the room
+to the door, the woman following her. As the latter passed
+Strangwise he whispered a word in her ear.
+
+"No, no," answered the other, "I prefer my own way," and she
+showed him something concealed in her hand.
+
+The two women quitted the room together, leaving Strangwise and
+Barbara alone with the thing on the floor. Strangwise picked up a
+military great-coat which was hanging over the back of a chair
+and put it on, buttoning it all the way up the front and turning
+up the collar about the neck. Then he crammed a cap on his head
+and stood listening intently.
+
+A high, gurgling scream, abruptly checked, came through the open
+door at the farther end of the room.
+
+Barbara sprang up from the chair into which she had sunk.
+
+"What was that" she asked, whispering.
+
+Strangwise did not reply. He was still listening, a tall, well
+set-up figure in the long khaki great-coat.
+
+"But those two women are alone in the cellar," exclaimed Barbara,
+"they are being murdered! Ah! what was that?"
+
+A gentle thud resounded from below.
+
+A man came in through the door leading from the bar:
+
+He had a fat, smooth-shaven face, heavily jowled.
+
+"All ready, Bellward?" asked Strangwise carelessly.
+
+Barbara stared at the man thus addressed. She saw that he was
+wearing the same clothes as the man who had come down into the
+cellar with Strangwise but the beard was gone. And the man she
+saw before her was not Desmond Okewood.
+
+Without waiting to reason out the metamorphosis, she ran towards
+Bellward.
+
+"They're murdering those two women down in the cellar," she
+cried, "oh, what has happened? Won't you go down and see?"
+
+Bellward shook her off roughly.
+
+"Neat work!" said Strangwise.
+
+"She's a wonder with the knife!" agreed the other.
+
+Barbara stamped her foot.
+
+"If neither of you men have the courage to go down," she cried,
+"then I'll go alone! As for you, Captain Strangwise, a British
+officer..."
+
+She never finished the sentence. Strangwise caught her by the
+shoulder and thrust the cold barrel of a pistol in her face.
+
+"Stay where you are!" he commanded. "And if you scream I shoot!"
+
+Barbara was silent, dumb with horror and bewilderment, rather
+than with fear. A light shone through the open door at the end of
+the tap-room and the woman in black velvet appeared, carrying a
+lamp in her hand She was breathing rather hard and her carefully
+arranged gray hair was a little untidy; but she was quite calm
+and self-possessed.
+
+"We haven't a moment to lose!" she said, putting the lamp down on
+the table and blowing it out.
+
+"Bellward, give me my cloak!"
+
+Bellward advanced with a fur cloak and wrapped it about her
+shoulders.
+
+"You are the perfect artiste, Minna," he said.
+
+"Practise makes perfect!" replied Mrs. Malplaquet archly.
+
+Strangwise had flung open the door leading to the front yard. A
+big limousine stood outside.
+
+"Come on," he said impatiently, "don't stand there gossiping you
+two!"
+
+Then Barbara revolted.
+
+"I'll not go!" she exclaimed, "you can do what you like but I'll
+stay where I am! Murderers..."
+
+"Oh," said Strangwise wearily, "bring her along, Bellward!"
+
+Bellward and the woman seized the girl one by each arm and
+dragged her to the car. Strangwise had the door open and between
+them they thrust her in. Bellward and the woman mounted after her
+while Strangwise, after starting the engine, sprang into the
+driving-seat outside. With a low hum the big car glided forth
+into the cold, starry night.
+
+From the upper floor of the Dyke Inn came the sound of a woman's
+terrified sobs. Below there reigned the silence of death.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIV. THE TWO DESERTERS
+
+Desmond drove to Wentfield Station in an angry and defiant mood.
+He was incensed against Francis, incensed against the Chief, yet,
+if the truth were told, most of all incensed against himself.
+
+Not that he admitted it for a moment. He told himself that he was
+very hardly used. He had undergone considerable danger in the
+course of discharging a mission which was none of his seeking,
+and he had met with nothing but taunts from his brother and abuse
+from the Chief.
+
+"I wash my hands of the whole thing," Desmond declared, as he
+paced the platform at Wentfield waiting for his train. "As
+Francis is so precious cocksure about it all, let him carry on in
+my place! He's welcome to the Chief's wiggings! The Chief won't
+get me to do his dirty work again in a hurry! That's flat!"
+
+Yet all the while the little gimlet that men call conscience was
+patiently drilling its way through the wall of obduracy behind
+which Desmond's wounded pride had taken cover. Rail as he would
+against his hard treatment at the hands of the Chief, he knew
+perfectly well that he could never wash his hands of his mission
+until Barbara Mackwayte had been brought back into safety. This
+thought kept thrusting itself forward into the foreground of his
+mind; and he had to focus his attention steadfastly on his
+grievances to push it back again.
+
+But we puny mortals are all puppets in the hands of Fate. Even as
+the train was bearing Desmond, thus rebellious, Londonwards,
+Destiny was already pulling the strings which was to force the
+"quitter" back into the path he had forsaken. For this purpose
+Fate had donned the disguise of a dirty-faced man in a greasy old
+suit and a spotted handkerchief in lieu of collar... but of him
+presently.
+
+On arriving at Liverpool Street, Desmond, painfully conscious of
+his unkempt appearance, took a taxi to a Turkish bath in the West
+End. There his first care was to submit himself to the hands of
+the barber who, after a glance at his client's bandaged head,
+muddy clothes and shaggy beard, coughed ominously and relapsed
+into a most unbarber-like reserve.
+
+Desmond heard the cough and caught the look of commiseration on
+the man's face.
+
+"I rather think I want a shave!" he said, weakly. "I rather think
+you do, sir!" replied the man, busy with his lather.
+
+"... Had a nasty accident," murmured Desmond, "I fell down and
+cut my head..."
+
+"We're used to that here, sir," answered the barber, "but the
+bath'll make you as right as, rain. W'y we 'ad a genel'man in
+'ere, only lars' week it was, as 'adn't been 'ome for five days
+and nights and the coat mos tore off 'is back along with a bit of
+turn-up 'e'd 'at one o' them night clubs. And drunk I... w'y 'e
+went to bite the rubber, so they wos tellin' me! But, bless you,
+'e 'ad a nice shave and a couple of hours in the bath and a bit
+of a nap; we got him his clothes as was tore mended up fine for
+'im and 'e went 'ome as sober as a judge and as fresh as a
+daisy!"
+
+Desmond had it in his mind to protest against this material
+interpretation of his disreputable state; but the sight in the
+mirror of his ignominiously scrubby and battered appearance
+silenced him. The barber's explanation was as good as any, seeing
+that he himself could give no satisfactory account of the
+circumstances which had reduced him to his sorry pass. So Desmond
+held his peace though he felt constrained to reject the barber's
+offer of a pick-me-up.
+
+From the shaving saloon, Desmond sent a messenger out for some
+clothes, and for the next three hours amused himself by
+exhausting the resources of the Turkish bath. Finally, about the
+hour of noon, he found himself, considerably refreshed, swathed
+in towel, reposing on a couch, a cup of coffee at his elbow and
+that morning's Daily Telegraph spread out before him.
+
+Advertisements, so the experts say, are printed on the front and
+back of newspapers in order to catch the eye of the indolent, on
+the chance that having exhausted the news, they may glance idly
+over the front and back of the paper before laying it aside. So
+Desmond, before he even troubled to open his paper, let his gaze
+wander down the second column of the front page whence issue
+daily those anguishing appeals, mysterious messages,
+heart-rending entreaties and barefaced begging advertisements
+which give this column its characteristic name.
+
+There his eye fell on an advertisement couched in the following
+terms:
+
+"If Gunner Martin Barling, 1820th Battery, R.F.C., will
+communicate with Messrs. Mills & Cheyne, solicitors 130 Bedford
+Row, W. C., he will hear of something to his advantage.
+Difficulties with the military can be arranged."
+
+Desmond read this advertisement over once and then, starting at
+the beginning, read it over again. Gunner Barling... the name
+conjured up a picture of a jolly, sun-burned man, always very
+spick and span, talking the strange lingo of our professional
+army gleaned from India, Aden, Malta and the Rock, the type of
+British soldier that put the Retreat from Mons into the history
+books for all time.
+
+Advertisements like this; Desmond reflected dreamily, meant
+legacies as a rule; he was glad of it, for the sake of Barling
+whom he hadn't seen since the far-away days of Aldershot before
+the war.
+
+"Buzzer" Barling was the brother of one Private Henry Barling who
+had been Desmond's soldier-servant. He derived the nickname of
+"Buzzer" from the fact that he was a signaller. As the
+vicissitudes of service had separated the two brothers for many
+years, they had profited by the accident of finding themselves at
+the same station to see as much of one another as possible, and
+Desmond had frequently come across the gunner at his quarters in
+barracks. Henry Barling had gone out to France with Desmond but a
+sniper in the wood at Villers Cotterets had deprived Desmond of
+the best servant and the truest friend he had ever had Now here
+was Henry's brother cropping up again. Desmond hoped that
+"Buzzer" Barling would see the advertisement, and half asleep,
+formed a mental resolve to cut out the notice and send it to the
+gunner who, he felt glad to think, was still alive. The rather
+curiously worded reference to difficulties with the military must
+mean, Desmond thought, that leave could be obtained for Martin
+Barling to come home and collect his legacy.
+
+At this point the Daily Telegraph fell to the ground and Desmond
+went off to sleep. When he awoke, the afternoon hush had fallen
+upon the bath. He seemed to be the only occupant of the cubicles.
+His clothes which had arrived from the shop during his slumbers,
+were very neatly laid out on a couch opposite him.
+
+He dressed himself leisurely. The barber was quite right. The
+bath had made a new man of him. Save for a large bump on the back
+of his head he was none the worse for Strangwise's savage blow.
+The attendant having packed Bellward's apparel in the suit-case
+in which Desmond's clothes had come from the club, Desmond left
+the suit-case in the man's charge and strolled out into the soft
+air of a perfect afternoon. He had discarded his bandage and in
+his well fitting blue suit and brown boots he was not
+recognizable as the scrubby wretch who had entered the bath six
+hours before.
+
+Desmond strolled idly along the crowded streets in the sunshine.
+He was rather at a loss as to what his next move should be. Now
+that his mental freshness was somewhat restored, his thoughts
+began to busy themselves again with the disappearance of Barbara
+Mackwayte. He was conscious of a guilty feeling towards Barbara.
+It was not so much the blame he laid upon himself for not being
+at the Mill House to meet her when she came as the sense that he
+had been unfaithful to the cause of her murdered father.
+
+Now that he was away from Nur-el-Din with her pleading eyes and
+pretty gestures, Desmond's thoughts turned again to Barbara
+Mackwayte. As he walked along Piccadilly, he found himself
+contrasting the two women as he had contrasted them that night he
+had met them in Nur-el-Din's dressing room at the Palaceum. And,
+with a sense of shame; he became aware of how much he had
+succumbed to the dancer's purely sensual influence; for away from
+her he found he could regain his independence of thought and
+action.
+
+The thought of Barbara in the hands of that woman with the cruel
+eyes or a victim to the ruthlessness of Strangwise made Desmond
+cold with apprehension. If they believed the girl knew where the
+jewel had disappeared to, they would stop at nothing to force a
+confession from her; Desmond was convinced of that. But what had
+become of the trio?
+
+In vain he cast about him for a clue. As far as he knew, the only
+London address that Strangwise had was the Nineveh; and he was as
+little likely to return there as Bellward was to make his way to
+his little hotel in Jermyn Street. There remained Mrs. Malplaquet
+who, he remembered, had told him of her house at Campden Hill.
+
+For the moment, Desmond decided, he must put both Strangwise and
+Bellward out of his calculations. The only direction in which he
+could start his inquiries after Barbara Mackwayte pointed towards
+Campden Hill and Mrs. Malplaquet.
+
+The delightful weather suggested to his mind the idea of walking
+out to Campden Hill to pursue his investigations on the spot. So
+he made his way across the Park into Kensington Gardens heading
+for the pleasant glades of Notting Hill. In the Bayswater Road he
+turned into a postoffice and consulted the London Directory. He
+very quickly convinced himself that among the hundreds of
+thousands of names compiled by Mr. Kelly's indefatigable industry
+Mrs. Malplaquet's was not to be found. Neither did the street
+directory show her as the tenant of any of the houses on Campden
+Hill.
+
+I don't know that there is a more pleasant residential quarter of
+London than the quiet streets and gardens that straggle over this
+airy height. The very steepness of the slopes leading up from the
+Kensington High Street on the ono side and from Holland Park
+Avenue on the other effectually preserves the atmosphere of
+old-world languor which envelops this retired spot. The hill,
+with its approaches so steep as to suggest to the imaginative the
+pathway winding up some rock-bound fastness of the Highlands,
+successfully defies organ-grinders and motor-buses and other
+aspirants to the membership in the great society for the
+propagation of street noises. As you near the summit, the quiet
+becomes more pronounced until you might fancy yourself a thousand
+leagues, instead of as many yards, removed from the busy commerce
+of Kensington or the rather strident activity of Notting Hill.
+
+So various in size and condition are the houses that it is as
+though they had broken away from the heterogeneous rabble of
+bricks and mortar that makes up the Royal Borough of Kensington,
+and run up in a crowd to the summit of the hill to look down
+contemptuously upon their less fortunate brethren in the plain.
+On Campden Hill there are houses to suit all purses and all
+tastes from the vulgar mansion with its private garden to the
+little one-story stable that Art (which flourishes in these
+parts) and ten shillings worth of paint has converted into a
+cottage.
+
+For half an hour Desmond wandered in a desultory fashion along
+the quiet roads of natty houses with brightly painted doors and
+shining brass knockers. He had no definite objective; but he
+hoped rather vaguely to pick up some clue that might lead him to
+Mrs. Malplaquet's. He walked slowly along surveying the houses
+and scrutinizing the faces of the passers-by who were few and far
+between, yet without coming any nearer the end of his search.
+
+It was now growing dusk. Enthroned on the summit of the hill the
+water-tower stood out hard and clear against the evening sky.
+Desmond, who hid lost his bearings somewhat in the course of his
+wanderings, came to a full stop irresolutely, where two streets
+crossed, thinking that he would retrace his footsteps to the
+main-road on the chance of picking up a taxi to take him back to
+town. He chose one of the streets at random; but it proved to be
+a crescent and brought him back practically to the spot he had
+started from. Thereupon, he took the other and followed it up,
+ignoring various side-turnings which he feared might be pitfalls
+like the last: But the second road was as bad as the first. It
+was a cul de sac and brought Desmond face to face with a blank
+wall.
+
+He turned and looked about him for somebody of whom to ask the
+way. But the street was entirely deserted. He seemed to be on the
+very summit of the hill; for all the roads were a-tilt. Though
+the evening was falling fast, no light appeared in any of the
+houses and the street lamps were yet unlit. Save for the distant
+bourdon of the traffic which rose to his ears like the beating of
+the surf, the breeze rustling the bushes in the gardens was the
+only sound.
+
+Desmond started to walk back slowly the way he had come.
+Presently, his eyes caught the gleam of a light from above a
+front door. When he drew level with it, he saw that a gas-jet was
+burning in the fanlight over the entrance to a neat little
+two-story house which stood by itself in a diminutive garden. As
+by this time he was thoroughly sick of wandering aimlessly about,
+he went up to the neat little house and rang the bell.
+
+A maid-servant in a cap and apron who seemed to be drawn to the
+scale of the house, such an insignificant little person she was,
+opened the door.
+
+"Oh, sir," she exclaimed when she saw him, "was it about the
+rooms?"
+
+And she pointed up at the fan-light where, for the first time,
+Desmond noticed a printed card with the inscription-:
+
+"Furnished Rooms to Let."
+
+The servant's unexpected question put an idea into Desmond's
+head. He could not return to the club, he reflected, since he was
+supposed to be killed in action. Why not take a room in this
+house in the heart of the enemy's country and spend some days on
+the watch for Mrs. Malplaquet or for any clue that might lead him
+to her?
+
+So Desmond answered, yes, it was about the rooms he had come.
+
+Promising that she would tell "the missus," the little servant
+showed him into a tiny sitting-room, very clean and bright, with
+blue cretonne curtains and a blue carpet and an engraving of
+"King Cophetua and The Beggar Maid" over the mantelpiece.
+Directly you came into the room, everything in it got up and
+shouted "Tottenham Court Road."
+
+Then the door opened and, with a great tinkling and rustling, a
+stoutish, brisk-looking woman sailed in. The tinkling proceeded
+frown the large amount of cheap jewelry with which she was
+adorned; the rustling from a black and shiny glace silk dress.
+With every movement she made the large drops she wore in her ears
+chinked and were answered by a melodious chime from the charm
+bangles she had on her wrists.
+
+She measured Desmond in a short glance and his appearance seemed
+to please her for she smiled as she said in rather a mincing
+voice:
+
+"My (she pronounced it 'may') maid said you wished to see the
+rooms!"
+
+Desmond intimated that such was his desire.
+
+"Pray be seated," said the little woman: "You will understand,
+I'm sure, that ay am not in the habit of taking in paying guests,
+but may husband being at the front, ay have a bedroom and this
+sitting-room free and ay thought..."
+
+She stopped and looked sharply at Desmond.
+
+"You are an officer, I think" she asked.
+
+Desmond bowed.
+
+"May husband is also an officer," replied the woman, "Captain
+Viljohn-Smythe; you may have met him. No? Of course, had you not
+been of commissioned rank, ay should not..."
+
+She trailed off vaguely.
+
+Desmond inquired her terms and surprised her somewhat by
+accepting them on the spot.
+
+"But you have not seen the bedroom!" protested Mrs.
+Viljohn-Smythe.
+
+"I will take it on trust," Desmond replied, "and here," he added,
+pulling out his note-case, "is a week's rent in advance. I'll go
+along now and fetch my things. By the way," he went on, "I know
+some people here at Campden Hill but very foolishly, I've mislaid
+the address. Malplaquet... Mrs. Malplaquet. Do you happen to know
+her house"
+
+"Ay know most of the naice people living round about here,"
+replied the lady, "but for the moment, ay cannot recollect... was
+it one of the larger houses on the hill, do you know?"
+
+"I'm afraid I don't know," said Desmond. "You see, I've lost the
+address!"
+
+"Quayte!" returned Mrs. Viljohn-Smythe. "Ay can't say ay know the
+name!" she added.
+
+However, she consented to consult the handmaiden, who answered to
+the name of Gladays, as to Mrs. Malplaquet's address, but she was
+as ignorant as her mistress.
+
+Promising to return in the course of the evening with his things
+and having received exact instructions as to the shortest way to
+Holland Park Avenue, Desmond took his leave. He felt that he had
+embarked on a wild goose chase; for, even if the fugitives had
+made their way to Mrs. Malplaquet's (which was more than
+doubtful) he imagined they would take care to lie very low so
+that his chances of coming across any of them were of the most
+meager.
+
+Following the directions he had received, he made his way easily
+back to the main road. He halted under a street-lamp to catch the
+eye of any passing taxi which might happen to be disengaged. A
+dirty faced man in a greasy old suit and a spotted handkerchief
+knotted about his throat came slouching along the pavement,
+keeping close to the wall. On catching sight of Desmond's face by
+the light of the lamp, he stopped irresolutely and then advanced
+slowly towards him.
+
+"Excuse me, sir!" he said falteringly.
+
+Desmond looked round at the sound of the man's voice and seeing a
+typical street loafer, asked the fellow to get him a taxi.
+
+"It is Captain Okewood," said the loafer, "you don't remember me,
+sir?"
+
+Desmond looked at the dirty, rather haggard face with its
+unshaven chin and shook his head.
+
+"I don't think I do," he answered, "though you seem to know my
+name!"
+
+The vagrant fumbled in his pocket for a minute and extracting a
+scrap of paper, unfolded it and held it out to Desmond.
+
+"That's me, sir!" he said, "and, oh, sir! if you would kindly
+help me with a word of good advice, just for old times' sake, I'd
+be very grateful!"
+
+Desmond took the scrap of paper which the man tendered and held
+it so as to catch the rays of the lamp. It was a fragment torn
+from a newspaper. He had hardly set eyes on the cutting than he
+stretched out his hand to the vagrant.
+
+"Why, Gunner Barling, " he cried, "I didn't know you! How on
+earth do you come to be in this state?"
+
+The man looked shamefacedly down on the ground.
+
+"I'm a deserter, sir!" he said in a low voice.
+
+"Are you, by George?" replied Desmond, "and now I come to think
+of it, so am I!"
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXV. TO MRS. MALPLAQUET'S
+
+Clasping Barbara's wrist in a bony grip, Mrs. Malplaquet sat at
+the girl's side in the back seat of the limousine whilst Bellward
+placed himself on the seat opposite. The car was powerfully
+engined; and, once the cart track up to the inn was passed and
+the main road reached, Strangwise opened her out.
+
+By the track leading to the inn the high road made a right angle
+turn to the right. This turn they took, leaving the Mill House
+away in the distance to the left of them, and, after skirting the
+fen for some way and threading a maze of side roads, presently
+debouched on a straight, broad road.
+
+Dazed and shaken by her experiences, Barbara lost all count of
+time, but after running for some time through the open country in
+the gray light of dawn, they reached the edge of those long
+tentacles of bricks and mortar which London thrusts out from her
+on every side. The outer fringes of the metropolis were still
+sleeping as the great car roared by. The snug " High Streets,"
+the red brick "Parades" and "Broadways," with their lines of
+houses with blinds drawn, seemed to have their eyes shut, so
+blank, so somnolent was their aspect.
+
+With their lamps alight, the first trams were gliding out to
+begin the new day, as the big car swiftly traversed the eastern
+suburbs of London. To Barbara, who had had her home at Seven
+Kings, there was something familiar about the streets as they
+flickered by; but her powers of observation were dulled, so great
+was the sense of helplessness that weighed her down.
+
+High-booted scavengers with curious snake-like lengths of hose on
+little trolleys were sluicing the asphalt as the limousine
+snorted past the Mansion House into Poultney and Cheapside. The
+light was growing clearer now; the tube stations were open and
+from time to time a motor-bus whizzed by.
+
+Barbara stirred restlessly and Mrs. Malplaquet's grip on her
+wrist tightened.
+
+"Where are you taking me?" the girl said.
+
+Mrs. Malplaquet spoke a single word.
+
+"Bellward!" she said in a gentle voice; but it was a voice of
+command.
+
+Bellward leaned forward.
+
+"Look at me, Miss Mackwayte!" he said.
+
+There was a curious insistence in his voice that made Barbara
+obey. She struggled for a moment against the impulse to do his
+bidding; for some agency within her told her to resist the
+summons. But an irresistible force seemed to draw her eyes to
+his. Bellward did not move. He simply leaned forward a little,
+his hands on his knees, and looked at her. Barbara could not see
+his eyes, for the light in the car was still dim, but inch by
+inch they captured hers.
+
+She looked at the black outline of his head and instantly was
+conscious of a wave of magnetic power that transmitted itself
+from his will to hers. She would have cried out, have struggled,
+have sought to break away; but that invisible dance held her as
+in a vice. A little gasp broke from her lips; but that was all.
+
+"So!" said Bellward with the little sigh of a man who has just
+accomplished some bodily effort, "so! you will keep quiet now and
+do as I tell you. You understand?"
+
+No reply came from the girl. She had thrust her head forward and
+was gazing fixedly at the man. Bellward leaned towards the girl
+until his stubbly hair actually touched her soft brown curls. He
+was gazing intently at her eyes.
+
+He was apparently well satisfied with his inspection, for he gave
+a sigh of satisfaction and turned to Mrs. Malplaquet.
+
+"She'll give no more trouble now!" he remarked airily.
+
+"Ah! Bellward," sighed Mrs. Malplaquet, "you're incomparable!
+What an undefeatable combination you and I would have made if
+we'd met twenty years sooner!"
+
+And she threw him a coquettish glance.
+
+"Ah, indeed!" returned Bellward pensively. "But a night like this
+makes me feel twenty years older, Minna. He's a daredevil, this
+Strangwise. Imagine going back to that infernal inn when the
+police might have broken in on us any minute. But he is a
+determined chap. He doesn't seem to know what it is to be beaten.
+He wanted to make sure that Nur-el-Din had not recovered the
+jewel from him, though he declares that it has never left him day
+or night since he got possession of it. He fairly made hay of her
+room back at the inn there."
+
+"Well," said Mrs. Malplaquet rather spitefully, "he seems to be
+beaten this time. He hasn't found his precious Star of Poland."
+
+"No," answered the man reflectively, but I think he will!"
+
+Mrs. Malplaquet laughed shrilly.
+
+"And how, may I ask? From what Strangwise told me himself, the
+thing has utterly vanished. And he doesn't seem to have any clue
+as to who has taken it!"
+
+"Perhaps not," replied Bellward, who appeared to have a high
+opinion of Strangwise, "but, like all Germans, our friend is
+thorough. If he does not see the direct road, he proceeds by a
+process of elimination until he bits upon it. He did not expect
+to find the jewel in Nur-el-Din's room; he told me as much
+himself, but he searched because he is thorough in everything. Do
+you know why he really went back to the Dyke Inn?"
+
+"Why?" asked Mrs. Malplaquet.
+
+"To secure our young friend here," answered Bellward with a
+glance at Barbara.
+
+Mrs. Malplaquet made a little grimace to bid him to be prudent in
+what he said before the girl.
+
+"Bah!" the man laughed, "you understand nothing of what we are
+saying, do you?" he said, addressing Barbara.
+
+The girl moved uneasily.
+
+"I understand nothing of what you are saying," she replied in a
+strained voice.
+
+"This girl was the last person to have the jewel before
+Strangwise," Bellward said, continuing his conversation with Mrs.
+Malplaquet, and she is employed at the Headquarters of the Secret
+Service. Strangwise was satisfied that nobody connected him with
+the theft of the silver box which Nur-el-Din gave to this girl
+until our young lady here appeared at the Dyke Inn yesterday
+afternoon. Nur-el-Din played his game for him by detaining the
+girl. Strangwise believes--and I must say I agree with him--that
+probably two persons know where the Star of Poland is. One is
+this girl..."
+
+"The other being the late Mr. Bellward?" queried Mrs. Malplaquet.
+
+"Precisely. The late Mr. Bellward or Major Desmond Okewood!" said
+Bellward. "Between him and this girl here I think we ought to be
+able to recover Strangwise's lost property for him!"
+
+"But you haven't got Okewood yet!" observed the lady in a mocking
+voice.
+
+The man looked evilly at her, his heavy, fat chin set square.
+
+"But we shall get him, never fear. With a little bird-lime as
+attractive as this--"
+
+He broke off and jerked his head in the direction of Barbara.
+
+"... I shall do the rest!" he added.
+
+"Ah!"
+
+Mrs. Malplaquet drew a deep sigh of admiration.
+
+"That's a clever idea. He is so ruse, this Strangwise. You are
+quite right, Bellward, he never admits himself beaten. And he
+never is! But tell me," she added, "what about Nur-el-Din?
+They'll nab her, eh?"
+
+"Unless our British friends are even more inefficient than I
+believe them to be, they most certainly will," he replied.
+
+"And then?"
+
+Bellward shrugged his shoulders and spread wide his hands.
+
+"A little morning ceremony at the Tower," he answered, "unless
+these idiotic English are too sentimental to execute a woman..."
+
+The car was running down the long slope to Paddington Station. It
+drew up at the entrance to the booking office, and Strangwise,
+springing from the driver's seat, flung open the door.
+
+"Come on!" he cried, "we must look sharp or we'll miss our
+train!"
+
+He dragged a couple of bags off the roof and led the way into the
+station. In the booking-hall he inquired of a porter what time
+the express left for Bath, then went to the ticket office and
+took four first-class tickets to that place. Meanwhile, the car
+remained standing empty in the carriageway.
+
+Strangwise led his little party up some stairs and across a long
+bridge, down some stairs and up some stairs again, emerging,
+finally, at the Bakerloo Tube Station. There he despatched
+Bellward to fetch a taxi.
+
+Taxis are rare in the early hours of the morning in war-time and
+Bellward was gone fully twenty minutes. Strangwise fidgeted
+continually, drawing out his watch repeatedly and casting many
+anxious glances this way and that.
+
+His nervous demeanor began to affect Mrs. Malplaquet, who had
+linked her arm affectionately in Barbara's. The girl remained
+absolutely apathetic. Indeed, she seemed almost as one in a
+trance.
+
+"Aren't we going to Bath?" at length demanded Mrs. Malplaquet of
+Strangwise.
+
+"Don't ask questions!" snapped the latter.
+
+"But the car?" asked the lady.
+
+"Hold your tongue!" commanded the officer; and Mrs. Malplaquet
+obeyed.
+
+Then Mr. Bellward returned with the news that he had at last got
+a taxi. Strangwise turned to Bellward.
+
+"Can Minna and the girl go to Campden Hill alone?" he asked. "Or
+will the girl try and break away, do you think?"
+
+Bellward held up his hand to enjoin silence.
+
+"You will go along with Mrs. Malplaquet," he said to Barbara in
+his low purring voice, "you will stay with her until I come. You
+understand?"
+
+"I will go with Mrs. Malplaquet!" the girl replied in the same
+dull tone as before.
+
+"Upon my word," exclaimed Mrs. Malplaquet, you might have told me
+that we were going to my own place..."
+
+But Strangwise shut her up.
+
+"Bellward and I will come on by tube... it is safer," he said,
+"hurry, hurry! We must all be under cover by eight o'clock... we
+have no time to lose!"
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVI. THE MAN IN THE SUMMER-HOUSE
+
+The hour of the theatre rush was long since over and its passing
+had transformed the taxi-drivers from haughty autocrats to humble
+suppliants. One taxi after another crawled slowly past the street
+corner where Desmond had stood for over an hour in deep converse
+with Gunner Barling, but neither flaunting flag nor appealingly
+uplifted finger attracted the slightest attention from the
+athletic-looking man who was so earnestly engaged in talk with a
+tramp. But at last the conversation was over; the two men
+separated and the next taxi passing thereafter picked up a fare.
+
+At nine o'clock the next morning Desmond appeared for breakfast
+in his sitting-room at Santona Road; for such was the name of the
+street in which his new rooms were situated. When he had finished
+his meal, he summoned Gladys and informed her that he would be
+glad to speak to Mrs. Viljohn-Smythe. That lady having duly
+answered the summons, Desmond asked whether, in consideration of
+terms to be mutually agreed upon, she could accommodate his
+soldier servant. He explained that the last-named was of the most
+exemplary character and threw out a hint of the value of a batman
+for such tasks as the cleaning of the family boots and the
+polishing of brass or silver.
+
+The landlady made no objections and half an hour later a clean
+and respectable-looking man arrived whom Desmond with difficulty
+recognized as the wretched vagrant of the previous evening. This
+was, indeed, the Gunner Barling he used to know, with his
+smooth-shaven chin and neat brown moustache waxed at the ends and
+characteristic "quiff" decorating his brow. And so Desmond and
+his man installed themselves at Santona Road.
+
+The house was clean and comfortable, and Mrs. Viljohn-Smythe, for
+all her "refaynement," as she would have called it, proved
+herself a warm-hearted, motherly soul. Desmond had a small but
+comfortably furnished bedroom at the top of the house, on the
+second floor, with a window which commanded a view of the
+diminutive garden and the back of a row of large houses standing
+on the lower slopes of the hill. So precipitous was the fall of
+the ground, indeed, that Desmond could look right into the garden
+of the house backing on Mrs. Viljohn-Smythe's. This garden had a
+patch of well-kept green sward in the centre with a plaster nymph
+in the middle, while in one corner stood a kind of large
+summer-house or pavilion built on a slight eminence, with a
+window looking into Mrs. Viljohn-Smythe's' back garden.
+
+In accordance with a plan of action he had laid down in his mind,
+Desmond took all his meals at his rooms. The rest of the day he
+devoted to walking about the streets of Campden Hill and setting
+on foot discreet inquiries after Mrs. Malplaquet amongst the
+local tradespeople.
+
+For three or four days he carried out this arrangement without
+the slightest success. He dogged the footsteps of more than one
+gray-haired lady of distinguished appearance without lighting
+upon his quarry. He bestowed largesse on the constable on point
+duty, on the milkman and the baker's young lady; but none of them
+had ever heard of Mrs. Malplaquet or recognized her from
+Desmond's description.
+
+On the morning of the fourth day Desmond returned to lunch,
+dispirited and heart-sick. He had half a mind to abandon his
+quest altogether and to go and make his peace with the Chief and
+ask to be sent back to France. He ate his lunch and then, feeling
+that it would be useless to resume his aimless patrol of the
+streets, lit a cigar and strolled out into the little
+back-garden.
+
+It was a fine, warm afternoon, and already the crocuses were
+thrusting their heads out of the neat flower-beds as if to
+ascertain whether the spring had really arrived. There was,
+indeed, a pleasant vernal scent in the air.
+
+"A fine day!" said a voice.
+
+Desmond looked up. At the open window of the summerhouse of the
+garden backing on Mrs. Viljohn-Smythe's, his elbows resting on
+the pitch-pine frame, was a middle-aged man. A cigarette was in
+his mouth and from his hands dangled a newspaper. He had a
+smooth-shaven, heavily-jowled face and a large pair of
+tortoise-shell spectacles on his nose.
+
+Desmond remembered to have seen the man already looking out of a
+window opposite his on one of the upper floors of the house. In
+reply to a casual inquiry, Mrs. Viljohn-Smythe had informed him
+that the house was a nursing home kept by a Dr. Radcombs, a nerve
+specialist.
+
+"It is quite like spring!" replied Desmond, wondering if this
+were the doctor. Doctors get about a good deal and Dr. Radcombe
+might be able to tell him something about Mrs. Malplaquet.
+
+"I think we have seen one another in the mornings sometimes,"
+said the heavily-fowled man, "though I have noticed that you are
+an earlier riser than I am. But when one is an invalid--"
+
+"You are one of Dr. Radcombe's patients, then!" said Desmond.
+
+"I am," returned the other, "a great man, that, any dear sir. I
+doubt if there is his equal for diagnosis in the kingdom."
+
+"He has lived here for some years, I suppose?"
+
+"Oh yes!" answered the man, "in fact, he is one of the oldest and
+most-respected residents of Kensington, I believe!"
+
+"I am rather anxious to find some friends of mine who live about
+here," Desmond remarked, quick to seize his opportunity, "I
+wonder whether your doctor could help me..."
+
+"I'm sure he could," the man replied, "the doctor knows
+everybody..."
+
+"The name--" began Desmond, but the other checked him.
+
+"Please don't ask me to burden my memory with names," he
+protested. "I am here for a complete rest from over-work, and
+loss of memory is one of my symptoms. But look here; why not come
+over the wall and step inside the house with me? Dr. Radcombe is
+there and will, I am sure, be delighted to give you any
+assistance in his power!"
+
+Desmond hesitated.
+
+"Really," he said, "it seems rather unconventional. Perhaps the
+doctor would object..."
+
+"Object" said the heavily-fowled man, "tut, tut, not at all. Come
+on, I'll give you a hand up!"
+
+He thrust out a large, white hand. Desmond was about to grasp it
+when he saw gleaming on the third finger a gold snake ring with
+emerald eyes--the ring that Mrs. Malplaquet had given Bellward.
+He was about to draw back but the man was too quick for him.
+Owing to the slope of the ground the window of the summer-house
+was on a level with Desmond's throat. The man's two hands shot
+out simultaneously. One grasped Desmond's wrist in a steel grip
+whilst the other fastened itself about the young man's throat,
+squeezing the very breath out of his body. It was done so quickly
+that he had no time to struggle, no time to shout. As Bellward
+seized him, another arm was shot out of the window. Desmond felt
+himself gripped by the collar and lifted, by a most amazing
+effort of strength, bodily over the wall.
+
+His brain swimming with the pressure on his throat, he struggled
+but feebly to recover his freedom. However, as Desmond was
+dropped heavily on to the grass on the other side of the wall,
+Bellward's grip relaxed just for a second and in that instant
+Desmond made one desperate bid for liberty. He fell in a
+crouching position and, as he felt Bellward loosen his hold for a
+second with the jerk of his victim's fall, Desmond straightened
+himself up suddenly, catching his assailant a violent blow with
+his head on the point of the chin.
+
+Bellward fell back with a crash on to the timber flooring of the
+pavilion. Desmond heard his head strike the boards with a thud,
+heard a muttered curse. He found himself standing in a narrow
+lane, less than three feet wide, which ran between the garden
+wall and the summer-house; for the pavilion, erected on a slight
+knoll surrounded by turf, was not built against the wall as is
+usually the case with these structures.
+
+In this narrow space Desmond stood irresolute for the merest
+fraction of a second. It was not longer; for, directly after
+Bellward had crashed backwards, Desmond heard a light step
+reverberate within the planks of the summerhouse. His most
+obvious course was to scramble back over the wall again into
+safety, in all thankfulness at having escaped so violent an
+attack. But he reflected that Bellward was here and that surely
+meant that the others were not far off. In that instant as he
+heard the stealthy footstep cross the floor of the summer-house,
+Desmond resolved he would not leave the garden until he had
+ascertained whether Barbara Mackwayte was there.
+
+Desmond decided that he would stay where he was until he no
+longer heard that footstep on the planks within; for then the
+person inside the summer-house would have reached the grass at
+the door. Desmond remembered the arm which had shot out beside
+Bellward at the window and swung him so easily off his feet. He
+knew only one man capable of achieving that very respectable
+muscular performance; for Desmond weighed every ounce of twelve
+stone. That man was Maurice Strangwise.
+
+As soon as the creaking of the timbers within ceased, Desmond
+moved to the left following the outer wall of the pavilion. On
+the soft green sward his feet made no sound. Presently he came to
+a window which was let in the side of the summerhouse opposite
+the window from which Bellward had grappled with him. Raising his
+eyes to the level of the sill, Desmond took a cautious peep. He
+caught a glimpse of the face of Maurice Strangwise, brows knit,
+nostrils dilated, the very picture of venomous, watchful rancor.
+
+Strangwise had halted and was now looking back over the wall into
+Mrs. Viljohn-Smythe's back garden. Was it possible, Desmond
+wondered, that he could believe that Desmond had scrambled back
+over the wall? Strangwise remained motionless, his back now fully
+turned to Desmond, peering into the other garden.
+
+The garden in which the summer-house stood was oblong in shape
+and more than twice as broad as it was long. The pavilion was not
+more than forty yards from the back entrance of the house.
+Desmond weighed in his mind the possibility of being able to dash
+across those forty yards, the turf deadening the sound of his
+feet, before Strangwise turned round again. The entrance to the
+back of the house was through a door in the side of the house, to
+which two or three wrought-iron steps gave access. Once he had
+gained the steps Desmond calculated that the side of the house
+would shelter him from Strangwise's view. He turned these things
+over in his mind in the twinkling of an eye; for all his life he
+had been used to quick decision and quick action. To cover those
+forty yards across the open in one bound was, he decided, too
+much to risk; for he must at all costs gain access to the house
+and discover, if possible, whether Barbara Mackwayte were
+confined within, before he was caught.
+
+Then his eye fell on the plaster nymph in the middle of the
+grass. She was a stoutly-built female, life-size, standing upon a
+solid-looking pedestal fully four feet broad. Desmond measured
+the distance separating him from the nymph. It was not more than
+twenty yards at the outside and the pedestal would conceal him
+from the eyes of Strangwise if the latter should turn round
+before he had made his second bound and reached the steps at the
+side of the house.
+
+He peeped through the window again. Strangwise stood in his old
+attitude gazing over the garden wall. Then Desmond acted. Taking
+long strides on the points of his toes, he gained the statue and
+crouched down behind it. Even as he started, he heard a loud
+grunt from the inside of the summerhouse and from his cover
+behind the nymph saw Strangwise turn quickly and enter the
+summerhouse. On that Desmond sprang to his feet again, heedless
+of whether he was seen from the house, ran lightly across the
+grass and reached the steps at the side of the house.
+
+The door stood ajar.
+
+He stood still on the top step and listened for a moment. The
+house was wrapped in silence. Not a sign of life came from
+within.
+
+But now he heard voices from the garden and they were the voices
+of two angry men, raised in altercation. As he listened, they
+drew nearer.
+
+Desmond tarried no longer. He preferred the unknown perils which
+that silent house portended to the real danger advancing from the
+garden. He softly pushed the door open and slipped into the
+house.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVII. THE RED LACQUER ROOM
+
+The side-door led into a little white passage with a green baize
+door at the end. A staircase, which from its white-washed treads,
+Desmond judged to be the back stairs, gave on the passage.
+Calculating that the men in the garden would be certain to use
+the main staircase, Desmond took the back stairs which, on the
+first lauding, brought him face to face with a green baize door,
+similar in every respect to that on the floor below.
+
+He pushed this door open and listened. Hearing nothing he passed
+on through it. He found himself in a broad corridor on to which
+gave the main staircase from below and its continuation to the
+upper floors. Three rooms opened on to this corridor, a large
+drawing-room, a small study and what was obviously the doctor's
+consulting room, from the operating table and the array of
+instruments set out in glass cases. The rooms were empty and
+Desmond was about to return to the back stairs and proceed to the
+next floor when his attention was caught by a series of framed
+photographs with which the walls of the corridor were lined.
+
+These were groups of doctors taken at various medical congresses.
+You will find such photographs in many doctors' houses. Below
+each group were neatly printed the names of the persons therein
+represented. Anxious to see what manner of man was this Doctor
+Radcombe in whose house spies were apparently at liberty to
+consort with impunity, Desmond looked for his name.
+
+There it was--Dr. A. J. Radcombe. But, on looking at the figure
+above the printed line, what was his astonishment to recognize
+the angular features and drooping moustache of "No. 13"!
+
+There was no possible mistake about it. The photographs were
+excellent and Desmond had no difficulty in identifying the
+eccentric-looking German in each of them. So this was Mrs.
+Malplaquet's house, was it? A nursing-home run by "No. 13," who
+in addition to being a spy, would seem to have been a nerve
+specialist as well. In this guise, no doubt, he had made trips to
+the South of England which had gained for him that intimate
+acquaintance with Portsmouth and Southsea of which he had boasted
+at the gathering in the library. In this capacity, moreover, he
+had probably met Bellward whose "oggult" powers, to which "No.
+13" had alluded, seem to point to mesmerism and kindred practices
+in which German neurasthenic research has made such immense
+progress.
+
+Pondering over his surprising discovery, Desmond pursued his way
+to the floor above. Here, too, was a green baize door which
+opened on to a corridor. Desmond walked quickly along it,
+glancing in, as he passed, at the open doors of two or three
+bedrooms. Just beyond where the staircase crossed the corridor
+were two doors, both of which were closed. The one was a white
+door and might have been a bathroom; the other was enameled a
+brilliant, glossy red.
+
+The second floor was as silent and deserted as the corridor
+below. But just as Desmond passed the head of the main staircase
+he heard the sound of voices. He glanced cautiously down the well
+of the stairs and saw Strangwise and Bellward talking together.
+Bellward was on the stairs while Strangwise stood in the
+corridor.
+
+"It's our last chance," Strangwise was saying.
+
+"No, no," Bellward replied heatedly, " I tell you it is madness.
+We must not delay a minute. For Heaven's sake, leave the girl
+alone and let's save ourselves."
+
+"What?" cried Strangwise, "and abandon Minna!"
+
+"Minna is well able to look after herself," answered Bellward in
+a sulky voice, "it's a question of sauve qui peat now... every
+man for himself!"
+
+"No!" said Strangwise firmly, "we'll wait for Minna, Bellward.
+You exaggerate the danger. I tell you I was at the garden wall
+within a few seconds of our friend laying you out, and I saw no
+sign of him in his garden. It was a physical impossibility for
+him to have got over the wall and back into the house in the
+time. And in his garden there's nowhere to hide. It's as bare as
+the Sahara!"
+
+"But, good Heavens!" cried Bellward, throwing his hands excitedly
+above his head, "the man can't dissolve into thin air. He's gone
+back to the house, I tell you, and the police will be here at any
+minute. You know he's not in our garden; for you searched every
+nook and corner of it yourself. Okewood may be too clever for
+you, Strangwise; but he's not a magician!"
+
+"No," said Strangwise sternly, he is not." And he added in a low
+voice:
+
+"That's why I am convinced that he is in this house!"
+
+Desmond felt his heart thump against his ribs.
+
+Bellward seemed surprised for he cried quickly:
+
+"What? Here?"
+
+Strangwise nodded.
+
+"You stand here gossiping with that man loose in the house?"
+exclaimed Bellward vehemently, "why the next thing we know the
+fellow will escape us again!"
+
+"Oh, no, he won't" retorted the other. "Every window on the
+ground floor is barred... this is a home for neurasthenics, you
+know, and that is sometimes a polite word for a lunatic, my
+friend... and the doors, both front and back are locked. The keys
+are here!"
+
+Desmond heard a jingle as Strangwise slapped his pocket.
+
+"All the same," the latter went on, "it is as well to be prepared
+for a sudden change of quarters. That's why I want you to finish
+off the girl at once. Come along, we'll start now..."
+
+"No, no!" declared Bellward. "I'm far too upset. You seem to
+think you can turn me on and off like you do the gas!"
+
+"Well, as you like," said Strangwise, "but the sooner we clear up
+this thing the better. I'm going to see if our clever young
+friend has taken refuge in the servants' quarters upstairs. He's
+not on this floor, that's certain!"
+
+Desmond drew back in terror. He heard the green baize door on the
+floor below swing back as Strangwise went out to the back stairs
+and Bellward's heavy step ascended the main staircase. There was
+something so horribly sinister in that firm, creaking tread as it
+mounted towards him that for the moment he lost his head. He
+looked round wildly for a place of concealment; but the corridor
+was bare. Facing him was the red enamel door. Boldly he turned
+the handle and walked in, softly closing the door behind him.
+
+It was as though he had stepped into another world. The room in
+which he found himself was a study in vivid red emphasized by
+black. Red and black; these were the only colors in the room. The
+curtains, which were of black silk, were drawn, though it was not
+yet dark outside, and from the ceiling was suspended a lamp in
+the shape of a great scarlet bowl which cast an eerie red light
+on one of the most bizarre apartments that Desmond had ever seen.
+
+It was a lacquer room in the Chinese style, popularized by the
+craze for barbaric decoration introduced by Bakst and the Russian
+Ballet into England. The walls were enameled the same brilliant
+glossy red as the door and hung at intervals with panels of
+magnificent black and gold lacquer work. The table which ran down
+the centre of the room was of scarlet and gold lacquer like the
+fantastically designed chairs and the rest of the furniture. The
+heavy carpet was black.
+
+Desmond did not take in all these details at once; for his
+attention was immediately directed to a high-backed armchair
+covered in black satin which stood with its back to the door. He
+stared at this chair; for, peeping out above the back, making a
+splash of deep golden brown against the black sheen of the
+upholstery, was a mass of curls... Barbara Mackwayte's hair.
+
+As he advanced towards the girl, she moaned in a high, whimpering
+voice:
+
+"No, no, not again! Let me sleep! Please, please, leave me
+alone!"
+
+Desmond sprang to her side.
+
+"Barbara!" he cried and never noticed that he called her by her
+Christian name.
+
+Barbara Mackwayte sat in the big black armchair, facing the
+black-curtained window. Her face was pale and drawn, and there
+were black circles under her eyes. There was a listless yet
+highly-strung look about her that you see in people who
+habitually take drugs.
+
+She heeded not the sound of his voice. It was as though he had
+not spoken. She only continued to moan and mutter, moving her
+body about uneasily as a child does when its sleep is disturbed
+by nightmares. Then, to his inexpressible horror, Desmond saw
+that her feet were bound with straps to the legs of the chair.
+Her arms were similarly tethered to the arms of the chair, but
+her hands had been left free.
+
+"Barbara!" said Desmond softly, you know me! I'm Desmond Okewood!
+I've come to take you home!"
+
+The word "home" seemed to catch the girl's attention; for now she
+turned her head and looked at the young man. The expression in
+her eyes, wide and staring, was horrible; for it was the look of
+a tortured animal.
+
+Desmond was bending to unbind the straps that fastened Barbara's
+arms when he heard a step outside the door. The curtains in front
+of the window were just beside him. They were long and reached to
+the floor. Without a second's hesitation he slipped behind them
+and found himself in the recess of a shallow bow window.
+
+The bow window was in three parts and the central part was open
+wide at the bottom. It gave on a little balcony which was in
+reality the roof of a bow window of one of the rooms on the floor
+below. Desmond promptly scrambled out of the window and letting
+himself drop on to the balcony crouched down blow the sill.
+
+A door opened in the room he had just left. He heard steps moving
+about and cupboards opened and shut. Then, there was the sound of
+curtains being drawn back and a voice said just above him:
+
+"He's not here! I tell you the fellow's not in the house! Now
+perhaps you'll believe me!"
+
+The balcony was fairly deep and it was growing dusk; but Desmond
+could scarcely hope to escape detection if Bellward, for he had
+recognized his voice, should think of leaning out of the window
+and looking down upon the balcony. With his coat collar turned up
+to hide the treacherous white of his linen, Desmond pressed
+himself as close as possible against the side of the house and
+waited for the joyful cry that would proclaim that he had been
+discovered. There was no possible means of escape; for the
+balcony stood at an angle of the house with no windows or
+water-pipes anywhere within reach, to give him a foothold,
+looking out on an inhospitable and gloomy area.
+
+Whether Bellward, who appeared bent only on getting away from the
+house without delay, examined the balcony or not, Desmond did not
+know; but after the agony of suspense had endured for what seemed
+to him an hour, he heard Strangwise say:
+
+"It's no good, Bellward! I'm not satisfied! And until I am
+satisfied that Okewood is not here, I don't leave this house. And
+that's that!"
+
+Bellward swore savagely.
+
+"We've searched the garden and not found him: we've ransacked the
+house from top to bottom without result. The fellow's not here;
+but by God, he'll be here presently with a bunch of police, and
+then it'll be too late! For the last time, Strangwise, will you
+clear out?"
+
+There was a moment's pause. Then Desmond heard Strangwise's
+clear, calm voice.
+
+"There's a balcony there... below the window, I mean."
+
+"I've looked," replied Bellward, "and he's not there. You can see
+for yourself!"
+
+The moment of discovery had arrived. To Desmond the strain seemed
+unbearable and to alleviate it, he began to count, as one counts
+to woo sleep. One! two! three! four! He heard a grating noise as
+the window was pushed further up. Five! six! seven! eight!
+
+"Strange!"
+
+Strangwise muttered the word just above Desmond's head. Then, to
+his inexpressible relief, he heard the other add:
+
+"He's not there!"
+
+And Desmond realized that the depth of the balcony had saved him.
+Short of getting out of the window, as he had done, the others
+could not see him.
+
+The two men returned to the room and silence fell once more.
+Outside on the damp balcony in the growing darkness Desmond was
+fighting down the impulse to rush in and stake all in one
+desperate attempt to rescue the girl from her persecutors. But he
+was learning caution; and he knew he must bide his time.
+
+Some five minutes elapsed during which Desmond could detect no
+definite sound from the red lacquer room except the occasional
+low murmur of voices. Then, suddenly, there came a high,
+quavering cry from the girl.
+
+Desmond raised himself quickly erect, his ear turned so as to
+catch every sound from the room. The girl wailed again, a
+plaintive, tortured cry that seemed to issue forth unwillingly
+from her.
+
+"My God!" said Desmond to himself, "I can't stand this!"
+
+His head was level with the sill of the window which was
+fortunately broad. Getting a good grip on the rough cement with
+his hands, he hoisted himself up on to the sill, by the sheer
+force of his arms alone, sat poised there for an instant, then
+very lightly and without any noise, clambered through the window
+and into the room. Even as he did so, the girl cried out again.
+
+"I can't! I can't!" she wailed.
+
+Every nerve in Desmond 's body was tingling with rage. The blood
+was hotly throbbing against his temples and he was literally
+quivering all over with fury. But he held himself in check. This
+time he must not fail. Both those men were armed, he knew. What
+chance could he, unarmed as he was, have against them? He must
+wait, wait, that they might not escape their punishment.
+
+Steadying the black silk curtains with his hands, he looked
+through the narrow chink where the two panels met. And this was
+what he saw.
+
+Barbara Mackwayte was still in the chair; but they had unfastened
+her arms though her feet were still bound. She had half-risen
+from her seat. Her body was thrust forward in a strained,
+unnatural attitude; her eyes were wide open and staring; and
+there was a little foam on her lips. There was something
+hideously deformed, horribly unlife-like about her. Though her
+eyes were open, her look was the look of the blind; and, like the
+blind, she held her head a little on one side as though eager not
+to miss the slightest sound.
+
+Bellward stood beside her, his face turned in profile to Desmond.
+His eyes were dilated and the sweat stood out in great beads on
+his forehead and trickled in broad lanes of moisture down his
+heavy cheeks. He was half-facing the girl and every time he bent
+towards her, she tugged and strained at her bonds as though to
+follow him.
+
+"You say he has been here. Where is he? Where is he? You shall
+tell me where he is."
+
+Bellward was speaking in a strange, vibrating voice. Every
+question appeared to be a tremendous nervous effort. Desmond, who
+was keenly sensitive to matters psychic, could almost feel the
+magnetic power radiating from the man. In the weird red light of
+the room, he could see the veins standing out like whipcords on
+the back of Bellward's hands.
+
+"Tell me where he is? I command you!"
+
+The girl wailed out again in agony and writhed in her bonds. Her
+voice rose to a high, gurgling scream.
+
+"There!" she cried, pointing with eyes staring, lips parted,
+straight at the curtains behind which Desmond stood.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVIII. AN OFFER FROM STRANGWISE
+
+Desmond sprang for the window; but it was too late. Strangwise
+who had not missed a syllable of the interrogatory was at the
+curtains in a flash. As he plucked the hangings back, Desmond
+made a rush for him; but Strangwise, wary as ever, kept his head
+and, drawing back, jabbed his great automatic almost in the
+other's face.
+
+And then Desmond knew the game was up.
+
+Barbara had collapsed in her chair. Her face was of an ivory
+pallor and she seemed to have fallen back into the characteristic
+hypnotic trance. As for Bellward, he had dropped on to a sofa, a
+loose mass, exhausted but missing nothing of what was going
+forward, though, for the moment, he seemed too spent to take any
+active part in the proceedings. In the meantime Strangwise, his
+white, even teeth bared in a quiet smile, was very steadily
+looking at his prisoner.
+
+"Well, Desmond," he said at last, "here's a pleasant surprise! I
+thought you were dead!"
+
+Desmond said nothing. He was not a coward as men go; but he was
+feeling horribly afraid just then. The deviltry of the scene he
+had just witnessed had fairly unmanned him. The red and black
+setting of the room had a suggestion of Oriental cruelty in its
+very garishness. Desmond looked from Strangwise, cool and
+smiling, to Bellward, gross and beastly, and from the two men to
+Barbara, wan and still and defenceless. And he was afraid.
+
+Then Bellward scrambled clumsily to his feet, plucking a revolver
+from his inside pocket as he did so.
+
+"You sneaking rascal," he snarled, "we'll teach you to play your
+dirty tricks on us!"
+
+He raised the pistol; but Strangwise stepped between the man and
+his victim.
+
+"Kill him!" cried Bellward, "and let's be rid of him once and for
+all!"
+
+"What" said Strangwise. "Kill Desmond? Ah, no, my friend, I don't
+think so!"
+
+And he added drily:
+
+"At least not quite yet!"
+
+"But you must be mad," exclaimed Bellward, toying impatiently
+with his weapon, "you let him escape through your fingers before!
+I know his type. A man like him is only safe when he's dead. And
+if you won't..."
+
+"Now, Bellward," said Strangwise not budging but looking the
+other calmly in the eye, "you're getting excited, you know."
+
+But Bellward muttered thickly:
+
+"Kill him! That's all I ask. And let's get out of here! I tell
+you it isn't safe! Minna can shift for herself!" he added
+sulkily.
+
+"As she has always done!" said a voice at the door. Mrs.
+Malplaquet stood there, a very distinguished looking figure in
+black with a handsome set of furs.
+
+"But who's this?" she asked, catching sight of Desmond, as she
+flashed her beady black eyes round the group. Of Barbara she took
+not the slightest notice. Desmond remarked it and her
+indifference shocked him profoundly.
+
+"Of course, you don't recognize him!" said Strangwise. "This is
+Major Desmond Okewood, more recently known as Mr. Basil
+Bellward!"
+
+The woman evinced no surprise.
+
+"So!" she said, "I thought we'd end by getting him. Well,
+Strangwise, what are we waiting for? Is our friend to live for
+ever"
+
+"That's what I want to know!" bellowed Bellward savagely.
+
+"I have not finished with our friend here!" observed Strangwise.
+
+"No, no," cried Mrs. Malplaquet quickly, Strangwise, "you've had
+your lesson. You've lost the jewel and you're not likely to get
+it back unless you think that this young man has come here with
+it on him. Do you want to lose your life, the lives of all of us,
+as well? Come, come, the fellow's no earthly good to us! And he's
+a menace to us all as long as he's alive!"
+
+"Minna," said Strangwise, "you must trust me. Besides..." he
+leaned forward and whispered something in her ear. "Now," he
+resumed aloud, "you shall take Bellward downstairs and leave me
+to have a little chat with our friend here."
+
+To Bellward he added:
+
+"Minna will tell you what I said. But first," he pointed to
+Barbara who remained apparently lifeless in her chair, "bring her
+round. And then I think she'd better go to bed."
+
+"But what about the treatment to-night" asked Mrs. Malplaquet.
+
+Strangwise smiled mysteriously.
+
+"I'm not sure that any further treatment will be required," he
+said.
+
+In the meantime, Bellward had leaned over the girl and with a few
+passes of his hand had brought her back to consciousness. She sat
+up, one hand pressed to her face, and looked about her in a dazed
+fashion. On recognizing Desmond she gave a little cry.
+
+"Take her away!" commanded Strangwise.
+
+Bellward had unfastened the ropes binding her feet, and he and
+Mrs. Malplaquet between them half-dragged, half-lifted the girl
+(for she was scarcely able to walk) from the room.
+
+When the door had closed behind them, Strangwise pointed to a
+chair and pulled out his cigarette case. "Sit down, Desmond," he
+said, "and let's talk. Will you smoke?"
+
+He held out his case. A cigarette was the one thing for which
+Desmond craved. He took one and lit it. Strangwise sat down on
+the other side of a curiously carved ebony table, his big
+automatic before him.
+
+"I guess you're sharp enough to know when you're beaten,
+Desmond," he said. "You've put up a good fight and until this
+afternoon you were one up on me. I'll grant you that. And I don't
+mind admitting that you've busted up my little organization--for
+the present at any rate. But I'm on top now and you're in our
+power, old man."
+
+"Well," replied Desmond shortly, "what are you going to do about
+it?"
+
+"I'm going to utilize my advantage to the best I know how,"
+retorted Strangwise, snapping the words, "that's good strategy,
+isn't it, Desmond? That's what Hamley and all the military
+writers teach, isn't it? And I'm going to be frank with you. I
+suppose you realize that your life hung by a thread in this very
+room only a minute ago. Do you know why I intervened to save
+you?"
+
+Desmond smiled. All his habitual serenity was coming back to him.
+He found it hard to realize that this old brother officer of his,
+blowing rings of cigarette smoke at him across the table, was an
+enemy.
+
+"I don't suppose it was because of the love you bear me," replied
+Desmond.
+
+And he rubbed the bump on his head.
+
+Strangwise noted the action and smiled.
+
+"Listen here," he resumed, planking his hands down on the table
+and leaning forward, "I'm ready and anxious to quit this spying
+business. It was only a side line with me anyway. My main object
+in coming to this country was to recover possession of that
+diamond star. Once I've got it back, I'm through with England..."
+
+"But not with the army," Desmond broke in, "thank God, we've got
+a swift way with traitors in this country!"
+
+"Quite so," returned the other, "but you see, my friend, the army
+hasn't got me. And I have got you! But let us drop talking
+platitudes," he went on. "I'm no great hand at driving a bargain,
+Desmond--few army men are, you know--so I won't even attempt to
+chaffer with you. I shall tell you straight out what I am ready
+to offer. You were given the job of breaking up this
+organization, weren't you?"
+
+Desmond was silent. He was beginning to wonder what Strangwise
+was driving at.
+
+"Oh, you needn't trouble to deny it. I never spotted you, I
+admit, even when the real Bellward turned up: that idea of
+putting your name in the casualty list as 'killed' was a
+masterstroke; for I never looked to find you alive and trying to
+put it across me. But to return to what I was saying--your job
+was to smash my little system, and if you pull it off, it's a
+feather in your cap. Well, you've killed two of my people and
+you've arrested the ringleader."
+
+"Meaning Behrend?" asked Desmond.
+
+"Behrend be hanged! I mean Nur-el-Din!"
+
+"Nur-el-Din was not the ringleader," said Desmond, "as well you
+know, Strangwise!"
+
+"Your employers evidently don't share your views, Desmond," he
+replied, "all the documents were found on Nur-el-Din!"
+
+"Bah!" retorted Desmond, "and what of it? Mightn't they have been
+planted on her in order to get her arrested to draw the suspicion
+away from the real criminal, yourself?"
+
+Strangwise laughed a low, mellow laugh.
+
+"You're devilish hard to convince," he remarked. "Perhaps you'll
+change your mind about it when I tell you that Nur-el-Din was
+sentenced to death by a general court-martial yesterday
+afternoon."
+
+The blow struck Desmond straight between the eyes. The execution
+of spies followed hard on their conviction, he knew. Was he too
+late?
+
+"Has... has she... has the sentence already been carried out?" he
+asked hoarsely.
+
+Strangwise shrugged his shoulders.
+
+"My information didn't go as far as that!" he replied. "But I
+expect so. They don't waste much time over these matters, old
+man! You see, then," he continued, "you've got the ringleader,
+and you shall have the other two members of the organization and
+save your own life into the bargain if you will be reasonable and
+treat with me."
+
+Desmond looked straight at him; and Strangwise averted his eyes.
+
+"Let me get this right," said Desmond slowly. "You let me go
+free--of course, I take it that my liberty includes the release
+of Miss Mackwayte as well--and in addition, you hand over to me
+your two accomplices, Bellward and the Malplaquet woman. That is
+your offer, isn't it? Well, what do you want from me in
+exchange?"
+
+"The Star of Poland!" said Strangwise in a low voice.
+
+"But," Desmond began. He was going to add "I haven't got it," but
+checked himself in time. Why should he show his hand?
+
+Strangwise broke in excitedly.
+
+"Man," he cried, "it was grandly done. When first I discovered
+the gem, I opened the package in which the silver box was wrapped
+and took the jewel from its case to make sure that it was there.
+Then I sealed it up again, silver box and all, with the firm
+intention that no other hand should break the seals but the hand
+of His Imperial Highness the Crown Prince when I reported to him
+that I had fulfilled my mission. So you will understand that I
+was loth to open it to satisfy those blockheads that evening at
+the Mill House.
+
+"I carried the package on me night and day and I could hardly
+believe my eyes when I discovered that a box of cigarettes had
+been substituted for the silver casket containing the jewel. I
+then suspected that Barbara Mackwayte, in collusion with
+Nur-el-Din, whom she had visited at the Dyke Inn that evening,
+had played this trick on me. But before I escaped from the Mill
+House I picked up one of the cigarettes which fell from the box
+when I broke the seals. Ah! There you made a slip, Desmond. When
+I looked at the cigarette I found it was a 'Dionysus'--your own
+particular brand--why, I have smoked dozens of them with you in
+France. The sight of the familiar name reminded me of you and
+then I remembered your unexpected visit to me at the Nineveh when
+I was packing up to go away on leave the evening you were going
+back to France. I remembered that I had put the package with the
+jewel on my table for a moment when I was changing my tunic. Your
+appearance drove it out of my head for the time, and you utilized
+the chance to substitute a similar package for mine. It was
+clever, Desmond, 'pon my word it was a stroke of genius, a master
+coup which in my country would have placed you at the very top of
+the tree in the Great General Staff!"
+
+Desmond listened to this story in amazement. He did not attempt
+to speculate on the different course events would have taken had
+he but known that the mysterious jewel which had cost old
+Mackwayte his life, had been in his, Desmond's, possession from
+the very day on which he had assumed the guise and habiliments of
+Mr. Bellward. He was racking his brains to think what he had done
+with the box of cigarettes he had purchased at the Dionysus shop
+on the afternoon of the day he had taken the leave train back to
+France.
+
+He remembered perfectly buying the cigarettes for the journey.
+But he didn't have them on the journey; for the captain of the
+leave boat had given him some cigars as Desmond had nothing to
+smoke. And then with a flash he remembered. He had packed the
+cigarettes in his kit--his kit which had gone over to France in
+the hold of the leave boat? And to think that there was a 100,000
+pound jewel in charge of the M.L.O. at a French port!
+
+The idea tickled Desmond's sense of humor and he smiled.
+
+"Come," cried Strangwise, "you've heard my terms. This jewel,
+this Star of Poland, it is nothing to you or your Government. You
+restore it to me and I won't even ask you for a safe conduct back
+to Germany. I'll just slide out and it will be as if I had never
+been to England at all. As for my organization, you, Desmond
+Okewood, have blown it sky-high!"
+
+He stretched out his hand to Desmond as though he expected the
+other to produce the gem from his pocket. But Desmond rose to his
+feet and struck the hand contemptuously on one side. The smile
+had vanished from his face.
+
+"Are you sure that is all you have to say to me?" he asked.
+
+Strangwise had stood up as well.
+
+"Why, yes!" he said, "I think so!"
+
+"Well, then," said Desmond firmly, "just listen to me for a
+moment! Here's my answer. You've lost the jewel for good and all,
+and you will never get it back. Your offer to betray your
+accomplices to me in exchange for the Star of Poland is an empty
+one; for your accomplices will be arrested with you. And lastly I
+give you my word that I shall make it my personal duty to see
+that you are not shot by clean-handed British soldiers, but
+strung up by the neck by the common hangman--as the murderer that
+you are!"
+
+Strangwise's face underwent an extraordinary change. His suavity
+vanished, his easy smile disappeared and he looked balefully
+across the table as the other fearlessly confronted him.
+
+"If you are a German, as you seem to be," Desmond went on, "then
+I tell you I shall never have guessed it until this interview
+between us. But a man who can murder a defenceless old man and
+torture a young girl and then propose to sell his pals to a
+British officer at the price of that officer's honor can only be
+a Hun! And you seem to be a pretty fine specimen of your race!"
+
+Strangwise mastered his rising passion by an obvious effort; but
+his face was evil as he spoke.
+
+"I put that Malplaquet woman off by appealing to her avarice," he
+said, "I've promised her and Bellward a thousand pounds apiece as
+their share of my reward for recovering the jewel. I only have to
+say the word, Okewood, and your number's up! And you may as well
+know that Bellward will try his hand on you before he kills you.
+If that girl had known where the Star of Poland was, Bellward
+would have had it out of her! Three times a day he's put her into
+the hypnotic sleep. I warn you, you won't like the
+interrogatory!"
+
+The door flew open and Bellward came in. He went eagerly to
+Strangwise.
+
+"Well, have you got it!" he demanded.
+
+"Have you anything further to say, Desmond?" asked Strangwise.
+"Perhaps you would care to reconsider your decisions"
+
+Desmond shook his head
+
+"You've had my answer!" he said doggedly.
+
+"Then, my friend," said Strangwise to Bellward, "after dinner you
+shall try your hand on this obstinate fool. But first we'll take
+him upstairs."
+
+He was close beside Desmond and as he finished speaking he
+suddenly caught him by the throat and forced him back into the
+chair to which Barbara had been tethered. To struggle was
+useless, and Desmond suffered them to bind his arms and feet to
+the arms and legs of the chair. Then the two men picked him up,
+chair and all, and bore him from the room upstairs to the third
+floor. There they carried him into a dark room where they left
+him, turning the key in the lock as they went away.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIX. DOT AND DASH
+
+For a long time after the retreating footsteps of Strangwise and
+Bellward had died away, Desmond sat listless, preoccupied with
+his thoughts. They were somber enough. The sinister atmosphere of
+the house, weighing upon him, seemed to deepen his depression.
+
+About his own position he was not concerned at all. This is not
+an example of unselfishness it is simply an instance of the force
+of discipline which trains a man to reckon the cause as
+everything and himself as naught. And Desmond was haunted by the
+awful conviction that he had at length reached the end of his
+tether and that nothing could now redeem the ignominious failure
+he had made of his mission.
+
+He had sacrificed Barbara Mackwayte; he had sacrificed
+Nur-el-Din; he had not even been clever enough to save his own
+skin. And Strangwise, spy and murderer, had escaped and was now
+free to reorganize his band after he had put Barbara and Desmond
+out of the way.
+
+The thought was so unbearable that it stung Desmond into action.
+Strangwise should not get the better of him, he resolved, and he
+had yet this brief interval of being alone in which he might
+devise some scheme to rescue Barbara and secure the arrest of
+Strangwise and his accomplices. But how?
+
+He raised his head and looked round the room. The curtains had
+not been drawn and enough light came into the room from the
+outside to enable him to distinguish the outlines of the
+furniture. It was a bedroom, furnished in rather a massive style,
+with some kind of thick, soft carpet into, which the feet sank.
+
+Desmond tested his bonds. He was very skillfully tied up. He
+fancied that with a little manipulation he might contrive to
+loosen the rope round his right arm, for one of the knots had
+caught in the folds of his coat. The thongs round his left arm
+and two legs were, however, so tight that he thought he had but
+little chance of ridding himself of them, even should he get his
+right arm free; for the knots were tied at the back under the
+seat of the chair in such a way that he could not reach them.
+
+He, therefore, resigned himself to conducting operations in the
+highly ridiculous posture in which he found himself, that is to
+say, with a large arm-chair attached to him, rather like a snail
+with its house on its back. After a certain amount of maneuvering
+he discovered that, by means of a kind of slow, lumbering crawl,
+he was able to move across the ground. It might have proved a
+noisy business on a parquet floor; but Desmond moved only a foot
+or two at a time and the pile carpet deadened the sound.
+
+They had deposited him in his chair in the centre of the room
+near the big brass bedstead. After ten minutes' painful crawling
+he had reached the toilet table which stood in front of the
+window with a couple of electric candles on either side of the
+mirror. He moved the toilet table to one side, then bumped
+steadily across the carpet until he had reached the window. And
+then he gave a little gasp of surprise.
+
+He found himself looking straight at the window of his own
+bedroom at Mrs. Viljohn-Smythe's. There was no mistaking it. The
+electric light was burning and the curtains had not yet been
+drawn. He could see the black and pink eiderdown on his bed and
+the black lining of the chintz curtains. Then he remembered the
+slope of the hill. He must be in the room from which he had seen
+Bellward looking out.
+
+The sight of the natty bedroom across the way moved Desmond
+strangely. It seemed to bring home to him for the first time the
+extraordinary position in which he found himself, a prisoner in a
+perfectly respectable suburban house in a perfectly respectable
+quarter of London, in imminent danger of a violent death.
+
+He wouldn't give in without a struggle. Safety stared him in the
+face, separated only by a hundred yards of grass and shrub and
+wall. He instinctively gripped the arms of the chair to raise
+himself to get a better view from the window, forgetting he was
+bound. The ropes cut his arms cruelly and brought him back to
+earth.
+
+He tested again the thongs fastening his right arm. Yes! they
+were undoubtedly looser than the others. He pulled and tugged and
+writhed and strained. Once in his struggles he crashed into the
+toilet table and all but upset one of the electric candles which
+slid to the table's very brink and was saved, as by a miracle,
+from falling to the floor. He resumed his efforts, but with less
+violence. It was in vain. Though the ropes about his right arm
+were fairly loose, the wrist was solidly fastened to the chair,
+and do what he would, he could not wrest it free. He clawed
+desperately with his fingers and thumb, but all in vain.
+
+In the midst of his struggles he was arrested by the sound of
+whistling. Somebody in the distance outside was whistling,
+clearly and musically, a quaint, jingling sort of jig that struck
+familiarly on Desmond's ear. Somehow it reminded him of the
+front. It brought with it dim memory of the awakening to the
+early morning chill of a Nissen hut, the smell of damp earth, the
+whirr of aircraft soaring through the morning sky, the squeak of
+flutes, the roll of drums... why, it was the Grand Reveille,"
+that ancient military air which every soldier knows.
+
+He stopped struggling and peered cautiously out into the dusk.
+The time for darkening the windows must be at hand, he thought,
+for in most of the houses the blinds were already drawn. Here and
+there, however, an oblong of yellow light showed up against the
+dark mass of the houses on the upper slopes of the hill. The
+curtains of his bedroom at Mrs. Viljohn-Smythe's were not yet
+drawn and the light still burned brightly above the bed.
+
+The whistling continued with occasional interruptions as though
+the whistler were about some work or other. And then suddenly
+"Buzzer" Barling, holding something in one hand and rubbing
+violently with the other, stepped into the patch of light between
+the window and the bed in Desmond's bedroom.
+
+Desmond's heart leaped within him. Here was assistance close at
+hand. Mechanically he sought to raise his hand to open the
+window, but an agonising twinge reminded him of his thongs. He
+swiftly reviewed in his mind the means of attracting the
+attention of the soldier opposite. Whatever he was going to do,
+he must do quickly; for the fact that people were beginning to
+darken their windows showed that it must be close on half-past
+six, and about seven o'clock, Barling, after putting out
+Desmond's things, was accustomed to go out for the evening.
+
+Should he shout? Should he try and break the window? Desmond
+rejected both these suggestions. While it was doubtful whether
+Barling would hear the noise or, if he heard it, connect it with
+Desmond, it was certain that Strangwise and Bellward would do
+both and be upon Desmond without a moment's delay.
+
+Then Desmond's eye fell upon the electric candle which had slid
+to the very edge of the table. It was mounted in a heavy brass
+candle-stick and the switch was in the pedestal, jutting out over
+the edge of the table in the position in which the candle now
+stood. The candle was clear of the mirror and there was nothing
+between it and the window. Desmond's brain took all this in at a
+glance. That glance showed him that Providence was being good to
+him.
+
+A couple of jerks of the chair brought him alongside the table.
+Its edge was practically level with the arms of the chair so
+that, by getting into the right position, he was able to
+manipulate the switch with his fingers. And then, thanking God
+and the Army Council for the recent signalling course he had
+attended, he depressed the switch with a quick, snapping movement
+and jerked it up again, sending out the dots and dashes of the
+Morse code.
+
+"B-A-R-L-I-N-G" he spelt out, slowly and laboriously, it is true;
+for he was not an expert.
+
+As he worked the switch, he looked across at the illuminated
+window of the room in which Barling stood, with bent head,
+earnestly engaged upon his polishing.
+
+"B-a-r-l-i-n-g-ack-ack-ack-B-a-r-l-i-n-g-ack-ack-ack"
+
+The light flickered up and down in long and short flashes. Still
+"Buzzer" Barling trilled away at the "Grand Reveille" nor raised
+his eyes from his work.
+
+Desmond varied the call:
+
+"O-K-E-W-O-O-D T-O B-A-R-L-I-N-G" he flashed.
+
+He repeated the call twice and was spelling it out for the third
+time when Desmond saw the "Buzzer" raise his head.
+
+The whistling broke off short.
+
+"0-k-e-w-o-o-d t-o B-a-r-l-i-n-g" flickered the light.
+
+The next moment the bedroom opposite was plunged in darkness.
+Immediately afterwards the light began to flash with bewildering
+rapidity. But Desmond recognized the call.
+
+"I am ready to take your message," it said.
+
+"S-t-r-a-n-g-w-i-s-e h-a-s g-o-t m-e ack-ack-ack," Desmond
+flashed back, "f-e-t-c-h h-e-l-p a-t o-n-c-e ack-ack-ack: d-o-n-t
+r-e-p-l-y; ack-ack-ack; s-e-n-d o-n-e d-o-t o-n-e d-a-s-h t-o
+s-h-o-w y-o-u u-n-d-e-r-s-t-a-n-d ack-ack-ack!"
+
+For he was afraid lest the light flashing from the house opposite
+might attract the attention of the men downstairs.
+
+He was very slow and he made many mistakes, so that it was with
+bated breath that, after sending his message, he watched the
+window opposite for the reply.
+
+It came quickly. A short flash and a long one followed at once.
+After that the room remained in darkness. With a sigh of relief
+Desmond, as quietly as possible, manoeuvred the dressing-table
+back into place and then jerked the chair across the carpet to
+the position where Strangwise and Bellward had left him in the
+middle of the floor:
+
+It was here that the two men found him, apparently asleep, when
+they came up half-an-hour later. They carried him down to the red
+lacquer room again.
+
+"Well, Desmond!" said Strangwise, when their burden had been
+deposited on the floor under the crimson lamp.
+
+"Well, Maurice?" answered the other.
+
+Strangwise noticed that Desmond had addressed him by his
+Christian name for the first time since he had been in the house
+and his voice was more friendly when he spoke again.
+
+"I see you're going to be sensible, old man," he said. "Believe
+me, it's the only thing for you to do. You're going to give up
+the Star of Poland, aren't you?"
+
+"Oh, no, Maurice, I'm not," replied Desmond in a frank, even
+voice. "I've told you what I'm going to do. I'm going to hand you
+over to the people at Pentonville to hang as a murderer. And I
+shouldn't be at all surprised if they didn't run up old Bellward
+there alongside of you!"
+
+Strangwise shook his head at him.
+
+"You are very ill-advised to reject my offer, Desmond," he said,
+"for it simply means that I can do nothing more for you. Our
+friend Bellward now assumes the direction of affairs. I don't
+think you can realize what you are letting yourself in for. You
+appear to have been dabbling in Intelligence work. Perhaps it
+would interest you to hear something about this, our latest
+German method for extracting Accurate information from reluctant
+or untruthful witnesses. Bellward, perhaps you would enlighten
+him."
+
+Bellward smiled grimly.
+
+"It is a blend," he explained glibly, "of that extreme form of
+cross-examination which the Americans call 'the third degree' and
+hypnotic treatment. Many people, as you are doubtless aware, are
+less responsive to hypnotic influence than others. An intensified
+course of the third degree and lack of sleep renders such
+refractory natures extraordinarily susceptible to mesmeric
+treatment. It prepares the ground as it were!"
+
+Bellward coughed and looked at Desmond over his tortoise-shell
+spectacles which he had put on again.
+
+"The method has had its best results when practised on women," he
+resumed. "Our people in Holland have found it very successful in
+the case of female spies who come across the Belgian frontier.
+But some women--Miss Barbara, for example--seem to have greater
+powers of resistance than others. We had to employ a rather
+drastic form of the third degree for her, didn't we, Strangwise?"
+
+He laughed waggishly.
+
+"And you'll be none too easy either," he added.
+
+"You beasts," cried Desmond, "but just you wait, your turn will
+come!"
+
+"Yours first, however," chuckled Bellward. "I rather fancy you
+will think us beasts by the time we have done with you, my young
+friend!"
+
+Then he turned to Strangwise.
+
+"Where's Minna?" he asked.
+
+"With the girl."
+
+"Is the girl sleeping?"
+
+Strangwise nodded.
+
+"She wanted it," he replied, "no sleep for four days... I tell
+you it takes some constitution to hold out against that!"
+
+"Well," said Bellward, rubbing the palms of his hands together,
+"as we're not likely to be disturbed, I think we'll make a
+start!"
+
+He advanced a pace to where Desmond sat trussed up, hand and
+foot, in his chair. Bellward's eyes were large and luminous, and
+as Desmond glanced rather nervously at the face of the man
+approaching him, he was struck by the compelling power they
+seemed to emit.
+
+Desmond bent his head to avoid the insistent gaze. But in a
+couple of quick strides Bellward was at his side and stooping
+down, had thrust his face right into his victim's. Bellward's
+face was so close that Desmond felt his warm breath on his cheek
+whilst those burning eyes seemed to stab through his closed
+eyelids and steadily, stealthily, draw his gaze.
+
+Resolutely Desmond held his head, averted. All kinds of queer
+ideas were racing through his brain, fragments of nursery rhymes,
+scenes from his regimental life in India, memories of the front,
+which he had deliberately summoned up to keep his attention
+distracted from those merciless eyes, like twin search-lights
+pitilessly playing on his face.
+
+Bellward could easily have taken Desmond by the chin and forced
+his face up until his eyes came level with the other's. But he
+offered no violence of any kind. He remained in his stooping
+position, his face thrust forward, so perfectly still that
+Desmond began to be tormented by a desire to risk a rapid peep
+just to see what the mesmerist was doing.
+
+He put the temptation aside. He must keep his eyes shut, he told
+himself. But the desire increased, intensified by the strong
+attraction radiating from Bellward, and finally Desmond
+succumbed. He opened his eyes to dart a quick glance at Bellward
+and found the other's staring eyes, with pupils distended, fixed
+on his. And Desmond felt his resistance ebb. He tried to avert
+his gaze; but it was too late. That basilisk glare held him fast.
+
+With every faculty of his mind he fought against the influence
+which was slowly, irresistibly, shackling his brain. He laughed,
+he shouted defiance at Bellward and Strangwise, he sang snatches
+of songs. But Bellward never moved a muscle. He seemed to be in a
+kind of cataleptic trance, so rigid his body, so unswerving his
+stare.
+
+The lights in the room seemed to be growing dim. Bellward's
+eyeballs gleamed redly in the dull crimson light flooding the
+room. Desmond felt himself longing for some violent shock that
+would disturb the hideous stillness of the house. His own voice
+was sounding dull and blunted in his ears. What was the use of
+struggling further? He might as well give up...
+
+A loud crash, the sound of a door slamming, reechoed through the
+house. The room shook. The noise brought Desmond back to his
+senses and at the same time the chain binding him to Bellward
+snapped. For Bellward started and raised his head and Strangwise
+sprang to the door. Then Desmond heard the door burst open, there
+was the deafening report of a pistol, followed by another, and
+Bellward crashed forward on his knees with a sobbing grunt. As
+Desmond had his back to the door he could see nothing of what was
+taking place, but some kind of violent struggle was going on; for
+he heard the smash of glass as a piece of furniture was upset.
+
+Then suddenly the room seemed full of people. The thongs binding
+his hands and feet fell to the ground. "Buzzer" Barling stood at
+his side.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXX. HOHENLINDEN TRENCH
+
+A man broke quickly away from the throng of people pressing into
+the room. It was Francis. The Chief and Mr. Marigold were close
+at his heels.
+
+"Des," cried Francis, "ah! thank God! you are all right!"
+
+Desmond looked in a dazed fashion from one to the other. The
+rapid transition from the hush of the room to the scene of
+confusion going on around him had left him bewildered. His glance
+traveled from the faces of the men gathered round his chair to
+the floor. The sight of Bellward, very still, hunched up with his
+face immersed in the thick black carpet, seemed to recall
+something to his mind.
+
+"Barbara!" he murmured in a strained voice.
+
+"She's all right!" replied his brother, "we found her on the bed
+in a room on the floor below sleeping the sleep of the just. The
+woman's vanished, though. I'm afraid she got away! But who's
+this?"
+
+He pointed to "Buzzer" Barling who stood stiffly at attention
+beside Desmond's chair.
+
+"Ay, who are you, young fellow" repeated Mr. Marigold coming up
+close to the soldier. "Ask him!" said Desmond, raising his arm,
+"he knows!"
+
+The group around the door had broken up. Strangwise, his wrists
+handcuffed together, his hair dishevelled and his collar torn,
+stood there between two plain clothes men. And at him Desmond
+pointed.
+
+Strangwise was staring at the straight, square figure of the
+gunner, awkwardly attired in one of Desmond's old suits.
+Berling's frank, honest eyes returned the other's gaze
+unflinchingly. But Strangwise was obviously taken aback, though
+only for the moment. The flush that mounted to his cheek quickly
+died down, leaving him as cool and impassive as ever.
+
+"Do you know this man!" the Chief, asked sternly, addressing
+Strangwise.
+
+"Certainly," retorted Strangwise, "it's Gunner Barling, one of
+the Brigade signallers!"
+
+Mr. Marigold gave a keen glance at the soldier.
+
+"So you're Barling, eh?" he muttered as though talking to
+himself, "ah! this is getting interesting!"
+
+"Yes," said Desmond, "this is Gunner Barling. Have a good look at
+him, Strangwise. It is he who summoned these gentlemen to my
+assistance. It is he who's going to tell them who and what you
+are!"
+
+Turning to the Chief he added with a touch of formality: "May
+Gunner Barling tell his story, sir?"
+
+"By all means," replied the Chief. "I am all attention. But first
+let this fellow be removed."
+
+And beckoning to two of his men; he pointed to the body of
+Bellward.
+
+"Is he dead" asked Desmond.
+
+The Chief shook his head.
+
+"He drew a bead on one of my men as we came in," he answered,
+"and got a bullet through the chest for his pains. We'll have to
+cure him of this gunshot wound so as to get him ready to receive
+another!"
+
+He laughed a grim dry laugh at his little joke.
+
+"Now, Barling," said Desmond, when Bellward had been borne away,
+"I want you to tell these gentlemen the story of the raid on the
+Hohenlinden trench."
+
+Barling glanced rather self-consciously about him. But the look
+of intense, almost nervous watchfulness on the face of Maurice
+Strangwise seemed to reassure him. And when he spoke, he spoke
+straight at Strangwise.
+
+"Well," he said, "Major Okewood here, what I used to know along
+of my brother being his servant, says as how you gentlemen'll
+make it all right about my stoppin' absent if I tells you what I
+know about this orficer. Tell it I will and gladly; for it was
+all along of him that I spoiled a clean sheet of eighteen years'
+service, gentlemen.
+
+"When we was down Arras way a few months ago the infantry was
+a-goin' to do a raid, see? And the Captain here was sent along of
+the infantry party to jine up a lineback to the 'tillery brigade
+headquarters. Well, he took me and another chap, name o'
+Macdonald--Bombardier he was--along with him as signallers.
+
+"This was a daylight raid, d'ye see, gentlemen? Our chaps went
+over at four o'clock in the afternoon. They was to enter a sort
+o' bulge in the German front line wot they called Hohenlinden
+Trench, bomb the Gers. out o' that, push on to the support line
+and clear out that and then come back. The rocket to fetch 'em
+home was to go up forty minutes after they started.
+
+"Well, me and Mac--that's the Bombardier--went over with th'
+officer here just behind the raiding party. 0' course Fritz knew
+we was comin' for it was broad daylight, and that clear you could
+see for miles over the flats. First thing we knew Fritz had put
+down a roarin', tearin' barrage, and we hadn't gone not twenty
+yards before ole Mac. cops one right on the nut; about took his
+head off, it did. So me and the captain we goes on alone and
+drops all nice and comfortable in the trench, and I starts
+getting my line jined up.
+
+"It was a longish job but I got the brigade line goin' at last.
+Our chaps had cleared out the front line and was off down the
+communication trenches to the support. What with machine-guns
+rattlin' and bombs a-goin' off down the trench and Fritz's
+barrage all over the shop the row was that awful we had to buzz
+every single word.
+
+"There was a bit of a house like, a goodish way in front, X farm,
+they called it, and presently the Brigade tells the Captain, who
+was buzzin' to them, to register B battery on to the farm.
+
+"'I can't see the farm nohow from here,' sez the Captain. I could
+see it as plain as plain, and I pointed it out to him. But no! he
+couldn't see it.
+
+"'I'll crawl out of the trench a bit, gunner,' sez he to me, 'you
+sit tight,' he sez, 'I'll let you know when to follow!"
+
+"With that he up and out o' the trench leavin' me and the
+instruments behind all among the dead Gers., and our lads had
+killed a tidy few. It was pretty lonely round about were I was;
+for our chaps had all gone on and was bombin' the Gers., like
+they was a lot o' rabbits, up and down the support line.
+
+"I followed the Captain with me eye, gentlemen, and I'm blessed
+if he didn't walk straight across the open and over the support
+trench. Then he drops into a bit of a shell-hole and I lost sight
+of him. Well, I waited and waited and no sign of th' orficer. The
+rocket goes up and our lads begin to come back with half a dozen
+Huns runnin' in front of them with their hands up. Some of the
+chaps as they passed me wanted to know if I was a-goin' to stay
+there all night! And the Brigade buzzin' like mad to talk to the
+Captain.
+
+"I sat in that blessed trench till everybody had cleared out.
+Then, seeing as how not even the docket had brought th' orficer
+back, I sez to myself as how he must ha' stopped one. So I gets
+out of the trench and starts crawling across the top towards the
+place where I see the Captain disappear. As I got near the
+support line the ground went up a little and then dropped, so I
+got a bit of a view on to the ground ahead. And then I sees the
+Captain here!"
+
+Buzzer Barling stopped. All had listened to his story with the
+deepest interest, especially Strangwise, who never took his eyes
+off the gunner's brown face. Some men are born story-tellers and
+there was a rugged picturesqueness about Barling's simple
+narrative which conjured up in the minds of his hearers the
+picture of the lonely signaller cowering in the abandoned trench
+among the freshly slain, waiting for the officer who never came
+back.
+
+"It's not a nice thing to have to say about an orficer," the
+gunner presently continued, "and so help me God, gentlemen, I
+kep' my mouth shut about it until... until..."
+
+He broke off and looked quickly at Desmond.
+
+"Keep that until the end, Barling," said Desmond, "finish about
+the raid now!"
+
+"Well, as I was sayin', gentlemen, I was up on a bit of hillock
+near Fritz's support line when I sees the Captain here. He was
+settin' all comfortable in a shell-hole, his glases in his hand,
+chattin' quite friendly like with two of the Gers. orficers, I
+reckoned they was, along o' the silver lace on their collars. One
+was wearin' one o' them coal-scuttle helmets, t'other a little
+flat cap with a shiny peak. And the Captain here was a-pointin'
+at our lines and a-wavin' his hand about like he was a-tellin'
+the two Fritzes all about it, and the chap in the coal-scuttle
+hat was a-writin' it all down in a book."
+
+Barling paused. He was rather flushed and his eyes burned
+brightly in his weather-beaten face.
+
+"Eighteen year I done in the Royal Regiment," he went on, and his
+voice trembled a little, "and me father a battery sergeant-major
+before me, and I never thought to see one of our orficers go over
+to the enemy. Fritz was beginnin' to come back to his front line:
+I could see their coal-scuttle hats a-bobbin' up and down the
+communication trenches, so I crawled back the way I come and made
+a bolt for our lines.
+
+"I meant to go straight to the B.C. post and report wot I seen to
+the Major. But I hadn't the heart to, gentlemen, when I was up
+against it. It was an awful charge to bring against an orficer,
+d'you see? I told myself I didn't know but what the Captain
+hadn't been taken prisoner and was makin' the best of it, w'en I
+see him, stuffin' the Fritzes up with a lot o' lies. And so I
+jes' reported as how th' orficer 'ad crawled out of the trench
+and never come back. And then this here murder happened..."
+
+Mr. Marigold turned to the Chief.
+
+"If you remember, sir," he said, "I found this man's leave paper
+in the front garden of the Mackwayte's house at Laleham Villas,
+Seven Kings, the day after the murder. There are one or two
+questions I should like to put..."
+
+"No need to arsk any questions," said Barling. "I'll tell you the
+whole story meself, mister. I was on leave at the time, due to go
+back to France the next afternoon. I'd been out spending the
+evenin' at my niece's wot's married and livin' out Seven Kings
+way. Me and her man wot works on the line kept it up a bit late
+what with yarnin' about the front an' that and it must a' been
+nigh on three o'clock w'en I left him to walk back to the Union
+Jack Club where I had a bed.
+
+"There's a corfee-stall near their road and the night bein' crool
+damp I thought as how a nice cup o' corfee'd warm me up afore I
+went back to the Waterloo Bridge Road. I had me cup o' corfee and
+was jes' a-payin' the chap what has the pitch w'en a fellow
+passes by right in the light o' the lamp on the stall. It was th'
+orficer here, in plain clothes--shabby-like he was dressed--but I
+knew him at once.
+
+"'Our orficers don't walk about these parts after midnight
+dressed like tramps,' I sez to meself, and rememberin' what I
+seen at the Hohenlinden Trench I follows him..."
+
+"Just a minute!"
+
+The Chief's voice broke in upon the narrative.
+
+"Didn't you know, Barling, hadn't you heard, about Captain
+Strangwise's escape from a German prisoners of war camp?"
+
+"No, sir!" replied the gunner.
+
+"There was a good deal about it in the papers."
+
+"I've not got much eddication, sir," said Barling, "that's w'y I
+never took the stripe and I don't take much account of the
+newspapers an' that's a fact!"
+
+"Well, go on!" the Chief bade him.
+
+"It was pretty dark in the streets and I follered him along
+without his seeing me into the main-road and then down a
+turnin'..."
+
+"Laleham Villas," prompted Mr. Marigold.
+
+"I wasn't payin' much attention to were he was leadin' me," said
+Barling, "what I wanted to find out was what he was up to!
+Presently he turned in at a gate. I was closer up than I meant to
+be, and he swung in so sudden that I had to drop quick and crouch
+behind the masonry of the front garden wall. My leave pass must
+a' dropped out o' my pocket and through the railin's into the
+garden.
+
+"Well, the front door must a' been on the jar for th' orficer
+here just pushes it open and walks in, goin' very soft like. I
+crep' in the front gate and got as far as the door w'ich was
+a-standin' half open. I could 'ear the stair creakin' under 'im
+and I was just wonderin' whether I should go into the house w'en
+I hears a bang and wi' that someone comes aflyin' down the
+stairs, dodges through the front hall and out at the back. I see
+him come scramblin' over the back gate and was a-goin' to stop
+him thinkin' it was th' orficer here w'en I sees it is a tubby
+little chap, not big like the Captain. And then it come over me
+quite sudden-like that burglary and murder had been done in the
+house and wot would I say if a p'liceman come along? So I slipped
+off and went as hard as I could go back to the old Union Jack
+Club.
+
+"The next mornin' I found I'd lost me leave paper. I was afraid
+to go and report it in case it had been picked up, and they'd run
+me in for this murder job. That's how I come to desert,
+gentlemen, and spoilt a eighteen years' conduct sheet without a
+entry over this murderin' spy here!"
+
+Gunner Barling broke off abruptly as though he had committed
+himself to a stronger opinion than discipline would allow. It was
+the Chief who broke the silence following the termination of the
+gunner's story.
+
+"Strangwise," he said, "hadn't you better tell us who you are?"
+
+"He's an officer of the Prussian Guard," Desmond said, "and he
+was sent over here by the German secret service organization in
+the United States to get a commission in the British Army. When a
+good man was wanted to recover the Star of Poland for the Crown
+Prince, the secret service people in Berlin sent word to
+Strangwise (who was then serving with the gunners in France) to
+get himself captured. The German military authorities duly
+reported him a prisoner of war and then let him 'escape' as' the
+easiest and least suspicious means of getting him back to
+London!"
+
+The Chief smiled genially.
+
+"That's a dashed clever idea," he observed shrewdly, "'pon my
+word, that's bright! That's very bright! I should like to
+compliment the man who thought of that!"
+
+"Then you may address your compliments to me, Chief," said
+Strangwise.
+
+The Chief turned and looked at him.
+
+"I've met many of your people in my time, Strangwise," he said,
+"but I don't know you! Who are you?"
+
+Strangwise laughed.
+
+"Ask Nur-el-Din, " he said, "that is to say, if you haven't shot
+her yet!"
+
+"And if we have?" asked the Chief.
+
+Desmond sprang tip.
+
+"It isn't possible!" he cried. "Why, the woman's a victim, not a
+principal! Chief..."
+
+"What if we have?" asked the Chief again.
+
+A curious change had come over the prisoner. His jaunty air had
+left him and there was an apprehensive look in his eyes.
+
+"I would have saved her if I could have," Strangwise said, "but
+she played me false over the jewel. She imperiled the success of
+my mission. You English have no idea of discipline. To us
+Prussian officers an order stands above everything else. There is
+nothing we would not sacrifice to obey our orders. And my order
+was to recover the Star of Poland for His Imperial Highness the
+Crown Prince, Lieutenant Colonel in the Regiment to which I have
+the honor to belong, the First Regiment of Prussian Foot Guards.
+But Nur-el-Din plotted with our friend here and with that little
+fool upstairs to upset my plans, and I had no mercy on her. I
+planted those documents in her dress--or rather Bellward did--to
+draw suspicion away from me. I thought you English would be too
+flabby to execute a woman; but I reckoned on you putting the girl
+away for some years to come. I would have shot her as I shot Rass
+if..." His voice trembled and he was silent.
+
+"If what?" asked the Chief.
+
+"If she hadn't been my wife," said Strangwise.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXI. THE 100,000 KIT
+
+It was a clear, crisp morning with a sparkle of frost on jetty
+and breakwater. The English Channel stretched flashing like a
+living sheet of glass to the filmy line marking the coast of
+France, as serene and beautiful in its calm as it is savage and
+cruel in its anger. It was high tide; but only a gentle murmur
+came from the little waves that idly beat upon the shore in front
+of the bungalow.
+
+A girl lay in a deck chair on the verandah, well wrapped up
+against the eager air. But the fresh breeze would not be denied
+and, foiled by the nurse's vigilance of its intents against the
+patient, it revenged itself by blowing havoc among the soft brown
+curls which peeped out from under the girl's hat.
+
+She turned to the man at her side.
+
+"Look!" she said, and pointed seawards with her finger.
+
+A convoy of vessels was standing out to sea framed in the
+smoke-blurs of the escorting destroyers. Ugly, weatherbeaten
+craft were the steamers with trails of smoke blown out in the
+breeze behind them. They rode the sea's highway with confidence,
+putting their trust in the unseen power that swept the road clear
+for them.
+
+"Transports, aren't they?" asked the man.
+
+But he scarcely looked at the transports. He was watching the
+gleam of the sun on the girl's brown hair and contrasting the
+deep gray of her eyes with the ever-changing hues of the sea.
+
+"Yes," replied the girl. "It's the third day they've gone across!
+By this time next week there'll be ten fresh divisions in France.
+How secure they look steaming along! And to think they owe it all
+to you!"
+
+The man laughed and flushed up.
+
+"From the strictly professional standpoint the less said about me
+the better," he said.
+
+"What nonsense you talk!" cried the girl. "When the Chief was
+down to see me yesterday, he spoke of nothing but you. 'They beat
+him, but he won out!' he said, 'they shook him off but he went
+back and found 'em!' He told me it was a case of grit versus
+violence--and grit won. In all the time I've known the Chief,
+I've never heard him talk so much about one man before. Do you
+know," Barbara went on, looking up at Desmond, "I think you've
+made the Chief feel a little bit ashamed of himself. And that I
+may tell you is a most extraordinary achievement!"
+
+"Do you think you're strong enough to hear some news?" asked
+Desmond after a pause.
+
+"Of course," replied the girl. "But I think I can guess it. It's
+about Strangwise, isn't it?"
+
+Desmond nodded.
+
+"He was shot yesterday morning," he replied. "I'm glad they did
+it in France. I was terrified lest they should want me to go to
+it."
+
+"Why?" asked the girl with a suspicion of indignation in her
+voice, "he deserved no mercy."
+
+"No," replied Desmond slowly, "he was a bad fellow--a Prussian
+through and through. He murdered your poor father, he shot Rass,
+he instigated the killing of the maid, Marie, he was prepared to
+sacrifice his own wife even, to this Prussian God of militarism
+which takes the very soul out of a man's body and puts it into
+the hands of his superior officer. And yet, and yet, when one has
+soldiered with a man, Barbara, and roughed it with him and been
+shelled and shot at with him, there seems to be a bond of
+sympathy between you and him for ever after. And he was a brave
+man, Barbara, cruel and unscrupulous, I admit, but there was no
+fear in him, and I can't help admiring courage. I seem to think
+of him as two men--the man I soldiered with and the heartless
+brute who watched while that beast Bellward..."
+
+He broke off as a spasm of pain crossed the girl's face. "I shall
+remember the one and forget the other," he concluded simply.
+
+"Tell me," said the girl suddenly, "who was Strangwise?"
+
+"After he was arrested and just before they were going to take
+him off," Desmond said, "he asked to be allowed to say a word
+privately to the Chief. We were all sent away and he told the
+Chief his real name. He thought he was going to be hanged, you
+see, and while he never shrank from any crime in the fulfilment
+of his mission, he was terrified of a shameful death. He begged
+the Chief to see that his real name was not revealed for the
+disgrace that his execution would bring upon his family.
+Curiously Prussian attitude of mind, isn't it?"
+
+"And what did the Chief say?"
+
+"I don't know; but he was mighty short with him, I expect."
+
+"And what was Strangwise's real name?"
+
+"When he told us that Nur-el-Din was his wife, I knew at once who
+he was. His name is Hans von Schornbeek. He was in the Prussian
+Foot Guards, was turned out for some reason or other and went to
+America where, after a pretty rough time, he was taken on by the
+German secret service organization. He was working for them when
+he met Nur-el-Din. They were married out there and, realizing the
+possibilities of using her as a decoy in the secret service, he
+sent her to Brussels where the Huns were very busy getting ready
+for war. He treated her abominably; but the girl was fond of him
+in her way and even when she was in fear of her life from this
+man she never revealed to me the fact that he was Hans von
+Schornbeek and her husband."
+
+Barbara sat musing for a while, her eyes on the restless sea.
+
+"How strange it is," she said, "to think that they are all
+dispersed now... and the transports are sailing securely to
+France. Two were killed at the Mill House, Behrend committed
+suicide in prison, Bellward died in hospital, Mrs. Malplaquet has
+disappeared, and now Strangwise has gone. There only remains..."
+
+She cast a quick glance at Desmond but he was gazing seaward at
+the smoke of the transports smudging the horizon.
+
+"What are they going to do with Nur-el-Din?" she asked rather
+abruptly.
+
+"Didn't the Chief tell you?" said Desmond.
+
+"He only asked me what I had to say in the matter as I had had to
+suffer at her hands. But I told him I left the matter entirely to
+him. I said I took your point of view that Nur-el-Din was the
+victim of her husband..."
+
+"That was generous of you, Barbara," Desmond said gently.
+
+She sighed.
+
+"Daddy knew her as a little girl," she answered, "and he was so
+pleased to see her again that night. She never had a chance. I
+hope she'll get one now!"
+
+"They're going to intern her, I believe," said Desmond, "until
+the end of the war; they could do nothing else, you know. But she
+will be well looked after, and I think she will be safer in our
+charge than if she were allowed to remain at liberty. The German
+Secret Service has had a bad knock, you know. Somebody has got to
+pay for it!"
+
+"I know," the girl whispered, "and it frightens me."
+
+"You poor child!" said Desmond, "you've had a rough time. But
+it's all over now. And that reminds me, Barney is coming up for
+sentence to-day; they charged him with murder originally; but
+Marigold kept on getting him remanded until they were able to
+alter the charge to one of burglary. He'll probably get two
+years' hard labor, Marigold says."
+
+"Poor Barney!" said Barbara, "I wish they would let him go free.
+All these weeks the mystery of poor Daddy's death has so weighed
+upon my mind that now it has been cleared up I feel as though one
+day I might be happy again. And I want everybody to be happy,
+too!"
+
+"Barbara," said Desmond and took her hand.
+
+Barbara calmly withdrew it from his grasp and brushed an
+imaginary curl out of her eye.
+
+"Any news of your hundred thousand pound kit?" she asked, by way
+of turning the conversation.
+
+"By Jove," said Desmond, "there was a letter from Cox's at the
+club this morning but I was so rushed to catch my train that I
+shoved it in my pocket and forgot all about it. I wrote and asked
+them weeks ago to get my kit back from France. Here we are!"
+
+He pulled a letter out of his pocket, slit open the envelope and
+took out a printed form. Barbara, propping herself up with one
+hand on his shoulder, leaned over him to read the communication.
+This is what she read.
+
+"We are advised," the form ran, "that a Wolseley valise forwarded
+to you on the 16th inst. from France has been lost by enemy
+action. We are enclosing a compensation form which..."
+
+But neither troubled to read further.
+
+"Gone to the bottom, by Jove!" cried Desmond. "But isn't it
+strange," he went on, "to think of the Star of Poland lying out
+there on the bed of the Channel? Well, I'm not so sure that it
+isn't the best place for it. It won't create any further trouble
+in this world at least!"
+
+"Poor Nur-el-Din!" sighed the girl.
+
+They sat awhile in silence together and watched the gulls
+circling unceasingly above the receding tide.
+
+"You're leaving here to-morrow then?" said Desmond presently.
+
+Barbara nodded
+
+"And going back to your work with the Chief?"
+
+Barbara nodded again.
+
+"It's not good enough," cried Desmond. "This is no job for a girl
+like you, Barbara. The strain is too much; the risks are too
+great. Besides, there's something I wanted to say..."
+
+Barbara stopped him.
+
+"Don't say it!" she bade him.
+
+"But you don't know what I was going to say!" he protested.
+
+Barbara smiled a little happy smile.
+
+"Barbara..." Desmond began.
+
+Her hand still rested on his shoulder and he put his hand over
+hers. For a brief moment she let him have his way.
+
+Then she withdrew her hand.
+
+"Desmond," she said, looking at him with kindly eyes, "we both
+have work to do..."
+
+"We have," replied the man somberly, "and mine's at the front!"
+
+The girl shook her head.
+
+"No!" she said. "Henceforward it's where the Chief sends you!"
+
+Desmond set his jaw obstinately.
+
+"I may have been a Secret Service agent by accident," he
+answered, "but I'm a soldier by trade. My place is in the
+fighting-line!"
+
+"The Secret Service has its fighting-line, too," Barbara replied,
+"though the war correspondents don't write about it. It never
+gets a mention in despatches, and Victoria Crosses don't come its
+way. The newspapers don't publish its casualty list, though you
+and I know that it's a long one. A man slips quietly away and
+never comes back, and after a certain lapse of time we just mark
+him off the books and there's an end of it. But it's a great
+service; and you've made your mark in it. The Chief wants men
+like you. You'll have to stay!"
+
+Desmond was about to speak; but the girl stopped him. "What do
+you and I matter," she asked, "when the whole future of England
+is at stake! If you are to give of your best to this silent game
+of ours, you must be free with no responsibilities and no ties,
+with nothing that will ever make you hesitate to take a supreme
+risk. And I never met a man that dared more freely than you!"
+
+"Oh, please..." said Desmond and got up.
+
+He stood gazing seawards for a while.
+
+Then he glanced at his watch.
+
+"I must be going back to London," he said. "I have to see the
+Chief at four this afternoon. And you know why!"
+
+The girl nodded.
+
+"What will you tell him?" she asked. "Will you accept his offer
+to remain on in the Secret Service?"
+
+Desmond looked at her ruefully.
+
+"You're so eloquent about it," he said slowly, "that I think I
+must!"
+
+Smiling, she gave him her hand. Desmond held it for an instant in
+his.
+
+Then, without another word, he turned and strode off towards the
+winding white road that led to the station.
+
+Barbara watched him until a turn in the road hid him from her
+sight. Then she pulled out her handkerchief.
+
+"Good Heavens, girl!" she said to herself, I believe you're
+crying!"
+
+
+
+End of Project Gutenberg's Etext of Okewood of the Secret Service
+by Valentine Williams.
+
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