Okewood of the Secret Service ...........................................................................................................................1

Valentine Williams..................................................................................................................................1

Mr. Arthur Mackwayte slipped noiselessly into the diningroom 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

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 smoothshaven flexible face, only wrinkles. His eyes were gray and keen and honest, his mouth as tender

His daughter, Barbara, was already at table pouring out the teahigh tea is still an institution in musichall

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 tonight, daddy, she said, handing him his cup of tea, "only sardines and bread and

"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

"These revues are fair killing the trade, my dear, and that's a fact. They don't want art today, only ragtime

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

"Only a trifle, my dear, just a few shillings.... to take him over the weekend.... he's getting something.... he'll

"It's too bad of you, daddy," his daughter said severely. "I gave you that ten shillings to buy yourself a bottle

"Things are going bad with the profession, replied Mr. Mackwayte. "They don't seem to want any of us old

"Now, daddy, you know I don't allow you to talk like that. Why, you are only just finished working.... the

"Only, four weeks' trial, my dear.... they didn't want me, else they would have given me the full forty weeks.

"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

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 dinnertable, the receiver in her hand.

Then a strange thing happened. Barbara quickly put the receiver down on the desk and clasped her hands

"Daddy," she cried, "it's the Palaceum... the manager's office... they want you urgently! Oh, daddy, I believe

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!"

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!

"The Palaceum want me to deputize for Hickie and Flanagan, my dear," he said a little tremulously' "9.40...

"How splendid!" she exclaimed, "the Palaceum, daddy! You've never had an engagement like this before...

"But if they like you, daddy, if it goes down... what will you give them, daddy?"

"It's the biggest theatre in London"' he mused, "It'll have to be broad effects... and they'll want something slap

"No, no, daddy" his daughter broke in vehemently "they want the best. This is a London audience, remember,

not a halfbaked 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

"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

"But a lady clerk in the War Office, Barbara... a Government official, as you might say... go behind at a

"Nonsense, Mac. Where Is your theatre? Come along. We'll have to try and get a taxi!"

"Good gracious! what swells we are! And it's halfpast 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

Barbara was in the hall now, her arms plunged to the shoulder in a great basket trunk that smelt faintly of

cocoabutter. 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

At halfpast 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 screenedoff 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 greasepaints on the little table below the mirror with its two brilliant

electric bulbs, whilst Mr. Mackwayte was in his dressingroom upstairs changing into his first costume.

Now, old Mackwayte stood at her elbow in his rigout as an old London busdriver 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,

All around them was that curious preoccupied stillness hush of the powerhouse 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

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 spotlights tracked

It was the highwater mark of modern musichall 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 topliners 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 stagedoor

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

"Good Lord' man' where have you been living?" replied Fletcher. "NurelDin 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

"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 backcloth soared aloft and

another glided down into its place, the comedian took two, three, four calls, then vanished into a horde of dim

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

The great curtain mounted majestically and Arthur Mackwayte, deputy turn, stumped serenely on to the

It was the slack hour at the Nineveh Hotel. The last groups about the teatables 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 predinner 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 armchair in the vestibule of the Ninevah Hotel

His posture spoke of utter boredom. He sprawled length in his chair, his long legs stretched out in front of

him, his, eyes halfclosed, various editions of evening papers strewn about the ground at his feet. He was a

tall, wellgroomed 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

closecropped, 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 firelight 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

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

"Okewood!" said the young man and touched the other on the shoulder, "isn't it Desmond Okewood? By

"Why, hullo," he said, "if it isn't Maurice Strangwise! But, good heavens, man, surely I saw your name in the

"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 kitbag 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.

"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!"

"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

"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

"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

"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

"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..."

"You must let me into this, Spencer," he said, "what's old Maurice been up to? Has he been cashiered for

"Captain Strangwise has escaped from a prisoners' of war camp in Germany, Major," he said, "we've been

"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

"... And you'll use your influence to make those other fellows with you drop it, will you, Spencer? And then

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

"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.

"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 tonight. I want to be

"By Jove, we'll go there," said Desmond, turning to Maurice. "Have you ever seen her? I'm told she's

"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

"They don't want her to go," answered Spencer, "she's a perfect goldmine 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

"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

"We'll go along to the Palaceum tonight, if you like, Desmond," and Desmond joyfully acquiesced. To one

who has been living for weeks in an illventilated pillbox on the Passchendaele Ridge, the lights and music

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 busdriver 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

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

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 instinctawakening, 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

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 tiaralike headdress,

and in the broad interstices of a clothofsilver robe with short, stiffly wiredout skirt. She was seated, an

idol, on a glittering black throne, at her feet with their tapering dyed nails a fantastically attired throng of

The idol stirred into life, the music of the orchestra died away. Then a tomtom began to beat its nervous

pulsestirring throb, the strident notes of a reedpipe 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 evershortening beats, with now and then a clash of brazen cymbals that

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

"I thought of just running round behind the scenes for a few minutes," he said carelessly.

Strangwise demurred. He didn't quite know if he could take him: there might be difficulties: another time...

"I'11 be damned if you leave me behind, Maurice," he laughed, "of course I'm coming, too! She's the most

That night NurelDin kept the stage waiting for five minutes. It was a climax of a long series of similar

unpardonable crimes in the musichall code. The result was that Mr. Mackwayte, after taking four

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 oliveskinned 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

"Me voila!" and a dainty apparition in an ermine wrap tripped into the centre of the group, tapped the

Mr. Mackwayte's face creased its mask of paint into a thousand wrinkles. For, on seeing him, the dancer's

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

"My friend, wait for me! Et puis nous causerons! We will 'ave a talk, nestce 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 NurelDin 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!

Directly she was off the stage, NurelDin cams straight to Mr. Mackwayte, pushing aside her maid who was

"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

She laughed, a pretty gurgling laugh, throwing back her head so that the diamond collar she was wearing

"But you will come to my room, hein?" she went on. "Marie, my wrap!" and she led the way to the lift.

NurelDin's spacious dressingroom seemed to be full of people and flowers. All her little court was

assembled amid a perfect bower of hothouse 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

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 clothofsilver

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 headdress, and she thrust it back in its place with one little brown bejeweled hand

"Tiens, mon capitaine!" she said. Desmond was watching her closely, fascinated by her beauty, but noticed

"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

"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!"

"There are too many in this room," she cried, "there is no air! Lazarro, Ramiro, all of you, go outside, my

He spoke so low that Mr. Mackwayte and Barbara, who were talking to Desmond, did not hear. Marcelle,

"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 NurelDin'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 NurelDin's pretty neck and shoulders. The dancer was talking again in low

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

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 NurelDin from the dressing table. Mr. Mackwayte had joined her there and was chatting

"You will stay and talk to me while I change n'estce pas? Your papa and these gentlemen are going to drink

a whiskeysoda 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 NurelDin 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

Barbara fetched the wrapper and sat down beside the dancer. But NurelDin 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

"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

"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 today 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

"Ah! that is good of you," cried NurelDin, "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'estce pas?"

She opened a drawer and swiftly hunting among its contents produced a sheet, of white paper, and some

sealingwax. She wrapped the box in the paper and sealed it up, stamping the seals with a camel signet ring

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

"Le Captaine is there, Madame," said the French maid, "'e say Monsieur Mackwayte ask for Mademoiselle!"

"Au revoir, ma petite," she said, "we shall meet again. You will come and see me, nestce pas? And say

nothing to anybody about..." she pointed to Barbara's bag where the little package was reposing, "it shall be a

At halfpast eight the next morning Desmond Okewood found himself in the anteroom 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.

The Chief stood at the door of his room, a broadshouldered 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. Today, 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

Desmond was dumbfounded. How on earth did the Chief know about his visit to the Palaceum? Still, he was

The Chief contemplated his blottingpad gloomily. Desmond knew it for a trick of his when worried.

"Yes," he said, not in the least understanding the drift of the question. "... though I didn't mean to get up quite

"Nothing out of the ordinary happened during the night, I suppose?" he asked again.

"And, sir," Matthews added, "Scotland Yard telephoned to say that the doctor is with Miss Mackwayte now."

The Chief answered slowly, as Matthew s withdrew: "Mr. Mackwayte was found murdered at his house early

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 apparentlythe 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

"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 today was with you?" Desmond exclaimed in astonishment.

"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

"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 NurelDin's turn, Strangwise took you round and

introduced you to the lady. In her dressingroom 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

"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..."

"Whose trail?" Desmond could not forbear to ask as the Chief took off the receiver.

"Marigold? Yes. Really? Very well, I'll come straight along now... I'll be with you in twenty minutes.

"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

"Matthews," he said, "when Captain Strangwise comes, please tell him I've been called away and ask him to

"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 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

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

"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

He told me something about it at dinner last night," said Desmond, "but he's such a modest chap he doesn't

"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

"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."

"Yes, I think I do," said Desmond. "I lived with him for about three months in France, and we got on

"Yes," agreed the Chief. "But what about his judgment? Would you call him a wellbalanced fellow? Or is

"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

"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."

"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

"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

"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

"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

"I think so," answered Desmond, "anyhow, he has lived there. But he got his commission over here. He came

"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 twostory 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 smokediscolored

yellow brick. The road was perfectly straight and, in the dull yellow atmosphere of the winter morning,

The abode of small clerks and employees, Laleham Villas had rendered up, an hour before, its daily tribute of

humanity to the Citybound trains of the Great Eastern Railway. The Mackwayte's house was plainly

indicated, about 200 yards down on the righthand side, by a knot of errand boys and bareheaded women

"You'll like Marigold," said the Chief to Desmond as they got out of the car, "quite a remarkable man and

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 wellset up,

broadshouldered person of about fortyfive, very carefully dressed in a blue serge suit and black overcoat,

with a large, eventempered 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,

"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

"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..."

"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!"

"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

"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 musichall pals, name o'

"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 diningroom. 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 rolltop 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, whitehaired, 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

"Yus mister," she said with the slow deliberation of one who thoroughly enjoys repeating an ofttold tale, "I

found the pore man and a horrid turn it give me, too, I declare! I come in early this morning apurpose to turn

out these two rooms, the diningroom and the droringroom, 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!"

"And where did you find Mr. Mackwayte?" asked the Chief in such a placid voice that Mrs. Chugg cast an

"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!"

"'E was alying on his back in 'is dressinggown, 'is face all burnt black, like, and a fair smother o' blood.

"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.

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 lefthand side was a window looking on a narrow passage

separating the Mackwayte house from its neighbors and leading to the backdoor. By the window stood a

small wickerwork table with a plant on it. At the back of the landing was a partition, glazed halfway up

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 bathroom 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

halfclosed. 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

"Close range," murmured Desmond, after glancing at the dead man's face, "a large calibre automatic pistol, I

"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?"

"He hadn't got it on him," he answered, "he swears he never had a gun. I expect he chucked it away

"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..."

"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 diningroom 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."

"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

"She has no idea," answered the detective. "She couldn't see her watch and they haven't got a striking clock in

"Well, she says she thinks it was several hours before Mrs. Chugg arrived in the morning... as much as three

"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

He conducted the Chief and Desmond up the short flight of stairs to the first story. He pushed open the first

"Mackwayte's room, on the back," he said, "bed slept in, as you see, old gentleman's clothes on a

chairobviously 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 boxrooms... 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

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

"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 toilettable just as she left 'em last night. I wouldn't let her touch her

"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

"But are there no clues or fingerprints or anything of that kind here, Marigold?" asked the Chief.

"Not a fingerprint anywhere," responded the other, "men like Barney are born wise to the fingerprint

"Clues? Well, I've got one little souvenir here which I daresay a writer of detective stories would make a

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

Desmond looked closely at the strand of hair in the detective's fingers. It was long and fine and glossy and

"Haven't an idea, Marigold," he answered, "Barney's, I should imagine, that is, if he goes about with black

"Barney?" echoed the detective. "Barney's as bald as I am. Besides, if you saw his sheet, you'd realize that he

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?"

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

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 dressingroom last night, sir," he replied

quietly, "she probably sat at her dressingtable and picked up this hair in hers or in her veil or something and

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

"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

"I have a good deal to do here still," observed Mr. Marigold, "so, if you don't mind, I won't accompany you.

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?"

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

The Chief professed to be very taken aback by this question. "Dear me, didn't I, Okewood?" he answered

"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

"Certainly," said Desmond, "she struck me as being a very charming and clever girl. Now I know the source

"That you certainly don't!" answered the Chief promptly, " if I thought you did Duff and No.39 should be

"I haven't seen or heard from Miss Mackwayte since she left my office yesterday evening. You were

Bated once more, Desmond retired into his shell. By this he was convinced of the utter impossibility of

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

Barney proved to be a squat, podgy, middleaged 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

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

As the Chief and Desmond advanced into the room, the Jew looked up in panic. Then he sprang to his feet

"Ah, no! Don't take me away! I ain't done no 'arm, gentlemen! S'welp me, gentlemen, I ain't a murderer! I

"Get him up!" said the Chief in disgust, "and, look here, can't you give him a drink? I want to speak to him.

The detective pushed a bell in the wall, a policeman answered it, and presently the prisoner was handed a stiff

"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

The prisoner put down the glass wearily and wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. Though the room

"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 atelling the trewth, eh! I've been on the crook, gentlemen, I say it, ja,

"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

"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 diningroom... there vosn't, anything vorth snatching outer the parlor... and

sixtyfive quid out of an old cigarbox in the desk. The police 'as got it... I give it all back! I say I haf stolen,

"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 diningroom 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 diningroom... and there I sees

ole Mac in his dressinggown just coming down from the first floor. The same moment I hear a step in the

"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

"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, aholding 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 atrickling out on the oilcloth. 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!

Barney stopped. The tears burst from his eyes and laying his grimy face on his arm, he sobbed.

"Ach was!" replied the prisoner, turning a tearstained face towards him, "I haf seen nothing, except old Mac's

"But couldn't you see the other person at all, not even the outline" persisted the Chief.

"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

"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!"

"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

But the Chief crossed the room to the door rind the detective hustled the prisoner away,

"Glad I caught you," he said. "I thought you would care to see the post mortem report. The doctor has just

"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

"It does," answered the official. "We've submitted it to our small arms expert, and he pronounces it to be a

"And," the official went on, "our man says, further, that, as far as he knows, there is only one type of

"An improved pattern of the German Mauser pistol," was the other's startling reply.

"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

They were sitting in the smokingroom 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 allcomers, 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 wardroom or the mess anteroom.

And so today, 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, matteroffact

personalities all around them, and the extraordinary web of intrigue which seemed to have spun itself round

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.

"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

"I'm sure you feel much better now," he said. Then his face grew grave and he added:

"NurelDin," 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. NurelDin in the center, the

"There's only one other man in the world can handle this job, except you," he began, "and that's your brother

"He wrote to me last from Athens," answered Desmond, "but that must be nearly two months ago."

"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

He stopped and cleared his throat. Desmond stared at him. He could hardly believe his eyes. This quiet,

"Okewood," the Chief went on, "you know I like plain speaking, and therefore you won't make the mistake of

"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

"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

"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

Desmond took two or three deep puffs of his cigarette and dropped it into the ashtray.

The love of romance is merely the, nobler form of curiosity. And there was something in Desmond

Okewood's AngloIrish 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 illhumor 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

"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."

"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 nonessentials 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 tipandrun dash into

England, the starving waiter, miserably underpaid by some thieving rogue in a neutral countryor the frank

swindler who sends back to the Fatherland and is duly paid for long reports about British naval movements

"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 neverending

series of move and countermove, check and countercheck. Very often we only know of their activities by

enemy action based on their reports. Then there is another leak to be caulked, another rathole 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!"

"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!"

"I suppose you've got something to go on?" he asked. "There's NurelDin, 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

"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 AixlesBains... oh, we know a

whole lot about him! And this woman's other friends! Do you know, for instance, where she often spends the

weekend? At the countryplace 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

"But why in Heaven's name are all these people allowed to run loose?" broke in Desmond. "Do you mean to

"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 heor it may be a

The Chief sprang impatiently to his feet and strode across the smokingroom, which was all but empty by

this time, to get a match from a table. He resumed his seat with a grunt of exasperation.

"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

"A fortnight ago... a respectable, retired English business man, by name of Basil Bellward... taken with the

"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

"But sorely if you found evidence of his connection with this gang of spies, it should be easy to get a clue to

"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 BellwardBruhl 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.

"It was in the shape of a letter of introduction, in French, without date or address, warmly recommending the

"It is simply signed 'P.', but you shall see it for yourself when you get the other documents in the case."

"It might, but not this one. This letter, as an expert has ascertained beyond all doubt, is written on German

manufactured notepaper 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."

There was a moment's silence. Desmond was thinking despairingly of the seeming hopelessness of

"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 NurelDin'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 NurelDin murderedold Mackwayte? My dear Chief, the idea is

"Nothing is preposterous in our work, Okewood," he replied. "But it's 3.25, and my French colleague hates to

"I put him off until six o'clock," replied the Chief, "he knows NurelDin, 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 goodbye, Okewood. I shan't see you again..."

"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

"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!"

"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

"Nooo!" he said slowly, "but I'm rather young to die. Is it absolutely necessary for me to disappear?"

"Catch the leaveboat tonight and don't worry. You will receive your instructions in due course."

"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

"But I say, sir," Desmond interposed hastily. "You haven't told me what I am to do. What part am I to play in

"Tomorrow," said the Chief, buttoning up his goat, "you become Mr. Basil Bellward!"

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,

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 AngloGerman 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 makeup 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

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, NurelDin, 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

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

Barbara received him in a neat little suburban drawingroom in the house of her friends, who lived a few

streets away from the Mackwaytes. She was wearing a plainlymade 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

"There's not the least need for you to worry," she said with a little woeful smile, like a sunray piercing a

raincloud, "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

"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

"Oh, that's not possible," said Desmond. "Why, he didn't know until an hour ago that I was going to take on

"The Chief has taught me a lot about judging men by their looks," she said: "Personally, if I'd been in the

The girl spoke with such directness that there was not the least suggestion of a compliment in her remark, but

"I'm not trying to pay you a compliment: I'm just judging by your type. I believe I can always tell the man

"Well," he said slowly, "seeing that you and I were intended to work together, it seems to me to be a most

"It was more than a coincidence," said Barbara, shaking her dark brown head. "Fortyeight 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

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

"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

"Please don't cry," he said gently, "you have borne up so bravely against this terrible blow; you must try and

All her businesslike 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

"Perhaps you would like me to leave you?" Desmond asked. "Let me ring for your friends... I am sure you

"No, no," she said, "don't go, don't go! I want your help. This is such a dark and dreadful business, more than

Again she hid her face in her hands and cried whilst Desmond stood erect by her aide, compassionate but

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

"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!"

Then Barbara told him of her talk with NurelDin in the dancer's dressingroom on the previous evening

"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 handbag 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 NurelDin'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."

"Absolutely certain," was the reply. "I remember perfectly what was in my handbag this morning when I

"Just a small silver box, oblong and quite plain, about so big," she indicated the size with her hands, "about as

large as a cigarettebox. NurelDin 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

"Simply that she wouldn't have broken into year place and killed your father in order to recover her own

"Nothing. I had not thought anything about her until daddy discovered an old friend in her last night and

The Chief's infernal caution again! thought Desmond, secretly admiring the care with which that remarkable

"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

"And now," Desmond concluded, "the very next thing we must do is to go to the Chief and tell him about this

"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!"

"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 NurelDin's. Was there

"No," said Barbara:, "I don't think so. Wait a minute, though, NurelDin'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

"Do you remember if NurelDin 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, NurelDin was impressing

on me again to take great care of the package. I don't think she actually mentioned the box but I remember

"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 NurelDin's dresses. She must have come in afterwards without my

"Well then, this girl, Marie, didn't see the dancer give you the box but she heard her refer to it. Is that right?"

"He seems to know NurelDin pretty well," she said, "and I'll tell you something else, that woman's afraid

"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

"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 leavetrain starts tonight," he said aloud, one foot on the sideboard of the taxi.

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 taximan, "I have your papers here"; he handed Desmond a couple of slips of

paper which he took from his coatpocket; "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

"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

"On special service, the same as yon, sir!" said the man with a grin and Desmond understood.

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, oilyfaced Greek manager as the latter tied up his cigarettes into a

Then Desmond drove back to the Nineveh Hotel where he left his taxidriving 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 leaveboat 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

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

"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 goodbye. I'm going back to France tonight!"

Maurice looked round quickly. He appeared to be quite his old self again and was all smiles now.

"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!"

"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

"By the way, I haven't seen you since last night. What a shocking affair this is about old Mackwayte, isn't it?

Strangwise very deliberately fished a cigarette out of his case which was lying open on the table and lit it

"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

After he had spoken he realized he had blundered. Surely, after all, the Chief would have told Strangwise

The Chief had kept his own counsel about their morning's work. Desmond was glad now that he had

"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."

"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!"

"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

"Well," said Desmond, getting up, "nous verrons. I shall have to make a bolt for it now if I don't want to miss

"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

Strangwise stood for a moment gazing after him. He was no longer the frank, smiling companion of a minute

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

It was a clear, cold night. A knifeedge icy wind blew from the northeast and kept the lanyards dismally

flapping on the flagmast 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

The Corporal of Military Police, who stood at the gangway examining the passes, stopped Desmond

"There was a message for you, sir," said the Corporal. "The captain of the Staff boat would hesteem it a

favor, sir, if you would kindly go to his cabin immediately on harriving on board, sir!"

"Very good, Corporal!" answered the officer and passed up the gang plank, enviously regarded by the press

of brasshats and redtabs who, for the most part, had a cramped berth below or cold quarters on deck 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

The Captain was sitting there chatting to the pilot, a short, enormously broad man with a magenta face and

"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 atalking of such nonsense, Cap'en!"

On Desmond's entrance the Captain broke off the conversation. He proved to be a trimlybuilt 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

"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 lifetime or yours, either! Accommodation's a bit

"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

They had been steaming for nearly an hour when, through the open door of the cabin, Desmond saw a seaman

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.

"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

"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

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

A few officers stood by the rail watching the scene with interest. The skipper adroitly piloted Desmond past

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

The officer who had welcomed him proved to be the second in command, a joyous person who did the honors

of the tiny wardroom with the aplomb of a Commander in a superDreadnought. He mixed Desmond a

drink and immediately started to converse about life at the front without giving the other a chance of asking

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 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.

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 railwaylines 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

The car slowed down and the chauffeur switched the headlights on. Their blinding glare revealed some white

gateposts at the entrance of a quiet country station. Desmond looked at his watch. It was halfpast one. The

car stopped at the entrance to the bookingoffice 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

Matthews held open the door of the Pullman for Desmond and followed him into the carriage. A gruff voice

"All right, Charley!" a light was waved to and fro, and the special pulled out of the echoing station into the

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

"If you will have your supper, Major Okewood, sir," said Matthews, "Mr. Crook here will get to work. We've

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?"

"I can't really say, sir, I'm sure! A car will meet you there and I can go home to bed."

"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 makeup. 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

"That's right," he said shortly, and resumed his occupation of examining the photographs.

"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 wellshaped nose and

goldrimmed 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

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 cutaway coat and

waistcoat of the same tweed stuff, a black bowler hat of rather an oldfashioned and staid pattern, and a black

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

Crook whisked a barber's wrap round Desmond and proceeded, with clippers and scissors, to crop and trim

"Tsttst" he clicked with his tongue. "I didn't realize your hair was so dark, Major. It'll want a dash of henna

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

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

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

"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

Desmond obediently slipped the two slices of rubber into his mouth and tucked them away on either side of

"There's your specs," said Crook, handing him a spectacle case, "and there's the collar. Now if you'll put on

Desmond went out and donned the vest and coat and overcoat, and, thus arrayed, returned to the Pullman, hat

"Not so springy in the step, sir, if you please. Remember you're fortythree 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,

He turned and touched a blind. A curtain rolled up with a click, disclosing a full length mirror immediately

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

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.

"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

"I'm fairly well satisfied," the expert murmured modestly, "and I must say the Major carries it off very well.

"It's half past two," replied, the latter, "we should reach Cannon Street by three. She's running well up to

"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

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

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

"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

"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 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

"This is for you," said the young man, handing Desmond a note as they walked down the platform.

Outside the station a motorcar 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

"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

"Housekeeper, Martha, half blind, stupid; odd man, John Hill, mostly invisible, no risk from either. You are

The night was now pitchdark. 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

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

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

"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

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.

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,

It was a small sittingroom, lined with bookshelves, illuminated by an oil lamp which stood on a little table

beside a chintzcovered settee which had been drawn up in front of the dying fire.

When Barbara reached the Chief's anteroom 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, Jewishlooking 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 buttonhole. Matthews

"Mr. Matthews," she said hastily in a low voice, "never mind about that now. I must see the Chief at once. It

"All these people, excepting the officer there, are waiting to see him, Miss, and he's got a dinner engagement

"It is urgent, Mr. Matthews, I tell you. If you won't take my name in, I shall go in myself!"

"I can guess what brings you here, Miss Mackwayte," he said gently. "I hope you will allow me to express

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

"Thank you, thank you!" Barbara said hastily and brushed past him. She walked straight across the room to

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

"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

"Chief," cried Barbara, her hands clasped convulsively together, "you must hear me now. What I have to say

The Chief looked as embarrassed as a man usually looks when he is appealed to in a busy moment by an

"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!"

"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

Then in a low impassioned voice Barbara told her tale of the package entrusted to her by NurelDin 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 blottingpad in front of him. When the girl

"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

Without waiting for further permission, he pressed a bell on the desk and presently Matthews ushered in the

The Chief introduced the Frenchman and in a few words explained the situation to him. Then he turned to

"Colonel Lambelet speaks English perfectly," he said, "so fire away and don't be nervous!"

"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 clearcut 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

secondclass 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, NurelDin, 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

"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 NurelDin.

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

"When the war broke out in August, 1914, Madame, after finishing her summer season in Brussels, was

"She told Samuel, the fellow who runs the Palaceum, that she escaped from Brussels!" interposed the Chief.

"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...

"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!"

"How does she explain her movements prior to her coming to this country" the First Sea Lord asked the

"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

"Ah, Mr. Samuel," said the Chief, " I wanted to see you about NurelDin. 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 musichall proprietor, "and then, when the general exodus took place from

there, to her mother's country place near Lyons, a village called SermoiseauxRoses."

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 SermoiseauxRoses," he said, "and she has a

"Unfortunately for Madame NurelDin, 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

"Thank you, Mr. Samuel," said the Chief, "we shan't require you any more. But I'm afraid your NurelDin

"Broken it already?" he cried. "What do you mean? Explain yourself! Don't stand there staring at me!"

"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 tonight 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

"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

"No, I haven't!" Mr. Samuel lamented. "I've been twice to the Ninevehthat's where she's stoppingand

"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

The sight of NurelDin 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

NurelDin 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

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 hundredeyed 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

"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

"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 repliedat 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

"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

"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

Desmond held up his hand to restrain her toothless babble. NurelDin had stirred and was sitting up,

rubbing her eyes. Then she caught sight of Desmond and scrambled rather unsteadily to her feet.

"All right, Martha," said Desmond, "see that the spare room is ready for this lady, and don't go to bed just yet.

The old woman hobbled away, leaving the two alone. As soon as the door had closed behind her, NurelDin

"No!" NurelDin commanded with flashing eyes, "no, not that name! I am Madame Le Bon, you,

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

"I wish to pass the night here," she went on, "in fact, I may be here for several days. They are becoming

"Bah, I have left the theatre. I have had enough of these stupid English people... they know nothing of art!"

Desmond reflected a moment. NurelDin'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

"I am only too happy to be of assistance to you," he said, "especially in view of the letter of introduction you

"Impossible?" repeated NurelDin, 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

"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."

It did. NurelDin fumbled in her bag, produced a leather pocketbook and from it produced a slip of paper

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.

"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

"Given At Our Headquarters at Metz "Friedrich Wilhelm "Kronprinz des "Deutschen Reiches."

Across the signature was the impress of a green stamp, lozengeshaped, inscribed "Headquarters of the Fifth

"Madame must accept my humble excuses," he murmured, hardly knowing what he was saying, so great was

"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

She made a charming picture. Her heavy fur coat had fallen open, disclosing her full round throat, very brown

against the Vshaped 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

"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

"Tell me what has happened to frighten you. Who is hunting you? Is it the police?"

"All my life has been a struggle," she went on, after a moment, "first with hunger, then with men, then the

"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

"I am tired," she sighed and all her haughty manner returned, "let the old woman show me to my room. I will

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

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 firingsquadwas this to be the

end of his mission? And the still, small voice of conscience answered: " Yes! that is what you have come here

Old Martha came shuffling down the staircase. Desmond called to her, remembering that he did not yet know

"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.

Clad in a suit of Mr. Basil Bellward's pyjamas of elaborate blueflowered 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

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

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

mantelshelf marked a quarter to twelve. But then he thought of the teteatete luncheon that awaited him at

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

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 motorcycle to the station, and not returning until dinnertime 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

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

"Landlord of the Red Lion, Wentfield: The gentleman has never been to the Red Lion, but sometimes orders

"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

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

"Bellward, Bellward Hotel, Jermyn Street. "Shipping to you Friday 22,000 please advise correspondents.

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

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 crossexamination 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 bonafides 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

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

Desmond's orders, which he reserved to the last ere short and to the point. They consisted of five numbered

"1. You will have a free hand. The surveillance of the house was withdrawn on your arrival and will not be

"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

"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.

"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 NurelDin'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 NurelDin 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 pocketbook and, after watching the rest of the papers crumble away

NurelDin was in the drawingroom, 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 millrace from which the house took its name. The drawingroom was a

bare, inhospitable room, studded here and there with uncomfortable looking early Victorian armchairs

swathed in dustproof cloths. A fire was making an unsuccessful attempt to burn in the open grate.

NurelDin turned as he entered the room. She was wearing a gray cloth tailormade 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, voulezvous? You see, I

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. NurelDin 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 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 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

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

"My friend," said NurelDin, shaking her curls at him. "I never read your English papers. There is nothing

At this moment old Martha, who had left them over their coffee and cigarettes, came into the room.

"Mr. Mortimer!" mumbled the old woman in her tired voice, "at least that's what he said his name was. The

"Did you say I was in?" Desmond asked the old housekeeper, who was staring at the dancer.

NurelDin, 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

"You need not see him," Desmond expostulated gently, "I will say you are not here! Who is this Mortimer

"My friend," said the dancer sadly, "he is my evil genius. If I had dreamt that you knew him I would never

"Very few of you have, my friend," she replied, "but you are all under his orders, nestce pas?"

Desmond's heart leaped. Was Mortimer's the guiding hand of this network of conspiracy?

"I've trusted you, Monsieur," NurelDin 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

"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 NurelDin 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 youngold 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

The two men measured one another in a brief but courteous glance. Desmond wondered what on earth this

"Mr. Bellward?" said Mortimer, in a pleasant cultivated voice, "I am pleased to have this opportunity of

Desmond bowed and muttered something conventional. Mortimer had put out his hand but Desmond could

"Thanks," said Mortimer sitting down heavily, "I've had quite a walk across the fen. It's pleasant out but

"Why the one asking you to let me know when you would be back so that we might meet at last!"

"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

"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!"

"Was there anything left in your absence?" he asked, "no, there would be nothing; I suppose!"

"God bless my soul!" ejaculated Mortimer turning round to stare at him through his grotesque glasses. And

"What do you want with me?" he asked quietly, "and why do you speak German in my house?" Mortimer

"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

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

"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

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,

"You are too kind," murmured Desmond, grappling for the thread of the conversation.

"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

"I shall ,not fail you," replied Desmond. "But where is this rendezvous of yours, might I ask?"

"There must be some mistake," he averred stoutly, "of course I know who you mean, but I have never met the

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 hatpins.

A couple of gaudy cushions lay between it and Mortimer's range of vision from the chair in which the latter

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

"I wish she were here," Desmond added, smiling, "one could not have a more delightful companion to share

"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

"Indeed, it is a fact," replied the other, "I wish she would take you as her model, my dear Bellward. You are

"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

"Au revoir, Bellward," he said, "you shall hear from me very soon. You've got a snug little place here, I must

The blood flew to Desmond's face and he bent down, on pretense of examining the cushions, to hide his

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 NurelDin in the diningroom.

"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

Gone! Desmond stared gloomily out at the sopping garden with an uneasy feeling that he had failed in his

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 mustinessof all smells the most eerie and

drearwhich he had noticed on his arrival. Somehow, as long as NurelDin had been there, he had not

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

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

NurelDin! 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

But a spy needs grit, he reflected, and NurelDin had many qualities which would enable her to win the

confidence of men. Hadn't she halfcaptivated him, the wouldbe spycatcher, 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 whiteheaded 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 NurelDin 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

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 NurelDin 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 NurelDin 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

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 themat 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 NurelDin'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 secretswell, 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 NurelDin 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 pocketbook 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

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

The rain had stopped, but the whole atmosphere reeled of moisture. Angrylooking, dirtybrown clouds

chased each other across the lowering sky, and there was a constant sound of water, trickling and gurgling

An untidylooking 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 waterlogged 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 gardenat least so Desmond judged it to have been by a half ruined pergola which he had

noticed from the drawingroom windows. Through the garden ran the millrace which poured out of the

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 mistshrouded 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

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 leanto shed. The latch yielded on being pressed and Desmond entered the place.

He found himself in a fairsized shed, very well and solidly built of pitchpine, 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

goodlooking Douglas motorcycle, and on a nail ,on the wall hung a set of motorcyclist's overalls. A few

Desmond examined the machine. It was in excellent condition, beautifully clean, the tank half full of spirits.

"Old man Bellward's motorbike that he goes to the station on," Desmond noted mentally. "But what's in the

Then he caught sight of a deep drawer in the table. It was halfopen and he saw that it contained various tools

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

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 minda severe blow on the head is not the ideal cure for

hypochondriabut the flow of objurgatives froze on his lips. For he found himself looking into Mr.

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

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

downto be exact, it was in line with the fifth shelf from the floorhis fingers encountered a little knob

which gave under pressurethe 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

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

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

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 stepladders 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

"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 giltlettered backs of the last six volumes came away in his hands in one piece and he crashed off the

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

In a flash Desmond realized what his discovery signified. The motorcycle in the shed without was the

connecting link between Bellward and the man with whom he was cooperating 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 motorcycle. Were he stopped, he always had the excuse ready that he was

going toor 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

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 NurelDin; for she had never met Bellward, either.

"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 buffcolored 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

"Dear, dear," he replied, "and I made sure you'd be able to trace him with that pass!"

"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

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

"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?" echoed the other in surprise. "Why, not the Seven Kings murder, surely?"

"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 flowerbed 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 mosaictiled

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

"I ought to know that footprint," 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

"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,

"Right you are," said the officer, "I'll hold him for you, Mr. Marigold. But I hope your suspicions are not

"And so do I, if you want to know," he said. "One can forgive those lads who are fighting out there almost

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

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 anteroom. 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

She did not speak to him as she showed him into the Chief, but there was a question lurking in her gray eyes.

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

"Marigold," he said, when the other had finished, "we must undoubtedly lay hold of this fellow. Let's see

"If your friend's innocent," he chuckled, "that'll fetch him to a dead certainty. If he murdered Mackwayte, of

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..."

"The Star, too, by all means. That ought to cover the extent of your pal's newspaper reading, I fancy, eh,

He held out a hand in farewell. But Mr. Marigold stood his ground. He was rather a slow mover, and there

"I was very sorry to see poor Major Okewood in the casualty list this morning, sir," he said. "I was going to

The detective was used to surprises but the Chief still bowled him out occasionally. Before he knew what he

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

"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 NurelDin, 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

antecedentswhat we had from my French colleague the other day, you know? Let him have all the

particulars about this Barling caseyou 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

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, lowlying

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

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

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

She rang the bell again rather nervously and waited. In her bag she had a little torchlight (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

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

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

She turned her back on the door and torch in hand, plunged resolutely into the fogbank. The mist was

bewilderingly thick. Still, by going slow and always keeping the gravel under her feet, she reached the front

Here the mist was worse than ever. She had not taken four paces before she had lost all sense of her direction.

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

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 motorcar or a trap would not come along behind and run her down for she was obliged to keep to the

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

By this time she knew she was completely lost. Coming from the station there had been, she remembered, a

crossroads with a signboard 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

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

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

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

lefthand side being the house itself, the centre, the kitchen, and the righthand side a tumbledown stable

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 inndoor.

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

beerengines 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 taproom was empty when Barbara entered but as she sat down at the table, the door opposite opened,

and a short, foreignlooking woman came out. She stepped dead on seeing the girl: Her face seemed familiar

"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

"A moment! I go to tell Meester Rass," said the woman with a very marked foreign accent and in a frightened

"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

A shrill cry broke in upon her meditations, a harsh scream of rage. Barbara turned quickly and saw

NurelDin 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 NurelDin had come to upbraid her with losing the treasure she had

"Where is it I Where is the silver box I gave into your charge? Answer me. Mais reponds, donc, canaille!"

An undersized; yellowfaced man came quickly out of the small door leading from the bar and stood an

NurelDin 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

Barbara recognized the threat that the action implied and it served to steady her nerves. She shrank back no

"The box you gave me," said Barbara very quietly, "was stolen from me by the person who... who murdered

"And you?" she cried, "you are 'ere to sell it back to me, hein, or to get your blood money from your

"Oh, how dare you! How dare you!" she exclaimed, bursting into tears, "when that wretched box you made

NurelDin thrust her face, distorted with passion, into Barbara's. She spoke in rapid French, in a low,

"Do you think this playacting 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

Her voice rose to a note of pleading and the tears started from her eyes. Her mood changed. She began to

"Come, ma petite, you will help me recover my little box, n'estce pas? You will find me generous. And I am

"After what you have said to me tonight," she said, "I wouldn't give you back your box even if I had it."

"Will you tell me the way to the nearest station" she went on, "and kindly open that door!"

The man looked interrogatively at NurelDin who spoke a few words rapidly in the language she had used

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 halfdragged, halfcarried out of the taproom through the small

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 footstep on the stair, there was a crash as of a trapdoor falling to, the noise of a bolt.

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

"It's not Dr. Haines from the village, Mr. Bellward, sir," said the housekeeper, "It's a genel'man from

Then Desmond remembered Crook's promise to look him up and guessed it must be he. He bade Martha

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 tophat to the neat brown

"Well," he said, surveying Desmond, "and how do we find ourselves today? These chills are nasty things to

"Voice inclined to be laryngeal," said Crook putting down his hat and bag on a chair, "we shall have to take

"Voice rotten," replied Crook calmly surveying him through his pincenez. "Really, MajorI should say,

Mr. Bellwardyou 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 gutturallike, and open the vowels

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;

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 NurelDin and of the search being made for her.

Desmond heard the news of NurelDin's disappearance from London with some consternation. He began to

realize that his failure to detain NurelDin 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,

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 NurelDin 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 NurelDin's arrest

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

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 makeup and giving

him a further rehearsal of his role, packed up his pots and paints and brushes in his black bag and returned to

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

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

But no orders came from Headquarters to release him from his confinement. Moreover, no word arrived from

NurelDin 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

NurelDin's presence in the house at the time of his visit, had grown suspicious! What if NurelDin had

succeeded in making good her escape to the Continent? He had had his chance of laying hold of both suspects

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

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

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

One afternoonit was the fifth day after Desmond's arrival at Bellward'sMr. Crook announced that this

"I go abroad tonight, 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

"Good!" exclaimed Desmond, rubbing his hands together. "And you think I'll do, Crook, eh?"

"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

"That's my advice to you, sir. And now I'll take my leave! You won't want that tow beard any more after

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

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

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 motorcycle 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 wineglasses. He was just finishing his coffee when the housekeeper came in and told

Desmond sprang from his chair with alacrity. His marching orders at last! he thought, as he hurried across the

"Bellward speaking!" said Desmond, wondering who had called him up. The voice was a man's but it was not

Madame Le Bon? thought Desmond. Why, that was the name that NurelDin had given him. "I am

"Certainly," replied Desmond. "You will come alone. Otherwise, Madame will not see you. You understand?

"If you will turn to the left on leaving your front gate," the voice resumed, "and follow the road, a messenger

Desmond took a moment's thought. To go was to disobey orders; not to go was to risk losing a second chance

of meeting NurelDin. 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

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 motorbike, but the cherub's winning way clinched it and he plumped

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

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

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

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

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

"They want to be sure I'm alone," thought Desmond, and congratulated himself on having had the strength of

The carttrack 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 signboard inscribed, "The Dyke Inn by J. Rass." The urchin led him across the bridge

An undersized, yellowfaced 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

"Madame Le Bon is upstairs waiting for you!" he said in a nasal voice which Desmond recognized as that he

He led the way across a long low taproom through a door and past the open trapdoor 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 yellowfaced man walked quickly downstairs and left him. Desmond heard his feet echo on the

He hesitated a moment. What if this were a trap? Suppose Mortimer, growing suspicious, had made use of

NurelDin to lure him to an ambush in this lonely place? Why the devil hadn't he brought a revolver with

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.

The room in which Desmond found NurelDin 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 wallpaper, 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 flyblown 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

The dainty beauty of NurelDin 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

"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

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

He made her resume her seat by the table and pulled up one of the horsehair chairs for himself. NurelDin

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 today. She has told me of this

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

"The murder of Monsieur Mackwayte," said NurelDin, 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

"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 Misswhat was the name? ah! yes,

"No, no!" NurelDin answered wearily, "you don't understand. This was no burglary. The man who

"But," objected Desmond, "a silver box! What value has a trifling object like that? My dear young lady,

"No, no," NurelDin 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

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

"You have honest eyes," she said presently. "I told you that once before... that night we met.at your house...

"My mother was Irish," said Desmond and felt a momentary relief that, for once, he had been able to speak

"I want a friend," the girl resumed wearily, "someone that I can trust. But I look around and I find no one.

"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," NurelDin resumed eagerly, "you can differentiate.

You can understand that there is a difference between working for the cause of Germany and for the personal

"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

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."

"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

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

"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

"Be careful!" she urged warningly, while the ghost of a smile flitted across her face. "Very soon I may call

"Then," she cried passionately, "find out who has stolen for the Crown Prince the Star of Poland at the price

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 longlost kingdom. It was the principal jewel of the Polish Coronation sword which

vanished many hundreds of years agoin the thirteenth century, one of my compatriots once told meand

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

"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

"This man's name was Hans von Schornbeek. Like so many German officers who go to America, in his time

he had been everythingwaiter, liftman, enginedriver and heaven knows what else, but when I met him

he was apparently welloff. It was only later on that I knew he was one of your principal secret agents in

"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

"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

"I knew Brussels already from the old days. As a halfstarved, 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

"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

She paused and glanced around her. The room was almost dark; the fog outside hung like a veil before the

"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 billiardroom; they said it was suicide and the thing was hushed up, but dame! now that I

"Enfin! I shut my eyes to it all... it was none of my business... and I revelled in my robes, my dancing, my

"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 basfonds 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

"Madame," he said, "I hope I have preserved sufficient liberty of judgment to have formed my own opinion

"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 suppersbah! 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

"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 longlost Coronation sword of the Polish kings. I took it for your Imperial Highness from the

"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,

"'These lousy Poles will have no further use for this pretty trinket, thanks to our stout German blows, will

"'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

"'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

"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!"

"It was the Crown Princess who eventually came to my rescue," she continued. "Longsuffering 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

"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

"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

"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 aidedecamp, as I

knew by the handwriting, 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

"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

AustroGerman 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

"Mortimer reasoned with me in vain and finally went away emptyhanded. 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 dressingroom 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

"Two days before I came down to your houseit was the day before the murderI was hustled by a group

of men as I came out of the theatre. Fortunately the stagedoor 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

"But somehow Mortimer learnt of my intention. The next nightit was the night of the murderhe 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

As though the recollection proved too much for her, NurelDin broke off her narrative and covered her face

"But why not have put the jewel in a bank or one of the safe deposits? Surely it was risky to have entrusted it

"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 heavensent 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

today, when I heard of the murder, that it dawned on me how indiscreet I had been. I might have guessed,

"But certainly," replied NurelDin. "Was it not I myself" She broke off suddenly with terror in her eyes.

Desmond was about to speak when the door opened and a foreignlooking maid, whom Desmond

remembered to have seen in the dancer's dressingroom, came in. She went swiftly to her mistress and

"A little moment... you will excuse me..." she cried to Desmond and ran from the room. The maid followed

Presently, the sound of NurelDin'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 NurelDin

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

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 NurelDin: 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.

Yet how could he get away unobserved? There was no exit from the staircase by the door into the taproom

where NurelDin was, and to go through the taproom 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

Beside the window ran an old lead waterpipe 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 coveredin

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 pendulumlike motion, gain sufficient impulse to swing his legs across the

diagonallyrunning 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 temperamentif 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 NurelDin 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

windowsill and followed it with the other, turning his back on the yard. The next moment he was dangling

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

"Where the devil is that doggy" said Strangwise. Then he whistled, and called again:

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

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,

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 halfopen 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 yellowfaced 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

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

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

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. NurelDin, 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 dinnertable. In the

library the curtains were drawn and a fire burned brightly in the grate. The room looked very snug and cosy

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

By the clock on the mantelpiece it was a quarter to seven. If aid arrived promptly, with a car they could be at

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 NurelDin, her maid, Rass, and if

needs be, Strangwise (who needed a lesson to teach him discretion), should be in custody.

"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

He spent five minutes in vain attempts to obtain a reply, then abandoned the endeavor in disgust.

"I shall have to take the motorbike 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

"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

He filled his case from the box of cigarettes on the table and thrust a box of matches into his pocket to light

his headlamp. Then, taking a cap from the hatstand, 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

"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!

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 halfblind 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

"Gladly," replied the other, sinking with aunt into the settee. "And I should be glad if we might dine early."

"... Because," Mortimer resumed, "I have ventured to ask a few friends round here to... to have an evening at

Desmond pointed to a cardtable standing in the corner with several packs of cards and markers. Then he

"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

"I shall be delighted to receive our friends," Desmond replied, "a glass of sherry?"

"I shall have to provide a few refreshments," said Desmond. "May I ask how many guests I may expect?"

"Let's see," he answered, "there's Max, that's one, and Madame Malplaquet, that's two. No. 13 and Behrend

"And Madame NurelDin?" queried Desmond innocently, but inwardly quaking at his rashness.

"Sly dog!" he chuckled, "you're one too many for me in that quarter, I see! I know all about your teteatete

Desmond felt the blood rush to his face. He thought of NurelDin's words: "Mortimer sees and knows all."

"... It was hardly gallant of you to bolt so suddenly and leave the lady!" Mortimer added.

"I suppose she told you a long story of my persecution, eh, Bellward? You needn't shake your head. I taxed

"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

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.

"Ah!" said Mortimer, "who was that, I wonder? The Dyke Inn could hardly be described as a frequented

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

"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,

Mortimer looked at him keenly for a brief instant. "What prudence!" he cried. "Bellward, you are the very

He turned the conversation into a different channel but Desmond could not forget that brief searching look.

His mind was in a turmoil of halfdigested facts, of semicompleted deductions. He wanted to go away

somewhere alone and think out this mystery and disentangle each separate web of this baffling skein of

He must focus his attention on Mortimer and NurelDin. If Mortimer and Strangwise were both staying at

the Dyke Inn, then they were probably acquainted. Strangwise knew NurelDin, too, knew her well; for

Desmond remembered how familiarly they had conversed together that night in the dancer's dressingroom at

the Palaceum. Strangwise knew Barbara Mackwayte also. NurelDin 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 NurelDin'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. NurelDin

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 NurelDin's lips when she had broken off that afternoon

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 NurelDin. 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, wellread 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

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

At last Desmond risked a direct question. By this time a pint of Pommery and Greno was tingling in his veins

"Ever since NurelDin 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

"Professional discretion, my dear fellow, professional discretion!" he retorted. "You know what it is!"

"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

NurelDin. 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

When they had had their coffee and Mortimer was contentedly puffing one of Bellward's excellent double

"If you will excuse me a minute," he said, "I will just go across to the library and see if my housekeeper has

"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

"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, 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

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

"If I had known you wanted to use the instrument, my dear fellow," Mortimer continued in his bland voice, "I

"Pray don't mention it," replied Desmond, "you do well to be prudent, Mr. Mortimer!"

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 himhow 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

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

cutglass carafes and some plates of sandwiches stood on a sidetable. 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. Bellwardwell, 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

He resolved to wait and see what the evening would bring forth. The telephone was "a washout": the

motorcycle was now his only chance to summon aid for he knew it was hopeless to think of tackling

singlehanded 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 motorbike 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

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

"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

He was a short, ugly fellow with immensely broad shoulders, a heavy puffy face, a gross, broad nose, and a

toothbrush moustache. He might have been a butcher to look at. In the top edge of his coat lapel, he wore a

"My friend, Bellward!" said Mortimer, clapping Desmond on the shoulder. "You've heard of Bellward,

"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

"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 pincenez and looked like a Russian revolutionary.

"Goot efening, Mr. Mortimer," said the tall man in a guttural voice, "this is Behrend"he indicated the

Then, leaving Behrend to shake hands with Mortimer, he literally rushed at Desmond and shook him by the

"My tear Pellward," he cried, "it is a hondred year since I haf see you, not? And how are the powers!"

Desmond, at a loss what to make of this extraordinary individual, answered at random:

The tall man stared openmouthed at him for a moment. Then, clapping his hands together, he burst into a

"A joke," he yelled, "a mos' excellent joke! I must tell this to Minna. My vriend, I haf not mean the great

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, simpleminded, 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.

"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.

"I am Mrs. Malplaquet," she said in a pleasant voice. "And you are Mr. Mortimer, I think!"

"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

"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

"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

"It is so long since I've seen you," she said, "that positively your voice seems to have changed."

"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.

"Where are your eyes, man?" rapped out Mrs. Malplaquet. "The dancer woman, of course,

Nurelwhatdoyoucallit. 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, BellwardI've lived here for forty

years so I know what I'm talking aboutand 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

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 youa submarine commander he is, and very psychic. When will you come and meet him at my

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 musicstool, his long legs curled round the foot. Mortimer stood in his former position

A very oddlooking 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

"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

He looked round at his audience but no one said a word. Desmond felt very distinctly that there was a hostile

"I asked you to come here tonight," 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.

"Wait," replied Mortimer. "I agree, it is very difficult, the more so as I have reason to believe that the

"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

"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,

"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!"

"Maybe," he replied, "but only as long as I feel sure that your orders are worth following.

"... At present," the other continued, as though Mortimer had not spoken. "I don't feel at all sure that they

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

In this gap was a face pressed up against the glass. To his astonishment Desmond recognized the

weatherbeaten 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

"As long as you continue to behave as you are doing at present," replied the other, "you may understand

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

"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.

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 motorcar. It lasted for perhaps thirty seconds, then gradually died

"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 NurelDin and complained bitterly of the dancer's imprudence in consorting

"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 thereall of usare

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

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

"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

"Our host is silent," said Mrs. Malplaquet, "what does Mr. Bellward think about it?"

"I think it would be very interesting to hear something further about this mission of Mortimer's," he observed:

"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!"

"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 NurelDin's possession, and of the Crown

Prince's embarrassment when the German authorities claimed it for the regalia of the new Kingdom of

"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

"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

He thrust a hand into the inner pocket of his coat and plucked out a white paper package sealed up with broad

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!"

"Bravo, bravo!" she exclaimed, "that's the spirit! That's the way to talk, Mortimer!"

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

thumbnail swiftly along the edge of the box, he broke the paper wrapping, the box burst open and a shower

"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

But Mortimer paid no heed. He was staring straight in front of him, a strangely woebegone 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

"Barbara Mackwayte!" he whispered in a low voice, not seeming to realize that he was speaking aloud, "so

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

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

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 secret door of the bookshelves had swung back and there, framed in the gaping void, Desmond saw the

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.

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 newcomer 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

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

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

Behrend whipped out a pistol from his hip pocket and thrust it in Mortimer's face.

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 superMauser; 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 shootingiron awiy!" he snarled at Mortimer, "and tell us wot's the little gime, will yer!

"I think it is up to the twins to explain," he said almost nonchalantly, "suppose we hear what this gentleman,

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

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

Desmond saw a little ray of hope. Ifit was a very big ifBellward'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 coststhis was the essential fact which, he told himself, he must keep steadfastly before

Bellward's voiceand its tones showed Desmond what an accomplished mime Crook had beenbroke the

"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

"You have had one singular surprise tonight 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

"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."

"Let him finish!" said Mrs. Malplaquet, and there was a certain ominous quietness in her tone that startled

"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

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.

"It's high time..." Mortimer began violently but Mrs. Malplaquet put up her hand and checked him.

"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!"

"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!"

"This is Basil Bellward," she said, "see, he's wearing the ring I gave him, a gold snake with emerald eyes!

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 pointblank 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

Somewhere in the far, far distance Desmond heard a woman cryinglong drawnout 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, ogrelike face, as huge, as grotesque, as a

The voice was so remote that Desmond paid no attention to it. But he was rather surprised to hear a voice

So he opened his eyes again to ascertain the meaning of this phenomenon. This time the ogrelike face came

"That's right," said the man, looking very intently at him, "feel a bit better, eh? Got a bit of a crack, what?

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

"Corporal," said the man bending over him, "just go and tell that old hag to hold her noise! She'll have to go

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.

"She'll be quiet now, sir," he said, "I told her to get you and the gentlemen a cup o' tea."

"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

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,

"Yes, speaking. You've got her, eh? Good. What's that? Well, that's something. No trace of the others?

And then he did a thing highly unbecoming in a field officer. He burst into tears.

Desmond and Francis Okewood sat in the diningroom of the Mill House finishing an excellent breakfast of

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

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 diningroom, 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.

"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

"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 rightas

"No," answered the other; "but it was your disguise which was responsible for the escape of Strangwise"

"Yes," he said, "got clear away and left no trace. Wait a minute and you shall hear! When I have told my

"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

"Clarkson's fitted me out with the duds and the makeup and I got down to Wentfield by halfpast 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

"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

"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

"It was just as well you waited," said Desmond, "for if you'd gone off at once they must have heard the car

And he told Francis of the loud dispute among the confederates in the library, the noise of which had

"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

"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 policestation there. I didn't dare stop to light the headlamps 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

plainclothes 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

"I told Matthews of the situation up at the Mill House. Neither of us was able to understand why you had not

telephoned for assistancewe only discovered later that the telephone had been disconnectedbut I went

bail that you were up against a very stiff proposition. I told Matthews that, by surrounding the house, we

"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

"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

"I put one of the plainclothes 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

"The moment I glanced into the room I knew that matters had reached a climax. I saw youlooking pretty

blue, old manfacing 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 plainclothes man at the back of the house whistled. He had found the secret door with Bellward and the

Then I saw Mortimer fire pointblank at you. I had my gun out in a second, but I was afraid of shooting, for

"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

"... When we got inside we found him dead across the threshold of the door leading into the hall. Behrend we

"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..."

"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

"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

"'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

"Matthews had a look at Strangwise's companions, and seeing Bellward, of course, takes him for you. As for

"'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

motorbike 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

"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 motorbike 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

"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

"That crack on the head makes you forget things," he said. "Don't you remember Miss Mackwayte coming

"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

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 NurelDin!" 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 NurelDin, 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

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 NurelDin and Mortimer to the Mill

House. When he had finished speaking, he did not look at Francis, but gazed mournfully out of the window

"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

"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 toldor she may have called

during your absencewent to the Dyke Inn and saw NurelDin. 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

NurelDin 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 NurelDin and Strangwise were after the jewel. NurelDin believed that afternoon that

Strangwise had it, while Strangwise, on discovering his loss, had seemed to suggest that Barbara Mackwayte

"Either Strangwise or NurelDin, perhaps both of them," said Desmond, "must know what has become of

"Yes," said Francis curtly. But too late to prevent a crime being committed. When Matthews and his party

arrived. they found NurelDin in the very act of leaving the inn. The landlord, Rass, was lying dead on the

floor of the taproom with a bullet through the temple. That looks to me, Des, as though NurelDin had

"But he was also an inconvenient witness of her dealings with Strangwise," retorted Francis. "If either

NurelDin or Strangwise have regained possession of the Star of Poland, Des, I fear the worst for Barbara

Francis hurried away, leaving Desmond to his thoughts, which were not of the most agreeable. Had he been

wrong in thinking NurelDin a victim? Was he, after all, nothing but a credulous fool who had been

hoodwinked by a pretty woman's playacting? And had he sacrificed Barbara Mackwayte to his obstinacy

Des," he cried, "they've found Miss Mackwayte's hat on the floor of the taproom... it is stained with

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

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

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,

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

Matthews, who was leading, halted and listened. Everything was quite still. Above their head the inn sign

"You, Gordon," whispered Matthews to the man behind himthey had advanced in Indian file"take Bates

Even as he spoke a faint noise came from the interior of the house. The four men stood stockstill and

listened. In the absolute stillness of the early morning, the sound fell distinctly on their ears. It was a stepa

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

He closed with the figure and grappled it firmly. His arms encountered a frail, light body, shaking from head

"It's NurelDin!" 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,

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

"NurelDin?" exclaimed Matthews in accents of triumph. "Bring her in, Harrison, and let's have a look at

But the woman recoiled in terror. She arched her body stiff, like a child in a passion, and strained every

"Come on, my girl," said the man not unkindly, "don't you 'ear wot the Guv'nor sez! In you go!"

"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 exGuardsman and a sixfooter 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

The shutters of the taproom 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 yellowfaced, 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;

"Let her be," said Matthews, "she's scared of this and no wonder! Come here a minute, Harrison, and see if

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

The door leading from the bar to the taproom 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

"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!".

"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 upstairsthat 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

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

NurelDin 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

"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:

The plain clothes man took a pace forward and touched the dancer's slender wrists, there was a click and she

"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

"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

The two men passed out of the taproom 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

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

A couple of vigorous heaves burst the fastening of the door. The sittingroom was in the wildest confusion.

The doors of the sideboard stood wide with its contents scattered higgledypiggledy 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 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 whitewashed 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 crepedechine nightdress, a dainty pair of bedroom slippers and some

silvermounted toilet fittings. From these things Matthews judged that this had been NurelDin'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

The first room they visited, adjoining NurelDin's bedroom, was scarcely better than an attic. It contained in

the way of furniture little else than a trucklebed, a washstand, a table and a chair. Women's clothes were

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

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 doublebarreled gun which

stood in the corner. It had evidently been recently used; for fresh earth was adhering to the stock and the

There being nothing further to glean upstairs, the two men went down to the taproom again. As Matthews

came through the door leading from the staircase his eye caught a dark object which lay on the floor under

It was a small black velvet toque with a band of white and black silk flowers round it. In one part the white

Matthews stared at the little hat in his hand with puckered brows. Then he called to Gordon.

"I might have seen it," he replied, "but I don't take much account of such things, Mr. Matthews, being a

"Tut, tut," fussed Matthews, "I think you have seen it. Come, think of the office for a minute!"

"Exactly," answered Matthews, "it's her hat, I recall it perfectly. She wore it very often to the office. Look at

He put the hat down on the table and ran into the bar where NurelDin. 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 taproom she had resumed her

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 scarecrowlike 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

Matthews went out to meet them and, addressing the womana brisklooking personas Mrs. Butterworth,

The first thing that Desmond saw was the little toque with the brown stain on its flowered band lying on the

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 NurelDin in the bar, pointed to the body on the floor.

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

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.

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

The door at the end of the taproom was flung open and a soldier came in quickly.

"There's a woman lying dead in the cellar back yonder," said the man, jerking his thumb over his shoulder.

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 NurelDin, the three men followed

0n opening the door at the farther end of the taproom they saw before them a trapdoor standing wide with

a shallow flight of wooden steps leading to the darkness below. Bates pointed with his foot to a square of

"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

Gordon handed him an electric torch. He flashed it down the stair. It fell upon something like a heap of black

"Is it Miss Mackwayte?" whispered Francis to his brother. "I've never seen her, you know!"

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 halfway down the ladder with the musty smell of the cellar in

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

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 bloodstained toque pointed to foul play. But if they had murdered her, what had they

His thoughts flew back to his interview with NurelDin 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 NurelDin

discovered their treachery? His mind refused to follow these deductions to their logical sequence; for, black

as things looked against NurelDin, 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

"The open air for you, my boy! You look as if you'd seen a ghost! I should have remembered all you've gone

He walked him quickly through the taproom 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.

"Des," said his brother, " I don't know and I don't want to crossexamine NurelDin 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

"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

NurelDin. Strangwise, we know, has lost the jewel and there is no trace of it here: moreover, we know

that, as late as yesterday afternoon, NurelDin 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

"Maybe not," retorted his brother, "but both Strangwise and NurelDin know that the jewel was originally

entrusted to her charge. NurelDin 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 NurelDin had an interest in detaining Miss Mackwayte, and I think

Strangwise forestalled the dancer. When NurelDin discovered it, both Rass and her maid paid the penalty

"Francis," he said, "you remember NurelDin's storyI told it to you just as I had it from her."

"Well," Desmond went on deliberately, "I think that story gives us the right measure of NurelDin's,

character. She may be vain, she may be without morals, she may be weak, she may be an adventuress, but

"Victim be damned!" he cried. "Man alive," he went on, "how can you talk such nonsense in face of the

evidence, with this bloodyminded 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 NurelDin, besides being a monster of iniquity, is the heart and soul and vitals of the whole

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 NurelDin? 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

"You're talking like a fool! I grant you that NurelDin has been mixed up with this spy crowd; but she

"Half a minute!" put in Francis, "aren't you forgetting that blue envelope we took off her just now?"

"Merely this; the cipher is in five figure groups, addressed to a four figure group and signed by a six figure

"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 today, 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

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 NurelDin; 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

"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 NurelDin! 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

"I'm sick of arguing here," he said hotly, "if you're so mighty clever, you'd better shoot NurelDin first and

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

"Oh, go to hell!" retorted the other savagely, whereupon Francis turned his back on him and walked back to

A car had stopped by the bridge and a man was getting out of it as Desmond moved towards the fen. The next

The Chief's face was hard and cold and stern. There was a furrow between his eyes which deepened when he

"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."

"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

"In that case, sir," he said stiffly, "I will bid you good morning. And I trust you will hear from me very soon

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.

"Well," he murmured to himself. "I soaked it into him pretty hard; but he took it like a brick. I do believe he'll

In the age of chivalry woman must have been built of sterner stuff than the girl of today. 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

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

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 yellowfaced man in the room above, to the face of NurelDin, 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.

The tea was hot and strong; and it did her good. It seemed to clear her faculties, too; for her brain began to

"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

"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

"Ma foi," she cried, "when one is a spy, one will stop at nothing! But tiers, here is Madame!"

NurelDin picked her way carefully down the steps, the yellowfaced 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 NurelDin, "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..."

"I've told you already I know nothing about it. You, if any one, should be better able to say what has become

"Because," said Barbara, " a long black hairone of your hairswas found adhering to the straps with

She was silent for a minute, lost in thought. The man, Rass, suddenly cocked his ear towards the staircase and

said something to NurelDin in the same foreign tongue which Barbara had heard them employ before.

"He was at my dressingtable that night;" she murmured in French, as though to herself, "then it was he who

"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!"

"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

NurelDin's hands flew to her face and the pistol crashed to the ground. Two men appeared at the head of

"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,

But Bellward had grasped the dancer by the two arms and forced her up the stairs in front of him.

"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

"Okewood," he whispered but too low for the girl to distinguish the words, "Okewood? I might have guessed!

He gently impelled her towards the ladder up which Bellward and NurelDin 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

"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 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

"No need to be frightened, ma fille," he replied. "Madame here will go down with you!" and he pointed to the

This seemed to reassure the maid and she walked across the room to the door, the woman following her. As

"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 greatcoat 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

A high, gurgling scream, abruptly checked, came through the open door at the farther end of the room.

Strangwise did not reply. He was still listening, a tall, well setup figure in the long khaki greatcoat.

"But those two women are alone in the cellar," exclaimed Barbara, "they are being murdered! Ah! what was

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

"They're murdering those two women down in the cellar," she cried, "oh, what has happened? Won't you go

"If neither of you men have the courage to go down," she cried, "then I'll go alone! As for you, Captain

She never finished the sentence. Strangwise caught her by the shoulder and thrust the cold barrel of a pistol in

Barbara was silent, dumb with horror and bewilderment, rather than with fear. A light shone through the open

door at the end of the taproom 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

"We haven't a moment to lose!" she said, putting the lamp down on the table and blowing it out.

Strangwise had flung open the door leading to the front yard. A big limousine stood outside.

"I'll not go!" she exclaimed, "you can do what you like but I'll stay where I am! Murderers..."

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 drivingseat outside. With a low hum the big car glided forth into the

From the upper floor of the Dyke Inn came the sound of a woman's terrified sobs. Below there reigned the

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

"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

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 dirtyfaced man in a greasy old

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

"I rather think I want a shave!" he said, weakly. "I rather think you do, sir!" replied the man, busy with his

"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 turnup '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

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

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

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, heartrending entreaties and barefaced begging advertisements which give this column its

"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

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, sunburned 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

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 faraway days of Aldershot before the war.

"Buzzer" Barling was the brother of one Private Henry Barling who had been Desmond's soldierservant. 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 suitcase in which Desmond's clothes had come from the club,

Desmond left the suitcase 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

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 NurelDin 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 NurelDin'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.

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

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

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

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 oldworld

languor which envelops this retired spot. The hill, with its approaches so steep as to suggest to the

imaginative the pathway winding up some rockbound fastness of the Highlands, successfully defies

organgrinders and motorbuses 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

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 onestory stable that Art (which flourishes in these parts) and ten shillings worth of paint

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 passersby who were few and far between, yet without coming any nearer the

It was now growing dusk. Enthroned on the summit of the hill the watertower 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

mainroad 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 sideturnings 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

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 atilt. 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

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 gasjet was burning in the fanlight over

the entrance to a neat little twostory 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 maidservant in a cap and apron who seemed to be drawn to the scale of the house, such an insignificant

And she pointed up at the fanlight where, for the first time, Desmond noticed a printed card with the

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

Promising that she would tell "the missus," the little servant showed him into a tiny sittingroom, 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

Then the door opened and, with a great tinkling and rustling, a stoutish, brisklooking 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

"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 sittingroom free and ay

"May husband is also an officer," replied the woman, "Captain ViljohnSmythe; you may have met him. No?

Desmond inquired her terms and surprised her somewhat by accepting them on the spot.

"I will take it on trust," Desmond replied, "and here," he added, pulling out his notecase, "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

"Ay know most of the naice people living round about here," replied the lady, "but for the moment, ay cannot

"Quayte!" returned Mrs. ViljohnSmythe. "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.

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

Following the directions he had received, he made his way easily back to the main road. He halted under a

streetlamp 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

Desmond looked round at the sound of the man's voice and seeing a typical street loafer, asked the fellow to

Desmond looked at the dirty, rather haggard face with its unshaven chin and shook his head.

The vagrant fumbled in his pocket for a minute and extracting a scrap of paper, unfolded it and held it out to

"That's me, sir!" he said, "and, oh, sir! if you would kindly help me with a word of good advice, just for old

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

"Why, Gunner Barling, " he cried, "I didn't know you! How on earth do you come to be in this state?"

"Are you, by George?" replied Desmond, "and now I come to think of it, so am I!"

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

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

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

Highbooted scavengers with curious snakelike 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

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

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

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

He was apparently well satisfied with his inspection, for he gave a sigh of satisfaction and turned to Mrs.

"Ah! Bellward," sighed Mrs. Malplaquet, "you're incomparable! What an undefeatable combination you and I

"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 NurelDin 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

"And how, may I ask? From what Strangwise told me himself, the thing has utterly vanished. And he doesn't

"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 NurelDin'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?"

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

"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 NurelDin gave

to this girl until our young lady here appeared at the Dyke Inn yesterday afternoon. NurelDin played his

game for him by detaining the girl. Strangwise believesand I must say I agree with himthat probably

"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 we shall get him, never fear. With a little birdlime as attractive as this"

"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 NurelDin? They'll nab her, eh?"

"Unless our British friends are even more inefficient than I believe them to be, they most certainly will," he

"A little morning ceremony at the Tower," he answered, "unless these idiotic English are too sentimental to

The car was running down the long slope to Paddington Station. It drew up at the entrance to the booking

He dragged a couple of bags off the roof and led the way into the station. In the bookinghall he inquired of a

porter what time the express left for Bath, then went to the ticket office and took four firstclass tickets to

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 wartime and Bellward was gone fully twenty minutes.

Strangwise fidgeted continually, drawing out his watch repeatedly and casting many anxious glances this way

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.

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

"You will go along with Mrs. Malplaquet," he said to Barbara in his low purring voice, "you will stay with

"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

"Bellward and I will come on by tube... it is safer," he said, "hurry, hurry! We must all be under cover by

The hour of the theatre rush was long since over and its passing had transformed the taxidrivers 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 athleticlooking man who was so

earnestly engaged in talk with a tramp. But at last the conversation was over; the two men separated and the

At nine o'clock the next morning Desmond appeared for breakfast in his sittingroom 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. ViljohnSmythe. 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 lastnamed 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

The landlady made no objections and half an hour later a clean and respectablelooking 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 smoothshaven 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

The house was clean and comfortable, and Mrs. ViljohnSmythe, for all her "refaynement," as she would

have called it, proved herself a warmhearted, 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. ViljohnSmythe's. This garden had a patch of wellkept green sward in the centre with a

plaster nymph in the middle, while in one corner stood a kind of large summerhouse or pavilion built on a

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

For three or four days he carried out this arrangement without the slightest success. He dogged the footsteps

of more than one grayhaired 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 heartsick. 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,

It was a fine, warm afternoon, and already the crocuses were thrusting their heads out of the neat flowerbeds

as if to ascertain whether the spring had really arrived. There was, indeed, a pleasant vernal scent in the air.

Desmond looked up. At the open window of the summerhouse of the garden backing on Mrs.

ViljohnSmythe's, his elbows resting on the pitchpine frame, was a middleaged man. A cigarette was in

his mouth and from his hands dangled a newspaper. He had a smoothshaven, heavilyjowled face and a

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. ViljohnSmythe had informed him that the house

"It is quite like spring!" replied Desmond, wondering if this were the doctor. Doctors get about a good deal

"I think we have seen one another in the mornings sometimes," said the heavilyfowled man, "though I have

"I am," returned the other, "a great man, that, any dear sir. I doubt if there is his equal for diagnosis in the

"Oh yes!" answered the man, "in fact, he is one of the oldest and mostrespected residents of Kensington, I

"I am rather anxious to find some friends of mine who live about here," Desmond remarked, quick to seize

"Please don't ask me to burden my memory with names," he protested. "I am here for a complete rest from

overwork, 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

"Really," he said, "it seems rather unconventional. Perhaps the doctor would object..."

"Object" said the heavilyfowled 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 eyesthe 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 summerhouse

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

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 summerhouse; 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

summerhouse, Desmond resolved he would not leave the garden until he had ascertained whether Barbara

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 summerhouse 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

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. ViljohnSmythe'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 summerhouse 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 wroughtiron 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

Then his eye fell on the plaster nymph in the middle of the grass. She was a stoutlybuilt female, lifesize,

standing upon a solidlooking 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

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

He stood still on the top step and listened for a moment. The house was wrapped in silence. Not a sign of life

But now he heard voices from the garden and they were the voices of two angry men, raised in altercation. As

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.

The sidedoor led into a little white passage with a green baize door at the end. A staircase, which from its

whitewashed 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 drawingroom, 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

There it wasDr. 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 eccentriclooking German in each of them. So this was Mrs. Malplaquet's house, was it? A

nursinghome 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

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

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.

"No, no," Bellward replied heatedly, " I tell you it is madness. We must not delay a minute. For Heaven's

"Minna is well able to look after herself," answered Bellward in a sulky voice, "it's a question of sauve qui

"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

"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,

"You stand here gossiping with that man loose in the house?" exclaimed Bellward vehemently, "why the next

"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

"All the same," the latter went on, "it is as well to be prepared for a sudden change of quarters. That's why I

"No, no!" declared Bellward. "I'm far too upset. You seem to think you can turn me on and off like you do

"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

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

Desmond did not take in all these details at once; for his attention was immediately directed to a highbacked

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

Barbara Mackwayte sat in the big black armchair, facing the blackcurtained window. Her face was pale and

drawn, and there were black circles under her eyes. There was a listless yet highlystrung look about her that

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

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

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 waterpipes anywhere within reach, to give him a foothold, looking out on an

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

"It's no good, Bellward! I'm not satisfied! And until I am satisfied that Okewood is not here, I don't leave this

"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

"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

Strangwise muttered the word just above Desmond's head. Then, to his inexpressible relief, he heard the other

And Desmond realized that the depth of the balcony had saved him. Short of getting out of the window, as he

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.

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

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

Steadying the black silk curtains with his hands, he looked through the narrow chink where the two panels

Barbara Mackwayte was still in the chair; but they had unfastened her arms though her feet were still bound.

She had halfrisen 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 unlifelike 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

halffacing the girl and every time he bent towards her, she tugged and strained at her bonds as though to

"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

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

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

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

"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

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!"

"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

"Now, Bellward," said Strangwise not budging but looking the other calmly in the eye, "you're getting

"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

"As she has always done!" said a voice at the door. Mrs. Malplaquet stood there, a very distinguished looking

"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

"Of course, you don't recognize him!" said Strangwise. "This is Major Desmond Okewood, more recently

"So!" she said, "I thought we'd end by getting him. Well, Strangwise, what are we waiting for? Is our friend

"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

"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

"Minna will tell you what I said. But first," he pointed to Barbara who remained apparently lifeless in her

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

Bellward had unfastened the ropes binding her feet, and he and Mrs. Malplaquet between them halfdragged,

When the door had closed behind them, Strangwise pointed to a chair and pulled out his cigarette case. "Sit

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 organizationfor the present at any rate. But I'm on top now and you're in our power, old

"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

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.

"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, Desmondfew army men are,

you knowso I won't even attempt to chaffer with you. I shall tell you straight out what I am ready to offer.

"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 sayingyour 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

"NurelDin 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

"Bah!" retorted Desmond, "and what of it? Mightn't they have been planted on her in order to get her arrested

"You're devilish hard to convince," he remarked. "Perhaps you'll change your mind about it when I tell you

that NurelDin was sentenced to death by a general courtmartial yesterday afternoon."

The blow struck Desmond straight between the eyes. The execution of spies followed hard on their

"Has... has she... has the sentence already been carried out?" he asked hoarsely.

"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

"Let me get this right," said Desmond slowly. "You let me go freeof course, I take it that my liberty

includes the release of Miss Mackwayte as welland 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

"But," Desmond began. He was going to add "I haven't got it," but checked himself in time. Why should he

"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 NurelDin, 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 brandwhy, 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 kithis 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

"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

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

"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 cleanhanded British soldiers, but

Strangwise's face underwent an extraordinary change. His suavity vanished, his easy smile disappeared and

"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

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!"

"Have you anything further to say, Desmond?" asked Strangwise. "Perhaps you would care to reconsider your

"Then, my friend," said Strangwise to Bellward, "after dinner you shall try your hand on this obstinate fool.

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

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

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 NurelDin; 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

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

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

He, therefore, resigned himself to conducting operations in the highly ridiculous posture in which he found

himself, that is to say, with a large armchair 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

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. ViljohnSmythe'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

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. ViljohnSmythe's were not yet drawn and the light still burned brightly

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

halfpast six, and about seven o'clock, Barling, after putting out Desmond's things, was accustomed to go out

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 candlestick 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

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

"BARLING" 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,

The light flickered up and down in long and short flashes. Still "Buzzer" Barling trilled away at the "Grand

He repeated the call twice and was spelling it out for the third time when Desmond saw the "Buzzer" raise his

The next moment the bedroom opposite was plunged in darkness. Immediately afterwards the light began to

For he was afraid lest the light flashing from the house opposite might attract the attention of the men

He was very slow and he made many mistakes, so that it was with bated breath that, after sending his

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 dressingtable back into place and

then jerked the chair across the carpet to the position where Strangwise and Bellward had left him in the

It was here that the two men found him, apparently asleep, when they came up halfanhour later. They

"Well, Desmond!" said Strangwise, when their burden had been deposited on the floor under the crimson

Strangwise noticed that Desmond had addressed him by his Christian name for the first time since he had

"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

"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

"You are very illadvised 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

"It is a blend," he explained glibly, "of that extreme form of crossexamination 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 tortoiseshell 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

womenMiss Barbara, for exampleseem 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?"

"Yours first, however," chuckled Bellward. "I rather fancy you will think us beasts by the time we have done

"She wanted it," he replied, "no sleep for four days... I tell you it takes some constitution to hold out against

"Well," said Bellward, rubbing the palms of his hands together, "as we're not likely to be disturbed, I think

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

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

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 searchlights pitilessly

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

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

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

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

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

Then suddenly the room seemed full of people. The thongs binding his hands and feet fell to the ground.

A man broke quickly away from the throng of people pressing into the room. It was Francis. The Chief and

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

"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

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

"Certainly," retorted Strangwise, "it's Gunner Barling, one of the Brigade signallers!"

"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."

"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!"

"Now, Barling," said Desmond, when Bellward had been borne away, "I want you to tell these gentlemen the

Barling glanced rather selfconsciously 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,

"When we was down Arras way a few months ago the infantry was agoin' 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' MacdonaldBombardier he wasalong 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

"Well, me and Macthat's the Bombardierwent 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 machineguns rattlin' and bombs agoin' off

down the trench and Fritz's barrage all over the shop the row was that awful we had to buzz every single

"There was a bit of a house like, a goodish way in front, X farm, they called it, and presently the Brigade tells

"'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

"'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

"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 shellhole 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

agoin' 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

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 storytellers 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

"It's not a nice thing to have to say about an orficer," the gunner presently continued, "and so help me God,

"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 shellhole, 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 coalscuttle helmets, t'other a little flat cap with a shiny peak. And the Captain here was apointin' at

our lines and awavin' his hand about like he was atellin' the two Fritzes all about it, and the chap in the

Barling paused. He was rather flushed and his eyes burned brightly in his weatherbeaten face.

"Eighteen year I done in the Royal Regiment," he went on, and his voice trembled a little, "and me father a

battery sergeantmajor 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 coalscuttle hats abobbin' 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

"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

"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

"There's a corfeestall 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' apayin' 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

"'Our orficers don't walk about these parts after midnight dressed like tramps,' I sez to meself, and

"Didn't you know, Barling, hadn't you heard, about Captain Strangwise's escape from a German prisoners of

"I've not got much eddication, sir," said Barling, "that's w'y I never took the stripe and I don't take much

"It was pretty dark in the streets and I follered him along without his seeing me into the mainroad and then

"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'

"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 astandin' 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 agoin' 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 suddenlike 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

"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

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.

"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

"That's a dashed clever idea," he observed shrewdly, "'pon my word, that's bright! That's very bright! I should

"I've met many of your people in my time, Strangwise," he said, "but I don't know you! Who are you?"

"It isn't possible!" he cried. "Why, the woman's a victim, not a principal! Chief..."

A curious change had come over the prisoner. His jaunty air had left him and there was an apprehensive look

"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 NurelDin

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 dressor rather Bellward didto 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.

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

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.

A convoy of vessels was standing out to sea framed in the smokeblurs 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.

But he scarcely looked at the transports. He was watching the gleam of the sun on the girl's brown hair and

"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!"

"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 violenceand 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

"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?"

"He was shot yesterday morning," he replied. "I'm glad they did it in France. I was terrified lest they should

"Why?" asked the girl with a suspicion of indignation in her voice, "he deserved no mercy."

"No," replied Desmond slowly, "he was a bad fellowa 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 menthe man I soldiered with and

He broke off as a spasm of pain crossed the girl's face. "I shall remember the one and forget the other," he

"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,

"When he told us that NurelDin 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 NurelDin. 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

"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

"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 NurelDin was the victim of her husband..."

"Daddy knew her as a little girl," she answered, "and he was so pleased to see her again that night. She never

"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

"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 today; 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'

"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

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

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

"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

They sat awhile in silence together and watched the gulls circling unceasingly above the receding tide.

"It's not good enough," cried Desmond. "This is no job for a girl like you, Barbara. The strain is too much;

Her hand still rested on his shoulder and he put his hand over hers. For a brief moment she let him have his

"Desmond," she said, looking at him with kindly eyes, "we both have work to do..."

"I may have been a Secret Service agent by accident," he answered, "but I'm a soldier by trade. My place is in

"The Secret Service has its fightingline, 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.

"I must be going back to London," he said. "I have to see the Chief at four this afternoon. And you know

"What will you tell him?" she asked. "Will you accept his offer to remain on in the Secret Service?"

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.