OKEVOD
of the
Secret Service
UNIVERSITY OF VIRGINIA LIBRARY


LIBRARY OF THE
UNIVERSITY OF VIRGINIA
TY
OF VIRGINIE
1819
GIFT OF
WILBUR P. MORGAN
OF BALTIMORE, MD.


BOUND
BOOKS
BOUND
BY
(CHAS.W. PRUFER)
STAUNTON
av US ARE
*BOUND
SATISFY
ΤΟ








OKEWOOD
OF THE
SECRET SERVICE
Ву
VALENTINE WILLIAMS
(Douglas Valentine)
EN
GUAR
NEW YOHK
ROBERT M. McBRIDE & COMPANY
1919


Copyright, 1919
by
ROBERT M. MCBRIDE & COMPANY
PR
6045
15465038
1919
65179
Printed in the United States of America.
Published, 1919








OKEWOOD OF THE SECRET SERVICE





CONTENTS
CHAPTER
PAGE
I.
THE DEPUTY TURN
I
.
II. CAPTAIN STRANGWISE ENTERTAINS A GUEST II
III. MR. MACKWAYTE MEETS AN OLD FRIEND 21
IV. MAJOR OKEWOOD ENCOUNTERS A New
TYPE
31
V. THE MURDER AT SEVEN KINGS
41
VI. "NAME O'BARNEY"
52
VII. NUR-EL-DIN
64
VIII. THE WHITE PAPER PACKAGE
74
IX. METAMORPHOSIS
89
X. D. O. R. A. IS BAFFLED
107
XI. CREDENTIALS .
117
XII. AT THE MILL HOUSE
126
XIII. WHAT SHAKESPEA s COMEDIES REVEALED 144
XIV. BARBARA TAKES HAND
155
XV. MR. BELLWARI IS CALLED TO THE
TELEPHONE
171
XVI. THE STAR OF POLAND
183
XVII. MR. BELLWARD ARRANGES A BRIDGE
EVENING
200
XVIII. THE GATHERING OF THE SPIES
216
.
V


CHAPTER
PAGE
234
245
258
270
.
XIX. THE UNINVITED GUEST .
XX. The ODD MAN
XXI. THE BLACK VELVET TOQUE
XXII. WHAT THE CELLAR REVEALED
XXIII. Mrs. MALPLAQUET GOES DOWN TO THE
CELLAR
XXIV. THE Two DESERTERS
XXV. TO MRS. MALPLAQUET's .
XXVI. THE MAN IN THE SUMMER HOUSE
XXVII. THE RED LACQUER ROOM
XXVIII. AN OFFER FROM STRANGWISE .
279
289
303
311
.
320
331
343
XXIX. DoT AND DASH
XXX. HOHENLINDEN TRENCH
XXXI. The £100,000 Kit
.
355
366
.
VI


CHAPTER I
THE DEPUTY TURN
M
R. ARTHUR MACKWAYTE slipped noise-
lessly into the dining-room and took his
place at the table. He always moved quiet
ly, 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, how-
ever, he fairly screamed at the public from the ad-
vertisement columns of “The Referee": "Mack-
wayte, 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 Popu-
lar Favorite. A Few Dates still Vacant. 23, Lale-
ham Villas, Seven Kings. 'Phone" and so on.
But only professionally did Mr. Mackwayte thus
blow his own trumpet, and then in print alone. For
the rest, he had nothing great about him but his
I


2
OKEWOOD OF THE SECRET SERVICE
heart. A long and bitter struggle for existence had
left no hardness in his smooth-shaven flexible face,
only wrinkles. His eyes were gray and keen and
honest, his mouth as tender as a woman's.
His daughter, Barbara, was already at table pour-
ing out the tea-high tea is still an institution in
music-hall circles. Mr. Mackwayte always gazed on
this tall, handsome daughter of his with amazement
as the great miracle of his life. He looked at her
now fondly and thought how .... how distin-
guished, yes, that was the word, she looked in the
trim blue serge suit in which she went daily to her
work at the War Office.
“Rations a bit slender to-night, daddy,” she said,
handing him his cup of tea, “only sardines and bread
and butter and cheese. Our meatless day, eh?”
“It'll do very well for me, Barbara, my dear,” he
answered in his gentle voice, “there have been times
when your old dad was glad enough to get a cup of
tea and a bite of bread and butter for his supper.
And there's many a one worse off than we are to-
day!”
“Any luck at the agent's, daddy?”
Mr. Mackwayte shook his head.
“These revues are fair killing the trade, my dear,
and that's a fact. They don't want art to-day, only
rag-time and legs and all that. Our people are be-
ing 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


THE DEPUTY TURN
3
.
pound a week regular. Yet there he was, looking for
a job the same as the rest of us. Poor fellow, he
was down on his luck!”
Barbara looked up quickly.
“Daddy, you lent him money
Mr. Mackwayte looked extremely uncomfortable.
“Only a trifle, my dear, just a few shillings
to take him over the week-end .he's getting
something . . . . he'll repay me, I feel sure . .
“It's too bad of you, daddy,” his daughter said
severely. “I gave you that ten shillings to buy your-
self a bottle of whiskey. You know he won't pay you
back. That Barney's a bad egg!”
Things are going bad with the profession,” re-
plied Mr. Mackwayte. “They don't seem to want
any of us old stagers to-day, Barbara!”
“Now, daddy, you know I don't allow you to talk
like that. Why, you are only just finished working
the Samuel Circuit, too!”
Barbara looked up at the old man quickly.
“Only four weeks' trial, my dear
they
didn't want me, else they would have given me the
full forty weeks. No, I expect I am getting past my
work. But it's hard on you, child .
Barbara sprang up and placed her hand across
her father's mouth.
“I won't have you talk like that, Mac”-that was
her pet name for him—"you've worked hard all
your life and now it's my turn. Men have had it all
their own way before this war came along: now
women are going to have a look in. Presently, when
.
>


4
OKEWOOD OF THE SECRET SERVICE
I get to be supervisor of my section and they raise
my pay again, you will be able to refuse all offers
of work. You can go down to Harris with a big
cigar in your mouth and patronize him, daddy ...'
The telephone standing on the desk in the corner
of the cheap little room tingled out sharply. Bar-
bara rose and went across to the desk. Mr. Mack-
wayte thought how singularly graceful she looked as
she stood, very slim, looking at him whimsically
across the dinner-table, the receiver in her hand.
Then a strange thing happened. Barbara quickly
put the receiver down on the desk and clasped her
hands together, her eyes opened wide in amazement.
“Daddy,” she cried, "it's the Palaceum
the manager's office . . they want you urgently!
Oh, daddy, I believe it's an engagement!”
Mr. Mackwayte rose to his feet in agitation, a
touch of color creeping into his gray cheeks.
"Nonsense, my dear!” he answered, “at this time
of night! Why, it's past eight ... their first house
is just finishing ... they don't go engaging people
at this time of day they've got other things to
think of!"
He went over to the desk and picked up the re-
ceiver.
“Mackwayte speaking!” he said, with a touch of
stage majesty in his voice.
Instantly a voice broke in on the other end of the
wire, a perfect torrent of words.
“Mackwayte? Ah! I'm glad I caught you at
home. Got your props there? Good. Hiçkie of


THE DEPUTY TURN
5
with you .
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
.. don't forget! You get twenty min-
utes on! Right! Goodbye!”
"The Palaceum want me to deputize for Hickie
and Flanagan, my dear," he said a little tremulously,
“9.40 ... the second house . . . it's ... it's very
unexpected!”
Barbara ran up and throwing her arms about his
neck, kissed him.
“How splendid!” she exclaimed, “the Palaceum,
daddy! You've never had an engagement like this
before . . . the biggest hall in London .
“Only for a night, my dear,” said Mr. Mack-
wayte modestly.
“But if they like you, daddy, if it goes down . .
what will you give them, daddy!"
Mr. Mackwayte scratched his chin.
“It's the biggest theatre in London," he mused,
“It'll have to be broad effects . . . and they'll want
something slap up modern, my dear, I'm think-
ing .
“No, no, daddy,” his daughter broke in vehe-
mently, “they want the best. This is a London
audience, remember, not a half-baked provincial
house. This is London, Mac, not Wigan! And Lon-
doners love their London! You'll give 'em the old


6
OKEWOOD OF THE SECRET SERVICE
London horse bus driver, the sporting cabby, and I
believe you'll have time to squeeze in the hot potato
man
.
.
.
“Well, like your poor dear mother, I expect you
know what's the best I've got,” replied Mr. Mack-
wayte, “but it'll be a bit awkward with a strange
dresser I can't get hold of Potter at this time
o' night . and a stranger is sure to mix up my
wigs and things ..."
“Why, daddy, I'm going with you to put out your
things .
“But a lady clerk in the War Office, Barbara .
a Government official, as you might say ... going
behind at a music-hall . . it don't seem properly
right, my dear!”
“Nonsense, Mac. Where's your theatre trunk?
Come along. We'll have to try and get a taxi!”
“They're sending a car at ten to nine, my dear!”
“Good gracious! what swells we are! And it's
half-past eight already! Who's 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's sure to be a good programme. The
Palaceum is the only house that's had the courage
to break away from this rotten revue craze!”
Barbara was in the hall now, her arms plunged to
the shoulder in a great basket trunk that smelt
faintly of cocoa-butter. Right and left she flung
coats and hats and trousers and band parts, select-
ing with a sure eye the properties which Mr. Mack-


THE DEPUTY TURN
7
wayte would require for the sketches he would play
that evening. In the middle of it all the throbbing
of a car echoed down the quiet road outside. Then
there came a ring at the front door.
At half-past nine that night, Barbara found herself
standing beside her father in the wings of the vast
Palaceum stage. Just at her back was the little
screened-off recess where Mr. Mackwayte was to
make the quick changes that came in the course of
his turn. Here, since her arrival in the theatre, Bar-
bara had been busy, laying out coats and hats and
wigs and grease-paints on the little table below the
mirror with its two brilliant electric bulbs, whilst Mr.
Mackwayte was in his dressing-room upstairs chang-
ing into his first costume.
Now, old Mackwayte stood at her elbow in his rig.
out as an old London bus-driver in the identical,
characteristic clothes which he had worn for this
turn for the past 25 years. He was far too old a
hand to show any nervousness he might feel at the
ordeal before him. He was chatting in undertones
in his gentle, confidential way to the stage manager.
All around them was that curious preoccupied still-
ness—the hush of the power-house--which makes the
false world of the stage so singularly unreal by con-
trast when watched from the back. The house was
packed from floor to ceiling, for the Palaceum's pol-
icy of breaking away from revue and going back to
what Mr. Mackwayte called "straight vaudeville”
was triumphantly justifying itself.


8 OKEWOOD OF THE SECRET SERVICE
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 stud-
ied 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 hu-
manity 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 be-
hind the scenes was absolute. No one was idle.
Everyone was at his post, his attention concentrated
on that diminutive little figure in the ridiculous
clothes which the spot-lights tracked about the stage.
It was the high-water mark of modern music-hall
development. The perfect smoothness of the organi-
zation gave Barbara a great feeling of contentment
for she knew how happy her father must be. Every-
one had been so kind to him. “I shall feel a stranger
amongst the top-liners of to-day, my dear," he had
said to her in the car on their way to the hall. She
had had no answer ready for she had feared he spoke
the truth.
Yet everyone they had met had tried to show them
that Arthur Mackwayte was not forgotten. The
stage-door keeper had known him in the days of the
old Aquarium and welcomed him by name. The
comedian who preceded Mr. Mackwayte and who was
on the stage at that moment had said, “Hullo, Mac!
Come to give us young 'uns some tips?” And even


THE DEPUTY TURN
9
now the stage manager was talking over old days
with her father.
“You had a rough but good schooling, Mac,” he
was saying, “but, by Jove, it gave us finished artists.
If you saw the penny reading line that comes trying
to get a job here . . . and gets it, by Gad! .
it'd make you sick. I tell you I have my work cut
out staving them off! It's a pretty good show this
week, though, and I've given you a good place, Mac
you're in front of Nur-el-Din !"
“Nur-el-Din?" repeated Mr. Mackwayte, “what
is it, Fletcher? A conjurer?”
“Good Lord, man, where have you been living?”
replied Fletcher. “Nur-el-Din is the greatest vaude-
ville proposition since Lottie Collins. Conjurer!
That's what she is, too, by Jove! She's the newest
thing in Oriental dancers Spaniard or some-
thing. .. wonderful clothes, what there is of 'em
... and jewelry ...wait till you see her!”
” 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 be-
lieve, 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
“Dear me,


IO
OKEWOOD OF THE SECRET SERVICE
time! Not a show, but she doesn't keep the stage
waiting! But I won't have her prima donna tricks
in this theatre and so I've told her! Hullo, Geor
gie's finishing .
The great curtain switched down suddenly, drown-
ing a cascade of applause, and a bundle of old clothes,
twitching nerves, liquid perspiration and grease
paint hopped off the stage into the centre of the
group. An electric bell trilled, the limelights shut off
with a jerk that made the eyes ache, a back-cloth
soared aloft and another glided down into its place,
the comedian took two, three, four calls, then van-
ished into a horde of dim figures scuttling about in
the gloom.
An electric bell trilled again and deep silence fell
once more, broken only by the hissing of the lights.
You ought to stop behind after your turn
and see her, Mac,” the stage manager's voice went
on evenly. “All right, Jackson! On you go, Mac!"
Barbara felt her heart jump. Now for it, daddy!
The great curtain mounted majestically and Ar-
thur Mackwayte, deputy turn, stumped serenely on
to the stage.
.


CHAPTER II
CAPTAIN STRANGWISE ENTERTAINS A GUEST
T was the slack hour at the Nineveh Hotel. The
last groups about the tea-tables in the Palm
Court had broken up, the Tzigane orchestra had
stacked its instruments together on its little platform
and gone home, and a gentle calm rested over the
great hotel as the forerunner of the coming dinner
storm.
The pre-dinner hour is the uncomfortable hour of
the modern hotel de luxe. The rooms seem uncom-
fortably 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 sit-
ting hunched up in a big arm-chair in the vestibule of
the Ninevah Hotel on this winter afternoon.
His posture spoke of utter boredom. He sprawled
full length in his chair, his long legs stretched out in
front of him, his eyes half-closed, various editions of
the evening papers strewn about the ground at his
feet. He was a tall, well-groomed man, and his lithe,
athletic figure looked very well in its neat uniform.
A pretty little woman who sat at one of the writ-
II


12
OKEWOOD OF THE SECRET SERVICE
ing desks in the vestibule glanced at him more than
once. He was the sort of man that women look at
with interest. He had a long, shrewd, narrow head,
the hair dark and close-cropped, a big, bold aquiline
nose, and a firm masterful chin, dominated by a de-
termined line of mouth emphasised by a thin line of
moustache. He would have been very handsome but
for his eyes, which, the woman decided as she glanced
at him, were set rather too close together. She
thought she would prefer him as he was now, with
his eyes glittering in the fire-light through their long
lashes.
But what was most apparent was the magnificent
physical fitness of the man. His was the frame of the
pioneer, the man of the earth's open spaces and un-
charted wilds. He looked as hard as nails, and the
woman murmured to herself, as she went on with her
note, “On leave from the front."
Presently, the man stirred, stretched himself and
finally sat up. Then he started, sprang to his feet,
and strode easily across the vestibule to the reception
desk. An officer was standing there in a worn uni-
form, a very shabby kit-bag by his side, a dirty old
Burberry over his arm.
“Okewood !" said the young man and touched the
other on the shoulder, “isn't it Desmond Okewood?
By Jove, I am glad to see you!"
The new-comer turned quickly.
“Why, hullo,” he said, “if it isn't Maurice Strang-
wise! But, good heavens, man, surely I saw your
name in the casualty list . . . missing, wasn't it?”


CAPTAIN STRANGWISE ENTERTAINS
13
“Yep!” replied the other smiling, “that's so!
It's a long story and it'll keep! But tell me about
yourself . . this,” he kicked the kit-bag with the
toe of his boot, “looks like a little leave! Just in
from France?"
He smiled again, baring his firm, white teeth, and
looking at him Desmond suddenly remembered, as
one recalls a trifle, his trick of smiling. It was a
frank enough smile but ... well, some people smile
too much.
“Got in just now by the leave train," answered
Desmond.
“How much leave have you got?” asked Strang-
wise.
"Well,” said the other, “it's a funny thing, but I
don't know!!
“Say, are they giving unlimited leave over there
now?"
Desmond laughed.
Hardly,” he replied. “But the War Office just
applied for me to come over and here I am! What
they want me for, whether it's to advise the War
Council or to act as Quartermaster to the Jewish
Battalion I can't tell you! I shan't know until to-
morrow morning! In the meantime I'm going to for-
get the war for this evening!”
“What are you going to do to-night?” asked
Strangwise.
Desmond began to check off on his fingers.
“Firstly, I'm going to fill the biggest bath in this
hotel with hot water, get the biggest piece of Pears'


14
OKEWOOD OF THE SECRET SERVICE
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 still
maitre d'hôtel here) to a conference, then I'm going
to eat the best dinner that this pub. can provide.
Then ..."
Strangwise interrupted him.
“The bath is on you, if you like,” he said, “but
the dinner's on me and a show afterwards. I'm at
a loose end, old man, and so are you, so we'll hitch
up together! We'll dine in the restaurant here at
7.30, and Julien shall come up to your room so that
you can order the dinner. Is it a go?”
“Rather," laughed Desmond, “I'll eat your din-
ner, Maurice, and you shall tell me how you managed
to break out of the casualty list into the Nineveh Ho-
tel. But what do all these anxious looking gentry
want?"
The two officers turned to confront a group of four
men who were surveying them closely. One of them,
a fat, comfortable looking party with grizzled hair,
on seeing Desmond, walked up to him.
“Hullo!” said Desmond, “it's Tommy Spencer!
How are you, Spencer? What's the betting in Fleet
Street on the war lasting another five years? Have
you come to interview me?"
The tubby little man beamed and shook hands ef-
fusively.
Glad to see you looking so well, Major," he said.
“It's your friend we want ..."
“What? Strangwise? Here, Maurice, come and
7


CAPTAIN STRANGWISE ENTERTAINS
15
.
meet my friend Tommy Spencer of the “Daily
Record,” whom I haven't seen since we went on
manouvres together down at Aldershot! Captain
Strangwise, Tommy Spencer! Now, then, fire away,
Spencer!"
Strangwise smiled and shook his head.
“I'm very pleased to know your friend, Des--
mond,” he said, “but, you know, I can't talk! I had
the strictest orders from the War Office ..
It's on
account of the other fellows, you know ...
Desmond looked blankly at him. Then he turned
to Spencer.
“You must let me into this, Spencer,” he said,
“what's old Maurice been up to? Has he been
cashiered for wearing shoes or what?”
Spencer's manner became a trifle formal.
“Captain Strangwise has escaped from a prison-
ers' of war camp in Germany, Major," he said,
"we've been trying to get hold of him for days!
He's the talk of London!”
Desmond turned like a shot.
“Maurice!” he cried, “ 'pon my soul, I'm going
to have an interesting evening . why, of course,
you are just the sort of fellow to do a thing like that.
But, Spencer, you know, it won't do . . . fellows are
never allowed to talk to the newspaper men about
matters of this kind. And if you're a good fellow,
Spencer, you won't even say that you have seen
Strangwise here
you'll only get him into
trouble!"
The little man looked rather rueful.


16
OKEWOOD OF THE SECRET SERVICE
.
.
“Oh, of course, Major, if you put it that way," he
said.
And you'll use your influence to make
those other fellows with you drop it, will you, Spen-
cer? And then come along to the bar and we'll have
a drink for old times' sake!”
Spencer seemed doubtful about the success of his
representations to his colleagues but he obediently
trotted away. Apparently, he succeeded in his mis-
sion for presently he joined the two officers alone in
the American Bar.
“I haven't seen Strangwise for six months, Spen-
cer,” said Desmond over his second cocktail. “See-
ing him reminds me how astonishing it is the way
fellows drop apart in war.
Old Maurice was at-
tached to the Brigade of which I am the Brigade Ma-
jor as gunner officer, and we lived together for the
best part of three months, wasn't it, Maurice? Then
he goes back to his battery and the next thing I hear
of him is that he is missing. And then I'm damned
if he doesn't turn up here!”
Spencer cocked an eye at Strangwise over his
Martini.
“I'd like to hear your story, despite the restric-
tions,” he said.
Strangwise looked a trifle embarrassed.
“Maybe I'll tell you one day,” he replied in his
quiet way, “though, honestly, there's precious little
to tell
Desmond marked his confusion and respected him
for it. He rushed in to the rescue.
O


CAPTAIN STRANGWISE ENTERTAINS
17
“Spencer,” he said abruptly, “what's worth see-
ing in London? We are going to a show to-night.
I want to be amused, mark you, not elevated!”
“Nur-el-Din at the Palaceum,” replied the re-
porter.
“By Jove, we'll go there,” said Desmond, turning
to Maurice. “Have you ever seen her? I'm told
she's perfectly marvelous ..."
“It's an extraordinarily artistic turn,” said Spen-
cer, "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 pro-
gramme."
“No!” exclaimed Strangwise so suddenly that
Desmond turned round and stared at him. “I thought
she was there for months yet ...
“They don't want her to go,” answered Spencer,
"she's a perfect gold-mine to them but I gather the
lady is difficult. in fact, to put it bluntly she's
making such a damn nuisance of herself with her
artistic temperament that they can't get on with
lier at all."
“Do you know this lady of the artistic tempera-
ment, Maurice?" asked Desmond.
Strangwise hesitated a moment.
"I met her in Canada a few years ago," he said
slowly, “she was a very small star then. She's a
very handsome and attractive girl, in spite of our
friend's unfavorable verdict. There's something
curiously real about her dancing, too, that you don't
find in this sort of show as a rule!”


18
OKEWOOD OF THE SECRET SERVICE
He stopped a moment, then added abruptly:
“We'll go along to the Palaceum to-night, if you
like, Desmond,” and Desmond joyfully acquiesced.
To one who has been living for weeks in an ill-ven-
tilated pill-box on the Passchendaele Ridge, the
lights and music and color of a music-hall seem as
a foretaste of Paradise.
And that was what Desmond Okewood thought as
a few hours later he found himself with Maurice
Strangwise in the stalls of the vast Palaceum audi-
torium. In the unwonted luxury of evening clothes
he felt clean and comfortable, and the cigar he was
smoking was the climax of one of Julien's most eso-
teric efforts.
The cards on either side of the proscenium opening
bore the words: “Deputy Turn." On the stage was
a gnarled old man with ruddy cheeks and a muffler,
a seedy top hat on his head, a coaching whip in his
hand, the old horse bus-driver of London in his habit
as he had lived. The old fellow stood there and just
talked to the audience of a fine sporting class of men
that petrol has driven from the streets, without exag-
gerated humor or pathos. Desmond, himself a born
Cockney, at once fell under the actor's spell and
found all memories of the front slipping away from
him as the old London street characters succeeded
one another on the stage. Then the orchestra blared
out, the curtain descended, and the house broke into a
great flutter of applause.
Desmond, luxuriating in his comfortable stall,
puffed at his cigar and fell into a pleasant reverie,


CAPTAIN STRANGWISE ENTERTAINS
19
He was contrasting the ghastly nightmare of mud
and horrors from which he had only just emerged
with the scene of elegance, of civilization, around
him.
Suddenly, his attention became riveted on the
stage. The atmosphere of the theatre had changed.
Always quick at picking up "influences,” Desmond
instantly sensed a new mood in the throngs around
him. A presence was in the theatre, an instinct-
awakening, a material influence. The great audience
was strangely hushed. The air was heavy with the
scent of incense. The stringed instruments and
oboes in the orchestra were wandering into rhythmic
dropped.
Maurice touched his elbow.
“There she is !” he said.
Desmond felt inclined to shake him off roughly.
The interruption jarred on him. For he was looking
at this strangely beautiful girl with her skin showing
very brown beneath a wonderful silver tiara-like
headdress, and in the broad interstices of a cloth-of-
silver robe with short, stiffly wired-out skirt. She
was seated, an idol, on a glittering black throne, at
her feet with their tapering dyed nails a fantastically
attired throng of worshippers.
The idol stirred into life, the music of the orchestra
died away. Then a tom-tom began to beat its nerv-
ous pulse-stirring throb, the strident notes of a reed-
pipe joined in and the dancer, raised on her toes on
the dais, began to sway langourously to and fro.
And so she swayed and swayed with sinuously curv-


20
OKEWOOD OF THE SECRET SERVICE
ing limbs while the drums throbbed out faster with
ever-shortening beats, with now and then a clash of
brazen cymbals that was torture to overwrought
nerves.
The dancer was the perfection of grace. Her fig-
ure 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 skilful grouping of the throng
of worshippers, made up a picture which held the
audience spell-bound and in silence until the curtain
dropped
Desmond turned to find Strangwise standing up.
“I thought of just running round behind the
scenes for a few minutes,” he said carelessly.
"What, to see Nur-el-Din? By Jove, I'm coming,
too!” promptly exclaimed Desmond.
Strangwise demurred. He didn't quite know if he
could take him: there might be difficulties: another
time . . . But Desmond got up resolutely.
“I'll be damned if you leave me behind, Maurice,
he laughed, “of course I'm coming, too! She's the
most delightful creature I've ever set eyes on!”
And so it ended by them going through the pass-
door together.


CHAPTER III
MR. MACKWAYTE MEETS AN OLD FRIEND
T
WHAT night Nur-el-Din kept the stage waiting
for five minutes. It was a climax of a long
series of similar unpardonable crimes in the
music-hall code. The result was that Mr. Mackwayte,
after taking four enthusiastic “curtains," stepped
off the stage into a perfect pandemonium.
He found Fletcher, the stage manager, livid with
rage, surrounded by the greater part of the large
suite with which the dancer travelled. There was
Madame's maid, a trim Frenchwoman, Madame's
business manager, a fat, voluble Italian, Madame's
secretary, an olive-skinned South American youth in
an evening coat with velvet collar, and Madame's
principal male dancer in a scanty Egyptian dress
with grotesquely painted face. They were all talking
at the same time, and at intervals Fletcher muttered
hotly: “This time she leaves the bill or I walk out
of the theatre!"
Then a clear voice cried:
“Me voila!” and a dainty apparition in an armine
wrap tripped into the centre of the group, tapped the
stage manager lightly on the shoulder and said:
"Allons! I am ready!”
21


22
OKEWOOD OF THE SECRET SERVICE
Mr. Mackwayte's face creased its mask of paint
into a thousand wrinkles. For, on seeing him, the
dancer's face lighted up, and, running to him with
hands outstretched, she cried:
“Tiens! Monsieur Arthur!” while he ejaculated:
“Why, it's little Marcelle!”
But now the stage manager interposed. He
whisked Madame's wrap off her with one hand and,
with the other, firmly propelled her on to the stage.
She let him have his way with a merry smile, dark
eyes and white teeth flashing, but as she went she said
to Mr. Mackwayte:
“My friend, wait for me! Et puis nous causerons !
We will ’ave a talk, n'est-ce pas?”
“A very old friend of mine, my dear,” Mr. Mack-
wayte said to Barbara when, dressed in his street
clothes, he rejoined her in the wings where she stood
watching Nur-el-Din dancing. “She was a child
acrobat in the Seven Duponts, a turn that earned big
money in the old days. It must be . . . let's see
getting on for twenty years since I last set eyes on
her. She was a pretty kid in those days! God bless
my soul! Little Marcelle a big star! It's really most
amazing!”
Directly she was off the stage, Nur-el-Din came
straight to Mr. Mackwayte, pushing aside her maid
who was waiting with her wrap.
“My friend,” she cooed in her pretty broken Eng-
lish, “I am so glad, so glad to see you. And this
this is your girl . . . ah! she 'as your eyes,
Monsieur Arthur, your nice English gray eyes! Such


MR. MACKWAYTE MEETS AN OLD FRIEND 23
.
a big girl . . ah! but she make me feel old!"
She laughed, a pretty gurgling laugh, throwing
back her head so that the diamond collar she was
wearing heaved and flashed.
“But you will come to my room, hein?" she went
on. “Marie, my wrap!"' and she led the way to the
lift.
Nur-el-Din's spacious dressing-room seemed to be
full of people and flowers. All her little court was
there assembled amid a perfect bower of hot-house
blooms and plants. Head and shoulders above every-
body else in the room towered the figure of an officer
in uniform, with him another palpable Englishman
in evening dress.
Desmond Okewood thought he had never seen any-
thing in his life more charming than the picture the
dancer made as she came into the room. Her wrap
had fallen open and beneath the broad bars of her
cloth-of-silver dress her bosom yet rose and fell after
the exertions of her dance. A jet black curl had
strayed out from beneath her lofty silver head-dress,
and she thrust it back in its place with one little
brown bejeweled hand whilst she extended the other
to Strangwise.
“Tiens, mon capitaine!” she said. Desmond was
watching her closely, fascinated by her beauty, but
he noticed an unwilling, almost a hostile tone, in her
voice.
Strangwise was speaking in his deep voice.
“Marcelle,” he said, “I've brought a friend who
is very anxious to meet you. Major Desmond Oke-


24
OKEWOOD OF THE SECRET SERVICE
wood! He and I soldiered together in France!"
The dancer turned her big black eyes full on Des-
mond as she held out her hand to him.
“Old friends, new friends," she cried, clapping
her hands like a child, “I love friends. Captaine,
here is a very old friend," she said to Strangwise as
Mr. Mackwayte and Barbara came into the room,
“Monsieur Arthur Mackwayte and 'is daughter. I
'ave know Monsieur Arthur almos' all my life. And,
Mademoiselle, permit me? I introduce le Capitaine
Strangwise and 'is friend . . . what is the name?
Ah, Major Okewood!”
Nur-el-Din sank into a bergère chair beside her
great mirror.
"There are too many in this room," she cried:
“there is no air! Lazarro, Ramiro, all of you, go
outside, my friends!”
As Madame's entourage surged out, Strangwise
said:
“I hear you are leaving the Palaceum, Marcelle!”
He spoke so low that Mr. Mackwayte and Barbara,
who were talking to Desmond, did not hear him.
Marcelle, taking off her heavy head-dress, answered
quickly:
“Who told you that?”
“Never mind," replied Strangwise. “But you
never told me you were going. Why didn't you?”
His voice was stern and hard now, very different
from his usual quiet and mellow tones. But he was
smiling
Marcelle cast a glance over her shoulder. Barbara


MR. MACKWAYTE MEETS AN OLD FRIEND 25
her.
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 de-
spair, almost of terror, in Nur-el-Din's dark eyes. It
was like the frightened stare of some hunted beast.
Barbara was so much taken aback that she instinct-
ively glanced over her shoulder at the door, thinking
that the dancer had seen something there to frighten
But the door was shut. When Barbara looked
into the mirror again, she saw only the reflection of
Nur-el-Din's pretty neck and shoulders. The dancer
was talking again in low tones to Strangwise.
But Barbara swiftly forgot that glimpse of the
dancer's face in the glass. For she was very happy.
Happiness, like high spirits, is eminently contagious,
and the two men at her side were supremely content.
Her father's eyes were shining with his little success
of the evening : on the way upstairs Fletcher had
held out hopes to him of a long engagement at the
Palaceum; while, as for the other, he was radiant
with the excitement of his first night in town after
long months of campaigning.
He was thinking that his leave had started most
propitiously. After a man has been isolated for
months amongst muddy masculinity, the homeliest
woman will find favor in his eyes. And to neither
of these women, in whose presence he so unexpected-
ly found himself within a few hours of landing in
England, could the epithet “homely” be applied.
Each represented a distinct type of beauty in her-
self, and Desmond, as he chatted with Barbara, was


26
OKEWOOD OF THE SECRET SERVICE
mentally contrasting the two women. Barbara, tall
and slim and very healthy, with her braided brown
hair, creamy complexion and gray eyes, was essen-
tially English. She was the typical woman of Eng-
land, of England of the broad green valleys and roll-
ing 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, sen--
suous, arresting, conjuring up pictures of warm,
perfumed nights, the thrumming of guitars, a great
yellow moon hanging low behind the palms.
“Barbara!” called Nur-el-Din from the dressing-
table. Mr. Mackwayte had joined her there and was
chatting to Strangwise.
“You will stay and talk to me while I change n'est-
ce pas? Your papa and these gentlemen are going
to drink a whiskey-soda with that animal Fletcher
quel homme terrible . . . and you shall join
them presently."
The men went out, leaving Barbara alone with the
dancer. Barbara noticed how tired Nur-el-Din was
looking. Her pretty, childish ways seemed to have
evaporated with her high spirits. Her face was
heavy and listless. There were lines round her eyes,
and her mouth had a hard, drawn look.
“Child," she said, “give me, please, my peignoir
it is behind the door... and I will get this
paint off my face!”


MR. MACKWAYTE MEETS AN OLD FRIEND 27
Barbara fetched the wrapper and sat down beside
the dancer. But Nur-el-Din did not move. She
seemed to be thinking. Barbara saw the hunted look
she had already observed in her that evening creep-
ing over her face again.
“It is a hard life, this life of ours, a life of change,
ma petite! A great artiste has no country, no home,
no fireside! For the past five years I have been
roaming about the world! Often I think I will settle
down, but the life holds me!"
She took up from her dressing-table a little oblong
plain silver box.
“I want to ask you a favor, ma petite Barbara!"
she said. “This little box is a family possession of
mine: I have had it for many years. The world is
so disturbed to-day that life is not safe for anybody
who travels as much as I do! You have a home, a
safe home with your dear father. He was telling me
about it! Will you take this little box and keep it
safely for me until . . . until ... the war is over
until I ask you for it?"
“Yes, of course," said Barbara, "if you wish it,
though, what with these air raids, I don't know that
London is particularly safe, either."
“Ah! that is good of you, ” cried Nur-el-Din, “any-
how, the little box is safer with you than with me.
See, I will wrap
it
ap
and seal it, and then you will
take it home with you, n'est-ce pasp”
She opened a drawer and, swiftly hunting among
its contents, produced a sheet of white paper and
some sealing-wax. She wrapped the box in the pa-


28
OKEWOOD OF THE SECRET SERVICE
per and sealed it up, stamping the seals with a cameo
signet ring she drew off her finger. Then she handed
the package to Barbara.
There was a knock at the door. The maid, noise-
lessly 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 sur-
prising eagerness, “you will guard it preciously un-
til I come for it ..." She laughed and added care-
lessly: "Because it is a family treasure, a little
mascotte of mine, hein?”
Then they heard Strangwise's deep voice outside.
Nur-el-Din started.
“Le Capitaine is there, Madame," said the French
maid, “'e say Monsieur Mackwayte ask for Made-
moiselle!"
The dancer thrust a little hand from the folds of
her silken kimono.
“Au revoir, ma petite,
,” she said, "we shall meet
again. You will come and see me, n'est-ce pas? And
say nothing to anybody about ...." she pointed to
Barbara's bag where the little package was reposing,
“it shall be a secret between us, hein? Promise me
this, mon enfant!"
“Of course, I promise, if you like!” said Barbara
wonderingly.
At half-past eight the next morning Desmond Oke-
wood found himself in the ante-room of the Chief of
the Secret Service in a cross and puzzled mood. The


MR. MACKWAYTE MEETS AN OLD FRIEND 29
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, accord-
ingly, breakfastless, his chin smarting from a hasty
shave. What the devil did the Chief want with him
anyhow? He wasn't in the Secret Service, though
his brother, Francis, was.
A voice broke in upon his angry musing.
“Come in, Okewood!” it said.
The Chief stood at the door of his room, a broad-
shouldered figure in a plain jacket suit. Desmond
had met him before. He knew him for a man of
many questions but of few confidences, yet his recol-
lection of him was of a suave, imperturbable person-
ality. To-day, however, the Chief seemed strangely
preoccupied. There was a deep line between his
bushy eyebrows as he bent them at Desmond, motion-
ing him to a chair. When he spoke, his manner was
very curt.
“What time did you part from the Mackwaytes at
the theatre last night?”
Desmond was dumbfounded. How on earth did
the Chief know about his visit to the Palaceum? Still,
he was used to the omniscience of the British Intelli-
gence, so he answered promptly:
“It was latish, sir; about midnight, I think!”
They went home to Seven Kings alone?"
“Yes, sir, in a taxi!” Desmond replied.


30
OKEWOOD OF THE SECRET SERVICE
The Chief contemplated his blotting-pad gloomily.
Desmond knew it for a trick of his when worried.
“Did you have a good night?!' he said to Des-
mond, suddenly.
“Yes," he said, not in the least understanding the
drift of the question. “... though I didn't mean
to get up quite so early !!!
The Chief ignored this sally.
“Nothing out of the ordinary happened during the
night, I suppose?” he asked again.
Desmond shook his head.
“Nothing that I know of, sir," he said.
“Seen Strangwise this morning?”
Desmond gasped for breath. So the Chief knew
about him meeting Strangwise, too!
“No, sir!"
A clerk put his head in at the door.
“Well, Matthews ?”
“Captain Strangwise will be along very shortly,
sir,” he said.
The Chief looked up quickly.
“Ah, he's all right then! Good.”
“And, sir,” Matthews added, “Scotland Yard
telephoned to say that the doctor is with Miss Mack-
wayte now."
Desmond started up.
"Is Miss Mackwayte ill 9” he exclaimed.
The Chief answered slowly, as Matthews with-
drew: “Mr. Mackwayte was found murdered at his
house early this morning!"


CHAPTER IV
MAJOR OKEWOOD ENCOUNTERS A NEW TYPU
T
WHERE is a sinister ring about the word "mur.
der," which reacts upon even the most hard-
ened sensibility. Edgar Allan Poe, who was
a master of the suggestive use of words, realized this
when he called the greatest detective story ever writ-
ten “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 trag-
edy at home.
“Yes," said the Chief bluntly, "by a burglar ap-
parently-the house was ransacked!”
“Chief," he broke out, "you must explain. I'm
all at sea! Why did you send for me? What have
you got to do with criminal cases, anyway! Surely,
this is a Scotland Yard matter!"
31


32
OKEWOOD OF THE SECRET SERVICE
The Chief shook his head.
“I sent for you in default of your brother, Oke-
wood!” he said. “You once refused an offer of
mine to take you into my service, but this time I had
to have you, so I got the War Office to wire ..."
“Then my appointment for ten o'clock to-day was
with you!" Desmond exclaimed in astonishment.
The Chief nodded.
“It was,” he said curtly.
“But," protested Desmond feebly, “did you
know
about this murder beforehand?"
The Chief threw back his head and laughed.
“My dear fellow," he said, “I'm not quite so deep
as all that. I haven't second sight, you know!"
“You've got something devilish like it, sir!” said
Desmond. “How on earth did you know that I was
at the Palaceum last night?”
The Chief smiled grimly.
“Oh, that's very simple," he said. “Shall I tell
you some more about yourself? You sat
" he
glanced down at the desk in front of him,
in
Stall E 52 and, after Nur-el-Din's turn, Strangwise
took you round and introduced you to the lady. In
her dressing-room you met Mr. Mackwayte and his
daughter. After that ...
“But,” Desmond interrupted quickly, “I must
have been followed by one of your men. Still, I can't
see why my movements should interest the Secret
Service, sir!"
The Chief remained silent for a moment. Then he
said:
.
.


OKEWOOD ENCOUNTERS A NEW TYPE
33
.
“Fate often unexpectedly takes a hand in this
game of ours, Okewood. I sent for you to come back
from France but old man Destiny wouldn't leave it
at that. Almost as soon as you landed he switched
you straight on to a trail that I have been patiently
following up for months past. That trail is
The telephone on the desk rang sharply.
“Whose trail?" Desmond could not forbear to ask
as the Chief took off the receiver.
“Just a minute,” the Chief said. Then he spoke
into the telephone:
“Marigold? Yes. Really? Very well, I'll come
straight along now ... I'll be with you in twenty
minutes. Good-bye!”
He put down the receiver and rose to his feet.
“Okewood,” he cried gaily, “what do you say to
a little detective work? That was Marigold of the
Criminal Investigation Department . . . he's down
at Seven Kings handling this murder case. I asked
him to let me know when it would be convenient for
me to come along and have a look round, and he
wants me to go now. Two heads are better than one.
You'd better come along!”
He pressed a button on the desk.
The swift and silent Matthews appeared.
“Matthews,” he said, "when Captain Strangwise
comes, please tell him I've been called away and ask
him to call back here at two o'clock to see me."
He paused and laid a lean finger reflectively along
his nose.
“Are you lunching anywhere, Okewood ?” he said.


34
OKEWOOD OF THE SECRET SERVICE
Desmond shook his head.
"Then
you
will lunch with me, eh? Right. Come
along and we'll try to find the way to Seven Kings.”
The two men threaded the busy corridors to the
lift which deposited them at the main entrance. A
few minutes later the Chief was dexterously guiding
his Vauxhall car through the crowded traffic of the
Strand, Desmond beside him on the front seat.
Desmond was completely fogged in his mind. He
couldn't see light anywhere. He asked himself in
vain what possible connection could exist between
this murder in an obscure quarter of London and the
man at his side who, he knew, held in his firm hands
lines that stretched to the utiermost ends of the
earth? What kind of an affair was this, seemingly
so commonplace, that could take the Chief's atten-
tion from the hundred argent matters of national
security that occupied him?
The Chief seemed absorbed in his driving and Des-
mond felt it would be useless to attempt to draw him
out. They wended their way through the city and
out into the squalid length of the Mile End Road.
Then the Chief began to talk.
"I hate driving through the City," he exclaimed,
“but I always think it's good for the nerves. Still,
I have a fzeling that I shall smash this old car up
some day. That friend of yours, Strangwise, now
--he's a remarkable man! Do you know his story!!!
.“ About his escape from Germany?" asked Des.
mond.
The Chief nodded.


OKEWOOD ENCOUNTERS A NEW TYPE
35
"He told me something about it at dinner last
night,” said Desmond, “but he's such a modest chap
he doesn't seem to like talking about it!”
“He must have a cool nerve," replied the Chief,
"he doesn't know a word of German, except a few
scraps he picked
up
in camp. Yet, after he got free,
he made his way alone from somewhere in Hanover
clear to the Dutch frontier. And I tell you he kept
his eyes and ears open!”
“Was be able to tell you anything good?” asked
Desmond.
"The man's just full of information. He couldn't
take a note of any kind, of course, but he seems to
have a wonderful memory. He was able to give us
the names of almost every unit of troops he came
across."
He stopped to skirt a tram, then added suddenly:
“Do you know him well, Okewood?”
“Yes, I think I do,” said Desmond. “I lived
with him for about three months in France, and we
got on top-hole together. He's a man absolutely
without fear."
“Yes," agreed the Chief. “But what about his
judgment? Would you call him a well-balanced fel-
low? Or is he one of these harum-scarum soldier
of fortune sort of chaps?”
''I should say he was devilish shrewd,” replied
the other. “Strangwise is a very able fellow and a
fine soldier. The Brigadier thought a lot of him.
There's very little about artillery work that Strang-
wise doesn't know. Our Brigadier's a good judge,


36
OKEWOOD OF THE SECRET SERVICE
"Tell me,
do you
liar, do
too . . . he was a gunner himself once, you know."
“I'm glad to hear you say that," answered the
Chief, “because there are some things he has told
us, about the movements of troops, particularly, that
don't agree in the least with our own Intelligence
reports. I am an old enough hand at my job to know
that very often one man may be right where fifty
independent witnesses are dead wrong. Yet our re-
ports from Germany have been wonderfully accurate
on the whole."
He stopped.
” he asked suddenly, "is Strangwise a
think?"
Desmond laughed. The question was so very un-
expected.
“Let me explain what I mean," said the Chief.
“There is a type of man who is quite incapable of
telling the plain, unvarnished truth. That type of
fellow might have the most extraordinary adventure
happen to him and yet be unable to let it stand on its
merits. When he narrates it, he trims it up with all
kinds of embroidery. Is Strangwise that type?”
Desmond thought a moment.
“Your silence is very eloquent,” said the Chief
drily.
Desmond laughed.
“It's not the silence of consent,” he said, “but if
you want me to be quite frank about Strangwise,
Chief, I don't mind telling you I don't like him over-
much. We were very intimate in France. We were
in some very tight corners together and he never let


OKEWOOD ENCOUNTERS A NEW TYPE
37
me down. He showed himself to be a very fine fel-
low, 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 wien I
feel
“What?" said the Chief.
“Well,” said Desmond slowly, “I feel myself try-
ing to like something below the surface in the man.
And then I am baffled. There seems to be something
abysmally deep behind the facade, if you know what
I mean. If I think about it much, it seems to me that
there is too much surface about Strangwise and not
enough foundation! And he smiles . Well, rather
often, doesn't he?”
“I know what you mean,” said the Chief. “I
always tell my young men to be wary when a man
smiles too much. Smiles are sometimes camouflage,
to cover up something that mustn't be seen under-
neath! Strangwise is a Canadian, isn't he?”
“I think so," answered Desmond, "anyhow, he
has lived there. But he got his commission over
here. He came over some time in 1915, I believe,
and joined up!"
“Ah, here we are!" cried the Chief, steering the
car down a turning marked "Laleham Villas.”
Laleham Villas proved to be an immensely long
terrace of small two-story houses, each one exactly
like the other, the only difference between them lying
in the color of the front doors and the arrangement


38
OKEWOOD OF THE SECRET SERVICE
of the small strip of garden in front of each. The
houses stretched away on either side in a vista of
smoke-discolored yellow brick. The road was per-
fectly straight and, in the dull yellow atmosphere of
the winter morning, unspeakably depressing.
The abode of small clerks and employees, Laleham
Villas had rendered up, an hour before, its daily
tribute of humanity to the City-bound trains of the
Great Eastern Railway. The Mackwayte's house
was plainly indicated, about 200 yards down on the
right-hand side, by a knot of errand boys and bare-
headed women grouped on the side-walk. A large,
phlegmatic policeman stood at the gate.
“You'll like Marigold,” said the Chief to Des-
mond as they got out of the car, “quite a remarkable
man and very sound at his work!”
British officers don't number detective inspectors
among their habitual acquaintances, and the man
that came out of the house to meet them was actually
the first detective that Desmond had ever met. Ever
since the Chief had mentioned his name, Desmond
had been wondering whether Mr. Marigold would be
lean and pale and bewildering like Mr. Sherlock
Holmes or breezy and wiry like the detectives in
American “crook” plays.
The man before him did not bear the faintest re-
semblance to either type. He was a well-set up,
broad-shouldered person of about forty-five, very
carefully dressed in a blue serge suit and black over-
coat, with a large, even-tempered countenance, which
sloped into a high forehead. The neatly-brushed


OKEWOOD ENCOUNTERS A NEW TYPE
39
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, culti-
vated voice, there remains nothing further to say
about Mr. Marigold's external appearance. But there
was something so patent about the man, his air of
reserve, his careful courtesy, his shrewd eyes, that
Desmond at once recognized him for a type, a cast
from a certain specific mould. All services shape
men to their own fashion. There is the type of
Guardsman, the type of airman, the type of naval
officer. And Desmond decided that Mr. Marigold
must be the type of detective, though, as I have said,
he was totally unacquainted with the genus.
“Major Okewood, Marigold," said the Chief, "a
friend of mine!"
Mr. Marigold mustered Desmond in one swift,
comprehensive look.
“I won't give you my hand, Major," the detective
said, looking down at Desmond's proffered one, "for
I'm in a filthy mess and no error. But won't you
come in, sir?” he said to the Chief and led the way
across the mosaic tile pathway to the front door
which stood open.
"I don't think this is anything in your line, sir,"
said Mr. Marigold to the Chief as the three men en-
tered 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


40
OKEWOOD OF THE SECRET SERVICE
.
.
head and killed him. The only novel thing about the
whole case is that the old party was shot with a pis-
tol and not bludgeoned, as is usually the case in af-
fairs of this kind And I shouldn't have thought
that the man who did it was the sort that carries a
gun
“Then you know who did it?" asked the Chief
quietly.
“I think I can safely say I do, sir," said Mr. Mari-
gold with the reluctant air of one who seldom admits
anything to be a fact, “I think I can go as far as
that! And we've got our man under lock and key!”
“That's a smart piece of work, Marigold,” said
the Chief.
“No, sir," replied the other, “you could hardly
call it that. He just walked into the arms of a con-
stable over there near Goodmayes Station with the
swag on him. He's an old hand, we've known
him for a receiver for years."
“Who is it?" asked the Chief, “not one of my
little friends, I suppose, eh, Marigold ?”
“Dear me, no, sir,” answered Mr. Marigold,
chuckling, "it's one of old Mackwayte's music-hall
pals, name o' Barney!"
.
**: .


CHAPTER V
THE MURDER AT SEVEN KINGS
“T
HIS is Mrs. Chugg, sir,' ” said Mr. Marigold,
"the charwoman who found the body!”
The Chief and Desmond stood at the de-
tective's side in the Mackwaytes' little dining-room.
The room was in considerable disorder. There was
a litter of paper, empty bottles, overturned cruets
and other débris on the floor, evidence of the thor-
oughness with which the burglar had overhauled the
cheap fumed oak sideboard which stood against the
wall with doors and drawers open. In the corner, the
little roll-top desk showed a great gash in the wood
round the lock where it had been forced. The re-
mains of a meal still stood on the table.
Mrs. Chugg, a diminutive, white-haired, bespee-
tacled 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. Mari-
gold's voice, she bobbed up and regarded the new-
comers with the air of a tragedy queen.
“Yus, mister,” she said with the slow deliberation
of one who thoroughly enjoys repeating an oft-told
41


42
OKEWOOD OF THE SECRET SERVICE
tale, “I found the pore man and a horrid turn it give
me, too, I declare! I come in early this morning
a-purpose to turn out these two rooms, the dining-
room and the droring-room, same as I always do of
a Saturday, along of the lidy's horders and wishes.
I come in 'ere fust, to pull up the blinds and that,
and d'reckly I switches on the light 'Burglars!' I
sez to meself, ‘Burglars! That's wot it is!' seeing
the nasty mess the place was in. Up I nips to Miss
Mackwayte's room on the first floor and in I
bursts. "Miss,' sez I, “Miss, there's been burglars in
the 'ousel' 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, d'yer see, mister! I
gets 'er back on the bed. “You lie still, Miss,' sez I,
and I'll pop in and tell your pa to come in to you!
Well, I went to the old genelmun's room. Empty!"
Mrs. Chugg paused to give her narrative dramatic
effect.
“And where did you find Mr. Mackwayte?” asked
the Chief in such a placid voice that Mrs. Chugg
cast an indignant glance at him.


THE MURDER AT SEVEN KINGS
43
“I was jes' going downstairs to see if 'e was in
the kitching or out at the back," she continued, un-
heeding the interruption, “when there on the landing
I sees a foot a-sticking out from under the curting.
I pulls back the curting and oh, Lor! oh, dear, oh,
dear, the pore genelmun, 'im as never did a bad turn
to no one!"
“Come, come, Mrs. Chugg!” said the detective.
The charwoman wiped her eyes and resumed.
" 'E was a-lying on his back in 'is dressing-gown,
'is face all burnt black, like, and a fair smother o'
blood. Under 'is ’ed there was a pool o' blood, mis-
ter, yer may believe me or not...
Mr. Marigold cut in decisively.
“Do you wish to see the body, sir?" the detective
asked the Chief, “they're upstairs photographing
it!"
The Chief nodded. He and Desmond followed the
detective upstairs, whilst Mrs. Chugg resentfully re-
sumed her seat by the fire. On her face was the look
of one who has cast pearls before swine.
“Any finger-prints?” asked the Chief in the hall.
“Oh, no,” he said, “Barney's far too old a hand
for that sort o' thing!”
The landing proved to be a small space, covered
with oil-cloth and raised by a step from the bend
made by the staircase leading to the first story. On
the left-hand side was a window looking on a narrow
passage separating the Mackwayte house from its
neighbors and leading to the back-door. By the win-
dow stood a small wicker-work table with a plant on


44
OKEWOOD OF THE SECRET SERVICE
it. At the back of the landing was a partition, glazed
half-way up and a door-obviously the bath-room.
The curtain had been looped right over its brass
rod. The body lay on its back at the foot of the
table, arms flung outward, one leg doubled up, the
other with the foot just jutting out over the step
leading down to the staircase. The head pointed
towards the bath-room door. Over the right eye the
skin of the face was blackened in a great patch and
there was a large blue swelling, like a bruise, in the
centre. There was a good deal of blood on the face
which obscured the hole made by the entrance of the
bullet. The eyes were half-closed. A big camera,
pointed downwards, was mounted on a high double
ladder straddling the body and was operated by a
young man in a bowler hat who went on with his
work without taking the slightest notice of the de-
tective and his companions.
“Close range," murmured Desmond, after glanc-
ing at the dead man's face, “a large calibre auto-
matic pistol, I should think!"
“Why do you think it was a large calibre pistol,
Major?" asked Mr. Marigold attentively.
“I've seen plenty of men killed at close range by
revolver and rifle bullets out at the front,” replied
Desmond, “but I never saw a man's face messed up
like this. In a raid once I shot a German at point
blank range with my revolver, the ordinary Army
issue pattern, and I looked him over after. But it
wasn't anything like this. The only thing I've seen
approaching it was one of our sergeants who was


46
OKEWOOD OF THE SECRET SERVICE
thought for a minute it was an air raid. Then sud-
denly a hand was pressed over her mouth, something
was crammed into her mouth and she was firmly
strapped down to the bed."
“Did she see the man?" asked Desmond.
“She didn't see anything from first to last," an-
swered 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, fast-
ened a bandage across her eyes into the bargain.
She says she heard him moving about her room and
then creep out very softly. The next thing she knew
was Mrs. Chugg arriving at her bedside this morn-
ing.'
“What time did this attack take place?" asked the
Chief.
“She has no idea," answered the detective. “She
couldn't see her watch and they haven't got a strik-
ing clock in the house."
“But can she make no guess!”
“Well, she says she thinks it was several hours
before Mrs. Chugg arrived in the morning
much as three hours, she thinks!”
“And what time did Mrs. Chugg arrive?"
“At half-past six!”
“About Mackwayte . .. how long was he dead
when they found him? What does the doctor say?"
“About three hours approximately, but you know,
they can't always tell to an hour or so!”
“Well,” said the Chief slowly, “it looks as if one
as
.


THE MURDER AT SEVEN KINGS
47
.
might fix the murder as having been committed some
time between 3 and 3.30 a. m."
“My idea exactly,” said Mr. Marigold. “Shall
we go upstairs?”
He conducted the Chief and Desmond up the short
flight of stairs to the first story. He pushed open
the first door he came to.
“Mackwayte's room, on the back,” he said, “bed
slept in, as you see, old gentleman's clothes on a
chair-obviously he was disturbed by some noise
made by the burglar and came out to see what was
doing! And here," he indicated a door adjoining,
“is Miss Mackwayte's room, on the front; as you ob-
serve. They don't use the two rooms on the second
floor, except for box-rooms one's full of old
Mackwayte's theatre trunks and stuff. They keep
no servant; Mrs. Chugg comes in each morning and
stays all day. She goes away after supper every
evening.'
Desmond found himself looking into a plainly fur-
nished but dainty bedroom with white furniture and
a good deal of chintz about. There were some photo-
graphs and pictures hanging on the walls. The room
was spotlessly clean and very tidy.
Desmond remarked on this, asking if the police
had put the room straight.
Mr. Marigold looked quite shocked.
“Oh, no, everything is just as it was when Mrs.
Chugg found Miss Mackwayte this morning. There's
Miss Mackwayte’s gloves and handbag on the toilet-
table just as she left 'em last night. I wouldn't let


48
OKEWOOD OF THE SECRET SERVICE
her touch her clothes even. She went over to Mrs.
Appleby's in her dressing-gown, in a taxi.”
“Then Master Burglar didn't burgle this room?"
asked the Chief.
“Nothing touched, not even the girl's money,”
replied Marigold.
“Then why did he come up here at all?” asked
Desmond.
“Obviously, the old gentleman disturbed him,"
was the detective's reply. “Barney got scared and
shot the old gentleman, then came up here to make
sure that the daughter would not give him away be-
fore he could make his escape. He must have known
the report of the gun would wake her up."
“But are there no clues or finger-prints or any-
thing of that kind here, Marigold?” asked the Chief.
“Not a finger-print anywhere," responded the
other, “men like Barney are born wise to the finger-
print business, sir.'
He dipped a finger and thumb into his waistcoat
pocket.
“Clues? Well, I've got one little souvenir here
which I daresay a writer of detective stories would
make a good bit of."
He held in his hand a piece of paper folded flat.
He unfolded it and disclosed a loop of dark hair.
“There!” he said mockingly, straightening out
the hair and holding it up in the light. “That's cal-
culated 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 Mack-


THE MURDER AT SEVEN KINGS
49
wayte was bound to the bed. Miss Mackwayte, I
would point out, has brown hair. Whose hair do you
think that is gº
Desmond looked closely at the strand of hair in the
detective's fingers. It was long and fine and glossy
and jet-black.
The Chief laughed and shook his head.
“Haven't an idea, Marigold, "he answered, “Bar-
ney's, I should imagine, that is, if he goes about with
black ringlets falling round his shoulders!”
“Barney?" echoed the detective. “Barney's as
bald as I am. Besides, if you saw his sheet, you'd
realize that he has got into the habit of wearing his
hair short!"
He carefully rolled the strand of hair up, replaced
it in its paper and stowed it in his waistcoat pocket.
“It just shows how easily one is misled in a matter
of this kind,” he went on.“Supposing Barney hadn't
got himself nabbed, supposing I hadn't been able to
find out from Miss Mackwayte her movements on
the night previous to the murder, that strand of
hair might have led me on a fine wild goose chase!”
“But, damn it, Marigold,” exclaimed the Chief,
laughing, "you haven't told us whose hair it is?"
“Why, Nur-el-Din's, of course!”
The smile froze on the Chief's lips, the laughter
died out of his eyes. Desmond was amazed at the
change in the man. The languid interest he had
taken in the different details of the crime vanished.
Something seemed to tighten up suddenly in his face
and manner.


50
OKEWOOD OF THE SECRET SERVICE
“Why Nur-el-Din?” he asked curtly.
Mr. Marigold glanced quickly at him. Desmond
remarked that the detective was sensible of the
change too.
“Simply because Miss Mackwayte spent some time
in the dancer's dressing-room last night, sir," he re-
plied quietly, “she probably sat at her dressing-table
and picked up this hair in hers or in her veil or some-
thing and it dropped on the bed where one of Master
Barney's buckles caught it up."
He spoke carelessly but Desmond noticed that he
kept a watchful eye on the other.
The Chief did not answer. He seemed to have
relapsed into the preoccupied mood in which Des-
mond had found him that morning.
“I was going to suggest, sir,” said Mr. Marigold
diffidently, “if you had the time, you might care to
look in at the Yard, and see the prisoner. I don't
mind telling you that he is swearing by all the tribes
of Judah that he's innocent of the murder of old
Mackwayte. He's got an amazing yarn per-
haps 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 pos-
sible was that the Chief should acquiesce in his sug-
gestion. Yet Desmond had the feeling that the de-
tective 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


THE MURDER AT SEVEN KINGS
51
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 elab-
orate pose, to extract from the Chief information
which had not been proffered?
The Chief glanced at his watch.
“Right,” he said, “I think I'd like to go along."
“I have a good deal to do here still,” observed
Mr. Marigold, “so, if you don't mind, I won't accom-
pany you. But perhaps, sir, you would like to see
me this afternoon?”
The Chief swung round on his heel and fairly
searched Mr. Marigold with a glance from beneath
his bushy eyebrows. The detective returned his gaze
with an expression of supreme innocence.
“Why, Marigold," answered the Chief, “I believe
I should. Six o'clock suit you?”
“Certainly, sir,” said Mr. Marigold.
Desmond stood by the door, vastly amused by this
duel of wits. The Chief and Mr. Marigold made a
move towards the door. Desmond turned to open it
—and came face to face with a large framed photo-
graph of the Chief hanging on the wall of Miss Mack-
wayte's bedroom.
“Why, Chief,” he cried, “you never told me you
knew Miss Mackwayte!”
The Chief professed to be very taken aback by this
question. “Dear me, didn't I, Okewood ?” he an-
swered with eyes laughing, "she's my secretary!”


54
OKEWOOD OF THE SECRET SERVICE
'Ah, no! Don't take me away! I ain't done no
'arm, gentlemen! S'welp me, gentlemen, I ain't a
murderer! I swear..
“Get him up!” said the Chief in disgust, “and,
look here, can't you give him a drink? I want to
speak to him. He's not fit to talk rationally in this
state!”
The detective pushed a bell in the wall, a police-
man answered it, and presently the prisoner was
handed a stiff glass of whiskey and water.
After Barney had swallowed it, the Chief said:
“Now, look here, my man, I want you to tell me
exactly what happened last night. No fairy tales,
remember! I know what you told the police, and if
I catch you spinning me any yarns on to it, well,
it'll only be the worse for you. I don't mind telling
you, you're in a pretty bad mess!”
The prisoner put down the glass wearily and
wiped his forehead with the back of his hand.
Though the room was bitterly cold, the perspiration
stood out in beads on his brow.
“I ’ave 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 avay? For sure! And vy
didn't I not do it? For vy, because of vot I seen in
that 'ouse. I've 'ad my bit of trobble mit the police
and vy should I tell them how I vos op to a game
last night if I vas not a-telling the trewth, eh? I've
been on the crook, gentlemen, I say it, ja, but I ain't
no murderer, God shoke me I ain't!


"NAME O' BARNEY'
55
"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 vere 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 sav-
ings certif'kits. I never done a job like this von
before, gentlemen, but I vos hardt pushed for
money,
s'welp me I vos!
“I left it till late last night because of these air
raids. I vanted to be sure that ole Mac and 'is
daughter should be asleep. I god in from the back
of the 'ouse, oi, oi, bot it vos dead easy! through the
scollery vindow. I cleared op a bagful of stuff in the
dining-room
there vosn't anything vorth
snatching outer the parlor and sixty-five quid
out of an old cigar-box in the desk. The police 'as
I give it all back! I say I haf stolen, but
murder? No!” He paused.
“Go on," said the Chief.
The prisoner looked about him in a frightened way.
“I vos jus' thinking I had better be getting avay,”
he continued in his hoarse, gutteral voice, “ven
snick! .:. I hears a key in the front door.
I vos standing by the staircase . . . I had no time to
get out by the vay I had kom so I vent opstairs to the
landing vere there vos a curtain. I shlip behind the
curtain and vait.
.
got it
.


56
OKEWOOD OF THE SECRET SERVICE
.
“I dare not look out but I listen, I listen. I hear
some one go into the dining-room and move about.
I open the curtain a little vay ..so!... because
I think I vill shlip downstairs vile the other party
is in the dining-room ... and there I sees ole Mac in
his dressing-gown just coming down from the first
floor. The same moment I hear a step in the front
hall.
“I see ole Mac start but he does not stop. He kom
right downstairs, and I step back behind the curtain
ontil I find a door vich I push. I dare not svitch
on my light but presently I feel the cold edge of a
bath with my hands. I stay there and vait. Oi, oi,
oi, how shall you belief vot I tell?”
He broke off trembling.
“Go on, Barney," said the detective, “can't you
see the gentlemen are waiting?”
The Jew resumed, his voice sinking almost to a
whisper.
"It vos quite dark behind the curtain but from the
bath-room, through the open door, I could just see
ole Mac standing with his back to me, a-holding the
curtain. He must haf shlip in there to vatch 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 vith the blood a-trickling out
.


"NAME O' BARNEY”
57
on the oil-cloth. And I, vith my bag on my back, I
creep downstair and out by the back again, and I
ron and ron and then I valks. Gott! how I haf
valked! I vos so frightened! And then, at last, I
go to a policeman and gif' myself op!"
Barney stopped. The tears burst from his eyes
and laying his grimy face on his arm, he sobbed.
The detective patted him on the back.
“Pull yourself together, man!” he said encour-
agingly.
“This man on the stairs," queried the Chief "did
you see him?"
"Ach was!" replied the prisoner, turning a tear-
stained face towards him, “I haf seen nothing, ex-
cept old Mac's back vich vos right in vront of me,
it vos so dark!"
“But couldn't you see the other person at all, not
even the outline?” persisted the Chief.
The prisoner made a gesture of despair.
“It vos so dark, I say! Nothing haf I seen! I
haf heard only his step!”
“What sort of step? Was it heavy or light or
what? Did this person seem in a hurry?”
“A little light tread . . . so! von, two! von, two!
and qvick like 'e think 'e sneak opstairs vithout no-
body seeing !"
“Did he make much noise ?"
“Ach was ! hardly at all . . . the tread, 'e vos so
light like a voman's .
“Like a woman's, eh?”' repeated the Chief, ao if
talking to himself, “why do you think that?”


58
OKEWOOD OF THE SECRET SERVICE
“Because for vy it vos so gentle! The staircase,
she haf not sqveak as she haf sqveak when I haf
creep avay!”
The Chief turned to the plain clothes man.
“You can take him away now, officer," he said.
Barney sprang up trembling.
“Not back to the cell,” he cried imploringly, “I
cannot be alone. Oh, gentlemen, you vill speak for
me! I haf not had trobble vith the police this long
time! My vife's cousin, he is an elder of the Shool,
he vill tell you 'ow poor ve haf been ..
But the Chief crossed the room to the door and
the detective hustled the prisoner away.
Then the official whom they had seen before came
in.
“Glad I caught you," he said. “I thought you
would care to see the post mortem report. The doc-
tor has just handed it in."
The chief waved him off.
“I don't think there's any doubt about the cause
of death," he replied, “we saw the body our-
selves...
"Quite so," replied the other, “but there is some-
thing interesting about this report all the same.
They were able to extract the bullet!"
“Oh," said the Chief, "that ought to tell us some-
thing!”
“It does," answered the official. “We've submit-
ted it to our small arms expert, and he pronounces
it to be a bullet fired by an automatic pistol of un-
usually large calibre."


“NAME O'BARNEY”
59
The Chief looked at Desmond.
“You were right there,” he said.
“And," the official went on, “our man says, fur-
ther, that, as far as he knows, there is only one type
of automatic pistol that fires a bullet as big as this
one!”
“And that is?" asked the Chief.
"An improved pattern of the German Mauser
pistol," was the other's startling reply.
The Chief tapped a cigarette meditatively on the
back of his hand.
“Okewood," he said, “you are the very model of
discretion. I have put your reticence to a pretty
severe test this morning, and you have stood it very
well. But I can see that you are bristling with ques-
tions like a porcupine with quills, Zero hour has
arrived. You may fire away!”
They were sitting in the smoking-cpom of the
United Service Club. “The Senior," as men call
it, is the very parliament of Britain's professional
navy and army. Even in these days when war has
flung wide the portals of the two services to all-com-
ers, 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 the ward-room or the mess ante-room.


60
OKEWOOD OF THE SECRET SERVICE
And so to-day, as he sat in his padded leather
chair, surveying the Chief's quizzing face across the
little table where their coffee was steaming, Des-
mond felt the oddness of the contrast between the di-
rect, matter-of-fact personalities all around them,
and the extraordinary web of intrigue which seemed
to have spun itself round the little house at Seven
Kings.
Before he answered the Chief's question, he stud-
ied him for a moment under cover of lighting a cigar-
ette. How very little, to be sure, escaped that swift
and silent mind! At luncheon the Chief had scrupu-
lously 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 racon-
teur, a string of extremely droll yarns about“double
crosses,” that is, obliging gentlemen who will spy for
both sides simultaneously, he had come into contact
with during his long and varied career. Desmond
had played up to him and repressed the questions
which kept rising to his lips. Hence the Chief's un-
expected tribute to him in the smoking-room.
"Well,” said Desmond slowly, “there are one or
two things I should like to know. What am I here
for? Why did you have me followed last night?
How did you know, before we ever went to Seven
Kings, that Barney did not murder old Mackwayte?
And lastly.
He paused, fearing to be rash; then he risked it:
“And lastly, Nur-el-Din?”
The Chief leant back in his chair and laughed.
.


“NAME O' BARNEY”
61
“I'm sure you feel much better now," he said.
Then his face grew grave and he added:
“Your last question answers all the others!”
“Meaning Nur-el-Din?" asked Desmond.
The Chief nodded.
“Nur-el-Din," he repeated. “That's why you're
here, that's why I had you followed last night, that's
why I..." he hesitated for the word, “let's say,
presumed (one knows for certain so little in our
work) that our friend Barney had nothing to do with
the violent death of poor old Mackwayte. Nur-el-
Din in the center, the kernel, the hub of everything!”
The Chief leant across the table and Desmond
pulled his chair closer.
“There's only one other man in the world can
handle this job, except you," he began, "and that's
your brother Francis. Do you know where he is,
Okewood?"
“He wrote to me last from Athens,” answered
Desmond, “but that must be nearly two months
ago!"
The Chief laughed.
“His present address is not Athens,” he said, “if
you want to know, he's serving on a German Staff
somewhere at the back of Jerusalem the Golden.
Frankly, I know you don't care about our work, and
I did my best to get your brother. He has had his
instructions and as soon as he can get away he will.
But that was not soon enough for me. It had to be
him or you. So I sent for you."
He stopped and cleared his throat. Desmond


62
OKEWOOD OF THE SECRET SERVICE
stared at him. He could hardly believe his eyes.
This quiet, deliberate man was actually embarrassed.
“Okewood," the Chief went on, "you know I like
plain speaking, and therefore you won't make the
mistake of thinking I'm trying to flatter you.'
Desmond made a gesture.
“Wait a moment and hear me out," the Chief
went on. “What is required for this job is a man
of great courage and steady nerve. Yes, we have
plenty of fellows like that. But the man I am look-
ing for must, in addition to possessing those quali-
ties, 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 accom-
plished. The first time I came across you, you had
just come out of Germany after fetching your broth-
er away. To have lived for weeks in Germany in
war-time 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 mis-
sions I have ever had to propose. Francis is not
here. That's why I want you.
The Chief paused as if weighing something in his
mind.
“It's not the custom of either service, Okewood,”
he said, “to send a man to certain death. You're not


“NAME O' BARNEY”
63
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 with-
out my thinking a bit the worse of
you.
“Would you tell me something about it?" asked
Desmond.
“I'm sorry I can't," replied the other. "There
must be only two men in this secret, myself and the
fellow who undertakes the mission. Of course, it's
not certain death. If you take this thing on, you'll
have a sporting chance for your life, but that's all.
It's going to be a desperate game played against a
desperate opponent. Now do you understand why I
didn't want you to think I was flattering you? You've
got your head screwed on right, I know, but I should
hate to feel afterwards, if anything went wrong, that
you thought I had buttered you up in order to entice
you into taking the job on!"
Desmond took two or three deep puffs of his cigar-
ette and dropped it into the ash-tray.
“I'll see you!” he said.
The Chief grinned with delight.
“By Jove!” he exclaimed, “I knew you were my
man!”


NUR-EL-DIN
65
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 dis-
closure of which would inevitably compromise our
national safety."
He paused and Desmond nodded.
“The extent of our business," the Chief resumed,
“is so large, the issues at stake so vital, that we at
the top have to ignore the non-essentials and stick to
the essentials. By the non-essentials I mean the
little potty spies, actuated by sheer hunger or mere
officiousness, the neutral busybody who makes a tip-
and-run dash into England, the starving waiter, mis-
erably underpaid by some thieving rogue in a neu-
tral country or the frank swindler who sends back
to the Fatherland and is duly paid for long reports
about British naval movements which he has con-
cocted without setting foot outside his Bloomsbury
lodgings.
“These folk are dealt with somehow and every now
and then one of 'em gets shot, just to show that we
aren't asleep, don't you know? But spasmodic re-
ports 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


66
OKEWOOD OF THE SECRET SERVICE
the men who run the German Secret Service.
“These fellows, my dear Okewood, move in dark-
ness. Very often we have to grope after 'em in
darkness, too. They don't get shot, or hardly ever;
they are far too clever for that. Between us and
them it is a never-ending series of move and counter-
move, check and counter-check. Very often we only
know of their activities by enemy action based on
their reports. Then there is another leak to be
caulked, another rat-hole to be nailed up, and so the
game goes on. Hitherto I think I may say we have
managed to hold our own!"
The Chief stopped to light another cigarette. Then
he resumed but in a lower voice.
“During the past month, Okewood,” he said, “a
new organization has cropped up. The objectivve 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 effi-
cient than any of its predecessors. It specializes in
the movement of troops to France, and in the jour-
neys 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


NUR-EL-DIN
67
were taken, the Hun knew we were taking a chance,
and what is more, when and where we were taking
it!”
The Chief broke off, then looking Desmond square-
ly in the eyes, said:
“This is the organization that you're going to
break up!"
Desmond raised his eyebrows.
“Who is at the head of it?" he asked quietly.
The Chief smiled a little bitterly.
“By George!” he cried, slapping his thigh,
"you've rung the bell in one. Okewood, I'm not
a rich man, but I would gladly give a year's pay to
be able to answer that question. To be perfectly
frank with you, I don't know who is at the back of
this crowd, but .
» his mouth set in a grim line,
“I'm going to know!”
He added whimsically:
“What's more, you're going to find out for me!”
Desmond smiled at the note of assurance in his
voice.
“I suppose you've got something to go on?” he
asked. “There's Nur-el-Din, for instance. What
about her?"
“That young person,” replied the Chief, “is to
be your particular study. If she is not the center of
the whole conspiracy, she is, at any rate, in the thick
of it. It will be part of your job to ascertain the
exact rôle she is playing.'
“But what is there against her?” queried Des-
mond.
.


OKEWOOD OF THE SECRET SERVICE
“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 entour-
age? Her business manager, a fat Italian who calls
himself Lazarro, did
you
notice him? Would
you
be
surprised to hear that Lazarro alias Sacchetti alias
Le Tardenois is a very notorious international spy
who after working in the Italian Secret Service in
the pay of the Germans was unmasked and kicked
out of Italy . . that was before the war? This
pleasant gentleman subsequently did five years in
the French penal settlements in New Caledonia for
robbery with violence at Aix-les-Bains . .. oh, we
know a whole lot about him! And this woman's
other friends! Do you know, for instance, where she
often spends the week-end? At the country-place of
one Bryan Mowbury, whose name used to be Bern-
hard 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 coun-
try. One day she lunches with a woman spy, whose
lover was caught and shot by the French. Then she
goes out motoring with ..
“But why in Heaven's name are all these people
allowed to run loose?”' broke in Desmond. “Do you
mean to say you can't arrest them?"
“Arrest 'em? Arrest 'em! Of course, we can
arrest 'em. But what's the use! They're all small
fry, and we have to keep out a few lines baited with


NUR-EL-DIN
69
minnows to catch the Tritons. None of 'em can do
any harm: we watch 'em much too closely for that.
Once you've located your spy, the battle's won. It's
when he or it may be a she-is running loose, that
I get peeved!”
The Chief sprang impatiently to his feet and
strode across the smoking-room, which was all but
empty by this time, to get a match from a table. He
resumed his seat with a grunt of exasperation.
“I can't see light, Okewood!” he sighed, shaking
his head.
“But is this all you've got against Nur-el-Din?”
asked Desmond.
“No," answered the other slowly, “it isn't. If it
were, I need not have called you in. We would have
interned or deported her. No, we've traced back to
her a line leading straight from the only member of
the new organization we have been able to lay by
the heels."
“Then you've made an arrest?”
The Chief nodded.
"A fortnight ago
... a respectable, retired Eng-
lish business man, by name of Basil Bellward.
taken with the goods on him, as the saying is .
“An Englishman, by Jove!”
“It's hardly correct to call him an Englishman,
though he's posed as an English business man for
so long that one is almost justified in doing so. As
a matter of fact, the fellow is a German named Wolf-
gang Brühl, and it is my belief that he was planted
in this country at least a dozen years ago solely for
>
.


70
OKEWOOD OF THE SECRET SERVICE
the purpose of furnishing him with good, respectable
credentials for an emergency like this."
“But surely if you found evidence of his connec-
tion with this gang of spies, it should be easy to get
a clue to the rest of the crowd ?"
“Not so easy as you think,” the Chief replied.
“The man who organized this system of espionage
is a master at his craft. He has been careful to seal
both ends of every connection, that is to say, though
we found evidence of Master Bellward-Brühl being
in possession of highly confidential information re-
lating to the movements of troops, we discovered
nothing to show whence he received it or how or
where he was going to forward it. But we did find a
direct thread leading straight back to Nur-el-Din.”
“Really,” said Desmond, “that rather compli-
cates things for her, doesn't it?"
“It was in the shape of a letter of introduction, in
French, without date or address, warmly recom-
mending the dancer to our friend, Bellward."
"Who is this letter from?"
“It is simply signed ‘P.,' but you shall see it for
yourself when you get the other documents in the
case."
.
“But surely, sir, such a letter might be presented
in perfectly good faith .?"
“It might, but not this one. This letter, as an
expert has ascertained beyond all doubt, is written
on German manufactured note-paper of a very su-
perior quality; the writing is stiff and angular and
not French: and lastly, the French in which it is


NUR-EL-DIN
71
phrased, while correct, is unusually pompous and
elaborate."
y
“Then ...
“The letter was, in all probability, written by a
German!"
There was a moment's silence. Desmond was
thinking despairingly of the seeming hopelessness of
untangling this intricate webwork of tangled threads.
“And this murder, sir," he began.
The Chief shrugged his shoulders.
“The motive, Okewood, I am searching for the
motive. I can see none except the highly improbable
one of Miss Mackwayte being my confidential secre-
tary. 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 Bar-
ney'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 coinci-
dence that a hair, resembling Nur-el-Din's, is found
adhering to the straps with which Barbara Mack-
wayte was bound? I can't think so
and yet
.
“But do you believe then, that Nur-el-Din mur-
dered old Mackwayte? My dear .Chief, the idea is
preposterous.
The Chief rose from his chair with a sigh.
“Nothing is preposterous in our work, Okewood,"


72
OKEWOOD OF THE SECRET SERVICE
he replied. “But it's 3.25, and my French colleague
hates to be kept waiting.'
“I thought you were seeing Strangwise at two?"
asked Desmond.
“I put him off until six o'clock," replied the Chief,
"he knows Nur-el-Din, and he may be able to give
Marigold some pointers about this affair. You're
off to see Miss Mackwayte now, I suppose. You
know where she's staying? Good. Well, I'll say
good-bye, Okewood. I shan't see you again ..."
“You won't see me again? How do you mean,
sir?"
“Because you're going back to France!”
“Going back to France? When?"
“By the leave-boat to-night!"
Desmond smiled resignedly.
“My dear Chief,” he said, "you must be more
explicit. What am I going back to France forf"
“Why, now I come to think of it,” replied the
Chief, “I never told you. You're going back to
France to be killed, of course!”
"To be killed!"
Desmond looked blankly at the other's blandly
smiling face.
“Two or three days from now," said the Chief,
"you will be killed in action in France. I thought
of making it a shell. But we'll have it a machine-
gun bullet if you like. Whichever you prefer--it
all the same to me!"
He laughed at the dawn of enlightenment in Des-
mond's eyes.


NUR-EL-DIN
73
“I see,” said Desmond.
“I hope you don't mind,” the Chief went on more
seriously, “but I know you have no people to con-
sider except your brother and his wife. She's in
America, and Francis can't possibly hear about it.
needn't worry on that score. Or do you?”
Desmond laughed.
“No-o-o!” he said slowly, “but I'm rather young
to die. Is it absolutely necessary for me to disap-
So you
pear?"
“Absolutely!” responded the Chief firmly.
“But how will we manage it?" asked Desmond.
“Catch the leave-boat to-night and don't worry.
You will receive your instructions in due course.'
“But when shall I see you again?”
The Chief chuckled.
“Depends entirely on yourself, Okewood,” he re-
torted. “When you're through with your job, I
expect. In the meantime, Miss Mackwayte will act
between us. On that point also you will be fully
instructed. And now I must fly!"
"But I say, sir,” Desmond interposed hastily.
“You haven't told me what I am to do. What part
am I to play in this business anyway?”
“To-morrow," said the Chief, buttoning up his
coat, "you become Mr. Basil Bellward!”
1


CHAPTER VIII
THE WHITE PAPER PACKAGE
A
TAXI was waiting in Pall Mall outside the
club and Desmond hailed it, though secretly
wondering what the driver would think of tak-
ing him out to Seven Kings. Rather to his surprise,
the man was quite affable, took the address of the
house where Barbara was staying with her friends
and bade Desmond "hop in.” Presently, for the sec-
ond time that day, he was heading for the Mile End
Road.
As they zigzagged in and out of the traffic, Des-
mond's thoughts were busy with the extraordinary
mission entrusted to him. So he was to sink his own
identity and don that of an Anglo-German business
man, his appearance, accent, habits, everything. The
difficulties of the task positively made him cold with
fear. The man must have relations, friends, busi-
ness acquaintances who would be sufficiently familiar
with his appearance and manner to penetrate, at any
rate in the long run, the most effective disguise.
What did Bellward look like? Where did he live?
How was he, Desmond, to disguise himself to re-
semble him? And, above all, when this knotty prob-
lem of make-up had been settled, how was he to pro-
74


THE WHITE PAPER PACKAGE
75
ceed? What should be his first step to pick out from
among all the millions of London's teeming populace
the one obscure individual who headed and directed
this gang of spies?
Why hadn't he asked the Chief all these questions?
What an annoying man the Chief was to deal with
to be sure? All said and done, what had he actually
told Desmond? That there was a German Secret
Service organization spying on the movements of
troops to France, that this man, Basil Bellward, who
had been arrested, was one of the gang and that the
dancer, Nur-el-Din, was in some way implicated in
the affair! And that was the extent of his confi-
dence! On the top of all this fog of obscurity rested
the dense cloud surrounding the murder of old Mack-
wayte with the unexplained, the fantastic, clue of
that single hair pointing back to Nur-el-Din.
Desmond consoled himself finally by saying that
he would be able to get some light on his mission
from Barbara Mackwayte, whom he judged to be in
the Chief's confidence. But here he was doomed to
disappointment. Barbara could tell him practically
nothing save what he already knew, that they were
to work together in this affair. Like him, she was
waiting for her instructions.
Barbara received him in a neat little suburban
drawing-room in the house of her friends, who lived
a few streets away from the Mackwaytes. She was
wearing a plainly-made black crêpe de chine dress
which served to accentuate the extreme pallor of
her face, the only outward indication of the great


26
OKEWOOD OF THE SECRET SERVICE
shock she had sustained. She was perfectly calm
and collected, otherwise, and she stopped Desmond
who would have murmured some phrases of con-
dolence.
“Ah, no, please," she said, “I don't think I can
speak about it yet.”
She pulled a chair over for him and began to talk
about the Chief.
“There's not the least need for you to worry," she
said with a little woeful smile, like a sun-ray piercing
a rain-cloud, "if the Chief says 'Go back to France
and wait for instructions,' you may be sure that
everything is arranged, and you will receive your
orders in due course. So shall I. That's the Chief
all over. Until you know him, you think he loves
mystery for mystery's sake. It isn't that at all. He
just doesn't trust us. He trusts nobody!”.
“But that hardly seems fair to us ...
Desmond.
"It's merely a precaution,” replied Barbara, “the
Chief takes no risks. I've not the least doubt that
he has decided to tell you nothing whatsoever about
your part until you are firmly settled in your new
rôle. I'm perfectly certain that every detail of your
part has already been worked out."
“Oh, that's not possible,” said Desmond. “Why,
he didn't know until an hour ago that I was going
to take on this job.'
Barbara laughed.
“The Chief has taught me a lot about judging
men by their looks," she said. “Personally, if I'd
" began


THE WHITE PAPER PACKAGE
77
been in the Chief's place, I should have gone ahead
without consulting you, too."
The girl spoke with such directness that there was
not the least suggestion of a compliment in her rc-
mark, but Desmond blushed to the roots of his hair.
Barbara noticed it and added hastily:
“I'm not trying to pay you a compliment: I'm
just judging by your type. I believe I can always
tell the man that will take on any job, however dan-
gerous, and carry it through to the end."
Desmond blushed more furiously than ever.
He made haste to divert the conversation into a
safer channel.
“Well,” he said slowly, "seeing that you and I
were intended to work together, it seems to me to be
a most extraordinary coincidence our meeting like
that last night ..."
“It was more than a coincidence,” said Barbara,
shaking her dark brown head. “Forty-eight hours
ago I'd never heard of you, then the Chief gave me
a telegram to send to your Divisional General sum-
moning you home, after that he told me that we were
to work together, and a few hours later I run into
you in Nur-el-Din's dressing-room .
She broke off suddenly, her gray eyes big with
fear. She darted across the room to an ormolu table
on which her handbag was lying. With astonish-
ment, 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.


78
OKEWOOD OF THE SECRET SERVICE
Presently she raised herself erect and turning,
faced the officer. She was trembling as though with
cold and when she spoke, her voice was low and
husky.
“Gone!” she whispered.
“Have you lost anything?" Desmond asked anxi.
ously.
“How could I have forgotten it?" she went on
as though he had not spoken, “how could I have
forgotten it? Nearly twelve hours wasted, and it
explains everything. What will the Chief think of
me?'
Slowly she sank down on the sofa where she had
been sitting, then, without any warning, dropped
her head into her hands and burst into tears.
Desmond went over to her.
“Please don't cry," he said gently, “you have
borne up so bravely against this terrible blow; you
must try and not let it overwhelm you.'
All her business-like calm had disappeared now:
she was that most distracting of all pictures of wom-
an, a pretty girl overwhelmed with grief. She
crouched curled upon the sofa, with shoulders heav-
ing, sobbing as though her heart would break.
“Perhaps you would like me to leave you?" Des-
mond asked. “Let me ring for your friends .
I am sure you would rather be alone!"
She raised a tear-stained face to his, her long lash-
es glittering
“No, no,” she said, “don't go, don't go! I want
your help. This is such a dark and dreadful busi-
.


THE WHITE PAPER PACKAGE
79
ness, more than I ever realized. Oh, my poor daddy,
my poor daddy!"
Again she hid her face in her hands and cried
whilst Desmond stood erect by her side, compassion-
ate but very helpless.
After a little, she dabbed her eyes with a tiny
square of cambric, and sitting up, surveyed the
other.
“I must go to the Chief at once, ” she said, “it
is most urgent. Would you ring and ask the maid
to telephone for a taxi?”
“I have one outside," answered Desmond. “But
won't you tell me what has happened?”
“Why,” said Barbara, "it has only just dawned
on me why our house was broken into last night and
poor daddy so cruelly murdered. Whoever robbed
the house did not come after our poor little bits of
silver or daddy's savings in the desk in the dining
room. They came after something that I had!"
“And what was that?'' asked Desmond.
Then Barbara told him of her talk with Nur-el-Din
in the dancer's dressing-room on the previous even-
ing and of the package which Nur-el-Din had en-
trusted to her care.
“This terrible business put it completely out of
my head," said Barbara. “In the presence of the
police this morning, I looked over my bedroom and
even searched my hand-bag which the police sent
back to me this afternoon without finding that the
burglars had stolen anything. It was only just now,
when we were talking about our meeting in Nur-el-


OKEWOOD OF THE SECRET SERVICE
Din's room last night, that her little package sudden-
ly flashed across my mind. And then I looked
through my handbag again and convinced myself
that it was not there."
“But are you sure the police haven't taken it?"
Absolutely certain," was the reply. “I remem-
ber perfectly what was in my hand-bag this morning
when I went through it, and the same things are on
that table over there now."
"Do you know what was in this package?” said
Desmond.
“Just a small silver box, oblong and quite plain,
about so big," she indicated the size with her hands,
"about as large as a cigarette-box. Nur-el-Din said
it was a treasured family possession of hers, and she
was afraid of losing it as she travelled about so much.
She asked me to say nothing about it and to keep it
until the war was over or until she asked me for it."
“Then,” said Desmond, “this clears Nur-el-Din!"
“What do you mean," said Barbara, looking up.
“Simply that she wouldn't have broken into your
place and killed your father in order to recover her
own package ..."
“But why on earth should Nur-el-Din be suspected
of such a thing?"
“Have you heard nothing about this young lady
from the Chief ?"
“Nothing. I had not thought anything about her
until daddy discovered an old friend in her last night
and introduced me."
The Chief's infernal caution again! thought Des-
79


THE WHITE PAPER PACKAGE
81
mond, secretly admiring the care with which that
remarkable man, in his own phrase, “sealed both
ends of every connection."
“If I'm to work with this girl,” said Desmond to
himself, “I'm going to have all the cards on the
table here and now," so forthwith he told her of the
Chief's suspicions of the dancer, the letter recom-
mending her to Bellward found when the cheese
merchant had been arrested, and lastly of the black
hair which had been discovered on the thongs with
which Barbara had been fastened.
“And now,” Desmond concluded, "the very next
thing we must do is to go to the Chief and tell him
about this package of Nur-el-Din's that is missing."
Barbara interposed quickly.
“It's no use your coming,” she said. “The Chief
won't see you. When he has sent a man on his mis-
sion, he refuses to see him again until the work has
been done. If he wishes to send for you or com-
municate with you, he will. But it's useless for you
to try and see him yourself. You can drop me at
the office!'
Desmond was inclined to agree with her on this
point and said so.
“There is one thing especially that puzzles me,
Miss Mackwayte,” Desmond observed as they drove
westward again, “and that is, how anyone could
have known about your having this box of Nur-el-
Din's. Was there anybody else in the room when she
gave you the package?”
“No," said Barbara, “I don't think so. Wait a
>>


82
OKEWOOD OF THE SECRET SERVICE
99
minute, though, Nur-el-Din's maid must have come
in very shortly after for I remember she opened the
door when Captain Strangwise came to tell me daddy
was waiting to take me home.”
“Do you remember if Nur-el-Din actually men-
tioned the package in the presence of the maid?”
“As far as I can recollect just as the maid opened
the door to Captain Strangwise, Nur-el-Din was im-
pressing on me again to take great care of the pack-
age. I don't think she actually mentioned the box
but I remember her pointing at my bag where I had
put the package.'
"The maid didn't see Nur-el-Din give you the
box?"
“No, I'm sure of that. The room was empty save
for us two. It was only just before Captain Strang-
wise knocked that I noticed Marie arranging Nur-
el-Din's dresses. She must have come in afterwards
without my seeing her.”
“Well then, this girl, Marie, didn't see the dancer
give you the box but she heard her refer to it. Is
that right?”
“Yes, and, of course, Captain Strangwise
“What about him?"
“He must have heard what Nur-el-Din was saying,
too!"
Desmond rubbed his chin.
"I say, you aren't going to implicate old Strang-
wise, too, are you?” he asked.
Barbara did not reflect his smile.
"He seems to know Nur-el-Din pretty well," she
.


THE WHITE PAPER PACKAGE
83
said, "and I'll tell you something else, that woman's
afraid of your friend, the Captain!”
“What do you mean?” asked Desmond.
“I was watching her in the glass last night as he
was talking to her while you and I and daddy were
chatting in the corner. I don't know what he said
to her, but she glanced over her shoulder with a look
of terror in her eyes. I was watching her face in the
glass. She looked positively hunted!”
The taxi stopped. Desmond jumped out and
helped his companion to alight.
“ Au revoir,” she said to him, “never fear, you
and I will meet very soon again!”
With that she was gone. Desmond looked at his
watch. It pointed to a quarter to six.
"Now I wonder what time the leave-train starts to-
night,” he said aloud, one foot on the sideboard of
the taxi.
“At 7.45, sir," said a voice.
Desmond glanced round him. Then he saw it was
the taxi-driver who had spoken.
"7.45, eh?” said Desmond. “From Victoria, I
suppose?”
“Yes, sir," said the taxi-man.
“By Jove, I haven't much time," ejaculated the
officer, “and there are some things I want to get
before I go back across the Channel. And I shall
have to see the Railway Transport Officer about my
pass.”
“That's all right, sir," said the taxi-man, "I have
your papers here”; he handed Desmond a couple of


84
OKEWOOD OF THE SECRET SERVICE
slips of paper which he took from his coat-pocket;
“those will take you back to France all right, I think
you'll find!"
Desmond looked at the papers: they were quite in
order and correctly filled up
with his
name,
rank and
regiment, and date.
The taxi-man cut short any further question by
saying: -
“If you'll get into the cab again, sir, I'll drive
you where you want to go, and then wait while you
have your dinner and take you to the station. By
the way, your dinner's ordered too!”
“But who the devil are you?” asked Desmond in
amazement.
“On special service, the same as you, sir!" said
the man with a grin and Desmond understood.
Really, the Chief was extremely thorough.
They went to the stores in the Haymarket, to Fort-
num and Mason's, and lastly, to a small, grubby shop
at the back of Mayfair where Desmond and his
brother had bought their cigarettes for years past.
Desmond purchased a hundred of their favored
brand, the Dionysus, as a reserve for his journey
back to France, and stood chatting over old times
with the fat, oily-faced Greek manager as the latter
tied up his cigarettes into a clean white paper parcel,
neatly sealed up with red sealing wax.
Then Desmond drove back to the Nineveh Hotel
where he left his taxi-driving colleague in the court-
yard on the understanding that at 7.25 the taxi would
be waiting to drive him to the station.


THE WHITE PAPER PACKAGE
85
Desmond went straight upstairs to his room to put
his kit together. In the strong, firmly woven web
spread by the Chief, he felt as helpless as a fly caught
in a spider's mesh. He had no idea of what his
plans were. He only knew that he was going back to
France, and that it was his business to get on the
leave-boat that night.
As he passed along the thickly carpeted, silent
corridor to his room, he saw the door of Strang-
wise'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
paper parcels, a case of razors, different articles of
kit, and some books. Desmond halted at the door,
his box of cigarettes dangling from his finger.
Hullo, Maurice,” he said, “are you off, too?!!
Strangwise spun round sharply. The blood had
rushed to his face, staining it with a dark, angry
flush.
“My God, how you startled me!” he exclaimed
rather testily. “I never heard you come in!”
He turned rather abruptly and went on with his
packing. He struck Desmond as being rather an-
noyed at the intrusion; the latter had never seen him
out of temper before.
"Sorry if I butted in,” said Desmond, sliding his
box of cigarettes off his finger on to the littered table
and sitting down on a chair. “I came in to say
good-bye. I'm going back to France to-night!"
Maurice looked round quickly. He appeared to


86
OKEWOOD OF THE SECRET SERVICE
be quite his old self again and was all smiles now.
“So soon?” he said. “Why, I thought you were
getting a job at the War Office !"
Desmond shook his head.
“Not good enough,” he replied, “it's back to the
sandbags for mine. But where are you off to?”
“Got a bit of leave; the Intelligence folk seem to
be through with me at last, so they've given me six
weeks!”
“Going to the country?” asked Desmond.
Strangwise nodded.
“Yep,” he said, “down to Essex to see if I can
get a few duck or snipe on the fens. I wish you
were coming with me!”
“So do I, old man, » echoed Desmond heartily.
Then he added in a serious voice:
“By the way, I haven't seen you since last night.
What a shocking affair this is about old Mackwayte,
isn't it? Are there any developments, do you
know?"
Strangwise very deliberately fished a cigarette out
of his case which was lying open on the table and lit
it before replying.
“A very dark affair," he said, blowing out a cloud
of smoke and flicking the match into the grate. “You
are discreet, I know, Okewood. The Intelligence
people had me up this morning ... to take my
evidence.
Strangwise's surmise about Desmond's discretion
I was perfectly correct. With Desmond Okewood dis-
cretion was second nature, and therefore he an-


THE WHITE PAPER PACKAGE
87
swered with feigned surprise:“Your evidence about
what? About our meeting the Mackwaytes last
night?”
After he had spoken he realized he had blundered.
Surely, after all, the Chief would have told Strang-
wise about their investigations at Seven Kings.
Still ..
“No," replied Strangwise, “but about Nur-el-
Din!"
The Chief had kept his own counsel about their
morning's work. Desmond was glad now that he
had dissimulated.
“You see, I know her pretty well,” Strangwise
continued, “between ourselves, I got rather struck
on the lady when she was touring in Canada some
years ago, and in fact I spent so much more money
that I could afford on her that I had to discontinue
the acquaintance. Then I met her here when I got
away from Germany a month ago; she was lonely
so I took her about a bit. Okewood, I'm afraid I
was rather indiscreet."
“How do you mean?'' Desmond asked innocently.
“Well,” said Strangwise slowly, contemplating
the end of his cigarette, “it appears that the lady is
involved in certain activities which considerably in-
terest our Intelligence. But there, I mustn't say any
more!"
“But how on earth is Nur-el-what's her name con-
cerned in this murder, Maurice?”
Strangwise shrugged his shoulders.
“Ah, you'd better ask the police. But I tell you


88
OKEWOOD OF THE SECRET SERVICE
she'll be getting into trouble if she's not careful!"
Throughout this conversation Desmond seemed to
hear in his ears Barbara's words: “That woman's
afraid of your friend!" He divined that for some
reason or other, Strangwise wanted to create a bad
impression in his mind about the dancer. He scanned
Maurice's face narrowly. Its impenetrability was
absolute. There was nothing to be gleaned from
those careless, smiling features.
“Well," said Desmond, getting up, "nous ver-
rons. I shall have to make a bolt for it now if I don't
want to miss my train. Good-bye, Maurice, and I
hope you'll get some birds!"
“Thanks, old man. Au revoir, and take care of
yourself. My salaams to the General!”
They shook hands warmly, then Desmond grabbed
his box of cigarettes in its neat white wrapper with
the bold red seals and hurried off to his room.
Strangwise stood for a moment gazing after him.
He was no longer the frank, smiling companion of
a minute before. His mouth was set hard and his
chin stuck out at a defiant angle.
He bent over the table and picked up a white paper
package sealed with bold red seals. He poised it for
a moment in his hands while a flicker of a smile stole
into the narrow eyes and played for an instant round
the thin lips. Then, with a quick movement, he thrust
the little package into the side pocket of his tunio
and buttoned the flap.
Whistling a little tune, he went on with his pack-
ing.


CHAPTER IX
METAMORPHOSIS
IT
T was a clear, cold night. A knife-edge icy wind
blew from the north-east and kept the lanyards
dismally flapping on the flag-mast over the cus-
toms house. The leave train lay in the station within
a biscuit's throw of the quayside and the black, blank
Channel beyond, a long line of cheerfully illuminated
windows that to those returning from leave seemed
as the last link with home.
The Corporal of Military Police, who stood at the
gangway examining the passes, stopped Desmond
Okewood as the latter held out his pass into the rays
of the man's lantern.
“There was a message for you, sir,” said the Cor-
poral. “The captain of the Staff boat would h-esteem
it a favor, sir, if you would kindly go to his cabin
immediately on h-arriving on board, sir!"
“Very good, Corporal!" answered the officer and
passed up the gang plank, enviously regarded by the
press of brass-hats and red-tabs who, for the most
part, had a cramped berth below or cold quarters on
deck to look forward to.
A seaman directed Desmond to the Captain's
cabin. It was built out just behind the bridge, a
89


90
OKEWOOD OF THE SECRET SERVICE
snug, cheery room with bright chintz curtains over
the carefully screened portholes, a couple of com-
fortable benches with leather seats along the walls, a
small bunk, and in the middle of the floor a table set
out with a bottle of whiskey, a siphon and some
glasses together with a box of cigars.
The Captain was sitting there chatting to the pilot,
a short, enormously broad man with a magenta face
and prodigious hands which were folded round a
smoking glass of toddy.
“Pick 'em up? Rescue 'em?” the pilot ejacu-
lated, as Desmond walked in, “I'd let 'em sink, every
man Jack o' them, the outrageous murderin' scoun-
drels. I don't like to hear you a-talking of such
nonsense, Cap'en!”
On Desmond's entrance the Captain broke off the
conversation. He proved to be a trimly-built man
of about fifty with a grizzled beard, and an air of
quiet efficiency which is not uncommonly found in
seamen. The pilot drained his glass and, scrambling
to his feet, nodded to Desmond and stumped out into
the cold night air.
“Jawin' about the U boats !” said the Captain,
with a jerk of his head towards the cabin door, “I
don't know what the feelings of your men in the
trenches are towards Fritz, Major, but I tell you that
no German will dare set foot in any coast port of the
United Kingdom in my life-time or yours, either!
Accommodation's a bit narrow on board. I thought
maybe you'd care to spend the night up here!"
“Any orders about me?” asked Desmond.


METAMORPHOSIS
91
The Captain went a shade deeper mahogany in the
face.
“Oh no," he replied, with an elaborate assumption
of innocence. “But won't you mix yourself a drink?
And try one of my cigars, a present from a skipper
friend of mine who sailed into Tilbury from Manila
last week."
Desmond sat in the snug cabin, puffing a most ex-
cellent 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, inhos-
pitable lighthouses, threading their way through the
dark shapes of warcraft of all kinds into the open
Channel. There was a good deal of swell, but the
sea was calm, and the vessel soon steadied down to
a regular rise and fall.
They had been steaming for nearly an hour when,
through the open door of the cabin, Desmond saw
a seaman approach the captain on the bridge. He
handed the skipper a folded paper.
“From the wireless operator, sir!" Desmond
heard him say.
The skipper scanned it. Then the engine telegraph
rang sharply, there was the sound of churning water,
and the vessel slowed down. The next moment the
Captain appeared at the door of the cabin.
“I'm afraid we're going to lose you, Major,” he
said pleasantly, "a destroyer is coming up to take
you off. There was a wireless from the Admiral
about
you.”


92
OKEWOOD OF THE SECRET SERVICE
you know?"
“Where are they going to take me, do
asked Desmond.
The Captain shook his head.
“I haven't an idea. I've only got to hand you
over!"
He grinned and added:
“Where's your kit?”
“In the hold, I expect!" answered Desmond. “The
porter at Victoria told me not to worry about it, and
that I should find it on the other side. And, oh damn
it! I've got a hundred cigarettes in my kit, too! I
bought them specially for the journey!”
“Well, take some of my cigars," said the skipper
hospitably, "for your traps'll have to go to France
this trip, Major. There's no time to get 'em up now.
I'll pass the word to the Military Landing Officer
over there about 'em, if you like. He'll take care of
'em for you. Now will you come with me?"
Desmond scrambled into his coat and followed
the Captain down the steps to the deck. A little dis-
tance away from the vessel, the long shape of a de-
stroyer was dimly visible tossing to and fro in the
heavy swell. A ladder had been let down over the
side of the steamer, and at its foot a boat, manned
by a number of heavily swathed and muffled forms,
was pitching.
A few officers stood by the rail watching the scene
with interest. The skipper adroitly piloted Des-
mond past them and fairly thrust him out on to the
ladder.
Desmond took the hint and with a hasty “Good


METAMORPHOSIS
93
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 re-
sumed her interrupted voyage whilst the rowing boat
was headed towards the destroyer. On board the
latter vessel an officer met Desmond at the rail and
piloted him to the ward-room. Almost before they
got there, the destroyer was under way.
The officer who had welcomed him proved to be
the second in command, a joyous person who did
the honors of the tiny ward-room with the aplomb
of a Commander in a super-Dreadnought. He mixed
Desmond a drink and immediately started to con-
verse about life at the front without giving the other
a chance of asking whither they were bound.
The suspense was not of long duration, however,
for in about half an hour's time, the destroyer slowed
down and Desmond's host vanished. When he re-
appeared, it was to summon Desmond on deck.
They lay aside a mole by some steps cut in the
solid concrete. Here Desmond's host took leave of
him.
“There should be a car waiting for you up there,"
he said.
There on top of the mole, exposed to the keen blast
of the wind, a large limousine was standing. A
chauffeur, who looked blue with cold, got down from
his seat as Desmond emerged from the stairs and
touched his cap.
“Major Okewood?” he asked.


94
OKEWOOD OF THE SECRET SERVICE
“That's my name!” said Desmond.
“If you'll get in, sir, we'll start at once!" the man
replied.
Befogged and bewildered, Desmond entered the
car, which cautiously proceeded along the break-
water, with glimpses of black water and an occa-
sional dim light on either hand. They bumped over
the railway-lines and rough cobblestones of a dock-
yard, glided through a slumbering town, and so
gradually drew out into the open country where the
car gathered speed and fairly raced along the white,
winding road. Desmond had not the faintest idea of
their whereabouts or ultimate destination. He was
fairly embarked on the great adventure now, and he
was philosophically content to let Fate have its way
with him. He found himself wondering rather indo-
lently what the future had in store.
The car slowed down and the chauffeur switched
the head-lights on. Their blinding glare revealed
some white gate-posts at the entrance of a quiet
country station. Desmond looked at his watch. It
was half-past one. The car stopped at the entrance
to the booking-office where a man in an overcoat and
bowler was waiting.
“This way, Major, please,” said the man in the
bowler, and led the way into the dark and silent sta-
tion. 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 fur-
nace Desmond recognized his companion. It was
Matthews, the Chief's confidential clerk.


METAMORPHOSIS
95
Matthews held open the door of the Pullman for
Desmond and followed him into the carriage. A
gruff voice in the night shouted:
“All right, Charley!” a light was waved to and
fro, and the special pulled out of the echoing station
into the darkness beyond.
In the corner of the Pullman a table was laid for
supper. There was a cold chicken, a salad, and a
bottle of claret. On another table was a large tin
box and a mirror with a couple of electric lights be-
fore it. At this table was seated a small man with
gray hair studying a large number of photographs.
“If you will have your supper, Major Okewood,
sir," said Matthews, “Mr. Crook here will get to
work. We've not got too much time.'
The sea air had made Desmond ravenously hun-
gry. He sat down promptly and proceeded to de-
molish 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 col-
lector 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.
“Matthews,” said Desmond as he supped, “would
it be indiscreet to ask where we are?"


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OKEWOOD OF THE SECRET SERVICE
“In Kent, Major," replied Matthews.
“What station was that we started from
“Faversham."
“And where are we going, might I inquire?”
“To Cannon Street, sir!”
"And from there?"
Mr. Matthews coughed discreetly.
“I can't really say, sir, I'm sure! A car will meet
you there and I can go home to bed.'
The ends sealed again! thought Desmond. What
a man of caution, the Chief!
“And this gentleman here, Matthews?” asked
Desmond, lighting one of the skipper's cigars.
“That, sir, is Mr. Crook, who does any little jobs
we require in the way of make-up. Our expert on
resemblances, if I may put it that way, sir, for we
really do very little in the way of disguises. Mr.
Crook is an observer of what I may call people's
points, sir, their facial appearance, their little pecu-
liarities of manner, of speech, of gait. Whenever
there is any question of a disguise, Mr. Crook is
called in to advise as to the possibilities of success.
I believe I am correct in saying, Crook, that you have
been engaged on the Major here for some time. Isn't
it so?"
Crook looked up a minute from his table.
"That's right,” he said shortly, and resumed his
occupation of examining the photographs.
“And what's your opinion about this disguise of
mine?" Desmond asked him.
“I can make a good job of you, Major," said the


98
OKEWOOD OF THE SECRET SERVICE
cut away coat and waistcoat of the same tweed stuff,
a black bowler hat of rather an old-fashioned and
staid pattern, and a black overcoat with a velvet col-
lar, he left in the compartment where he changed.
He found that Crook had opened his tin box and
set out a great array of grease paints, wigs, twists
of tow of various colors, and a number of pots and
phials of washes and unguents together with a whole
battery of fine paint brushes. In his hand he held a
pair of barber's clippers and the tips of a comb and
a pair of scissors protruded from his vest pocket.
Crook whisked a barber's wrap round Desmond
and proceeded, with clippers and scissors, to crop
and trim his crisp black hair.
“Tst-tst” he clicked with his tongue. “I didn't
realize your hair was so dark, Major. It'll want a
dash of henna to lighten it.”
The man worked with incredible swiftness. His
touch was light and sure, and Desmond, looking at
his reflection in the glass, wondered to see what fine,
delicate hands this odd little expert possessed. Mat-
thews sat and smoked in silence and watched the
operation, whilst the special ran on steadily London-
wards.
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 crêpe 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


METAMORPHOSIS
99
with this nasty messy beard once you get indoors.
You can grow your own beard, and I'll pop in and
henna it a bit for you every now and then.”
There was the smart of spirit gum on Desmond's
cheeks and Crook gently applied a strip of tow to
his face. He had taken the mirror away so that Des-
mond could no longer see the effect of the gradual
metamorphosis.
“A mirror only confuses me," said the expert,
breathing hard as he delicately adjusted the false
beard, “I've got this picture firm in my head, and
I want to get it transferred to your face. Somehow
a mirror puts me right off. It's the reality I want."
As he grew more absorbed in his work, he ceased
to speak altogether. He finished the beard, trimmed
the eyebrows, applied a dash of henna with a brush,
leaning backwards continually to survey the effect.
He sketched in a wrinkle or two round the eyes with
a pencil, wiped them out, then put them in again.
Then he fumbled in his tin box, and produced two
thin slices of grey rubber.
“Sorry, we said, “I'm afraid you'll have to wear
these inside your cheeks to give the effect of round-
ness. You've got an oval face and the other man
has a round one. I can get the fullness of the throat
by giving you a very low collar, rather open and a
size too large for you."
Desmond obediently slipped the two slices of rub-
ber into his mouth and tucked them away on either
side of his upper row of teeth. They were not par.
ticularly uncomfortable to wear,
AL


100
OKEWOOD OF THE SECRET SERVICE
"There's your specs,” said Crook, handing him a
spectacle case, “and there's the collar. Now if you'll
put on the rest of the duds, we'll have a look at you,
sir."
Desmond went out and donned the vest and coat
and overcoat, and, thus arrayed, returned to the
Pullman, hat in hand.
Crook called out to him as he entered:
“Not so springy in the step, sir, if you please.
Remember you're forty-three years of age with a
Continental upbringing. You'll have to walk like
a German, toes well turned out and down on the heel
every time. So, that's better. Now, have a look at
yourself!"
He turned and touched a blind. A curtain rolled
up with a click, disclosing a full length mirror im-
mediately opposite Desmond.
Desmond recoiled in astonishment. He could
scarcely credit his own eyes. The glass must be be-
witched, he thought for a moment, quite overwhelmed
by the suddenness of the shock. For instead of the
young face set on a slight athletic body that the glass
was wont to show him, he saw a square, rather solid
man in ugly, heavy clothes, with a brown silky beard
and gold spectacles. The disguise was baffling in its
completeness. The little wizard, who had effected
this change and who now stood by, bashfully twisting
his fingers about, had transformed youth into middle
age. And the bewildering thing was that the success
of the disguise did not lie so much in the external ad-
juncts, the false beard, the pencilled wrinkles, as in


METAMORPHOSIS
IOI
the hideous collar, the thick padded clothes, in short,
in the general appearance.
For the first time since his talk with the Chief at
the United Service Club, Desmond felt his heart
grow light within him. If such miracles were pos-
sible, then he could surmount the other difficulties
as well.
“Crook,” he said, “I think you've done wonders.
What do you say, Matthews?”
“I've seen a lot of Mr. Crook's work in my day,
sir,” answered the clerk, “but nothing better than
this. It's a masterpiece, Crook, that's what it is."
“I'm fairly well satisfied,” the expert murmured
modestly, “and I must say the Major carries it off
very well. But how goes the enemy, Matthews?”
“It's half past two,” replied the latter, “we
should reach Cannon Street by three. She's running
well up to time, I think.”
“We've got time for a bit of a rehearsal,” said
Crook. “Just watch me, will you please, Major, and
I'll try and give you an impression of our friend.
I've been studying him at Brixton for the past twelve
days, day and night almost, you might say, and I
think I can convey an idea of his manner and walk.
The walk is a very important point. Now, here is
Mr. Bellward meeting one of his friends. Mr. Mat-
thews, you
will be the friend!”
Then followed one of the most extraordinary per-
formances that Desmond had ever witnessed. By
some trick of the actor's art, the shrivelled figure of
the expert seemed to swell out and thicken, while his


102
OKEWOOD OF THE SECRET SERVICE
low, gentle voice deepened into a full, metallic bari-
tone. Of accent in his speech there was none, but
Desmond's ear, trained to foreigners' English, could
detect a slight Continental intonation, a little roll of
the "r's," an unfamiliar sound about those open
“o's" of the English tongue, which are so fatal a
trap for foreigners speaking our language. As he
watched Crook, Desmond glanced from time to time
at the photograph of Bellward which he had picked
up from the table. He had an intuition that Bellward
behaved and spoke just as the man before him.
Then, at Crook's suggestion, Desmond assumed
the role of Bellward. The expert interrupted him
continually.
"The hands, Major, the hands, you must not keep
them down at your sides. That is military! You
must move them when you speak! So and so!”
Or again:
“You speak too fast. Too ... too youthfully,
if
you understand
me,
sir. You are a man of middle
age. Life has no further secrets for you. You are
poised and getting a trifle ponderous. Now try
· again!”
But the train was slackening speed. They were
running between black masses of squalid houses. As
the special thumped over the bridge across the river,
Mr. Crook gathered up his paints and brushes and
photographs and arranged them neatly in his black
tin box.
To Desmond he said:
“I shall be coming along to give you some more


METAMORPHOSIS
103
lessons very soon, Major. I wish you could see Bell-
ward 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 present-
ed himself at the door of the Pullman.
“The car is there, Mr. Bellward, sir!” he said,
helping Desmond to alight. Desmond, preparing to
assume his new rôle, was about to leave the carriage
when a sudden thought struck him. What about his
uniform strewn about the compartment where he had
changed? He ran back. The compartment was
empty. Not a trace remained of the remarkable
scenes of their night journey.
“This is for you,” said the young man, handing
Desmond a note as they walked down the platform.
Outside the station a motor-car with its noisy
throbbing awoke the echoes of the darkened and
empty courtyard. Desmond waited until he was be-
ing whirled over the smooth asphalt of the City
streets before he opened the letter.
He found a note and a small key inside the en-
velope.
“On reaching the house to which you will be con-
veyed,” the note said, “you will remain indoors until
further orders. You can devote your time to study-
ing the papers you will find in the desk beside the
bed. For the present you need not fear detection as


104
OKEWOOD OF THE SECRET SERVICE
long as you do not leave the house." Then followed
a few rough jottings obviously for his guidance.
“Housekeeper, Martha, half blind, stupid; odd
man, John Hill, mostly invisible, no risk from either.
You are confined to house with heavy chill. Do not
go out until you get the word.”
The last sentence was twice underlined.
The night was now pitch-dark. Heavy clouds had
come up and obscured the stars and a drizzle of rain
was falling. The car went forward at a good pace
and Desmond, after one or two ineffectual attempts
to make out where they were going, was lulled by
the steady motion into a deep sleep. He was dream-
ing fitfully of the tossing Channel as he had seen it
but a few hours before when he came to his senses
with a start. He felt a cold draught of air on his
face and his feet were dead with cold.
A figure stood at the open door of the car. It was
the chauffeur.
“Here we are, sir," he said.
Desmond stiffly descended to the ground. It was
so dark that he could distinguish nothing, but he felt
the grit of gravel under his feet and he heard the
melancholy gurgle of running water. He took a step
forward and groped his way into a little porch smell-
ing 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 ad-
venture, he wanted to cling desperately to this last
link with his old self. But the chauffeur did not or


METAMORPHOSIS
105
would not hear, and presently the sound of the en-
gine died away, leaving Desmond to the darkness,
the sad splashing of distant water and his own
thoughts.
And then, for one brief moment, all his cour-
age seemed to ooze out of him. If he had followed
his instinct, he would have turned and fled into the
night, away from that damp and silent house, away
from the ceaseless splashing of waters, back to the
warmth and lights of civilization. But his sense of
humor, which is very often better than courage,
came to his rescue.
“I suppose I ought to be in the devil of a rage,
he said to himself, “being kept waiting like this out-
side my own house! Where the deuce is my house-
keeper? By Gad, I'll ring the place down!”
The conceit amused him, and he advanced further
into the musty porch hoping to find a bell. But as
he did so his ear caught the distant sound of shuffling
feet. The shuffle of feet drew nearer and presently
a beam of light shone out from under the door. A
quavering voice called out:
“Here I am, Mr. Bellward, here I am, sir!”
Then a bolt was drawn back, a key turned, and the
door swung slowly back, revealing an old woman,
swathed in a long shawl and holding high in her
hand a lamp as she peered out into the darkness.
“Good evening, Martha,'
” said Desmond, and
stepped into the house.
Save for Martha's lamp, the lobby was in darkness,
but light was streaming into the hall from the half


106
OKEWOOD OF THE SECRET SERVICE
open door of a room leading off it at the far end.
While Martha, wheezing asthmatically, bolted the
front door, Desmond went towards the room where
the light was and walked in.
It was a small sitting-room, lined with bookshelves,
illuminated by an oil lamp which stood on a little
table beside a chintz-covered settee which had been
drawn up in front of the dying fire.
On the settee Nur-el-Din was lying asleep.


CHAPTER X
D. 0. B. A. IS BAFFLED
W
THEN Barbara reached the Chief's ante-room
she found it full of people. Mr. Marigold
was there, chatting with Captain Strangwise
who seemed to be just taking his leave; there was a
short, fat, Jewish-looking man, very resplendently
dressed with a large diamond pin in his cravat and a
small, insignificant looking gentleman with a gray
moustache and the red rosette of the Legion of Hon-
or in his button-hole. Matthews came out of the
Chief's room as Barbara entered the outer office.
“Miss Mackwayte," he said, "we are all so
shocked and so very sorry ..
“Mr. Matthews,” she said hastily in a low voice,
"never mind about that now. I must see the Chief
at once. It is most urgent.”
Matthews gesticulated with his arm round the
room.
“All these people, excepting the officer there, are
waiting to see him, Miss, and he's got a dinner en-
gagement at eight ...
“It is urgent, Mr. Matthews, I tell you.
If
you
won't take my name in, I shall go in myself !”
“Miss Mackwayte, I daren't interrupt him now.
Do you know who's with him ...?"
107


108 OKEWOOD OF THE SECRET SERVICE
Strangwise crossed the room to where Barbara
was standing.
“I can guess what brings you here, Miss Mack-
wayte,” he said gently. "I hope you will allow me
to express my condolences .?"
The girl shrank back, almost imperceptibly, yet
Strangwise, whose eyes were fixed on her pale face,
noticed the spontaneous recoil. The sunshine seemed
to fade out of his debonair countenance, and for a
moment Barbara Mackwayte saw Maurice Strang-
wise as very few people had ever seen him, stern and
cold and hard, without a vestige of his constant smile.
But the shadow lifted as quickly as it had fallen. His
face had resumed its habitually engaging expression
as he murmured:
"Believe
me, I am truly sorry
for
"Thank you, thank you!” Barbara said hastily
and brushed past him. She walked straight across
the room to the door of the Chief's room, turned the
handle and walked in.
The room was in darkness save for an electric
reading lamp on the desk which threw a beam of
light on the faces of two men thrust close together in
eager conversation. One was the Chief, the other a
face that Barbara knew well from the illustrated pa-
pers.
At the sound of the door opening, the Chief sprang
to his feet.
“Oh, it's Miss Mackwayte," he said, and added
something in a low voice to the other man who had
risen to his feet. “My dear,” he continued aloud to
you!”


METAMORPHOSIS
109
Barbara, "I will see you immediately; we must not
be disturbed now. Matthews should have told you.
“Chief,” cried Barbara, her hands clasped con-
vulsively together, "you must hear me now. What
I have to say cannot wait. Oh, you must hear me!”
The Chief looked as embarrassed as a man usually
looks when he is appealed to in a busy moment by an
extremely attractive girl.
“Miss Mackwayte,” he said firmly but with great
courtesy, “you must wait outside. I know how un-
nerved you are by all that you have gone through,
but I am engaged just now.
I shall be free pres-
ently."
“It is about my father, Chief,” Barbara said in a
trembling voice, “I have found out what they came
to get!”
"Ah!” said the Chief and the other man simul-
taneously.
“We had better hear what she has to say!” said
the other man, “but won't you introduce me first?”
“This is Sir Bristowe Marr, the First Sea Lord,'
said the Chief, bringing up a chair for Barbara,
“Miss Mackwayte, my secretary, Admiral!"
Then in a low impassioned voice Barbara told her
tale of the package entrusted to her by Nur-el-Din
and its disappearance from her bedroom on the night
of the murder. As she proceeded a deep furrow ap-
peared between the Chief's bushy eyebrows and he
stared absently at the blotting-pad in front of him.
When the girl had finished her story, the Chief said
decisively:
7


IIO
OKEWOOD OF THE SECRET SERVICE
"Lambelet ought to hear this, sir: he's the head
of the French Intelligence, you know. He's outside
now. Shall we have him in! Miss Mackwayte shall
tell her story, and you can then hear what Lambelet
has to say about this versatile young dancer.”
Without waiting for further permission, he
pressed a bell on the desk and presently Matthews
ushered in the small man with the Legion of Honor
whom Barbara had seen in the ante-room.
The Chief introduced the Frenchman and in a few
words explained the situation to him. Then he
turned to Barbara:
“Colonel Lambelet speaks English perfectly,” he
said, “so fire away and don't be nervous!"
When she had finished, the Chief said, addressing
Lambelet:
“What do you make of it, Colonel?”
The little Frenchman made an expressive gesture.
“Madame has become aware of the interest you
have been taking in her movements, mon cher. She
seized the opportunity of this meeting with the
daughter of her old friend to get rid of something
compromising, a code or something of the kind, qui
sait? Perhaps this robbery and its attendant mur-
der 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, Col-
onel, that this woman is a spy?” The clear-cut voice
of the First Sea Lord rang out of the darkness of the
room outside the circle of light on the desk.


D. O. R. A. BAFFLED
III
"Mais certainement!” replied the Frenchman
quietly. “Listen and you shall hear! By birth she
is a Pole, from Warsaw, of good, perhaps, even, of
noble family. I cannot tell you, for her real name
we have not been able to ascertain .. parbleu,
it is impossible, with the Boches at Warsaw, hein?
We know, however, that at a very early age, under
the name of la petite Marcelle, she was a member of
a troupe of acrobats who called themselves The Sev-
en Duponts. With this troupe she toured all over
Europe. Bien! About ten years ago, she went out
to New York as a singer, under the name of Marcelle
Blondinet, and appeared at various second-class
theatres in the United States and Canada. Then we
lose track of her for some years until 1913, the year
before the war, when the famous Oriental dancer,
Nur-el-Din, who has made a grand succès by the
splendor of her dresses in America and Canada, ap-
pears at Brussels, scores a triumph and buys a fine
mansion in the outskirts of the capital. She produces
herself at Paris, Bordeaux, Lyons, Marseilles, Ma-
drid, Milan and Rome, but her home in Brussels, al-
ways she returns there, your understand me, hein?
La petite Marcelle of The Seven Duponts, Marcelle
Blondinet of the café chantant, has blossomed out
into a star of the first importance."
The Colonel paused and cleared his throat.
"To buy a mansion in Brussels, to run a large
and splendid troupe, requires money. It is the men
who pay for these things, you would say. Quite
right, but listen who were the friends of Madame


II2
OKEWOOD OF THE SECRET SERVICE
.
.
Nur-el-Din. Bischoffsberg, the German millionaire
of Antwerp, von Wurzburg, of Berne ah ha!
you know that gentleman, mon cher?” he turned,
chuckling, to the Chief who nodded his acquiescence;
"Prince Meddelin of the German Embassy in Paris
and administrator of the German Secret Service
funds in France, and so on and so on. I will not fa-
tigue you with the list. The direct evidence is com-
ing now.
When the war broke out in August, 1914, Ma-
dame, after finishing her summer season in Brussels,
was resting in her Brussels mansion. What becomes
of her? She vanishes."
“She told Samuel, the fellow who runs the Pala-
ceum, that she escaped from Brussels!” interposed
the Chief.
The Frenchman threw his hands above his head.
"Escaped, escaped? Ah, oui, par exemple, in a
German Staff car. As I have told my colleague
here,” he went on, addressing the Admiral, “she
escaped to Metz, the headquarters of the Army
Group commanded by the ... the ... how do you
say? the Prince Imperial!"
"The Crown Prince," rectified the Chief.
“Ah, oui, the Crown Prince. Messieurs, we have
absolute testimony that this woman lived for nearly
two years either in Metz or Berlin, and further, that
at Metz, the Crown Prince was a constant visitor at
her house. She was one of the ladies who nearly
precipitated a definite rupture between the Crown
Prince and his wife. Mon Amiral,” he went on,


D. O. R. A. BAFFLED
113
addressing the First Sea Lord again, “that this
woman should be at large is a direct menace to the
security of this country and of mine. It is only this
morning that I at length received from Paris the
facts which I have just laid before you. It is for
you to order your action accordingly!”
The little Frenchman folded his arms pompously
and gazed at the ceiling.
“How does she explain her movements prior to
her coming to this country?” the First Sea Lord
asked the Chief.
For an answer the Chief pressed the bell.
“Samuel, who engaged her, is outside. You
shall hear her story from him,” he said.
Samuel entered, exuding business acumen, pros-
perity, geniality. He nodded brightly to the Chief
and stood expectant.
“Ah, Mr. Samuel,” said the Chief, “I wanted to
see you about Nur-el-Din. You remember our for-
mer conversation on the subject. Where did she
say she went to when she escaped to Brussels?"
“First to Ostend,” replied the music-hall pro-
prietor, "and then, when the general exodus took
place from there, to her mother's country place near
Lyons, a village called Sermoise-aux-Roses."
“And what did she say her mother's name was?”
“Madame Blondinet, sir!”
The Frenchman rapped smartly on a little pocket-
book which he had produced and now held open in
his hand.
“There is a Madame Blondinet who has a large


114
OKEWOOD OF THE SECRET SERVICE
farm near Sermoise-aux-Roses," he said, “and she
has a daughter called Marcelle, who went to Amer-
ica."
“Why then ...9" began the First Sea Lord.
“Attendez un instant!”
The Colonel held up a plump hand.
“Unfortunately for Madame Nur-el-Din, this Mar-
celle Blondinet spent the whole of her childhood, in
fact, the whole of her life until she was nineteen
years of age, on her mother's farm at a time when
this Marcelle Blondinet was touring Europe with
The Seven Duponts. The evidence is absolute.
Mademoiselle here heard the dancer herself confirm
it last night!”
“Thank you, Mr. Samuel,” said the Chief, “we
shan't require you any more. But I'm afraid your
Nur-el-Din will have to break her contract with you.
“She's done that already, sir!” said Samuel rue-
fully.
The Chief sprang to his feet excitedly.
“Broken it already?” he cried. “What do you
mean? Explain yourself! Don't stand there star-
ing at me!"
Mr. Samuel looked startled out of his life.
“There was a bit of a row between her and the
stage manager last night about her keeping the
stage waiting again," he said; "and after lunch to-
day she rang up to say she would not appear at the
Palaceum to-night or any more at all! It's very up-
setting for us; and I don't mind telling you, gentle-
men, that I've been to my solicitors about it ..
.


D. O. R. A. BAFFLED
115
“Will you
"And why the blazes didn't you come and tell
me?” demanded the Chief furiously.
“Well, sir, I thought it was only a bit of pique
on her part, and I hoped to be able to talk the lady
round. I know what these stars are!"
“You've seen her then?" the Chief snapped out.
“No, I haven't!” Mr. Samuel lamented. “I've
been twice to the Nineveh—that's where she's stop-
ping—and each time she was out!"
The Chief dismissed him curtly.
When the door had closed behind him, the Chief
said to the First Sea Lord :
“This is where D.O.R.A. steps in, I think, sir!"
“Decidedly!” replied the Admiral.
take the necessary steps?”
The Chief nodded and pressed the bell. Matthews
appeared.
"Anything from the Nineveh?” he asked.
“The lady has not returned, sir!”
“Anything from Gordon and Duff?”
“No, sir, nothing all day!”
The telephone on the desk whirred. The Chief
lifted the receiver.
“Yes. Oh, it's you, Gordon? No, you can say
it now: this is a private line.”
He listened at the receiver for a couple of minutes.
The room was very still.
“All right, come to the office at once!"
The Chief hung up the receiver and turned to the
Admiral.
“She's given us the slip for the moment!” he


CHAPTER XI
CREDENTIALS
T:
HE sight of Nur-el-Din filled Desmond with
alarm. For a moment his mind was over-
shadowed 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 meta-
morphosis that had taken place in his personality.
The realization served instantly to still his appre-
hensions.
Nur-el-Din lay on her side, one hand under her
face which was turned away from the fire. She was
wearing a big black musquash coat, and over her
feet she had flung a tweed overcoat, apparently one
of Mr. Bellward's from the hatstand in the hall. Her
hat, a very dainty little affair of plain black.velvet,
was skewered with a couple of jewelled hatpins to
the upholstery of the settee.
Desmond watched her for a moment. Her face
looked drawn and tired now that her eyelids, with
their long sweeping black lashes, were closed, shut-
IIZ


118
OKEWOOD OF THE SECRET SERVICE
ting 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 hun-
dred-eyed monster of the British Secret Service that
was watching her, he found himself thinking how
frail, how helpless, how unprotected she looked, ly-
ing there in the flickering light of the fire.
A step resounded behind him and old Martha
shuffled into the room, carefully shading the lamp
she still carried so that its rays should not fall on the
face of the sleeper.
“I don't know as I've done right, sir,” she mum-
bled, “letting the pore lady wait here for you like
this, but I couldn't hardly help it, sir! She says as
how she must see you, and seeing as how your first
tellygram said you was coming at half-past nine, I
lets her stop on!”
“When did she arrive?” asked Desmond softly.
“About six o'clock," answered the old woman.
“Walked all the way up from Wentfield Station, too,
sir, and that cold she was when she arrived here, fair
blue with the cold she was, pore dear. D’reckly she
open her lips, I sees she's a furrin' lady, sir. She
asks after you and I tells her as how you are away
and won't be back till this evening. 'Oh!' she says,
'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


CREDENTIALS
119
her, most important, she said it was, so I hots her
up a bit o' dinner. I hopes as how I didn't do wrong,
Mr. Bellward, sir?"
“Oh, no, Martha, not at all!" Desmond replied
at random. He was sorely perplexed as to his next
move. Obviously the girl could not stay in the house.
What on earth did she want with him? And could
he, at any rate, get at the desk and read the papers
of which the note spoke and which, he did not doubt,
were the dossier of the Bellward case, before she
awoke? They might, at least, throw some light on
his relations with the dancer.
“She had her dinner here by the fire," old Martha
resumed her narrative, “and about a quarter past
nine comes your second tellygram, sir, saying as how
you could not arrive till five o'clock in the morning.
Desmond glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece.
The hands pointed to a quarter past five! He had
lost all count of the time in his peregrinations of the
night.
"I comes in here and tells the young lady as how
you wouldn't be back last night, sir," the old woman
continued, “and she says, 'Oh,' she says, “then
where shall I go?' she says. "Why don't you go
home, my dear?' says I, “and pop round and see
the master in the morning,' I says, thinking the
pore young lady lives about here. And then she tells
me as how she come all the way from Lunnon and
walked up from the station. As well you know, sir,
the last train up leaves Wentfield Station at five
minutes to nine, and so the pore young lady couldn't


120
OKEWOOD OF THE SECRET SERVICE
>
get back that night. So here she had to stop. I
got the spare room ready for her and lit a nice fire
and all, but she wouldn't go to bed not until she had
seen you. I do hope as how I've not done wrong,
sir. I says to Mr. Hill, I says ..
Desmond held up his hand to restrain her tooth-
less babble. Nur-el-Din had stirred and was sitting
up, rubbing her eyes. Then she caught sight of Des-
mond and scrambled rather unsteadily to her feet.
“Monsieur Bellward?” she said in French, "oh,
how glad I am to see you!”
“All right, Martha,” said Desmond, “see that
the spare room is ready for this lady, and don't go
to bed just yet. I shall want you to take this lady
to her room."
The old woman hobbled away, leaving the two
alone. As soon as the door had closed behind her,
Nur-el-Din exclaimed:
“You know me, hein?”
Desmond bowed in the most correct Continental
manner.
*Who does not know the charming Nur-el-Din?”
he replied.
“No!" Nur-el-Din commanded with flashing eyes,
“no, not that name! I am Madame Le Bon, you
understand, a Belgian refugee, from Termonde!”
Rather taken aback by her imperious manner, Des-
mond bowed again but said nothing.
“I received your letter,” the dancer resumed, “but
I did not answer it as I did not require your assist-
ance. But now I wish your help. It is unfortunate


CREDENTIALS
121
>>
o
that you were absent from home at the very time I
counted upon your aid."
She flashed a glance at him as though awaiting an
apology.
“I am extremely sorry,” said Desmond, "if I had
but known ..
Nur-el-Din nodded carelessly.
“I wish to pass the night here," she went on, "in
fact, I may be here for several days. They are be-
coming inconvenient in London, you understand?”
“But the theatre, your professional engage-
ments ?'
“Bah, I have left the theatre. I have had enough
of these stupid English people . they know no-
thing of art!”
Desmond reflected a moment. Nur-el-Din's man-
ner was most perplexing. What on earth could in-
duce her to adopt this tone of condescension towards
him? It nettled him. He resolved to try and find
out on what it was based.
“I am only too happy to be of assistance to you,"
he said, “especially in view of the letter of introduc-
tion you sent me, but I must tell you plainly that
what you ask is impossible.”
“Impossible?" repeated Nur-el-Din, stamping her
feet. “Impossible? Do you know what you are say-
ing?"
“Perfectly,” replied Desmond negligently. “Ob-
viously, 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


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OKEWOOD OF THE SECRET SERVICE
propose to do is out of the question. People would
talk!'
“Then it is your business to see that they don't!"
“Your letter of introduction came from one whom
I am always anxious to oblige,” Desmond went on,
“but the service he is authorized to claim from me
does not entitle him to jeopardize my other activi-
ties."
He drew a breath. It was a long shot. Would it
draw her?
It did. Nur-el-Din fumbled in her bag, produced
a leather pocket-book and from it produced a slip of
paper folded in two.
“Read that!” she cried, “and then you shall
apologize!”
Desmond took the paper. It was a sheet torn from
a book of German military field messages. “Melde-
dienst” (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 acknowledgement for the recipient to sign.
In a large ostentatious, upright German hand-
writing was written what follows:
"To All Whom it May Concern.
“The lady who is the bearer of this, whose description is set out
overleaf, is entitled to the full respect and assistance of the German
forces on land and sea and in the air, wherever it may be. Her
person and property are inviolate.
"Given At Our Headquarters at Metz
“Friedrich Wilhelm
"Kronprinz des
“Deutschen Reiches."
--


CREDENTIALS
123
Across the signature was the impress of a green
stamp, lozenge-shaped, inscribed "Headquarters of
the Fifth Army, General Staff, 21st September,
1914."
On the back of the slip was a detailed description
of Nur-el-Din.
Desmond bowed and handed the paper back to its
owner.
" he
“Madame must accept my humble excuses,
murmured, hardly knowing what he was saying, so
great was his surprise, "my house and services are
at Madame's disposal!”
“Pihe 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 pocket-book and stowed it away in
her hand-bag. Then, looking up archly at Desmond,
she said:
“Am I so distasteful, then, to have in your
house?”
She made a charming picture. Her heavy fur coat
had fallen open, disclosing her full round throat,
very brown against the V-shaped opening of her
white silk blouse. Her mouth was a perfect cupid's
bow, the upper lip slightly drawn up over her daz-
zlingly white teeth. Before Desmond could answer
her question, if answer were needed, her mood had
swiftly changed again. She put her hand out, a little
brown hand, and laying it on his shoulder, looked up
appealingly into his eyes.
“You will protect me,” she said in a low voice,


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“I cannot bear this hunted life. From this side,
from that, they are closing in on me, and I am
frightened, so very frightened. Promise you will
keep me from harm!"
Desmond gazed down into her warm, expressive
eyes helplessly. What she asked was impossible, he
knew, but he was a soldier, not a policeman, he told
himself, and under his breath he cursed the Chief for
landing him in such a predicament. To Nur-el-Din
he said gently:
“Tell me what has happened to frighten you.
Who is hunting you? Is it the police?"
She withdrew her hand with a gesture of contempt.
“Bah!” she said bitterly. “I am not afraid of
the police.'
Then she sank into a reverie, her gaze fixed on
the dying embers of the fire.
“All my life has been a struggle,” she went on,
after a moment, “first with hunger, then with men,
then the police. I am used to a hard life. No, it is
not the police!”
“Who is it, then?” asked Desmond, completely
nonplussed.
Nur-el-Din let her eyes rest on his face for a mo-
ment.
“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 per-
suade me to answer your question. But I don't
know you well enough yet!”
.


CREDENTIALS
125
She broke off abruptly, shaking her head.
“I am tired," she sighed and all her haughty man-
ner returned, “let the old woman show me to my
room. I will take déjeuner with
you at one o'clock."
Desmond bowed and stepping out into the hall,
called the housekeeper. Old Martha shuffled off with
the girl, leaving Desmond staring with vacant eyes
into the fire. He was conscious of a feeling of exul-
tation, despite his utter weariness and craving for
sleep. This girl, with her queenly ways, her swiftly
changing moods, her broad gusts of passion, inter-
ested him enormously. If she were the quarry, why,
then, the chase were worth while! But the end?
For a brief moment, he had a vision of that frail,
clinging figure swaying up against some blank wall
before a file of levelled rifles.
Then again he seemed to see old Mackwayte lying
dead on the landing of the house at Seven Kings.
Had this frail girl done this unspeakable deed! To
send her to the gallows or before a firing-squad
was this to be the end of his mission! And the still,
small voice of conscience answered: “Yes! that is
what you have come here to do!”
Old Martha came shuffling down the staircase.
Desmond called to her, remembering that he did not
yet know where his bedroom was.
“Will you light me up to my room, Martha ?” he
said, “I want to be sure that the sheets are not
damp!”
So saying he extinguished the lamp on the table
and followed the old woman upstairs.


CHAPTER XII
AT THE MILL HOUSE
C
LAD in a suit of Mr. Basil Bellward's pyjamas
of elaborate blue-flowered silk, Desmond lay
propped up in bed in Mr. Bellward's luxur-
iously fitted bedroom, sipping his morning coffee,
and studying with absorbed interest a sheet of blue
foolscap. A number of papers lay strewn about the
eiderdown quilt. At the head of the bed a handsome
Sheraton bureau stood open.
As the French say, Mr. Bellward had refused him-
self nothing. His bedroom was most tastefully fur-
nished. The furniture was mahogany, every piece
carefully chosen, and the chintz of curtains and up-
holstery was bright and attractive. A most elabo-
rate mahogany wardrobe was fitted into the wall,
and Desmond, investigating it, had found it to con-
tain a very large assortment of clothes of every des-
cription, 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 cur-
tained 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,
126


AT THE MILL HOUSE
127
evidently laid weight on his personal comfort; for
the contrast between the cheerful comfort of his bed-
room and the musty gloom of the rooms downstairs
was very marked.
A bright log fire hissed on the open hearth and the
room was pleasantly warm. Old Martha's coffee was
excellent, and Desmond, very snug in Mr. Bellward's
comfortable bed, noted with regret that the clock on
the mantel-shelf marked a quarter to twelve. But
then he thought of the tête-à-tête luncheon that
awaited him at one o'clock and his face cleared. He
didn't mind getting up so much after all.
He fell again to the perusal of the documents
which he had found, as indicated in the note from
headquarters, in the desk by the bed. They were en-
closed in two envelopes, one large, the other small,
both without any superscription. The large enve-
lope enclosed Mr. Bellward's dossier which consisted
of a fairly detailed account of his private life, move-
ments, habits and friends, and an account of his ar-
rest. The small envelope contained Desmond's
eagerly expected orders.
Desmond examined the papers in the large en-
velope 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 Rail-
way 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


AT THE MILL HOUSE
129
of Wentfield had called twice at The Mill House but
had not found Mr. Bellward at home, and that his
visits had not been returned. There were also some
opinions apparently culled locally regarding the ten-
ant of the Mill House, set out something in this
wise:
"Landlord of the Red Lion, Wentfield: The gentleman has never
been to the Red Lion, but sometimes orders my Ford car and
always pays regularly.
“The Stationmaster at Wentfield: A gentleman who keeps him-
self to himself but very liberal with his money.
"Bir Marsham Dykes, of The Chase, Stanning: A damned un-
sociable churlish fellor.
"Mr. Tracy Wentfield, of the Channings, Home Green:
rude man. He slammed the front door of the house in my face when I
went to ask him for a contribution to our Cottage Hospital. It is
not my habit to repeat idle gossip, but they do say he is a heavy
drinker.
A very
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 tele-
gram was handed in at the East Strand telegraph of-
fice addressed to Bellward. This telegram ran thus:
"Bellward, Bellward Hotel, Jermyn Street
"Shipping to you Friday 22,000 please advise correspondents.
"MORTIMER.”
The authorities were unable to deliver this tele-
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 ab-
sent mindedly repeated the addressee's name in writ-
ing the name of the hotel. An advice was therefore


130
OKEWOOD OF THE SECRET SERVICE
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 ad-
dress given by Mortimer was fictitious.
Suspicion being thus aroused, the telegram was
forwarded to the Postal Censor's department whence
it reached the Intelligence Authorities who promptly
spotted the connection between the wording of the
telegram and the imminent departure of the drafts,
more especially as the dates tallied. Thereupon, Mr.
Bellward was hunted up and ultimately traced by his
correspondence to The Mill House. He was not
found there, but was eventually encountered at his
London hotel, and requested to appear before the
authorities with a view to throwing some light on
Mortimer. Under cross-examination Bellward flatly
denied any knowledge of Mortimer, and declared
that a mistake had been made. He cited various well-
known city men to speak for his bona-fides and pro-
tested violently against the action of the authorities
in doubting his word. It was ultimately elicited that
Bellward was of German birth and had never been
naturalized, and he was detained in custody while a
search was made at The Mill House.
The search was conducted with great discretion,
old Martha being got out of the way before the de-
tectives 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


AT THE MILL HOUSE
131
found a most elaborate analysis of the movements of
the transports to France, extremely accurate and
right up to date. There was absolutely no indica-
tion, 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 Morti-
mer, 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 un-
naturalized German, (b) of his arrest.
Desmond's orders, which he reserved to the last,
were short and to the point. They consisted of five
numbered clauses.
“1. You will have a free hand. The surveill-
ance of the house was withdrawn on your
arrival and will not be renewed.
“2. You will not leave the house until further
orders.
“3. You will keep careful note of any com-
munication 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 Stanning on
the telephone and give Bellward's name.
You will hand your report to the first per-


132
OKEWOOD OF THE SECRET SERVICE
son calling at the house thereafter asking
for the letter for Mr. Elias.
“4. If help is urgently required, ring up 700
Stanning and ask for Mr. Elias. Assist-
ance will be with you within 15 minutes
after. This expedient must only be used
in the last extremity.
“5. Memorize these documents and burn the lot
before you leave the house."
“Handy fellow, Mr. Elias," was Desmond's com-
mentary, as he sprang out of bed and made for the
bathroom. At a quarter to one he was ready dressed,
feeling very scratchy and uncomfortable about the
beard which he had not dared to remove owing to
Nur-el-Din's presence in the house. Before he left
the bedroom, he paused a moment at the desk, the
documents of the Bellward case in his hands. He had
a singularly retentive memory, and he was loth to
have these compromising papers in the house whilst
Nur-el-Din was there. He took a quick decision and
pitched the whole lot into the fire, retaining only the
annotated list of Mr. Bellward's friends. This he
placed in his pocket-book and, after watching the rest
of the papers crumble away into ashes, went down-
stairs to lunch.
Nur-el-Din was in the drawing-room, a long room
with two high windows which gave on a neglected-
looking garden. A foaming, churning brook wound
its way through the garden, among stunted bushes
and dripping willows, obviously the mill-race from
which the house took its name. The drawing-room


AT THE MILL HOUSE
133
was a bare, inhospitable room, studded here and
there with uncomfortable looking early Victorian
armchairs swathed in dust-proof cloths. A fire was
making an unsuccessful attempt to burn in the open
grate.
Nur-el-Din turned as he entered the room. She
was wearing a gray cloth tailor-made with a white
silk blouse and a short skirt showing a pair of very
natty brown boots. By contrast with her ugly sur-
roundings she looked fresh and dainty. Her eyes
were bright and her face as smooth and unwrinkled
as a child's.
“Bon jour," she cried gaily, “ah! but I am
’ungry! It is the air of the country! I love so the
country!”
“I hope you slept well, Madame!” said Desmond
solicitously, looking admiringly at her trim figure.
“Like a dead man,” she replied with a little laugh,
translating the French idiom. “Shall we make a
leetle promenade after the déjeuner? And you shall
show me your pretty English country, voulez-vous?
You see, I am dressed for le footing!”
She lifted a little brown foot.
They had a delightful luncheon together. Old
Martha, who proved to be quite a passable cook,
waited on them. There was some excellent Burgundy
and a carafe of old brandy with the coffee. Nur-el-
Din was in her most gracious and captivating mood.
She had dropped all her arrogance of their last inter-
view and seemed to lay herself out to please. She
had a keen sense of humor and entertained Desmond


134
OKEWOOD OF THE SECRET SERVICE
vastly by her anecdotes of her stage career, some not
a little risqué, but narrated with the greatest bon-
homie.
But, strongly attracted as he was to the girl, Des-
mond 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 intro-
duced 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 Mack-
wayte, his name is, we used to call him Monsieur
Arthur in the old days when I was the child acrobat
of the Dupont Troupe. Such a charming fellow, and
not a bit changed! He was doing a deputy turn at
the Palaceum on the last night I appeared there!
And he introduced me to his daughter! Une belle
Anglaise! I shall hope to see my old friend again
when I go back to London!”
Desmond stared at her. If this were acting, the
most hardened criminal could not have carried it off
better. He searched the girl's face. It was frank
and innocent. She ran on about Mackwayte in the
old days, his kindliness to everyone, his pretty wife,


AT THE MILL HOUSE
135
without a shadow of an attempt to avoid an unpleas-
ant topic. Desmond began to believe that not only
did the girl have nothing to do with the tragedy but
that actually she knew nothing about it.
“Did you see the newspapers yesterday?" he
asked suddenly.
“My friend,” said Nur-el-Din, shaking her curls
at him. “I never read your English papers. There
is nothing but the war in them. And this war!"
She gave a little shudder and was silent.
At this moment old Martha, who had left them
over their coffee and cigarettes, came into the room.
“There's a gentleman called to see you, sir!" she
said to Desmond.
Desmond started violently. He was scarcely used
to his new rôle as yet.
“Who is it, Martha ?” he said, mastering his agita-
tion.
"Mr. Mortimer!" mumbled the old woman in her
tired voice, “at least that's what he said his name
was. The gentleman hadn't got a card!”
Nur-el-Din sprang up from her chair so vehement-
ly that she upset her coffee.
"Don't let him come in!" she cried in French.
“Did you say I was in?” Desmond asked the old
housekeeper, who was staring at the dancer.
“Why, yes, sir," the woman answered.
Desmond made a gesture of vexation.
"Where is this Mr. Mortimer?” he asked.
“In the library, sir!”
“Tell him I will be with him at once."


136 OKEWOOD OF THE SECRET SERVICE
Martha hobbled away and Desmond turned to the
girl.
“You heard what my housekeeper said. The man
is here. I shall have to see him."
Nur-el-Din, white to the lips, stood by the table,
nervously twisting a little handkerchief.
“Non, non," she said rapidly, “you must not see
him. He has come to find me. Ah! if he should
find out what I have done . . . you will not give me
up to this man?"
“You need not see him,” Desmond expostulated
gently, “I will say you are not here! Who is this
Mortimer that he should seek to do you harm?"
“My friend,” said the dancer sadly, "he is my evil
genius. If I had dreamt that you knew him I would
never have sought refuge in your house."
“But I've never set eyes on the man in my life!”
exclaimed Desmond.
The dancer shook her head mournfully at him.
“Very few of you have, my friend," she replied,
“but you are all under his orders, n'est-ce pas?”
Desmond's heart leaped. Was Mortimer's the
guiding hand of this network of conspiracy?
"I've trusted you, Monsieur,” Nur-el-Din con-
tinued in a pleading voice, “you will respect the laws
of hospitality, and hide me from this man. You will
not give me up! Promise it, my friend?"
Desmond felt strangely moved. Was this a callous
murderess, a hired spy, who, with her great eyes
brimming over with tears, entreated his protection
so simply, so appealingly?


AT THE MILL HOUSE
137
“I promise I will not give you up to him, Made-
moiselle!” he said and hated himself in the same
breath for the part he had to play. Then he left
her still standing by the table, lost in thought.
Desmond walked through the hall to the room in
which he had found Nur-el-Din asleep on his arrival.
His nerves were strung up tight for the impending
encounter with this Mortimer, whoever, whatever he
was. Desmond did not hesitate on the threshold of
the room. He quietly opened the door and walked
in.
A man in a black and white check suit with white
gaiters stood on the hearthrug, his hands tucked be-
hind his back. He had a curiously young-old appear-
ance, such as is found in professors and scientists of
a certain type. This suggestion was probably height-
ened by the very strong spectacles he wore, which
magnified his eyes until they looked like large col-
ored marbles. He had a heavy curling moustache
resembling that affected by the late Lord Randolph
Churchill. There was a good deal of mud on his
boots, showing that he had come on foot.
The two men measured one another in a brief but
courteous glance. Desmond wondered what on earth
this man's profession was. He was quite unable to
place him.
“Mr. Bellward?” said Mortimer, in a pleasant
cultivated voice, “I am pleased to have this oppor-
tunity of meeting you personally.
Desmond bowed and muttered something conven-
tional. Mortimer had put out his hand but Desmond


138 OKEWOOD OF THE SECRET SERVICE
could not nerve himself to take it. Instead he pushed
forward a chair.
Thanks,” said Mortimer sitting down heavily,
“I've had quite a walk across the fen. It's pleasant
out but damp! I suppose you didn't get my letter?”
“Which letter was that?" asked Desmond.
“Why the one asking you to let me know when
you would be back so that we might meet at last!"
Desmond shook his head.
"No," he said, “I didn't get that one. It must
have gone astray. As a matter of fact,” he added,
“I only got back this morning."
“Oh, well then, I am fortunate in my visit,” said
Mortimer. “Did everything go off all right?”
“Oh, yes,” Desmond hastened to say, not know-
ing 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 im-
pression. That is so important in some countries!”
He beamed at Desmond through his spectacles.
“Was there anything left in your absence?” he
asked, “no, there would be nothing, I suppose!”
Desmond took a firm resolution. He must know
what the man was driving at.
“I don't know what you mean," he said bluntly.
“God bless my soul!” ejaculated Mortimer turn-
ing round to stare at him through his grotesque
glasses. And then he said very deliberately in Ger-
man:


AT THE MILL HOUSE
139
“War niemand da?"
Desmond stood up promptly.
“What do you want with me?” he asked quietly,
“and why do you speak German in my house?”
Mortimer gazed at him blankly.
“Excellence, most excellent,” he gasped. “I love
prudence. My friend, where are your eyes?”
He put a large, firm hand up and touched the up-
per edge of the left lapel of his jacket. Desmond fol-
lowed 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 ges-
ture. His fingers came into contact with a glass-
headed pin similarly embedded in the upper edge of
the lapel of his own coat.
Then he understood. This must be the distin-
guishing 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 oppor-
tunity. He felt he owed the Chief one.
Mr. Mortimer cleared his throat, as though to in-
dicate the conclusion of the episode. Desmond sat
down on the settee.
“Nothing came while I was away!” he said.
“Now that you are back," Mortimer remarked,
polishing his glasses with a bandanna handkerchief,
"the service will be resumed. I have come to see


140
OKEWOOD OF THE SECRET SERVICE
you, Mr. Bellward,” he went on, turning to Des-
mond, "contrary to my usual practice, mainly be-
cause I wished to confirm by personal observation
the very favorable opinion I had formed of your
ability from our correspondence. You have already
demonstrated your discretion to me. If you continue
to show that your prudence is on a level with your
zeal, believe I shall not prove myself ungrateful.”
So saying he settled his glasses on his nose again.
The action woke Desmond from a brown study.
During the operation of wiping his spectacles, Mr.
Mortimer had given Desmond a glimpse of his eyes
in their natural state without the protection of those
distorting glasses. To his intense surprise Desmond
had seen, instead of the weak, blinking eyes of ex-
treme myopia, a pair of keen piercing eyes with the
clear whites of perfect health. Those blue eyes, set
rather close together, seemed dimly familiar. Some-
one, somewhere, had once looked at him like that.
"You are too kind," murmured Desmond, grap-
pling for the thread of the conversation.
Mortimer did not apparently notice his absent-
mindedness.
“Everything has run smoothly,” he resumed, “on
the lines on which we have been working hitherto,
but more important work lies before us. I have
found it necessary to select a quiet rendezvous where
I might have an opportunity of conferring in person
with my associates. The first of these conferences
will take place very shortly. I count upon your at-
tendance, Bellward!”


AT THE MILL HOUSE
141
“I shall not fail yon,” replied Desmond. “But
where is this rendezvous of yours, might I ask?"
Mortimer shot a quick glance at him.
“You shall know in good time,” he answered drily.
Then he added:
“Do
you
mind if I have a few words with Nur-el-
Din before I go?”
The unexpected question caught Desmond off his
guard.
“Nur-el-Din?” he stammered feebly.
“She is staying with you, I believe,” said Mor-
timer pleasantly.
Desmond shook his head.
“There must be some mistake,” he averred stout-
ly, “of course I know who you mean, but I have
never met the lady. She is not here. What led you
to suppose she was?”
But even as he spoke, his eyes fell on a black
object which lay near his arm stretched out along
the back of the settee. It was a little velvet hat,
skewered to the upholstery of the settee by a couple
of jewelled hat-pins. A couple of gaudy cushions
lay between it and Mortimer's range of vision from
the chair in which the latter was sitting. If only
Mortimer had not spotted it already!
Desmond's presence of mind did not desert him.
On the pretext of settling himself more comfortably
he edged up another cushion until it rested upon the
other two, thus effectively screening the hat from
Mortimer's view even when he should get up.
“I wish she were here," Desmond added, smiling,


142
OKEWOOD OF THE SECRET SERVICE
“one could not have a more delightful companion
to share one's solitude, I imagine.
“The lady has disappeared from London under
rather suspicious circumstances,” Mortimer said,
letting his grotesque eyes rest for a moment on Des-
mond's face, “to be quite frank with you, my dear
fellow, she has been indiscreet, and the police are
after her."
“You don't say!” cried Desmond.
“Indeed, it is a fact,” replied the other, “I wish
she would take you as her model, my dear Bellward.
You are the pattern of prudence, are you not?”
He paused perceptibly and Desmond held his
breath.
“She has very few reputable friends," Mortimer
continued presently, “under a cloud as she is, she
could hardly frequent the company of her old as-
sociates, Mowbury and Lazarro and Mrs. Malplaquet
--you doubtless know whom I mean. I know she has
a very strong recommendation to you, so I nat-
urally thought-well, no matter!”
He rose and extended his hand.
“Au revoir, Bellward,” he said, “you shall hear
from me very soon. You've got a snug little place
here, I must say, and everything in charming taste.
I like your pretty cushions."
The blood flew to Desmond's face and he bent
down, on pretence of examining the cushions, hide
his confusion.
“They aren't bad," he said, “I got them at Har-
rod's!"


AT THE MILL HOUSE
143
He accompanied Mortimer to the front door and
watched him disappear down the short drive and
turn out of the gate into the road. Then feeling
strangely ill at ease, he went back to join Nur-el-Din
in the dining-room. But only the housekeeper was
there, clearing the table.
“If you're looking for the young lady, sir," said
old Martha, "she's gone out!”
“Oh!” said Desmond, with a shade of disappoint-
ment in his voice, “will she be back for tea?”
“She's not coming back at all," answered the old
woman, “she told me to tell you she could not stop,
sir. And she wouldn't let me disturb you, neither,
sir.”
“But did she leave no note or anything for me?”
asked Desmond.
“No, sir,” answered old Martha as she folded up
the cloth.
Gone! Desmond stared gloomily out at the sopping
garden with an uneasy feeling that he had failed in
his duty.


CHAPTER XIII
WHAT SHAKESPEARE'S COMEDIES REVEALED
I
N a very depressed frame of mind, Desmond
turned into the library. As he crossed the hall,
he noticed how cheerless the house was. Again
there came to him that odor of mustiness-of all
smells the most eerie and drear-which he had no-
ticed on his arrival. Somehow, as long as Nur-el-
Din had been there, he had not remarked the appal-
ling loneliness of the place.
A big log fire was blazing cheerfully in the grate,
throwing out a bright glow into the room which, de-
spite 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 mem-
orized of Mr. Bellward's habits and acquaintance-
ships. He took the list of Bellward's friends from
his pocket-book.
But this afternoon he found it difficult to concen-
trate his attention. His gaze kept wandering back
to the fire, in whose glowing depths he fancied he
could see a perfect oval face with pleading eyes and
dazzling teeth looking appealingly at him.
144


WHAT THE COMEDIES REVEALED
145
Nur-el-Din ! What an entrancing creature she
was! What passion lurked in those black eyes of
hers, in her moods, swiftly changing from gusts of
fierce imperiousness to gentle airs of feminine
charm! What a frail little thing she was to have
fought her
way
alone
ир
the ladder from the lowest
rung to the very top! She must have character and
grit, Desmond decided, for he was a young man who
adored efficiency: to him efficiency spelled success.
But a spy needs grit, he reflected, and Nur-el-Din
had many qualities which would enable her to win
the confidence of men. Hadn't she half-captivated
him, the would-be spy-catcher, already?
Desmond laughed ruefully to himself. Indeed, he
mused, things looked that way. What would the
Chief say if he could see his prize young man, his
white-headed boy, sitting sentimentalizing by the
fire over a woman who was, by her own confession,
practically an accredited German agent? Desmond
thrust his chin out and shook himself together. He
would put the feminine side of Nur-el-Din out of his
head. He must think of her henceforth only as a
member of the band that was spotting targets for
those sneaking, callous brutes of U-boat commanders.
He went back to the study of the list of Mr. Bell-
ward's friends. But he found it impossible to focus
his mind upon it. Do what he would, he could not
rid himself of the sensation that he had failed at the
very outset of his mission. He was, indeed, he told
himself, the veriest tyro at the game. Here he had
had under his hand in turn Nur-el-Din and Mor-


146 OKEWOOD OF THE SECRET SERVICE
timer (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 relation-
ship with the gang; for he thought he divined that
Nur-el-Din was inclined to make him her confidant.
With the information thus procured, he had hoped
to get on to the track of the leader of the band.
But that ugly brute, Mortimer, with his goggle
eyes, had spoiled everything. His appearance had
taken Desmond completely by surprise: to tell the
truth, it had thrown our young man rather off his
guard. “If only I might have had a little longer
acquaintance with my part," he reflected bitterly as
he sat by the fire, “I should have been better able
to deal with that pompous ass!”
Afterwards, when thinking over the opening events
of this extraordinary episode of his career, Desmond
rather wondered why he had not followed Mortimer
out of the house that afternoon and tracked him
down to his hiding-place. But, as a matter of fact,
the idea did not occur to him at the time. His orders
were positive not to leave the house, and he never
even thought of breaking them—at any rate, not then.
His orders, also, it is true, were to report to head-
quarters any communication that might be made to
him; but these instructions, at least as far as Nur-el-
Din's and Mortimer's visits were concerned, he re-
solved to ignore.


WHAT THE COMEDIES REVEALED
147
For one thing, he felt angry with the Chief who, he
argued rather irrationally, ought to have foreseen
and prevented Mortimer thus taking him by surprise.
The Chief liked secrets—well, for a change, he should
be kept in the dark and the laugh would be on Des-
'mond'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 li-
brary and ring up Mr. Elias, as he should have done,
but he resisted this impulse. Now, thinking things
over in the firelight, he was glad he had refrained.
He would ferret out for himself the exact part that
Nur-el-Din and Mortimer were playing in this band
of spies. Nothing definite had come of his inter-
views with them as yet. It would be time enough to
communicate with Headquarters when he had some-
thing positive to report.
Then Desmond thrust the paper he had been study-
ing back in his pocket-book and jumped up. He felt
that the inaction was stifling him. He determined
to go for a walk round the garden. That, at least,
was in the spirit of his orders.
Remembering that he was supposed to be suffering
from a chill he donned a heavy Ulster of Bellward's
which was hanging in the hall and wound a muffler
round his neck. Then cramming a soft cap on his
head (he noted with satisfaction that Bellward's hats
fitted him remarkably well) he opened the front door
and stepped outside.
The rain had stopped, but the whole atmosphere
reeked of moisture. Angry-looking, dirty-brown


148 OKEWOOD OF THE SECRET SERVICE
clouds chased each other across the lowering sky,
and there was a constant sound of water, trickling
and gurgling and splashing, in his ears.
An untidy-looking lawn with a few unkempt and
overgrown rhododendron bushes dotted here and
there ran its length in front of the house and ter-
minated in an iron railing which separated the
grounds from a little wood. A badly water-logged
drive, green
with
grass in places, ran past the lawn
in a couple of short bends to the front gate. On the
other side the drive was bordered by what had once
been a kitchen garden but was now a howling wilder-
ness of dead leaves, mud and gravel with withered
bushes and half a dozen black, bare and dripping
apple trees set about at intervals. At the side of
the house the kitchen garden stopped and was joined
by a flower garden—at least so Desmond judged it
to have been by a half ruined pergola which he had
noticed from the drawing-room windows. Through
the garden ran the mill-race which poured out of the
grounds through a field and under a little bridge
spanning the road outside.
Desmond followed the drive as far as the front
gate. The surrounding country was as flat as a pan-
cake, and in almost every field lay great glistening
patches of water where the land had been flooded by
the incessant rain. The road on which the house was
built ran away on the left to the mist-shrouded hori-
zon 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, Des-


WHAT THE COMEDIES REVEALED
149
mond 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 pass-
ing train showed where the Great Eastern Railway
line lay.
More depressed than ever by the utter desolation
of the scene, Desmond turned to retrace his steps to
the house. Noticing a path traversing the kitchen
garden, he followed it. It led to the back of the
house, to the door of a kind of lean-to shed. The
latch yielded on being pressed and Desmond entered
the place.
He found himself in a fair-sized shed, very well
and solidly built of pitch-pine, with a glazed window
looking out on the garden, a table and a couple of
chairs, and a large cupboard which occupied the
whole of one side of the wall of the house against
which the shed was built. In a corner of the shed
stood a very good-looking Douglas motor-cycle, and
on a nail on the wall hung a set of motor-cyclist's
overalls. A few petrol cans, some full, some empty,
stood against the wall.
Desmond examined the machine. It was in ex-
cellent condition, beautifully clean, the tank half full
of spirits. A little dry sand on the tires showed
that it had been used fairly recently.
“Old man Bellward's motor-bike that he goes to
the station on,” Desmond noted mentally. “But
what's in the big cupboard, I wonder? Tools, I
expect!”
Then he caught sight of a deep drawer in the


150
OKEWOOD OF THE SECRET SERVICE
table. It was half-open and he saw that it contained
various tools and spare parts, neatly arranged, each
one in its appointed place.
He went over to the cupboard and tried it. It was
locked. Desmond had little respect for Mr. Bell-
ward'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 pur-
chase for his implement. He leant his left hand
against the edge of the cupboard whilst with his
right he jabbed valiantly with the chisel.
Then an extraordinary thing happened. The
whole cupboard noiselessly swung outwards while
Desmond, falling forward, caught his forehead a re-
sounding bang against the edge of the recess in
which it moved. He picked himself up in a very
savage frame of mind -a severe blow on the head
is not the ideal cure for hypochondria—but the flow
of objurgatives froze on his lips. For he found him-
self looking into Mr. Bellward's library.
He stepped into the room to see how the cupboard
looked from the other side. He found that a whole
section of book-shelves had swung back with the cup-
board, in other words that the cupboard in the tool-
shed and the section of book-shelves were apparently
all of one piece.
He carefully examined the walls on either side of
the recess in the library to see how the mechanism
worked. The book-shelves were open, made of ma-
hogany, the sides elaborately carved with leaves and


WHAT THE COMEDIES REVEALED
151
flowers. Desmond ran his hand down the perpen-
dicular section immediately on the right of the recess.
About half-way down—to be exact, it was in line with
the fifth shelf from the floor-his fingers encoun-
tered a little knob which gave under pressure-the
heart of a flower which released the section of book-
shelves. Going back to the shed, Desmond examined
the place against which his hand had rested as he
sought to force the lock of the cupboard. As he
expected, he found a similar catch let into the surface
of the oak, but so cunningly inlaid that it could scarce
be detected with the naked eye.
Before proceeding further with his investigations,
Desmond softly turned the lock of the library door.
He also shot forward a bolt he found on the inside
of the door of the shed. He did not want to be in-
terrupted by the housekeeper or the odd man.
Then he went back to the library and pulled the
cupboard to behind him. It moved quite easily into
place. He wanted to have a look at the bookshelves;
for he was curious to know whether the cupboard
was actually all of one piece with the section of book-
shelves as it seemed to be. He was prepared to find
that the books were merely library dummies, but no!
He tried half a dozen shelves at random, and every
book he pulled out was real.
Desmond was not easily baffled, and he determined
to scrutinize every shelf of this particular section in
turn. With the aid of one of those step-ladders fold-
ing into a chair which you sometimes see in libra-
ries, he examined the topmost shelves but without re-


152
OKEWOOD OF THE SECRET SERVICE
sult. He took down in turn Macaulay's History of
England, a handsome edition of the works of Swift,
and a set of Molière 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 get-
ting cramp in the arms from stretching upwards and
had made his hands black with dust, pulled out a
couple of volumes at hazard from the set and found
them real books like the rest.
“Oh, damn!” he exclaimed, and had half a mind
to abandon the search and have a go with hammer
and chisel at the cupboard in the shed. By this time
it was almost dusk in the library, and Desmond,
before abandoning the search, struck a match to have
a final rapid glance over the shelves. The light
showed him a curious flatness about the backs of the
last six volumes of Shakespeare. He dropped the
match and laid hold of a volume of the Comedies.
It resisted. He tugged.
Still it would not come.
Exerting all his strength, he pulled, the gilt-lettered
backs of the last six volumes came away in his hands
in one piece and he crashed off the ladder to the
ground.
This time he did not swear. He picked himself
up quickly, lit the lamp on the table by the window
and brought it over to the bookcase. Where Shake-
speare'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


WHAT THE COMEDIES REVEALED
153
eagerly turned the key. Then he grasped the handle
and pulled, the section of bookshelves swung back
like a door, and he found himself face to face with a
great stack of petrol cans. They lay in orderly piles
stretching from the floor to the top of the book-
shelves near the railing, several tiers deep. At a
rough computation there must have been several
hundred cans in the recess. And they were all full.
In a flash Desmond realized what his discovery
signified. The motor-cycle in the shed without was
the connecting link between Bellward and the man
with whom he was co-operating in the organization.
Under pretext of reading late in his library Bellward
could send old Martha to bed, and once the house was
quiet, sally forth by his secret exit and meet his
confederate. Even when he was supposed to be
sleeping in London he could still use the Mill House
for a rendezvous, entering and leaving by the secret
door, and no one a bit the wiser. In that desolate
part of Essex, the roads are practically deserted
after dark. Bellward could come and go much as he
pleased on his motor-cycle. Were he stopped, he
always had the excuse ready that he was going to
or returning from the station. The few petrol cans
that Desmond had seen openly displayed in the shed
without seemed to show that Bellward received a
small quantity of spirit from the Petrol Board to
take him to and from the railway.
The cache, so elaborately concealed, however,
pointed to long journeys. Did Bellward undertake
these trips to fetch news or to transmit it? And who


154 OKEWOOD OF THE SECRET SERVICE
was his confederate? Whom did he go to meet?
Not Mortimer; for he had only corresponded with
Bellward. Nor was it Nur-el-Din; for she had never
met Bellward, either.
Who was it, then ?


CHAPTER XIV
BARBARA TAKES A HAND
"N?
O luck, Mr. Marigold,” said the Assistant
Provost Marshal, “I'm sorry, but there it
is! We've made every possible inquiry
about this Private ... er. " he glanced at the
buff-colored leave pass in his hand, “... this Gun-
ner Barling, but we can't trace him so far. He
should have gone back to France the afternoon be-
fore the day on which you found his pass. But he
hasn't rejoined his unit. He's been posted as an
absentee, and the police have been warned. I'm
afraid we can't do any more than that!”
The detective looked at the officer with mild re-
proach in his eyes.
"Dear, dear," he replied, “and I made sure you'd
be able to trace him with that pass!”
He clicked his tongue against his teeth and shook
his head.
“Dear, dear!” he said again.
“What's the feller been up to?” asked the A.P.M.
Detectives have a horror of leading questions, and
Mr. Marigold shrank visibly before the directness
of the other's inquiry. Before replying, however, he
measured the officer with his calm, shrewd eye. Mr.
155


156 OKEWOOD OF THE SECRET SERVICE
Marigold was not above breaking his own rules of
etiquette if thereby he might gain a useful ally.
“Well, Captain Beardiston," he answered slowly,
"I'll tell you because I think that you may be able
to help me a little bit. It's part of your work to
look after deserters and absentees and those sort o'
folk, isn't it?'
The A.P.M. groaned.
“Part of my work?” he repeated, “it seems to
be my whole life ever since I came back from the
front."
"If you want to know what this young fellow has
been up to," said Mr. Marigold in his even voice,
“it's murder, if I'm not mistaken!"
“Murder?" echoed the other in surprise. “Why,
not the Seven Kings murder, surely?”
The detective gave a brisk nod.
“That's it,” he replied, “I'm in charge of that
case, if you follow me. I found that pass in the
front garden of the Mackwayte's house in Laleham
Villas, half trodden into the earth of the flower-bed
by a heavy boot, a service hoot, studded with nails.
There had been a lot of rain in the night, and it had
washed the mosaic-tiled pathway up to the front-door
almost clean. When I was having a look round the
garden, I picked up
this
pass, and then I spotted the
trace of service boots, a bit faint, on the beds. You
know the way the nails are set in the issue boots ?”
The officer nodded.
“I ought to know that foot-print,” he said. “It's
all over the roads in northern France."


BARBARA TAKES A HAND
157
“We made inquiries through you," the detective
resumed, “and when I found that this Gunner Bar-
ling, the owner of the pass, was missing, well, you
will admit, it looked a bit suspicious.
“Still, you know," the A.P.M. objected, “this man
appears to have the most excellent character. He's,
got a clean sheet; he's never gone absent before.
And he's been out with his battery almost since the
beginning of the war."
“I'm not making any charge against him as yet,"
answered the detective, picking up his hat, “but it
would interest me very much, very much indeed,
Captain Beardiston, to have five minutes' chat with
this gunner. And so I ask you to keep a sharp look-
out for a man answering to his description, and if
you come across him, freeze on to him hard, and give
me a ring on the telephone."
“Right you are," said the officer, “I'll hold him
for you, Mr. Marigold. But I hope your suspicions
are not well-founded."
For a brief moment the detective became a human
being.
“And so do I, if you want to know," he said.
“One can forgive those lads who are fighting out
there almost anything. I've got a boy in France my-
self!"
A little sigh escaped him, and then Mr. Marigold
remembered "The Yard."
"I'll bid you good-day!” he added in his most
official voice and took his leave.
He walked down the steps by the Duke of York's


158 OKEWOOD OF THE SECRET SERVICE
column and through the Horse Guards into White-
hall, 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
bucket-shop a few years ago with the result that he
had vanished from the eye of his friends for eighteen
months. He congratulated himself on thinking that
Mr. Marigold had not seen him, but he would have
recognized his mistake could he but have caught sight
of the detective's face. A little smile flitted across
Mr. Marigold's lips and he murmured to himself:
“Our old friend is looking very prosperous just
now. I wonder what he's up to ?”
Mr. Marigold didn't miss much.
The detective made his way to the Chief's office.
Barbara Mackwayte, in a simple black frock with
white linen collar and cuffs, was at her old place in
the ante-room. A week had elapsed since the murder,
and the day before, Mr. Marigold knew, the mortal
remains of poor old Mackwayte had been laid to rest.
He was rather surprised to see the girl back at work
80 SOON.
She did not speak to him as she showed him into
the Chief, but there was a question lurking in her
gray eyes.
Mr. Marigold looked at her and gravely shook his
head.


BARBARA TAKES A HAND
159
Nothing fresh,” he said.
The Chief was unusually exuberant. Mr. Marigold
found him surrounded, as was his wont, by papers,
and a fearsome collection of telephone receivers. He
listened in silence to Mr. Marigold's account of his
failure to trace Barling.
“Marigold,” he said, when the other had finished,
“We must undoubtedly lay hold of this fellow. Let's
see now ... ah! I have it!”
He scribbled a few lines on a writing-pad and
tossed it across to the detective.
“If your friend's innocent,” he chuckled, "that'll
fetch him to a dead certainty. If he murdered Mack-
wayte, of course he won't respond. Read it out and
let's hear how it sounds!”
The Chief leaned back in his chair and lit a cigar-
ette while the detective read out:
“If Gunner Barling, etcetera, etcetera, will com-
municate with Messrs. Blank and Blank, solicitors,
he will hear of something to his advantage. Diffi-
culties 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 grim-
ly. “They will if I tell 'em to. No official soul-
lessness 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


160
OKEWOOD OF THE SECRET SERVICE
.
in the Mail, Chronicle, Daily News, Sketch, Mirror,
Evening News
“And Star,” pat ira Mr. Marigold who had Radi-
cal tendencies.
“The Star, too, by all means. That ought to cover
the extent of yoʻar pal's newspaper reading, I fancy,
eh, Marigold! Right!"
He held ov'c a hand in farewell. But Mr. Marigold
stood his f round. He was rather a slow mover, and
there were a lot of things he wanted to discuss with
the Chief.
I was very sorry to see poor Major Okewood
ir, the casualty list this morning, sir," he said. “I
was going to ask you ..."
"Ah, terrible, terrible!” said the Chief. Then he
added:
“Just tell Miss Mackwayte I want her as you go
out, will you?”
The detective was used to surprises but the Chief
still bowled him out occasionally. Before he knew
what he was doing, Mr. Marigold found himself in
the ante-room doing as he was bid,
As soon as her father's funeral was over, Barbara
had insisted on returning to work, The whole
ghastly business of the murder and the inquest that
followed seemed to her like a bad dream which
haunted her day and night. By tacit consent no
one in the office had made any further allusion to the
tragedy. She had just slipped back into her little
niche, prompt, punctual, efficient as ever.
“No, it's not for the letters,” the Chief said to


BARBARA TAKES A HAND
161
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 ar-
rived there. I had hoped, by this, to have been able
to put him on the track of Nur-el-Din, but, for the
moment, it looks as if we had lost the scent. But
you can tell our friend all we know about the lady's
antecedents—what we had from my French col-
league the other day, you know? Let him have all
the particulars about this Barling case-you know
about that, don't you? Good, and, see here, try and
find out from our mutual friend what he intends do-
ing. I don't want to rush him. don't let him
think that . .. but I should rather like to discover
whether he has formed any plan. And now you get
along. There's a good train about three which gets
you down to Wentfield in just under the hour. Take
care of yourself! See you in the morning!”
Pressing a bell with one hand and lifting up a tele-
phone-receiver with the other, the Chief immersed
himself again in his work. He appeared to have for-
gotten Miss Mackwayte's very existence.
At a quarter to five that evening, Barbara un-
latched 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
.


162
OKEWOOD OF THE SECRET SERVICE
the sodden, low-lying fields and was spreading out
over the neglected garden of Mr. Bellward's villa as
Barbara entered the avenue.
The damp gloom of the place, however, depressed
her not at all. She exulted in the change of scene
and the fresh air; besides, she knew that the presence
of Desmond Okewood would dispel the vague fears
that had hung over her incessantly ever since her
father's murder. She had only met him twice, she
told herself when this thought occurred to her, but
there was something bracing and dependable about
him that was just the tonic she wanted.
A porter at the station, who was very intelligent
as country porters go, had told her the way to the
Mill House. The way was not easy to find for there
were various turns to make but, with the aid of such
landmarks as an occasional inn, a pond or a barn,
given her by the friendly porter, Barbara reached
her destination. Under the porch she pulled the
handle of the bell, all dank and glistening with
moisture, and heard it tinkle loudly somewhere with-
in the house.
How lonely the place was, thought Barbara with
a little shiver! The fog was growing thicker every
minute and now seemed suspended like a vast cur-
tain between her and the drive. Somewhere in the
distance she heard the hollow gurgling of a stream.
Otherwise, there was no sound.
She rang the bell again rather nervously and
waited. In her bag she had a little torch-light (for
she was a practical young person), and taking it out,


BARBARA TAKES A HAND
163
she flashed it on the door. It presented a stolid,
impenetrable oaken front. She stepped out into the
fog and scanned the windows which were already
almost lost to view. They were dark and forbidding.
Again she tugged at the bell. Again, with a groan-
ing of wires, responded the hollow tinkle. Then
silence fell once more. Barbara began to get alarmed.
What had happened to Major Okewood? She had
understood that there was no question of his leaving
the house until the Chief gave him the word. Where,
then, was he? He was not the man to disobey an
order. Rather than believe that, she would think
that something untoward had befallen him. Had
there been foul play here, too?
A sudden panic seized her. She grasped the bell
and tagged and tugged until she could tug no more.
The bell jangled and pealed and clattered rever-
beratingly 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 de-
fending himself. What's happened is that the man
has been called away and the servants have taken
advantage of his absence to go out! Barbara, my
dear, you'll just have to foot it back to the station
without your tea!”


164 OKEWOOD OF THE SECRET SERVICE
She turned her back on the door and torch in hand,
plunged resolutely into the fog-bank. The mist was
bewilderingly thick. Still, by going slow and always
keeping the gravel under her feet, she reached the
front gate and turned out on the road.
Here the mist was worse than ever. She had not
taken four paces before she had lost all sense of her
direction. The gate, the railways, were gone. She
was groping in a clinging pall of fog.
Her torch was worse than useless. It only il-
luminated swirling swathes of mist and confused her,
so she switched it out. In vain she looked about
her, trying to pick up some landmark to guide her.
There was no light, no tree, no house visible--noth-
ing but the dank, ghostly mist.
To some temperaments, Nature has no terrors.
Barbara, to whose imagination an empty house at
dusk had suggested all kinds of unimaginable fears,
was not in the least frightened by the fog. She only
hoped devoutly that a motor-car or a trap would not
come along behind and run her down for she was
obliged to keep to the road; the hard surface beneath
her feet was her only guide.
She smiled over her predicament as she made her
way along. She frequently found herself going off
the road, more than once into patches of water, with
the result that in a few minutes her feet were sop-
ping. Still she forged ahead, with many vain halts
to reconnoitre while the fog, instead of lifting,
seemed to thicken with every step she took.
By this time she knew she was completely lost.


BARBARA TAKES A HAND
165
Coming from the station there had been, she remem-
bered, a cross-roads with a sign-board set up on a
grass patch, about a quarter of a mile from the Mill
House. She expected every minute to come upon
this fork; again and again she swerved out to the
left from her line of march groping for the sign-post
with her hands but she never encountered it.
Few sounds came to break in upon the oppressive
silence of the mist. Once or twice Barbara heard a
train roaring along in the distance and, at one of
her halts, her ear caught the high rising note of a
motor engine a long way off. Except for these oc-
casional reminders of the proximity of human beings:
she felt she must be on a desert island instead of
less than two score miles from London.
Her wrist watch showed her that she had walked
for an hour when she heard a dog barking some-
where on the left of the road. Presently, she saw a
blurred patch of radiance apparently on the ground
in front of her. So deceptive are lights seen through
a fog that she was quite taken aback suddenly to
come upon a long low house with a great beam of
light streaming out of the door.
The house was approached by a little bridge across
a broad ditch. By the bridge stood a tall, massive
post upon which a sign squeaked softly as it swayed
to and fro. The inn was built round three sides of
a square, the left-hand side being the house itself,
the centre, the kitchen, and the right-hand side a
tumble-down stable and some sheds.
The welcome blaze of light coming from the open


166 OKEWOOD OF THE SECRET SERVICE
door was very welcome to Barbara after her long
journey through the mist. She dragged her wet and
weary feet across the little bridge and went up to
the inn-door.
She stood for a moment at the entrance dazzled by
the effect of the light on her eyes, which were smart-
ing with the fog. She found herself looking into a
long, narrow, tap-room, smelling of stale beer and
tobacco fumes, and lit by oil lamps suspended in
wire frames from the raftered ceiling. The win-
dows were curtained in cheerful red rep and the place
was pleasantly warmed by a stove in one corner. By
the stove was a small door apparently leading into
the bar, for beside it was a window through which
Barbara caught a glimpse of beer-engines and rows
of bottles. Opposite the doorway in which she stood
was another door leading probably to the back of the
house. Down the centre of the room ran a long table.
The tap-room was empty when Barbara entered
but as she sat down at the table, the door opposite
opened, and a short, foreign-looking woman came
out. She stopped dead on seeing the girl. Her face
seemed familiar to Barbara.
“Good evening," said the latter, “I've lost my
way in the fog and I'm very wet. Do you think I
could have my shoes and stockings dried and get
some tea? I...
“A moment! I go to tell Meester Rass!" said the
woman with a very marked foreign accent and in a
frightened kind of voice and slipped out by the way
she came,


168 OKEWOOD OF THE SECRET SERVICE
.
which was unknown to Barbara. It sounded some-
thing like Russian. The man turned and locked the
door of the bar, then stepped swiftly across the room
and bolted the outer door.
Barbara recognized the threat that the action im-
plied and it served to steady her nerves. She shrank
back no longer but drew herself up
and waited calmly
for the dancer to reach her.
“The box you gave me," said Barbara very quiet-
ly, “was stolen from me by the person who .
who murdered my father!"
Nur-el-Din burst into a peal of malicious laughter.
“And you?" she cried, "you are 'ere to sell it
back to me, hein, or to get your blood money from
your accomplice? Which is it?"
On this Barbara's self-control abandoned her.
“Oh, how dare you? How dare you?” she ex-
claimed, bursting into tears, "when that wretched
box you made me take was the means of my losing
the dearest friend I ever had!"
Nur-el-Din thrust her face, distorted with passion,
into Barbara's. She spoke in rapid French, in a
low, menacing voice.
“Do you think this play-acting will deceive me?
Do
you
think I don't know the value of the treasure
I was fool enough to entrust to your safe keeping?
Grand Dieu! I must have been mad not to have
remembered that no woman could resist the price
that they were willing to pay for it! And to think
what I have risked for it! Is all my sacrifice to have
been in vain?''


BARBARA TAKES A HAND
169
.
Her voice rose to a note of pleading and the tears
started from her eyes. Her mood changed. She
began to wheedle.
“Come, ma petite, you will help me recover my
little box, n'est-ce pas? You will find me generous.
And I am rich, I have great savings. I can
Barbara put up her hands and pushed the dancer
away from her.
“After what you have said to me to-night," she
said, “I wouldn't give you back your box even if
I had it."
She turned to the man.
“Will you tell me the way to the nearest station?”
she went on, “and kindly open that door!”
The man looked interrogatively at Nur-el-Din who
spoke a few words rapidly in the language she had
used before. Then she cried to Barbara:
“You stay here until you tell me what you have
done with the box!"
Barbara had turned to the dancer when the latter
spoke so that she did not notice that the man had
moved stealthily towards her. Before she could
struggle or cry out, a hand as big as a spade was
clapped over her mouth, she was seized in an iron
grip and half-dragged, half-carried out of the tap-
room through the small door opposite the front en-
trance.
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


CHAPTER XV
MR. BELLWARD IS CALLED TO THE TELEPHONE
A
KNOCKING at the door of the library
aroused Desmond from his cogitations. He
hastened to replace the volumes of Shakes-
peare on their shelf and restore all to its former
appearance. Then he went to the door and opened
it. Old Martha stood in the hall.
“If you please, sir,” she wheezed, “the doctor's
come!”
“Oh,” said Desmond, rather puzzled, "what doc-
tor?'
“It's not Dr. Haines from the village, Mr. Bell-
ward, sir," said the housekeeper, "It's a genelman
from Lunnon!'
Then Desmond remembered Crook's promise to
look him up and guessed it must be he. He bade
Martha show the doctor in and bring tea for two.
Desmond's surmise was right. The old woman
ushered in Crook, looking the very pattern of medi-
cal respectability, with Harley Street written all
over him from the crown of his glossy top-hat to the
neat brown spats on his feet. In his hand he carried
a small black bag.
“Well," he said, surveying Desmond, “and how
171


172
OKEWOOD OF THE SECRET SERVICE
do we find ourselves to-day? These chills are nasty
things to shake off, my dear sir!”
“Oh, stow that!” growled Desmond, who was in
little mood for joking.
“Voice inclined to be laryngeal,” said Crook put-
ting down his hat and bag on a chair, “we shall have
to take care of our bronchial tubes! We are not so
young as we were!"
“You can drop all that mumming, Crook!” snap-
ped Desmond irascibly.
"Voice rotten,' replied Crook calmly surveying
him through his pince-nez. “Really, Major-I
should
say, Mr. Bellward -you must take more pains
than that. You are talking to me exactly as though
I were a British Tommy. Tat, tut, this will never do,
sir! You must talk thicker, more gutteral-like, and
open the vowels well."
He had dropped his jesting manner altogether and
spoke with the deep earnestness of the expert airing
his pet topic. He was so serious that Desmond
burst out laughing. It must be said, however, that
he laughed as much like a German as he knew how.
This appeared to mollify Crook who, nevertheless,
read him a long lecture against ever, for a moment,
even when alone, quitting the rôle he was playing.
Desmond took it in good part; for he knew the sound-
ness of the other's advice.
Then old Martha brought tea, and over the cups
and saucers Crook gave Desmond a budget of news.
He told of the warrant issued for the arrest of Nur-
el-Din and of the search being made for her.


MR. BELLWARD'S TELEPHONE CALL
173
He was
Desmond heard the news of Nur-el-Din's disap-
pearance from London with some consternation. He
began to realize that his failure to detain Nur-el-Din
that afternoon might have incalculable consequences.
Sunk in thought, he let Crook run on.
wondering whether he ought to give him a message
for the Chief, telling him of Nur-el-Din's visit and
of her flight on the arrival of Mortimer.
Now, Desmond had a good deal of pride, and like
most proud people, he was inclined to be obstinate.
To confess to the Chief that he had let both Nur-el-
Din and Mortimer slip through his fingers was more
than he could face. He could not bear to think that
the Chief might believe him capable of failure, and
take independent measures to guard against possible
mistakes. Also, in his heart of hearts, Desmond was
angry with the Chief. He thought the latter had
acted precipitately in getting out a warrant for Nur-
el-Din's arrest before he, Desmond, had had time to
get into the skin of his part.
So Desmond heard Crook out and made no com-
ment. When the other asked him if he had any-
thing to tell the Chief, he shook his head. He was
not to know then the consequences which his dis-
obedience of orders was destined to have. If he had
realized what the result of his obstinacy would be,
he would not have hesitated to send a full report
by Crook-and this story might never have been
written!
But if youth followed reason instead of impulse,
the world would stand still. Desmond was still at


174. OKEWOOD OF THE SECRET SERVICE
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 ex-
traneous aid. So Crook, after changing Desmond's
make-up and giving him a further rehearsal of his
rôle, packed up his pots and paints and brushes in
his black bag and returned to London with “nothing
to report” as the communiqués say.
He repeated his visit every day for the next four
days. Crook's arrival each afternoon was the only
break in the monotony of a life which was rapidly
becoming unbearable to Desmond's mercurial tem-
perament. He found himself looking forward to the
wizened little man's visits and for want of better
employment, he threw himself whole-heartedly into
the study of his rôle 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 imper-
sonator.
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 rôle. With every day he
felt more confident of himself; with every day he
grew more anxious to go to London, and, taking the


MR. BELLWARD'S TELEPHONE CALL
175.
bull by the horns, boldly visit one of Mr. Bellward's
acquaintances and test the effect of his disguise.
But no orders came from Headquarters to release
him from his confinement. Moreover, no word ar-
rived from Nur-el-Din nor did Mortimer send any
message or call again at the Mill House. The silence
of the two conspirators made Desmond uneasy. Sup-
pose Mortimer, who, he felt sure, had caught him
out lying about Nur-el-Din's presence in the house
at the time of his visit, had grown suspicious? What
if Nur-el-Din had succeeded in making good her
escape to the Continent? He had had his chance
of laying hold of both suspects and he had failed.
Would that chance come again?"
Desmond doubted it. Every morning he awoke
long before the dawn and lay awake until daylight,
his mind racked by these apprehensions. He chafed
bitterly at his inaction and he plied Crook with
questions as to whether he had any orders for him.
Each time Crook replied in the negative.
In the library Desmond found an Ordnance map
of Essex. His military training had given him a
good schooling in the use of maps, and he spent many
hours studying the section of the country about the
Mill House, seeking to impress it upon his mind
against future emergencies.
He was surprised to find how remote the Mill
House lay from other habitations. Between it and
Wentfield station, once Wentfield village was passed,
there were only a few lonely farms; but to the south
there was an absolutely uninhabited tract of fen tra-


176 OKEWOOD OF THE SECRET SERVICE
versed 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 mill-
race which Desmond traced to its junction with one
of the broad dykes intersecting Morstead Fen. The
only inhabited house to the south of the Bellward
villa appeared to be a lonely public house situated
on the far edge of the fen, a couple of hundred yards
away from the road. It was called “The Dyke Inn."
One afternoon—it was the fifth day after Des-
mond's arrival at Bellward's-Mr. Crook announced
that this was to be his last visit.
“I go abroad to-night, Mr. Bellward,” he said
(he always insisted on addressing Desmond by his
assumed name), "a little job o'work in Switzerland;
at Berne, to be precise. Urgent, you might call it,
and really, sir, you've made so much progress that
I think I can safely leave you. And I was to say
that you will be able to go out very soon now.'
“Good!” exclaimed Desmond, rubbing his hands
together. “And you think I'll do, Crook, eh?”
Crook rubbed his nose meditatively.
“I'll be quite frank with you, Mr. Bellward,” he
said. “With a superficial acquaintance, even with
an intimate friend, if he's as unobservant as most
people are, you'll pass muster. But I shouldn't like
to guarantee anything if you were to meet, say, Mrs.
Bellward, if the gentleman has got a wife, or his
mother. Keep out of a strong light; don't show
your profile more than you can help, and remember
that a woman is a heap more observant than a man.


MR. BELLWARD'S TELEPHONE CALL
177
That's my advice to you, sir. And now I'll take my
leave! You won't want that tow beard any more
after to-day.”
That night Desmond slept well and did not awake
until the sunshine was streaming in between the
Venetian blinds in his bedroom. He felt keen and
vigorous, and he had an odd feeling that something
was going to happen to him that day.
It was a delicious morning, the air as balmy as
spring. As he brushed his hair in front of the win-
dow, Desmond saw the peewits running about in the
sunshine on the fields by the road. He made an
excellent breakfast and then, lighting a pipe, opened
the Times which lay folded by his plate.
He turned first, as was his daily habit, to the
casualty list. There it was! Under the names of
the “Killed in Action," he read: "Okewood, Major
D. J. P.,” followed by the name of his regiment.
It gave him an odd little shock, though he had looked
for the announcement every day; but the feeling of
surprise was quickly followed by one of relief. That
brief line in the casualty list meant the severing of
all the old ties until he had hunted down his quarry.
Now he was ready to start.
He spent the morning in the garden. Here, for
the first time, he met Mr. Hill, the odd man, who,
on seeing him, became intensely busy picking up
handfuls of leaves and conveying them to a fire which
was smouldering in a corner. Desmond essayed to
enter into conversation with him but the man was so
impenetrably deaf that Desmond, tiring of bawling,


MR. BELLWARD'S TELEPHONE CALL
179
not see you. You understand? If you do not come
alone, you will waste your time!”
“Where are you speaking from?” Desmond asked.
“If you will turn to the left on leaving your front
gate," the voice resumed, “and follow the road, a
messenger
will meet
you
and take
you
to the lady."
“But ..." Desmond began.
“Will you come at once? And alone?” the nasal
voice broke in sharply.
Desmond took a moment's thought. To go was to
disobey orders; not to go was to risk losing a second
chance of meeting Nur-el-Din. To telephone to
700 Stanning for assistance would bring a hornets'
nest about his ears; yet he might only see the dancer
if he went alone. He lost no time in making up
his mind. The Chief must allow him latitude for
meeting emergencies of this kind. He would go.
“I will come at once,” said Desmond.
“Good," said the voice and the communication
ceased.
Somewhere aloft there sits a sweet little cherub
whose especial job is to look after the headstrong.
It was doubtless this emissary of providence that
leant down from his celestial seat and whispered in
Desmond's ear that it would be delightful to walk
out across the fen on this sunny afternoon. Des-
mond was in the act of debating whether he would
not take the motor-bike, but the cherub's winning
way clinched it and he plumped for walking.
In the hall he met the housekeeper who told him
she wanted to go into Stanning to do some shopping


180
OKEWOOD OF THE SECRET SERVICE
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 pur-
sue 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 inter-
minable waste of sodden, emerald green fields, inter-
sected by ditches, stretched away on either hand.
He had walked for half an hour when he made
out in the distance a clump of trees standing apart
and seemingly in the middle of the fields. Then in
the foreground he descried a gate. A figure was
standing by it.
As he approached the gate he saw it was a small
boy. On remarking the stranger, the urchin opened
the gate and without looking to right or left led off
down the road towards the clump of trees. Desmond
followed at his leisure.
As they neared the trees, the low red roof of a
house detached itself. By this time the sun was


MR. BELLWARD'S TELEPHONE CALL
181
sinking in a smear of red across a delicately tinted
sky. Its dying rays held some glittering object high
up on the side of the house.
At first Desmond thought it was a window, but
presently the light went out, kindled again and once
more vanished. It was too small for a window,
Desmond decided, and then, turning the matter over
in his mind, as observant people are accustomed to
do even with trifles, he suddenly realized that the
light he had seen was the reflection of the sun on a
telescope or glasses.
They were now within a few hundred yards of the
house. The road had made a right angle turn to
the left, but the diminutive guide had quitted it and
struck out along a very muddy cart track. Shading
his eyes, Desmond gazed at the house and presently
got a glimpse of a figure at a window surveying the
road through a pair of field glasses. Even as he
looked, the figure bobbed down and did not reappear.
“They want to be sure I'm alone,” thought Des-
mond, and congratulated himself on having had the
strength of mind to break his orders.
The cart-track led up to a little bridge over a ditch.
By the bridge stood a tall pole, on the top of which
was a blue and gold painted sign-board inscribed,
“The Dyke Inn by J. Rass.” The urchin led him
across the bridge and up to the door of the inn.
An undersized, yellow-faced man, wearing neither
collar nor tie, came to the door as they approached.
Although of short stature, he was immensely broad
with singularly long arms. Altogether he had some-


182 OKEWOOD OF THE SECRET SERVICE
thing the figure of a gorilla, Desmond thought on
looking at him.
The man put a finger up and touched his forelock.
“Madame Le Bon is upstairs waiting for you!"
he said in a nasal voice which Desmond recognized
as that he had heard on the telephone. “Please to
follow me!"
He led the way across a long low tap-room through
a door and past the open trap-door of a cellar to a
staircase. On the first landing, lit by a window
looking out on a dreary expanse of fen, he halted
Desmond.
“That's her room,” he said, pointing to a door
opposite the head of the staircase, half a dozen steps
up, and so saying, the yellow-faced man walked
quickly downstairs and left him. Desmond heard
his feet echo on the staircase and the door of the
tap-room slam.
He hesitated a moment. What if this were a
trap? Suppose Mortimer, growing suspicious, had
made use of Nur-el-Din to lure him to an ambush
in this lonely place? Why the devil hadn't he
brought a revolver with him?
Then Desmond's Irish blood came to his rescue.
He gave his head a little shake, took a firm hold
of his stick which was a stoutish sort of cudgel and
striding boldly up to the door indicated, tapped.
“Entrez!” said a pretty voice that made Des-
mond's heart flutter.


CHAPTER XVI
THE STAR OF POLAND
T
HE room in which Desmond found Nur-el-Din
was obviously the parlor of the house. Every-
thing in it spoke of that dreary period in art,
the middle years of the reign of Victoria the Good.
The wall-paper, much mildewed in places, was an
ugly shade of green and there were dusty and faded
red curtains at the windows and draping the fire-
place. Down one side of the room ran a hideous
mahogany sideboard, almost as big as a railway sta-
tion buffet, with a very dirty tablecloth. The chairs
were of mahogany, upholstered in worn black horse-
hair and there were two pairs of fly-blown steel en-
gravings of the largest size on the wall. In the cen-
tre of the apartment stood a small round table, cov-
ered with a much stained red tablecloth and there
was a door in the corner.
The dainty beauty of Nur-el-Din made a very for-
lorn picture amid the unmatched savagery of this
English interior. The dancer, who was wearing the
same becoming gray tweed suit in which Desmond
had last seen her, was sitting sorrowfully at the table
when Desmond entered. At the sight of him she
sprang up and ran to meet him with outstretched
hands.
183


184 OKEWOOD OF THE SECRET SERVICE
“Ah!" she cried, “comme je suis heureuse de vous
voir! It is good of you to come!”
And then, without any warning, she burst into
tears and putting her hands on the man's shoulders,
hid her head against his chest and sobbed bitterly.
Desmond took one of her hands, small and soft and
warm, and gently disengaged her. His mind was
working clearly and rapidly. He felt sure of him-
self, 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 twitch-
ing pitifully, the dancer seemed to touch a chord
deep down in his heart.
“Come, come,” said Desmond gutterally, with a
touch of bonhomie in his voice in keeping with his
ample girth, “you mustn't give way like this, my
child! What's amiss? Come, sit down here and tell
me what's the matter."
He made her resume her seat by the table and
pulled up one of the horsehair chairs for himself.
Nur-el-Din wiped her eyes on a tiny lace handker-
chief, but continued to sob and shudder at intervals.
“Marie, my maid," she said in French in a broken
voice, “joined me here to-day. She has told me of
this dreadful murder!"
Desmond stiffened to attention. His mind swiftly
reverted to the last woman he had seen cry, to Bar-
bara Mackwayte discovering the loss of the package
entrusted to her charge by the woman who sat before
him.


THE STAR OF POLAND
185
“What murder?” he asked, striving to banish any
trace of interest from his voice. He loathed the part
he had to play. The dancer's distress struck him as
genuine.
“The murder of Monsieur Mackwayte," said Nur-
el-Din, and her tears broke forth anew.
“I have read of this in the newspapers,” said Des-
mond. “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 Mack-
wayte's charge.
“And now,” she sobbed, “it is lost and all my
sacrifice, all my precautions, have been in vain!”
“But how?” asked Desmond. “Why should you
think this box should have been taken? From what
I remember reading of this case in the English news-
papers there was a burglary at the house, but the
thief has been arrested and the property restored.
You have only to ask this Miss—what was the name!
ah! yes, Mackwayte for your box and she will restore
it!'
“No, no!" Nur-el-Din answered wearily, “you
don't understand. This was no burglary. The man
who murdered Monsieur Arthur murdered him to get
my silver box.'
“But," objected Desmond, “a silver box! What
value has a trifling object like that? My dear young
lady, murder is not done for a silver box!”
“No, no,” Nur-el-Din repeated, you don't under-
standi You don't know what that box contained!”


186 OKEWOOD OF THE SECRET SERVICE
Then she relapsed into silence, plucking idly at the
shred of cambric she held between her fingers.
Already dusk was falling and the room was full of
shadows. The golden radiance of the afternoon had
died and eerie wraiths of fog were peering in at the
window.
Desmond held his peace. He felt he was on the
threshold of a confession that might rend the veil of
mystery surrounding the murder at Seven Kings.
He stared fixedly at the ugly red tablecloth, cons-
cious that the big eyes of the girl were searching his
face.
“You have honest eyes," she said presently. “I
told you that once before that night we met
at your house ... do you remember! Your eyes are
English. But you are a German, hein?”
“My mother was Irish,” said Desmond and felt a
momentary relief that, for once, he had been able to
speak the truth.
“I want a friend," the girl resumed wearily,
"someone that I can trust. But I look around and
I find no one. You serve the German Empire, do
you not?"
Desmond bowed.
“But not the House of Hohenzollern?” the girl
cried, her voice trembling with passion.
"I am not of the Emperor's personal service, if
that is what you mean, madame," Desmond returned
coldly.
“Then, since you are not altogether an iron Prus-
sian,” Nur-el-Din resumed eagerly, "you can differ-


THE STAR OF POLAND
187
entiate. You can understand that there is a differ-
ence between working for the cause of Germany and
for the personal business of her princes.”
“But certainly,” answered Desmond, “I am not
an errand-boy nor yet a detective. I regard myself
as a German officer doing his duty on the front. We
have many fronts besides the Western and the East-
ern. England is one.
“Ah,” exclaimed the girl, clasping her hands to-
gether and looking at him with enraptured eyes, "I
see you understand! My friend, I am much tempted
to make a confidant of you!”
Desmond looked at her but did not speak. Again
he felt that silence was now his only rôle. He tried
hard to fix his mind on his duty; but the man in him
was occupied with the woman who looked so appeal-
ingly at him.
“... but if I do," the girl went on and her voice
was hurried and anxious, "you must swear to me
that you will respect my confidence, that you will
not betray me to the others and that you will, if
need be, protect me."
Seeing that Desmond remained silent, she hastened
to add:
“Believe me, what I ask you to do is not in oppo-
sition to your duty. My friend, for all my surround-
ings, I am not what I seem. Fate has drawn me into
the system of which you form part; but, believe me,
I know nothing of the service to which you and Mor-
timer and the rest belong!”
She spoke with painful earnestness and in a tone


188
OKEWOOD OF THE SECRET SERVICE
so mournful that Desmond felt himself profoundly
moved. “If only she is not acting!” he thought,
and sought to shake himself free from the spell which
this girl seemed able to cast about him at will.
"Promise me that you
will respect my confidence
and help me!” she said and held out her hand.
Desmond's big hand closed about hers and he felt
an odd thrill of sympathy with her as their hands
met.
“I promise!” he said and murmured to himself
something very like a prayer that he might not be
called upon to redeem his word.
She let her eyes rest for a moment on his.
“Be careful!” she urged warningly, while the
ghost of a smile flitted across her face. “Very soon
I may call upon you to make good your words!”
"I promise!” he repeated—and his eyes never left
hers.
“Then,” she cried passionately, "find out who has
stolen for the Crown Prince the Star of Poland at
the price of the life of a harmless old man!”
“The Star of Poland!” repeated Desmond. “What
is the Star of Poland ?"
The girl drew herself up proudly and there was a
certain dignity about her manner as she answered.
“I am a Pole,” she said, “and to us Poles, the
Star of Poland has stood for centuries as a pledge of
the restoration of our long-lost kingdom. It was the
principal jewel of the Polish Coronation sword which
vanished many hundreds of years ago—in the thir-
teenth century, one of my compatriots once told me


THE STAR OF POLAND
189
and it was one of the most treasured national posses-
sions in the Château of our great king, John Sobieski
at Villanoff, outside Warsaw. My friend, I am not
religious, and since my childhood I have renounced
the ancient faith of my fathers, but, when I think of
the extraordinary chain of circumstances by which
this treasure came into my possession, I almost be-
lieve that God has chosen me to restore this gem to
the King of an independent Poland.
“Four years ago I was in the United States, a very
humble dancer in vaudeville of the third or fourth
class. When I was appearing at Columbus, Ohio,
I met a German, a man who had been an officer in the
Prussian Guard but had come to grief and had been
forced to emigrate.
“This man's name was Hans von Schornbeek.
Like so many German officers who go to America, in
his time he had been everything-waiter, lift-man,
engine-driver and heaven knows what else, but when
I met him he was apparently well-off. It was only
later on that I knew he was one of your principal se-
cret agents in America.
“He praised my talents highly and offered to fur-
nish 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
foil which was not disagreeable to me. It was that,
after six months tour in the States and Canada, I
should go to Brussels and settle down there in a
house that Herr von Schornbeek would present me
with.


190
OKEWOOD OF THE SECRET SERVICE
“Mon ami, in those days, I understood nothing at
all of diplomacy. I knew only that I was often hun-
gry and that I had a little talent which, were it given
a chance, might keep me from want. Herr von
Schornbeek fulfilled his promises to me. I had my
company, I did my tour of America and Canada with
great success and finally I came to Europe and made
my début at Brussels.
“I knew Brussels already from the old days. As
a half-starved, unhappy child with a troupe of acro-
bats, I had often appeared there. But now I came
to Brussels as a conqueror. A beautiful villa in the
suburb of Laeken was ready to receive me and I
found that a large credit had been opened in my
name at one of the principal banks so that I could
keep open house.
“I think I scarcely realized then the rôle that I was
destined to fill by the German Secret Service. In all
my life before, I had never been happy, I had never
ceased to struggle for my bare existence, I had never
had pretty clothes to wear, and motor-cars and ser-
vants of my own.
She paused and glaneed around her. The room
was almost dark; the fog outside hung like a veil be-
fore the window.
“Light the lamp!" she begged, “I do not like
the dark!!
Desmond struck a match and kindled an oil lamp,
which stood on the sideboard.
“Ah! my friend,” the girl resumed. “I took my
fill of life with both hands. The year was 1913. Now


THE STAR OF POLAND
191
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 Col-
onel was found shot in the billiard-room; they said
it was suicide and the thing was hushed up, but
dame! now that I know what I know
“Enfin! I shut my eyes to it all . . . it was none
of my business . . . and I revelled in my robes, my
dancing, my new life of luxury!
“And then the war came. I was at Laeken, rest-
ing 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 Ger-
man friends assured me that, in a little while, the
German army would be at Brussels; that, if I re-
mained 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


192
OKEWOOD OF THE SECRET SERVICE
>>
.
reputation. I am not excusing myself; but all my
life had been spent up to then in the bas-fonds of so-
ciety. I had never known what it was to be courted
and admired by one who had the world at his feet.
Parbleu! one does not meet a future Emperor every
day!
“Enfin! the Prince carried me with him back to
Metz, where he had his headquarters. He was very
épris with me, but you know his temperament! No
woman can hold him for more than a few weeks, vain
and weak and arrogant as he is. But pardon! I was
forgetting that you are a good German. I fear I of-
fend your susceptibilities
Desmond laughed drily.
Madame,” he said, “I hope I have preserved suf-
ficient liberty of judgment to have formed my own
opinion about our future sovereign. Most Germans
have ...
“Alors," she broke in fiercely, her voice shaking
with passion, "you know what an ignoble canaille is
this young man, without even enough decency of feel-
ing to respect the troops of whom he has demanded
such bloody sacrifices. At Metz we were near enough
to the fighting to realize the blood and tears of this
war. But the Prince thought of nothing but his own
amusement. To live as he did, within sound of the
guns, with parties every night, women and dancing
and roulette and champagne suppers--bah! c'était
trop fort! It awakened in me the love of country
which lies dormant in all of us. I wanted to help my
country, lest I might sink as low as he ,
.
o


THE STAR OF POLAND
193
“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 cap-
ture of Warsaw. After dinner he took a leather case
out of his pocket and said to the Prince: “I have
brought your Imperial Highness a little souvenir
from Poland!” As he spoke he touched a spring and
the case flew open, displaying an enormous diamond,
nearly as big as the great Orloff diamond which I
have seen at Petrograd, surrounded by five other
brilliants, the whole set like a star.
"The Star of Poland,' said the young
officer (the
Prince called him 'Erich;' I never heard his full
name), "it comes from the long-lost Coronation
sword of the Polish kings. I took it for your Im-
perial Highness from the Château of John Sobieski
at Villanoff.'
“I could not take my eyes off the gem. As the
Prince held it down under the lamp to study it, it
shone like an electric light. I had met many of my
fellow-countrymen in America and I had often heard
of this jewel, famous in our unhappy history.
"The Prince, who was gay with champagne,
laughed and said:
“These lousy Poles will have no further use for
this pretty trinket, thanks to our stout German blows,
will they,
Erich?'
“And his friend replied:
“"We'll give them a nice new German constitution
instead, your Imperial Highness!'
“The Prince, as I have said, was very merry that


194
OKEWOOD OF THE SECRET SERVICE
night. He let me take the jewel from its case and
hold it in my hands. Then I fastened it in my hair
before the mirror and turned to show myself to the
Prince and his companion.
" 'Donnerwetter!' said Willie. It looks wonder-
ful in your hair, Marcelle!'
“Then, as if struck by a sudden thought, he cried:
“'Erich! What do you say, Marcelle is a Pole.
She shall have the Star of Poland and wear it in
memory of me!'
“The other thought this a famous idea and so the
jewel passed into my hands. That same evening I
resolved that it should be a sacred duty on my part
to keep it in safety until I could hand it back to the
lawful sovereign of an independent Poland.
“I was very unhappy at Metz until the Star of Po-
land came to comfort me. When I was alone, I used
to take it from its case and feast my eyes upon it. I
made many attempts to get away, but the Prince
would never let me go, though he had long since tired
of me and I was merely one of his harem of women.
Pfui!”
She gave an exclamation of disgust.
“It was the Crown Princess who eventually came
to my rescue,” she continued. “Long-suffering wife
as she is, the stories that came to her ears from Metz
were such that she went to the Emperor and de-
clared that she would insist upon a divorce. There
was a great scandal. The Prince's headquarters were
moved and at length I got my release.
“I had no money. This was a detail which the


THE STAR OF POLAND
195
Prince overlooked. But I wanted to resume my stage
work, so, with great difficulty, through the influence
of the Prince, I obtained a passport to Holland and
from there got across to England.
“I had hoped to turn my back once and for all on
my connection with the Prince. But your German
Secret Service had been warned about me. The Im-
perial 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 Mow-
bury, 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 indiscre-
tion on my part as to my stay at Metz would result
in my immediate denunciation to the English police
as a spy.
“My friend, I had no alternative. I am not Ger-
man; 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 move-
ments.
“And then one day I had a letter. It was from
Count Plettenbach, the Crown Prince's aide-de-camp,
as I knew by the hand-writing, for it was signed with
an assumed name. In this letter the Count, 'on be-
half of a mutual friend,' as he put it, requested me


196 OKEWOOD OF THE SECRET SERVICE
to hand back to a certain Mr. Mortimer, his accredit-
ed representative, ‘Erich's present.' There were
cogent reasons, it was added, for this unusual re-
quest.
“I sent no reply to that letter, although an address
in Switzerland was given to which an answer might
be despatched. I was resolved, come what may, not
to part with the Star of Poland. When Mortimer
came, five days later, I told him the jewel was not
mine to hand over, that it was part of the regalia of
Poland and that I would never give it up.
“Mortimer replied that the German and Austrian
Governments had decided to restore the indepen-
dence of Poland, that probably an Austrian Arch-
duke would be made king and that it was essential
that the Star of Poland should be restored in order to
include it in the regalia for the Coronation. But I
knew what this Austro-German kingdom of Poland
was to be, a serf state with not a shadow of that lib-
erty for which every Pole is longing. Since I have
been in England, I have kept in touch with the Polish
political organizations in this country. Rass, as he
calls himself, the landlord of this inn, is one of the
most prominent of the Polish leaders in England.
“Mortimer reasoned with me in vain and finally
went away empty-handed. But he did not abandon
hope. Four successive attempts were made to get
the jewel away from me. Twice my apartments at
the Nineveh Hotel were rifled; once my dressing-
room at the theatre was entered and searched whilst
I was on the stage. But I wore the jewel day and


THE STAR OF POLAND
197
night in a little bag suspended by a chain from my
neck and they never got it from me.
"Two days before I came down to your house-it
was the day before the murder-I was hustled by a
group of men as I came out of the theatre. Fortun-
ately the stage-door keeper came up unexpectedly
and the men made off. But the encounter frightened
me, and I resolved to break my contract with the
Palaceum and bury myself down here in the country.
“But somehow Mortimer learnt of my intention.
The next night-it was the night of the murder-he
came to the theatre and warned me against trying to
elude his vigilance by flight. I have never forgotten
his words.
“'I can afford to wait,' he said, 'for I shall get
what I want: I always do. But you have chosen to
set yourself against me and you will bitterly repent
it!”
As though the recollection proved too much for
her, Nur-el-Din broke off her narrative and covered
her face with her hands.
“And do you think that Mortimer did this mur-
der?” asked Desmond gently.
Wearily the girl raised her head.
“Either he or one of his accomplices, of whom this
girl is one!” she answered.
“But why not have put the jewel in a bank or one
of the safe deposits? Surely it was risky to have en-
trusted it to a girl of whom you knew nothing?"
“My friend," said the dancer, “I was desperate.
Mortimer sees and knows all. This unexpected meet-


198
OKEWOOD OF THE SECRET SERVICE
ing with the daughter of my old friend seemed at the
moment like a heaven-sent chance to place the jewel,
unknown to him, in safe hands. I felt that as long
as I carried it on me, my life was in constant danger.
It was only to-day, when I heard of the murder, that
it dawned on me how indiscreet I had been. I might
have guessed, since Miss Mackwayte knew Mortimer
>)
“Miss Mackwayte knows Mortimer?" echoed Des-
mond in stupefaction.
“But certainly,” replied Nur-el-Din. “Was it not
I myself
She broke off suddenly with terror in her eyes.
“Ah, no!" she whispered. “It is enough. Al-
ready I have said too much . .
Desmond was about to speak when the door opened
and a foreign-looking maid, whom Desmond remem-
bered to have seen in the dancer's dressing-room,
came in. She went swiftly to her mistress and whis-
pered something in her ear.
The dancer sprang to her feet.
"A little moment.
you
will excuse me
she cried to Desmond and ran from the room. The
maid followed her, leaving Desmond alone.
Presently, the sound of Nur-el-Din's voice raised
high in anger struck on his ears. He stole softly to
the door and opened it. Before him lay the staircase
deserted. He tip-toed down the stairs to the first
landing and listened. The murmur of voices reached
him indistinctly from the room below. Then he heard
Nur-el-Din crying out again in anger,
.


THE STAR OF POLAND
199
He craned his ear over the well of the staircase,
turning his face to the window which stood on the
landing. The window gave on a small yard with a
gate over which a lamp was suspended and beyond it
the fen now swathed in fog. The dancer's maid
stood beneath the lamp in earnest conversation with
a man in rough shooting clothes who held a gun
under his arm. As Desmond looked the man turned
his head so that the rays of the lamp fell full upon
his face. To his unspeakable consternation and
amazement, Desmond recognized Strangwise.


CHAPTER XVII
MR. BELLWARD ARRANGES A BRIDGE EVENING
O
BLIVIOUS 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 Mor-
stead Fen must abound in snipe and duck.
But he and Strangwise must not meet. Desmond
was chary of submitting his disguise to the other's
keen, shrewd eyes. Strangwise knew Nur-el-Din:
indeed, the dancer might have come to the inn to be
with him. If he recognized Desmond and imparted
his suspicions to the dancer, the game would be up;
on the other hand, Desmond could not take him aside
and disclose his identity; for that would be breaking
faith with the Chief. There was nothing for it, he
decided, but flight.
Yet how could he get away unobserved? There
was no exit from the staircase by the door into the
tap-room where Nur-el-Din was, and to go through
the tap-room was to risk coming face to face with
Strangwise.
So Desmond remained where he was by the win-
200


MR BELLWARD'S BRIDGE EVENING
201
dow and watched. Presently, the woman turned and
began to cross the yard, Strangwise, carrying his
gun, following her. Desmond waited until he heard
a door open somewhere below and then he acted.
Beside the window ran an old lead water-pipe
which drained the roof above his head. On a level
with the sill of the landing window, this pipe took a
sharp turn to the left and ran diagonally down to a
tall covered-in water-butt that stood on the flat roof
of an outhouse in the little yard.
Desmond raised the window very gently and tested
the pipe with his hand. It seemed rather insecure
and shook under his pressure. With his eye he mea-
sured 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 hang-
ing on to the sill, he might, by a pendulum-like mo-
tion, gain sufficient impulse to swing his legs across
the diagonally-running pipe, then transfer his hands
and so slide down to the outhouse roof.
He wasted no time in debating the chances of the
pipe collapsing under his weight. All his life it had
been his practice to take a risk, for such is the Irish
temperament–if the object to be attained in any way
justified it; and he was determined to avoid at all
costs the chance of a meeting with Strangwise. The
latter had probably read the name of Okewood in
that morning's casualty list, but Desmond felt more
than ever that he distrusted the man, and his con-
tinued presence in the neighborhood of Nur-el-Din
gravely preoccupied him.


202
OKEWOOD OF THE SECRET SERVICE
He stood a moment by the open window and lis-
tened. The murmur of voices went on in the tap-
room, but from another part of the house he heard a
deep laugh and knew it to be Strangwise's. Trust-
ing to Providence that the roof of the outhouse
would be out of sight of the yard door, Desmond
swung his right leg over the window-sill and followed
it with the other, turning his back on the yard. The
next moment he was dangling over the side of the
house.
Then from the yard below he heard Strangwise
call:
“Rufus! Rufus !"
A heavy footstep sounded on the flags. Desmond
remained perfectly still. The strain on his arms was
tremendous. If Strangwise should go as far as the
gate, so as to get clear of the yard, he must infallibly
see that figure clinging to the window-sill.
“Where the devil is that dog?” said Strangwise.
Then he whistled, and called again:
“Rufus! Rufus!"
Desmond made a supreme effort to support the
strain on his muscles. The veins stood out at his
temples and he felt the blood singing in his ears.
Another minute and he knew he must drop. He no
longer had the power to swing himself
up
to the win-
dow ledge again.
A bark rang out in the courtyard, followed by the
patter of feet. Desmond heard Strangwise speak to
the dog and re-enter the house. Then silence fell
again. With a tremendous
effort Desmond swung


MR. BELLWARD'S BRIDGE EVENING
203
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 stand-
ing on the roof of the outhouse, cautiously peering
through the dank fog that hung about the yard.
Screening himself from view behind the tall water-
butt, he reconnoitred the back of the inn. The upper
part of the house was shrouded in darkness, but a
broad beam of light from a half-open door and a tall
window on the ground floor cleft the pall of fog.
The window showed a snug little bar with Strang-
wise 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 fol-
lowed a dull crash from the interior of the inn and
the next moment the yellow-faced man, whom Des-
mond judged to be Rass, stepped into the circle of
light inside the window. He said something to
Strangwise with thumb jerked behind him, where-
upon the latter clapped him, as though in approval,
on the shoulder, and both hurried out together.
Puzzled though he was by the scene he had just
witnessed, Desmond did not dare to tarry longer.
The roof of the outhouse was only some ten feet from
the ground, an easy drop. He let himself noiselessly
down and landing on his feet without mishap, darted
out of the yard gate. As he did so, he heard the inn
door open and Strangwise's voice cry out:


MR. BELLWARD'S BRIDGE EVENING
205
Desmond shut and locked the door and then went
to the telephone at the desk. "Ring up 700 Stan-
ning”—he repeated his instructions to himself-
"and ask for Mr. Elias. Assistance will be with you
within fifteen minutes afterwards."
By the clock on the mantelpiece it was a quarter to
seven. If aid arrived promptly, with a car they could
be at the Dyke Inn by a quarter past seven.
The telephone gave no sign of life. Desmond im-
patiently jerked the receiver hook up and down. This
time, at least, he would not fail, he told himself. Be-
fore he went to bed that night Nur-el-Din, her maid,
Rass, and if needs be, Strangwise (who needed a les-
son to teach him discretion), should be in custody.
Still no reply.
“Hullo! Hullo!” cried Desmond, depressing the
hook repeatedly. “Hullo, Exchange!"
But there was no answer. Then it struck Desmond
that the line was dead: his ear detected none of that
busy whirr which is heard in the telephone when one
is waiting to get a number.
He spent five minutes in vain attempts to obtain a
reply, then abandoned the endeavor in disgust.
“I shall have to take the motor-bike and go over
to Stanning," he said to himself, “how I shall find
my way there in this fog, the Lord only knows! And
I don't know whom to apply to when I get there.
The police-station, I suppose!”
He unlocked the door and rang for Martha.
“I have to go over to Stanning, Martha,” he said,
“I will try and be back for dinner at eight!"


206
OKEWOOD OF THE SECRET SERVICE
He had no intention of accompanying the party to
the Dyke Inn. He must preserve his incognito until
Mortimer, the main quarry, had been run down.
He filled his case from the box of cigarettes on the
table and thrust a box of matches into his pocket to
light his head-lamp. Then, taking a cap from the
hat-stand, he opened the front door. Even as he did
so a big open car slowed down throbbing outside the
porch. A man sprang out and advanced into the
light streaming from the front door into the eddying
mist. It was Mortimer.
“Fortune,” thought Desmond, "has broken her
rule. She has given me a second chance!”
“Well met, Bellward!" cried Mortimer, blinking
at the other through his thick glasses. “Tut, tut!
What a night! You were never going out, I swear?”
Already Desmond had decided in his mind the
course of action he would pursue. For the moment
he must let the party at the Dyke Inn slide in favor
of the bigger catch. He must slip away later and
have another try at the telephone and if it were still
out of order, he must endeavor to overpower Mor-
timer and then go for assistance himself. On a
night like this it was useless to think of employing
a half-blind old dolt like Martha to take a message.
As for the odd man, he lived at Wakefield, and went
away at dusk every evening.
So Desmond muttered some plausible lie about
wanting to have a look at the weather and cordially
invited Mortimer in.
“You will stay for dinner!” he said.


MR. BELLWARD'S BRIDGE EVENING
207
“Gladly," replied the other, sinking with a grunt
into the settee. “And I should be glad if we might
dine early."
Desmond raised his eyebrows.
"... Because,” Mortimer resumed, “I have ven-
tured to ask a few friends round here to ... to
have an evening at bridge. Doubtless, you have
cards, eh?"
Desmond pointed to a card-table standing in the
corner with several packs of cards and markers.
Then he rang and told the housekeeper that they
would dine as soon as possible.
“The coming fortnight,” said Mortimer, tucking
his napkin into his collar as they sat at the dinner
table, “is pregnant with great events. No less than
ten divisions are, I understand, to be transferred
to the other side. I have waited to communicate
with you until I had confirmation of this report. But
now that the matter has been decided, it only re-
mains for us to perfect our arrangements for com-
municating these plans to our friends beyond the
North Sea. Therefore, I thought a friendly bridge
evening at the hospitable home of our dear colleague
Bellward would be in place.
He smiled affably and bent over his soup-plate.
“I shall be delighted to receive our friends,” Des-
mond replied, “a glass of sherry?”
“Thank you,” said Mortimer.
"I shall have to provide a few refreshments," said
Desmond. “May I ask how many guests I may ex-
pect?'
>


208
OKEWOOD OF THE SECRET SERVICE
Mortimer reckoned on his fingers.
“Let's see,” he answered, “there's Max, that's
one, and Madame Malplaquet, that's two. No. 13
and Behrend makes four and myself, five!”
“And Madame Nur-el-Din?” queried Desmond
innocently, but inwardly quaking at his rashness.
Mortimer genially shook a finger at him.
“Sly dog!' he chuckled, “you're one too many
for me in that quarter, I see! I know all about your
tête-à-tête with our charming young friend this after-
noon!"
Desmond felt the blood rush to his face. He
thought of Nur-el-Din's words: “Mortimer sees and
knows all.” He picked up his sherry glass and
drained it to cover his confusion.
... It was hardly gallant of you to bolt so
suddenly and leave the lady!” Mortimer added.
How much did this uncanny creature know?
Without waiting for him to reply, Mortimer went
On.
“I suppose she told you a long story of my per-
secution, eh, Bellward? You needn't shake your
head. I taxed her with it and she admitted as
much!”
“I had no idea that you were staying at the Dyke
Inn!” said Desmond at a venture.
“My friend,” replied Mortimer, lowering his
voice, “your fair charmer is showing a decided in-
clination to make a nuisance of herself. I have had
to keep an eye on her. It's been a very serious in-
convenience to my plans, I can assure you. But you


MR. BELLWARD'S BRIDGE EVENING
209
haven't answered my question. What sent you away
in such a hurry this afternoon? and in so romantic
a fashion! By the window, was it not?”
Through sheer apprehension, Desmond was now
keyed up to a kind of desperate audacity. The truth
is sometimes a very effectvie weapon in the game of
bluff, and Desmond determined to employ it.
“I saw someone I didn't want to meet,” he re-
plied.
“Ah!" said Mortimer, "who was that, I wonder?
The Dyke Inn could hardly be described as a fre-
quented resort, I imagine!”
The entry of old Martha to change the plates pre-
vented Desmond from replying. He used the brief
respite to review the situation. He would tell Mor-
timer the truth. They were man to man now and
he cared nothing even if the other should discover
the fraud that had been practised upon him. Come
what might, Mortimer, dead or alive, should be de-
livered up to justice that night.
The housekeeper left the room and Desmond spoke.
“I saw an officer I knew in the courtyard,” he
said.
“Oh, Strangwise, I suppose!” said Mortimer care-
lessly. “There's nothing to fear from him, Bell-
ward. 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 meet-
ing officers, however, and that's a fact!”


210
OKEWOOD OF THE SECRET SERVICE
Mortimer looked at him keenly for a brief instant.
“What prudence!” he cried. “Bellward, you
are the very model of what a secret agent should be!
This pheasant is delicious!”
He turned the conversation into a different chan-
nel but Desmond could not forget that brief search-
ing look. His mind was in a turmoil of half-digested
facts, of semi-completed deductions. He wanted to
go away somewhere alone and think out this mys-
tery and disentangle each separate web of this baffl-
ing skein of intrigue.
He must focus his attention on Mortimer and Nur-
el-Din. If Mortimer and Strangwise were both
staying at the Dyke Inn, then they were probably
acquainted. Strangwise knew Nur-el-Din, too, knew
her well; for Desmond remembered how familiarly
they had conversed together that night in the dan-
cer's dressing-room at the Palaceum. Strangwise
knew Barbara Mackwayte also. Nur-el-Din had in-
troduced them, Desmond remembered, on that fate-
ful night when he had accompanied Strangwise to the
Palaceum. Strange, how he was beginning to en:
counter the man Strangwise at every turn in this
sinister affair.
And then, with a shock that struck him like a blow
in the face, Desmond recalled Barbara's parting
words to him in the taxi. He remembered how she
had told him of seeing Nur-el-Din's face in the mir-
ror as the dancer was talking to Strangwise that
night at the Palaceum, and of the look of terror in
the girl's eyes.
Nur-el-Din was terrified of Morti-


MR. BELLWARD'S BRIDGE EVENING
211
mer; 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 af-
fair. What confession had been on Nur-el-Din's lips
when she had broken off that afternoon with the cry:
Already I have said too much!”
Thereafter Desmond's eyes were never long ah
sent from Mortimer's face, scrutinizing each feature
in turn, the eyes, set rather close together, grotes-
quely shielded by the thick spectacles, the narrow
cheeks, the rather cynical mouth half hidden by the
heavy, drooping moustache, the broad forehead brok-
en by a long lock of dark hair brushed out flat in a
downward direction from an untidy, unkempt crop.
They talked no more of Strangwise or of Nur-el-
Din. The rest of dinner was passed in conversation
of a general order in which Mr. Mortimer showed
himself to great advantage. He appeared to be a
widely travelled, well-read man, with a fund of dry,
often rather grim humor. And all the time Des-
mond watched, watched, unobtrusively but unceas-
ingly, looking out for something he was confident of
detecting through the suave, immobile mask of this
brilliant conversationalist.
Skilfully, almost imperceptibly, Desmond edged
the talk on to the war. In this domain, too, Mor-
timer 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


212
OKEWOOD OF THE SECRET SERVICE
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 Mor-
timer 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 conver-
sation round to personal topics; but every time his
companion contrived to switch it back to general
lines.
At last Desmond risked a direct question. By this
time a pint of Pommery and Gréno was tingling in
his veins and he felt he didn't care if the roof fell in.
“Ever since Nur-el-Din told me you were of the
Crown Prince's personal service," he said, “I have
been devoured with curiosity to know what you were
doing before you came to England. Were you at
Metz with his Imperial Highness? Did you see the
assault at Verdun? Were you present at the cap-
ture of the Fort of Douaumont?"
Mortimer shook his head, laughing, and held up a
deprecating hand.
“Professional discretion, my dear fellow, profes-
sional discretion!” he retorted. “You know what it
is!"
Then lowering his voice, he added:
“Between ourselves the less said about my con-


MR. BELLWARD'S BRIDGE EVENING
213
nection with Master Willie the better. Our col-
leagues are already restless at what they consider my
neglect of my professional work. They attribute it
to the wiles of Nur-el-Din. They may if they like
and I don't propose to disillusion them. You under-
stand, Bellward?"
His voice was commanding and he bent his brows
at Desmond, who hastened to protest that his dis-
cretion in the matter would be absolute.
When they had had their coffee and Mortimer was
contentedly puffing one of Bellward's excellent
double Coronas, Desmond rose from the table.
“If you will excuse me a minute,” he said, “I
will just go across to the library and see if my house-
keeper has put all in order for our guests!"
Instantly Mortimer got up from the table.
“By all means,” he said, and emptied his glass
of brandy, “so, I will come with you!”
Mortimer meant to stick to him, thought Desmond;
that was evident. Then an idea struck him. Why
should he not telephone in Mortimer's presence ?
To ask for Mr. Elias was in no way incriminating
and if help came promptly, Mortimer could be se-
cured and the other spies pounced upon in their turn
as they arrived.
Therefore, as soon as they reached the library,
Desmond walked over to the desk and picked up the
telephone receiver from its hook.
“Excuse me,” he said to Mortimer, “I had for-
gotten I had to ring up Stanning!"
“Oh, dear,” said Mortimer from his place on the


214 OKEWOOD OF THE SECRET SERVICE
hearthrug where he was warming his coat tails in
front of the fire, “isn't that unfortunate? I wish I
had known! Tut, tut, how annoying for you!”
The telephone seemed quite dead.
“I don't understand!” said Desmond to Morti-
mer. “What's annoying?”
“The telephone, my dear Bellward,”—Mortimer
spoke in a pompous voice—“the telephone is the
symbol of the age in which we live, the age of pub-
licity but also of indiscretion. It is almost as in-
discreet 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 tempo-
rarily; it shall be restored as soon as we break up. I
have some small acquaintance with electrical engi-
neering.'
Desmond was silent. Disappointment had de-
prived him for the moment of the power of speech.
It was to be man to man then, after all. If he was
to secure Mortimer and the rest of the gang that
night, he must do it on his own. He could not hope
for aid. The prospect did not affright him. If
Mortimer could have seen the other's eyes at that
moment he might have remarked a light dancing
in them that was not solely of Messrs. Pommery and
Gréno's manufacture.
“If I had known you wanted to use the instru-
ment, my dear fellow," Mortimer continued in his


MR. BELLWARD'S BRIDGE EVENING
215
bland voice, “I should certainly have waited until
you had done your business!"
“Pray don't mention it,” replied Desmond, "you
do well to be prudent, Mr. Mortimer!”
Mortimer shot a sudden glance at him. Desmond
met it with a frank, easy smile.
"I'm a devil for prudence myself!” he observed
brightly.


CHAPTER XVIII
THE GATHERING OF THE SPIES
A
CTION, or the promise of action, always acted
on Desmond Okewood like a nerve tonic. His
visit to the inn, followed by the fencing with
Mortimer at dinner, had galvanized his nerves jaded
with the inaction of the preceding days. He averted
his eyes from the future, he put the past resolutely
away. He bent his whole attention on the problem
immediately before him-how to carry off the rôle
of Bellward in front of four strangers, one of whom,
at least, he thought, must know the man he was im-
personating; how to extract as much information as
possible about the gang and its organization before
uncovering his hand; finally, how to overpower the
four men and the one woman when the moment had
come to strike.
Mortimer and he were in the library. By Des-
mond's direction old Martha had put out two bridge
tables and cards. A tantalus stand with siphons and
glasses, an assortment of different colored liqueurs
in handsome cut-glass carafes and some plates of
sandwiches stood on a side-table. At Mortimer's
suggestion Desmond had told the housekeeper that,
once the guests had arrived, she might go to bed.
216


THE GATHERING OF SPIES
217
The library was very still. There was no sound
except for the solemn ticking of the clock on the
mantelpiece or the occasional rustle of the evening
paper in Mortimer's hand as he stood in front of the
fire. Desmond was sitting on the settee, tranquilly
smoking, studying Mortimer and thinking out the
problem before him.
He measured Mortimer with his eye. The latter
was a bigger man than Desmond in every way and
Desmond suspected that he was even stronger than
he looked. Desmond wondered whether he should
try and overpower him then and there. The other
was almost certain to carry a revolver, he thought,
while he was unarmed. Failure, he knew, would
ruin everything. The gang would disperse to the
four winds of heaven while as for Mr. Bellward-
well, he would certainly be “for it," as the soldiers
say.
No, he must hold his hand until the meeting had
taken place. This was the first conference that Mor-
timer had summoned, and Desmond intended to see
that it should be the last. But first he meant to find
out all there was to know about the working of the
gang.
He resolved to wait and see what the evening
would bring forth. The telephone was “a wash-
out”: the motor-cycle was now his only chance to
summon aid for he knew it was hopeless to think of
tackling single-handed odds of four to one (to say
nothing of the lady in the case). It must be his
business to make an opportunity to slip away on the


218 OKEWOOD OF THE SECRET SERVICE
motor-bike to Stanning. Ten minutes to get there,
five minutes to deliver his message at the police-
station (if the Chief's people made their headquar-
ters there), and ten minutes to get back if they
had a car. Could he leave the meeting for 25 minutes
without arousing suspicions? He doubted it; but it
must be. There was no other way. And then with a
shock that made him cold with fear he remembered
Mortimer's motor-car.
If, during his absence, anything occurred to arouse
their suspicions, the whole crowd could pile into the
car and be away long before Desmond could be back
with help. The fog had lifted and it was a clear
night outside. The car would have to be got rid of
before he left the house, that was all about it. But
how? A means to that end must also be discovered
as the evening progressed. By the way, what had
Mortimer done with his car?
A very faint throbbing somewhere outside an-
swered Desmond's unspoken question.
Mortimer flung aside his paper.
“Isn't that a car?” he asked, “that'll be they. I
sent Max to Wentfield station to meet our friends!"
There was the sound of voices, of bustle in the hall.
Then the door opened and a man came in. Desmond
had a brief moment of acute suspense. Was he sup-
posed to know him?
He was a short, ugly fellow with immensely broad
shoulders, a heavy puffy face, a gross, broad nose,
and a tooth-brush moustache. He might have been
a butcher to look at. In the top edge of his coat


220
OKEWOOD OF THE SECRET SERVICE
Then, leaving Behrend to shake hands with Mor-
timer, he literally rushed at Desmond and shook him
by the hand exactly as though he were working a
pump handle.
“My tear Pellward,” he cried, “it is a hondred
year since I haf see you, not? And how are the
powers?”
He lowered his voice and gazed mysteriously at
him.
Desmond, at a loss what to make of this extra-
ordinary individual, answered at random:
“The powers? Still fighting, I believe!”
The tall man stared open-mouthed at him for a
moment. Then, clapping his hands together, he
burst into a high-pitched cackle of laughter.
“A joke,” he yelled, “a mos' excellent joke! I
must tell this to Minna. My vriend, I haf not mean
the great Powers."
He looked dramatically about him, then whis-
pered:
“I mean, the oggult!"
Desmond, who was now quite out of his depth,
wagged his head solemnly at the other as though
to indicate that his occult powers were something
not to be lightly mentioned. He had no fear of the
tall man, at any rate. He placed him as a very
ordinary German, a common type in the Fatherland,
simple-minded, pedantic, inquisitive, and a prodi-
gious bore withal but dangerous, for of this stuff
German discipline kneads militarists.
But the door opened again to admit the last of the


THE GATHERING OF SPIES
221
guests. A woman entered. Desmond was imme-
diately 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 fea-
tures were very regular, and she had a pair of pierc-
ing black eyes of undimmed brightness. Her gray
hair was tastefully arranged, and she wore a becom-
ing black velvet gown with a black lace scarf thrown
across the shoulders. A white silk rose was fastened
to her bodice by a large black pin with a glass head.
Directly she appeared, the tall man shouted to her
in German.
“Sag'mal, Minna ..," he began.
Mortimer turned on him savagely.
“Hold your tongue, No. 13," he cried, “are you
mad? What the devil do you mean by it? You
know the rules!"
By way of reply, "No. 13" broke into a regular
frenzy of coughing which left him gasping for breath.
“Pardon! I haf' forgot!” he wheezed out be-
tween the spasms.
The woman went over to Mortimer and put out
her gloved hand.
“I am Mrs. Malplaquet," she said in a pleasant
voice. “And you are Mr. Mortimer, I think!”
Mortimer bowed low over her hand.
“Madame, I am charmed to meet one of whom I
have heard nothing but praise," he said.


222
OKEWOOD OF THE SECRET SERVICE
.
SO
.
“Verry pretty!" replied Mrs. Malplaquet smiling.
"They tell me you have a great way with the ladies,
my dear sir!
“But,” she went on, “I am neglecting our host,
my dear Mr. Bellward. How are you, my friend?
How well you are looking . so young
fresh! I declare you seem to have got five years
younger!”
The keen black eyes searched Desmond's face. He
felt horribly uncomfortable. The woman's eyes were
like gimlets boring right into him. He suddenly felt
that his disguise was a poor one. He remembered
Crook's warning to be wary of women, and he in-
wardly quailed.
“I am so glad to meet you again!” he murmured.
He didn't like Mrs. Malplaquet's eyes. They assort-
ed strangely with the rest of her gentle and refined
appearance. They were hard and cruel, those black
eyes. Thy put him in mind of a snake.
“It is so long since I've seen you," she said, “that
positively your voice seems to have changed.”
“That's because I have a cold,” said Desmond.
“Fiddlesticks!” retorted the lady, "the timbre is
quite different! Bellward, I believe you're in love!
Don't tell me you've been running after that hank
of hair that Mortimer is so devoted to!”
She glanced in Mortimer's direction, but that gen-
tleman was engaged in earnest conversation with
Behrend and the tall man.
“Whom do you mean?" asked Desmond.
“Where are your eyes, man?” rapped out Mrs.


THE GATHERING OF SPIES
223
Malplaquet. “The dancer woman, of course, Nur-
el-what-do-you-call-it. There's the devil of a row
brewing about the way our friend over there is neg-
lecting us to run after the minx. They're getting
sharp in this country, Bellward--I've lived here for
forty years so I know what I'm talking about-and
we can't afford to play any tricks. Mortimer will
finish by bringing destruction on every one of us.
And I shall tell him so to-night. And so will No. 13!
And so will young Behrend! You ought to hear Beh-
rend about it!!
Mrs. Malplaquet began to interest Desmond. She
was obviously a woman of refinement, and he was
surprised to find her in this odd company. By dint
of careful questioning, he ascertained the fact that
she lived in London, at a house on Campden Hill.
She seemed to know a good many officers, particular-
ly naval men.
“I've been keeping my eyes open as I promised,
Bellward,” she said, “and I believe I've got hold
of a likely subject for you-a submarine commander
he is, and very psychic. When will you come and
meet him at my house?”
Mortimer's voice, rising above the buzz of con-
versation, checked his reply.
“If you will all sit down,” he said, “we'll get
down to business."
Despite all distractions, Desmond had been watch-
ing 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


224 OKEWOOD OF THE SECRET SERVICE
where she sat down beside Behrend. Max took the
armchair on the left of the fireplace, while No. 13
perched himself grotesquely on a high music-stool,
his long legs curled round the foot. Mortimer stood
in his former position on the hearth, his back to the
fire.
A very odd-looking band! Desmond commented
to himself but he thought he could detect in each
of the spies a certain ruthless fanaticism which ex-
perience taught him to respect as highly dangerous.
And they all had hard eyes !
When they were seated, Mortimer said:
“About the 14th of this month the British Ad-
miralty 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
It seems to me that the moment has come
for us to demonstrate the efficiency of our new or-
ganization.”
He looked round at his audience but no one said
a word. Desmond felt very distinctly that there was
a hostile atmosphere against Mortimer in that room.
“I asked you to come here to-night,” Mortimer
went on, “to discuss the plans for sending prompt
and accurate information regarding the movements
of these transports to the other side. I warn you that
this time our mode of procedure will have to be radi-
cally different from the methods we have pursued on
former occasions. To expend our energies in collect-
ing information at half a dozen different ports of
success.


THE GATHERING OF SPIES
225
>>
war will be waste of time. The direction of the
whole of this enterprise lies in the hands of one man
at the Admiralty."
Behrend, who had struck Desmond as a rather
taciturn young man, shook his head dubiously.
“That makes things very difficult,” he remarked.
“Wait,” replied Mortimer. “I agree, it is very
difficult, the more so as I have reason to believe that
the authorities have discovered the existence of our
organization.”
Mrs. Malplaquet and Behrend turned to one an-
other simultaneously.
“What did I say?" said Behrend.
“I told you so," said the lady.
“Therefore,” Mortimer resumed, “our former ac-
tivities on the coast will practically be paralyzed.
We shall have to confine our operations to London
while Max and Mr. Behrend here will be entrusted
with the task of getting the news out to our sub-
marines.'
No. 13 broke in excitedly.
“Vork in London, vork in London!” he cried. “It
is too dangerous, my vriend. Vot do I know of Lon-
don? Portsmouth” (he called it Portsmouse),
“Sout’ampton, the Isle of Vight ... good ...it
is my province. But, London . . . it is senseless!"
Mortimer turned his gig-lamps on the interrupter.
“You will take your orders from me as before,”
he said quietly.
Behrend adjusted his pince-nez.
“No. 13 is perfectly right," he remarked, “he


226
OKEWOOD OF THE SECRET SERVICE
.
.
knows his territory, and he should be allowed to
work there."
“You, too,” Mortimer observed in the same calm
tone as before, "will take your orders from me!”
With a quick gesture the young man dashed his
long black hair out of his eyes.
“Maybe," he replied, “but only as long as I feel
sure that your orders are worth following
“Do you dare ..." began Mortimer, shouting.
At present," the other continued, as though
Mortimer had not spoken. “I don't feel at all sure
that they are.
The atmosphere was getting a trifle heated,
thought Desmond. If he judged Mortimer aright, he
was not the man to let himself be dictated to by any-
body. He was wondering how the scene would end
when suddenly something caught his eye that took his
mind right away from the events going forward in
the room.
Opposite him, across the library, was a French
window across which the curtains had been drawn.
One of the curtains, however, had got looped up on
a chair so that there was a gap at the bottom of the
window showing the pane.
In this gap was a face pressed up against the glass.
To his astonishment Desmond recognized the wea-
ther-beaten features of the odd man, Mr. John Hill.
The face remained there only for a brief instant. The
next moment it was gone and Desmond's attention
was once more claimed by the progress of the con-
ference.


THE GATHERING OF SPIES
227
"Do I understand that you refuse to serve under
me any longer?” Mortimer was saying to Behrend,
who had risen from the settee and stood facing him.
“As long as you continue to behave as you are
doing at present,” replied the other, "you may un-
derstand that!"
Mortimer made a quick dive for his pocket. In
an instant Max had jumped at him and caught his
arm.
"Don't be a fool!” he cried, "for Gawd's sake,
put it away, carn't yer? D’you want the 'ole ruddy
plice abart our ears?"
“I'll have no disobedience of orders,” roared
Mortimer, struggling with the other. In his fist he
had a big automatic pistol. It was a prodigious
weapon, the largest pistol that Desmond had ever
seen.
“He threatened him, he threatened him!”
screamed No. 13 jumping about on his stool.
“Take it away from him, Max, for Heaven's
sake!” cried the lady.
Everybody was talking at once. The noise was so
loud that Desmond wondered whether old Martha
would hear the din. He sat in his chair by the door,
a silent witness of the scene. Then suddenly, at the
height of the hubbub, he heard the faint humming
of a motor-car. It lasted for perhaps thirty seconds,
then gradually died away.
"What did it mean?” he asked himself. Tho
only living being he knew of outside was John Hill,
the odd man, whose face he had just seen; the only


228
OKEWOOD OF THE SECRET SERVICE
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 Mortimer had put up his pistol and Mrs.
Malplaquet was speaking. Her remarks were effec-
tive and very much to the point. She upbraided
Mortimer with his long and mysterious absences
which she attributed to his infatuation for Nur-el-
Din and complained bitterly of the dancer's impru-
dence in consorting openly with notorious folk like
Lazarro and Bryan Mowbury.
“I went to the girl myself,” she said, “and begged
her to be more circumspect. But Madame would not
listen to advice; Madame was doubtless sure of her
position with our revered leader, and thought she
could reject the friendly counsel of one old enough
to be her mother. Behrend and Max and No. 13
there—all of us—are absolutely agreed that we are
not going on with this sort of thing any longer. If
you are to remain in charge of our organization,
Mr. Mortimer, we want to know where you are to
be found and how you spend your time. In short,
we want to be sure that you are not playing a game
that most of us have at different times played on
subordinate agents ... I mean, that when the crisis
comes, we fall into the trap and you walk away.
You had better realize once and for all that we are
too old hands for that sort of trick."
Here Max took up the thread. “Mrs. Malplaquet
had put it very strite, so she 'ad, and wot he wanted
to know was what Mortimer 'ad to siy?"


THE GATHERING OF SPIES
229
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 con-
clusion, so that he was at length free to devote
his whole attention once more to the great task in
hand.
Behrend brought his fist crashing down on the arm
of the settee.
“Words, words,” he cried, “it won't do for me.
Isn't there a man in the room besides me! You,
Bellward, or you, Max, or you, No. 13? Haven't you
got any guts any of you? Are you going to sit here
and listen to the soft soap of a fellow who has prob-
ably sent better men than himself to their death with
tripe of this kind? It may do for you, but by the
Lord, it won't do for me!”
Mortimer cleared his throat uneasily.
“Our host is silent," said Mrs. Malplaquet, “what
does Mr. Bellward think about it?"
Desmond spoke up promptly.
“I think it would be very interesting to hear some-
thing further about this mission of Mortimer's," he
observed.
Mortimer cast him a glance of bitter malice.
“Well,” he said, after a pause, “you force my
hand. I shall tell you of this mission of mine and
I shall show you the evidence, because it seems es-
sential in the interests of our organization. But I
assure you I shall not forget this want of confidence


THE GATHERING OF SPIES
231
“How I got to England,” Mortimer continued,
“matters nothing; how I fulfilled my mission is
neither here nor there. But I recovered the gem and
the proof ..."
He thrust a hand into the inner pocket of his coat
and plucked out a white paper package sealed up
with broad red seals.
Desmond held his breath. It was the white paper
package, exactly as Barbara had described.
“Look at it well, Behrend,” said Mortimer, hold-
ing it up for the young man to see, “it cost me a
man's life to get that. If it had sent twenty men to
their death, I should have had it just the same!"
Mrs. Malplaquet clapped her hands, her eyes shin-
ing.
'Bravo, bravo!” she exclaimed, “that's the
spirit! That's the way to talk, Mortimer!”
“Cut it out,” snarled Behrend, “and let's see the
goods!”
All had left their seats and were gathered in a
group about Mortimer as he began to break the
gleaming red wax seals. One by one he burst them,
the white paper slipped off and disclosed ...a
box of cigarettes.
Mortimer stood gazing in stupefaction at the
gaudy green and gold lettering of the box. Then,
running his thumb-nail swiftly along the edge of the
box, he broke the paper wrapping, the box burst
open and a shower of cigarettes fell to the ground.
“So that's your Star of Poland, is it?” cried Beh-
rend in a mocking voice.


232
OKEWOOD OF THE SECRET SERVICE
“Wot ’ave yer done wiv' the sparklers, eh?” de-
manded Max, catching Mortimer roughly by the arm.
But Mortimer stood, aimlessly shaking the empty
box in front of him, as though to convince himself
that the gem was not there. Behrend fell on his
knees and raked the pile of cigarettes over and over
with his fingers.
“Nothing there!” he shouted angrily, springing
to his feet. “It's all bluff! He's bluffing to the end !
See, he doesn't even attempt to find his famous
jewel! He knows it isn't there!”
But Mortimer paid no heed. He was staring
straight in front of him, a strangely woe-begone fig-
ure with his thatch of untidy hair and round goggle
eyes. Then the cigarette box fell to the floor with a
crash as Mortimer's hands dropped, with a hopeless
gesture, to his sides.
“Barbara Mackwayte!” he whispered in a low
voice, not seeming to realize that he was speaking
aloud, “so that's what she wanted with Nur-el-Din!"
Desmond was standing at Mortimer's elbow and
caught the whisper. As he heard Mortimer speak
Barbara's name, he had a sudden premonition that
his own unmasking was imminent, though he under-
stood as little of the purport of the other's remark
as of the pile of cigarettes lying on the carpet. As
Mortimer turned to look at him, Desmond nerved
himself to meet the latter's gaze. But Mortimer's
face wore the look of a desperate man. There was
no recognition in his eyes.
Not so with Desmond. Perhaps the biterness of


THE GATHERING OF SPIES
233
his disappointment had made Mortimer careless,
perhaps the way in which he had pronounced Bar-
bara'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 stand-
ing beside him was Maurice Strangwise, his comrade-
in-arms in France.
At that very moment a loud crash rang through
the room, a cold blast of damp air came rushing in
and the lamp on the table flared up wildly, flickered
an instant and went out, leaving the room in darkness
save for the glow of the fire.
A deep voice cried:
“May I ask what you are all doing in my house?”
The secret door of the bookshelves had swung
back and there, framed in the gaping void, Desmond
saw the dark figure of a man.


CHAPTER XIX
THE UNINVITED GUEST
T
HERE are moments in life when the need for
prompt action is so urgent that thought, de-
cision and action must be as one operation of
the brain. In the general consternation following
on the dramatic appearance of this uninvited guest,
Desmond had a brief respite in which to think over
his position.
Should he make a dash for it or stay where he was
and await developments?
Without a second's hesitation, he decided on the
latter course. With the overpowering odds against
him it was more than doubtful whether he could
ever reach the library door. Besides, to go was to
abandon absolutely all hope of capturing the gang;
for his flight would warn the conspirators that the
game was up. On the other hand, the new-comer
might be an ally, perhaps an emissary of the Chief's.
The strange behavior of the odd man had shown
that something was afoot outside of which those in
the library were unaware. Was the uninvited guest
the deus ex machina who was to help him, Desmond,
out of his present perilous fix?
Meanwhile the stranger had stepped into the room,
234


THE UNINVITED GUEST
235
drawing the secret door to behind him. Desmond
heard his heavy step and the dull thud of the parti-
tion swinging into place. The sound seemed to break
the spell that hung over the room.
Mortimer was the first to recover his presence of
mind. Crying out to No. 13 to lock the door leading
into the hall, he fumbled for a moment at the table.
Desmond caught the noise of a match being scratched
and the next moment the library was again bathed in
the soft radiance of the lamp.
Picking up the light, Mortimer strode across to
the stranger.
“What do you want here?” he demanded fiercely,
"and who the devil ...
He broke off without completing his sentence,
drawing back in amazement. For the rays of the
lamp fell upon the pale face of a stoutish, bearded
man, veering towards middle age standing in front
of Mortimer. And the face was the face of the
stoutish, bearded man, veering towards middle age,
who stood in the shadow a few paces behind Morti-
mer. 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 stupe-
faction from one to the other of the two Mr. Bell-
wards. For nearly a minute the only sound in the


236 OKEWOOD OF THE SECRET SERVICE
room was the deep ticking of the clock, counting
away the seconds separating him from eternity, Des-
mond thought.
It was Mrs. Malplaquet who broke the silence.
Suddenly her nerves snapped under the strain, and
she screamed aloud.
"A-ah!" she cried, “look! There are two of
them! No, no, it can't be!"
And she sank half fainting on the sofa.
Behrend whipped out a pistol from his hip pocket
and thrust it in Mortimer's face.
“Is this another of your infernal surprise pack-
ets?” he demanded fiercely.
All the spies seemed on a sudden to be armed,
Desmond noted, all, that is, save Mrs. Malplaquet
who lay cowering on the settee. Mortimer had pulled
out his super-Mauser; No. 13, who was guarding the
door, had a revolver in his hand, and Behrend, as
has been stated, was threatening Mortimer with his
Browning
Now Max advanced threateningly into the room,
a long seaman's knife in his hand.
“Put that blarsted shooting-iron awiy!” he
snarled at Mortimer, "and tell us wot's the little
gime, will yer? Come on, expline!”
With absolute self-possession Mortimer turned
from the stranger to Desmond.
“I think it is up to the twins to explain," he said
almost nonchalantly, “suppose we hear what this
gentleman, who arrived so surprisingly through the
book-shelves, has to say?"


THE UNINVITED GUEST
237
Though threatened with danger from two sides,
from the gang and possibly, as far as he knew, from
the stranger, Mortimer was perfectly calm. Des-
mond 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 sick-
ening feeling that he was going to be beaten, that
the gang were going to slip through his fingers after
all . . . and he was powerless to prevent it.
He guessed at once what had happened. Bellward
must have escaped from custody; for there was no
disguise about this pale, flustered creature who had
the cowed look of a hunted man in his eyes. He
must have come to the Mill House to get his motor-
cycle; for he surely would have known that the villa
would be the first place to which the police would
follow him up.
Desmond saw a little ray of hope. If-it was a
very big “if" —Bellward's flight were discovered
promptly, the police might be expected to reach the
Mill House very soon behind him. Bellward must
have come straight there; for he had not even taken
the very elementary precaution of shaving off his
beard. That made Desmond think that he must
have escaped some time that evening after the bar-
bers' shops were closed.
With thumping heart, with bated breath, he waited
for what was to come. In a very little while, he told


THE UNINVITED GUEST
239
>
ready," Desmond resumed, “in the matter of the
jewel which our respected leader was about to show
us: if you recollect, our friend was only prevented
from giving us the explanation which he certainly
owed us over his little hoax by the arrival, the most
timely arrival, of his confederate .
“Confederate ?" shouted Mortimer, “what the
devil do you mean by that?”
“Yes, confederate," Desmond repeated. “Max,
Behrend, Mrs. Malplaquet, all of you, look at this
wretched fellow”-he pointed a finger of scorn at
Bellward—“trembling with fright at the rôle that
has been thrust upon him, to force his way into our
midst, to give his accomplice the tip to clear out be-
fore the police arrive."
“Stop!” exclaimed Mortimer, raising his pistol.
Behrend caught his hand.
“We'll hear you in a minute!” he said.
“Let him finish!" said Mrs. Malplaquet, and there
was a certain ominous quietness in her tone that
startled Desmond.
As for Bellward, he remained silent, with arms
folded, listening very intently.
“Doubtless, this double of mine," continued Des-
mond 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


240
OKEWOOD OF THE SECRET SERVICE
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 im-
pudent imposter is not here for the purpose of sell-
ing us all!”
He raised his voice until it rang through the room,
at the same time looking round the group at the faces
of the spies to see how his harangue had worked
upon their feelings. Max and Behrend, he could
see, were on his side; No. 13 was obviously unde-
cided; Mortimer and Bellward were, of course,
against him; Mrs. Malplaquet sat with her hands in
her lap, her eyes cast down, giving no sign.
“It's high time . . " Mortimer began violently
but Mrs. Malplaquet put up her hand and checked
him.
“Better hear Bellward!” she said softly.
“I know nothing of what has been taking place
in my absence,” he said, “either here or outside. I
only know that I escaped from the escort that was
taking me back from Scotland Yard to Brixton
Prison this evening and that the police are þard 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.


THE UNINVITED GUEST
241
“Not so fast,” he cried. “Yon don't leave this
room until we know who
you
are!"
And he covered him with his pistol.
“Fool!” exclaimed Bellward who had stopped on
the threshold of the secret door, “do you want to
trap the lot of us! Tell him, Minna,” he said to
Mrs, Malplaquet, "and for Heaven's sake, let us be
gone!”
Mrs. Malplaquet stood up.
“This is Basil Bellward,” she said, "see, he's
wearing the ring I gave him, a gold snake with emer-
ald eyes! And now," she cried, raising her voice
shrilly “before we go, kill that man!”
And she pointed at Desmond.
Bellward had seized her by the arm and was drag-
ging her through the opening in the shed when a
shrill whistle resounded from the garden. Without
any warning Mortimer swung round and fired point-
blank at Desmond. But Desmond had stooped to
spring at the other and the bullet went over his head.
With ears singing from the deafening report of the
pistol in the confined space, with the acrid smell of
cordite in his nostrils, Desmond leapt at Mortimer's
throat, hoping to bear him to the ground before he
could shoot again. As he sprang he heard the crash
of glass and a loud report. Someone cried out sharp-
ly “Oh!' as though in surprise and fell prone be-
tween him and his quarry; then he stumbled and at
the same time received a crashing blow on the head.
Without a sound he dropped to the ground across
a body that twitched a little and then lay still.


242
OKEWOOD OF THE SECRET SERVICE
Somewhere in the far, far distance Desmond heard
a woman crying-long drawn-out wailing lamenta-
tions 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 sob-
bing, so tired, so curiously faint that he scarcely
cared to wonder what it signified. But at last it
grated on him by its insistency and he opened his
eyes to learn the cause of it.
His bewildered gaze fell upon what seemed to him
a gigantic, ogre-like face, as huge, as grotesque, as
a pantomime mask. Beside it was a light, a brilliant
light, that hurt his eyes.
Then a voice, as faint as a voice on a long distance
telephone, said:
“Well, how are you feeling?”
The voice was so remote that Desmond paid no
attention to it. But he was rather surprised to hear
a voice reply, a voice that came from his own lips,
curiously enough:
"Fine!"
So he opened his eyes again to ascertain the mean-
ing of this phenomenon. This time the ogre-like
face came into focus, and Desmond saw a man with
a tumbler in his hand bending over him.
“That's right,” said the man, looking very in-
tently at him, “feel a bit better, eh? Got a bit of
a crack, what? Just take a mouthful of brandy
I've got it here!”
Desmond obediently swallowed the contents of the


THE UNINVITED GUEST
243
glass that the other held to his lips. He was feeling
horribly weak, and very cold. His collar and shirt
were unbuttoned, and his neck and shoulders were
sopping wet with water. On his ears still fell the
wailing of the woman.
“Corporal,” said the man bending over him,
“just go and tell that old hag to hold her noise!
She'll have to go out of the house if she can't be
quiet!”
Desmond opened his eyes again. He was lying on
the settee in the library. A tall figure in khaki, who
had been stirring the fire with his boot, turned at
the doctor's summons and left the room. On the
table the lamp was still burning but its rays were
neutralized by the glare of a crimson dawn which
Desmond could see flushing the sky through the shat-
of the French window. In the centre of
the floor lay a long object covered by a tablecloth,
beside it a table overturned with a litter of broken
glass strewn about the carpet.
The woman's sobbing ceased. The corporal came
back into the room.
“She'll be quiet now, sir,” he said, “I told her
to get you and the gentlemen a cup o' tea."
Then, to Desmond, he said:
“Nasty ding you got, sir! My word, I thought
they'd done for you when I come in at the winder!”
The telephone on the desk tingled sharply. The
door opened at the same moment and a shabby little
old man with sandy side whiskers and moleskin
trousers came briskly in,
tered panes


244
OKEWOOD OF THE SECRET SERVICE
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 be-
wilderment at the shabby old man who had gone
straight to the telephone and lifted the receiver. And
well might Desmond stare; for here was Mr. John
Hill, the odd man, talking on the telephone. And
his voice ..
“Well?” said the man at the telephone, curtly.
“Yes, speaking. You've got her, eh? Good. What's
that? Well, that's something. No trace of the
others? Damn!"
He slammed down the receiver and turned to face
the settee.
“Francis !” cried Desmond.
And then he did a thing highly unbecoming in a
field officer. He burst into tears.
si initi


CHAPTER XX
THE ODD MAN
.
D
--
ESMOND and Francis Okewood sat in the din-
ing-room of the Mill House finishing an excel-
lent breakfast of ham and eggs and coffee
which old Martha had prepared for them.
Francis was still wearing Mr. John Hill's greasy
jacket and moleskins, but the removal of the sandy
whiskers and a remarkable wig, consisting of a bald
pate with a fringe of reddish hair, had gone far to re-
store him to the semblance of his former self.
Desmond was feeling a good deal better. His head
had escaped the full force of the smashing blow dealt
at him by Strangwise with the butt of his pistol. He
had instinctively put up his arm to defend his face
and the thickly padded sleeve of Bellward's jacket
had broken the force of the blow. Desmond had
avoided a fractured skull at the price of an appalling
bruise on the right forearm and a nasty laceration
of the scalp.
Francis had resolutely declined to enlighten him
as to the events of the night until both had break-
fasted. After despatching the corporal of military
police to hurry the housekeeper on with the break-
fast, Francis had taken his brother straight to the
dining-room, refusing to let him ask the questions
245


246 OKEWOOD OF THE SECRET SERVICE
which thronged his brain until they had eaten and
drunk. Only when all the ham and eggs had disap-
peared, did Francis, lighting one of Mr. Bellward's
cigars, consent to satisfy his brother's curiosity.
“It was only yesterday morning," he said, "that
I landed at Folkstone from the Continent. How I
got the Chief's message recalling me and how I made
my escape through the Turkish lines to Allenby's
headquarters is a long story which will keep. The
Chief had a car waiting for me at Folkstone and I
reached London in time to lunch with him. We had
a long talk and he gave me carte blanche to jump into
this business now, when and where I thought I could
best help you.
Desmond smiled bitterly.
“The Chief couldn't trust me to make good on my
own, I suppose,” he said.
“The Chief had a very good idea of the character
of the people you had to deal with, Des.," retorted
Francis, “and he was a trifle apprehensive that the
rôle you were playing might lead to complications,
supposing the gang were to see through your imper-
sonation. He's a wonderful man, that, Des., and he
was dead right-as he always is."
“But how?" asked Desmond. “Did the crowd
spot me?"
“No," answered the other; “but it was your dis-
guise which was responsible for the escape of Strang-
wise
“What?” cried Desmond. “He's escaped after
all!”


THE ODD MAN
247
Francis nodded.
“Yes,” he said, “got clear away and left no trace.
Wait a minute and you shall hear! When I have
told my story, you shall tell yours and between us,
we'll piece things together!
“Well, when I left the Chief yesterday, I came
down here. The description of Mr. John Hill, your
odd
man,
rather tickled my fancy. I wanted badly to
get at you for a quiet chat and it seemed to me that if
I could borrow Mr. Hill's appearance for a few hours
now and then I might gain access to you without
rousing any suspicion. You see, I knew that old Hill
left here about dusk every afternoon, so I guessed
the coast would be clear.
“Clarkson's fitted me out with the duds and the
make-up and I got down to Wentfield by half-past
six. The fog was so infernally thick that it took me
more than an hour to get here on foot. It must have
been close on eight o'clock when I pushed open your
front gate. I thought of going boldly into the kitchen
and asking for you, but, fortunately, I decided to
have a preliminary prowl round the place. Through
a chink in the curtains of the library I saw you and a
stranger talking together. The stranger was quite
unknown to me; but one thing about him I spotted
right off. I saw that he was disguised; so I decided
to hang about a bit and await developments.
“I loafed around in the fog for about half an hour.
Then I heard a car coming up the drive. I hid my-
self in the rhododendron bush opposite the front
door and saw two men and a woman get out. They


THE ODD MAN
249
proaching, so I thought it was time to be up and do-
ing. So I sneaked round to the front of the house,
got the engine of the car going and started off down
the drive.
“I had the very devil of a job to get to Stanning.
Ever since you've been down here, the Chief has had
special men on duty day and night at the police-sta-
tion there. I didn't dare stop to light the head-lamps
and as a result the first thing I did was to charge
the front gate and get the back wheel so thoroughly
jammed that it took me the best part of twenty min-
utes to get the blooming car clear. When at last I got
to the station, I found that Matthews, the Chief's
man, you know, had just arrived by car from London
with a lot of plain-clothes men and some military po-
lice. 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 (Mat-
thews) had come down on his own to prevent the gaff
being blown on you and also to recapture Mr. Bell-
ward if he should be mad enough to make for his old
quarters.
“I told Matthews of the situation up at the Mill
House. Neither of us was able to understand why
you had not telephoned for assistance we only dis-
covered later that the telephone had been disconnect-
ed--but I went bail that you were up against a very
stiff proposition. I told Matthews that, by surround-
ing the house, we might capture the whole gang.
“Matthews is a cautious cuss and he wanted a
good deal of persuading, so we lost a lot of time. In


250 OKEWOOD OF THE SECRET SERVICE
the end, he wouldn't take my advice to rush every
available man to the scene, but only consented to take
two plain-clothes men and two military police. He
was so precious afraid of upsetting your arrange-
ments. The Chief, it appears, had warned every-
body against doing that. So we all piled into the car
and I drove them back to the Mill House.
“This time I left the car at the front gate and we
went up to the house on foot. We had arranged that
Matthews and one of the military police, both armed,
should stay and guard the car, while the two plain-
clothes men and the other military policeman, the
corporal here, should accompany me to the house.
Matthews believed my yarn that we were only going
to 'investigate.' What I intended to do in reality
was to round up the whole blessed lot.
"I put one of the plain-clothes men on the front
door and the other round at the back of the house.
Their orders were to stop anybody who came out and
at the same time to whistle for assistance. The cor-
poral and I went to our old observation post outside
the library window.
“The moment I glanced into the room I knew that
matters had reached a climax. I saw you looking
pretty blue, old man-facing that woman who seemed
to be denouncing you. Max stood beside you with a
pistol, and beside him was our friend, Mortimer, with
a regular whopper of an automatic. Before I had
time to move, the plain-clothes man at the back of
the house whistled. He had found the secret door
with Bellward and the woman coming out of it.


THE ODD MAN
251
Then I saw Mortimer fire point-blank at you. I
had my gun out in a second, but I was afraid of
shooting, for fear of hitting you as you went for the
other man.
‘But the corporal at my side wasn't worrying
much about you. Just as you jumped he put up
his
gun and let fly at Mortimer with a sense of discrim-
ination which does him infinite credit. He missed
Mortimer, but plugged Max plumb through the fore-
head and my old friend dropped in his tracks right
between you and the other fellow. On that we hacked
our way through the French window. The corporal
found time to have another shot and laid out a tall,
odd-looking man .
“No. 13," elucidated Desmond.
.. When we got inside we found him dead
across the threshold of the door leading into the hall.
Behrend we caught hiding in a brush cupboard by
the back stairs. As for the others'
“Gone?” queried Desmond with a sudden sinking
at his heart.
Francis nodded.
“We didn't waste any time getting through that
window," he said, “but the catch was stiff and the
broken glass was deuced unpleasant. Still, we were
too late. You were laid out on the floor; Mortimer,
Bellward and the lady had made their lucky escape.
And the secret door showed us how they had
gone..
“But I thought you had a man posted at the
back?'
56..


252
OKEWOOD OF THE SECRET SERVICE
“Would you believe it? When the shooting be-
gan, the infernal idiot must rush round to our assist-
ance, so, of course, Mortimer and Co., nipping out by
the secret door, got clear away down the drive. But
that is not the worst. Matthews gave them the car!”
“No!” said Desmond incredulously.
“He did, though,” answered Francis. "Mind
you, Mortimer had had the presence of mind to throw
off his disguise. He presented himself to Matthews
as Strangwise. Matthews knows Strangwise quite
well: he has often seen him with the Chief.
‘My God, Captain Strangwise,' says Matthews,
as the trio appeared, 'What's happened?'
“'You're wanted up at the house immediately,
Matthews,' says Strangwise quite excitedly. “We're
to take the car and go for assistance.'
“Matthews had a look at Strangwise's compani-
ons, and seeing Bellward, of course, takes him for
you. As for the lady, she had a black lace muffler
wound about her face.
“Miss Mackwayte's coming with us, Matthews,'
Strangwise says, seeing Matthews look at the lady.
That removed the last of any lurking suspicions that
old Matthews might have had. He left the military
policeman at the gate and tore off like mad up the
drive while Strangwise and the others jumped into
the car and were away before you could say 'knife.'
The military policeman actually cranked up the car
for them!
“When Matthews burst into the library with the
story of you and Strangwise and Miss Mackwayte


THE ODD MAN
253
having gone off for help in our only car, I knew we
had been sold. You were there, knocked out of time
on the floor, in your disguise as Bellward, so I knew
that the man with Strangwise was the real Bellward
and I consequently deduced that Strangwise was
Mortimer and consequently the very man we had to
catch.
"We were done brown. If we had had a little
more time to think things out, we should have found
that motor-bike and I would have gone after the trio
myself. But my first idea was to summon aid. I
tried to telephone without success and then we found
the wire cut outside. Then I had the idea of pump-
ing Behrend. I found him quite chatty and furious
against Mortimer, whom he accused of having sold
them. He told us that the party would be sure to
make for the Dyke Inn, as Nur-el-Din was there.
“By this time Strangwise and his party had got at
least an hour clear start of us. I had set a man to re-
pair the telephone and in the meantime was thinking
of sending another on foot to Stanning to fetch one of
Then I found the motor-bike and des-
patched one of the military policemen on it to Stan-
ning.
“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
our cars.


THE ODD MAN
255
Desmond felt it all coming back to him now. Briefly
he told Francis of his absence from the Mill House in
response to the summons from Nur-el-Din, of his in-
terview with the dancer and her story of the Star of
Poland, of his hurried return just in time to meet
Mortimer, and of Mortimer's enigmatical reference
to the dancer in the library that night.
Fancis looked graver and graver as the story pro-
ceeded. Desmond noted it and reproached himself
most bitterly with his initial failure to inform the
Chief of the visits of Nur-el-Din and Mortimer to the
Mill House. When he had finished speaking, he did
not look at Francis, but gazed mournfully out of the
window into the chilly drizzle of a sad winter's day.
“I don't like the look of it at all, Des.," said his
brother shaking his head, “but first we must make
sure that there has been no misunderstanding about
Miss Mackwayte. You say your housekeeper was
already here when you came back from the Dyke Inn.
She may have seen her. Let's have old Martha in!"
Between fright, bewilderment and indignation at
the invasion of the house, old Martha was, if any.
thing, 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 shin-
ing and his manner was rather tense.
“Des.," he asked, “what do you make of it?
From what Strangwise let fall in the library here to-


256 OKEWOOD OF THE SECRET SERVICE
night, it seems probable that Miss Mackwayte, in-
stead of coming here to see you as she was told-or
she may have called during your absence went to
the Dyke Inn and saw Nur-el-Din. The muffled cry
you heard at the inn suggests foul play to me and
that suspicion is deepened in my mind by the fact
that Matthews found Nur-el-Din at the Dyke Inn, as
he reported to me by telephone just now; but he
says nothing about Miss Mackwayte. Des., I fear
the worst for that poor girl if she has fallen into the
hands of that gang!"
Desmond remained silent for a moment. He was
trying to piece things together as best as his aching
head would allow. Both Nur-el-Din and Strang-
wise were after the jewel. Nur-el-Din believed that
afternoon that Strangwise had it, while Strangwise,
on discovering his loss, had seemed to suggest that
Barbara Mackwayte had recovered it.
“Either Strangwise or Nur-el-Din, perhaps both
of them,” said Desmond, “must know what has be-
come of Miss Mackwayte.'
And he explained his reasoning to Francis. His
brother nodded quickly.
“Then Nur-el-Din shall tell us,” he answered
sternly.
“They've arrested her?” asked Desmond with a
sudden pang.
“Yes,” said Francis curtly. “But too late to pre-
vent a crime being committed. When Matthews and
his party arrived they found Nur-el-Din in the very
act of leaving the inn. The landlord, Rass, was lying
>>


THE ODD MAN
257
dead on the floor of the tap-room with a bullet
through the temple. That looks to me, Des., as
though Nur-el-Din had recovered the jewel!”
“But Rass is a compatriot of hers,” Desmond ob-
jected.
“But he was also an inconvenient witness of her
dealings with Strangwise," retorted Francis. “If
either Nur-el-Din or Strangwise have regained pos-
session of the Star of Poland, Des., I fear the worst
for Barbara Mackwayte. Come in!”
The corporal stood, saluting, at the door.
“Mr. Matthews on the telephone, sir!”
Francis hurried away, leaving Desmond to his
thoughts, which were not of the most agreeable. Had
he been wrong in thinking Nur-el-Din a victim? Was
he, after all, nothing but a credulous fool who had
been hoodwinked by a pretty woman's play-acting?
And had he sacrificed Barbara Mackwayte to his ob-
stinacy and his credulousness?
Francis burst suddenly into the room.
“Des.," he cried, “they've found Miss Mack-
wayte's hat on the floor of the tap-room . it is
stained with blood ..."
Desmond felt himself growing pale.
“And the girl herself,” he asked thickly, “what of
her?'
Francis shook his head.
“Vanished,” he replied gravely. “Vanished ut-
terly.
“Desmond,” he added, “we must go over to the
Dyke Inn at once!”


THE BLACK VELVET TOQUE
259
They followed the direction of his finger and saw
a beam of yellow light gleaming from among the
trees.
“Get your guns out, boys!” said Matthews.
“Give them a chance to put their hands up, and if
they don't obey, shoot!”
Very swiftly but very quietly, the four men picked
their way over the miry track to the little bridge
leading to the yard in front of the inn. The light
they had remarked shone from the inn door, a feeble,
flickering light as of an expiring candle.
Matthews, who was leading, halted and listened.
Everything was quite still. Above their head the inn
sign groaned uneasily as it was stirred by the fresh
morning breeze.
“You, Gordon," whispered Matthews to the man
behind him—they had advanced in Indian file_“take
Bates and go round to the back. Harrison will go
in
by the front with me.”
Even as he spoke a faint noise came from the in-
terior of the house. The four men stood stock-still
and listened. In the absolute stillness of the early
morning, the sound fell distinctly on their ears. It
was a step-a light step-descending the stairs.
Gordon and the soldier detached themselves from
the party as Matthews and the other plain clothes
man crossed the bridge swiftly and went up to the
inn door. Hardly had Matthews got his foot on the
stone step of the threshold than a piercing shriek
resounded from the room quite close at hand. The
next minute a flying figure burst out of the door and
>>


260
OKEWOOD OF THE SECRET SERVICE
fell headlong into the arms of Matthews who was all
but overbalanced by the force of the impact.
He closed with the figure and grappled it firmly.
His arms encountered a frail, light body, shaking
from head to foot, enveloped in a cloak of some soft,
thick material.
“It's a woman!” cried Matthews.
“It's Nur-el-Din!” exclaimed his companion in
the same breath, seizing the woman by the arm.
The dancer made no attempt to escape. She stood
with bowed head, trembling violently, in a cowering,
almost a crouching posture.
Harrison, who had the woman by the arm, had
turned her head so that he could see her face. She
was deathly pale and her black eyes were wide open,
the pupils dilated. Her teeth were chattering in her
head. She seemed incapable of speech or motion.
“Nur-el-Din!” exclaimed Matthews in accents of
triumph. “Bring her in, Harrison, and let's have
a look at her!"
But the woman recoiled in terror. She arched her
body stiff, like a child in a passion, and strained
every muscle to remain where she was cowering by
the inn-door.
“Come on, my girl," said the man not unkindly,
“don't you 'ear wot the Guv'nor sez! In you go!”
Then the girl screamed aloud.
“No, no!" she cried, “not in that house! For
the love of God, don't take me back into that room!
Ah! For pity's sake, let me stay outside! Take me
to prison but not, not into that house again!"


THE BLACK VELVET TOQUE
261
She half fell on her knees in the mire, pleading, en-
treating, her body shaken by sobs.
Then Harrison, who was an ex-Guardsman and a
six-footer at that, plucked her off her feet and car-
ried her, still struggling, still imploring with piteous
cries, over the threshold into the house. Matthews
followed behind.
The shutters of the tap-room were still closed.
Only a strip of the dirty floor, strewn with sawdust,
was illuminated by a bar of reddish light from the
daybreak outside. On the table a candle, burnt down
to the socket of its brass candlestick, flared and put-
tered in a riot of running wax. Half in the bar of
daylight from outside, half in the darkness beyond
the open door, against which the flickering candle-
light struggled feebly, lay the body of a yellow-faced,
undersized man with a bullet wound through the
temple.
Without effort Harrison deposited his light bur-
den 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 sob-
bing on her knees, rocking herself to and fro in a sort
of paroxysm of hysteria. Harrison moved quickly
round the table after her; but he was checked by a
cry from Matthews who was kneeling by the body.
“Let her be," said Matthews, “she's scared of
this and no wonder! Come here a minute, Harrison,
and
you know this chap!”
Harrison crossed the room and looked down at the
still figure. He whistled softly.
see if


262 OKEWOOD OF THE SECRET SERVICE
“My word!” he said, “but he copped it all right,
sir! Ay, I know him well enough! He's Rass, the
landlord of this pub, that's who he is, as harmless
a sort of chap as ever was! Who did it, d'you think,
sir?"
Matthews, who had been going through the dead
man's pockets, now rose to his feet.
“Nothing worth writing home about there," he
said half aloud. Then to Harrison, he added:
“That's what we've got to discover ... hullo, who's
this?''
The door leading from the bar to the tap-room was
thrust open. Gordon put his head in.
“I left Bates on guard outside, sir,” he said in
answer to an interrogatory glance from Matthews,
“I've been all over the ground floor and there's not
a soul here.
He checked himself suddenly.
“God bless my soul!” he exclaimed, his eyes on
the figure crouching in the corner, "you don't mean
to say you've got her? A pretty dance she led Dug
and myself! Well, sir, it looks to me like a good
night's work!”
Matthews smiled a self-satisfied smile.
“I fancy the Chief will be pleased," he said,
“though the rest of 'em seem to have given us the
slip. Gordon, you might take a look upstairs—that
door in the corner leads to the upper rooms, I fancy
-whilst I'm telephoning to Mr. Okewood. He must
know about this without delay. You, Harrison, keep
an eye on the girl!”
.


THE BLACK VELVET TOQUE
263
.
He went through the door leading into the bar,
and they heard him speaking on the telephone which
hung on the wall behind the counter. He returned
presently with a white tablecloth which he threw over
the prostrate figure on the floor.
Then he turned to the dancer.
“Stand up,” he said sternly, "I want to speak to
you.
Nur-el-Din cast a frightened glance over her shoul-
der at the floor beside the table where Rass lay. On
seeing the white pall that hid him from view, she
became somewhat reassured. She rose unsteadily to
her feet and stood facing Matthews.
“In virtue of the powers conferred upon me by
the Defence of the Realm Acts, I arrest you for
espionage ..." Matthews rolled off in glib, official
gabble the formula of arrest ending with the usual
caution that anything the prisoner might say might
be used against her at her trial. Then he said to
Harrison:
“Better put them on her, Harrison!”
The plain elothes man took a pace forward and
touched the dancer's slender wrists, there was a click
and she was handcuffed.
“Now take her in there," said Matthews pointing
to the bar. “There's no exit except by this room.
And don't take your eyes off her. You understand ?
Mr. Okewood will be along presently with a female
searcher."
“Sir!" said the plain clothes man with military
precision and touched the dancer on the shoulder.
>>


264
OKEWOOD OF THE SECRET SERVICE
Without a word she turned and followed him into
the bar.
Gordon entered by the door at the end of the room.
“I'd like you to have a look upstairs, sir,” he
said to Matthews, “there's not a soul in the house,
but somebody has been locked up in one of the rooms.
The door is still locked but one of the panels has
been forced out. I think you ought to see it!”
The two men passed out of the tap-room together,
and mounted the stairs. On the landing Matthews
paused a moment to glance out of the window on to
the bleak and inhospitable fen which was almost ob-
scured from view by a heavy drizzle of rain.
“Brr!” said Mr. Matthews, “what a horrible
place!”
Looking up the staircase from the landing, they
could see that one of the panels of the door facing
the head of the stairs had been pressed out and lay
on the ground. They passed up the stairs and Mat-
thews, putting one arm and his head through the
opening, found himself gazing into that self-same
ugly sitting room where Desmond had talked with
Nur-el-Din.
A couple of vigorous heaves burst the fastening of
the door. The sitting-room was in the wildest con-
fusion. The doors of the sideboard stood wide
with its contents scattered higgledy-piggledy on the
carpet. A chest of drawers in the corner had been
ransacked, some of the drawers having been taken
bodily out and emptied on the floor.
The door leading to the inner room stood open


THE BLACK VELVET TOQUE 265
and showed that a similar search had been conducted
there as well. The inner room proved to be a bare
white-washed place, very plainly furnished as a bed-
room. On the floor stood a small attaché case, and
beside it a little heap of miscellaneous articles such
as a woman would take away with her for a week-
end, a crêpe-de-chine nightdress, a dainty pair of
bedroom slippers and some silver-mounted toilet
fittings. From these things Matthews judged that
this had been Nur-el-Din's bedroom.
The two men spent a long time going through the
litter with which the floor in the bedroom and sitting-
room was strewed. But their labors were vain, and
they turned their attention to the remaining rooms,
of which there were three.
The first room they visited, adjoining Nur-el-Din's
bedroom, was scarcely better than an attic. It con-
tained in the way of furniture little else than a
truckle-bed, a washstand, a table and a chair. Wom-
en's clothes were hanging on hooks behind the door.
The place looked like a servant's bedroom.
They pursued their search. Across the corridor
two rooms stood side by side. One proved to be
Rass's. His clothes lay about the room, and on a
table in the corner, where writing materials stood,
were various letters and bills made out in his name.
The other room had also been occupied; for the
bed was made and turned back for the night and there
were clean towels on the washstand. But there was
no clue as to its occupant save for a double-barrelled
gun which stood in the corner, It had evidently


THE BLACK VELVET TOQUE 267
wrapped in a big overcoat of some soft blanket cloth
in dark green, her chin sunk on her breast.
Matthews called up the Mill House and asked for
Francis Okewood. When he mentioned the finding
of Barbara Mackwayte's hat, the dancer raised her
head and cast a frightened glance at Matthews. But
she said nothing and when Matthews turned from
the telephone to go back to the tap-room she had
resumed her former listless attitude.
Matthews and Gordon made a thorough search of
the kitchen and back premises without finding any-
thing 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, help-
ing a woman to alight. Francis was still wearing
his scarecrow-like apparel, while Desmond, with his
beard and pale face and bandaged head, looked sin-
gularly unlike the trim Brigade Major who had come
home on leave only a week or so before.
Matthews went out to meet them and, addressing
the woman-a brisk-looking person-as Mrs. Butter-
worth, informed her that it was shocking weather.
Then he led the way into the inn.
The first thing that Desmond saw was the little
toque with the brown stain on its flowered band lying
on the table. Francis picked it up, turned it over
and land it down again.
•Where did you find it?” he asked Matthews.
The latter informed him of the circumstances of the
discovery. Then Francis, sending the searcher in to


CHAPTER XXII
WHAT THE CELLAR REVEALED
O
N opening the door at the farther end of the
tap-room they saw before them a trap-door
standing wide with a shallow flight of wooden
steps leading to the darkness below. Bates pointed
with his foot to a square of linoleum which lay on
one side.
"That was covering the trap,” he said, “I
wouldn't ha' noticed nothing out of the ordinary my-
self on'y I slipped, see, and kicked this bit o' ile-
cloth away and there was the ring of the trap staring
me in the face, as you might say. Show us a light
here, Gordon!"
Gordon handed him an electric torch. He flashed
it down the stair. It fell upon something like a heap
of black clothes huddled up at the foot of the ladder.
“Is it Miss Mackwayte?” whispered Francis to
his brother. “I've never seen her, you know!”
"I can't tell,” Desmond whispered back, “until
I see her face."
He advanced to descend the ladder but Matthews
was before him.
Producing an electric torch from
his pocket, Matthews slipped down the stair with
Gordon close behind. There was a pause, so tense
that it seemed an eternity to Desmond, as he waited
270


WHAT THE CELLAR REVEALED
271
half-way down the ladder with the musty smell of
the cellar in his nostrils. Then Matthews cried:
“It's not her!"
“Let me look!” Gordon broke in. Then Des-
mond heard him exclaim.
“It's Nur-el-Din's French maid! It's Marie .
she's been stabbed in the back!”
Desmond suddenly felt rather sick. This progress
from one deed of violence to another revolted him.
The others crowded into the cellar; but he did not
follow them. He remained at the top of the trap,
leaning against the wall, trying to collect his
thoughts.
Barbara Mackwayte was now his sole pre-occupa-
tion. If anything had happened to her, it was
through his fault alone; for he began to feel sure
she must have come to the Mill House in his absence.
What then had become of her? The blood-stained
toque pointed to foul play. But if they had mur-
dered her, what had they done with the body?
His thoughts flew back to his interview with Nur-
el-Din upstairs on the previous afternoon. He re-
membered 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,


272
OKEWOOD OF THE SECRET SERVICE
Had both Marie and Rass been in league with
Strangwise against the dancer? And had Nur-el-
Din discovered their treachery? His mind refused
to follow these deductions to their logical sequence;
for, black as things looked against Nur-el-Din, he
could not bring himself to believe her a murderess.
But now there were footsteps on the ladder. They
were all coming out of the cellar again. As soon
as Francis saw Desmond's face, he caught his broth-
er by the arm and said:
“The open air for you, my boy! You look as if
you'd seen a ghost! I should have remembered all
you've gone through!"
He walked him quickly through the tap-room and
out through the inn-door into the yard.
The rain had ceased and the sun was making a
brave attempt to shine through the clouds. The cold
air did Desmond good and after a turn or two in the
yard, arm in arm with Francis, he felt considerably
better.
“Where is Miss Mackwayte?” he asked.
“Des.," said his brother, "I don't know and I
don't want to cross-examine Nur-el-Din in there
until I have reasoned out some theory which will fit
Miss Mackwayte in her place in this horrible affair.
The men have gone to search the outhouses and
cincts of the inn to see if they can find any traces of
her body. But I don't think they will find anything.
I believe that Miss Mackwayte is alive."
" Alive" said Desmond.
“The blood on that toque of hers might have been
pre-


WHAT THE CELLAR REVEALED
273
Rass's. There is a good deal of blood on the floor.
You see, I still think Miss Mackwayte's safety de-
pends on that jewel not being recovered by either
Strangwise or Nur-el-Din. Strangwise, we know,
has lost the jewel and there is no trace of it here:
moreover, we know that, as late as yesterday after-
noon, Nur-el-Din did not have it. Therefore, she
cannot have sent it away! I am inclined to believe,
too, that Strangwise, before going over to the Mill
House last night, carried off Miss Mackwayte some-
where with the aid of Rass and Marie, who were
evidently his accomplices, in order to find out from
her where the jewel is concealed .
“But Miss Mackwayte cannot know what has be-
come of it," objected Desmond.
“Maybe not,” retorted his brother, “but both
Strangwise and Nur-el-Din know that the jewel was
originally entrusted to her charge. Nur-el-Din did
not, it is true, tell Miss Mackwayte what the silver
box contained but the latter may have found out, at
least the dancer might suppose so; while Strangwise
might think the same. Therefore, both Strangwise
and Nur-el-Din had an interest in detaining Miss
Mackwayte, and I think Strangwise forestalled the
dancer. When Nur-el-Din discovered it, both Rass
and her maid paid the penalty of their betrayal."
They walked once up and down the yard before
Desmond replied.
“Francis,” he said, “you remember Nur-el-Din's
story-I told it to you just as I had it from her,"
“Perfectly,” answered his brother.


274
OKEWOOD OF THE SECRET SERVICE
“Well," Desmond went on deliberately, “I think
that story gives us the right measure of Nur-el-Din's
character. She may be vain, she may be without
morals, she may be weak, she may be an adventuress.
But she's not a murderess. If anything, she's a vic-
tim!'
Francis laughed shortly.
“Victim be damned!” he cried. “Man alive," he
went on, “how can you talk such nonsense in face
of the evidence, with this bloody-minded woman's
victims hardly cold yet? But, horrible as these
murders are, the private squabbles of this gang of
spies represent neither your interest nor mine in this
case. For us the fact remains that Nur-el-Din, be-
sides being a monster of iniquity, is the heart and
soul and vitals of the whole conspiracy!”
Jaded and nervous, Desmond felt a quick sting of
resentment at his brother's tone. Why should Fran-
cis thus lay down the law to him about Nur-el-Din?
Francis knew nothing of the girl or her antecedents
while he, Desmond, flattered himself that he had at
least located the place she occupied in this dark con-
spiracy. And he cried out vehemently:
“You're talking like a fool! I grant you that Nur-
el-Din has been mixed up with this spy crowd; but
she herself stands absolutely apart from the organi-
zation."
“Half a minute!" put in Francis, “aren't you
forgetting that blue envelope we took off her just
now?"
“What about it?” asked Desmond sharply,


WHAT THE CELLAR REVEALED
275
“Merely this; the cipher is in five figure groups,
addressed to a four figure group and signed by a
six figure group ...
“Well?"
“That happens to be the current secret code of the
German Great General Staff. If you were to tap a
German staff message out in France to-day, ten to
one it would be in that code. Curious coincidence,
isn't it?”
When one is angry, to be baffled in argument
does not have a sedative effect as a rule. If we
were all philosophers it might; but being merely hu-
man beings, cold reason acts on the inflamed temper-
ament as a red rag is said to affect a bull.
Desmond, sick with the sense of failure and his
anxiety about Barbara, was in no mood to listen to
reason. The cold logic of his brother infuriated him
mainly because Desmond knew that Francis was
right.
“I don't care a damn for the evidence,” voci-
ferated Desmond, “It may look black against Nur-
el-Din; I daresay it does; but I have met and talked
to this girl and I tell you again that she is not a
principal in this affair but a victim!”
“You talk as if you were in love with the woman!”
Francis said mockingly.
Desmond went rather white.
“If pity is a form of love," he replied in a low
voice, “then I am, for God knows I never pitied
any woman as I pity Nur-el-Din! Only you, I sup-
pose," he added bitterly, “are too much of the po-


276 OKEWOOD OF THE SECRET SERVICE
liceman, Francis, to appreciate anything like that!"
Hot tempers run in families and Francis flared up
on the instant.
“I may be a policeman, as you say,'' he retorted,
“but I've got enough sense of my duty, I hope, not
to allow sentimentality to interfere with my or-
ders!"
It was a shrewd thrust and it caught Desmond on
the raw.
“I'm sick of arguing here,” he said hotly, “if
you're so mighty clever, you'd better shoot Nur-el-
Din first and arrest Strangwise afterwards. Then
you'll find out which of us two is right!”
He turned on his heel and started for the little
bridge leading out on to the fen.
Francis stood still a moment watching him, then
ran after him. He caught up with Desmond as the
latter reached the bridge.
“Desmond!” he said, pleadingly.
“Oh, go to hell!" retorted the other savagely,
whereupon Francis turned his back on him and
walked back to the inn.
A car had stopped by the bridge and a man was
getting out of it as Desmond moved towards the fen.
The next moment he found himself face to face with
the Chief.
The Chief's face was hard and cold and stern.
There was a furrow between his eyes which deepened
when he recognized Desmond.
“Well,” he said curtly, “and where is my secre-
tary?”


WHAT THE CELLAR REVEALED
277
“I don't know," Desmond faltered.
“Why are you here, then?” came back in that
hard, uncompromising voice.
Desmond was about to reply; but the other checked
him.
“I know all you have to say,” he resumed, “but
no excuse you can offer can explain away the disap-
pearance of Miss Mackwayte. Your orders were
formal to remain at home. You saw fit to disobey
them and thereby, maybe, sent Miss Mackwayte to
her death. No!” he added, seeing that Desmond
was about to expostulate, “I want to hear nothing
from you. However obscure the circumstances of
Miss Mackwayte's disappearance may be, one fact
is perfectly clear, namely, that she went to the Mill
House, as she was ordered and you were not there.
For no man or woman in my service ever dares to
disobey an order I have given.”
“Chief .. " Desmond broke in, but again that
inexorable voice interposed.
“I will hear nothing from you," said the Chief,
“it is a rule of mine never to interfere with
my men
in their work or to see them until their mission has
been successfully completed. When you have found
Miss Mackwayte I will hear you but not before!”
Desmond drew himself up.
“In that case, sir," he said stiffly, “I will bid
you good morning. And I trust you will hear from
me very soon again!"
He walked over to one of the cars waiting outside
the inn, spoke a word to the driver and got in. The


CHAPTER XXIII
MRS. MALPLAQUET GOES DOWN TO THE CELLAR
I
N the age of chivalry woman must have been built
of sterner stuff than the girl of to-day. At least,
we read in medieval romance of fair ladies who,
after being knocked down by a masterful suitor and
carried off across his saddle bow thirty or forty
miles, are yet able to appear, cold but radiantly
beautiful, at the midnight wedding and the subse-
quent marriage feast.
But this is a romance of the present day, the age
of nerves and high velocity. Barbara Mackwayte,
strong and plucky as she was, after being half
throttled and violently thrown into the cellar of the
Dyke Inn, suddenly gave way under the strain and
conveniently evaded facing the difficulties of her
position by fainting clear away.
The precise moment when she came out of her
swoon she never knew. The cellar was dark; but it
was nothing compared to the darkness enveloping
her mind. She lay there on the damp and mouldy
straw, hardly able, scarcely wanting, to move, over-
whelmed 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
279


MRS. MALPLAQUET GOES DOWN 281
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
'ave done wiz ze box of Madame!"
'Why do you say I have stolen the box?” pro-
tested 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 sil-
ver box that means nothing to me!”
Marie laughed cynically.
“Ma foi,” she cried, "when one is a spy, one will
stop at nothing! But tiens, here is Madame!"
Nur-el-Din picked her way carefully down the
steps, the yellow-faced man behind her. He had a
pistol in his hand. The dancer said something in
French to her maid who picked up the tray and de-
parted.
“Now, Mademoiselle," said Nur-el-Din, “you see
this pistol. Rass here will use it if you make any
attempt to escape. You understand me, hein? I
come to give you a las' chance to say where you
'ave my box.
Barbara loked at the dancer defiantly.
“I've told you already I know nothing about it.
You, if any one, should be better able to say what
has become of it..."
“Quoi?” exclaimed Nur-el-Din in genuine sur-
prise, “comment?"
“Because," said Barbara, “a long black hair-,


282
OKEWOOD OF THE SECRET SERVICE
one of your hairs—was found adhering to the straps
with which I was fastened!"
“Tiens!” said the dancer, her black eyes wide
with surprise, “tiens!”
She was silent for a minute, lost in thought. The
man, Rass, suddenly cocked his ear towards the
staircase and said something to Nur-el-Din in the
same foreign tongue which Barbara had heard them
employ before.
The dancer made a gesture, bidding him to be
silent.
“He was at my dressing-table that night,” she
murmured in French, as though to herself, “then it
was he who did it!"
She spoke rapidly to Barbara.
"This man who tied you up
you didn't see
him?''
Barbara shook her head.
“I could see nothing; I don't even know that it
was a man. He seized me so suddenly that in the
dark I could distinguish nothing .. it might have
been a woman
yourself, for instance, for all
I know!!
Nur-el-Din clasped her hands together.
“It was he himself, then,”
” she whispered, “I
might have known. Yet he has not got it here!"
Heavy footsteps resounded in the room above.
Rass cried out something swiftly to the dancer,
thrust the pistol into her hands, and dashed up the
ladder. The next moment there was a loud report
followed by the thud of a heavy body falling. Some-


MRS. MALPLAQUET GOES DOWN 285
Strangwise nodded.
“I'll do it," said the woman promptly, “if you'll
call her down!"
Strangwise went to the other dor of the tap-room
and called :
“Marie!"
There was a step outside and the maid came in,
pale and trembling.
“Your mistress wants you; she is downstairs in
the cellar," he said pleasantly.
Marie hesitated an instant and surveyed the group.
“Non, non,” she said nervously, "je n'veux pas
descendre!'
Strangwise smiled, showing his teeth.
“No need to be frightened, ma fille,” he replied.
“Madame here will go down with you!” and he
pointed to the woman in black velvet.
This seemed to reassure the maid and she walked
across the room to the door, the woman following
her. As the latter passed Strangwise he whispered
a word in her ear.
“No, no," answered the other, “I prefer my own
way, " and she showed him something concealed in
her hand.
The two women quitted the room together, leaving
Strangwise and Barbara alone with the thing on the
floor. Strangwise picked up a military great-coat
which was hanging over the back of a chair and put
it on, buttoning it all the way up the front and turn-
ing up the collar about the neck. Then he crammed
a cap on his head and stood listening intently.


286 OKEWOOD OF THE SECRET SERVICE
A high, gurgling scream, abruptly checked, came
through the open door at the farther end of the
room.
Barbara sprang up from the chair into which she
had sunk.
“What was that?" she asked, whispering.
Strangwise did not reply. He was still listening,
a tall, well set-up figure in the long khaki great-coat.
“But those two women are alone in the cellar!"
exclaimed Barbara, "they are being murdered! Ah!
what was that?"
A gentle thud resounded from below.
A man came in through the door leading from the
bar.
He had a fat, smooth-shaven face, heavily jowled.
“All ready, Bellward?” asked Strangwise care-
lessly.
Barbara stared at the man thus adressed. She
saw that he was wearing the same clothes as the
man who had come down into the cellar with Strang-
wise but the beard was gone. And the man she saw
before her was not Desmond Okewood.
Without waiting to reason out the metamorphosis,
she ran towards Bellward.
“They're murdering those two women down in the
cellar,” she cried, "oh, what has happened? Won't
you go down and see?"
Bellward shook her off roughly.
“Neat work!” said Strangwise.
“She's a wonder with the knife!” agreed the
other.


288 OKEWOOD OF THE SECRET SERVICE
“Oh,” said Strangwise wearily, “bring her along,
Bellward!
Bellward and the woman seized the girl one by
each arm and dragged her to the car. Strangwise
had the door open and between them they thrust her
in. Bellward and the woman mounted after her
while Strangwise, after starting the engine, sprang
into the driving-seat outside. With a low hum the
big car glided forth into the cold, starry night.
From the upper floor of the Dyke Inn came the
sound of a woman's terrified sobs. Below there
reigned the silence of death.


CHAPTER XXIV
THE TWO DESERTERS
D
ESMOND 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 under-
gone considerable danger in the course of discharg-
ing a mission which was none of his seeking, and he
had met with nothing but taunts from his brother
and abuse from the Chief.
“I wash my hands of the whole thing," Desmond
declared, as he paced the platform at Wentfield wait-
ing for his train. “As Francis is so precious cock-
sure 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
289


290
OKEWOOD OF THE SECRET SERVICE
2
knew perfectly well that he could never wash his
hands of his mission until Barbara Mackwayte had
been brought back into safety. This thought kept
thrusting itself forward into the foreground of his
mind; and he had to focus his attention steadfastly
on his grievances to push it back again.
But we puny mortals are all puppets in the hands
of Fate. Even as the train was bearing Desmond,
thus rebellious, Londonwards, Destiny was already
pulling the strings which was to force the “quitter”
back into the path he had forsaken. For this pur-
pose Fate had donned the disguise of a dirty-faced
man in a greasy old suit and a spotted handkerchief
in lieu of collar . . . but of him presently.
On arriving at Liverpool Street, Desmond, pain-
fully conscious of his unkempt appearance, took a
taxi to a Turkish bath in the West End. There his
first care was to submit himself to the hands of the
barber who, after a glance at his client's bandaged
head, muddy clothes and shaggy beard, coughed
ominously and relapsed into a most unbarber-like
reserve.
Desmond heard the cough and caught the look of
commiseration on the man's face.
“I rather think I want a shave!” he said, weakly.
“I rather think you do, sir!" replied the man,
busy with his lather.
Had a nasty accident," murmured Des-
mond, "fell down and cut my head ..."
"We're used to that here, sir,” answered the bar-
ber, “but the bath'll make you as right as rain.


THE TWO DESERTERS
291
.
W’y we 'ad a genel'man in 'ere, on'y lars' week it
was, as 'adn't been 'ome for five days and nights
and the coat mos tore off 'is back along with a bit
of turn-up 'e'd 'at at one o' them night clubs. And
drunk! . w'y 'e went to bite the rubber, so
they wos tellin' me! But, bless you, 'e 'ad a nice
shave and a couple of hours in the bath and a bit of
a nap; we got him his clothes as was tore mended
up fine for 'im and 'e went 'ome as sober as a judge
and as fresh as a daisy!"
Desmond had it in his mind to protest against
this material interpretation of his disreputable state;
but the sight in the mirror of his ignominiously
scrubby and battered appearance silenced him. The
barber's explanation was as good as any, seeing that
he himself could give no satisfactory account of the
circumstances which had reduced him to his sorry
pass. So Desmond held his peace though he felt con-
strained to reject the barber's offer of a pick-me-up.
From the shaving saloon, Desmond sent a mes-
senger 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 towels, reposing on a couch, a cup of
coffee at his elbow and that morning's Daily Tele-
graph spread out before him.
Advertisements, so the experts say, are printed on
the front and back of newspapers in order to catch
the eye of the indolent, on the chance that having
exhausted the news, they may glance idly over the


THE TWO DESERTERS
293
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 fre-
quently 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 ob-
tained for Martin Barling to come home and collect
his legacy.
At this point the Daily Telegraph fell to the
ground and Desmond went off to sleep. When he
awoke, the afternoon hush had fallen upon the bath.
He seemed to be the only occupant of the cubicles.
His clothes which had arrived from the shop during
his slumbers, were very neatly laid out on a couch
opposite him.
He dressed himself leisurely. The barber was
quite right. The bath had made a new man of him.
Save for a large bump on the back of his head he
was none the worse for Strangwise's savage blow.
The attendant having packed Bellward's apparel in
the suit-case in which Desmond's clothes had come
from the club, Desmond left the suit-case in the


THE TWO DESERTERS
295
had disappeared to, they would stop at nothing to
force a confession from her; Desmond was convinced
of that. But what had become of the trio?
In vain he cast about him for a clue. As far as he
knew, the only London address that Strangwise had
was the Nineveh; and he was as little likely to return
there as Bellward was to make his way to his little
hotel in Jermyn Street. There remained Mrs. Mal-
plaquet who, he remembered, had told him of her
house at Campden Hill.
For the moment, Desmond decided, he must put
both Strangwise and Bellward out of his calcula-
tions. The only direction in which he could start
his inquiries after Barbara Mackwayte pointed
towards Campden Hill and Mrs. Malplaquet.
The delightful weather suggested to his mind the
idea of walking out to Campden Hill to pursue his
investigations on the spot. So he made his way
across the Park into Kensington Gardens heading
for the pleasant glades of Notting Hill. In the Bays-
water Road he turned into a post-office and consulted
the London Directory. He very quickly convinced
himself that among the hundreds of thousands of
names compiled by Mr. Kelly's indefatigable indus-
try Mrs. Malplaquet's was not to be found. Neither
did the street directory show her as the tenant of
any of the houses on Campden Hill.
I don't know that there is a more pleasant residen-
tial 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


298
OKEWOOD OF THE SECRET SERVICE
had come. Presently, his eyes caught the gleam of
a light from above a front door. When he drew level
with it, he saw that a gas-jet was burning in the
fanlight over the entrance to a neat little two-story
house which stood by itself in a diminutive garden.
As by this time he was thoroughly sick of wandering
aimlessly about, he went up to the neat little house
and rang the bell.
A maid-servant in a cap and apron who seemed to
be drawn to the scale of the house, such an insig-
nificant little person she was, opened the door.
“Oh, sir,” she exclaimed when she saw him, "was
it about the rooms?"
And she pointed up at the fan-light where, for the
first time, Desmond noticed a printed card with the
inscription:-
"Turnished Rooms to Let."
The servant's unexpected question put an idea into
Desmond's head. He could not return to the club,
he reflected, since he was supposed to be killed in ac-
tion. Why not take a room in this house in the heart
of the enemy's country and spend some days on the
watch for Mrs. Malplaquet or for any clue that might
lead him to her?
So Desmond answered, yes, it was about the rooms
he had come.
Promising that she would tell “the missus," the
little servant showed him into a tiny sitting-room,
very clean and bright, with blue cretonne curtains
and a blue carpet and an engraving of “King


THE TWO DESERTERS
299
Cophetua and The Beggar Maid” over the mantel-
piece. Directly you came into the room, everything
in it got up and shouted “Tottenham Court Road."
Then the door opened and, with a great tinkling
and rustling, a stoutish, brisk-looking woman sailed
in. The tinkling proceeded from the large amount
of cheap jewelry with which she was adorned; the
rustling from a black and shiny glacé silk dress.
With every movement she made the large drops she
wore in her ears chinked and were answered by a
melodious chime from the charm bangles she had on
her wrists.
She measured Desmond in a short glance and his
appearance seemed to please her for she smiled as
she said in rather a mincing voice:
“My (she pronounced it ‘may') maid said you
wished to see the rooms!"
Desmond intimated that such was his desire.
“Pray be seated,” said the little woman. “You
will understand, ay'm sure, that ay am not in the
habit of taking in paying guests, but may husband
being at the front, ay have a bedroom and this
sitting-room free and ay thought .
She stopped and looked sharply at Desmond.
“You are an officer, I think?" she asked.
Desmond bowed.
May husband is also an officer,” replied the
woman, “Captain Viljohn-Smythe; you may have
met him. No? Of course, had you not been of
commissioned rank, ay should not ..."
She trailed off vaguely.
.


300
OKEWOOD OF THE SECRET SERVICE
.
Desmond inquired her terms and surprised her
somewhat by accepting them on the spot.
“But you have not seen the bedroom !” protested
Mrs. Viljohn-Smythe.
“I will take it on trust,” Desmond replied, “and
here," he added, pulling out his note-case, “is a
week's rent in advance. I'll go along now and fetch
my things. By the way,” he went on, "I know some
people here at Campden Hill but very foolishly, I've
mislaid the address. Malplaquet .. Mrs. Malpla-
quet. Do you happen to know her house?"
“Ay know most of the naice people living round
about here," replied the lady, "but for the moment,
ay cannot recollect . was it one of the larger
houses on the hill, do you know?”
“I'm afraid I don't know,” said Desmond. “You
see, I've lost the address!"
“Quayte!” returned Mrs. Viljohn-Smythe. “Ay
can't say ay know the name!" she added.
However, she consented to consult the hand-
maiden, who answered to the name of Gladays, as to
Mrs. Malplaquet's address, but she was as ignorant
as her mistress.
Promising to return in the course of the evening
with his things and having received exact instruc-
tions as to the shortest way to Holland Park Avenue,
Desmond took his leave. He felt that he had em-
barked on a wild goose chase; for, even if the fugi-
tives 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


THE TWO DESERTERS
301
of coming across any of them were of the most
meagre.
Following the directions he had received, he made
his way easily back to the main road. He halted
under a street-lamp to catch the eye of any passing
taxi which might happen to be disengaged. A dirty-
faced man in a greasy old suit and a spotted hand-
kerchief knotted about his throat came slouching
along the pavement, keeping close to the wall. On
catching sight of Desmond's face by the light of the
lamp, he stopped irresolutely and then advanced
slowly towards him.
“Excuse me, sir!” he said falteringly.
Desmond looked round at the sound of the man's
voice and seeing a typical street loafer, asked the
fellow to get him a taxi.
“It is Captain Okewood, ” said the loafer, “you
don't remember me, sir?”
Desmond looked at the dirty, rather haggard face
with its unshaven chin and shook his head.
“I don't think I do," he answered, “though you
seem to know my name!"
The vagrant fumbled in his pocket for a minute
and extracting a scrap of paper, unfolded it and held
it out to Desmond.
“That's me, sir!” he said, “and, oh, sir! if you
would kindly help me with a word of good advice,
just for old times' sake, I'd be very grateful!”
Desmond took the scrap of paper which the man
tendered and held it so as to catch the rays of the
lamp. It was a fragment torn from a newspaper.


302
OKEWOOD OF THE SECRET SERVICE
He had hardly set eyes on the cutting than ke
stretched out his hand to the vagrant.
'Why, Gunner Barling," he cried, “I didn't know
you! How on earth do you come to be in this
state?"
The man looked shamefacedly down on the ground.
“I'm a deserter, sir!” he said in a low voice.
“Are you, by George?” replied Desmond, “and
now I come to think of it, so am I!"


CHAPTER XXV
TO MRS. MALPLAQUET's
C
LASPING Barbara's wrist in a bony grip,
Mrs. Malplaquet sat at the girl's side in the
back seat of the limousine whilst Bellward
placed himself on the seat opposite. The car was
powerfully engined; and, once the cart track up to
the inn was passed and the main road reached,
Strangwise opened her out.
By the track leading to the inn the high road made
a right angle turn to the right. This turn they took,
leaving the Mill House away in the distance to the
left of them, and, after skirting the fen for some way
and threading a maze of sideroads, presently de-
bouched on a straight, broad road.
Dazed and shaken by her experiences, Barbara lost
all count of time, but after running for some time
through the open country in the gray light of dawn,
they reached the edge of those long tentacles of
bricks and mortar which London thrusts out from
her on every side. The outer fringes of the metropo-
lis 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.
303


304 OKEWOOD OF THE SECRET SERVICE
With their lamps alight, the first trams were glid-
ing out to begin the new day, as the big car swiftly
traversed the eastern suburbs of London. To Bar-
bara, who had had her home at Seven Kings, there
was something familiar about the streets as they
flickered by; but her powers of observation were
dulled, so great was the sense of helplessness that
weighed her down.
High-booted scavengers with curious snake-like
lengths of hose on little trolleys were sluicing the as-
phalt as the limousine snorted past the Mansion
House into Poultney and Cheapside. The light was
growing clearer now; the tube stations were open
and from time to time a motor-bus whizzed by.
Barbara stirred restlessly and Mrs. Malplaquet's
grip on her wrist tightened.
“Where are you taking me?" the girl said.
Mrs. Malplaquet spoke a single word.
“Bellward!” she said in a gentle voice; but it was
a voice of command.
Bellward leaned forward.
“Look at me, Miss Mackwayte!” he said.
There was a curious insistence in his voice that
made Barbara obey. She struggled for a moment
against the impulse to do his bidding; for some agen-
cy within her told her to resist the summons. But an
irresistible force seemed to draw her eyes to his.
Bellward did not move. He simply leaned forward
a little, his hands on his knees, and looked at her.
Barbara could not see his eyes, for the light in the
car was still dim, but inch by inch they captured hers.


TO MRS. MALPLAQUET'S
305
She looked at the black outline of his head and in-
stantly 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 glance 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, “80!
you will keep quiet now and do as I tell you. You
understand?"
No reply came from the girl. She had thrust her
head forward and was gazing fixedly at the man.
Bellward leaned towards the girl until his stubbly
hair actually touched her soft brown curls. He was
gazing intently at her eyes.
He was apparently well satisfied with his inspec-
tion, for he gave a sigh of satisfaction and turned to
Mrs. Malplaquet.
“She'll give no more trouble now!" he remarked
airily.
“Ah! Bellward,” sighed Mrs. Malplaquet, “you're
incomparable! What an undefeatable combination
you and I would have made if we'd met twenty
years sooner!”
And she threw him a coquettish glance.
“Ah, indeed!” returned Bellward pensively. “But
a night like this makes me feel twenty years older,
Minna. He's a dare-devil, this Strangwise. Im-
agine going back to thạt infernal inn when the po-
lice might have broken in on us any minute. But he


306 OKEWOOD OF THE SECRET SERVICE
is a determined chap. He doesn't seem to know what
it is to be beaten. He wanted to make sure that Nur-
· el-Din had not recovered the jewel from him, though
he declares that it has never left him day or night
since he got possession of it. He fairly made hay
of her room back at the inn there."
“Well,” said Mrs. Malplaquet rather spitefully,
"he seems to be beaten this time. He hasn't found
his precious Star of Poland.!!
“No," answered the man reflectively, “but I think
he will!”
Mrs. Malplaquet laughed shrilly.
“And how, may I ask? From what Strangwise
told me himself, the thing has utterly vanished. And
he doesn't seem to have any clue as to who has taken
it!"
“Perhaps not,” replied Bellward, who appeared
to have a high opinion of Strangwise, “but, like all
Germans, our friend is thorough. If he does not see
the direct road, he proceeds by a process of elimina-
tion until he hits upon it. He did not expect to find
the jewel in Nur-el-Din's room,—he told me as much
himself,—but he searched because he is thorough in
everything. Do you know why he really went back
to the Dyke Inn?"
“Why?” asked Mrs. Malplaquet.
“To secure our young friend here," answered
Bellward with a glance at Barbara.
Mrs. Malplaquet made a little grimace to bid him
to be prudent in what he said before the girl.
“Bah!" the man laughed, “you understand no-


TO MRS. MALPLAQUET'S
307
thing of what we are saying, do you?” he said, ad-
dressing Barbara.
The girl moved uneasily.
“I understand nothing of what you are saying,”
she replied in a strained voice.
“This girl was the last person to have the jewel
before Strangwise,” Bellward said, continuing his
conversation with Mrs. Malplaquet, "and she is em-
ployed at the Headquarters of the Secret Service.
Strangwise was satisfied that nobody connected him
with the theft of the silver box which Nur-el-Din
gave to this girl until our young lady here appeared
at the Dyke Inn yesterday afternoon. Nur-el-Din
played his game for him by detaining the girl.
Strangwise believes-and I must
say
I
agree
with
him—that probably two persons know where the
Star of Poland is. One is this girl ..."
"The other being the late Mr. Bellward?” queried
Mrs. Malplaquet.
“Precisely. The late Mr. Bellward or Major Des-
mond Okewood!” said Bellward. “Between him
and this girl here I think we ought to be able to re-
cover Strangwise's lost property for him!”
“But you haven't got Okewood yet!” observed
the lady in a mocking voice.
The man looked evilly at her, his heavy, fat chin
set square.
“But we shall get him, never fear. With a little
bird-lime as attractive as this"
He broke off and jerked his head in the direction
of Barbara.


310 OKEWOOD OF THE SECRET SERVICE
"you might have told me that we were going to my
own place ..
But Strangwise shut her up.
“Bellward and I will come on by tube . . . it is
safer," he said, “hurry, hurry! We must all be
under cover by eight o'clock . we have no time
to lose!"


312
OKEWOOD OF THE SECRET SERVICE
a hint of the value of a batman for such tasks as the
cleaning of the family boots and the polishing of
brass or silver.
The landlady made no objections and half an hour
later a clean and respectable-looking man arrived
whom Desmond with difficulty recognized as the
wretched vagrant of the previous evening. This was,
indeed, the Gunner Barling he used to know, with his
smooth-shaven chin and neat brown moustache
waxed at the ends and characteristic “quiff” deco-
rating his brow. And so Desmond and his man in-
stalled themselves at Santona Road.
The house was clean and comfortable, and Mrs.
Viljohn-Smythe, for all her “refaynement,” as she
would have called it, proved herself a warm-hearted,
motherly soul. Desmond had a small but comfort-
ably 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, in-
deed, that Desmond could look right into the garden
of the house backing on Mrs. Viljohn-Smythe's. This
garden had a patch of well-kept green sward in the
centre with a plaster nymph in the middle, while in
one corner stood a kind of large summer-house or
pavilion built on a slight eminence, with a window
looking into Mrs. Viljohn-Smythe's back garden.
In accordance with a plan of action he had laid
down in his mind, Desmond took all his meals at his
rooms. The rest of the day he devoted to walking


THE MAN IN THE SUMMER HOUSE
313
about the streets of Campden Hill and setting on
foot discreet inquiries after Mrs. Malplaquet
amongst the local tradespeople.
For three or four days he carried out this arrange-
ment.without the slightest success. He dogged the
footsteps of more than one gray-haired lady of dis-
tinguished 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. Mal-
plaquet or recognized her from Desmond's descrip-
tion.
On the morning of the fourth day Desmond re-
turned to lunch, dispirited and heart-sick. He had
half a mind to abandon his quest altogether and to go
and make his peace with the Chief and ask to be sent
back to France. He ate his lunch and then, feeling
that it would be useless to resume his aimless patrol
of the streets, lit a cigar and strolled out into the
little back-garden.
It was a fine, warm afternoon, and already the cro-
cuses were thrusting their heads out of the neat flow-
er-beds as if to ascertain whether the spring had
really arrived. There was, indeed, a pleasant vernal
scent in the air.
“A fine day!” said a voice.
Desmond looked up.
At the open window of the
summer-house of the garden backing on Mrs. Vil-
john-Smythe's, his elbows resting on the pitch-pine
frame, was a middle-aged man. A cigarette was in
his mouth and from his hands dangled a newspaper.


314 OKEWOOD OF THE SECRET SERVICE
He had a smooth-shaven, heavily-jowled face and a
large pair of tortoise-shell spectacles on his nose.
Desmond remembered to have seen the man al-
ready looking out of a window opposite his on one of
the upper floors of the house. In reply to a casual
inquiry, Mrs. Viljohn-Smithe had informed him that
the house was a nursing-home kept by a Dr. Rad-
combe, a nerve specialist.
“It is quite like spring!” replied Desmond, won-
dering if this were the doctor. Doctors get about a
good deal and Dr. Radcombe might be able to tell
him something about Mrs. Malplaquet.
“I think we have seen one another in the mornings
sometimes,” said the heavily-jowled man, “though I
have noticed that you are an earlier riser than I am.
But when one is an invalid"
“You are one of Dr. Radcombe's patients, then?”
said Desmond.
“I am," returned the other, "a great man, that,
my dear sir. I doubt if there is his equal for diagno-
sis in the kingdom.”
“He has lived here for some years, I suppose?”
“Oh yes!” answered the man, “in fact, he is one
of the oldest and most-respected residents of Ken-
sington, I believe !"
“I am rather anxious to find some friends of mine
who live about here," Desmond remarked, quick to
seize his opportunity, “I wonder whether your doc-
tor could help me .
“I'm sure he could,” the man replied, “the doctor
knows everybody.
9
.
.
.


THE MAN IN THE SUMMER HOUSE
315
>>
“The name" began Desmond, but the other
checked him.
"Please don't ask me to burden my memory with
names,” he protested. “I am here for a complete
rest from over-work, and loss of memory is one of my
symptoms. But look here; why not come over the
wall and step inside the house with me? Dr. Rad-
combe is there and will, I am sure, be delighted to
give you any assistance in his power!”
Desmond hesitated.
“Really,” he said, “it seems rather unconvention-
al. Perhaps the doctor would object.
“Object?” said the heavily-jowled man, “tut, tut,
not at all. Come on, I'll give you a hand up!”
He thrust out a large, white hand. Desmond was
about to grasp it when he saw gleaming on the third
finger a gold snake ring with emerald eyes--the ring
that Mrs. Malplaquet had given Bellward. He was
about to draw back but the man was too quick for
him. Owing to the slope of the ground the window
of the summer-house was on a level with Desmond's
throat. The man's two hands shot out simultaneous-
ly. One grasped Desmond's wrist in a steel grip
whilst the other fastened itself about the young
man's throat, squeeing the very breath out of his
body. It was done so quickly that he had no time to
struggle, no time to shout. As Bellward seized him,
another arm was shot out of the window. Desmond
felt himself gripped by the collar and lifted, by a
most amazing effort of strength, bodily over the
wall.


316 OKEWOOD OF THE SECRET SERVICE
His brain swimming with the pressure on his
throat, he struggled but feebly to recover his free-
dom. However, as Desmond was dropped heavily
on to the grass on the other side of the wall, Bell-
ward'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 Bell-
ward losen his hold for a second with the jerk of his
victim's fall, Desmond straightened himself up sud-
denly, 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 gar-
den wall and the summer-house; for the pavilion,
erected on a slight knoll surrounded by turf, was not
built against the wall as is usually the case with
these structures.
In this narrow space Desmond stood irresolute for
the merest fraction of a second. It was not longer;
for, directly after Bellward had crashed backwards,
Desmond heard a light step reverberate within the
planks of the summer-house. His most obvious
course was to scramble back over the wall again into
safety, in all thankfulness at having escaped so vio-
lent 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 foot-
step cross the floor of the summer-house, Desmond


THE MAN IN THE SUMMER HOUSE
319
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 summer-
house and from his cover behind the nymph saw
Strangwise turn quickly and enter the summer-
house. On that Desmond sprang to his feet again,
heedless of whether he was seen from the house, ran
lightly across the grass and reached the steps at the
side of the house.
The door stood ajar.
He stood still on the top step and listened for a
moment. The house was wrapped in silence. Not a
sign of life came from within.
But now he heard voices from the garden and they
were the voices of two angry men, raised in alterca-
tion. As he listened, they drew nearer.
Desmond tarried no longer. He preferred the un-
known perils which that silent house portended to the
real danger advancing from the garden. He softly
pushed the door open and slipped into the house.


CHAPTER XXVII
THE RED LACQUER ROOM
TH
THE side-door led into a little white passage
with a green baize door at the end. A stair-
case, which from its white-washed treads,
Desmond judged to be the back stairs, gave on the
passage. Calculating that the men in the garden
would be certain to use the main staircase, Desmond
took the back stairs which, on the first landing,
brought him face to face with a green baize door,
similar in every respect to that on the floor below.
He pushed this door open and listened. Hearing
nothing he passed on through it. He found himself
in a broad corridor on to which gave the main stair-
case from below and its continuation to the upper
floors. Three rooms opened on to this corridor, a
large drawing-room, a small study and what was
obviously the doctor's consulting room, from the
operating table and the array of instruments set out
in glass cases. The rooms were empty and Desmond
was about to return to the back stairs and proceed
to the next floor when his attention was caught by a
series of framed photographs with which the walls
of the corridor were lined.
These were groups of doctors taken at various
320


THE RED LACQUER ROOM
321
medical congresses. You will find such photographs
in many doctors' houses. Below each group were
neatly printed the names of the persons therein rep-
resented. Anxious to see what manner of man was
this Doctor Radcombe in whose house spies were ap-
parently at liberty to consort with impunity, Des-
mond looked for his name.
There it was—“Dr. A. J. Radcombe.” But, on
looking at the figure above the printed line, what
was his astonishment to recognize the angular fea-
tures and drooping moustache of "No. 13”!
There was no possible mistake about it. The
photographs were excellent and Desmond had no
difficulty in identifying the eccentric-looking German
in each of them. So this was Mrs. Malplaquet's
house, was it? A nursing-home run by “No. 13,"
who in addition to being a spy, would seem to have
been a nerve specialist as well. In this guise, no
doubt, he had made trips to the South of England
which had gained for him that intimate acquaintance
with Portsmouth and Southsea of which he had
boasted at the gathering in the library. In this ca-
pacity, moreover, he had probably met Bellward
whose "oggult" powers, to which “No. 13" had
alluded, seem to point to mesmerism and kindred
practices in which German neurasthenic research has
made such immense progress.
Pondering over his surprising discovery, Desmond
pursued his way to the floor above. Here, too, was
a green baize door which opened on to a corridor.
Desmond walked quickly along it, glancing in, as he


322
OKEWOOD OF THE SECRET SERVICE
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 enamelled a brilliant, glossy red.
The second floor was as silent and deserted as the
corridor below. But just as Desmond passed the
head of the main staircase he heard the sound of
voices. He glanced cautiously down the well of the
stairs and saw Strangwise and Bellward talking to-
gether. Bellward was on the stairs while Strang-
wise stood in the corridor.
“It's our last chance," Strangwise was saying.
“No, no,” Bellward replied heatedly, “I tell you
it is madness. We must not delay a minute. For
Heaven's sake, leave the girl alone and let's save
ourselves."
“What?" cried Strangwise, “and abandon Min-
na?"
“Minna is well able to look after herself," an-
swered Bellward in a sulky voice, “it's a question of
sauve qui peut now ... every man for himself!"
“No!” said Strangwise firmly, "we'll wait for
Minna, Bellward. You exaggerate the danger. 1
tell you I was at the garden wall within a few sec-
onds of our friend laying you out, and I saw no sign
of him in his garden. It was a physical impossibility
for him to have got over the wall and back into the
house in the time. And in his garden there's no-
where to hide. It's as bare as the Sahara!”
“But, good Heavens!” cried Bellward, throwing


THE RED LACQUER ROOM
325
duced by Bakst and the Russian Ballet into England.
The walls were enamelled the same brilliant glossy
red as the door and hung at intervals with panels of
magnificent black and gold lacquer work. The table
which ran down the centre of the room was of scarlet
and gold lacquer like the fantastically designed
chairs and the rest of the furniture. The heavy
carpet was black.
Desmond did not take in all these details at once;
for his attention was immediately directed to a high-
backed armchair covered in black satin which stood
with its back to the door. He stared at this chair;
for, peeping out above the back, making a splash of
deep golden brown against the black sheen of the
upholstery, was a mass of curls . . . Barbara Mack-
wayte's hair.
As he advanced towards the girl, she moaned in
a high, whimpering voice:
“No, no, not again! Let me sleep! Please, please,
leave me alone!"
Desmond sprang to her side.
“Barbara!” he cried and never noticed that he
called her by her Christian name.
Barbara Mackwayte sat in the big black armchair,
facing the black-curtained window. Her face was
pale and drawn, and there were black circles under
her eyes. There was a listless yet highly-strung look
about her that you see in people who habitually take
drugs.
She heeded not the sound of his voice. It was as
though he had not spoken. She only continued to


326 OKEWOOD OF THE SECRET SERVICE
moan and mutter, moving her body about uneasily
as a child does when its sleep is disturbed by night-
mares. 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 at-
tention; 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 out-
side the door. The curtains in front of the window
were just beside him. They were long and reached
to the floor. Without a second's hesitation he slipped
behind them and found himself in the recess of a
shallow bow window.
The bow window was in three parts and the central
part was open wide at the bottom. It gave on a
little balcony which was in reality the roof of a bow
window of one of the rooms on the floor below.
Desmond promptly scrambled out of the window and
letting himself drop on to the balcony crouched down
below the sill.
A door opened in the room he had just left. He
heard steps moving about and cupboards opened and


THE RED LACQUER ROOM
327
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 bal-
cony stood at an angle of the house with no windows
or water-pipes anywhere within reach, to give him a
foothold, looking out on an inhospitable and gloomy
area.
Whether Bellward, who appeared bent only on
getting away from the house without delay, examined
the balcony or not, Desmond did not know; but
after the agony of suspense had endured for what
seemed to him an hour, he heard Strangwise say:
“It's no good, Bellward! I'm not satisfied! And
until I am satisfied that Okewood is not here, I don't
leave this house. And that's that!"
Bellward swore savagely.
"We've searched the garden and not found him:
we've ransacked the house from top to bottom with-
out result. The fellow's not here; but by God, he'll
be here presently with a bunch of police, and then


CHAPTER XXVIII
AN OFFER FROM STRANGWISE
D
ESMOND sprang for the window; but it was
too late. Strangwise who had not missed a
syllable of the interrogatory was at the cur-
tains in a flash. As he plucked the hangings back,
Desmond made a rush for him; but Strangwise,
wary as ever, kept his head and, drawing back,
jabbed his great automatic almost in the other's face.
And then Desmond knew the game was up.
Barbara had collapsed in her chair. Her face was
of an ivory pallor and she seemed to have fallen back
into the characteristic hypnotic trance. As for Bell-
ward, he had dropped on to a sofa, a loose mass, ex-
hausted but missing nothing of what was going for-
ward, though, for the moment, he seemed too spent
to take any active part in the proceedizgs. In the
meantime Strangwise, his white, even teeth bared in
a quiet smile, was very steadily looking at his pris-
oner.
“Well, Desmond,” he said at last, “here's a pleas-
ant 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
331


334
OKEWOOD OF THE SECRET SERVICE
you shall take Bellward downstairs and leave me to
have a little chat with our friend here."
To Bellward he added:
“Minna will tell you what I said. But first,” he
pointed to Barbara who remained apparently lifeless
in her chair, “bring her round. And then I think
she'd better go to bed.”
“But what about the treatment to-night?” asked
Mrs. Malplaquet.
Strangwise smiled mysteriously.
“I'm not sure that any further treatment will be
required,” he said.
In the meantime, Bellward had leaned over the girl
and with a few passes of his hand had brought her
back to consciousness. She sat up, one hand pressed
to her face, and looked about her in a dazed fashion.
On recognizing Desmond she gave a little cry.
“Take her away!" commanded Strangwise.
Bellward had unfastened the ropes binding her
feet, and he and Mrs. Malplaquet between them half-
dragged, half-lifted the girl (for she was scarcely
able to walk) from the room.
When the door had closed behind them, Strang-
wise pointed to a chair and pulled out his cigarette
case. “Sit down, Desmond,” he said, “and let's
talk. Will
you
smoke?!
He held out his case. A cigarette was the one
thing for which Desmond craved. He took one and
lit it. Strangwise sat down on the other side of a
curiously carved ebony table, his big automatic be-
fore him.



AN OFFER FROM STRANGWISE
335
“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 ad-
mitting that you've busted up my little organization
-for the present at any rate. But I'm on top now
and you're in our power, old man.
“Well,” replied Desmond shortly, “what are you
going to do about it?”
“I'm going to utilize my advantage to the best
I know how," retorted Strangwise, snapping the
words, "that's good strategy, isn't it, Desmond?
That's what Hamley and all the military writers
teach, isn't it? And I'm going to be frank with you.
I suppose you realize that your life hung by a thread
in this very room only a minute ago. Do you know
why I intervened to save you?”
Desmond smiled. All his habitual serenity was
coming back to him. He found it hard to realize
that this old brother officer of his, blowing rings of
cigarette smoke at him across the table, was an
enemy.
“I don't suppose it was because of the love you
bear me," replied Desmond.
And he rubbed the bump on his head.
Strangwise noted the action and smiled.
“Listen here,” he resumed, planking his hands
down on the table and leaning forward, “I'm ready
and anxious to quit this spying business. It was
only a side line with me anyway. My main object
in coming to this country was to recover possession


336
OKEWOOD OF THE SECRET SERVICE
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, Des-
mond-few army men are, you know—so I won't
even attempt to chaffer with you. I shall tell you
straight out what I am ready to offer. You were
given the job of breaking up this organization,
weren't you?”
Desmond was silent. He was beginning to wonder
what Strangwise was driving at.
“Oh, you needn't trouble to deny it. I never
spotted you, I admit, even when the real Bellward
turned up: that idea of putting your name in the
casualty list as ‘killed' was a master-stroke; for I
never looked to find you alive and trying to put it
But to return to what I was saying.
your job was to smash my little system, and if you
pull it off, it's a feather in your cap. Well, you've
killed two of my people and you've arrested the ring-
leader."
“Meaning Behrend?” asked Desmond.
“Behrend be hanged! I mean Nur-el-Din!”
“Nur-el-Din was not the ringleader,” said Des-
mond, "as well you know, Strangwise!"
“Your employers evidently don't share your
across me.


AN OFFER FROM STRANGWISE
337
.
views, Desmond,” he replied, "all the documents
were found on Nur-el-Din!”
“Bah!" retorted Desmond, “and what of it?
Mightn't they have been planted on her in order to
get her arrested to draw the suspicion away from the
real criminal, yourself?”
Strangwise laughed a low, mellow laugh.
“You're devilish hard to convince," he remarked.
“Perhaps you'll change your mind about it when I
tell you that Nur-el-Din was sentenced to death by a
general court-martial yesterday afternoon.
The blow struck Desmond straight between the
eyes. The execution of spies followed hard on their
conviction, he knew. Was he too late?
"Has. has she . . . has the sentence already
been carried out?” he asked hoarsely.
Strangwise shrugged his shoulders.
“My information didn't go as far as that!” he
replied. “But I expect so. They don't waste much
time over these matters, old man! You see, then,”
he continued, “you've got the ringleader, and you
shall have the other two members of the organization
and save your own life into the bargain if you will
be reasonable and treat with me."
Desmond looked straight at him; and Strangwise
averted his eyes.
“Let me get this right,” said Desmond slowly.
"You let me go free of course, I take it that my
liberty includes the release of Miss Mackwayte as
well--and in addition, you hand over to me your
two accomplices, Bellward and the Malplaquet wom-


338
OKEWOOD OF THE SECRET SERVICE
19
an. That is your offer, isn't it? Well, what do you
want from me in exchange?”
“The Star of Poland!” said Strangwise in a low
voice.
“But,” Desmond began. He was going to add
“I haven't got it,” but checked himself in time.
Why should he show his hand?
Strangwise broke in excitedly.
“Man," he cried, "it was grandly done. When
first I discovered the gem, I opened the package in
which the silver box was wrapped and took the jewel
from its case to make sure that it was there. Then
I sealed it up again, silver box and all, with the firm
intention that no other hand should break the seals
but the hand of His Imperial Highness the Crown
Prince when I reported to him that I had fulfilled
my mission. So
you
will understand that I was loth
to open it to satisfy those blockheads that evening
at the Mill House.
“I carried the package on me night and day and
I could hardly believe my eyes when I discovered
that a box of cigarettes had been substituted for the
silver casket containing the jewel. I then suspected
that Barbara Mackwayte, in collusion with Nur-el-
Din, whom she had visited at the Dyke Inn that
evening, had played this trick on me. But before I
escaped from the Mill House I picked up one of the
cigarettes which fell from the box when I broke the
seals. Ah! There you made a slip, Desmond. When
I looked at the cigarette I found it was a ‘Dionysus'
- your own particular brand-why, I have smoked


340
OKEWOOD OF THE SECRET SERVICE
gone over to France in the hold of the leave boat!
And to think that there was a £100,000 jewel in
charge of the M.L.O. at a French port!
The idea tickled Desmond's sense of humor and
he smiled.
“Come,” cried Strangwise, “you've heard my
terms. This jewel, this Star of Poland, it is nothing
to you or your Government. You restore it to me
and I won't even ask you for a safe conduct back to
Germany. I'll just slide out and it will be as if I
had never been to England at all. As for my or-
ganization, you, Desmond Okewood, have blown it
sky-high!”
He stretched out his hand to Desmond as though
he expected the other to produce the gem from his
pocket. But Desmond rose to his feet and struck the
hand contemptuously on one side. The smile had
vanished from his face.
“Are you sure that is all you have to say to me?”
he asked.
Strangwise had stood up as well.
“Why, yes!” he said, “I think so!"
“Well, then,” said Desmond firmly, “just listen
to me for a moment! Here's my answer. You've
lost the jewel for good and all, and you will never
get it back. Your offer to betray your accomplices
to me in exchange for the Star of Poland is an empty
one; for your accomplices will be arrested with you.
And lastly I give you my word that I shall make it
my personal duty to see that you are not shot by
clean-handed British soldiers, but strung up by the


342
OKEWOOD OF THE SECRET SERVICE
asked Strangwise. “Perhaps you would care to re-
consider your decision?”
Desmond shook his head.
“You've had my answer!” he said doggedly.
“Then, my friend,” said Strangwise to Bellward,
“after dinner you shall try your hand on this ob-
stinate fool. But first we'll take him upstairs.
He was close beside Desmond and as he finished
speaking he suddenly caught him by the throat and
forced him back into the chair to which Barbara had
been tethered. To struggle was useless, and Des-
mond suffered them to bind his arms and feet to the
arms and legs of the chair. Then the two men
picked him up, chair and all, and bore him from the
room upstairs to the third floor. There they carried
him into a dark room where they left him, turning
the key in the lock as they went away.


CHAPTER XXIX
DOT AND DASH
F
OR a long time after the retreating footsteps
of Strangwise and Bellward had died away,
Desmond sat listless, preoccupied with his
thoughts. They were somber enough. The sinister
atmosphere of the house, weighing upon him, seemed
to deepen his depression.
About his own position he was not concerned at
all. This is not an example of unselfishness; it is
simply an instance of the force of discipline which
trains a man to reckon the cause as everything and
himself as naught. And Desmond was haunted by
the awful conviction that he had at length reached
the end of his tether and that nothing could now re-
deem the ignominious failure he had made of his
mission.
He had sacrificed Barbara Mackwayte; he had sac-
rificed Nur-el-Din; he had not even been clever
enough to save his own skin. And Strangwise, spy
and murderer, had escaped and was now free to reor-
ganize his band after he had put Barbara and Des-
mond out of the way.
The thought was so unbearable that it stung Des-
mond into action. Strangwise should not get the
343


344
OKEWOOD OF THE SECRET SERVICE
better of him, he resolved, and he had yet this brief
interval of being alone in which he might devise
some scheme to rescue Barbara and secure the ar-
rest of Strangwise and his accomplices. But how?
He raised his head and looked round the room.
The curtains had not been drawn and enough light
came into the room from the outside to enable him to
distinguish the outlines of the furniture. It was a
bedroom, furnished in rather a massive style, with
some kind of thick, soft carpet into which the feet
sank.
Desmond tested his bonds. He was very skilfully
tied up. He fancied that with a little manipulation
he might contrive to loosen the rope round his right
arm, for one of the knots had caught in the folds of
his coat. The thongs round his left arm and two legs
were, however, so tight that he thought he had but
little chance of ridding himself of them, even should
he get his right arm free; for the knots were tied at
the back under the seat of the chair in such a way
that he could not reach them.
He, therefore, resigned himself to conducting op-
erations in the highly ridiculous posture in which he
found himself, that is to say, with a large arm-chair
attached to him, rather like a snail with its house on
its back. After a certain amount of maneuvering he
discovered that, by means of a kind of slow, lumber-
ing crawl, he was able to move across the ground.
It might have proved a noisy business on a parquet
floor; but Desmond moved only a foot or two at a
time and the pile carpet deadened the sound.


DOT AND DASH
345
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 cou-
ple of electric candles on either side of the mirror.
He moved the toilet table to one side, then bumped
steadily across the carpet until he had reached the
window. And then he gave a little gasp of surprise.
He found himself looking straight at the window
of his own bedroom at Mrs. Viljohn-Smythe's.
There was no mistaking it. The electric light was
burning and the curtains had not yet been drawn.
He could see the black and pink eiderdown on his
bed and the black lining of the chintz curtains. Then
he remembered the slope of the hill. He must be in
the room from which he had seen Bellward looking
out.
The sight of the natty bedroom across the way
moved Desmond strangely. It seemed to bring home
to him for the first time the extraordinary position in
which he found himself, a prisoner in a perfectly re-
spectable 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.


348
OKEWOOD OF THE SECRET SERVICE
table in the position in which the candle now stood.
The candle was clear of the mirror and there was no-
thing between it and the window. Desmond's brain
took all this in at a glance. That glance showed him
that Providence was being good to him.
A couple of jerks of the chair brought him along-
side 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 atten-
ded, he depressed the switch with a quick, snapping
movement and jerked it up again, sending out the
dots and dashes of the Morse code.
"B-A-R-41-N-G” he spelt out, slowly
and laboriously, it is true; for he was not an expert.
As he worked the switch, he looked across at the
illuminated window of the room in which Barling
stood, with bent head, earnestly engaged upon his
polishing
“B-a-r-l-i-n-g-ack-ack-ack-B-a-r-l-i-n-g-ack-ack-ack
The light flickered up and down in long and short
flashes. Still “Buzzer” Barling trilled away at the
“Grand Reveillé” nor raised his eyes from his work.
Desmond varied the call :
"0_K-E-W-0-0-D T-O B-AR-
L-I-N--G” he flashed.
He repeated the call twice and was spelling it out
for the third time when Desmond saw the “Buzzer"
raise his head.
The whistling broke off short.


DOT AND DASH
351
treme form of cross-examination which the Ameri-
cans call 'the third degree' and hypnotic treatment.
Many people, as you are doubtless aware, are less
responsive to hypnotic influence than others. An in-
tensified course of the third degree and lack of sleep
renders such refractory natures extraordinarily sus-
ceptible to mesmeric treatment. It prepares the
ground as it were!”
Bellward coughed and looked at Desmond over his
tortoise-shell spectacles which he had put on again.
“The method has had its best results when prac-
tised on women,” he resumed. “Our people in Hol-
land have found it very successful in the case of fe-
male spies who come across the Belgian frontier.
But some women-Miss Barbara, for example-
seem to have greater powers of resistance than
others. We had to employ a rather drastic form of
the third degree for her, didn't we, Strangwise?”
He laughed waggishly.
“And you'll be none too easy either," he added.
“You beasts,” cried Desmond, “but just you wait,
your turn will come!”
“Yours first, however," chuckled Bellward. "I
rather fancy you will think us beasts by the time we
have done with you, my young friend!”
Then he turned to Strangwise.
"Where's Minna?” he asked.
“With the girl!"
“Is the girl sleeping?”
Strangwise nodded.
“She wanted it,” he replied, “no sleep for four


352 OKEWOOD OF THE SECRET SERVICE
days I tell you it takes some constitution to
hold out against that!"
“Well,” said Bellward, rubbing the palms of his
hands together, “as we're not likely to be disturbed,
I think we'll make a start!"
He advanced a pace to where Desmond sat trussed
up, hand and foot, in his chair. Bellward's eyes
were large and luminous, and as Desmond glanced
rather nervously at the face of the man approaching
him, he was struck by the compelling power they
seemed to emit.
Desmond bent his head to avoid the insistent gaze.
But in a couple of quick strides Bellward was at his
side and stooping down, had thrust his face right into
his victim's. Bellward's face was so close that Des-
mond felt his warm breath on his cheek whilst those
burning eyes seemed to stab through his closed eye-
lids and steadily, stealthily, draw his gaze.
Resolutely Desmond held his head averted. All
kinds of queer ideas were racing through his brain,
fragments of nursery rhymes, scenes from his regi-
mental life in India, memories of the front, which he
had deliberately summoned up to keep his attention
distracted from those merciless eyes, like twin
search-lights pitilessly playing on his face.
Bellward could easily have taken Desmond by the
chin and forced his face up until his eyes came level
with the other's. But he offered no violence of any
kind. He remained in his stooping position, his
face thrust forward, so perfectly still that Desmond
began to be tormented by a desire to risk a rapid


DOT AND DASH
353
peep just to see what the mesmerist was doing.
He put the temptation aside. He must keep his
eyes shut, he told himself. But the desire increased,
intensified by the strong attraction radiating from
Bellward, and finally Desmond succumbed. He
opened his eyes to dart a quick glance at Bellward
and found the other's staring eyes, with pupils dis-
tended, fixed on his. And Desmond felt his resist-
ance ebb. He tried to avert his gaze; but it was too
late. That basilisk glare held him fast.
With every faculty of his mind he fought against
the influence which was slowly, irresistibly, shackling
his brain. He laughed, he shouted defiance at Bell-
ward and Strangwise, he sang snatches of songs.
But Bellward never moved a muscle. He seemed to
be in a kind of cataleptic trance, so rigid his body, so
unswerving his stare.
The lights in the room seemed to be growing dim.
Bellward's eyeballs gleamed redly in the dull crim-
son light flooding the room. Desmond felt himself
longing for some violent shock that would disturb
the hideous stillness of the house. His own voice
was sounding dull and blunted in his ears. What
was the use of struggling further? He might as well
give up.
A loud crash, the sound of a door slamming, re-
echoed 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


354
OKEWOOD OF THE SECRET SERVICE
heard the door burst open, there was the deafening
report of a pistol, followed by another, and Bellward
crashed forward on his knees with a sobbing grunt.
As Desmond had his back to the door he could see
nothing of what was taking place, but some kind of
violent struggle was going on; for he heard the
smash of glass as a piece of furniture was upset.
Then suddenly the room seemed full of people.
The thongs binding his hands and feet fell to the
ground. “Buzzer” Barling stood at his side.
1


CHAPTER XXX
HOHENLINDEN TRENCE
A
MAN broke quickly away from the throng of
people pressing into the room. It was Fran-
cis. The Chief and Mr. Marigold were close
at his heels.
“Des.,” cried Francis, "ah! thank God! you are
all right!”
Desmond looked in a dazed fashion from one to
the other. The rapid transition from the hush of the
room to the scene of confusion going on around him
had left him bewildered. His glance travelled from
the faces of the men gathered round his chair to the
floor. The sight of Beilward, very still, hunched up
with his face immersed in the thick black carpet,
seemed to recall something to his mind.
“Barbara!” he murmured in a strained voice.
“She's all right!” replied his brother, "we found
her on the bed in a room on the floor below sleeping
the sleep of the just. The woman's vanished, though.
I'm afraid she got away! But who's this?”
He pointed to “Buzzer” Barling who stood stiffly
at attention beside Desmond's chair.
“Ay, who are you, young fellow?” repeated Mr.
Marigold coming up close to the soldier.
355


356 OKEWOOD OF THE SECRET SERVICE
“Ask him!” said Desmond, raising his arm, “he
knows !!!
The
group
around the door had broken up. Strang-
wise, his wrists handcuffed together, his hair dis-
hevelled 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 Strang-
wise was obviously taken aback, though only for the
moment. The flush that mounted to his cheek quick-
ly died down, leaving him as cool and impassive as
ever.
“Do you know this man?” the Chief asked stern-
ly, addressing Strangwise.
“Certainly," retorted Strangwise, “it's Gunner
Barling, one of the Brigade signallers!”
Mr. Marigold gave a keen glance at the soldier.
“So you're Barling, eh?” he muttered as though
talking to himself, 'ah! this is getting interesting!”
“Yes,” said Desmond, “this is Gunner Barling.
Have a good look at him, Strangwise. It is he who
summoned these gentlemen to my assistance. It is
he who's going to tell them who and what you are!”
Turning to the Chief he added with a touch of
formality: “May Gunner Barling tell his story, sir.”
"By all means," replied the Chief. “I am all
attention. But first let this fellow be removed."
And beckoning to two of his men, he pointed to
the body of Bellward.


HOHENLINDEN TRENCH
359
x
Captain. I could see it as plain as plain, and I
pointed it out to him. But no! he couldn't see it.
" "I'll crawl out of the trench a bit, gunner,' sez
he to me, 'you sit tight,' he sez, “I'll let you know
when to follow !'
“With that he up and out o' the trench leavin'
me and the instruments behind all among the dead
Gers., and our lads had killed a tidy few. It was
pretty lonely round about w'ere I was; for our chaps
had all gone on and was bombin' the Gers., like they
was a lot o'rabbits, up and down the support line.
“I followed the Captain with me eye, gentlemen,
and I'm blessed if he didn't walk straight across the
open and over the support trench. Then he drops
into a bit of a shell-hole and I lost sight of him.
Well, I waited and waited and no sign of th' orficer.
The rocket goes up and our lads begin to come back
with half a dozen Huns runnin' in front of them
with their hands up. Some of the chaps as they
passed me wanted to know if I was a-goin' to stay
there all night! And the Brigade buzzin' like mad
to talk to the Captain.
“I sat in that blessed trench till everybody had
cleared out. Then, seeing as how not even the docket
had brought th’ orficer back, I sez to myself as how
he must ha' stopped one. So I gets out of the
trench and starts crawling across the top towards the
place where I see the Captain disappear. As I got
near the support line the ground went up a little
and then dropped, so I got a bit of a view on to the
ground ahead. And then I sees the Captain here!”


360 OKEWOOD OF THE SECRET SERVICE
Buzzer Barling stopped. All had listened to his
story with the deepest interest, especially Strang-
wise, who never took his eyes off the gunner's brown
face. Some men are born story-tellers and there was
a rugged picturesqueness about Barling's simple
narrative which conjured up in the minds of his
hearers the picture of the lonely signaller cowering
in the abandoned trench among the freshly slain,
waiting for the officer who never came back.
“It's not a nice thing to have to say about an
orficer," the gunner presently continued, “and so
help me God, gentlemen, I kep' my mouth shut about
it until ... until ..."
He broke off and looked quickly at Desmond.
“Keep that until the end, Barling,” said Des-
mond, “finish about the raid now!”
“Well, as I was sayin', gentlemen, I was up on a
bit of hillock near Fritz's support line when I sees
the Captain here. He was settin' all comfortable in
a shell-hole, his glases in his hand, chattin' quite
friendly like with two of the Gers.—orficers, I
reckoned they was, along o' the silver lace on their
collars. One was wearin' one o' them coal-scuttle
helmets, t'other a little flat cap with a shiny peak.
And the Captain here was a-pointin' at our lines and
a-wavin' his hand about like he was a-tellin' the two
Fritzes all about it, and the chap in the coal-scuttle
hat was a-writin' it all down in a book.”
Barling paused. He was rather flushed and his
eyes burned brightly in his weather-beaten face.
“Eighteen year I done in the Royal Regiment,"


HOHENLINDEN TRENCH
361
he went on, and his voice trembled a little, "and
me father a battery sergeant-major before me, and
I never thought to see one of our orficers go over to
the enemy. Fritz was beginnin' to come back to his
front line: I could see their coal-scuttle hats a-bobbin'
up and down the communication trenches, so I
crawled back the way I come and made a bolt for
our lines.
“I meant to go straight to the B.C. post and re-
port wot I seen to the Major. But I hadn't the heart
to, gentlemen, when I was up against it. It was an
awful charge to bring against an orficer, d’you see?
I told myself I didn't know but what the Captain
hadn't been taken prisoner and was makin' the best
of it, w'en I see him, stuffin' the Fritzes up with a
lot o'lies. And so I jes' reported as how th' orficer
'ad crawled out of the trench and never come back.
And then this here murder happened ..."
Mr. Marigold turned to the Chief.
“If you remember, sir,” he said, “I found this
man's leave paper in the front garden of the Mack-
wayte's house at Laleham Villas, Seven Kings, the
day after the murder. There are one or two ques-
tions I should like to put .
“No need to arsk any questions,” said Barling.
“I'll tell you the whole story meself, mister. I was
on leave at the time, due to go back to France the
next afternoon. I'd been out spending the evenin'
at my niece's wot's married and livin' out Seven
Kings way. Me and her man wot works on the line
kept it up a bit late what with yarnin' about the front
.


HOHENLINDEN TRENCH
363
“I wasn't payin' much attention to w'ere he was
leadin' me," said Barling, “what I wanted to find
out was what he was up to! Presently he turned in
at a gate. I was closer up than I meant to be, and
he swung in so sudden that I had to drop quick and
crouch behind the masonry of the front garden wall.
My leave pass must a' dropped out o’my pocket and
through the railin's into the garden.
“Well, the front door must a' been on the jar for
th' orficer here just pushes it open and walks in,
goin' very soft like. I crep' in the front gate and
got as far as the door w'ich was a-standin' half open.
I could 'ear the stair creakin' under 'im and I was
just wonderin' whether I should go into the house
w'en I hears a bang and wi' that someone comes a-
flyin' down the stairs, dodges through the front hall
and out at the back. I see him come scramblin' over
the back gate and was a-goin' to stop him thinkin' it
was th’ orficer here w'en I sees it is a tubby little
chap, not big like the Captain. And then it come
over me quite sudden-like that burglary and murder
had been done in the house and wot would I say
if a p’liceman come along? So I slipped off and
went as hard as I could go back to the old Union
Jack Club.
“The next mornin' I found I'd lost me leave paper.
I was afraid to go and report it in case it had been
picked up, and they'd run me in for this murder
job. That's how I come to desert, gentlemen, and
spoilt a eighteen years' conduct sheet without a entry
over this murderin' spy here!”


364 OKEWOOD OF THE SECRET SERVICE
Gunner Barling broke off abruptly as though he
had committed himself to a stronger opinion than
discipline would allow. It was the Chief who broke
the silence following the termination of the gunner's
story.
“Strangwise," he said, "hadn't you better tell us
who you are?”
“He's an officer of the Prussian Guard,” Desmond
said, “and he was sent over here by the German
secret service organization in the United States to
get a commission in the British Army. When a good
man was wanted to recover the Star of Poland for
the Crown Prince, the secret service people in Berlin
sent word to Strangwise (who was then serving with
the gunners in France) to get himself captured. The
German military authorities duly reported him a
prisoner of war and then let him “escape' as the
easiest and least suspicious means of getting him
back to London!"
The Chief smiled genially.
“That's a dashed clever idea," he observed
shrewdly,
'pon my word, that's bright! That's
very bright! I should like to compliment the man
who thought of that!"
"Then you may address your compliments to me,
Chief,” said Strangwise.
The Chief turned and looked at him.
“I've met many of your people in my time,
Strangwise,” he said, “but I don't know you! Who
are you?"
Strangwise laughed.


HOHENLINDEN TRENCH
365
“Ask Nur-el-Din," he said, "that is to say,
if
you
haven't shot her yet!”
“And if we have?" asked the Chief.
Desmond sprang up.
"It isn't possible!” he cried. “Why, the woman's
a victim, not a principal! Chief . .
“What if we have?” asked the Chief again.
A curious change had come over the prisoner. His
jaunty air had left him and there was an apprehen-
sive look in his eyes.
“I would have saved her if I could have,” Strang-
wise said, “but she played me false over the jewel.
She imperiled the success of my mission. You
English have no idea of discipline. To us Prussian
officers an order stands above everything else. There
is nothing we would not sacrifice to obey our orders.
And my order was to recover the Star of Poland for
His Imperial Highness the Crown Prince, Lieutenant
Colonel in the Regiment to which I have the honor
to belong, the First Regiment of Prussian Foot
Guards. But Nur-el-Din plotted with our friend
here and with that little fool upstairs to upset my
plans, and I had no mercy on her. I planted those
documents in her dress-or rather Bellward did
to draw suspicion away from me. I thought you
English would be too flabby to execute a woman;
but I reckoned on you putting the girl away for some
years to come. I would have shot her as I shot
Rass if..." His voice trembled and he was silent.
“If what?" asked the Chief.
“If she hadn't been my wife," said Strangwise.


368 OKEWOOD OF THE SECRET SERVICE
Desmond nodded.
“He was shot yesterday mo
morning,” he replied.
“l'm glad they did it in France. I was terrified lest
they should want me to go to it.”
“Why?" asked the girl with a suspicion of in-
dignation in her voice, "he deserved no mercy.”
"No," replied Desmond slowly, "he was a bad
fellow-a Prussian through and through. He mur-
dered your poor father, he shot Rass, he instigated
the killing of the maid, Marie, he was prepared to
sacrifice his own wife even, to this Prussian God of
militarism which takes the very soul out of a man's
body and puts it into the hands of his superior
officer. And yet, and yet, when one has soldiered
with a man, Barbara, and roughed it with him and
been shelled and shot at with him, there seems to be
a bond of sympathy between you and him for ever
after. And he was a brave man, Barbara, cruel and
unscrupulous, I admit, but there was no fear in him,
and I can't help admiring courage. I seem to think
of him as two men -the man I soldiered with and
the heartless brute who watched while that beast
Bellward..."
He broke off as a spasm of pain crossed the girl's
face. “I shall remember the one and forget the
other," he concluded simply.
“Tell me," said the girl suddenly, “who was
Strangwise?"
“After he was arrested and just before they were
going to take him off,” Desmond said, “he asked
to be allowed to say a word privately to the Chief,


370
OKEWOOD OF THE SECRET SERVICE
sailing securely to France. Two were killed at the
Mill House, Behrend committed suicide in prison,
Bellward died in hospital, Mrs. Malplaquet has dis-
appeared, and now Strangwise has gone. There only
remains
She cast a quick glance at Desmond but he was
gazing seaward at the smoke of the transports
smudging the horizon.
“What are they going to do with Nur-el-Din?"
she asked rather abruptly.
“Didn't the Chief tell you?” said Desmond.
“He only asked me what I had to say in the mat-
ter as I had had to suffer at her hands. But I told
him I left the matter entirely to him. I said I took
your point of view that Nur-el-Din was the victim
of her husband ...'
“That was generous of yon, Barbara,” Desmond
said gently.
She sighed.
“Daddy knew her as a little girl," she answered,
"and he was so pleased to see her again that night.
She never had a chance. I hope she'll get one now!”
“They're going to intern her, I believe," said
Desmond, “until the end of the war; they could do
nothing else, you know. But she will be well looked
after, and I think she will be safer in our charge
than if she were allowed to remain at liberty. The
German Secret Service has had a bad knock, you
know. Somebody has got to pay for it!”
“I know,” the girl whispered, "and it frightens
me!"


372
OKEWOOD OF THE SECRET SERVICE
France has been lost by enemy action. We are en-
closing a compensation form which
But neither troubled to read further.
“Gone to the bottom, by Jove!” cried Desmond.
“But isn't it strange,” he went on, “to think of the
Star of Poland lying out there on the bed of the
Channel? Well, I'm not so sure that it isn't the
best place for it. It won't create any further trouble
in this world at least!"
“Poor Nur-el-Din!" sighed the girl.
They sat awhile in silence together and watched
the gulls circling unceasingly above the receding
tide.
"You're leaving here to-morrow then?” said Des-
mond presently.
Barbara nodded.
“And going back to your work with the Chief ?”
Barbara nodded again.
“It's not good enough,” cried Desmond. “This
is no job for a girl like you, Barbara. The strain
is too much; the risks are too great. Besides, there's
something I wanted to say ..
Barbara stopped him.
“Don't say it!” she bade him.
“But you don't know what I was going to say!”
he protested.
Barbara smiled a little happy smile.
"Barbara. » Desmond began.
Her hand still rested on his shoulder and he put
his hand over hers. For a brief moment she let him
have his way,
.


THE £100,000 KIT
373
Then she withdrew her hand.
“Desmond,” she said, looking at him with kindly
eyes, “we both have work to do...
“We have,” replied the man somberly,” and
mine's at the front!"
The girl shook her head.
“No!” she said. Henceforward it's where the
Chief sends you!”
Desmond set his jaw obstinately.
“I may have been a Secret Service agent by ac-
cident,” he answered, “but I'm a soldier by trade.
My place is in the fighting-line!"
“The Secret Service has its fighting-line, too,”
Barbara replied, “though the war correspondents
don't write about it. It never gets a mention in des-
patches and Victoria Crosses don't come its way.
The newspapers don't publish its casualty list,
though you and I know that it's a long one. A man
slips quietly away and never comes back, and after a
certain lapse of time we just mark him off the books
and there's an end of it. But it's a great service;
and you've made your mark in it. The Chief wants
men like you. You'll have to stay!"
Desmond was about to speak; but the girl stopped
him. “What do you and I matter," she asked, “when
the whole future of England is at stake? If you
are to give of your best to this silent game of ours,
you must be free with no responsibilities and no ties,
with nothing that will ever make you hesitate to take
a supreme risk. And I never met a man that dared
more freely than you!"


374
OKEWOOD OF THE SECRET SERVICE
@v
“Oh, please ..." said Desmond and got up.
He stood gazing seawards for a while.
Then he glanced at his watch.
“I must be going back to London,” he said. “I
have to see the Chief at four this afternoon. And
you know why!”
The girl nodded.
“What will you tell him?" she asked. “Will you
accept his offer to remain on in the Sceret Service?"
Desmond looked at her ruefully.
“You're so eloquent about it,” he said slowly,
"that I think I must!"
Smiling, she gave him her hand. Desmond held
it for an instant in his.
Then, without another word, he turned and strode
off towards the winding white road that led to the
station.
Barbara watched him until a turn in the road hid
him from her sight. Then she pulled out her hand-
kerchief.
“Good Heavens, girl!” she said to herself, "I be-
lieve you're crying!”
THE END
Na


TALES OF MYSTERY
AND ADVENTURE